FLOATING ICE AND “CHY”
Happy to share his responsibility with the stranger who had been so
providentially sent to their relief, Phil willingly agreed to his
proposal, and ordered the _Chimo_ to be again got under way. The night
was clear, cold, and still; but there was no moon, and its darkness was
only dissipated in a measure by brilliant starlight. This, however,
was sufficient to disclose the outline of the western bank, which the
new pilot kept always in sight. He seemed actually to be able to feel
his way up the mighty river, avoiding false channels and sandbars as
if by instinct, and never hesitating as to which side of an island he
ought to pass. Phil occupied the pilot-house with him, and after a
long silence he exclaimed, admiringly, “You surely must have been a
steamboat man, sir, before you became a missionary.”
“No,” laughed the other, “I never was on a river steamer until I came
out here, though as a boy I did have some experience in running up and
down Lake Champlain, near which I lived.”
“In New York State?” asked Phil.
“No; in Vermont, not very far from Burlington. So, you see, I am a
genuine Yankee.”
“I might have known it,” said Phil, “from your handiness at all sorts
of things. I wonder why it is that, as a rule, the Yankee is such a
Jack-at-all-trades?”
“I suppose it is because he is generally taught by necessity in the
shape of poverty,” replied the missionary; “and even if he were not so
taught at home, he certainly would be out here, where a man must be
able to do nearly everything for himself or leave it undone.”
“Jalap Coombs was a Yankee,” meditated Phil, “that is, when he didn’t
feel that he was a subject, and he could do more kinds of things than
any one I ever knew. How I wish he were with us at this very minute! I
don’t believe we could get into any scrape or trouble that he wouldn’t
manage to get us out of somehow.”
“Is he dead?” asked the missionary.
“No, indeed. That is, I hope not, though he might as well be so far as
we are concerned, for I don’t suppose we shall ever see him again. We
left him on Oonimak Island, Serge and I did, and now I suppose he is in
Sitka or Victoria or San Francisco, or perhaps bound for the other side
of the world.”
Being thus started on the subject of Jalap Coombs, Phil proceeded to
give his new friend an account of their recent adventures in Bering
Sea, and of the prominent part taken in them by the Yankee mate of the
sealer _Seamew_, in all of which the new-comer was deeply interested.
While Phil was in the midst of an account of how Serge obtained fire
from brimstone and feathers, the second mate himself appeared to report
that their stock of fuel was nearly exhausted.
“Then we must stop at Makagamoot for a new supply,” said the missionary
pilot, promptly, “though I fear we may have trouble in getting the
natives to turn out at this time of night; still, with your permission,
Captain Ryder, I think we would better try it.”
“Certainly, sir,” agreed Phil; and so the _Chimo_, being somewhere in
the vicinity of the invisible Eskimo settlement at that very moment,
was headed for the west bank of the river. Her whistle was sounded
vigorously at short intervals, to attract attention, and in a few
minutes her crew had the satisfaction of seeing a glow of fire-light on
the beach not more than a mile ahead. At the same time there came an
ominous crunching of ice, and all hands instantly realized that inshore
the river was already frozen over. The ice was not yet thick enough to
stop them, though it materially impeded their progress; they finally
succeeded in reaching the bank.
At first the few sleepy natives who came, out of curiosity, to witness
the unusual sight of a steamboat at that time of night and thus late
in the season, were disinclined to do any work before morning; but the
appearance among them of the missionary, and a few words from him,
produced a magical change in their attitude. Five minutes later a long
line containing every able-bodied man in the settlement was formed from
the steamer to the wood-pile, and a steady stream of cord-wood sticks,
passed from hand to hand, was flowing aboard.
Within half an hour every inch of wood room was filled, the natives
were made glad by double the pay they had ever received for a similar
amount of work, and the _Chimo_ was backing out of the channel she had
made for herself towards open water.
Only fifteen miles now lay between her and Anvik, and though the night
had grown bitterly cold, her pilot held out hopes that they might still
make the run without being nipped in the rapidly forming ice.
Under every pound of steam that her boiler would bear, the sturdy
little craft quivered to her very keel as she ploughed through the
black waters, grinding the floating ice-cakes beneath her bow, tossing
them to one side, or beating them to fragments with her powerful wheel.
