previous night, and bright and early they were up, nosing about within
the limited area afforded them by the length of their traces. One of
them began to dig away the snow around the komatik. He paused, held
his nose into the drift a moment and sniffed, then went vigorously to
work again with his paws. Soon he grabbed something in his fangs. The
others joined him, and the snarling and fighting that ensued aroused
Bob and the sleeping Eskimos.
Aluktook was the first to throw off the snow and look out to see what
the trouble was about Then he shouted and jumped to his feet, kicking
the dogs with all his power. Bob and Netseksoak sprang to his aid, but
they were too late.
The dogs had devoured every scrap of food they had, save some tea that
Bob kept in a small bag in which he carried his few articles of
dunnage.
This was a terrible condition of affairs, for though they were
doubtless doomed to drown with the first wind strong enough to shatter
the ice, still the love of living was strong within them, and they
must eat to live.
Separating and going in different directions, the three hunted about
in the vain hope that somewhere on the ice there might be seals that
they could kill, but nowhere was there to be seen a living
thing--nothing but one vast field of ice reaching to the horizon on
the north, east and south. To the west the water sparkled in the
sunlight, but no land and no life, human or otherwise, was within the
range of vision.
After a time they returned to their bivouac and then drove the dogs a
little farther into the ice pack to a high hummock that Aluktook had
found, and with an axe and snow knives cut blocks of ice from the
hummock and snow from a drift on its lee side, and finally had a
fairly substantial igloo built. This they made as comfortable as
possible, and settled in it as the last shelter they should ever have
in the world, as they all firmly believed it would prove.
They were now driven to straits by thirst, but there was not a drop of
water, save the salt sea water, to be had.
"We'll have to burn the komatik," said Aluktook.
Netseksoak knocked two or three cross-bars from it and built a
miniature fire, using the wood with the greatest possible economy, and
by this means melted a kettle of ice, and Bob brewed some tea.
The warm drink was stimulating, and gave them renewed ambition. They
separated again in search of game, but again returned, towards
evening, empty handed.
"Too late for seals," the Eskimos remarked laconically.
All were weak from lack of food, and when they gathered at the igloo
it was decided that one of the dogs must be killed.
"We'll eat Amulik, he's too old to work anyway," suggested Netseksoak.
Amulik, the dog thus chosen for the sacrifice, was a fine old fellow,
one of Netseksoak's dogs that had braved the storms of many winters.
The poor brute seemed to understand the fate in store for him, for he
slunk away when he saw Netseksoak loading his gun. But his retreat was
useless, and in a little while his flesh was stored in the igloo and
the Eskimos were dining upon it uncooked.
Though Bob was, of course, very hungry, he declined to eat raw dog
meat, and to cook it was quite out of the question, for the little
wood contained in the komatik he realized must be reserved for melting
ice, as otherwise they would have nothing to drink. Another day,
however, and he was so driven to the extremes of hunger that he was
glad to take his share of the raw meat which to his astonishment he
found not only most palatable but delicious, for there is a time that
comes to every starving man when even the most vile and putrid refuse
can be eaten with a relish.
The dog meat was carefully divided into daily portions for each man.
Some of it, of course, had to go to the remaining animals, to keep
them alive to be butchered later, if need be, for this was the only
source of food the destitute men had.
Every day Bob and the Eskimos wandered over the ice, hoping against
hope that some means of escape might be found. Bob realized that
nothing but the hand of Providence, by some supernatural means, could
save him now. Again, he said,
"Th' Lard this time has sure been losin' track o' me. Maybe 'tis
because when He were showin' me a safe trail over th' hills I were not
willin' t' bide His time an' go that way, but were comin' by th' ice
after th' warnin' at Kangeva."
But he always ended his musings with the comfortable recollection of
his mother's prayers. Which had helped him so much before, and this
did more than anything else to keep him courageous and brave.
The days came and went, each as empty as its predecessor, and each
night brought less probability of escape than the night before.
Another dog was killed, and a week passed.
The komatik wood was nearly gone, although but one small fire was
built each day, and the end of their tea was in sight.
This was the state of affairs when Bob wandered one day farther to the
southward over the pack ice than usual, and suddenly saw in the
distance a moving object. At first he imagined that it was a bit of
moving ice, so near was it to the colour of the field. This was quite
impossible, however, and approaching it stealthily, he soon discovered
that it was a polar bear.
