THE BELCHING DEATH OF A VOLCANO
The whaler's story of the great Overland Expedition set Eric questioning
about the work of the Coast Guard with the reindeer. He learned that,
partly as a result of his handling of the trip, the government had
selected Lieutenant Bertholf to make an exploration of northern Siberia
for the purpose of importing Tunguse reindeer, which were reported to be
bigger and better fitted for Alaska than the Lapp reindeer. He found out
how over 200 head of the larger species had been successfully imported,
and a couple of days later had a very vivid demonstration of the fact in
seeing an Eskimo trot by, riding a Tunguse reindeer like a saddle horse.
The more the boy saw of the Eskimo, too, the more he learned to value
their race strength. It was true that they were dirty and that their
houses smelt horribly. But, after all, Eric reasoned, it is a little
hard to keep the habit of baths in a country where, during six months
in the year, a man would freeze solid in a bath like a fly in a piece of
amber. The Eskimo's indifference to smells, moreover, he learned to
understand one day, quite suddenly. He was pacing up and down the deck
with the whaler a day or two before the _Bear_ reached Point Barrow.
"You're always worryin' over those smells," Joey had said to him.
"You've lived in a city, haven't you?"
"Nearly all my life," the boy replied.
"Have you ever been in a city what wasn't noisy with street cars, an'
wagons, an' automobile horns, an' children playing, an' music-boxes an'
pianos goin' an' all the rest of it?"
"It is noisy," Eric admitted, "but you soon get used to that."
"Hearin' is just one o' the five senses, ain't it?"
"Yes."
"An' smellin' is another?"
"Of course."
"Well, an Eskimo's nose gets to be like a city man's ear, one smells all
the time an' doesn't notice it, the other hears all the while an'
doesn't care. You can't judge a people by its smell. An' when it comes
to fair dealin', you won't find anywhere a squarer people to deal with
than the Eskimo. You're Commissioner, ain't you?"
"Yes," the boy answered.
"An' you haven't found much crime, have you, eh?"
"Mighty little," he admitted.
"It's the same every year. They're a fine race, the Eskimo. I'll tell
you just one little thing about 'em, that I don't think could be said of
any other native race in the whole world."
"What's that?" the boy asked.
"You know," the whaler said, "how natives go to pieces when civilization
hits 'em."
"Generally."
"What do you suppose is the reason?"
"Whisky and white men's ways," answered Eric promptly.
"Right, first shot," said the other. "Soon after Alaska was opened up,
the Eskimo learned the excitin' effects of whisky. Fearin' trouble, a
strict watch was kept on the sale of liquor to the natives, an' as it
was easy enough to find out where the whisky had come from an' no vessel
could escape from the Arctic without being known, tradin' spirits to the
Eskimo soon had to be given up.
[Illustration: SIGNALS THAT GUARDS OUR COAST.
Flags flying at Quogue Station, warning vessels far out to sea.]
"But, in order to increase business, the traders taught one old Eskimo
chief, named Ah-tung-owra, how to make whisky out of flour and
molasses."
"They made it themselves?"
"Yes."
"But where could they get stills? I should think it was as easy to catch
a trader selling stills as selling whisky."
"They're home-made stills," the whaler explained. "There ain't much to
the apparatus. It is just a five-gallon coal-oil tin, an old gun-barrel
an' a wooden tub. The liquor they make tastes like chain lightnin', and
makes up in strength what it hasn't got in flavor.
"But what I think wonderful is this. When the Coast Guard--it was the
Revenue Cutter Service then--began its patrol of the Arctic, one of the
first things it did was to show the Eskimo the result of their drunken
bouts. Takin' whisky to native tribes an' then teachin' 'em to let it
alone is the white man's long suit.
