stretching far away to the eastward the great ocean ice. The sight
sent the blood tingling through Bob's veins. Nearly half the journey
from Ungava to Eskimo Bay had been accomplished!
"Th' coast! Th' coast!" shouted Bob. "Now I'll be gettin' home inside
a month!"
He began at once to plan the surprise he had in store for the folk and
an early trip that he would make over to the Post, when he would tell
Bessie about his great "cruise" and hear her say that she was glad to
see him back again. But Fortune does not wait upon human plans and
Bob's fortitude was yet to be tried as it never had been tried before.
That afternoon an Eskimo village of snow igloos was reached. The
Eskimos swarmed out to meet the visitors and gave them a whole-souled
welcome, and in an hour they were quite settled for a brief stay in
the new quarters.
Akonuk told Bob that now after the dogs, which were very badly spent,
had a few days in which to rest, he and Matuk would turn back to
Ungava. They would try to arrange for two more Eskimos with a fresh
team to go on with him, but as for themselves, even were the dogs in
condition to travel, they did not know the trail beyond this point.
The Eskimos here, like those they had met on the island at Kangeva,
were engaged in seal hunting, and none of the men seemed to care to
leave their work for a long, hard journey south. They did not say,
however, that they would not go. When they were asked their answer
was:
"In a little while--perhaps."
This was very unsatisfactory to Bob in his anxious frame of mind. But
he had learned that Eskimos must be left to bide their time, and that
no amount of coaxing would hurry them, so he tried to await their
moods in patience. He understood the reluctance of the men to go away
during one of the best hunting seasons of the year and could not find
fault with them for it.
The seals were the mainstay of their living and to lose the hunt might
mean privation. They were in need of the skins for clothing, kayaks
and summer tents, and the flesh and blubber for food for themselves
and their dogs, and the oil for their stone lamps.
Later in the season they would harpoon the animals from their kayaks,
but this was the great harvest time when they killed them by spearing
through holes in the ice where the seals came at intervals to breathe,
for a seal will die unless it can get fresh air occasionally. Early in
the morning each Eskimo would take up his position near one of these
breathing holes, and there, with spear poised, not moving so much as a
foot, sometimes for hours at a time, await patiently the appearance of
a seal, which, having many similar holes, might not chance to come to
this particular one the whole day.
The spear used had a long, wooden handle, with a barbed point made of
metal or ivory, and so arranged that the barbed point came off the
handle after it had been driven into the animal. To the point was
fastened one end of a long sealskin line, the other end of which the
hunter tied about his waist.
The moment a seal's nose made its appearance at the breathing hole the
watchful Eskimo drove the spear into its body. Then began a tug of war
between man and seal, and sometimes the Eskimos had narrow escapes
from being pulled into the holes.
The seals of Labrador, it should be explained, are the hair, and not
the fur seals such as are found in the Alaskan waters and the South
Sea. There are five varieties of them, the largest of which is the
hood seal and the smallest the doter or harbour seal. The square
flipper also grows to a very large size. The other two kinds are the
jar and the harp.
These all have different names applied to them according to their age.
Thus a new-born harp is a "puppy," then a "white coat"; when it is old
enough to take to the water, which is within a fortnight after birth,
it becomes a "paddler," a little later a "bedlamer," then a "young
harp" and finally a harp. The handsomest of them all is the "ranger,"
as the young doter is called.
Finally, one evening when all the men were assembled in the igloos
after their day's hunt, Akonuk announced that he and Matuk were to
return home the next morning. This renewed the discussion as to who
should go on with Bob, and the upshot of it was that two young
fellows--Netseksoak and Aluktook--with the promise that Mr. Forbes
would reward them for aiding to bring the letters which Bob carried,
volunteered to make the journey.
This settled the matter to Bob's satisfaction and it was agreed that,
as the season was far advanced, it would be necessary to start at once
in order to give the two men time to reach home again before the
spring break-up of the ice.
Long before daylight the next morning the Eskimos were lashing the
load on the komatik and at dawn the dogs were harnessed and everything
ready. Bob said good-bye to Akonuk and Matuk and the two teams took
different directions and were soon lost to each other's view.
"'Twill not be long now," said Bob to himself, "an' we gets t' th'
Bay."
