boats, on which we might have to depend to escape from this inhospitable
region, were destroyed; a large portion of the fuel, without which we
could not exist, was buried deeply under rocks and snow. As soon as the
men had finished taking their necessary rest, and had breakfasted, all
hands set off to the scene of the disaster to try and recover some of
the stores. On arriving at the spot the task appeared hopeless, so vast
was the mass of ruin which covered them. After exploring the ground and
digging in various spots, in the hope of finding only snow, we were
obliged to return homewards. When Mr. Grummet and I reached our hut, we
found that Sandy Dow was not with us. Mr. Grummet asked when I had last
seen him. I could not tell, but thought that he must have gone into one
of the other huts. We waited dinner for him for some time, but still
he did not appear. At last I offered to run round to the other huts
and enquire. A snow-storm was raging, and I found it no easy matter to
make my way from hut to hut. I did so, however, but no one had seen our
friend. When I went to the captain he said that Dow must have certainly
remained at the cape, and that a party must set off immediately and try
to find him. I smuggled myself in with the party, though the captain was
unwilling to let me go, fearing that I might not be able to endure the
cold and fatigue. Mr. Grummet led the party, and off we set, thinking
that there would be no difficulty in finding the way in spite of the
snow-storm. We went on and on, supposing that we should every instant
arrive at the cape, and that the snow hid it from our view. Still we
did not reach it. At last Mr. Grummet, in a tone of vexation, declared
that he had lost his way. The distance was so short, and we had been
so accustomed to be guided by the high cape ever in view, that we had
come without a compass. The snow came down thicker and thicker, and
the prospect of finding our way appeared more and more hopeless. We
shouted, thinking that we might possibly after all not be far from the
huts, but there was no answer. Mr. Grummet and another officer, who had
guns, fired them off, but no report was heard in return. If we remained
quiet we might be frozen, for the cold was intense, so we pushed on in
the hope that we might before long sight either the huts or the cape.
Some of the men proposed that we should halt, build up a snow-hut, and
shelter ourselves in it till the snow was over, but to this our leader
would not consent. He expressed his belief that the snow might fall for
several days, so that we might be completely covered up and unable to
work our way out of our hut. Besides, we had come to look for Sandy Dow,
and nothing should induce him to give up the search as long as he could
move a foot forward. So on we went; every now and then a gun was fired,
and we all shouted at the top of our voices. We continued this practice,
though with little hope of an answer. We were, therefore, still more
surprised when a shout was heard very like ours, and which came from no
great distance. Again we shouted, and again there was a reply. Was it
only an echo? It was not quite like enough for that. Directly after we
heard a bark, and in a few minutes an Esquimaux, with his seal spear in
his hand and his dog by his side, stood before us. He saluted us in a
friendly manner. To our great satisfaction we found that he could speak a
few words of English. He told us that he knew a ship had been lost, and
that we were in the neighbourhood, but he did not know exactly where we
were located. On our telling him that it was near the cape, he set off
in a perfectly opposite direction to that in which we had been going.
We explained that we were in search of a lost shipmate, and begged him
to help us in our search. To this he at once consented. The snow fell
thicker than ever, still our new friend led on with unwavering steps.
I felt very sad, for I heard Mr. Grummet say that he scarcely expected
to find my friend Sandy alive. An expressive action of the Esquimaux
confirmed this opinion. Still we pushed on; at length the cliff appeared
before us, and as the snow slackened a little, we could discern a figure
seated on a rock and almost bent double, as if to try and avoid the icy
blast. That it was Sandy Dow we had little doubt; we hurried towards him;
we called his name, but he did not look up. Mr. Grummet and others went
up to him and shook him. A low groan was the only sound he uttered. Still
that was sufficient to give us hope that he would recover. Mr. Grummet
poured a few mouthfuls of brandy down his throat, and then two of the
strongest of our party took him between them and hurried him along as
fast as they could go. The great thing was to restore circulation. The
desired effect was produced, and we had the satisfaction of seeing our
friend, under the care of the doctor, himself again. Sandy had stopped
behind to explore, when, the snow coming on, he had been prevented
reaching the hut, but fortunately found his way back again to the cliff.
