AN ARCTIC CHRISTMAS
Although the boys’ fathers had painted a picture of long and dreary
months in the Arctic with the ship frozen in, and only the whalemen and
Eskimos for company, the boys found it far from dull.
To be sure there were many days when snowstorms raged and the wind
howled, and no one stirred from the long house on the deck. But even
then there were things to amuse and interest the boys. A number of the
native Eskimos were usually there, as well as those from Hebron, and the
two lots of tribesmen were never tired of holding competitions of skill
or strength. Gathered in a circle about the contestants, the whalemen
and the boys would clap and applaud, shout encouragement and roar with
laughter as the stocky natives struggled and strained in friendly,
good-natured contests. Often a prize of tobacco, knives, clothes, or
hatchets would be offered to the winner.
Many of the contests were wonderfully novel and amusing and sometimes
the two boys would try their hands at them, much to the merriment of the
assembled men.
One game which was a favorite with the Eskimos was a sort of tug of war.
Kneeling on the deck with heads close together, the competitors would
have their friends tie their necks together by a rope or thong, and then,
at a signal, would strain and tug and heave, each trying his utmost to
drag the other over a chalk line on the deck. Evidently there was a knack
in it, aside from strength of neck muscles; for very often the smaller
and weaker man would win. The boys after one or two trials decided this
was too strenuous a contest.
Another game consisted of two Eskimos locking arms and legs together
while perched on a third man’s back, and then trying to see who could
dismount the other. Hard bumps and thumps always resulted, but the men’s
heads were well padded with their mops of coarse black hair, and they
always rose grinning and as good-natured as ever.
The greatest sport was to see the Eskimos attempt to box. The whalemen
were always boxing, and after watching the white men for some time,
the Eskimos wanted to try their skill. At their antics as they struck
blindly at each other, dodged blows, ki-yied and shouted, twisted and
turned, and often fell sprawling, the boys and the assembled whalemen
roared until they almost choked.
But the Eskimos were apt imitators, they had unlimited perseverance,
and gradually several of them began to develop skill in the use of the
gloves and before long there were acknowledged champions among them. The
sport-loving whalemen matched them up as lightweights, welterweights,
and featherweights; for not a native could be found who, by any stretch
of imagination, could be classed as a heavyweight. So interested did
the crew become that several of the whalemen took to training their
favorites; arguments over their respective merits grew heated, and the
men bet recklessly on the results of the bouts. They even nicknamed the
Eskimos, and Tom and Jim roared until their sides ached as Cap’n Pem
would get excited and leaping up would pound his wooden leg on the deck
and shout, “Wallop him, Dempsey! That’s a good one!” while Mike, whose
favorite was a bull-necked, fat-faced, bow-legged man from Hebron whom he
called Sullivan, would shout derogatory remarks about “Dempsey” and would
dance wildly about the improvised ring, urging his man to the utmost.
While such things served to pass the time in bad weather and at night,
the boys found far more pleasure with their dogs and their Eskimo friends
ashore. Day after day they went hunting, always accompanied by Unavik or
some other Eskimo. They were woefully disappointed in not finding musk
oxen or another bear, but they often secured reindeer; and the pile of
fox, wolf and seal skins which they reserved for themselves increased
rapidly. The crew, too, went hunting, each man accompanied by an Eskimo,
and each week the _Narwhal’s_ cargo increased in value by many hundreds
of dollars. Very often also the men had better luck than the boys, and
several fine bearskins were brought in which spurred the boys to still
greater efforts and longer trips. At last they were rewarded. They had
traveled much farther than they had ever been before, following the
valley of the river, and had reached a district of low, sharp hills,
narrow ravines and small, rock-strewn valleys. Suddenly Unavik, who was
with them, halted his dogs, peered intently at the snow, and pointed to a
trampled trail leading across the valley.
“Musk ox!” he exclaimed. “Me say him feller near. Mebbe shootum.”