The sun at midday was now so warm that it softened the snow, which,
freezing towards evening, made a hard ice crust over which the komatik
slipped easily and permitted of very fast travelling until the snow
began to soften again towards noon. Therefore the early part of the
day was to be taken advantage of.
The new team, containing eleven dogs, was really made up of two small
teams, one of six dogs belonging to Netseksoak and the other of five
dogs the property of Aluktook. At first the two sets of dogs were
inclined to be quarrelsome and did not work well together. At the very
start they had a pitched battle which resulted in the crippling of
Aluktook's leader to such an extent that for two days it was almost
useless.
However, with the good going fast time was made. Usually they kept to
the sea ice, but sometimes took short cuts across necks of land where,
as had been the case near Ungava, the men had to haul on the traces
with the dogs.
The new drivers were much younger men than Akonuk and Matuk and they
were in many respects more companionable. But Bob missed a sort of
fatherly interest that the others had shown in him and did not rely so
implicitly upon their judgment.
Able now as he was to understand very much of their conversation, he
took part in the discussion of various routes and expressed his
opinion as to them; and the Eskimos, who at first had looked upon him
as a more or less inexperienced kablunok, soon began to feel that he
knew nearly as much about dog and komatik travelling as they did
themselves. Thus a sort of good fellowship developed at once.
One evening after a hard day's travelling as they came over the crest
of a hill the first grove of trees that Bob had seen since shortly
after leaving Ungava came in sight. It was the most welcome thing that
had met his view in weeks, and when the dogs were turned to its edge
and he saw a small shack, he knew that he was nearing again the white
man's country.
The shack was found to have no occupants, but it contained a sheet
iron stove such as he had used in his tilts, and that night he
revelled in the warmth of a fire and a feast of boiled ptarmigan and
tea.
"'Tis like gettin' back t' th' Bay," said Bob, and he asked the
Eskimos, "Will there be igloosoaks (shacks) all the way?"
"Igloosoaks every night," answered Aluktook.
The following morning a westerly breeze was blowing and the Eskimos
were uncertain whether to keep to the land or follow the sea ice along
the shore. The former route, they explained to Bob, passed over high
hills and was much the harder and longer one of the two, but safer.
The ice route along the shore was smooth and could be accomplished
much more quickly, but at this season of the year was fraught with
more or less danger. For many miles the shore rose in precipitous
rocks, and should a westerly gale arise while they were passing this
point, the ice was likely to break away and no escape could be made to
the shore. The wind blowing then from the West was not strong enough
yet, they said, to cause any trouble, and they did not think it would
rise, but still it was uncertain.
"Which way should they go?"
Bob's experience at Kangeva made him hesitate for a moment, but his
impatience to reach home quickly got the better of his judgment; and,
especially as the Eskimos seemed inclined to prefer the outside route,
he joined them in their preference and answered,
"We'll be goin' outside."
And the outside route they took.
All went well for a time, but hourly the wind increased. The dogs were
urged on, but the wind kept blowing them to leeward and they began to
show signs of giving out. Finally a veritable gale was blowing and the
Eskimos' faces grew serious.
They were now opposite that part of the shore where it rose a
perpendicular wall of rock towering a hundred feet above the sea, and
offered no place of refuge. So they hurried on as best they could in
the hope of rounding the walls and making land before the inevitable
break came. Presently Aluktook shouted,
"Emuk! Emuk!"--the water! the water!
Bob and Netseksoak looked, and a ribbon of black water lay between
them and the shore.
They lashed the dogs and shouted at them until they were hoarse, in a
vain effort to urge them on. The poor brutes lay to the ice and did
their best, but it was quite hopeless. In an incredibly short time the
ribbon had widened into a gulf a quarter of a mile wide. Then it grew
to a mile, and presently the shore became a thin black line that was
soon lost to view entirely. They were adrift on the wide Atlantic!
They stopped the dogs when they realized that further effort was
useless and sat down on the komatik in impotent dismay.
The weather had grown intensely cold and the perspiration that the
excitement and exertion had brought out upon their faces was freezing.
Snow squalls were already beginning and before nightfall a blizzard
was raging in all its awful fury and at any moment the ice pack was
liable to go to pieces.
