The Eskimos
Presently a few more of the castaways arrived at the top of the stairway
and the rest of the men were either on their way up or were hastening
toward the steps of ice. They ascended single file, as much of the
upward passage was not wide enough for two or more to walk abreast.
Among the first to reach the upper landing was an anthropological
professor of a New England college, Dr. Olaf Anderson. He was a Dane and
had made studies of the human race in all the northern countries of
Europe and Asia and in Arctic America, including Iceland and Greenland.
No sooner did he get a view of the two fur-clad strangers a hundred and
fifty feet below than he forgot his hunger and physical weariness. Here
was something that aroused a more lively interest in him than could even
prospects of food or home. It did not take him long to verify Watson’s
suspicion.
“Innuits!” he exclaimed. “How did they get here?”
“You ought to explain that better than anybody else, professor,” said
Watson, who had made the acquaintance of the anthropologist on the
steamer.
“They must have been trapped here in some way,” declared the latter.
“And in that case, they couldn’t have been here less than several
weeks.”
“Good!” cried Watson eagerly.
“Why ‘good’?” Guy inquired.
“Because they couldn’t have lived here that long without food and some
way to keep warm. That means they can help us.”
This prospect made Guy feel so cheerful that he indulged in a
mischievous reply.
“You ought to be a detective,” he said. The boy had hitherto given
Watson no hint that he had discovered his occupation.
“What makes you say that?” inquired the operative, looking keenly at his
young friend.
“The way you figure things out. You’d make a good secret service man.”
“I wonder how we happened to miss this landing place last night, and how
the rescue steamer, which must have had a searchlight, failed to see the
Eskimos,” one of the men remarked.
“It was dark and we didn’t come this way,” replied Watson. “We started
farther toward the eastern end of the iceberg. I haven’t any doubt that
the rescue steamer has been this way and picked up the boats and rafts
without seeing the Eskimos.”
“Probably they slept late,” suggested Prof. Anderson. “They usually do,
especially if they’ve had enough to eat.”
“That sounds hopeful,” put in an optimistic fellow, edging his way
forward.
“The Eskimos see us,” announced Carl. “Let’s go down there.”
The two Innuits, as the professor learnedly preferred to call them,
seemed much excited over their discovery. They threw their hands over
their heads and, with loud cries, started as if to ascend the steps of
ice, but stopped when they saw the newcomers descending.
The next moment four gray-haired dogs, probably awakened by the cries of
their masters, emerged from a cave in the ice and gazed curiously up
toward the new arrivals. Guy fancied that they sniffed the air hungrily.
“We can eat them if we can’t find anything else to satisfy our
appetites,” Carl suggested; and the idea did not seem in the least
repulsive to Guy. There was hardly enough luxury on the iceberg to
encourage gastronomic fastidiousness.
The stairway in the ice proved to have been fashioned by both nature and
man. The Eskimos, desiring access to both sides of the iceberg,
fortunately had a rude sort of pick-axe that made the work of creating
such access comparatively easy, especially since nature had half formed
the steps in advance. By the time the leaders of the visiting party had
arrived at the foot of the flight near the entrance of the Eskimos’
cave, the last of them had reached the top landing, and a long zig-zag
line of men was descending single file. The Innuits after their first
stir of excitement, stood quietly, stoically, it seemed, waiting for
developments. Fortunately the professor could speak their language well
enough to make himself understood, and soon he was jabbering almost
glibly with the short, round faced, narrow-eyed, brown-skinned,
black-haired wanderers from the North.
The stoicism of the Eskimos was stoicism only in general appearance, as
close attention to their eyes proved. The latter glistened with joy and
eagerness. The delight thus expressed, however, was turned to a
dull-orbed disappointment when they learned that the strangers were only
a party of shipwrecked travelers in worse straits than the two Arctic
inhabitants of the iceberg. There was not much encouragement in the
appearance of nearly half a hundred hungry men begging for something to
eat from their scanty store.
Prof. Anderson’s conjecture as to the cause of the casting away of the
Eskimos was correct. They had been hunting with a sled and a team of
eight dogs on a field of ice off the southern coast of Greenland. Two
bears had been discovered by them on an iceberg that had become frozen
fast in the field, and the two Innuits had driven to this mountain of
solid water, where they left their dogs and sled and climbed up after
the game.
It was then they made their discovery of the “stairway” of ice, but the
ascent was more difficult and even dangerous because of the uneven,
irregular character of the steps, which slanted “in all directions.”