“Gosh, do you think we can?” cried Tom.
“Sure, Mike, mebbe,” replied the Eskimo as he unharnessed his dogs.
Cautioning the boys to be silent, Unavik crept to the top of the nearest
ridge and peered about. No living thing was in sight. Then, with eyes
on the tracks of the animals, he descended the ridge while the dogs,
sniffing and whimpering, strained at their thongs, and the boys, thrilled
with excitement, followed at the Eskimo’s heels. Along the little defile
the trail led, over another ridge, through another valley, and up a third
hill. “Him feller near,” declared Unavik, pointing to bare patches of
rock and moss where the animals had scraped away the snow.
Very cautiously the three crawled among the ice-covered bowlders up the
hill. The boys could scarcely restrain a cry of delight as they peered
between the rocks and saw a dozen big, shaggy beasts pawing in the snow
and nuzzling in the moss beneath.
Jim was about to raise his rifle, for the musk oxen were within easy
range, when Unavik stopped him with a gesture and rapidly slipped the
thongs that bound the dogs together. The next instant the huskies were
bounding towards the surprised musk oxen who threw up their heads, armed
with huge broad horns, snorted, and with one accord tore off up the
valley.
“Gee, now we’ve lost them!” exclaimed Tom in disgust. “Why didn’t you let
us shoot, Unavik?”
The Eskimo grinned but said nothing. Beckoning to the boys he turned
and ran rapidly along the ridge in the direction the animals had gone.
Presently, to the boys’ ears, came the barks, yelps, and growls of the
dogs. Rounding a rocky hillock they came in sight of the pack, nipping
and snapping at the musk oxen who had formed in a close ring with lowered
threatening horns towards their enemies.
With their long, shaggy, black hair, their wild, reddened eyes and great
recurved needle-pointed horns, the creatures looked very savage indeed
and the dogs knew full well that death lurked in that ring of broad heads
and sharp horns. These were no timid reindeer and, though the wolflike
huskies now and then took chances and dashed at the snorting, stamping
creatures before them, none dared approach too closely.
Suddenly one of the oxen uttered a low bellow, plunged forward and,
before the dogs could retreat, the wicked horns swung to right and left,
and a howling husky was tossed high in air to fall dead and bleeding on
the snow.
“Golly, they’re _some_ fighters!” exclaimed Jim in a low voice. “Come on,
Tom, let’s shoot!”
But before the boys could fire, the musk oxen had scented them.
Forgetting the dogs in their greater fear of human beings, they dashed
off in a close-packed bunch with the huskies at their heels. Once more
Unavik and the boys raced after them, and once more the dogs brought
the animals to bay. This time Unavik led the way behind bowlders and
snowdrifts down the wind. All unsuspected by the wild cattle, the three
approached within easy range and picking out two of the biggest bulls,
the boys fired.
At the double report the musk oxen again dashed off and, confused by the
dogs, they came galloping, plunging, directly towards the three hunters.
Before the astonished boys realized what had occurred, the great shaggy
beasts were upon them. There was no time to reload and fire, no time to
rise and run. Like an avalanche the stampeded creatures bore down upon
the frightened boys. With lowered heads, rolling eyes, steaming nostrils
and swinging horns they came. With terrified yells the boys threw
themselves to one side, rolled among the rocks, and buried their heads,
faces down, in the snow. All about them pounded the galloping hoofs. Tom
screamed as he was struck a terrific blow and hurled aside. Over them
they heard the panting breaths, the loud snorts and the low bellows of
the creatures. Each second they expected to feel the sharp hooked horns
ripping through their garments and their flesh.
But in an instant it was over. The musk oxen had passed; the boys were
unhurt, and slowly, and with wondering expressions, they cautiously
raised themselves as the pack of dogs raced by.
“Jiminy crickets!” exclaimed Jim, “I thought we _were_ goners that time.”