XXII
THE MAID OF THE NORTH
"The's no profit in this trade any more," said Captain Sam Hanks, as
he sat down to supper with his mate, Jack Simmons, in the little cabin
of his schooner, _Maid of the North_. "I won't get a seaman's wages
out o' th' cruise, an' I'm sick o' workin' fer nothin'. Now there was
a time before th' free traders done th' business t' death that a man
could make good money on th' Labrador, but that time's past They pays
so much fer th' fur they's spoiled it fer everybody, an' I'm goin' t'
quit."
"Th' free traders don't go north o' th' Straits much. Why don't ye try
it there, sir?" suggested the mate.
"Ice. Too much ice. I've been thinkin' it over. Th' trouble is we
couldn't get through th' ice in th' spring until after th' Hudson's
Bay people had gobbled up everything. Th' natives down that coast is
poor as Job's turkey, an' they has t' sell their fur soon's th'
furrin' season's over. I hears th' company gets th' fur from 'em fer
a song. Them natives'll give ye a silver fox fer a jackknife an' a
barrel o' flour, an' a marten fer a gallon o' molasses. But the's
money in it if a feller could get there in time," he added
thoughtfully.
"What's th' matter with goin' down in th' fall before th' ice blocks
th' coast? Th' _Maid o' th' North_ is sheathed fer ice, an' we could
freeze her in, some place down th' coast, an' be on hand t' sail when
th' ice clears in th' spring, We could let th' folks know where we
were t' freeze up, an' we'd pick up a lot o' fur before th' ice
breaks, an' th' natives'd hold th' rest until we calls comin' south.
The's a big chanct there," said the mate, conclusively.
"I dunno but yer right. I hadn't thought o' goin' down in th' fall t'
freeze up. We'd have t' be gettin' t' our anchorage by th' first o'
October."
"The's plenty o' time t' do that, sir. 'Twon't take more'n ten days t'
fit out."
"Then the's th' cost o' shippin' th' crew t' be taken into account, 'n
havin' 'em doin' nothin' th' hull winter. I don't know's the'd be much
in it after everythin's counted out."
"That's easy 'nuff fixed. Take a lot o' traps an' let th' crew hunt in
th' winter. Ye wouldn't have t' pay 'em then when ye wasn't afloat. Ye
could give 'em their keep an' let 'em hunt with th' traps on shore an'
make a little outen 'em. The's always fools 'nuff as thinks they'll
get rich if they has a chanct t' try their hand doin' somethin' they
ain't been doin' before, an' you kin get a crew o' fellers like that
easy 'nuff."
"I dunno. Maybe I kin an' maybe I can't. Sounds like it's worth tryin'
an' I'll think about it."
Every spring for ten years Captain Hanks--Skipper Sam he was generally
called--had sailed out of Halifax Harbour with his schooner _Maid of
the North_ to work his way into the Gulf of St. Lawrence when the
waters were clear of ice, and trade a general cargo of merchandise for
furs with the Indians and white trappers along the north shore and the
Straits of Belle Isle--the southern Labrador.
At first he found the trade extremely lucrative, and during the first
four or five years in which he was engaged in it accumulated a snug
sum of money, the income of which would have been quite sufficient to
keep him comfortably the remainder of his life in the modest way in
which he lived.
But Skipper Sam was much like other people, and the more he had the
more he wanted, so he continued in the fur trade. The fact that he had
purchased some city real estate for the purpose of speculation became
known, and other skippers sailing schooners of their own, with an eye
to lucrative, trade, decided that "Skipper Sam must be havin' a darn
good thing on th' Labrador," and when the _Maid of the North_ made her
fifth voyage she had another schooner to keep her company, and another
skipper was on hand to compete with Skipper Sam.
Each year had brought additions to the trading fleet, and competition
had raised the price of fur until now the trappers, with a ready
market, were growing quite independent, and Skipper Sam, instead of
paying what he pleased for the pelts, which, when he had a monopoly of
the trade, was a merely nominal price as compared with their value,
was forced in order to get them at all to pay more nearly their true
worth.
Even now he was making a fair profit, but his mind constantly reverted
to the "good old days" when his returns were from five hundred to a
thousand per cent. on his investment, and he felt injured and
dissatisfied. At the end of every voyage he declared solemnly that he
was no longer making more than seamen's wages and would quit the
trade, and the mate, who was well aware of the captain's comfortable
financial position, always believed he meant it.
