they found themselves ashore. The three grabbed the traces and helped
the dogs jerk the komatik clear of the next sea, and all were at last
safe.
Five minutes later a landing would have been impossible, and two hours
later the entire bay surrounding their island was swept clear of ice
by the gale and outgoing tide.
During the whole adventure the Eskimos had conducted themselves with
the utmost coolness and gave Bob confidence and courage. Dangers of
this kind had no terrors for them for they had met them all their
lives.
They had landed upon the windward side of the island at a point where
they were exposed to the full sweep of the gale.
"Peungeatuk"--very bad--said Akonuk.
Then he told Bob to remain by the dogs while he and Matuk looked for a
sheltered camping place. In half an hour Matuk returned, his face
wreathed in smiles, with the information,
"Innuit, igloo."
Then he and Bob drove the dogs to the lee side of the island, where
they found four large snow igloos and several men, women and children,
standing outside waiting to see the white traveller.
The Eskimos received Bob kindly, and they asked him inside while some
of the men helped Akonuk and Matuk erect an igloo and fix up their
camp.
The several igloos were all connected by snow tunnels, which permitted
of an easy passage from one to the other without the necessity of
going out of doors. A piece of clear ice, like glass, was set into the
roof of each to answer for a window. They were all filled with a
stench so sickening that Bob soon made an excuse to go outside and
lend a hand in unpacking and helping Akonuk and Matuk make their own
snow house ready.
There were no boughs here for a bed, as the island sustained no growth
whatever, and in place of the boughs the dog harness was spread about
before the deerskins were put down. In a little while the place was
made quite comfortable.
It was not until they sat down to supper that Bob realized fully the
serious position they were in. Akonuk and Matuk, after much
difficulty, for he could understand their Eskimo tongue so
imperfectly, explained to him that there was no means of reaching the
mainland as there were no boats on the island, and that after the food
they had was eaten there would be no means of procuring more, as the
island had no game upon it. They also told him that no one would be
passing the island until summer and that there was therefore no hope
of outside rescue.
But one chance of escape was possible. If the wind were to shift to
the northward and hold there long enough it would probably drive the
ice back into the bay and then it would quickly freeze and they could
reach the mainland. This their only hope, at this season of the year,
for March was nearly spent, was a scant one.
XX
PRISONERS OF THE SEA
The party of Eskimos that Bob and his companions found encamped upon
the island had come from the Kangeva mainland to spear seals through
the animals' breathing holes in the ice, which in this part of the bay
were more numerous than on the mainland side. In the few days since
they had established themselves here they had met with some success,
and had accumulated a sufficient store of meat and blubber to keep
them and their dogs for a month or so, but further seal hunting, or
hunting of any kind, was now out of the question, as no animal life
existed on the island itself, and without boats with which to go upon
the water the people were quite helpless in this respect.
Limited as was their supply of provisions, however, they unselfishly
offered to share with Bob and his two companions the little they had,
as is the custom with people who have not learned the harder ways of
civilization and therefore live pretty closely to the Golden Rule.
This hospitality was a considerable strain upon their resources, for
the twelve dogs in addition to their own would require no small amount
of flesh and fat to keep them even half-way fed; and the whale meat
that had been brought for the dogs from Ungava Post was nearly all
gone.
Akonuk had been instructed by Mr. MacPherson to discover the
whereabouts of these very Eskimos and arrange with two of them to go
on with Bob, after which he and Matuk were to secure from them food
for themselves and their team and return to Ungava.
A good part of the hardtack, boiled pork and venison still remained,
for, as we have seen, the game they had killed on the way had pretty
nearly been enough for their wants. It was fortunate for Bob that they
had these provisions, which required no cooking, for otherwise he
would have had to eat the raw seal as the Eskimos did. They understood
his aversion to doing this, and generously, and at the same time
preferably, perhaps, ate the uncooked meat themselves, and left the
other for him.
