THE COMFORT OF AN ESKIMO LAMP.
In that dreary waste of snow, unrelieved so far as the eye could reach
by so much as a single bush, the making of a camp that should contain
even the rudiments of comfort seemed as hopeless to White, who had
always been accustomed to a timbered country, as it did to Cabot, who
knew nothing of real camp life, and had only played at camping in the
Adirondacks. Left to their own devices, they would have passed a most
uncomfortable if not a perilous night, for the mercury stood at many
degrees below zero. But they had Yim with them, and he, being
perfectly at home amid all that desolation, was determined to enjoy all
the home comforts it could be made to yield.
First he marked out a circular space some twelve feet in diameter, from
which he bade his companions excavate the snow with their snowshoes,
and throw it out on the windward side. While they were doing this he
went a short distance away, and, from a mass of closely compacted snow,
carved out with his knife a number of blocks, as large as could be
handled without breaking, to each of which he gave a slight curve.
With time enough Yim could have constructed from such slabs a perfect
igloo or snow hut, but the fading daylight was very precious, and he
did not consider that the cold was yet sufficiently severe to demand a
complete enclosure. So he merely built a low, hood-like structure on
the windward side of the space the others had cleared. One side of
this was still further extended by the sledge, relieved of its load and
set on edge.
The precious provisions were placed inside the rude shelter, the
sleeping bags covered its floor, and, when all was completed, Yim
surveyed his work with great satisfaction.
"It is pretty good so far as it goes," admitted. White, dubiously,
"but I don't see how we are to get along without at least enough fire
to boil a pot of tea, and of course we can't have a fire without wood."
"That's so," agreed Cabot, shivering.
Yim only smiled knowingly as he groped among the miscellaneous articles
piled at the back of the hut. From them he finally drew forth a
shallow soapstone bowl having one straight side about six inches long.
It was shaped something like a clam shell, and was a specimen of the
world-famed Eskimo cooking lamp. He also produced a bladder full of
seal oil.
"Good enough!" cried Cabot. "Yim has remembered to bring along his
travelling cook stove."
Setting the lamp in the most sheltered corner of the hut, Yim filled it
with oil, and then, drawing forth a pouch that hung from his neck, he
produced a wick made of sphagnum moss previously dried, rolled, and
oiled. This he laid carefully along the straight side of the lamp.
Then, turning to Cabot, he uttered the single word: "Metches."
"Great Scott!" exclaimed the young engineer, "I forgot to bring any.
But of course you must have some, White."
"No, I haven't. Matches were among the things you were to look after,
and so I never gave them a thought."
The spirits of the lads, raised to a high pitch of expectation by the
sight of Yim's lamp, suddenly sank to zero with the discovery that they
had no means for lighting it. Yim, however, only smiled at their
dismay. Of course he had long since learned the use of matches, and to
appreciate them at their full value; but he also knew how to produce
fire without their aid in the simplest manner ever devised by primitive
man. It is the friction method of rubbing wood against wood, and, in
one form or another, is used all over the world. It was known to the
most ancient Egyptians, and is practised to-day by natives of the
Amazon valley, dwellers on South Pacific islands, inhabitants of Polar
regions, Indians of North America, and the negroes of Central Africa.
These widely scattered peoples use various models of wooden drills,
ploughs, or saws. But Yim's method is the simplest of all. When he
saw that no matches were forthcoming, he said:
"A' yite. Me fix um." At the same time he produced two pieces of soft
wood from some hiding place in his garments. One of these, known as
the "spindle," was a stick about two feet long by three-quarters of an
inch in diameter and having a rounded point. The other, called the
"hearth," was flat, about eighteen inches in length, half an inch
thick, and three inches wide. On its upper surface, close to one edge,
were several slight cavities, each just large enough to hold the
rounded end of the spindle, and from each was cut a narrow slot down
the side of the hearth. This slot is an indispensable feature, and
without it all efforts to produce fire by wood-friction must fail.
Laying the hearth on the flat side of a sledge runner and kneeling on
it to hold it firmly in position, Yim set the rounded end of his
spindle in one of its depressions, and holding the upper end between
the palms of his hands, began to twirl it rapidly, at the same time
exerting all possible downward pressure. As his hands moved towards
the lower end of the spindle he dexterously shifted them back to the
top, without lifting it or allowing air to get under its lower end.
With the continuation of the twirling process a tiny stream of wood
meal, ground off by friction, poured through the slot at the side of
the hearth, and accumulated in a little pile, that all at once began to
smoke. In two seconds more it was a glowing coal of fire. Then Yim
dropped his spindle, covered the coal with a bit of tinder previously
made ready, and blew it into a flame, which he deftly transferred to
the wick of his lamp.
At sight of the first spiral of smoke our lads had been filled with
amazement. As the coal began to glow they uttered exclamations of
delight, and when the actual flame appeared they broke into such
enthusiastic cheering as set all the dogs to barking in sympathy.