It should be said to Captain Hanks' credit that he paid his mate and
crew of five men the highest going wages, and treated them well and
kindly. So long as they attended strictly to their duties he was their
friend. They were provided with the best of food and they appreciated
the good treatment and were loyal to Captain Hanks' interest and very
much attached to the _Maid of the North_, as seamen are to a good ship
that for several voyages has been their home.
So it was that the mate made his suggestions so freely. If Captain
Hanks were to quit the trade he knew that it would be many a day
before he secured another such berth, and his solicitude was therefore
not alone in the captain's interests but was largely a matter of
looking out for himself.
The voyage just completed had not, in fact, been a very profitable
one, for the previous winter had been a poor year for the trappers
that they dealt with, just as it had been farther north in Eskimo Bay,
and Skipper Sam had good reason for feeling discouraged.
It was early in August now, and the _Maid of the North_ was entering
Halifax Harbour with the expectation of tying up at her berth the next
morning. If she were to go north it would be necessary for her to be
fitted out for the voyage immediately in order to reach her winter
quarters before the ice began to form in the bays.
The two men ate their supper and both went on deck to smoke their
pipes. Skipper Sam had no more to say about the proposed undertaking
until late in the evening, when he called the mate to his cabin, where
he had retired after his smoke, and there the mate found him poring
over a chart.
"D'ye know anything about this coast?" the skipper asked, without
looking up.
The mate glanced over his shoulder.
"Not much, sir. I was down on a fishin' cruise once when I was a lad."
"Well, how far down ought we t' go, d' ye think, before we lays up?"
"I think, sir, we should go north o' Indian Harbour. Th' farther north
we gets, th' more fur we'll pick up."
"Well," said the skipper, standing up, "I'm goin' t' sail just as
quick as I can fit out. Ship th' crew on th' best terms ye can. We got
t' move smart, fer I wants time t' run well down before th' ice
catches us."
"All right, sir."
Thus it happened that the _Maid of the North_, spick and span, with a
new coat of paint on the outside, and a good stock of provisions and
articles of trade in her hold, sailed out of Halifax Harbour and
turned her prow to the northward on the first day of September, and
was plowing her way to the Labrador at the very time that Bob Gray
with his mother and Emily were returning so disconsolate to Wolf Bight
after hearing the verdict of the mail boat doctor, and Bob was making
the plans that carried him into the interior.
The _Maid of the North_ called at many harbours by the way and the
fame of Captain Hanks spread amongst the livyeres, as the native
Labradormen are called. He told them what fabulous prices he would pay
them for their furs in the spring when he came south, with open
water, and they promised him to a man to reserve the bulk of their
catch for him, and all had visions of coming wealth.
It was decided that they winter in the Harbour of God's Hope, just
north of Cape Harrigan, and after passing Indian Harbour the natives
were notified that if they wished any supplies during the winter they
could bring their furs there and get what they needed.
The Harbour of God's Hope was found to be a deep, narrow inlet, not as
well protected from the sea as might be desired, but still
comparatively well sheltered, and particularly advantageous from the
fact that the shores of the upper end of the inlet were wooded, an
essential feature, as it provided an abundance of good fuel, and the
supply on board was far from adequate for their needs.
The _Maid of the North_ was made as snug as possible for the
freeze-up, but could not be brought as close to shore as desirable,
because of shoals. However, her position was deemed quite safe, and
Skipper Sam experienced a sense of supreme satisfaction at his
achievements and the prospects for a profitable trade in the spring.
The crew were put at work immediately to build a log shack for shore
quarters, which was shortly accomplished. This shack was of ample size
and was furnished with a stove brought from Halifax for the purpose,
some chairs, a table and a kitchen outfit.
The skipper, the mate and the cook remained on board at first, but the
crew were given permission to go ashore and hunt and trap in the hills
back of the harbour, an opportunity of which they promptly took
advantage.
As the cold weather came on and the ice formed thick and hard around
the vessel it seemed unnecessary to keep a watch aboard, and as the
shack was much more roomy than the cabin, and therefore more
comfortable, all hands finally took up their quarters in it.
As the winter wore on livyeres began to pay frequent visits to Skipper
Sam from up and down the coast, and they all brought furs to trade.
