HOW JALAP COOMBS GOT HIS NAME
While the lads talked of sea-otters, their companion, who had cleaned
up the dishes by the simple process of sweeping the remains of their
meal into the fire, had been deliberately shaving bits of tobacco
from a plug that had fortunately escaped a wetting, and filling his
beloved pipe. This he had lighted with a live coal deftly picked up in
his callous fingers, and he now sat, surrounded by a halo of fragrant
smoke, blinking in the firelight, a picture of placid content. Seizing
the opportunity of a pause in the conversation he broke in with:
“Sea-otters allers reminds me of old Kite Roberson who once said,
consarning ’em, ‘Jal’――he allers called me ‘Jal,’ short for Jalap, ye
understand――”
“By-the-way,” interrupted Phil, “you promised to tell us how you
happened to have such an outlan――I mean, such a peculiar name.”
“So I did, _and_ so I will. To begin with, I want to say that I don’t
believe as a gineral thing in rebelling again’ the name your parents
have give ye, when like as not they didn’t have nothing else _to_
give. In some cases, though, it’s difficult to become resigned. I’ve
striv faithful to get reconciled to Jalap, without getting an inch
nearer to it to-day than I was when I fust realized what a heathenish
hail it war. Being the youngest of thirteen boys, and my father allers
hankering fur a gal baby, I was naturally a turrible disappointment
to him, in addition to being a mortal ugly young duffer to look at.
Seeing he was about run out of Scripter names for boys, my father was
hard put to it to know what to call me, and as christening day drew
nigh he was in a wuss quandary than ever.
“’Bout this time old Kite Roberson――he was young Kite then――came back
from his fust v’y’ge, which he had been four years arter whales in the
South Pacific. Now in my town and his’n mussels, such as you two was
eating just now, was plenty, and the boys uster have mussel roasts as a
reg’lar thing. Kite was mortal fond of ’em, and seeing as he hadn’t had
none in four years, made up his mind the fust thing when he got back
to have the biggest kind of a mussel roast. And so he did. From all
accounts he must have et nigh onto a bushel, and naturally they made
him so sick that he like to ha’ died. Now old Mis’ Roberson, Kite’s ma,
was a master-hand at doctorin’, and what she doctored with mostly was
jalap. Of course she give this to Kite, and stood over him while he
swallowed it, till he didn’t know which was wust, it or dying.
“Fust time he got round he come over to our house, we being neighbors,
to see me, which he hadn’t ever sot eyes on me afore. My father fetched
me out, and says, referring to me, ye understand, ‘He ain’t no beauty,
is he?’
“‘No,’ says Kite, who was allers plain-spoken, ‘he ain’t, for a fact;
and to tell ye the truth, Mr. Coombs, I can’t think of anything he
favors so much as he does a dose of jalap.’
“‘Jalap,’ says my father, meditating and turning of the word over in
his mouth――‘jalap. It’s bitter but wholesome, and as he’s the dose I’ve
got to take whether or no, I’ll call him Jalap, and done with it.’
“He kep’ his word, and that’s how I come to be sot agin mussels.”
“I declare! I don’t blame you, Mr. Coombs,” said Phil, laughing at this
quaint bit of family history; “and if I had been in your place I would
have had it changed as soon as I grew up.”
“No,” said the mate, decidedly, “that wouldn’t have done, ’cause, you
see, it were all owing to the name, for which Kite naturally felt
responserble, that he come to be so friendly with me. Sorter trying to
make up for what he’d did, ye understand; and his friendship, he being
a powerful smart man, made me what I be.”
Phil wanted to laugh again at the evident pride with which the mate of
the _Seamew_ regarded his station in life, but realizing that it would
be very rude, hastily changed the subject by inquiring: “By-the-way,
Mr. Coombs, how soon do you think we shall be obliged to leave this
island? If it wasn’t for my poor father’s anxiety I should like to stay
here a month. You see, after what Serge has told me, I find there are
ever so many things here that I want to see. In fact, I feel as if I
must see a sea-otter. That is,” he added, mischievously, “it seems as
if a sea-otter was the one thing I otter see.”
“Hey?” ejaculated the mate, taking his pipe from his mouth and gazing
at Phil as though he feared something had gone wrong with the lad.