[Illustration: “We could discern a figure seated on a rock and almost
bent double, as if to try and avoid the icy blast.”—_Page 52._]
Our new friend Upnick told us that he was one of a small party of natives
settled for the winter in a bay about ten miles off, and that he was out
on an expedition to catch seals when he fell in with us. He was a merry,
happy fellow. We wanted him to stop with us, but he replied that he must
go back to his family to supply them with blubber and oil for their
lamps, and that then he would come back to us. Some of our men agreed
to accompany him. When they came back they did not give a very tempting
account of the Esquimaux mode of life. Upnick accompanied them. His
appearance somewhat raised the spirits of our party, which were getting
very low. Our oil was well-nigh expended, and it seemed doubtful whether
our provisions would hold out to the spring. It was also a weary time,
for though our captain and officers did their best to amuse us, we had
but few books, and the weather often kept us for days and days within our
huts. Upnick, however, offered to show us how to catch seals, which would
give us both food and fuel. He went off some distance from the land,
where there was less snow, and his dog hunted about till he found a small
hole. To this hole he said the seals came to breathe; he then told our
men to sit quiet. They had to wait a long time, till a sound of blowing
was heard. Quick as lightning Upnick darted his harpoon down through
the hole. The tightened line showed that it had got hold of something;
he then began to work away with his ice-knife till he had considerably
enlarged the hole, when he drew forth a full-sized seal. He killed three
others in the same way, which he and our men dragged to the huts. We gave
him some coloured pocket handkerchiefs and a hatchet in return. This
afforded, indeed, a seasonable supply of fuel, and we were also very
glad of the flesh for food. It was found, however, that though Upnick
had showed us how to catch the seals, our men could but ill follow out
his lessons. In the first place they had great difficulty in finding the
holes, and when found they were not in time to catch the seals, or did
not hear them blow, or did not properly direct their harpoons.
We had hung up the seals on spars just outside the huts, that we might
chop off as much as we required. We had been for some time asleep one
night, when Dow awoke, saying that he heard a peculiar noise outside. He
instantly jumped up, and slipping on his clothes, ran out with a harpoon
in his hand. He had not been gone long before we heard him shouting for
help. Mr. Grummet had been meantime putting on his clothes, and followed
with a loaded musket. I slipped out after him, when what was my horror
to see Sandy Dow in the embrace of a huge white polar bear! “Fire, fire,
or he will squeeze the breath out of me,” he cried out. Not only was the
monster squeezing poor Sandy, but he was threatening to take a piece out
of his shoulder with his huge jaws. No time was to be lost; Mr. Grummet
advanced cautiously and fired close past Sandy’s head down the animal’s
mouth. Another man came up the next instant with a whale spear, which
he plunged into its side, when the bear, letting go his hold of Sandy,
rolled over, and was very soon dead. The creature had been attracted to
the place by the seals, of which he had already eaten a large piece. He
was welcome to it, considering that his own carcass afforded us many a
welcome meal. We carried Sandy into the hut, for he was very much hurt by
the bear. “It’s an ill wind that blaws naebody guid,” he observed. “If
the bear had na grabbed me, we should have gane without his steaks.”
The supply of fresh meat was very valuable, and restored most of the
invalids to health. Still there was the want of blubber for our lamps.