With the approach of spring the skipper found to his satisfaction that
he had already collected more pelts than he had been able to purchase
on his previous spring's voyage in the South, and at prices that even
to him seemed ridiculously low. These furs were duly stored aboard the
_Maid of the North_, and by the first of May she had a cargo that
could have been disposed of in Halifax or Montreal for several
thousand dollars.
It was at this time that the skipper suggested to the mate one
evening,
"Jack, les go caribou huntin' t'-morrer. I'm gettin' stiff hangin'
'round here."
"All right, sir," acquiesced the mate, "but," he asked, "th' crew's
all away exceptin' th' cook, an' who'll look after things here if we
both goes t' once?"
"We kin leave the cook alone fer one day I guess. If any o' th'
livyeres come he kin keep 'em till we comes back in th' evenin'."
The arrangements were therefore made for the hunt, and the following
morning bright and early they were off.
At sunrise there was a slight westerly breeze blowing, and the skipper
suggested,
"Th' wind might stiffen up a bit an' we better keep an eye to it."
They were well back in the hills before the predicted stiffening came
to such an extent that they decided it was wise to return to the
shack.
Skipper Sam and his mate were not accustomed to land travelling and
the hurried retreat soon winded them and they were held down to so
slow a walk that the afternoon was half spent and the wind had grown
to a gale when they finally came in view of the harbour. Skipper Sam
was ahead, and when he looked towards the place where the _Maid of the
North_ had been snugly held in the ice in the morning he rubbed his
eyes. Then he looked again, and exclaimed:
"By gum!"
The harbour was clear of ice and nowhere on the horizon was the _Maid
of the North_ to be seen. The gale had swept the ice to sea and
carried with it the _Maid of the North_ and all her valuable cargo.
The cook, asleep in his bunk in the shack, was quite unconscious of
the calamity when the skipper roused him to demand explanations.
But there were no explanations to be given. The schooner was gone,
that was all, and Captain Sam Hanks and his crew were stranded upon
the coast of Labrador.
XXIII
THE HAND OF PROVIDENCE
Bob and his companions were indeed in a most desperate situation, and
even they, accustomed and inured as they were to the vicissitudes and
rigours of the North, could see no possible way of escape. Men of less
courage or experience would probably have resigned themselves to their
fate at once, without one further effort to preserve their lives, and
in an hour or two have succumbed to the bitter cold of the storm. But
these men had learned to take events as they came largely as a matter
of course, and they did not for a moment lose heart or self-control.
The dogs were driven a little farther towards the interior of the ice,
for if the pack were to break up the outer edge would be the first to
go. Here immediate preparations were made to camp.
There was no bank from which snow blocks could be cut for an igloo,
and the blinding snow so obscured their surroundings that they could
not so much as find a friendly ice hummock to take refuge behind. The
gale, in fact, was so fierce that they could scarce hold their feet
against it, and had they released their hold of the komatik even for
an instant, it is doubtful if they could have found it again.
The deerskin sleeping bags were unlashed and the sledge turned upon
its side. In the lee of this the bags were stretched upon the ice and
with their skin clothes on they crawled into them. Each called
"Oksunae"--be strong--have courage--to the others, and then drew his
head within the folds of his skin covering.
Bob wore the long, warm coat that Manikawan had made for him, and as
he snuggled close into the bag he thought of her kindness to him, and
he dreamed that night that he had gone back and found her waiting for
him and looking just as she did the morning she waved him farewell, as
she stood in the light of the cold winter moon--tall and graceful and
comely, with the tears glistening in her eyes.
The dogs, still in harness, lay down where they stood, and in a little
while the snow, which found lodgment against the komatik, covered men
and dogs alike in one big drift and the weary travellers slept warm
and well regardless of the fact that at any moment the ice might part
and they be swallowed up by the sea.
The storm was one of those sudden outbursts of anger that winter in
his waning power inflicts upon the world in protest against the coming
spring supplanting him, and as a reminder that he still lives and
carries with him his withering rod of chastisement and breath of
destruction. But he was now so old and feeble that in a single night
his strength was spent, and when morning dawned the sun arose with a
new warmth and the wind had ceased to blow.
The men beneath the snow did not move. It was quite useless for them
to get up. There was nothing that they could do, and they might as
well be sleeping as wandering aimlessly about the ice field.