UNAVIK SPINS A YARN
Many days had passed since the boys’ first walrus hunt. They had learned
much by experience and had killed many of the enormous ugly creatures
without mishap. They had retained the skull of that first huge bull as
a trophy, and no walrus taken since had approached it in the length
and beauty of the perfectly matched and pointed tusks. Tom, to his
unspeakable delight, had been made boat steerer and had been assigned to
the same craft in which they had battled with the walrus and Jim, not to
be outdone, had bent every energy to acquiring skill in using the harpoon
and lance.
In this Cap’n Pem had played an important part, and finding the regular
irons far too heavy for the boy, he had had the blacksmith fashion some
special lighter weapons for Jim’s private use. Jim was as proud as a
peacock of these and kept them, sharpened to a razor edge and carefully
sheathed and greased, in the bow of the boat. And when, one day, two
white whales were sighted and Tom’s boat drew into one of the creatures,
and Jim had his first chance to test his skill, he was trembling with
excitement.
Standing in the bow, bracing himself in the knee cleat, the boy raised
his iron, and as the huge beluga broke water close by, he heaved the
iron with all his strength. A roar of approval came booming across the
waves from Cap’n Pem as the weapon struck fair and buried itself in the
white whale’s back. All by themselves the boys and their crew played the
stricken creature and by Tom’s orders the men worked as the line was
hauled or slackened. When at last the white whale lay tired upon the sea,
the boat drew close, and Jim killed the beluga with a single stroke of
his lance. Then indeed, the two boys felt that they were full-fledged
whalemen and they longed for the time when they could go on a real whale,
a bowhead, and fight the thrilling, exciting, dangerous battle with a
monster of the deep and bring him “fin up” unaided.
But no bowheads were seen, and the boys were forced to content themselves
with lesser game. They had learned to handle the kayaks, and under
Unavik’s tutelage they had become quite expert with the ticklish
skin-covered craft. Often they had paddled ashore and, armed with rifle
and shotgun, had gone hunting in the rocky hills or over the tundra, but
they had seen neither bear, musk ox, reindeer, or other large game. But
they invariably returned with full bags, for ducks, plover, geese and
swan, as well as the big Arctic hares, were everywhere, and those on the
_Narwhal_ never suffered for lack of fresh meat. Once too, Jim had spied
a grayish shape skulking along a hollow several hundred yards away and
taking careful aim had brought it down at his first shot.
“Gee, I guess it’s some Eskimo’s dog!” he exclaimed when the two boys
reached the creature and saw a gaunt, pale, grayish yellow, doglike
animal lying among the rocks and sparse grass.
“Well it’s got a good hide anyway,” said Tom. “We’ll skin it and take it
along. It’ll make a nice rug when we get home.”
But when, on reaching the schooner, they exhibited the skin, and Mr.
Kemp told them they had killed a huge wolf, the boys fairly gasped with
astonishment and then danced and yelled with delight.
Another time, Tom had killed a beautiful blue fox as the creature raced
away from a half-devoured young Canada goose, and in a pen on the forward
deck, they had a miniature menagerie of young ducks, geese, swans, gulls,
and other birds.
It was now late summer and the young birds of the year were able to take
care of themselves, but when the boys had first gone ashore on their
hunts, ducks, geese, and other wild fowl were nesting by thousands in
every hollow and swale.
It was on their first trip that Jim had an amusing experience, and for
months afterwards Tom and the ship’s officers never ceased teasing him
about it. The two boys were strolling across a little vale, a spot
carpeted with deep reindeer moss and stunted bushes, when, from almost
under Jim’s feet, a duck fluttered away apparently unable to take wing.
Leaping forward to grasp it Jim’s foot tripped and he plunged headlong
into the bushes. There was a crunching crash beneath him and, as he
regained his feet, Tom fairly doubled up with uncontrollable laughter.
From chest to waist Jim was drenched with a sticky yellow mass dotted
with broken and crushed bluish egg shells. He had fallen squarely upon
the duck’s nest!
