bird or a fish. In the boat we skirted a barren coast, sleeping on rocks
without shelter and quenching our thirst by glacial liquid till the
stomach collapsed. The indifferent stage of starvation was at hand when
we pulled into a nameless bay, carried the boat on a grassy bench, and
packed ourselves in it for a sleep that might be our last.
We were awakened by the glad sound of distant walrus calls. Through the
glasses, a group was located far off shore, on the middle pack. Our
hearts began to thump. A stream of blood came with a rush to our heads.
Our bodies were fired with a life that had been foreign to us for many
moons. No famished wolf ever responded to a call more rapidly than we
did. Quickly we dropped the boat into the water with the implements, and
pushed from the famine shores with teeth set for red meat.
The day was beautiful, and the sun from the west poured a wealth of
golden light. Only an occasional ripple disturbed the glassy blue
through which the boat crept. The pack was about five miles northward.
In our eagerness to reach it, the distance seemed spread to leagues.
There was not a square of ice for miles about which could have been
sought for refuge in case of an attack. But this did not disturb us now.
We were blinded to everything except the dictates of our palates.
As we advanced, our tactics were definitely arranged. The animals were
on a low pan, which seemed to be loosely run into the main pack. We
aimed for a little cut of ice open to the leeward, where we hoped to
land and creep up behind hummocks. The splash of our paddles was lost in
the noise of the grinding ice and the bellowing of walrus calls.
So excited were the Eskimos that they could hardly pull an oar. It was
the first shout of the wilderness which we had heard in many months. We
were lean enough to appreciate its import. The boat finally shot up on
the ice, and we scattered among the ice blocks for favorable positions.
Everything was in our favor. We did not for a moment entertain a thought
of failure, although in reality, with the implements at hand, our
project was tantamount to attacking an elephant with pocket knives.
We came together behind an unusually high icy spire only a few hundred
yards from the herd. Ten huge animals were lazily stretched out in the
warm sun. A few lively babies tormented their sleeping mothers. There
was a splendid line of hummocks, behind which we could advance under
cover. With a firm grip on harpoon and line, we started. Suddenly
E-tuk-i-shook shouted "_Nannook_!" (Bear.)
We halted. Our implements were no match for a bear. But we were too
hungry to retreat. The bear paid no attention to us. His nose was set
for something more to his liking. Slowly but deliberately, he crept up
to the snoring herd while we watched with a mad, envious anger welling
up within us. Our position was helpless. His long neck reached out, the
glistening fangs closed, and a young walrus struggled in the air. All of
the creatures woke, but too late to give battle. With dismay and rage,
the walruses sank into the water, and the bear slunk off to a safe
distance, where he sat down to a comfortable meal. We were not of
sufficient importance to interest either the bear or the disturbed herd
of giants.
Our limbs were limp when we returned to the boat. The sunny glitter of
the waters was now darkened by the gloom of danger from enraged animals.
We crossed to the barren shores in a circuitous route, where pieces of
ice for refuge were always within reach.
On land, the night was cheerless and cold. We were not in a mood for
sleep. In a lagoon we discovered moving things. After a little study of
their vague darts they proved to be fish. A diligent search under stones
brought out a few handfuls of tiny finny creatures. With gratitude I saw
that here was an evening meal. Seizing them, we ate the wriggling things
raw. Cooking was impossible, for we had neither oil nor wood.
On the next day the sun at noon burned with a real fire--not the sham
light without heat which had kept day and night in perpetual glitter for
several weeks. Not a breath of air disturbed the blue glitter of the
sea. Ice was scattered everywhere. The central pack was farther away,
but on it rested several suspicious black marks. Through the glasses we
made these out to be groups of walruses. They were evidently sound
asleep, for we heard no calls. They were also so distributed that there
was a hunt both for bear and man without interference.
We ventured out with a savage desire sharpened by a taste of raw fish.
As we advanced, several other groups were noted in the water. They gave
us much trouble. They did not seem ill-tempered, but dangerously
inquisitive. Our boat was dark in color and not much larger than the
body of a full-sized bull. To them, I presume, it resembled a companion
in distress or asleep. A sight of the boat challenged their curiosity,
and they neared us with the playful intention of testing with their
tusks the hardness of the canvas. We had experienced such love taps
before, however, with but a narrow escape from drowning, and we had no
desire for further walrus courtship.