Then, as a twinkle in the other’s eye betrayed him, he exclaimed: “Get
along, ye young villain! We’ll stay here long enough to let you see all
you want of this island, and more too, ef I’m not mightily mistaken in
the weather. And now ye’d best follow your chum’s example and turn in,
for ef ye ain’t sleepy, ye ought to be arter the day we’ve had and the
to-morrows that is a-coming.”
So the three castaways on that desolate northern island slept on their
mossy couch as soundly and peacefully as though in their bunks on board
the _Seamew_ or in the beds of their distant homes. All night long the
wind howled about the stout walls of their shelter, the rain beat on
the canvas roof above them, and a mighty roar from the sea filled the
air; but none of these things disturbed them, and not until long after
daylight did one of them awake.
For a solid week did the tempest rage with unabated fury, and long
before the end of that time they were wearied almost beyond endurance
with their enforced inaction and monotonous diet. To Phil in particular
did the salmon and crabs, that he had thought so good on that first
night, grow so distasteful that it became almost impossible for him to
swallow the hated food.
During those seven long, weary days they only left the hut when forced
to do so to obtain food, wood, or water. Serge went as far as the wreck
of their boat, where he obtained several oak ribs and half a dozen
nails. The latter were ground, or, rather, rubbed down to sharp points
by his companions, while he busied himself in cutting out two of the
great clumsy-looking wooden halibut-hooks, such as are used by the
Indians about Sitka, and specimens of which are brought from there by
every Alaskan tourist. At the proper point in each of these he inserted
one of the sharpened nails, and Jalap Coombs lashed them solidly into
place with bits of twine.
Phil ridiculed these, and said that any fish stupid enough to be hooked
by them deserved to be caught; but Serge only smiled the superior smile
of one who knows, and answered: “All right, we’ll see!”
When the gale finally blew itself out Phil did see, and marvelled at
the facility with which codfish and flounders were caught by these same
despised wooden hooks, which he was forced to admit were as deadly as
the finest sproats or Limerick bends he had ever used.
One morning, at the beginning of their second week of captivity,
the castaways were awakened by a burst of sunshine, and sprang from
their couch of moss to be greeted by as glorious a July day as any of
them had ever seen. It was made up of sunshine, blue sky, a dimpled
landscape of plain, foot-hill, and snow-capped mountains all glowing
with the yellows, reds, purples, and greens of mosses, lichens, and
volcanic cliffs. Above all, Shishaldin reared his lofty crest that his
filmy smoke-plumes might stream out bravely in the crisp morning breeze.
During the week just past our friends had discussed over and over again
their plans for the future, and had decided that the first thing was
to attract the attention of some passing vessel that might be induced
to take them and their seal-skins to Oonalaska. This place, although
lying many miles to the westward, was the nearest settlement and
trading-post, and also the point of departure for the monthly steamer
to Sitka. At Oonalaska they would dispose of their furs. Phil and Serge
would engage passage for the destination they so longed to reach, and
Jalap Coombs’s future would be laid out according to circumstances. But
first they must catch their schooner.
As vessels were more likely to be seen on the Pacific than on the
Bering Sea side of the island, they decided first of all to climb a
very considerable elevation that rose almost directly from Krenitzin
Strait, and a couple of miles south of their camp. From this they hoped
to see both waters. During their walk they caught glimpses of several
small bands of caribou, and of one or two distant moving objects that
Phil was certain must be bear. Never had he wished for a rifle so much
as now. Venison and bear meat! How good either or both of them would
taste! How he hated fish and longed for meat! But there was probably no
gun of any kind within a hundred miles of him save those that he knew
of at the bottom of the sea; so what was the good of wishing for one?
They were disappointed to find that the Pacific was hidden from the
elevation they ascended by another rising beyond it. As they descended
into the valley between the two, with the intention of climbing the
second hill, they were startled by the ringing report of a rifle-shot.
A moment later three caribou came flying up the valley with the speed
of the wind, rushed past them so close that they involuntarily stepped
back for fear of being trampled underfoot, and disappeared. A fourth
who was lagging behind, evidently wounded, stumbled, and halted but
a short distance from them. Ere he could resume his flight, a second
shot, still from some unseen source, stretched him dead at their feet.