“Oh you _are_ a sight!” choked Tom. “Gosh, you certainly did find that
nest, Jim!”
Jim looked ruefully at the dripping mess and without a smile exclaimed:
“Gee, I like eggs, but I don’t like ’em scrambled that way!”
The story was too good to keep, and whenever eggs were served thereafter
some one would invariably ask Jim if he’d have his scrambled.
At last the signs of approaching autumn warned Captain Edwards that
they must leave the shores of Baffin Island and speed southward to
Hudson Straits and winter quarters in Hudson Bay. Long strings of swans
and great V-shaped flocks of geese passed daily across the sky, headed
south. The vast rafts of ducks became uneasy. The Old Squaws whistled
querulously, the eiders swam restlessly about, buffle heads and teal
winged swiftly back and forth, and the blackheads darkened the sky
with their veering, ever-turning flocks. The plover lost their black
waistcoats and took on silvery white ones; the snow bunting became gray
and white; the ptarmigan were dotted with white feathers among their soft
brown plumage and the Arctic hares grew paler and paler as they gradually
assumed their winter coats to match the spotless snow. The days grew
shorter, the sun disappeared below the horizon, and the Aurora glowed and
flashed and scintillated in tongues and bands of lambent hues across the
zenith. The wind was chill with the feel of frost and ice as it swept
across the land which now showed hardly a tint of green or a speck of the
scarlet, blue and yellow that had formerly decked the hillsides.
So, with many casks of oils, great piles of walrus hides, bundles of
sealskins, sacks stuffed full of eider feathers, and many hundred pounds
of walrus ivory in her hold, the _Narwhal_ picked and felt her way out
through the leads among the ice pack and into the broad waters of Baffin
Bay. To the strong and biting wind her sails were spread, and across the
short sharp waves with their spiteful hissing caps of foam, the schooner
plunged towards Disko Bay. Here the Eskimos were landed laden with axes,
powder and lead, cloth, brass, and gee-gaws as their wages. Then with
yards braced sharp up and sheets close hauled, the _Narwhal_ buried
her blunt nose deep in the tumbling foam, and with lee rail awash sped
southward for the entrance to Hudson Straits.
Twice bowheads were sighted and boats lowered; but to the boys’ chagrin
and disappointment, Captain Edwards absolutely refused to let them go
in on the giant creatures without an experienced man in charge, for the
weather was squally, swirling flakes of snow fell now and then, the sea
was rough and time was precious.
At last, the entrance to the Straits was reached. Passing Resolution
Island close to windward and with a fair wind, the _Narwhal_ sped
through. Slipping swiftly past Coats Island and through the narrow
Fisher Strait with big Southampton Island on the north, she headed for
Rowe’s Welcome, where Captain Edwards planned to pass the long and dreary
Arctic winter.
“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom as the boys gazed across the vast expanse of the
bay. “This is like the ocean. I thought Hudson Bay was just like a big
lake.”
Captain Edwards chuckled. “Mighty big lake!” he laughed. “About six
hundred miles wide and a thousand miles long—big enough to drop all
New England into it and just make a little island about the size of
Southampton yonder. And did you know we could go on sailing and come out
over north’ard of Alaska—that is, if the ice’d let us?”
“No, I never did,” admitted Tom. “I wish geographies taught us all these
things. We learn that Lake Superior is awfully big but they never say
much about these out-of-the-way places.”
“Well, Superior’s a pretty sizable pond,” declared the skipper. “But it’s
just a puddle ’longside this bay. Why, from James Bay to the north’ard
point of Melville Peninsula’s as far as acrost the Atlantic at the mouth
of the St. Lawrence; and from Nottingham Island at the end of the Straits
to the Seal River, t’other side of the bay, it’s as far as from New York
to Chicago.”
“Whew, I guess I’ll have to remember that and tell the boys at home,”
said Jim. “Are there whales in here?”
“Whales!” exclaimed the skipper. “One of the best grounds I know. If this
weather holds out we’ll get a heap of ile afore ice begins to make.”