"But the main difference between the Eskimo an' the rest of 'em, is that
these tribes listened. They asked a pile o' questions an' at last agreed
that the reasons given were good an' the habit was bad. Off their own
bat they broke up all the stills on the coast, an' months after the
clean-up a native told me that he had told his friends inland what
Bertholf had said, an' that all the stills there had been destroyed,
too. There's liquor enough in the south, but by the Eskimo's own
choosin' there isn't a blind tiger to-day between Cape Prince of Wales,
Point Barrow and Mackenzie Bay."
In consequence of this self-control on the part of the natives, the
young United States Commissioner found very little strain on his
judicial powers. One of the things that did trouble him was the constant
request of the natives to get married. The problem seemed so difficult
that he asked advice from the first lieutenant, who, many years before,
had been Commissioner on a similar assignment to that of Eric.
"I don't like marrying these natives, sir," he said, "because, so far as
I can make out, they haven't any idea of the legal end of it. I've been
talking to Ahyatlogok, a bridegroom, and he really doesn't intend to do
anything more than try out the bride for a season, Eskimo fashion, to
see if he likes her. And if he doesn't and they both want to separate,
if I've married them, they can't."
"Why not?"
"Ahyatlogok's not rich enough to take that long trip to Nome to get a
divorce. It's a year's journey, nearly. And unless he does, next time
the _Bear_ comes up he'll be a criminal. And yet he'll have done just
what his father did before him and nearly all his neighbors are doing."
"Mr. Swift," the senior officer answered, with a slight twinkle in his
eye, "do you tie a granny knot in a reef-point?"
"No, sir, never!" exclaimed Eric in surprise.
"Why not?"
"Because a granny knot jams, and a reef-point may have to be untied."
"There's your answer," said the first lieutenant, smiling as he turned
away.
With these constant small matters and with all the excitements of his
trip through the Arctic, Eric's summer passed rapidly. After having
touched Point Barrow, the _Bear_ came south, landing supplies at Cape
Lisburne and returning to Nome. As certain repairs to the machinery were
needed, and as her coal bunkers were growing empty, the _Bear_ headed to
the southward for Unalaska.
The cutter was within half a day's steaming of the port when the radio
began to buzz and buzz loudly, answering the call of a vessel in
distress off Chirikof Island. As the steamer was known to be carrying a
number of passengers, thus endangered, the _Bear_ did not stop at
Unalaska, but putting on full speed, arrived off Cape Sarichef
Lighthouse at 4 o'clock in the morning, proceeding through Unimak Pass
and Inside Passage. The naval radio station from Unalga Island confirmed
the report, but could give no further details.
Under full speed the _Bear_ reached the scene of the disaster the next
day. Of the vessel, _Oregon Queen_, not a sign could be seen, but, save
for three persons, all the crew and passengers were safe on Chirikof
Island. They were almost without food, however--many of them
insufficiently clad and utterly destitute. As the _Oregon Queen_ had
been bound for St. Paul, Kodiak Island, and a large number of the
passengers could depend upon assistance there, the _Bear_ picked them
up, and the day following, despite extraordinary weather conditions,
landed them at St. Paul. Little did the shipwrecked men realize that
they had only escaped one danger to be imperilled by another.
"Homer," said Eric to his friend the following afternoon, as the _Bear_
lay outside the barge _St. James_ at the wharf at St. Paul, "what do you
make of that cloud to the sou'west'ard?"
"Snow," was the terse reply.
"I don't," the boy objected. "It's a mighty queer-looking sort of cloud.
It doesn't look a bit like anything I've ever seen before."
"There's lots of things you've never seen," was his friend's reply.
"That's one of them," the boy answered gravely, not at all in his
friend's jovial vein. "But I don't think it's snow. There's something
awfully queer about it. Gives me the shivers, somehow! It looks too
solid for snow!"
Minutes passed. Little by little a curious feeling of unrest began to
spread over the ship. The sailors stopped in their work to glance up at
the strange and menacing cloud. Its edges were black with an orange
fringing, and as clean cut as though it were some gigantic plate being
moved across the sky. In the distance there was a low rumble, as of
thunder.