However, they reached a lofty ledge, on which one of the bears was
perched, and so severely wounded him with their harpoons that he slipped
and fell, bounding down the steep and jagged ice a hundred feet or more.
At this juncture, almost as if caused by the rebounding impacts of the
bear’s eight or nine hundred pounds, a thunderous noise rent the frosty
air, and the two Innuits knew that the ice-field was breaking. With all
possible speed they hastened down to their sled and dogs, but before
they had gone half-way, they realized the seriousness of the situation.
The iceberg, together with a considerable section of the floe, had
broken away, leaving no solid connection with the land.
They passed an hour or more helplessly gazing at the rapidly widening
gap between them and the mainland, and then decided that a long season
of hardship was in store for them unless someone on shore learned of
their predicament and came to their rescue. The wind was blowing almost
a gale from the land now and was steadily widening the breach. They
climbed to the highest point they could reach and erected a flag of
seal-skin between two upright spears.
The two Eskimos, whose names were Emah and Tarmik, now made haste to
prepare quarters to protect themselves and their dogs from the severe
weather that threatened to come heavily upon them. With their “pick-axe”
and harpoons they dug a cave in a wall of ice, and by evening they had
hollowed out a room large enough to accommodate themselves and their
four-footed companions. They removed the bear’s skin and spread this and
another on the floor to sleep on. A few smaller skins they spread out
for the dogs. In the entrance they piled up blocks of ice, leaving only
sufficient opening for ventilation. Then they lighted some blubber in a
stone lamp and soon the ice-walled room was very comfortable.
But they had a scant supply of blubber with them, and the bear they had
slain, although large, was lean. Fortunately, however, they discovered a
deposit of driftwood partly imbedded in the ice on the other side of the
iceberg after they had fashioned the rude steps of the “stairway” into a
series of safer footholds. Much of this wood they dug out and carried
over to their cave, as they feared a further breaking of the ice.
Two days later this fear was realized. Large portions of this section of
the ice-field broke off close to the berg on both sides. On the side
where the cave had been hollowed out, only a small but well elevated
area was left in front of their lodge.
Meanwhile they kept their flag at the top of the stairway as a signal of
distress to passing ships. But none hove in sight, and life on their
floating island became more desolate and lonely day by day. The days
grew into weeks, and they lost all reckoning of time. The weather was
stormy, snow and sleet fell, the wind blew heavy gales, and the iceberg
moved rapidly, with the currents of air and water. Bear meat was their
chief article of diet until the quarry that got them into trouble was
devoured. Then they began to kill their dogs, slaying one at a time
until only four were left. During much of this time, when the weather
permitted, they were busy with hook and line, trying to catch fish for
their larder, but they caught only a few. They would have set some traps
for birds, but after the first few days afloat none flew near the
iceberg.
Both of the Eskimos were asleep when the Herculanea was sunk within a
cable’s length of their ice cave, and they knew nothing of the disaster
until informed by Prof. Anderson. Cooped up as they were in their walls
of frozen water, their slumbering ears had not been quickened by the
explosion of the boilers or the screams of panic-stricken passengers.
Moreover, their flag of distress fell from its anchorage, so that the
castaways did not see it in the morning.
The professor elicited all this information from the Eskimos without a
reference to the hunger of his companions, much to the disgust and
impatience of some of the latter when they learned the nature of the, to
them, unintelligible conversation. But he did not wish to frighten the
two Greenlanders with the condition of affairs among the shipwrecked
party, and he had a professional and scientific curiosity that demanded
satisfaction almost as urgently as did the gnawing in his stomach.
By the time the story of the two Arctic men had been drawn out with many
questions, the professor had a pretty clear idea of the extent of the
assistance that might be expected from them. Turning to his companions
he said:
“Gentlemen, we want to be careful what we do. We must treat these
fellows with perfect justice. They have hardly enough to keep their own
souls and bodies together. Whatever assistance we get from them must be
obtained by appealing to their good nature, for they are good-natured
fellows. About all they have that can be made into food is four dogs,
and they would hardly supply one good square meal for all of us.”
Most of the men present were intelligent and disposed to regard the
situation with calmness and fortitude. There were a few, however, who
grumbled at the words of the Danish scholar, and one of them asked with
a half-snarl:
“What do you advise us to do?”
“That’s a question that I propose to put to the Eskimos,” replied
Anderson. “We might ask them for food for the women, but we men can live
through another day and night without anything to eat if necessary.
We’ll follow the example of these fellows, dig a few caves in the ice,
and with a very little fire inside we can keep warm. In that way our
fuel will last several days.”