Cap’n Pem who stood near shook his head dolefully. “Too consarned good
fer to las’,” he declared. “Li’ble to come down a rip-snortin’ mos’ anny
minnet. Storm breeder’s what I calls it. Yes, sir. Feels like summer now,
but I’ll bet ye we ketch it afore we git to the Welcome.”
It was, as the old whaleman said, “too good to last”—a soft, warm day
with a blue sky, a calm sea barely ruffled by the light southerly wind,
and altogether like an Indian Summer day in New England. But to the
experienced eye of the old whaleman there were many signs that the
weather would not last and that something was wrong. The ducks, that had
been winging southward, huddled together, raised their heads uneasily and
gabbled ceaselessly. The V-shaped flocks of geese were mere specks in
the sky, and their hoarse honks came faintly through the air. The gulls
uttered raucous cries and wheeled and screamed. Little knots of auks and
guillemots kept rising from the waves, heading on rapidly moving wings
for the craggy shores. The sun had a pale, hazy appearance while about it
was a huge ring of light, like the ghost of a rainbow.
Lighter and lighter became the wind. It fell to a flat calm, the water
was smooth as oil and the _Narwhal_ drifted idly. Then the boys noticed
that the vast bulk of Southampton Island seemed to be fading away, the
farther shores of the bay were becoming faint and blue. Almost before
they realized what it meant, the air grew suddenly chill, a cold wind
whipped against their faces and, like a gray blanket, the fog descended
swiftly, unheralded, and wrapped schooner and bay in its dense gray folds.
“Knowed sutthin’ wuz a-comin’ out o’ this,” declared Cap’n Pem. “Bust it
all, why couldn’t she ’a’ held off ’til we got inter the Welcome?”
“What on earth _is_ this ‘Welcome’ you’re always speaking of?” asked Tom.
“Shucks, ’course ye don’t know,” replied the old whaleman. “Why, a
Welcome’s a sort o’ harbor-bay like, where a ship kin put in an’ be snug
an’ safe from ice jams an’ win’s.”
“Well, it’s a good name for such places,” laughed Tom. “I suppose the
first people who found them called them that because they were so
welcome.”
“Yep, I reckon so,” assented Pem. “But this here blasted fog ain’t
welcome, an’ like as not it’ll come on cold and blow harder’n blazes fer
a week arter it lifts. I knowed that there cat’d play the everlastin’
fumdiddles with us.”
The fog was now so dense that only a few feet of the deck and bulwarks
were visible about the spot where one stood. The water although so near
was completely hidden and looking down into the greenish gray vapor, the
ship seemed floating in air. From every side came the whimpering cries of
gulls, the querulous chatter of ducks, the honk of geese, and the shrill
notes of other birds. Presently Unavik loomed silently close to the boys
and leaning upon the rail peered into the fog.
“H’lo!” he greeted the two. “Plenty fog, me say. Me t’ink Ukla bus’ dis
day.”
“What _are_ you talking about?” queried Jim. “What’s ‘Ukla,’ and what do
you mean by its busting?’”
The Eskimo grinned. “Gimme t’bac, me say you,” he replied.
So accustomed had the boys become to Unavik’s inevitable requests for
tobacco, that they always carried a plug or two in their pockets, and so,
at the Eskimo’s request, Jim handed him the coveted weed.
“Reckon he’s goin’ to spin a Eskimo yarn,” remarked Mr. Kemp, who
stepped like a phantom from the surrounding mist. “These boys is full
of stories—have one to account for blamed near everything. Some of ’em
mighty good, too.”
Unavik grinned, tore a huge mouthful of tobacco from the plug with his
strong white teeth and, having masticated it for a moment, began to
speak. It was not difficult for the boys to understand him, for they had
become familiar with his bizarre English. They listened intently to his
tale which, without Unavik’s dialect, was as follows:
“Many, many winters ago,” commenced the Eskimo, “there was one great
white bear named Ukla. He and his wife lived many days’ travel towards
the west in a great skin house on a rocky plain, and all about the house
were the skulls of men and women, for Ukla and his wife ate people’s
flesh, and every night he traveled across the land to the Eskimo
villages. Then he would kill any one he found outside the huts, and if he
could not do this, he would steal the bodies of the dead and fastening a
thong about their feet, would drag them to his home.
