"Just feel that," said the minister in the night, as he took my hand
and plunged it into a pool about three inches deep in which he was
lying.
"Never mind," I said, "it is only water. Everything is wet now. It
will soon be morning and we will dry at the fire."
Our Indian neighbors were, if possible, still wetter. Their hut had
been blown down several times during the night. Our tent leaked
badly, and we were lying in a mossy bog, but around the big camp-fire
we were soon warm and half dry. We had expected to reach Wrangell by
this time. Toyatte said the storm might last several days longer. We
were out of tea and coffee, much to Mr. Young's distress. On my
return from a walk I brought in a good big bunch of glandular ledum
and boiled it in the teapot. The result of this experiment was a
bright, clear amber-colored, rank-smelling liquor which I did not
taste, but my suffering companion drank the whole potful and praised
it. The rain was so heavy we decided not to attempt to leave camp
until the storm somewhat abated, as we were assured by Toyatte that
we would not be able to round Cape Fanshawe, a sheer, outjutting
headland, the nose as he called it, past which the wind sweeps with
great violence in these southeastern storms.
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