Leaving the missionary alone in the pilot-house, Phil worked with Serge
and Isaac at heaving wood into the roaring furnace. In face of its
fervent heat it was hard for them to realize that the night was cold,
and much less that the mercury stood close to zero.
But the silent figure grasping the frigid spokes up in the pilot-house
knew it, and his anxiety increased with each slow-dragging hour. Was it
indeed too late to reach a safe winter haven? Had he been too officious
and self-confident? He almost feared so, and said as much to Phil when
the young mate came up to inquire how many miles more they had to go.
“Not a bit of it, sir,” cried the lad, with all his old cheery
confidence fully restored. “Why, you not only rescued us from a regular
slough of despond, but from the imminent danger of being frozen in
where we were as well. If you hadn’t come along we should certainly
have stayed there until morning, in which case it is plain enough now
that the _Chimo_ would have gone no farther this winter. Now you have
at least brought us within reach of safety even if we shouldn’t move
another yard, and you have lifted a mighty heavy load of anxiety from
my shoulders, I can tell you. But aren’t we nearly there, sir? It seems
as though we had come fifty miles instead of fifteen since we took on
that wood.”
“Yes, and if it were daylight, which it soon will be, we could see
Anvik now. When we have made a couple more miles I shall head her into
the ice. In the meantime I wish you would ask Serge to make me a pot of
his hottest _chy_, for I am nearly perished with the cold.”
“A pot of what?” asked Phil, thinking he must have misunderstood the
word.
“Of _chy_. Tell him a _chy peet_ is what I want. He will understand.”
“Aye, aye, sir! _Chy_ it is, and you shall have it if there’s a drop to
be found aboard the boat.”
Serge laughed at the order, and hastened to fill it; while Phil
followed him, curious to see what he would make.
“Why, that’s tea you are putting into the pot!” he exclaimed, a few
minutes later.
“Certainly,” replied Serge; “_chy_ is tea, and tea is _chy_, and the
teapot is _chynik_, and _chy peet_ is a lunch of tea and bread. So
there’s a lesson in Russian that I know you won’t forget in a hurry.
Now, if you will carry it up to him I will get back to the furnace
door, for poor Isaac is just about used up.”
So the young captain acted as steward, and then, taking the wheel
while his guest drank cup after cup of the scalding liquid, became
quartermaster, and was finally restored to his original rank by having
the missionary ask his permission to send the _Chimo_ into the ice. “It
may injure the hull somewhat,” he said, “and probably will; but we’ve
either got to risk it or leave her to winter out here in the middle of
the river; for we are abreast of Anvik now. You will see the houses in
a few minutes, for dawn is close at hand.”
“Of course we must put her into the ice, and rush her just as far as
she will go,” answered Phil. “We can afford to damage her hull to a
very considerable extent better than we can afford to leave her out
here to be crushed by the spring break-up of the ice.”
So in the first flush of morning the brave little boat was headed
towards the western bank, and began directly to crash through the thin
ice fringing the channel. For some distance she cut her way as though
it had been so much window-glass; then her progress became slower and
slower, until finally she came to a dead stop, though the big wheel was
still lashing the turbid waters into foam behind her.
“Stop her! Back her! Stop her! Go ahead, full speed!” were the orders
tapped out on the engine-room gong, and rushing at the ice with
gathered headway, the _Chimo_ crashed her way through it for a hundred
yards farther. Again she was backed, and again charged the enemy with
furious impetus. This time the shock was terrific, though she did not
gain more than half the former distance. Again and again was the attack
repeated, until finally she gained barely a length.
With the next shock the steamer climbed the ice, and ran nearly half
her length out of water before the barrier broke with her weight, and
set her once more afloat.
“That’s all,” said Phil, quietly. “We don’t dare try that again. If we
did we’d probably open every seam in her, even if we didn’t break her
back. So that’s all we can do, and here is where the _Chimo_ will have
to lie for the winter. It’s too bad, though, for we aren’t more than a
quarter of a mile from shore.”
“I don’t know about lying here all winter,” replied the missionary. “I
don’t like it myself, and if you would rather have the boat close to
the bank I guess we can manage to put her there.”
“How?” asked Phil.
“You wait here and get breakfast while I go ashore on the ice. I won’t
be gone more than an hour, and when I come back I’ll tell you,” was the
reply. “I shall bring the doctor with me, too.”