THE “CHIMO” GOES INTO WINTER-QUARTERS
While Phil watched the departing missionary, who was making his way
cautiously over the newly-formed ice, the late-rising sun appeared
above the southeastern horizon, gilding a cross surmounting the tower
of a little log-church pleasantly located on a high bluff. Back of
it rose the dark-green wall of a spruce forest, while about it were
clustered a number of low but very substantial and comfortable-looking
log-houses. Near the beach at the foot of the bluff stood an Indian
village of huts whose roofs bristled with poles. In each one was left
a square hole for the egress of smoke from the open fire built on an
earthen floor beneath.
Scattered about in picturesque but hopeless confusion were long ranges
of pole frames for drying fish, many little log-houses mounted on
stilts and looking like dove-cots, the use of which Phil could not
imagine, fish-traps, boats, sledges, and everywhere dozens of yelping,
prowling, fighting, or sleeping dogs. Besides these things Phil could
see what appeared to be the black chimney-stack of some kind of a mill.
Suddenly a flag was run to the top of a tall pole on top of the bluff,
and as the Stars and Stripes streamed out bravely in the cold wind
a rattling volley of musketry rang forth its loud note of welcome
from the Indian village. To this Phil responded by a vigorous salute
from the _Chimo’s_ whistle. Then, so utterly weary from overwork,
excitement, and loss of sleep that merely to move required a strong
effort of will, he left the pilot-house and went below. He found Serge
at the captain’s bedside administering a bowl of broth and telling the
sick man of the events of the night.
As Phil entered, Gerald Hamer’s eyes rested on him with such an
expression of gratitude as the former will never forget. “I thank you
two boys,” he said, weakly, “more than I can ever tell. To you I owe
not only my life, but whatever it holds of value, and――” Here his voice
failed him, and Serge bade him not to attempt another word.
“No, indeed,” added Phil, “for you don’t owe us one cent’s worth of
thanks, Mr. Hamer. To the end of our lives we shall always be in your
debt, and in bringing you up the river to this point we have used your
boat to bring ourselves as well. So――well, that’s all there is to
it, anyway; and now if you will only hurry up and get well we shall
appreciate that more than all the thanks in the world.”
Then Serge left, and Phil, slipping into his vacated chair, almost
instantly fell into a sleep so profound that it is doubtful if a boiler
explosion or an earthquake could have aroused him.
An hour or so later he was in the midst of a very perplexing dream, in
which he seemed to be recovering from an illness, and the old family
physician at his bedside kept changing into a young woman. While in
the form of an old man he said, “Yes, there are the two captains, both
evidently sound asleep, and no wonder. This is Captain Hamer, who would
have died long ago but for the devoted care of the two lads, and this
is Captain Ryder, who brought the boat up the river in the face of all
obstacles.”
Then, presto! the old doctor changed into a young woman, who said,
“Poor boy, I don’t wonder that he has fallen asleep, and I only hope he
isn’t in for a spell of illness. He certainly appears feverish.”
With this a soft hand was laid on Phil’s forehead, and he opened his
eyes to find his dream so far a reality that there actually was a young
woman bending over him, and wearing an expression of anxiety on her
pleasant face. Behind her stood the missionary.
She stepped back as she saw that Phil was awake, and the poor boy,
recalling vividly his dishevelled appearance, struggled to his feet
with a crimson face.
“I didn’t know you were going to bring ladies to see us,” he said in a
reproachful tone to his companion of the night. “In fact, I didn’t know
there was a lady within a thousand miles of here. I’m sure you didn’t
mention the fact. You only said you were going to fetch the doctor.”
“And so I have,” laughed the missionary, “for this young lady is our
doctor, and a most excellent one she is, too, I can assure you. She was
just saying that you didn’t look at all well, and wondering if you were
going to have the measles.”
[Illustration: ARRIVAL OF THE DOCTOR]
“I had ’em long ago,” answered the lad, “and I never felt better in my
life. I was a bit sleepy.”
“Which isn’t surprising after all you have recently undergone,”
remarked the doctor, with a winning smile that served to establish
friendly relations between them at once. “You see, we have already
heard of your brave struggle against our unruly river, and that you may
be prepared for them I will tell you at once that there are two more
ladies at the station who are quite anxious to meet the hero of so many
adventures.”
“Oh!” gasped poor Phil, who had never before been called a hero.
“Yes, but you needn’t look so alarmed. They aren’t half so formidable
as I am, for they haven’t the privilege of ordering people to do
things that I obtained with my diploma.”