March passed into April, and daily the situation grew more desperate,
as the provisions diminished with each sunset. Bob was worried. It
began to look as though he and the Eskimos were doomed to perish on
this miserable island. He was sorry now that he had not waited at
Ungava for the ship, and been more patient, for then he would have
reached Eskimo Bay in safety. At first the Eskimos were very cheerful
and apparently quite unconcerned, and this consoled him somewhat and
made him more confident; but finally even they were showing signs of
restlessness.
Every day he was becoming more familiar with their language and could
understand more and more of their conversation, and he drew from it
and their actions that they considered the situation most critical.
Back of the igloos was a hill a couple of hundred feet high, and many
times each day the men of the camp would climb it and look long and
earnestly to the north, where the heaving billows of Hudson Straits
and the sky line met, broken only here and there by huge icebergs that
towered like great crystal mountains above the water. They were
watching for the ice field that they hoped would drift down with each
tide to bridge the sea that separated them from the distant mainland.
The early April days were growing long and the sun's rays shining more
directly upon the world were gaining power, though not yet enough to
bring the temperature up to zero even at high noon, but enough to
remind the men that winter was aging, and the ice hourly less likely
to come back.
One of the Eskimos, Tuavituk by name, was an Angakok, or conjurer, and
claimed to possess special powers which permitted him to communicate
with Torngak, the Great Spirit who ruled their fortunes just as the
Manitou rules the fortunes of the Indians. Tuavituk one day announced
to the assembled Eskimos that something had been done to displease
Torngak, and to punish them he had caused the storm to come that had
so suddenly carried away the ice and left them marooned upon this
desolate island, and here they would all perish eventually of
starvation unless Torngak were appeased.
This announcement occasioned a long discussion as to what the cause of
their trouble could have been. One old Eskimo suggested that the ice
had broken up at the very moment that the kablunok--stranger--arrived,
and that his presence was undoubtedly the disturbing influence. White
men, he said, showed no respect for Torngak, and it was quite
reasonable, therefore, that Torngak should resent it and wish not only
to destroy the white men, but punish the innuit who gave the kablunok
shelter or assistance. If this were the case they could only hope for
relief after first driving Bob from their camp. When once purged of
his presence Torngak would be satisfied, he would send the ice back
into the bay and they would be enabled to return to the mainland and
to renew their hunting.
A long discussion followed this harangue in which all the men took
part with the exception of Tuavituk, who as Angakok reserved his
opinion until it should be called for in a professional way; and all
agreed with the first speaker save Akonuk and Matuk, who, being
visitors, spoke last.
Akonuk asserted that he and Matuk had travelled with the kablunok all
the way from Ungava and had enjoyed during that time not only perfect
safety and comfort, but had made an unusually quick and lucky journey,
killing all the ptarmigans and small game they wanted, and
experiencing with the exception of one snow-storm excellent weather
until they approached Kangeva. Then the ill wind blew upon them and
brought disaster as they came to the camp on the island; therefore it
seemed quite certain that not the kablunok but some of the innuit in
the camp had offended the great Torngak, and amongst themselves they
must look for the cause of their misfortune.
Matuk followed this speech with an address in which he bore out
Akonuk's statements, and, doubtless having in mind Bob's plentiful
supply of tea, of which beverage Matuk was passionately fond and
partook freely, he stated it as his opinion that the presence of the
kablunok had actually been the source of the good luck they had had
previous to their arrival at Kangeva. Then he wound up with the
startling announcement that he believed he knew the cause of Torngak's
anger: that on the very day of their arrival he had seen Chealuk--one
of the old women--sewing a netsek--sealskin adikey--_with the sinew of
the tukto_--reindeer.
Every one turned to Chealuk for confirmation and she said simply,
"It is true."
The Eskimos were struck dumb with horror. This, then, was the cause
of their trouble. For the women to work with any part of the reindeer
while the men were hunting seals was one of the greatest affronts that
could be offered the Great Spirit. Torngak had been insulted and
angered. He must be appeased and mollified at any cost.
Tuavituk, the Angakok, it was decided, must do some conjuring. He must
get into immediate communication with Torngak and learn the spirit's
wishes and demands and what must be done to dispel the evil charm that
Chealuk had worked by her thoughtlessness. Tauvituk was quite
willing--indeed anxious--to do this, but he demanded to be well paid
for it, and every man had to contribute some valuable pelt or article
of clothing.