Fortunately, we could maintain a speed almost equal to theirs, and we
also found scattered ice-pans, about which we could linger while their
curiosity was being satisfied by the splash of an occasional stone.
From an iceberg we studied the various groups of walruses for the one
best situated for our primitive methods of attack. We also searched for
meddlesome bears. None was detected. Altogether we counted more than a
hundred grunting, snorting creatures arranged in black hills along a
line of low ice. There were no hummocks or pressure lifts, under cover
of which we might advance to within the short range required for our
harpoons. All of the walrus-encumbered pans were adrift and
disconnected from the main pack. Conflicting currents gave each group a
slightly different motion. We studied this movement for a little while.
We hoped, if possible, to make our attack from the ice. With the
security of a solid footing, there was no danger and there was a greater
certainty of success. But the speed of the ice on this day did not
permit such an advantage. We must risk a water attack. This is not an
unusual method of the Eskimo, but he follows it with a kayak, a harpoon
and line fitted with a float and a drag for the end of his line. Our
equipment was only a makeshift, and could not be handled in the same
way.
Here was food in massive heaps. We had had no breakfast and no full meal
for many weeks. Something must be done. The general drift was eastward,
but the walrus pans drifted slightly faster than the main pack. Along
the pack were several high points, projecting a considerable distance
seaward. We took our position in the canvas boat behind one of these
floating capes, and awaited the drift of the sleeping monsters.
Their movement was slow enough to give us plenty of time to arrange our
battle tactics. The most vital part of the equipment was the line. If it
were lost, we could not hope to survive the winter. It could not be
replaced, and without it we could not hope to cope with the life of the
sea, or even that of the land. The line was a new, strong sealskin
rawhide of ample length, which had been reserved for just such an
emergency. Attached to the harpoon, with the float properly adjusted, it
is seldom lost, for the float moves and permits no sudden strain.
To safeguard the line, a pan was selected only a few yards in diameter.
This was arranged to do the duty of a float and a drag. With the knife
two holes were cut, and into these the line was fastened near its
center. The harpoon end was taken into the boat, the other end was
coiled and left in a position where it could be easily picked from the
boat later. Three important purposes were secured by this
arrangement--the line was relieved of a sudden strain; if it broke, only
half would be lost; and the unused end would serve as a binder to other
ice when the chase neared its end.
Now the harpoon was set to the shaft, and the bow of our little
twelve-foot boat cleared for action. Peeping over the wall of ice, we
saw the black-littered pans slowly coming toward us. Our excitement rose
to a shouting point. But our nerves were under the discipline of famine.
The pan, it was evident, would go by us at a distance of about fifty
feet.
The first group of walruses were allowed to pass. They proved to be a
herd of twenty-one mammoth creatures, and, entirely aside from the
danger of attack, their unanimous plunge would have raised a sea that
must have swamped us.
On the next pan were but three spots. At a distance we persuaded
ourselves that they were small--for we had no ambition for formidable
attacks. One thousand pounds of meat would have been sufficient for us.
They proved, however, to be the largest bulls of the lot. As they neared
the point, the hickory oars of the boat were gripped--and out we shot.
They all rose to meet us, displaying the glitter of ivory tusks from
little heads against huge wrinkled necks. They grunted and snorted
viciously--but the speed of the boat did not slacken. E-tuk-i-shook
rose. With a savage thrust he sank the harpoon into a yielding neck.
The walruses tumbled over themselves and sank into the water on the
opposite side of the pan. We pushed upon the vacated floe without
leaving the boat, taking the risk of ice puncture rather than walrus
thumps. The short line came up with a snap. The ice pan began to plough
the sea. It moved landward. What luck! I wondered if the walrus would
tow us and its own carcass ashore. We longed to encourage the homing
movement, but we dared not venture out. Other animals had awakened to
the battle call, and now the sea began to seethe and boil with enraged,
leaping red-eyed monsters.
The float took a zigzag course in the offing. We watched the movement
with a good deal of anxiety. Our next meal and our last grip on life
were at stake. For the time being nothing could be done.