The portent rose slowly. Almost an hour passed before the cloud was
half-way up the zenith. Shortly before two bells in the first dog watch,
Eric, passing his hand along the rail, realized that it was covered
with a fine coat of dust. This was not black, like coal dust, but a
light gray.
"Say, Homer," he said, "that's ashes."
"Forest fire somewhere," said the other.
"No," said Eric, "it looks like pumice-stone."
"Volcanic, I'll bet," said the other, with a quickened interest. He
scooped up a pinch of the fine dust and looked at it. "It's volcanic,
sure enough. There must be a big eruption somewhere!"
"I wish it were right handy near by," said Eric; "I've never seen an
eruption."
"You talk as if they were as frequent as moving pictures," said the
other. "But there's trouble somewhere, you can lay to that. And it's not
far off, either! See, there's another cloud coming up from the nor'ard!"
Steadily, and with a slowness that only increased its threatening
aspect, the cloud to the northward joined the vast overhanging canopy
that had been seen earlier in the day. By half-past six in the evening
it was black as the densest night, the murk only being lighted by the
constant flashes of lightning. The air was highly electrified and the
wireless was made silent. During the evening the island was shaken by
many light earthquake shocks and several people from St. Paul came to
take refuge on the _Bear_. At midnight a fine dust was falling steadily,
but by six bells of the middle watch it had lessened and when the sun
rose the next morning, he could be seen as a dull red ball. The air was
still full of dust and ash, but the eruption was believed to be over.
Early in the morning scores of people came to the ship for
drinking-water, many of the streams and wells in the village having been
choked. About five inches of ashes had fallen. The captain of the _Bear_
started the evaporators going, to provide drinking-water for the folk
ashore.
Shortly before noon the ashes began to fall again, even more heavily
than before. When Eric came up from below after lunch, the air was so
full of a heavy gritty ash that it was impossible to see the length of
the ship. The _Bear_ was evidently in a place of danger and there was no
means of determining what was happening or what would happen.
"Do you suppose we'll strike out to sea?" queried Eric of his friend.
"We ought to, for safety, but I don't see how we can leave the place
unprotected."
"We'd never do that," replied the other. "Things don't work out that
way in the Coast Guard. You'll see. We'll stick here till the last gun's
fired."
It was a relief to Eric when at three o'clock that afternoon he was
ordered to accompany a shore party. All hands had been on duty since
seven that morning, and when Eric went ashore the sailors were keeping
regular shifts with shovels, clearing the decks, while four streams of
water from the fire mains were playing incessantly in an effort to clear
the ship of its horrible burden.
More than once, when the rain of volcanic debris grew especially heavy,
the men fell behind, work as hard as they might. Herein lay real danger,
for if the deck-load of ashes grew too heavy the _Bear_ might turn
turtle. Then all hope of rescue would be lost.
The captain of the _Bear_ summoned a meeting of the principal citizens.
He sent to the two saloons in the village and finding that they were
crowded, requested the proprietors to close. This they did without
demur, realizing that at a time of such peculiar danger, when no one
knew what had happened, what was happening, or where the next outbreak
might come, it was necessary for everybody to be on the alert.
Through the afternoon the darkness increased into a horrid gloom far
worse than the darkest night. Men collided with each other working about
the decks, for the feeble glow of electric lights and lanterns was
deadened by the yellowish compost so that they could not be seen five
feet away. When nightfall came, no one knew, it had been scarcely less
dark at three o'clock in the afternoon than at midnight. All night long
men worked steadily in shifts, clearing away the ash. Ashore the
conditions were equally terrifying and all night long the bell of the
Russian Church boomed out in the blackness. There were few of its
followers who did not grope their way to the building at some time
during that awful night.
Sunrise and the coming of daylight passed unseen and unnoticed. Only
chronometers and watches served to tell the change from night to day.
The three pilots of the place were summoned to discuss the possibility
of getting the _Bear_ safely out to sea, with all the population of the
village on board. As every landmark was obliterated, and as the ship's
bow could not be seen from the bridge, not one of the pilots would
undertake to con the ship through the narrow channel.