When all preparations for the seance had been made the Angakok's head
was covered and in a few moments he began to utter untelligible
exclamations, which were shortly punctuated by shouts and screams and
ravings. He fell to the floor and seemed stricken with a fit, and Bob
thought the man had gone stark mad. He struck out and grasped those
within his reach, and they were glad to escape from his iron clutch.
For several minutes this wild frenzy lasted before he said an
intelligible word.
"The deer! The deer! The deer's sinew! Chealuk! Chealuk! Chealuk!
Torngak! The evil spirit is in Chealuk! She must go! Must go! Send
Chealuk away! Send her away! Send her away! Send her away!"
Finally from sheer exhaustion he quieted down and came out of his
trance. He probably thought that he had given them their value's worth
and what they had wanted, and that they should be satisfied.
It was now decreed that, this being the direct command of Torngak,
Chealuk must be expelled from the camp. Some even asserted that she
should be killed, but the majority decided that as Torngak had said
merely that "Chealuk must go" that meant only that she must be sent
away. If this did not prove sufficient to counteract their ill luck,
why she could, after a reasonable time, be sought out and dispatched,
if she had not in the meantime perished.
The feeble old woman heard it all with outward stoic indifference. It
was a part of her religion and she probably thought the punishment
quite just, and whatever shrinking of spirit she felt, she hid it
heroically from the others. To have been killed immediately would have
been more humane than banishment, for the latter only meant a slower
but just as sure a death, from exposure and starvation.
To Bob, who had listened intently and was able to grasp the situation
in a general way, it seemed heartless in the extreme; but his protests
would not only have been powerless to move the Eskimos from their
purpose, but in all probability would have worked harm for himself and
to no avail. These people that at first had seemed so amiable and
hospitable, and almost childlike in their nature, had been by their
heathen superstitions suddenly transformed into cruel, unsympathetic
savages.
"Oh," thought Bob, "if I had but heeded Sishetakushin's warning!"
But it was too late now to repent of the course he had taken and he
had only to abide by it. It seemed to him that his own life hung by a
mere thread and that at any moment some fancy might strike them to
sacrifice him too. He had indeed but barely escaped Chealuk's fate,
and the next time he might not be so fortunate.
In this disturbed state of mind he withdrew from the igloos and
climbed the hill, where he stood and gazed longingly at the mainland
hills to the southward, wondering where, beyond those cold, white
ranges, lay Wolf Bight and his little cabin home, warm and clean and
tidy, and whether his mother and father and Emily thought him safe or
had heard of his disappearance and were mourning him as dead. And here
he was far, far away in the north and hopelessly--apparently--stranded
upon a desolate island from which he would probably never escape and
never see them again.
Oh, how lonely and disconsolate he felt. Every day since he left home
he had prayed God to keep the loved ones safe and to take him back to
them.
"I hopes they're safe an' Emily's better, but th' Lard's been losin'
track o' me," he said to himself with a wavering faith.
"But th' Lard took me safe t' Ungava, an' He must be watchin' me," he
exclaimed after further thought. "An' He's been rare good t' me."
Then like a bulwark to lean against there came to him the words of his
mother as they parted that beautiful September morning:
"Don't forget your prayers, lad, an' remember your mother's prayin'
for you every night an' every mornin'."
And Emily had said, too, that she would ask God every night to keep
him safe. This brought him a renewal of his faith and he argued,
"Th' Lard'll sure not be denyin' mother an' Emily, an' they askin' He
every day t' bring me back. He sure would not be denyin' they for He
knows how bad 'twould be makin' they feel if I were not comin' home.
An' He wouldn't be wantin' _that_, for they never does nothin' t' make
He cross with un."
This thought comforted him and he said confidently to himself,
"Th' Lard'll be showin' th' way when th' right time comes an' I'll try
t' bide content till then."
But there was little in the surroundings to warrant Bob's faith.
