Ada BlackJack: A True Story of Survival in the Arctic
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Now in paperback, the gripping and inspiring tale of a woman's survival alone in the Arctic.
In 1921, four men and one woman ventured deep into the Arctic. Two years later, only one returned.
When 23-year-old Inuit Ada Blackjack signed on as a seamstress for a top-secret Arctic expedition, her goal was simple: earn money and find a husband. But her terrifying experiences--both in the wild and back in civilization--comprise one of the most amazing untold adventures of the 20th century. Based on a wealth of unpublished materials, including Ada's never-before-seen diaries, bestselling author Jennifer Niven narrates this true story of an unheralded woman who became an unlikely hero.
or the education and pedigree of Crawford, but he had heart and a quick, sharp mind. Stefansson was agreeable but dismissive. It was fine if they wanted Galle, he said, but he still wasn’t convinced. If Galle did go, Stefansson couldn’t afford to pay the boy a salary. Galle would earn a percentage from any furs he managed to bring back from the island, but that was all. The arrangement suited Milton Galle perfectly. After the team was formed, Georgia Knight worked all day in her kitchen to
husband’s. “My husband was not ill a day,” she wrote Mrs. Galle. “He had not missed a meal nor a night’s sleep on all our travels, nor did he complain of an ache or pain. We had no suspicion of heart trouble, nor did he himself. There is no doubt that Allan’s death had its effect in shortening his father’s life.” After burying her husband in Austria, Helen and the children returned to their empty house in Toronto on August 2. Marjorie was a senior at the University of Toronto and was engaged to
were lighter again. Ada examined them for him daily, and now she noticed that the marks had merged together to form one enormous patch. There was a spattering of spots on the back of his right leg as well, and slender, hairlike slivers appeared under his fingernails. When he applied a bit of pressure to them, he felt a shooting pain. Every joint ached. His gums bled easily, and the two loose snags— as he called the wobbly teeth in his upper jaw—dropped out on their own. He was alternately
nothing he could do to control it. It didn’t take formal medical knowledge for him to know he was in the advanced stages of the disease. The reality was that, even as deep as he was into the throes of scurvy, if he’d had a week’s worth—or even just a few days—of fresh raw bear or seal meat, he could have been saved. A measly fox or goose or a gull egg here or there did little, particularly when he insisted on eating the meat overcooked or fried. But with plentiful fresh meat the chronic
surprised Noice had not contacted him about it yet so that he could start making arrangements. He would, he knew, always resent Captain Bernard for not being able to reach the island the year before. He wanted someone to blame right now, and Bernard seemed the best candidate. He should have tried harder, put forth more effort. But “this does me no good now,” Mr. Knight wrote, “and does not restore our beloved boys nor can we ever right the wrong he has done them and us by his miserable failure.”