Somewhere the sun was shining, but not a glint of light passed the
impenetrable veil overhead. Still the sailors worked steadily, shoveling
off the ash over the vessel's side, still the pumps worked, though now
the water brought up from the harbor was like gruel and scarcely could
be forced through the pipes. Every few minutes, from the hills around
the village, avalanches of ashes could be heard, the terrible clouds of
debris flying over the town and adding to the choking smother.
Orders were given for all people to gather on the vessel or the wharf.
By ten o'clock the last of the gray ash-covered ghosts was mustered in,
185 people on the vessel, 149 in the warehouse on the wharf. Blinded by
ash, with throats so burned by the acrid fumes that even a hoarse
whisper was agony, with nostrils bleeding from constant effort to keep
them from being clogged with the fine dust, and with a stabbing pain in
the lungs with every breath one drew, the people were at the extremity
of their endurance. The situation looked desperate both for the
residents and for the officers and crew of the Coast Guard cutter.
The officers of the _Bear_ worked incessantly. In the dark they were
here, there and everywhere, and Eric, filled with the spirit of the
service, was on the jump. He was busy in the storehouse shortly before
eleven o'clock in the morning when a man groped his way in, saying that
he had just escaped an avalanche and that several men were marooned in a
steamer lying off the cannery wharf half a mile below the dock. This was
Eric's chance. So often had he made the trip from the ship to the
storehouse that morning that even in the dark and through the flying
spume of yellow horror he made his way direct to the first lieutenant,
and saluted.
[Illustration: GOING TO PIECES FAST.
Courtesy of U.S. Coast Guard.]
[Illustration: "WE SAVED 'EM ALL."
Coast Guard crew (including the dog) which rescued every sailor of
wrecked vessel's crew.
Courtesy of U.S. Coast Guard.]
"Yes, Mr. Swift?"
"I have information, sir," he said, "that there are seven men cut off
either in a steamer near the cannery, or in the cannery itself, half a
mile below the pier. I am told there is neither food nor water in the
building and that it is at the base of a hill from which it may be
overwhelmed by an avalanche at any minute. I think, sir, that a party
could reach them."
The lieutenant nodded and sought the captain. He returned a few moments
later.
"There are high hills between the village and the cannery," he said,
"and the road winds along the beach. We have absolutely no means of
knowing what the conditions may be. Under the circumstances the captain
does not feel justified in ordering a party on what might prove to be
their death. But--"
"Yes, sir?"
"He directed me to say that neither would he feel justified in refusing
permission to those who desired to attempt a rescue. If there should be
volunteers, I have no doubt that you would be given the opportunity to
lead the party."
Eric saluted, though in that dim strange dark he could scarcely see his
superior's face, and withdrew. In spite of the unknown nature of the
ordeal not a man drew back. Eric chose his friend, Homer, two warrant
officers, three enlisted men, one local resident for a guide, and the
master of the imperilled steamer.
The road was level, the distance only half a mile, but so great was the
danger of ash avalanches that every man was roped to the other--all
carried lanterns and there were several shovels.
"Hope we don't get buried under this stuff!" Eric whispered to Homer, as
they started out.
"I feel just about buried now," was the hoarse reply.
At the end of the score of houses that made the village street, the
party struck a deep drift of the volcanic ash. It took the guide to his
waist and he stumbled and fell. The fine acrid pumice filled his mouth
and his nostrils, and when Eric picked him up, he feared the man would
strangle to death. A mouthful of fresh air would have meant much to the
sufferer, but there was nothing but the sulphur-laden atmosphere to
breathe. In a minute or two, however, choking and gasping, the guide
cleared his nasal passages and throat of the burning dust. Blinded and
staggering, he recovered enough to be able to walk, but Eric took his
place and led the way.