“Gosh, yes!” assented Tom. “One of ’em stepped on me, but I guess these
furs saved me. Say, what’s the matter with us? We didn’t kill a single
one.”
“Search me,” replied Jim, “I don’t see how we missed.”
“Me say hitum, sure Mike!” cried Unavik who was searching the trampled
snow where the beasts had passed.
The boys hurried to his side and glancing down, saw big splashes of
crimson on the snow. Evidently they had not missed. Racing after the
Eskimo they hurried as fast as they could travel towards the distant
barking of the dogs. As they leaped the crest of a hummock, Unavik
uttered a sharp cry, and the boys shouted with delight as they saw a big
black bull lying half buried in a snow drift where he had fallen.
“We got one anyway!” cried Tom as they hurried on. “Say, we _are_ in
luck!”
Once again they found the oxen at bay and, this time when they fired, two
of the creatures were left behind when the herd galloped off.
“Gee, that’s enough!” declared Jim, as panting and utterly exhausted
the boys seated themselves on one of the dead oxen. “I’m all in. These
clothes were never made for sprinting.”
“Get the dogs, Unavik,” said Tom. “No use in killing more. We can’t even
get these three in to the village. We’ll wait here for you.”
The Eskimo started off, but there was no need for him to recall his pack.
The musk oxen were thoroughly frightened and demoralized and had fled
over hill and dale into the vast white waste, and the dogs, realizing
that the creatures could not be brought to bay again with the scent of
blood behind them, came trotting back towards the dead oxen.
It was, as Tom said, impossible to carry the three creatures to the
village and so, having regained their breaths, the two boys and Unavik
set to work skinning the two oxen. It was a hard slow job, but at last
it was done and the boys straightened their aching backs and eased their
cramped muscles.
“Well, that’s over!” exclaimed Jim. “But how on earth can we carry those
skins and heads back? They weigh pretty near a ton, I’ll bet.”
Unavik grinned. “Me say plenty easy,” he remarked and rolling the skins
in a bundle with the hair inside he lashed them firmly with the tough
sinews from the creatures’ legs, attached his dogs to the whole and with
a sharp command sent the huskies galloping over the snow with the bundle
of skins sliding like a sled behind them.
“Golly, that’s easy!” cried Tom. “But I’d never have thought of it.”
With the musk ox trail to guide them, the three had no difficulty in
locating the sledge and having harnessed the dogs they drove the team
back to the first ox they had killed. This Unavik dressed and, after a
deal of hard work, the body was loaded on the sled and the triumphant
and elated boys turned towards the distant village. It was a long, hard
tramp, the boys were tired, and except when traveling down a steep slope,
they could not rest by leaping on to the sledge, for the dogs had all
they could do to haul the vehicle with its load. But the boys did not
complain. With three musk oxen to their credit they could well afford to
undergo some hardship; but over and over again they were forced to halt
and rest. As a result, it was nearly midnight when they at last saw the
rounded igloos and the ghostly outline of the schooner in the flickering
light of the aurora, and with heartfelt thanks, they reached the end of
their journey.
“Where’n tarnation ye been?” demanded Cap’n Pem, who was the first to see
them. “I swan, ye’ll have us all plumb crazy worryin’ over ye.”
“You needn’t have worried,” declared Tom, “Unavik was with us.”
“Shucks, he’s jes’ as bad as ye be,” declared the old whaleman. “H’ain’t
got no sense ’tall. What——”
“Hello!” cried Captain Edwards, interrupting the old whaleman. “You boys
are late. Just beginning to think we’d have t’ start out to search for
you. Have any luck?”
“Three musk oxen,” replied Jim. “We’re pretty near starved.”
“I’ll bet ye be,” cried Cap’n Pem. “Blow me if ye ain’t reg’lar hunters.
Fetched in three o’ the critters, eh? Waall, I’ll be sunk!”