The three animals remained together, two pushing the wounded one along
and holding it up during breathing spells. In their excitement they
either lost their bearings or deliberately determined to attack. Now
three ugly snouts pointed at us. This was greatly to our advantage, for
on ice we were masters of the situation.
Taking inconspicuous positions, we awaited the assault. The Eskimos had
lances, I an Alpine axe. The walruses dove and came on like torpedo
boats, rising almost under our noses, with a noise that made us dodge.
In a second two lances sank into the harpooned strugglers. The water was
thrashed. Down again went the three. The lances were jerked back by
return lines, and in another moment we were ready for another assault
from the other side. But they dashed on, and pulled the float-floe, on
which we had been, against the one on which we stood, with a crushing
blow.
Here was our first chance to secure the unused end of the line, fastened
on the other floe. Ah-we-lah jumped to the floe and tossed me the line.
The spiked shaft of the ice-axe was driven in the ice and the line fixed
to it, so now the two floes were held together. Our stage of action was
enlarged, and we had the advantage of being towed by the animals we
fought.
Here was the quiet sport of the fisherman and the savage excitement of
the battle-field run together in a new chase. The struggle was prolonged
in successive stages. Time passed swiftly. In six hours, during which
the sun had swept a quarter of the circle, the twin floes were jerked
through the water with the rush of a gunboat. The jerking line attached
to our enraged pilots sent a thrill of life which made our hearts jump.
The lances were thrown, the line was shortened, a cannonade of ice
blocks was kept up, but the animal gave no signs of weakening. Seeing
that we could not inflict dangerous wounds, our tactics were changed to
a kind of siege, and we aimed not to permit the animal its breathing
spells.
The line did not begin to slacken until midnight. The battle had been on
for almost twelve hours. But we did not feel the strain of action, nor
did our chronic hunger seriously disturb us. Bits of ice quenched our
thirst and the chill of night kept us from sweating. With each rise of
the beast for breath now, the line slackened. Gently it was hauled in
and secured. Then a rain of ice blocks, hurled in rapid succession,
drove the spouting animals down. Soon the line was short enough to
deliver the lance in the captured walrus at close range. The wounded
animal was now less troublesome, but the others tore about under us like
submarine boats, and at the most unexpected moments would shoot up with
a wild rush.
We did not attempt to attack them, however. All our attention was
directed to the end of the line. The lance was driven with every
opportunity. It seldom missed, but the action was more like spurs to a
horse, changing an intended attack upon us to a desperate plunge into
the deep, and depriving the walrus of oxygen.
Finally, after a series of spasmodic encounters which lasted fifteen
hours, the enraged snout turned blue, the fiery eyes blackened, and
victory was ours--not as the result of the knife alone, not in a square
fight of brute force, but by the superior cunning of the human animal
under the stimulus of hunger.
During all this time we had been drifting. Now, as the battle ended, we
were not far from a point about three miles south of our camp. Plenty of
safe pack-ice was near. A primitive pulley was arranged by passing the
line through slits in the walrus' nose and holes in the ice. The great
carcass, weighing perhaps three thousand pounds, was drawn onto the ice
and divided into portable pieces. Before the sun poured its morning
beams over the ice, all had been securely taken ashore.
With ample blubber, a camp fire was now made between two rocks by using
moss to serve as a wick. Soon, pot after pot of savory meat was
voraciously consumed. We ate with a mad, vulgar, insatiable hunger. We
spoke little. Between gulps, the huge heap of meat and blubber was
cached under heavy rocks, and secured--so we thought--from bears, wolves
and foxes.
When eating was no longer possible, sleeping dens were arranged in the
little boat, and in it, like other gluttonous animals after an
engorgement, we closed our eyes to a digestive sleep. For the time, at
least, we had fathomed the depths of gastronomic content, and were at
ease with ourselves and with a bitter world of inhuman strife.
At the end of about fifteen hours, a stir about our camp suddenly awoke
us. We saw a huge bear nosing about our fireplace. We had left there a
walrus joint, weighing about one hundred pounds, for our next meal. We
jumped up, all of us, at once, shouting and making a pretended rush. The
bear took up the meat in his forepaws and walked off, man-like, on two
legs, with a threatening grunt. His movement was slow and cautious, and
his grip on the meat was secure. Occasionally he veered about, with a
beckoning turn of the head, and a challenging call. But we did not
accept the challenge. After moving away about three hundred yards on the
sea-ice, he calmly sat down and devoured our prospective meal.