Upnick, however, on seeing that we could not catch the seals as well
as he did, made a bargain with the captain to act as our hunter. Some
of the men by degrees became more expert, and with his help obtained a
sufficient supply to keep our lamps burning. One day, however, he told us
that he must go away, and, in spite of all the captain’s expostulations,
he took his departure with the treasures he had accumulated, and we
were left to our own resources. Oftentimes we were reduced to a very
sad plight, and to make our oil last longer, we had all to congregate
in two or three huts; this increased the heat certainly, but, as there
was no means of ventilation, it was far from pleasant. Such was the
state of things when Christmas day arrived. Our crew were divided into
two parties; our fare was seals’ blubber, and twenty-five of us were
seated round one oil lamp in a hut about twelve feet in diameter. We
had materials for a plum pudding, but as hot water was too valuable to
throw away we had mixed it porridge fashion: Still we tried to make
ourselves as merry as circumstances would allow. Now and then one of the
party would brave the snow-storm raging outside for the sake of carrying
some amusing message to our friends in the other hut, knowing that we
should get a facetious answer in return. After this, however, matters
grew worse; in vain the best hunters went out to catch seals; not a pint
of oil remained, and even inside our huts we could not have existed
twenty-four hours without the warmth of the lamp. We talked once more
of trying to dig down to our stores, but the crew soon found that their
strength was inadequate to the undertaking. And now that Christmas had
gone by, that time which we had all expected to pass with our families in
comfort and happiness at home, the true horrors of our situation burst on
us. The scurvy, that scourge of mariners, broke out, and several of our
poor fellows could scarcely move hand or foot. All those who could get
out were engaged in seal killing; their success was small, though they
procured just sufficient to keep two and sometimes three lamps burning
at a time. Week after week and month after month passed by, and we began
to fear that we should not escape from our perilous position till late
in the summer, when perhaps some whalers might pass within sight of our
encampment. How many of us might be alive then was the question. Death
had already begun to thin our numbers. One day, Jack and I, who had kept
our health better than any of our shipmates, were amusing ourselves at a
little distance from the hut, when we saw, approaching, several sleighs
drawn by dogs, with an Esquimaux walking before the first to lead the
way. We ran into the hut to announce the coming of the strangers, and
then ran out again to meet them. The first man was Upnick; the next we
took to be an Esquimaux, but a cheery voice in English hailed us, and we
soon found that this was an expedition sent expressly for our relief.
[Illustration]
Upnick, on leaving us, had travelled south, and at length had fallen
in with a whaler, the “Hope,” beset in the ice, but which had received
no damage. She was commanded by a cousin and an old friend of our
worthy captain. He had satisfied himself from Upnick’s account that the
“Grampus” had been lost, and, as soon as he was able to collect some
dog-sleighs, he had sent them off under the command of his son, the
person who had first hailed us, to our relief; he had not forgotten to
send some lime-juice, and potted vegetables, and other anti-scorbutics,
which greatly contributed to the restoration to health of the sick. Some
of our men without hesitation volunteered to remain where they were till
the summer; the rest set out with the captain to join the “Hope,” which,
being nearly full, it was expected would return home early in the summer,
or as soon as she was released from her icy prison.
[Illustration]
We were warmly welcomed on board the “Hope” by Captain Tom Blowhard and
his officers and crew, and soon forgot all the toils and dangers we had
gone through. Many people might have pitied us having to live on board a
whaler frozen up in the ice, but we did not pity ourselves, for, compared
to the life we had so long led, we considered that we fared luxuriously.
Even, however, when the sun shone brightly and the days grew long we were
not free of the ice, and I heard some of the crew remarking that we might
possibly remain beset the whole summer through. The captain replied,
when he heard of this, that if an inch of water was to be seen within
a mile of the ship we would work our way to it. He was as good as his
word, and before long the ice-saws were set to work; and, by hard toil,
often sawing away for a fortnight, we were once more free of the ice and
bounding over the heaving waves on a southerly course. We had still,
however, reminders of the northern latitude in which we were sailing, in
the shape of icebergs, to avoid which, during the night, we had to keep a
very bright look out. One afternoon, dinner just being over when I went
on deck, a very fine one, on which the sun shone brightly, appeared right
ahead. As I stood watching it, the top appeared to be bending forward;
so it was, there it came, the whole mountain mass collapsing in the most
extraordinary manner, till a few fragments alone appeared above the
waters to show where it had been. It was fortunate that we were not close
under it, or we might have been overwhelmed by the ruins.