The animal was wandering leisurely to the south. Bob carried the rifle
that Mr. MacPherson had given him, as he always did on these
occasions, and keeping in the lee of ice hummocks, that he might not
be seen by the bear, ran noiselessly forward. Finally he was within
shooting distance and, raising the gun, took aim and fired.
Perhaps it was because of weakness through improper food, or possibly
as the result of too much eagerness, but the aim was unsteady and the
bullet only grazed and slightly wounded the bear.
The brute growled and turned to see what it was that had struck him.
When it discovered its enemy it rose on its haunches and offered
battle.
Bob was for a moment paralyzed by the immense proportions that the
bear displayed, and almost forgot that he had more bullets at his
disposal. But he quickly recalled himself and throwing a cartridge
into the chamber, aimed the rifle more carefully and fired again. This
time the bullet went true to the mark, and the great body fell limp to
the ice.
As he surveyed the carcass a moment later he patted his rifle, and
said;
"'Tis sure a rare fine gun. I ne'er could ha' killed un wi' my old
un.". "Now th' Lard _must_ be watchin' me or He wouldn't ha' sent th'
bear, an' He wouldn't ha' sent un if He weren't wantin' us t' live.
Th' Lard must be hearin' mother's an' Emily's prayers now, after
all--He must be."
The bear was a great windfall. It would give Bob and the Eskimos food
for themselves and oil for their lamp, and the lad was imbued with
new hope as he hurried off to summon Netseksoak and Aluktook to aid
him in bringing the carcass to the igloo.
The afternoon was well advanced before he found the two Eskimos, and
when he told them of his good fortune they were very much elated, and
all three started back immediately to the scene of the bear hunt. As
they approached it Aluktook shouted an exclamation and pointed towards
the south. Bob and Netseksoak looked, and there, dimly outlined in the
distance but still plainly distinguishable, was the black hull of a
vessel with two masts glistening in the sunshine.
"Tis th' hand o' Providence!" exclaimed Bob.
The three shook hands and laughed and did everything to show their
delight short of hugging each other, and then ran towards the vessel,
suddenly possessed of a vague fear that it might sail away before they
were seen. Bob fired several shots out of his rifle as he ran, to
attract the attention of the crew, but as they approached they could
see no sign of life, and they soon found that it was a schooner frozen
tight and fast in the ice pack.
When they at last reached it Bob read, painted in bold letters, the
name, "Maid of the North."
XXIV
THE ESCAPE
They lost no time in climbing on deck, and what was their astonishment
when they reached there to find the vessel quite deserted. Everything
was in spick and span order both in the cabin and above decks. It was
now nearly dark and an examination of her hold had to be deferred
until the following day. One thing was certain, however. No one had
occupied the cabin for some time, and no one had boarded or left the
vessel since the last snow-storm, for no footprints were to be found
on the ice near her.
It was truly a great mystery, and the only solution that occurred to
Bob was that the ice pack had "pinched" the schooner and opened her up
below, and the crew had made a hurried escape in one of the boats.
This he knew sometimes occurred on the coast, and if it were the case,
and her hull had been crushed below the water line, it was of course
only a question of the ice breaking up, which might occur at any time,
when she would go to the bottom. There was one small boat on deck,
and if an examination in the morning disclosed the unseaworthiness of
the craft, this small boat would at least serve them as a means of
escape from the ice pack.
Whatever the condition of the vessel, the night was calm and the ice
was hard, and there was no probability of a break-up that would
release her from her firm fastenings before morning; and they decided,
therefore, to make themselves comfortable aboard. There was a stove in
the cabin and another in the forecastle, plenty of blankets were in
the berths, and provisions--actual luxuries--down forward. Bob was
afraid that it was a dream and that he would wake up presently to the
realities of the igloo and raw dog meat, and the hopelessness of it
all.
He and the Eskimos lighted the lamps, started a fire in the galley
stove, put the kettle over, fried some bacon, and finally sat down to
a feast of bacon, tea, ship's biscuit, butter, sugar, and even jam to
top off with. It was the best meal, Bob declared, that he had ever
eaten in all his life.