“That’s good advice,” said Watson, with a nod of confident approval.
“Talk to them in that manner and let them know that we’re not going to
do them any harm. Ask them for suggestions, and maybe they’ll be able to
offer plans that will help us a lot.”
The professor turned again to the Eskimos and talked with them for
several minutes. Then he reported as follows:
“They’re willing to help us all they can. They say they’ll give us one
of the dogs if we have to have it, but suggest that we try fishing and
see what we each get.”
“How’ll we do that?” asked the half-snarling critic who had spoken
before. “We haven’t got any tackle.”
“The Eskimos have a good supply and will let us have several lines and
hooks and some dog meat for bait, on condition that we give them some of
our catch if we have good luck.”
“That’s reasonable enough,” declared Watson. “Ask them for some tackle
and bait and some tools to dig a few caves.”
The professor did as suggested and was given four strong lines with good
steel hooks and a short-handled metal tool, best described as a cross
between a hoe and a tomahawk. Where it had been manufactured would have
been hard to conjecture, unless it was a bit of native “blacksmithing.”
The handle was of walrus bone.
“That’s fine,” exclaimed Watson, seizing the tool. “One man can cut a
big hole in the ice with it in a few hours. Come on, let’s get to work.”
With the professor and Watson again in the lead, the visitors filed back
over the ice-mountain stairway to their own camp. There they found the
women and children huddling around the fire and looking despairingly
unhappy.
“Cheer up,” urged Watson heartily. “We’ve brought good news. There’s a
couple of Eskimos on the other side of the iceberg, and they’ve given us
some hooks and lines to fish with and a tool to dig some caves in the
ice. We’re going to be all right now until a rescue ship finds us.”
A full account was given to the women regarding the discovery on the
other side of the iceberg, and they became more hopeful as they watched
the energetic activities of some of the men. While several began an
attack with the Eskimo tool and other improvised implements on a wall of
ice, several others went down near the water’s edge and threw the baited
hooks as far out into the water as the lines would reach. With bits of
wood for floats, the hooks were kept ten feet or more from the wall of
ice under the water.
Watson was proving that corpulence is not necessary for the greatest
physical efficiency in a cold climate. With his tall, angular,
“meatless” frame, he was perhaps the most vigorous in the entire party.
He was ever ready with a word of cheer or advice in an emergency.
Probably he saved one or more of the men from an uncomfortable ducking
when he offered this suggestion before the lines were thrown into the
water:
“Everybody dig a hole in the ice to brace his feet in. If we catch any
fish here, they’re liable to be big ones, and they’ll pull us in if our
feet slip.”
The fishermen followed this advice, using pocketknives to cut the ice
and selecting rough, jagged places in which to sink their footholds.
Then they angled for an hour without success, and some of the men began
to show signs of impatience. But these discontented ones had taken no
part in the activities of the morning, merely standing around and
scowling when they were not forced to exercise in order to keep warm.
One of them, Guy noticed, was Mr. Gunseyt, and three others were seamen.
There were six, all told, who were conspicuously dissatisfied, and they
were observed several times grouped together and conversing in a manner
that indicated no working sympathy with the rest.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have trouble with those fellows,” Watson
remarked to Guy as the two stood watching the anglers ready to lend a
hand should a powerful fish swallow a hook.
“I’m surprised at Mr. Gunseyt,” said Guy slowly. “And yet, I’m not
either. He’s the strangest contradiction I ever heard of. Have you
noticed that funny change in his voice lately? He doesn’t talk very much
now.”
“Yes, I noticed it.”
“What’s the cause of it?—any idea?”
Watson did not answer, for something more interesting just then claimed
his attention. He sprang forward to assist one of the fishers who had
more than he could handle on his line.
Guy followed, also forgetting Mr. Gunseyt’s voice. Fortunately the line,
consisting of tough, twisted gut-strips, “as strong as a cable,” for it
required all the strength of two men to prevent the fish from winning in
the tug of war. Slowly Watson and Potter, the latter a Baltimore
commission merchant, pulled the struggling, jerking, floundering fellow
up over the edge of the ice, and a great cheer went up as a hundred
hungry eyes beheld a silvery, brown-spotted king herring, almost four
feet long.
“Hooray!” shouted Watson, as he pounced on the magnificent denizen of
the sea with both hands. But he was unable to hold him, and it was all
two men could do to pin the slippery fellow to the ice, while a third
cut his head off with a pocketknife!