Warned by this accident, which had so nearly proved a fatality, the boy
proceeded with extreme caution, digging a shovel before him every step
to make sure that the ashes did not hide some newly opened earthquake
crevice into which the party might fall. Under the slope of the
mountainous shores the swirling spume of gray-yellow dust was so dense
and yet so light in weight that the men struggled in ashes to their
waists, and it was hard to tell where earth ended and air began. It was
as though the earth had no surface. Unconsciously Eric found himself
using the motions of swimming, in order to cleave his way through the
semi-solid dust.
Suddenly, as Eric prodded the ground before him, the shovel went
through with a jolt, almost precipitating the boy on his face. Had it
not been for the slowness and the care with which he was advancing, he
might have had the same fate as the guide. Lifting up the spade, what
was his horror to find that it was wet!
With quick alarm Eric realized that the rescue party was in the utmost
peril. They had wandered from the shore and were in very truth within a
few inches of disaster. They were walking on the sea! The layer of
floating ash, though several feet thick, was but a treacherous surface
which might break through at any moment and land them in the water
below. There, certain death awaited them, for they would smother and
drown under the hideous pall. With his heart in his throat Eric turned
sharply to the right, trusting only to a vague sense of direction. A
score of steps brought him to a slight billowing of the ash, and with a
sigh of relief he knew he was on solid ground again.
The danger was little less upon the shore. Huge avalanches could be
heard hurtling down the mountain-side and with each new slide the air
became, if possible, more unbreathable than before. A new fear possessed
the lad. It might be that they would return alive to the ship, but
might not every member of the party be made helpless for life by the
clogging of the lung-passages with dust?
Presently he felt a tug at the line which roped the members of the party
together, and he stopped.
"What's the trouble?" he passed back word.
"Duncan's gone under, sir."
Eric made an uncomplimentary reference to Duncan under his breath, then
questioned,
"Unconscious?"
Came back the answer,
"Yes, sir; completely collapsed."
The boy was puzzled what to do. He could detach two members of the party
to carry back the unconscious sailor, but that would reduce his strength
from eight men to five. He could not leave the man alone, for if he lay
on the ground for even ten minutes, he would be covered with volcanic
ash and could never be found again.
"The two men nearest on the line pick Duncan up and bring him along," he
ordered, and the party proceeded.
They had covered another hundred yards, when overhead they heard a
fearful roar. In the murk and blinding confusion no one could tell what
new peril was threatening, but a piece of pumice almost the size of an
apple came whistling down, midway of the party. One of the sailors, with
great presence of mind, whipped out his sheath knife and cut the rope,
shouting,
"Forward! Quick as you can!" then doubled on those behind him, crying,
"Back! Back!"
He was not a moment too soon, for full between the two halves of the
party came a pouring torrent of ash. Its greasy and slippery character
made it flow almost like water, though sending up clouds of dust.
Choking and blinded, the rear members of the party gave back. While they
waited, not knowing whether the whole mountain side might not plunge
down upon them, Duncan gasped and came to.
Meantime, Eric passed back word to see how the rest of the party had
fared. What was his horror to hear, from the fourth man in the line,
"No one back o' me, sir. An' the line's been cut through. Not broken,
sir; cut clean!"
"Right about and go back," ordered Eric. "We've got to find the rest of
them!"
"Beg your pardon, sir, but I can't."
"Why not?"
"There's a Niagerer of stuff comin' down the mounting, sir, and no one
could stand up agin it for a minnit."
"Shout, then, and try if you can hear the others."
The sailor shouted, and then called to Eric,
"Yes, sir, there's an answerin' hail." Then, a moment later, "They say
everything's all right. Four of them's there, sir, and Duncan's come
around."