“Sometimes he was seen by the Eskimos, but oftener the people saw only
his giant footmarks in the snow, or found the graves opened and the dead
gone. For many years old Ukla did this, and although the Eskimos held
medicine feasts and asked the Great Spirit to help them, no help came.
“Many times also the people lay in wait and tried to kill Ukla, the giant
bear, with their spears and arrows, but Ukla was a great _anticoot_
(magician) and the weapons fell from his shaggy skin bent or broken. Then
one day a stranger came to the Eskimos—a tall fair man, and said:
“‘Take heart, for I will destroy Ukla.’
“Then the Eskimos danced and beat their drums and were happy, and the
stranger said to them: ‘To-morrow I will pretend to be dead, and you must
wrap me in skins and bury me among the stones; and when Ukla comes let
him take me away in peace.’
“Then the people were sad, but the stranger said: ‘Weep not, for I will
return and never again will Ukla rob the graves or kill the people.’
“So the Eskimos did as the stranger told them, and wrapping him in skins
placed him among the stones and went to their homes, crying loudly as if
he had died. In the night came the great bear who had heard the Eskimos’
wails across the hills, and seeing the body of the stranger, he fastened
a thong about the man’s ankles and started for his home. But the man
spread out his arms and grasped at stones and bushes, and although Ukla
pulled and tugged he could not travel fast, and every few miles he had
to stop and rest. Then as he looked at the man’s body lying quiet on the
ground he would shake his head in wonder.
“‘Ah,’ he would mutter to himself, ‘who would think such a small man
would weigh so much; but he must be very fat and fine indeed! What a fine
supper he will make!’ Then, thinking of the fine feast he would have,
Ukla would start on again. At last, very tired, he reached his hut, and
dragging the man inside, the bear pushed him into a corner, and too tired
to eat he crawled into his sleeping bag, telling his wife they would
feast in the morning.
“After a time the stranger opened his eyes to look about, but Ukla’s
wife, who was trimming the lamp, saw him and cried out to her husband:
‘This man is not dead—he is looking about!’
“But Ukla was very weary and said sleepily: ‘Oh, man dead, man frozen
stiff.’
“Then the man kept very still, and when the bear’s wife turned away, he
seized Ukla’s knife, and leaping up, killed her. As she fell dead Ukla
awoke, but the man, throwing down the knife, dashed out of the door and
across the plain with the big bear at his heels, panting and growling and
snapping his teeth.
“At last, no matter how fast he ran, the man found Ukla was getting
nearer and nearer and would soon overtake him. But the man was a great
_anticoot_, and as he ran he made a great hill rise between himself and
Ukla. So as the bear climbed slowly up one side, the man raced swiftly
down the other. But when Ukla reached the top he curled up in a ball and
rolled so quickly down the hill that he almost caught the man.
“Then the stranger made a big river flow between himself and the bear,
and weary with running he seated himself on a stone to rest. When Ukla
came to the river he roared and growled in anger and in a great voice
called out: ‘How, O man did _you_ cross the river?’
“And the man laughed and answered, ‘I drank my way across.’
“When Ukla heard this, he plunged into the water and drank and drank
until at last he made a dry path across the river, and crawled slowly
up the other bank towards the man. But his long hair was wet and heavy
and his body was swollen with the water he had drunk, so that the man
had no fear of him and taunted him. Then Ukla grew very angry and with
growls like icebergs clashing in a storm he roared: ‘Ugh! even though I
cannot overtake you, yet you shall not escape me!’ and giving himself a
mighty shake he burst, and the water which he had swallowed flew in all
directions and made a thick fog over the land.
“Now the man was greatly troubled, for the hills and plains could not be
seen and he was lost. But he skinned Ukla, and taking the shaggy hide in
his hands, he waved it many times about his head. This made a great wind
which drove away the fog and the man walked safely to the Eskimo village.