This was the last among the many providential escapes for which I had to
be thankful during my trip to the North Pole. Three weeks afterwards,
we were gladdening the hearts of our relatives and friends in Hull, and
sending some of the more sensitive into hysterics in consequence of our
sudden re-appearance after they had so long given us up as lost. Terrible
as were our sufferings at times, now that they were over I could look
back at my adventures with pleasure, and never grew weary of benefiting
my friends with the yarn which I have just spun for your amusement.
[Illustration]
A RESCUE IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS.
_By R. M. BALLANTYNE, Author of “The Life-boat;” “A Tale of our Coast
Heroes;” “Silver Lake; or, Lost in the Snow,” &c._
Quito was a young brave of the Tsekanie Indians, one of the tribes which
dwell among the Rocky Mountains of North America.
The squaws said of him that he was tall as the pine tree, gentle as a
woman, yet strong and bold like the grizly bear; and there is no doubt
that much truth lay in what they said, for the young Tsekanie could
throw the spear, hurl the tomahawk, bestride the wild horse, or kill the
buffalo, better than any man in his tribe; although, unlike his brother
braves, he never boasted of his prowess, nor talked big swelling words
of what he would do to his enemies when he got hold of them! In fact,
Quito was unlike a savage in many respects, and very like to a civilized
gentleman in some things; for, notwithstanding his well-known courage and
physical powers, he did not delight in war. He never went on the war-path
except when he believed there was very good reason for so doing. He never
scalped an old man, or a woman, or a child, which is more than could be
said of most of his comrades. It was even said of him that on more than
one occasion he had spared the life and the scalp of a prostrate foe.
On the other hand, Quito was fond of meditation and study. Of course he
did not study printed books, such silently eloquent and sweet companions
being utterly unknown in those far western regions, but he studied the
book of nature, and was wont to say, in a quiet way, that he loved to
look into the works of the Great Manitou, by which term he meant God.
Quito did not say this to everybody, for he was very reserved; he said it
to his wife, whose name in the Indian language was Laughing-eye.
Laughing-eye had a loving and sympathetic heart, and Quito treated her as
an equal, in which respect also he differed widely from his brethren, who
were more or less addicted to beating their wives.
Once Quito went a long journey to the southward, and it so chanced that
he met with a missionary in his travels, who did not miss the opportunity
of telling him of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Among other things, he
learned from this missionary that Christians were usually united in
matrimony by a clergyman, which, the missionary explained, meant a
servant and preacher of the Lord Jesus. Quito had been married in the
regular Indian fashion—that is to say, he had gone to his father-in-law’s
tent, demanded Laughing-eye for his wife, paid down the price required in
the shape of cloth, gums, beads, and trinkets of various kinds, such as
are supplied by fur traders, and then carried her off to his own wigwam.
A strange but strong desire now seized the young Indian to be married
after the Christian manner to Laughing-eye, so he returned to his home in
the Rocky Mountains, resolving to take his wife to the mission-station
without delay.
Quito had a bosom friend, named Bunker, a white man and a hunter. Bunker
might well have been ashamed of his name, as far as sound went, but he
was not. He was proud of it. He was wont to say, sometimes, that “the
Bunkers was comed of a good stock, an’ had bin straight-for’ard hunters
in the Rocky Mountains, off an’ on, for nigh a century, an’ he hoped he
would never disgrace his forefathers.” There was no fear of that, for
Bunker was as sturdy, and honest, and simple-minded a man as ever shot a
grizly bear, or trapped a beaver. He, too, was fond of meditation, and
had great delight in the society of Quito.