Looking about him from the hilltop he could see nothing but open sea
around the island with an expanse of desolation beyond--snow, snow
everywhere, from the water's edge to where the rugged mountains to the
south and east held their cold heads into the gray clouds that hid the
sky and sun. The sea was sombre and black. Not a breath of air
stirred, not a sound broke the silence, and it seemed almost as
though Nature in anxious suspense watched the outcome of it all. But
Bob's faith was renewed--the simple, childlike faith of his
people--and he felt better and more content with himself and his
fortune.
It was growing dusk when he returned to the igloos. As he descended
the hill a flake of snow struck his face and it was followed by
others. A breath of wind like a blast from a bellows swirled the
flakes abroad. The elements were awakening.
In the igloos Akonuk and Matuk were brewing tea for supper and the
three ate in silence.
Bob asked once,
"What's to be done with Chealuk?"
"Nothing," they answered laconically.
This relieved the anxiety he felt for her, and he crawled into his
sleeping bag and went to sleep, thinking that after all the judgment
of the Angakok was a mere form, not to be executed literally.
After some hours Bob awoke. The wind was blowing a gale outside. He
could hear it quite distinctly. From what direction it came he could
not tell, and after lying awake for a long while he decided to arise
and see.
When he removed the block of snow from the igloo entrance and crawled
outside he was all but smothered by the swirling snow of a terrific,
raging blizzard. He turned his back to the blast, and realized that it
came from the north-east. The cold was piercing and awful. The
elements which had been held in subjection for so long were unleashed
and were venting themselves with all the untamed fury of the North
upon the world.
As he turned to reënter the igloo an apparition brushed past him
rushing off into the night.
"Who is it?" he shouted.
But the wind brought back no answer and overcome with a feeling of
trepidation and a sense of impending tragedy, half believing that he
had seen a ghost, he crawled back to his cover and warm sleeping bag
to wonder.
There was no cessation in the storm or change in the conditions the
next day. In the morning while they were drinking their hot tea Bob
told Akonuk and Matuk of the apparition he had seen in the night.
"That," they said in awe, "was the spirit of Torngak," and Bob was
duly impressed.
Upon a visit later to the other igloos he missed Chealuk. She had
always sat in one corner plying her needle, and had always had a word
for him when he came in to pay a visit. Her absence was therefore
noticeable and Bob asked one of the Eskimos where she was.
"Gone," said the Eskimo.
And this was all he could learn from them. Poor old Chealuk had been
sent away, and it must have been she, then, that he had seen in the
darkness.
That night Bob was aroused again, and he immediately realized that
something of moment had occurred. Akonuk and Matuk were awake and
talking excitedly, and through the shrieking of the gale outside came
a distinct and unusual sound. It was like the roar of distant thunder,
but still it was not thunder. He sat up sharply to learn the meaning
of it all.
XXI
ADRIFT ON THE ICE
The unusual sound that Bob heard was the pounding of ice driven by the
mighty force of wind and tide against the island rocks. This the
Eskimos verified with many exclamations of delight. The hoped for had
happened and release from their imprisonment was at hand. Bob thanked
God for remembering them.
"I were thinkin' th' Lard would not be losin' sight o' me now He's
been so watchful in all th' other times I were needin' help," said he
as he lay down.
To the Eskimos it was a proof of the efficacy of the appeal to the
Angakok.
During the next day the high wind and snow continued until dusk. Then
the weather began to calm and before morning the sky was clear and the
stars shining cold and brilliant, and the sun rose clear and
beautiful. Kangeva Bay, a solid held of ice again, as it was when Bob
first saw it, stretched away unbroken and white to the northward.
No time was lost in making preparations for their escape. The komatiks
were packed at once with the camp goods and the little food that still
remained, the dogs were harnessed and a quick march took them safely
to the mainland.
Here the Eskimos had an ample cache of seal and walrus meat killed
earlier in the season. New igloos were built, as the old ones in use
before they transferred to the island were not considered comfortable,
the previous occupancy having softened the interior snow, which was
now encrusted with a thin glaze of ice and this glaze prevented a free
circulation of air.