As the half-famished boys ate ravenously, they told their story of the
hunt to the men and officers and then, having been unanimously acclaimed
the champion hunters of the ship, they crawled into their bunks, snuggled
among their furs, and were instantly sound asleep.
So rapidly had the time passed that the boys could scarcely believe that
half the winter was over. As Tom, on the morning after their musk ox
hunt, started to write down the events of the preceding day in his diary,
he uttered a surprised ejaculation.
“Gosh, Jim, it’s only two weeks till Christmas!”
“No!” exclaimed Jim. “Gee, I didn’t realize it. We’ll have to have a
celebration. I wonder what they do up here.”
“Of course we celebrate,” the captain assured them when they spoke to him
about the holidays. “Reckon we’d better be gettin’ ready pretty quick.”
So for the next ten days every one aboard the _Narwhal_ was busy. There
was the same delightful mystery in the air as at home; preparations for
the Christmas festivities proceeded rapidly; and the boys were amazed to
discover what resources the men and the schooner possessed. Mike and the
carpenter worked early and late at building a miniature whaling ship to
serve in place of a Christmas tree. The grinning black cook labored from
morning until night—or rather from breakfast until bedtime—baking cakes
and pies, making mysterious dishes, and boiling great kettles of molasses
for candy, and from dinner until nearly midnight, the boys and men had
glorious fun pulling the molasses candy, roasting quarts and pecks of
peanuts, and popping hundreds of ears of corn. Half shyly the rough
whalemen brought out clumsily wrapped packages and placed them on the
pile of gifts on the chart table. Even the Eskimos seemed to catch the
spirit of Christmas, and grinned and clucked and chuckled as they saw the
preparations going on, for they had seen Christmas celebrations before
and knew what a fine time was in store.
Two days before the great day, the completed model of the ship was set
up in the deck house, and all hands busied themselves stringing the pop
corn in its rigging, hanging the presents to the yards and masts, piling
candy wrapped in bright-colored paper on the decks, and attaching colored
candles along the bulwarks, up the shrouds, and along the yards.
“Say,” cried Jim, as the boys surveyed the completed substitute for a
tree with approval. “Every one’ll have to hang up his stocking. Look at
that heap of presents!”
At first the men demurred, trying to laugh off their embarrassment, but
the boys insisted, the captain seconded them, Mr. Kemp added his pleas,
and old Pem chuckled.
“’Spec’ I’m a ol’ fool!” he exclaimed. “But I rec’on we kin all ’ford to
be kids, come Christmas. I’m a-goin’ fer to hang my stockin’!”
Stumping to his cabin, the old whaleman returned carrying a huge rabbit
skin under-boot. “On’y stockin’ I got,” he declared as all burst out
laughing.
“Well, b’gorra, ’tis lucky for ould Santa that yez have but wan lig
thin!” cried Mike. “Faith an’ wid two av thim there’d not be a prisint
for the rist av us.”
Now that Cap’n Pem had started the fun, the men quickly caught the
spirit. Shouts of merriment, roars of laughter and good-natured chaffing
floated over the frozen wastes from the schooner as the whalemen brought
out socks, fur boots and heavy woolen stockings, and hung them in a long
row along one side of the deck house, while the captain and the boys
hurried back and forth filling them with bundles and packages.
Christmas day dawned clear and cold. Not a breath of wind stirred the
frost filled air. The thermometer registered 45° below zero and the
boys noted that the sun rose above the frozen plain of the bay at 9.30.
Jumping from their bunk, the two boys ran hither and thither, wishing a
“Merry Christmas” to every one. Presently the men came trooping in and
seated themselves at the long table loaded with the Christmas breakfast.
The meal over, the Eskimos began to arrive, for all had been invited to
spend the day aboard the schooner. Soon the deck house was packed with
the grinning men and laughing girls and women all decked out in their
richest furs and most elaborate costumes, every one carrying some bundle
of fur or skin.