On his way home the young Indian met with Bunker, who said he was going
to visit some traps, but that he would follow his friend’s trail the next
day, and might perhaps overtake him before he reached his village.
It was a beautiful autumn evening when Quito approached his mountain
home. Not the finest park of the greatest noble in our land could compare
with the magnificent scenery through which the Indian walked, with his
gun on his shoulder, and his yellow leathern garments—fashioned and
richly wrought by the fingers of Laughing-eye—fluttering with innumerable
fringes and other ornaments in the gentle breeze. His dark eye glanced
from side to side with that sharp restless motion which is peculiar to
red Indians and hunters of the far west, whose lives are passed in the
midst of danger from lurking enemies and wild beasts, but the restless
glance was the result of caution, not of anxiety. Quito’s breast was as
calm and unruffled as the surface of the lakelet along whose margin he
walked, and, although he kept a sharp look-out, from the mere force of
habit, he thought no more of enemies at that time than did the little
birds which twittered in the bushes, unconscious and unmindful of the
hawk and eagle that soared high over head.
There were woods and valleys, through which flowed streams of limpid
water. Here and there were swamps, in which thousands of water-fowl
and frogs filled the air with melody, for the frogs of America are a
musical race, and a certain class of them actually whistle in their
felicity at certain periods of the year; their whistle, however, is only
one intermittent note. Elsewhere undulating plains, or prairies, gave
variety to the scene, and the whole was backed by the lofty, rugged, and
snow-clad peaks of the vast mountain range which runs through the whole
continent from north to south.
On reaching the summit of a hill, on which Quito had often halted when
returning from his frequent hunting expeditions, to gaze in satisfaction
at his village in the far distance, and think of Laughing-eye, a shade of
deep and unmistakeable anxiety crossed his grave features, and instead of
halting, as he was wont to do, he hastened onwards at redoubled speed,
for his eye missed the wreaths of smoke that at other times had curled up
above the trees, and one or two of the wigwams which used to be visible
from that point of view were gone.
The terrible anxiety that filled Quito’s breast was in a short time
changed into fierce despair, when he suddenly turned round the base of a
cliff, behind which his village lay, and beheld his late home a mass of
blackened ruins. Little circles of grey ashes indicated where the tents
had been, and all over the ground were scattered charred bones and masses
of putrefying flesh, which told of ruthless murder.
Savage nature is not like civilized. No sound or word escaped the
desolate Indian, who now knew that he was the last of his race, but
the heaving bosom, the clenched teeth, and compressed lips, the fierce
glittering eye, and the darkly frowning brows, told of a deadly struggle
of anguish and wrath within.
While Quito was still gazing at the dreadful scene, he observed something
move among the bushes near him and darted towards it. It proved to be an
old woman, who was blind and scarcely able to make herself understood.
She was evidently famishing from hunger, so Quito’s first care was to
give her a little of the dried meat which formed his store of provisions.
After she had devoured some of it, and drunk greedily of the water
which he fetched from a neighbouring stream in a cup of birch bark, she
told him that the camp had been suddenly attacked, some days before, by
a war-party of enemies, who had slain all the men and old women, and
carried the young women away into captivity—among them Laughing-eye.
As far as outward appearance went, Quito received the news with calm
indifference, but his subsequent actions told another tale. His first
step was to erect a sort of hut out of the broken fragments of wigwams
that lay around, into which he led the old woman, and placed within her
reach a large vessel of water with a small bark cup. He then gave her
all his provisions, sufficient for more than a week’s consumption, and
told her he would return to her as soon as possible. The poor creature
appeared grateful, and sought to detain him, but this he would not permit
Having learned from her the name of the tribe that attacked the village,
and that she had escaped in the general _mêlée_ by crawling into the
bush, he asked which way their enemies had gone. When she had related
all she had to tell on the subject, Quito left her, and divested himself
of nearly every article of unnecessary costume, placed a tomahawk and
scalping-knife in his girdle, slung a short bow and a quiver of arrows
on his back, and, throwing his gun on his shoulder, prepared to quit the
spot. Before leaving, he kneeled beside the old squaw and said in her
ear:—
“In a day or two Bunker will be here. Tell him I have gone to the west by
the Mustang Valley, and that he must follow my trail quickly.”