Bob wanted to go on without delay but Akonuk and Matuk had found none
of the Eskimos willing to proceed with him. It was therefore necessary
for them to go with him until another camp was reached, and they
insisted upon delaying the start a day in order as they said to give
the dogs a good feed and get them in better shape for the journey, as
they for some time had been fed only each alternate day instead of
every day as was customary, and even then had received but half their
usual portion. This seemed quite reasonable, but when Bob saw his
friends a little later consuming raw seal meat themselves in enormous
quantities, he concluded that the dogs were not the only object of
their consideration.
They were still busily engaged arranging their new quarters when one
of the Eskimos called the attention of the others to a black object
far out upon the ice in the direction from which they had come. Slowly
it tottered towards them and in a little while it was made out to be
old Chealuk, who had been in hiding somewhere on the island. The poor
old woman, nearly starved and with frozen hands and feet, was barely
able to drag herself into camp. Some of the men protested against
receiving her but she was finally permitted to enter the igloos and
take up her old place, though with the understanding that she should
leave again immediately at the first indication of Torngak's
displeasure.
It was a great relief to Bob to know that she had not perished. The
old woman had only been able to keep from freezing to death, as he
learned, by hollowing out a place in a snow-bank in which to lie and
letting the snow drift thickly over her and remaining there until the
storm had spent itself.
"Sure I'm glad t' see she back again," thought Bob, and he voiced the
sentiment to Matuk.
"Atsuk"--I don't know--said the Eskimo with a shrug of the shoulders.
While, as we have seen, none of the Eskimos would take the place of
Akonuk and Matuk, they gave them sufficient seal meat and blubber for
a two weeks' journey, and early the next morning the march eastward
was resumed.
Bob was now driven to eating seal meat, as all his other provisions
were exhausted, though, fortunately, he still had an abundance of tea.
He had often eaten seal meat at home and was rather fond of it when it
was properly cooked, but now no wood with which to make a fire was to
be had. The land was absolutely barren, and even the moss was so
deeply hidden beneath the snow it could not be resorted to for this
purpose. Evenings in the igloo he boiled some meat over the stone
lamp--enough to last him through the following day--but at best he
could get it but partially cooked. However, he soon learned not to
mind this much, for hunger is the best imaginable sauce, and in the
cold of the Arctic north one can eat with a relish what could not be
endured in a milder climate.
For several days they traversed mountain passes where they were shut
in by towering, rugged peaks which seemed to reach to the very
heavens. Bleak and desolate as the landscape was it possessed a
magnificence and grandeur that demanded admiration and called forth
Bob's constant wonder. He would gaze up at the mysterious white
summits and ejaculate,
"'Tis grand! 'Tis wonderful grand!"
Such mountains he had never seen before, and like all wilderness
dwellers he was a lover of Nature's beauties and a close observer of
her wonders.
It was near the middle of April now and the sun's rays, reflected by
the snow, were growing dazzlingly bright and beginning to affect their
eyes. Goggles should have been worn as a protection against this glare
but they had none and did not trouble to make them until one night
Matuk found that he was overtaken by a slight attack of
snow-blindness. This is an extremely painful affliction which does not
permit the sufferer to approach the light or, in fact, so much as open
his eyes without experiencing agony. The sensation is that of having
innumerable splinters driven into the eyeballs with the lids when
opened and closed grating over the splinters.
While they were waiting for Matuk to recover his eyesight Akonuk and
Bob removed one of the wooden cross-bars from the komatik and with
their knives cut from it three pieces each long enough to fit over the
eyes for a pair of goggles. These were rounded to fit the face and a
place whittled out for the nose to fit into. Then hollow places were
cut large enough to permit the eyelids to open and close in them, and
opposite each eye hollow a narrow slit for the wearer to look through.
Then the interior of the eye places were blackened with smoke from the
stone lamp, and a thong of sealskin was fastened to each end of the
goggles with which to tie them in place upon the head.
Thus a pair of goggles was ready for each when, after a three days'
rest Matuk's eyes were well enough for him to continue the journey,
and by constantly wearing them on days when the sun shone, further
danger of snow-blindness was averted.