"It is one of the most wonderful things I ever saw," cried Cabot.
"I've often read of fire being produced by wood friction, and I have
tried it lots of times myself, but as I never could raise even a smoke,
and never before met any one who could, I decided that it was all a
fake got up by story writers."
"I was rather doubtful about it myself," admitted White. "But, I say!
Isn't that a great lamp, and doesn't it make things look cheery?"
White's approval of "Yim's cook stove," as Cabot called it, was well
merited, for its five inches of blazing wick yielded as much light and
twice the heat of a first-class kerosene lamp. Over it Yim had already
suspended a kettle full of snow, and now he laid a slab of frozen pork
close beside it to be thawed out.
While waiting for these he fed the dogs, who had been watching him with
wistful eyes and impatient yelpings. To each he threw a two-pound
chunk of frozen walrus meat, and each devoured his portion with such
ravenous rapidity that Cabot declared they swallowed them whole.
Half an hour after the lamp was lighted it had converted enough snow
into boiling water to provide three steaming cups of tea, and while our
lads sipped at these Yim cut slices of thawed pork, laid them in the
fry-pan, and holding this over his lamp soon had them sizzling and
browning in the most appetising manner. This, with tea and ship
biscuit, constituted their supper.
When Yim no longer needed his lamp for cooking he removed two-thirds of
its wick and allowed the flame thus reduced to burn all night. Over it
hung a kettle of melting snow, and above this, on a snowshoe, supported
by two others, wet mittens and moccasins were slowly but thoroughly
dried.
In spite of the hot tea, their fur-lined sleeping bags, and the
effective wind-break behind which they were huddled, our lads suffered
with cold long before the night was over, and were quite willing to
make a start when Yim, after a glance at the stars, announced that
daylight was only three hours away. For breakfast they had more
scalding tea and a quantity of hard bread, broken into small bits,
soaked in warm water, fried in seal oil, and eaten with sugar. White
pronounced this fine, but Cabot only ate it under protest, because, as
he said, he must fill up with something.
The travel of that day, with its accompaniments of blisters and
strained muscles, was much harder than that of the day before, and our
weary lads were thankful when, towards its close, they entered a belt
of timber that had been in sight for hours.
That night they slept warmly and soundly on luxurious beds of spruce
boughs beside a great fire frequently replenished by Yim.
"I tell you what," said Cabot, as, early in the evening, he basked in
the heat of this blaze, "there's nothing in all this world so good as
that. For my part I consider fire to be the greatest blessing ever
conferred upon mankind."
"How about light, air, water, food, and sleep?" asked White.
"Those are necessaries, but fire is a luxury. Not only that, but it is
the first of all luxuries and the one upon which nearly all others
depend."
When, a little later, Cabot lay so close to the blaze that his sleeping
bag caught on fire, and he burned his hands in putting it out, White
laughingly asked:
"What do you think of your luxury now?"
"I think," was the reply, "that it proves itself the greatest of
luxuries by punishing over-indulgence in it with the greatest amount of
pain."
"Umph!" remarked Yim, who was listening, "Big fire, goot. Baby fire,
more goot. Innuit yamp mos' goot of any."
"Oh, pshaw!" retorted Cabot, "your sooty little lamp isn't in it with a
blaze like that."
On the third day of their journey the party had skirted the edge of the
timber for several hours, when all at once Yim held his head high with
dilated nostrils. At the same time it was noticed that the dogs were
also sniffing eagerly.
"What is it, Yim?"
"Fire. Injin fire," was the reply.
"I'd like to know how you can tell an Indian fire from any other," said
Cabot. "Especially when it is so far away that I can't smell anything
but cold air."
But Yim was right, for, after a while, his companions also smelled
smoke, and a little later the yelping of their dogs was answered by
shrill cries from within the timber. Suddenly two tattered scarecrows
of children emerged from the thick growth, stared for an instant, and
then, with terrified expressions, darted back like frightened rabbits.
"The Arsenic kids!" cried Cabot, who had recognised them. "Now I'll
catch that scoundrel." As he spoke he sprang after the children, and
was instantly lost to view in the low timber.
"Hold on!" shouted White. "You'll run into an ambush."
But Cabot, crashing through the undergrowth, failed to hear the
warning, and with the loyalty of true friendship White started after
him. A minute later he overtook his impulsive comrade standing still
and gazing irresolute at a canvas tent, black with age and smoke, and
patched in many places. It stood on the edge of a small lake, and
showed no sign of occupancy save a slender curl of smoke that drifted
from a vent hole in its apex.
"Get behind cover," cried White. "They may take a pot shot at any
moment."
"I don't believe it," replied Cabot. "Any way, I'm bound to see what's
inside."
Thus saying he stepped forward and lifted the dingy flap.