The old woman promised to do this, and then Quito took his leave.
For several days he followed up the trail of the retreating Indians with
the perseverance and unerring certainty of a bloodhound. He took so
little rest and went on with such unflagging energy that he gradually
drew near to them, a fact which became evident from the heat that still
remained in the ashes of their camp fires when he came upon them.
At last he reached one of those mighty rivers which traverse the great
continent from west to east. Here he found that his enemies had crossed,
and he prepared to plunge in and swim over, though the current was
turbulent, deep, and broad. Tying his powder in a piece of leather on the
top of his head to keep it dry, he was about to take the water when he
espied an old Indian canoe, and proceeded to examine before launching it.
While thus engaged he was arrested by one of the most astonishing sights
that had ever met his gaze.
Rapidly and perceptibly the great river that rolled before him began
to diminish in volume. Accustomed as he was to all the varying aspects
of lake and stream in their conditions of flood and drought, Quito had
never seen anything at all resembling that which now occurred before
his eyes. His wonted reason and sagacity were at fault; it was utterly
unaccountable!
Naturally his untutored mind began to look upon the phenomenon in a
superstitious light. At first he was alarmed, and sat down to gaze in
silent wonder, while the water continued to sink in its bed, began to
flow sluggishly, then collected into pools, and finally ceased to flow
altogether, leaving the bed of the river quite dry in many places.
After a time it occurred to the Indian that this might be a direct
interposition on the part of the Manitou, to enable him to cross on foot
and pursue his enemies without delay. Full of this idea, Quito rose, and,
with feelings of deep awe, went down the bank of the river and began to
walk across its bed.
He had got about half way over when he was arrested by a peculiar sound,
something like distant thunder but more continuous; he stopped, and
listened intently. He was more perplexed than ever, for no sound of the
wilderness with which he was acquainted at all resembled it; it seemed to
come from the mountains, but a bend in the river concealed the distance
from his view.
The sound increased gradually in strength until it became a continuous
roar, louder than the fiercest gale that ever blew. Quito stood erect and
motionless with eyes and nostrils distended, uncertain what to do, when
suddenly a mighty flood of waters came thundering round the bend of the
river above him. On it came, with deafening clamour, a wall of water full
twenty feet high, tumbling mighty trees and huge stones over its gleaming
crest like playthings, and licking them up again to hurl them on in mad
fury!
Quito bounded across the dry bed of the river for his life, and reached
the opposite bank only a few seconds before the rushing torrent swept by,
leaving a very chaos on its surging breast.
Fetching his breath quickly, the Indian turned and gazed long in solemn
silence at the magnificent scene. Then the thought of Laughing-eye
recurred to him. He turned at once and pursued his way with redoubled
speed.
Only a few miles above this spot he discovered the cause of the
phenomenon he had just witnessed. A land-slip, on an unusually large
scale, had occurred. It had been caused by the water undermining the soil
of a high bank. The half of a huge hill had tumbled into the river and
dammed it across, so that no water could escape. Trees were heaped in
wild confusion—some with their heads in the earth and their roots in the
air; piles of stones and rubbish crushed the shattered limbs, and great
fissures yawned everywhere in the mass.
Ere long the searching water had cut through the obstruction, and,
bursting away in all the strength of its recovered freedom, had produced
the startling results which we have described.
Day after day Quito followed the trail of his enemies, and night after
night he lay down on the hard ground to snatch a couple of hours’ repose
before resuming the chase, regardless of fatigue or cold, for hope
steeled his muscles, and his heart was warmed by love.