“We cut quantities of reindeer tallow with our meat,” remarks Gilder, “probably about half our daily food. Breakfast is eaten raw and frozen, but we generally have a warm meal in the evening. Fuel is hard to obtain, and consists entirely of a vine-like moss called ik-shoot-ik. Reindeer tallow is also used for a light. A small flat stone serves for candle-stick, on which a lump of tallow is placed, close to a piece of fibrous moss called mun-ne, which is used for a wick. The tallow melting runs down upon the stone and is immediately absorbed by the moss. This makes a very cheerful and pleasant light, but is most exasperating to a hungry man, as it smells exactly like frying meat. Eating such quantities of tallow is a great benefit in this climate, and we can easily see the effect of it in the comfort with which we meet the cold.” Directing his course toward the Great Fish-Back River, Lieutenant Schwatka began its ascent in November. The cold was intense, from 20° to 70° below zero. “We found the travelling on Back’s River much more tedious than we had anticipated,” writes Gilder, “owing to the bare ice in the vicinity of the open-water rapids and the intense cold which kept the air filled with minute particles of ice from the freezing of the steam of the open water.” On December 28, 1878, Lieutenant Schwatka decided to abandon travel on the Great Fish-Back River, owing to the scarcity of game in the vicinity. The Innuit hunters having reported the land sledging in good condition toward the southeast,—indeed, much better than upon the river,—and indications pointing to an abundance of game in that direction, the party immediately struck out for Depot Island. The extreme cold experienced at this period of the journey was trying beyond expression, and had a serious effect upon man and beast. Even iron and wood were affected, strong oak and hickory breaking to the touch like icicles. It was a matter of great difficulty to keep the guns in working order, and the wary game would hear the sound of the crunching of the hunters’ tread on the snow at long distances. “I have frequently heard,” remarks Gilder, “the crunching of the sled runners on the brittle snow—a ringing sound like striking bars of steel—a distance of over two miles.”