CAST ADRIFT
There was a shallow space beneath a tray of color-tubes in the very
bottom of Marian's paint-box. There, on leaving Cape Prince of Wales,
she had stowed the blue envelope addressed to Phi Beta Ki. She had not
done this without misgivings. Disturbing thoughts had come to her.
Was it the right thing to do? Was it safe? The latter question had
come to her with great force when she saw the grizzled miner's face
framed in the porthole of that schooner.
But from the day they landed at Whaling, on the mainland of Siberia,
all thoughts of the letter and the two claimants for its possession
were completely crowded from her mind.
Never in all her adventurous life had Marian experienced anything quite
so thrilling as this life with the Chukches of the Arctic coast of
Siberia.
In Alaska the natives had had missionaries and teachers among them for
thirty years. They had been Americanized and, in a sense,
Christianized. The development of large mining centers to which they
journeyed every summer to beg and barter had tended to rob them of the
romantic wildness of their existence. But here, here where no
missionaries had been allowed nor teachers been sent, where gold
gleamed still ungathered in the beds of the rivers, here the natives
still dwelt in their dome-like houses of poles and skins. Here they
fared boldly forth in search of the dangerous walrus and white bear and
the monstrous whale. Here they made strange fire to the spirits of the
monsters they had slaughtered, and spoke in grave tones of the great
spirit that had come down from the moon in the form of a raven with a
beak of old ivory.
It is little wonder that Marian forgot all thought of fear amid such
surroundings, as she worked industriously at the sketches which were to
furnish her with three years of wonderful study under great masters.
But one day, after six weeks of veritable dream life, as she lifted the
tray to her paint-box her eyes fell on that blue envelope. Instantly a
flood of remembrance rushed through her mind; the frank-faced college
boy, the angry miner, old Rover, the dog, who, sleek and fat on whale
meat, lay curled up beside her, then again the grizzled face of the
miner framed in a port-hole; all these passed before her mind's vision
and left her chilled.
Her hand trembled. She could not control her brush. The sketch of two
native women in deerskin unionsuits, their brown shoulders bared,
working at the task of splitting walrus skins, went unfinished while
she took a long walk down the beach.
That very evening she had news that caused her blood to chill again. A
native had come from East Cape, the next village to the south. He had
seen a white man there, a full-bearded man of middle age. He had said
that he intended coming to Whaling in a few days. He had posed among
the natives as a spirit-doctor and had, according to reports, worked
many wonderful cures by his incantations. Three whales had come into
the hands of the East Cape hunters. This was an excellent catch and
had been taken as a good omen; the bearded stranger was doubtless
highly favored by the spirits of dead whales.
"I wish our skin-boat would come for us," said Lucile suddenly, as they
talked of it in the privacy of their tent.
"But it won't, not for three weeks yet. That was the agreement."
"I know."
"And we haven't a wireless to call them with. Besides, my sketches are
not nearly complete."
"I know," said Lucile, her chin in her hands. "But, all the same, that
man makes me afraid."
"Well, I'll hurry my sketches, but that won't bring the boat any
sooner."
Had Marian known the time she would have for sketching, she might not
have done them so rapidly. As it was, she worked the whole long
eighteen-hour days through.
In the meantime, chill winds began sweeping down from the north. Still
the bearded white man did not come to Whaling, but every day brought
fresh reports of the good fortune of the people of East Cape. They had
captured a fourth whale, then a fifth. Their food for the winter was
secured. Whale meat was excellent food. They would have an abundance
of whale-bone to trade for flour, sugar and tea.
But if the East Capers were favored, the men of Whaling were not. One
lone whale, and that a small one, was their total take. Witch-doctors
began declaring that the presence of strange, white-faced women in
their midst was displeasing to the spirits of dead whales. The making
of the images of the people on canvas was also sure to bring disaster.
As reports of this dissatisfaction came to the ears of the girls, they
began straining their eyes for a square sail on the horizon. Still
their boat did not come.
Then came the crowning disaster of the year. The walrus herd, on which
the natives based their last hope, passed south along the coast of
Alaska instead of Siberia. Their caches were left empty. Only the
winter's supply of white bear and seal could save them from starvation.
"Dezra! Dezra!" (It is enough!) the natives whispered among themselves.
The day after the return of the walrus canoes Marian and Lucile went
for a long walk down the beach.
Upon rounding a point in returning Marian suddenly gave a gasp. "Look,
Lucile! It's gone--our tent!"
"Gone!" exclaimed Lucile unbelievingly.
"I wonder what--"
"Look, Marian; the whole village!"
"Let's run."
"Where to? We'd starve in two days, or freeze. Come on. They won't
hurt us."
With anxious hearts and trembling footsteps they approached the solid
line of fur-clad figures which stretched along the southern outskirts
of the village.
As they came close they heard one word repeated over and over: "Dezra!
Dezra!" (Enough! Enough!)
And as the natives almost chanted this single word, they pointed to a
sled on which the girls' belongings had been neatly packed. To the
sled three dogs were hitched, two young wolf-hounds with Rover as
leader.
"They want us to go," whispered Lucile.
"Yes, and where shall we go?"
"East Cape is the only place."
"And that miner?"
"It may not be he."