“Are you going to order me to do things?” asked Phil, with recovered
self-possession.
“Indeed I am; for as a doctor I dare issue orders even to a steamboat
captain,” laughed the young woman. “I am going to order you to take
sleep in big doses. It is a famous remedy in this country, for our
nights are already seventeen hours long, and steadily lengthening. But,
joking aside, I want to congratulate you, Mr. Ryder, on your skilful
care of this patient, whose life has been undoubtedly saved by your
success in keeping him warm. Although he is still a very sick man, I
believe the crisis is past, and that with the nursing he can have on
shore he will pull through all right.”
“I’m awfully glad to hear it,” said Phil, “but I’m puzzled to know how
we are to get him ashore. I shouldn’t think it would do to carry him
over the ice in the face of the wind that is blowing.”
“No, indeed,” replied the doctor.
“So we have made arrangements to carry him in this very boat,” said the
missionary, “and if you care to step outside for a moment you can see
how we propose to accomplish it.”
Phil had been wondering at the sound of many voices and busy labor
that came from without, but as he gained the deck he comprehended the
missionary’s plan at a glance. Some fifty native men and boys, directed
by a white man, were hard at work with axes, ice-chisels, poles, and
other implements opening a channel the full width of the _Chimo_ from
where she lay to the shore. As fast as a cake was loosened it was
shoved under the solid ice on the down-stream side, and already a
passage was opened for one-third of the distance.
“That is a capital idea!” exclaimed Phil, “and one that I don’t believe
I should have thought of. Even if I had I am afraid we couldn’t have
carried it out by ourselves, nor do I believe we could have induced
those natives to work for us as they seem willing to do for you.”
“Perhaps not,” replied the missionary; “but I think they are fond of
me, for when I explained to them how much I owed to my timely meeting
with you last evening they seemed only too glad of a chance to return
the favor.”
“I didn’t realize that you owed anything to us,” meditated Phil. “In
fact, I thought we had been indebted to you for favors ever since our
fortunate meeting. But it seems as though most every one was in debt to
some one else for assistance in times of trouble.”
“Ah, my boy,” replied the missionary, “that is one of the fundamental
principles of human life. From the moment we enter this world until
we leave it we are dependent upon others for everything we possess,
including life itself. Wherefore it becomes us to render unto our
fellows such services as we may, promptly and cheerfully. But here
comes Serge, and I am sure he is going to say that breakfast is ready.”
“Yes,” laughed Serge, “I am, and I should have said it long ago only
Phil was so sound asleep that I couldn’t wake him without disturbing
the captain. But now, if he is hungry――”
“If I am hungry!” cried Phil. “I honestly believe it was only my
ravenous hunger that put me to sleep. Will you join us, sir?”
“I was only waiting for an invitation,” replied the missionary, with a
smile, “for I didn’t stop ashore long enough to get anything to eat.
Nor do I believe the doctor has had her breakfast; so if Serge doesn’t
mind having a lady at his table――”
“A lady?” stammered Serge, in dismay, and gazing wildly about him. “Is
there one on board?”
“There certainly is,” laughed the missionary, “and from what she has
heard of your culinary skill she is most anxious to test it.”
A minute later they were all gathered about the _Chimo’s_ mess-table,
and the doctor was winning golden opinions by her judiciously bestowed
compliments. Even gruff Mr. Sims was induced to smile by her praise
of his polished engine, which she declared outshone any yet seen on
the Yukon; while Isaac was told that the mission saw-mill was so
frightfully out of order that the man of all men most needed there at
that moment was a millwright.
The pleasant meal was hardly finished when a great shout from outside
announced the completion of the canal. Then, with Phil at the wheel,
while the missionary and the doctor occupied the pilot-house with him,
and with flags at half-mast for the dead man in her cabin, the stanch
little _Chimo_ steamed slowly up the narrow channel to the berth she
was to occupy for the next eight months. As she reached it the mission
flag was dipped in salute, and then hoisted to half-mast in sympathy
with her sorrow.
So the eventful voyage of four hundred miles from St. Michaels was
ended; and, thanks to the lads whom Gerald Hamer had rescued from the
cruel waters of Bering Sea, he and his property were now moored in a
safe haven. And it was none too soon, for that very night the cold was
so intense that the Yukon was frozen from bank to bank.
But Phil did not care, nor did Serge. They had reached the goal towards
which they had set their faces with such sturdy determination, and for
them neither cold nor storm had any present terrors.