"An' if un turns out t' be a dream, 'twill be th' finest kind o' one,"
was his emphatic decision.
How the three laughed and talked and enjoyed themselves over their
supper, and how Bob revelled in the soft, warm blankets of Captain
Hanks' berth when he finally, for the first time in weeks, was enabled
to undress and crawl into bed, can better be imagined than described.
After an early breakfast the next morning the first care was to
examine the hold, and very much to their satisfaction, and at the same
time mystification, for they could not now understand why the schooner
had been abandoned, they found the hull quite sound and the schooner
to all appearances perfectly seaworthy.
Another astonishment awaited Bob, too, when he came upon the
quantities of fur, and the stock of provisions and other goods that he
found below decks.
"'Tis enough t' stock a company's post!" he exclaimed. But its real
intrinsic value was quite beyond his comprehension.
When it was settled, beyond doubt, that the _Maid of the North_ was
entirely worthy of their confidence and in no danger of sinking, the
three returned to the igloo and transferred their sleeping bags and
few belongings, as well as the dogs, to their new quarters on board of
her.
After this was done they skinned and dressed the polar bear, which
still lay upon the ice where it had been killed, and some of the flesh
was fed to the half famished dogs. Bob insisted upon giving them an
additional allowance, after the two Eskimos had fed them, for he said
that they, too, should share in the good fortune, though Netseksoak
expressed the opinion that the dogs ought to have been quite satisfied
to escape being eaten.
The choicest cuts of the bear's meat the men kept for their own
consumption, and Bob rescued the liver also, when Aluktook was about
to throw it to the dogs, for he was very fond of caribou liver and saw
no reason why that of the polar bear should not prove just as
palatable. He fried some of it for supper, but when he placed it on
the table both Aluktook and Netseksoak refused to touch it, declaring
it unfit to eat, and warned Bob against it.
"There's an evil spirit in it," they said with conviction, "and it
makes men sick."
This was very amusing to Bob, and disregarding their warning he ate
heartily of it himself, wondering all the time what heathen
superstition it was that prejudiced Eskimos against such good food,
for, as he had observed, they would usually eat nearly anything in the
way of flesh, and a great many things that he would not eat.
In a little while Bob began to realize that something was wrong. He
felt queerly, and was soon attacked with nausea and vomiting. For two
or three days he was very sick indeed and the Eskimos both told him
that it was the effect of the evil spirit in the liver, and that he
would surely die, and for a day or so he believed that he really
should.
Whether the bear liver was under the curse of evil spirits or was in
itself poisonous were questions that did not interest Bob. He knew it
had made him sick and that was enough for him, and what remained of
the liver went to the dogs, when he was able to be about again.
The days passed wearily enough for the men in their floating prison,
impatient as they were at their enforced inactivity, but still
helpless to do anything to quicken their release. May was dragging to
an end and June was at hand, and still the ice pack, firm and
unbroken, refused to loose its bands. Slowly--imperceptibly to the
watchers on board the _Maid of the North_--it was drifting to the
southward on the bosom of the Arctic current. But the sun, constantly
gaining more power, was rotting the ice, and it was inevitable that
sooner or later the pack must fall to pieces and release the schooner
and its occupants from their bondage. Then would come another danger.
If the wind blew strong and the seas ran high, the heavy pans of ice
pounding against the hull might crush it in and send the vessel to the
bottom. Therefore, while longing for release, there was at the same
time an element of anxiety connected with it.
Finally the looked for happened. One afternoon a heavy bank of clouds,
black and ominous, appeared in the western sky. A light puff of wind
presaged the blow that was to follow, and in a little while the gale
was on.
The _Maid of the North_, it will be understood, lay in bay ice, and
all the ice to the south of her was bay ice. This was much lighter
than that coming from more northerly points, and when the open sea
which skirted the western edge of the field began to rise and sweep in
upon this rotten ice the waves crumbled and crumpled it up before
their mighty force like a piece of cardboard. It was a time of the
most intense anxiety for the three men.
Just at dusk, amid the roar of wind and smashing ice, the vessel gave
a lurch, and suddenly she was free. Fortunately her rudder was not
carried away, as they had feared it would be, and when she answered
the helm, Bob whispered,
"Thank th' Lard."