With lances, bows, arrows, and stones in hand, we next crossed a low
hill, beyond which was located our precious cache of meat. Here, to our
chagrin, we saw two other bears, with heads down and paws busily digging
about the cache. We were not fitted for a hand-to-hand encounter. Still,
our lives were equally at stake, whether we attacked or failed to
attack. Some defense must be made. With a shout and a fiendish rush, we
attracted the busy brutes' attention. They raised their heads, turned,
and to our delight and relief, grudgingly walked off seaward on the
moving ice. Each had a big piece of our meat with him.
Advancing to the cache, we found it absolutely depleted. Many other
bears had been there. The snow and the sand was trampled down with
innumerable bear tracks. Our splendid cache of the day previous was
entirely lost. We could have wept with rage and disappointment. One
thing we were made to realize, and that was that life here was now to be
a struggle with the bears for supremacy. With little ammunition, we were
not at all able to engage in bear fights. So, baffled, and unable to
resent our robbery, starvation again confronting us, we packed our few
belongings and moved westward over Braebugten Bay to Cape Sparbo.
[Illustration: A THIEF OF THE NORTH]
BULL FIGHTS WITH THE MUSK OX
AN ANCIENT CAVE EXPLORED FOR SHELTER--DEATH BY STARVATION AVERTED
BY HAND-TO-HAND ENCOUNTERS WITH WILD ANIMALS
XXVI
TO THE WINTER CAMP AT CAPE SPARBO
As we crossed the big bay to the east of Cape Sparbo, our eyes were
fixed on the two huge Archaen rocks which made remarkable landmarks,
rising suddenly to an altitude of about eighteen thousand feet. They
appear like two mountainous islands lifted out of the water. On closer
approach, however, we found the islands connected with the mainland by
low grassy plains, forming a peninsula. The grassy lands seemed like
promising grounds for caribou and musk ox. The off-lying sea, we also
found, was shallow. In this, I calculated, would be food to attract the
seal and walrus.
In our slow movement over the land swell of the crystal waters, it did
not take long to discover that our conjecture was correct.
Pulling up to a great herd of walrus, we prepared for battle. But the
sea suddenly rose, the wind increased, and we were forced to abandon the
chase and seek shelter on the nearest land.
We reached Cape Sparbo, on the shores of Jones Sound, early in
September. Our dogs were gone. Our ammunition, except four cartridges
which I had secreted for use in a last emergency, was gone. Our
equipment consisted of a half sledge, a canvas boat, a torn silk tent, a
few camp kettles, tin plates, knives, and matches. Our clothing was
splitting to shreds.
Cape Sparbo, with its huge walls of granite, was to the leeward. A
little bay was noted where we might gain the rocks in quiet water. Above
the rocks was a small green patch where we hoped to find a soft resting
place for the boat, so that we might place our furs in it and secure
shelter from the bitter wind.
When we landed we found to our surprise that it was the site of an old
Eskimo village. There was a line of old igloos partly below water,
indicating a very ancient time of settlement, for since the departure of
the builders of these igloos the coast must have settled at least
fifteen feet. Above were a few other ruins.
Shortly after arriving we sought an auspicious place, protected from the
wind and cold, where later we might build a winter shelter. Our search
disclosed a cave-like hole, part of which was dug from the earth, and
over which, with stones and bones, had been constructed a roof which now
was fallen in.
The long winter was approaching. We were over three hundred miles from
Annoatok, and the coming of the long night made it necessary for us to
halt here. We must have food and clothing. We now came upon musk oxen
and tried to fell them with boulders, and bows and arrows made of the
hickory of our sledge. Day after day the pursuit was vainly followed.
Had it not been for occasional ducks caught with looped lines and sling
shots, we should have been absolutely without any food.