The rushing "whoosh" of the ash-slide began to lessen, and presently,
gallantly plowing through the still sliding pumice, came the first
sailor. The rope was knotted and the party went on. A quarter of an hour
later they reached the cannery. The _Redondo_ was lying anchored off the
cannery wharf and Eric managed to attract the attention of the crew and
get them to launch their boat. The boat pulled in as close to the beach
as possible, until it was fast in the ash, then a line was thrown to the
shore and the boat pulled in, though the last fifteen feet were like
thick porridge. The seven men were brought along the beach and returned
to the vessel. Not a sign remained of the trail the party had made on
its outward trip.
It had taken three hours for the rescue, and as soon as the eight men
reached the vessel, they gave way. Even Eric was compelled to put
himself in the hands of the ship's surgeon. The doctors, one from the
ship and one from the village, had been working night and day.
Hollow-eyed and unsleeping, they continued their task of reviving people
suffocated by the fumes or strangled with ashes. More than one worker
had collapsed utterly as the result of an unceasing fight against the
volcanic fiery rain.
In the afternoon of that third day the sky began to clear and by three
o'clock objects became dimly visible. Absolute dark gave place to an
orange-brown light, under which, every object, cloaked in a mask of
ashes, looked horribly unfamiliar. It was like waking into a new world
where nothing would ever be the same.
The slight tremblings of the earth increased, and almost at the same
time as the clearing of the sky, there was a serious shake. On board the
_Bear_ the trouble was not so noticeable, but ashore the occupants of
the storehouse fled in terror, crying that the building would fall on
them. Their fears were not without justification, for the big frame
building creaked and swayed in an alarming manner.
This decided the matter. Every one was somehow stowed on board the
_Bear_ and at slow speed, only enough to give steerage way, with two
leads going, and the oldest and most experienced pilot in the bow to con
her through the narrow channel, the cutter made her way out safely. She
anchored in the outer harbor, fortunately having secured a bearing from
Woody Island, whereby she could run out to sea by compass course should
conditions warrant. This also gave an opportunity to relieve the
suffering on Woody Island, and 104 persons were brought on board, making
486 people to be fed from the supplies handled by the _Bear_. It was
incredible how so many could be accommodated, but the organization was
perfect.
The night was spent in great suspense; but Eric, who had been relieved
from duty, slept through it. It was noon before he finally wakened, to
find a bright sunlit sky and a ship clear of ashes. In the afternoon, as
the effects of the eruption cleared away, three expeditions were sent to
Woody Island, to St. Paul, and to the neighboring islands. Eric was sent
with the _Redondo_ on the rescue party that was headed for Afognak.
There it was learned that the eruption had come from Mount Katmai, on
the mainland of the Alaska Peninsula, opposite Kodiak Island, and that
there were people in distress in the region of the volcano. Without an
instant's delay the _Redondo_ was headed out of the harbor, and despite
a dense fog, she was run through the Kupreanoff Straits and across
Shelikoff Straits to Kaflia Bay.
At half-past two in the morning, the _Redondo_ dropped anchor near the
volcano, and as soon as it grew light, Eric was sent to head a landing
party. Every hut was covered with ashes, and a native, pointing to one
of the drifts, said it was as high as "five houses," or about fifty feet
high. All the streams were buried; there was not a drop of liquid of any
kind, and the villagers had lived in the tortures of that ash-choked air
for three days, waterless. Two were delirious from thirst, all were at
the point of exhaustion when the Coast Guard men appeared to save them.
With her engines throbbing at their utmost speed, the _Redondo_ passed
from point to point of the stricken coast, saving over fourscore lives
that a half a day's delay would have rendered too late to save. When the
dusk of that day deepened into evening, the _Redondo_ turned homeward
from those shrouded shores, bearing to safety the homeless victims of
the peninsula and islands close at hand.
[Illustration: NATIVE REFUGEES FROM KATMAI ERUPTION.
From waterless shores covered six feet deep with orange-grey dust, come
famishing fishers in their kayaks.
Courtesy of U.S. Coast Guard.]
Still in the far distance rumbled the defeated earthquake, still upon
the sky was reflected the lurid glow of the volcano, which, through the
daring and the courage of the Coast Guard men, claimed not a single
victim.