They were at the mercy of the wind during the next few hours, and
there was little that could be done to help themselves until towards
morning, when the gale subsided. Then, with daylight, under short sail
they began working the vessel out of the "slob" ice that surrounded
it, and before dark that night were in the open sea, with now only a
moderate breeze blowing, which fortunately had shifted to the
northward.
Here they found themselves beset by a new peril. Icebergs, great,
towering, fearsome masses, lay all about them, and to make matters
worse a thick gray fog settled over the ocean, obscuring everything
ten fathoms distant. They brought the vessel about and lay to in the
wind, but even then drifted dangerously near one towering ice mass,
and once a berg that could not have been half a mile away turned over
with a terrifying roar. It seemed as though a collision was
inevitable before daylight, but the night passed without mishap, and
when the morning sun lifted the fog the ship was still unharmed.
There was no land anywhere to be seen. What position they were in Bob
did not know, and had no way of finding out. He did know, however,
that somewhere to the westward lay the Labrador coast, and this they
must try to reach.
Fortunately he could read the compass, and by its aid took as nearly
as possible a due westerly course.
Alutook and Netseksoak, expert as they were in the handling of kayaks,
had no knowledge of the management of larger craft like the _Maid of
the North_, and without question accepted Bob as commander and
followed his directions implicitly and faithfully; and he handled the
vessel well, for he was a good sailor, as all lads of the Labrador
are.
They made excellent headway, and were favoured with a season of good
weather, and like the barometer Bob's spirits rose. But he dared to
plan nothing beyond the present action. A hundred times he had planned
and pictured the home-coming, but each time Fate, or the will of a
Providence that he could not understand, had intervened, and with the
crushing of each new hope and the wiping out of each delightful
picture that his imagination drew, he decided to look not into the
future, but do his best in the present and trust to Providence for the
rest, for, as he expressed it,
"Th' Lard's makin' His own plans an' He's not wantin' me t' be
meddlin' wi' un, an' so He's not lettin' me do th' way I lays out t'
do, an' I'll be makin' no more plans, but takin' things as they comes
along."
In this frame of mind he held the vessel steadily to her course and
kept a constant lookout for land or a sail, and on the morning of the
third day after the release from the ice pack was rewarded by a shout
from Netseksoak announcing land at last. Eagerly he looked, and in the
distance, dimly, but still there, appeared the shore in low, dark
outline against the horizon.
Towards noon a sail was sighted, and late in the afternoon they passed
within hailing distance of a fishing schooner bound down north. He
shouted to the fishermen who, at the rail, were curiously watching the
_Maid of the North_, as she plowed past them.
[Illustration: "He held the vessel steadily to her course"]
"What land may that be?" pointing at a high, rocky head that jutted
out into the water two miles away.
"Th' Devil's Head," came the reply.
"An' what's th' day o' th' month?"
"Th' fifteenth o' June," rang out the answer. "Where un hail from?"
"Ungava," Bob shouted to the astonished skipper, who was now almost
out of hearing.
The information that the land was the Devil's Head came as joyful news
to Bob. He had often heard of the Devil's Head, and knew that it lay
not far from the entrance to Eskimo Bay, and therefore in a little
while he believed he should see some familiar landmarks.
Bob's hopes were confirmed, and before dark the Twin Rocks near Scrag
Island were sighted, and as they came into view his heart swelled and
his blood tingled. He was almost home!
That night they lay behind Scrag Island, and with the first dawn of
the morning were under way again. The wind was fair, and before sunset
the _Maid of the North_ sailed into Fort Pelican Harbour and anchored.
Bob's heart beat high as he stepped into the small boat to row ashore,
for the whitewashed buildings of the Post, the air redolent with the
perfume of the forest, and the howling dogs told him that at last the
dangers of the trail and sea were all behind him and of the past, and
that he would soon be at home again.
Mr. Forbes was at the wharf when Bob landed, and when he saw who it
was exclaimed in astonishment:
"Why it's Bob Gray! Where in the world, or what spirit land did you
come from? Why Ed Matheson brought your remains out of the bush last
winter and I hear they were buried the other day."
"I comes from Ungava, sir, with some letters Mr. MacPherson were
sendin'," answered Bob, as he made the painter fast.
"Letters from Ungava! Well, come to the office and we'll see them. I
want to hear how you got here from Ungava."