By the middle of September, snow and frost came with such frequency that
we omitted hunting for a day to dig out the ruins in the cave and cut
sod before permanent frost made such work impossible. Bone implements
were shaped from skeletons found on shore for the digging. Blown drifts
of sand and gravel, with some moss and grass, were slowly removed from
the pit. We found under this, to our great joy, just the underground
arrangement which we desired; a raised platform, about six feet long and
eight feet wide with suitable wings for the lamp, and footspace, lay
ready for us. The pit had evidently been designed for a small family.
The walls, which were about two feet high, required little alteration.
Another foot was added, which leveled the structure with the ground. A
good deal of sod was cut and allowed to dry in the sun for use as a
roof.
While engaged in taking out the stones and cleaning the dungeon-like
excavation, I suddenly experienced a heart-depressing chill when,
lifting some debris, I saw staring at me from the black earth a
hollow-eyed human skull. The message of death which the weird thing
leeringly conveyed was singularly unpleasant; the omen was not good. Yet
the fact that at this forsaken spot human hands had once built shelter,
or for this thing had constructed a grave, gave me a certain
companionable thrill.
On the shore not far away we secured additional whale ribs and with
these made a framework for a roof. This was later constructed of moss
and blocks of sod. We built a rock wall about the shelter to protect
ourselves from storms and bears. Then our winter home was ready. Food
was now an immediate necessity. Game was found around us in abundance.
Most of it was large. On land there were bear and musk ox, in the sea
the walrus and the whale. But what could we do without either dogs or
rifles?
The first weapon that we now devised was the bow and arrow, for with
this we could at least secure some small game. We had in our sledge
available hickory wood of the best quality, than which no wood could be
better; we had sinews and seal lashings for strings, but there was no
metal for tips. We tried bone, horn and ivory, but all proved
ineffective.
One day, however, E-tuk-i-shook examined his pocket knife and suggested
taking the side blades for arrow tips. This was done, and the blade with
its spring was set in a bone handle. Two arrows were thus tipped. The
weapons complete, the Eskimo boys went out on the chase. They returned
in the course of a few hours with a hare and an eider-duck. Joy reigned
in camp as we divided the meat and disposed of it without the process of
cooking.
A day later, two musk oxen were seen grazing along the moraine of a
wasting glacier. Now the musk ox is a peace-loving animal and avoids
strife, but when forced into fight it is one of the most desperate and
dangerous of all the fighters of the wilderness. It can and does give
the most fatal thrust of all the horned animals. No Spanish bull of the
pampas, no buffalo of the plains, has either the slant of horn or the
intelligence to gore its enemies as has this inoffensive-looking bull of
the ice world. The intelligence, indeed, is an important factor, for
after watching musk oxen for a time under varied conditions, one comes
to admire their almost human intellect as well as their superhuman power
of delivering self-made force.
Our only means of attack was with the bow and arrow. The boys crept up
behind rocks until within a few yards of the unsuspecting creatures.
They bent the bows, and the arrows sped with the force and accuracy as
only a hungry savage can master. But the beasts' pelts were too strong.
The musk oxen jumped and faced their assailants. Each arrow, as it came,
was broken into splints by the feet and the teeth.
When the arrows were all used a still more primitive weapon was tried,
for the sling shot was brought into use, with large stones. These
missiles the musk oxen took good naturedly, merely advancing a few steps
to a granite boulder, upon which they sharpened their horn points and
awaited further developments. No serious injury had been inflicted and
they made no effort to escape.
Then came a change. When we started to give up the chase they turned
upon us with a fierce rush. Fortunately, many big boulders were about,
and we dodged around these with large stones in hand to deliver at close
range. In a wild rush a musk ox cannot easily turn, and so can readily
be dodged. Among the rocks two legs were better than four. The trick of
evading the musk ox I had learned from the dogs. It saved our lives.
After a while the animals wearied, and we beat a hasty retreat, with new
lessons in our book of hunting adventures. The bow and arrow was
evidently not the weapon with which to secure musk oxen.
The musk ox of Jones Sound, unlike his brother farther north, is every
ready for battle. He is often compelled to meet the bear and the wolf in
vicious contests, and his tactics are as thoroughly developed as his
emergencies require. Seldom does he fall the victim of his enemies. We
were a long time in learning completely his methods of warfare, and if,
in the meantime, we had not secured other game our fate would have been
unfortunate.