Then peanuts and pop corn were passed around, which the Eskimos munched
and enjoyed hugely. Presently the captain jumped upon a chair and
announced that there would be a dance. Swanson appeared with a much
battered concertina, the carpenter brought out a wheezy fiddle, the
ebony-skinned cook arrived with a banjo, and, to complete the orchestra,
Nate produced a mouth organ.
Whatever the tune was—if tune it could be called—the boys never knew,
but the men cared not a jot and seemed perfectly satisfied. Presently
the deck was covered with couples, each dancing a different step, all
laughing and all as happy as a crowd of youngsters. Tom and Jim roared
with merriment as old Cap’n Pem seized a stout Eskimo woman and started
to waltz with her. Mike took the center of the deck and executed a weird
hornpipe which brought down thunderous applause, and Mr. Kemp, with
blackened face and with a strip of gaudy calico wrapped about his long
legs and a gay bandanna on his head, pranced up and down in a cakewalk.
Then the Eskimos had their turn. The skin drums throbbed and boomed, a
man with a curious tambourinelike instrument, like a thin drum filled
with pebbles, added to the din, and the natives pranced around and
around, chanting a weird song, stepping high, twisting and turning and
moving in intricate figures.
Then came games, followed by boxing matches, and the fun waxed fast and
furious. Finally there was a tug of war, Eskimos against whalemen, and
when, with wild shouts and yells, the Eskimos had pulled their rivals an
inch over the chalk line and were declared the victors, Captain Edwards
announced that the presents would be given out.
As he ceased speaking, there was a shout from the companionway and every
one turned and gaped in astonishment, for there, pushing his way through
the narrow entrance was Santa Claus! Even the boys were surprised, for
Santa had been kept a profound secret. Clad in a suit of brown wolfskin
with ermine trimming, and with big sealskin boots on his feet, the fat
little fellow beamed upon all through his voluminous white whiskers of
bearskin, and entering the deck house, tossed down his heavily loaded
pack and brushed the snow from his sleeves and shoulders.
At first no one recognized him, but at his first words a roar of
merriment burst from every one’s lips. “Had a everlastin’ tough time
a-gettin’ to ye, clean up here!” he cried, striving ludicrously to
disguise his voice. “But I reckon I brung presents fer all.”
“B’ the saints, ’tis the fursst toime Oi iver see a wan-ligged Santa!”
chuckled Mike. “But sure ’tis a foine wan he do be afther makin’ at that.”
Rapidly the presents were distributed. There were comfort bags for each
member of the crew, every bag containing buttons, thread, wax, combs
salve, thimbles, pins and a small mirror. Every Eskimo woman received a
bundle of bright-colored cloth and a little package of beads. The girls
were given bead necklaces and gold plated rings. Each native boy got a
shiny new jackknife, and every Eskimo man received a file and a plug of
tobacco. Then the presents piled around the ship were distributed, and
finally the men, sheepishly and flushing like children, received their
well filled stockings and giggled and snickered like schoolgirls as they
unwrapped the packages.
The Eskimos had done their part also. The men and boys were fairly loaded
down with moccasins, fur boots, carved ivory curios, selected skins and
similar things, while the natives were mad with delight over the powder
and lead, the matches, the hatchets and knives, and the brass and iron
they received.
Then came dinner, and such a dinner! There was a roast haunch of
reindeer, bear chops, musk ox steaks, roast ptarmigan and potted hare.
Even the cranberry sauce was there, with mince and pumpkin pies, and to
cap the climax, a great steaming plum pudding which the grinning cook
brought triumphantly in with its brandy sauce ablaze.
And the Eskimos at their table also had a feast. The dainties so
appreciated by the white men held no attractions for the natives, and so
their feast consisted of canned fruits, thick tinned milk, and, to their
minds best of all, vast quantities of lard and oleomargarine. Not until
midnight did the celebration end. When the last Eskimo had departed and
eight bells pealed through the night, all vowed that this Christmas in
the Arctic was the jolliest one they had ever known.