In the office Bob told briefly the story of his adventures, while he
ripped the letters from his shirt, where he had sewed them in a
sealskin covering for safe keeping.
"Has un heard, sir, how mother an' Emily an' father is?" he asked as
he handed over the mail.
"Mr. MacDonald sent his man down the other day, and he told me your
mother took it pretty hard, when they buried you last week, although
she has stuck to it all along that the remains Ed brought out were not
yours and you were alive somewhere. Emily don't seem to change. Your
father and nearly every one else in the Bay has had a good hunt. Go
out to the men's kitchen for your supper now and when you've eaten
come back again and we'll talk things over."
In the kitchen he heard some exaggerated details of Ed's journey out,
and something of the happenings up the bay during the winter. When he
had finished his meal he returned to the office, where Mr. Forbes was
waiting for him.
"Well, Ungava Bob, as Mr. MacPherson calls you in his letter," said
Mr. Forbes, "you've earned the rifle he gave you, and you're to keep
it. Now tell me more of your adventures since you left Ungava."
Little by little he drew from Bob pretty complete details of the
journey, and then told him that he had better sail the _Maid of the
North_ up to Kenemish, where Douglas Campbell and his father would see
that he secured the salvage due him for bringing out the schooner.
"An' what may salvage be, sir?" asked Bob.
"Why," answered Mr. Forbes, "you found the schooner a derelict at sea
and you brought her into port. When you give her back to the owner he
will have to pay you whatever amount the court decides is due you for
the service, and it may be as much as one-half the value of the vessel
and cargo. You'll get enough out of it to settle you comfortably for
life."
Bob heard this in open-mouthed astonishment. It was too good for him
to quite believe at first, but Mr. Forbes assured him that it was
usual and within his rights.
They arranged that Netseksoak and Aluktook should go with him to
Kenemish and later return to Fort Pelican to be paid by Mr. Forbes for
their services and to be sent home by him on the company's ship, the
_Eric_, on its annual voyage north.
Then Bob, after thanking Mr. Forbes, rowed back to the _Maid of the
North_, too full of excitement and anticipation to sleep.
With the first ray of morning light the anchor was weighed, the sails
hoisted and but two days lay between Bob and home.
As he stood on the deck of the _Maid of the North_ and drank in the
wild, rugged beauty of the scene around him Bob thought of that day,
which seemed so long, long ago, when he and his mother, broken hearted
and disconsolate were going home with little Emily, and how he had
looked away at those very hills and the inspiration had come to him
that led to the journey from which he was now returning. Tears came to
his eyes and he said to himself,
"Sure th' Lard be good. 'Twere He put un in my head t' go, an' He were
watchin' over me an' carin' for me all th' time when I were thinkin'
He were losin' track o' me. I'll never doubt th' Lard again."
XXV
THE BREAK-UP
One evening a month after Ed Matheson started out with his gruesome
burden to Wolf Bight, Dick Blake was sitting alone in the tilt at the
junction of his and Ed's trails, smoking his after supper pipe and
meditating on the happenings of the preceding weeks. There were some
things in connection with the tragedy that he had never been able to
quite clear up. Why, for instance, he asked himself, did Micmac John
steal the furs and then leave them in the tilt where they were found?
Had the half-breed been suddenly smitten by his conscience? That
seemed most unlikely, for Dick had never discovered any indication
that Micmac possessed a conscience. No possible solution of the
problem presented itself. A hundred times he had probed the question,
and always ended by saying, as he did now,
"'Tis strange--wonderful strange, an' I can't make un out."
He arose and knocked the ashes out of his pipe, filled the stove with
wood, and then looked out into the night before going to his bunk. It
was snowing thick and fast.
"'Tis well to-morrow's Sunday," he remarked. "The's nasty weather
comin'."
"That they is," said a voice so close to his elbow that he started
back in surprise,
"Why, hello, Ed. You were givin' me a rare start, sneakin' in as
quiet's a rabbit. How is un?"
"Fine," said Ed, who had just come around the corner of the tilt in
time to hear Dick's remark in reference to the weather. "Who un
talkin' to?"
"To a sensible man as agrees wi' me," answered Dick facetiously. "A
feller does get wonderful lonesome seem' no one an' has t' talk t'
hisself sometimes."