Three times Marian tried to press her way through the line. Each time
the line grew more dense at the point she approached. Not a hand was
laid upon her; she could not go through, that was all. The situation
thrilled as much as it troubled her. Here was a people kind at heart
but superstitious. They believed that their very existence depended
upon getting these two strangers from their midst. What was there to
do but go?
They went, and all through the night they assisted the little dog-team
to drag the heavy load over the first thin snow of autumn. Over and
over again Marian blessed the day she had been kind to old Rover
because he was a white man's dog, for he was the pluckiest puller of
them all.
Just as dawn streaked the east they came in sight of what appeared to
be a rude shack built of boards. As they came closer they could see
that some of the boards had been painted and some had not. Some were
painted halfway across, and some only in patches of a foot or two.
They had been hastily thrown together. The whole effect, viewed at a
distance, resembled nothing so much as a crazy-quilt.
"Must have been built from the wreckage of a house," said Lucile.
"Yes, or a boat."
"A boat? Yes, look; there it is out there, quite a large one. It's
stranded on the sandbar and half broken up."
The girls paused in consternation. It seemed they were hedged in on
all sides by perils. To go back was impossible. To go forward was to
throw themselves upon the mercies of a gang of rough seamen. To pass
around the cabin was only to face the bearded stranger, who, they had
reason to believe, was none other than the man who had demanded the
blue envelope.
A few minutes' debate brought them to a decision. They would go
straight on to the cabin.
"Mush, Rover! Mush!" Marian threw her tired shoulders into the
improvised harness, and once more they moved slowly forward.
It was with wildly beating hearts that they eventually rounded the
corner of the cabin and came to a stand by the door. At once an
exclamation escaped their lips:
"Empty! Deserted!"
And so it proved. Snow that had fallen two days before lay piled
within the half-open doorway. No sign of occupation was to be found
within save a great rusty galley range, two rickety chairs, an
improvised table, two rusty kettles and a huge frying-pan.
"They have given the ship up as a total loss, and have left in dories
or skin-boats," said Marian.
"Yes," agreed Lucile. "Wanted to get across the Straits before the
coming of the White Line."
The "coming of the White Line." Marian started. She knew what that
meant far better than Lucile did. She had lived in Alaska longer, had
seen it oftener. Now she thought what it would mean to them if it came
before the skin-boat came for them. And that skin-boat? What would
happen when it came to Whaling? Would the Chukches tell them in which
direction they had gone? And if they did, would the Eskimo boatmen set
their sail and go directly to East Cape? If they did, would they miss
this diminutive cabin standing back as it did from the shore, and
seeming but a part of the sandbar?
"We'll put up a white flag, a skirt or something, on the peak of the
cabin," she said, half talking to herself.
"Do you think we ought to go right on to East Cape?" said Lucile.
"We can't decide that now," said Marian. "We need food and sleep and
the dogs need rest."
Some broken pieces of drift were piled outside the cabin. These made a
ready fire. They were soon enjoying a feast of fried fish and canned
baked beans. Then, with their water-soaked mucklucks (skin-boots) and
stockings hanging by the fire, they threw deerskin on the rude bunk
attached to the wall and were soon fast asleep.
Out on the wreck, some two hundred yards from shore, a figure emerged
from a small cabin aft. The stern of the ship had been carried
completely about by the violence of the waves. It had left this little
cabin, formerly the wireless cabin, high and dry.
The person came out upon the deck and scanned the horizon. Suddenly
his eyes fell upon the cabin and the strange white signal which the
girls had set fluttering there before they went to sleep.
Sliding a native skin-kiak down from the deck, he launched it, then
leaping into the narrow seat, began paddling rapidly toward land.
Having beached his kiak, he hurried toward the cabin. His hand was on
the latch, when he chanced to glance up at the white emblem of distress
which floated over his head.
His hand dropped to his side; his mouth flew open. An expression of
amazement spread over his face.
"Jumpin' Jupiter!" he muttered beneath his breath.
He beat a hasty retreat. Once in his kiak he made double time back to
the wreck.
Marian was the first to awaken in the cabin. By the dull light that
shone through the cracks, she could tell that it was growing dark.
Springing from her bunk, she put her hand to the latch. Hardly had she
done this than the door flew open with a force that threw her back
against the opposite wall. Fine particles of snow cut her face. The
wind set every loose thing in the cabin bobbing and fluttering. The
skirt they had attached to a stout pole as a signal was booming
overhead like a gun.
"Wow! A blizzard!" she groaned.
Seizing the door, she attempted to close it.
Twice the violence of the storm threw her back.
When at last her efforts had been rewarded with success, she turned to
rouse her companion.
"Lucile! Lucile! Wake up? A blizzard!"
Lucile turned over and groaned. Then she opened her eyes.
"Wha--wha--" she droned sleepily.
"A blizzard! A blizzard from the north!"
Lucile sat up quickly.
"From the north!" she exclaimed, fully awake in an instant. "The ice?"
"Perhaps."
"And if it comes?"
"We're stuck, that's all, in Siberia for nine months. Won't dare try
to cross the Straits on the ice. No white man has ever done it, let
alone a woman. Well," she smiled, "we've got food for five days, and
five days is a long time. We'd better try to bring in some wood, and
get the dogs in here; they'd freeze out there."