Then there was great rejoicing and the men did not work or hunt for three
days, and the women did not comb their hair for three days and three
nights, but all danced and beat drums and feasted.
“For many years the stranger dwelt among the people and taught them many
things, and so that the people would always remember him, he told them
that Ukla’s spirit would roam the plains, and would burst from time to
time, and that then, as the fog came, they must give offerings and hold
medicine dances, and that then he would know they had not forgotten and
would wave Ukla’s skin and drive away the fog.”
“That is a good yarn!” cried Tom as Unavik ended. “And say, hurrah, the
fog’s lifting!”
Unavik grinned. “Man, he hear plenty drum. You no hear? Me say he please
an’ wave um skin.”
“Gee, I do hear drums!” declared Tom. “From over to the west.”
“Sure Mike!” exclaimed Unavik. “Me say all same. Fog go.”
Tom laughed. “Do you believe that yarn, Unavik?” he asked.
The Eskimo stared at Tom with a puzzled expression. “Sure,” he declared,
“me see hill, me see river, me see fog. All time fog come Eskimo make-um
plenty dance, plenty drum, fog go, all same now.”
As if further argument was useless in the face of such evidence, Unavik
waddled off towards the bows.
Presently the water was rippling against the vessel’s sides. The fog had
thinned until the entire schooner was visible from where the boys stood.
In wisps and shreds the vapor was scudding by, while out of the west came
a strong, cold wind.
As the last of the fog swept by, there was a hoarse frightened bellow
from forward. Quick sharp orders were roared out and the boys, racing
to the lee side of the schooner, fairly gasped. Almost under the bows
was a jagged reef of sharp black rocks! For a brief instant the boys
stood petrified. The schooner seemed doomed. Before her sails could be
trimmed, before she would have steerageway upon her she would be on the
rocks. Each second she was drifting, slipping nearer to the reef. The
boys listened with bated breath, expecting to hear the rending crash, the
awful jar that would mean the _Narwhal’s_ end.
All about orders were flying thick and fast. Cap’n Pem was roaring from
the break of the poop. Captain Edwards had leaped to the wheel and was
shouting commands. Mr. Kemp in the main shrouds was cursing the men for
their slowness. Back and forth to braces, sheets and halyards the men
were rushing and hauling in a vain effort to save the ship. Then, from
under the boys’ feet came rapid pistol-like reports; above the cries of
the men, drowning the creak and squeal of block and sheave, barked the
exhaust of the motor; the _Narwhal_ forged ahead, she swung slowly to her
rudder and, with not five feet to spare, slid by the threatening reefs to
safety.
With blank faces boys and men gazed at one another. Who had saved the
ship? It was not Mike, he was stumping hurriedly aft as puzzled as any
one.
“B’ Saint Pathrick!” he cried. “’Tis a sphirit Oi’m thinkin’!”
With the boys by his side he hurried through the cabin towards the tiny
engine room where the motor was still throbbing steadily.
“Glory be!” he exclaimed, as he caught sight of the figure bending over
the motor. “Glory be, ’tis thot dummy av a blacksmith!”
“Gosh, it is!” cried Tom. “The deaf-and-dumb man!”
“B’jabbers thin ’tis no dummy in his brains he do be, at thot!” roared
Mike. “B’ the powers, ’tis lucky we do be, thot Oi tould him to be afther
doin’ a bit o’ worruk on the injine.”
The deaf mute straightened up and stared blankly at the three. Then,
moving his fingers in an attempt to explain matters, he shut off the
motor, picked up his kit of tools and walked forward.
“Gee, I’d like to know how it happened,” declared Tom. “He couldn’t have
heard the orders or excitement. I’m going to ask Swanson.”
A broad grin overspread the big Swede’s features as, in response to Tom’s
questions, he interrogated the deaf mute and watched the fellow’s fingers
communicating his reply.
“He say he bane fix das machine an’ he bane want to try him out. Ay tank,
by yiminy, it bane lucky he try him yust den.”