WHEN THE ICEBERG TURNED
But the bear had spent its vitality, and as Bobby sprang nimbly aside it
fell at the very spot upon which the young hunter had stood when he
delivered his last shot, struggled a little, gave a gasp or two, and
died. And when Jimmy came running up a moment later Bobby with great
pride was standing by the side of his prostrate victim.
"We got him, Jimmy! We got him!" said he in high glee, touching the
carcass with his toe.
"But, Bobby, what a chance you took!" Jimmy exclaimed. "Supposing you
hadn't stopped him!"
"No chance of that at all," declared Bobby in his usual positive tone.
"All I wanted was time to load, and I knew I'd get him."
"Well, I'm thankful you got him, instead of he getting you, and I was
afraid for a minute he was going to get us both," and Jimmy breathed
relief, as he placed his foot against the dead bear. "My, but he's a big
one! I don't think I ever saw a bigger one!"
"He _is_ a ripper!" admitted Bobby proudly. "Won't the folks be glad!"
And Bobby was justified in his pride. He had fired upon the beast in
the first instance, not through the lust of killing but because he was
prompted to do so by the instinct of the hunter who lives upon the
product of his weapons. In this far northern land it is the instinct of
self-preservation to kill, for here if man would live he must kill.
In Labrador they butcher wild animals for food just as we butcher steers
and sheep and hogs for food, and the only difference is that the wild
creature, matching its instincts and fleetness and strength against the
hunter's skill, has a reasonable chance of escape, while our domestic
animals, deprived of liberty, are driven helpless to the slaughter.
In our kindlier clime the rich soil, too, produces vegetables and fruits
upon which we might do very well, if necessary, without ever eating
meat; but in the bleak land where Bobby and Jimmy lived the summer is
short and the soil is barren, and there are no vegetables, and no fruits
save scattered berries on the inland hillsides. And so it is that here
men must depend upon flesh and fish for their existence and they must
kill if they would live.
Every lad on The Labrador, therefore, is taught from earliest youth to
take pride in his profession of hunter and trapper and fisherman--for on
The Labrador every man is a professional hunter and trapper and
fisherman--and to strive for skill and the praise of his elders, and
Bobby was no exception to the rule.
And so it came about that Bobby at the age of thirteen proved himself a
bold and brave hunter, and standing now over the carcass of his victim
he felt a vast and consistent pride in his success; for it was no small
achievement for a lad of his years to have killed, single-handed and
poorly armed, a full grown polar bear. It was an accomplishment, indeed,
in which a grown man and a more experienced hunter than Bobby might have
taken pride; and a grown man could scarcely have employed better
tactics, or shown greater skill and courage, after the first foolhardy
shot had been fired.
But this was Bobby's way. It was an exhibition of his old trait of
getting himself and Jimmy into a scrape and then by quick action and
practical methods getting them safely out of it again.
Skipper Ed and Abel had heard the reports of Bobby's gun, and they knew
that something unusual was on foot. The first shot did not disturb them.
That, they knew, was for the seal for which Bobby had taken the gun. But
no self-respecting seal will remain as a target to be fired at
repeatedly, and the shots that followed told their practiced ears that
more important game than a seal was the object of the fusillade. And so,
without parley, each seized his rifle, and together they set out across
the island, and thus it happened that presently they came upon Bobby and
Jimmy admiring the prize.
"Jimmy and I got a bear! A ripping big one, too!" said Bobby as the two
men came up to them, giving Jimmy equal credit, for if he was positive,
Bobby was also generous, and wished his friend to share in the glory of
his triumphs and achievements.
"Bobby got him alone," corrected Jimmy. "I legged it, and if it hadn't
been for Bobby he'd have caught me."
"Oh, you know better than that," protested Bobby. "You got in his way,
so he'd take after you, and that gave me time to load, and shoot him."
"_Peauke! Peauke!_" exclaimed Abel. "A fine fat bear."
"Good for you, Bobby!" commented Skipper Ed, looking the carcass over.
"I never killed as big a bear as that myself. Good work!"
"And we'll have some meat now, and won't have to eat just fish all
summer," said Bobby, who had the respect of most healthy boys for his
stomach.
"We'll feast like kings," agreed Skipper Ed. "Flesh as well as fish.
Great luck! Great luck! And I'll be bound not another lad of your age
could have got a bear like that with just a shotgun. Why, neither Abel
nor I would have tackled him with just a shotgun. No, sir, we wouldn't!"
And Skipper Ed put it to Abel, who declared he never would have risked a
shotgun unless he had a spear, also, to protect himself.
Deftly and quickly they skinned and dressed the carcass, wasting no part
of the flesh, save the liver, which they fed to the dogs, for, as every
one knows, the liver of the polar bear is poisonous and unfit for human
consumption.
"I could eat a steak right now," suggested Bobby, when the meat was
stowed.
But there was no time now to cook bear steaks, for a breeze had sprung
up and they must needs take advantage of it, and Skipper Ed and Jimmy
had already hoisted sail.
"Never mind," said Abel, "I'll show you! I'll show you!" and with an air
of mystery, and chuckling to himself, Abel hurriedly gathered some flat
stones which he piled into the boat.
"Now," suggested Abel, when they were at last moving, "you take the
tiller, Bobby, and we'll see about the bear steaks."
With much care he proceeded to arrange the stones in the bottom of the
boat until presently a very excellent fireplace was built, and so
arranged that the boat itself was well protected. No wood save driftwood
was to be found on Itigailit Island or on the near-by shores, and
therefore both Abel's boat and Skipper Ed's boat had been provided with
sufficient firewood to meet the needs of their camp for several days.
And so, with fuel at hand, Abel quickly had a cozy fire blazing in his
fireplace and Mrs. Abel, laughing and enjoying the novel experience of
cooking in a boat, had some tea brewing and some bear's steaks sizzling
in the pan in a jiffy.
Skipper Ed's trap boat, though a fine sea craft, was not so fast a
sailer in a light breeze as Abel's, and though Skipper Ed and Jimmy had
left the island some little time in advance the boats were now so close
that Abel could make himself heard, and standing in the bow he bawled:
"_Pujolik! Pujolik!_" (A steamer! A steamer!)
A steamship in these waters was uncommon. No steamer had ever come into
the bay, indeed--for they were still in the bay--at least within the
memory of man, and eager to see what manner of ship it might be Skipper
Ed and Jimmy were on their feet in an instant, eagerly searching the
eastern horizon.
Abel was immediately convulsed with laughter, and Mrs. Abel laughed, and
Bobby laughed, and when Skipper Ed and Jimmy, failing to discover the
steamer, or any signs of it, turned inquiringly back toward Abel, still
standing in the bow, Abel pointed to the smoke rising from the fire, and
repeated:
"_Pujolik! Pujolik_!"
Then Skipper Ed and Jimmy understood, and they laughed too. It was a
great joke, Abel thought, and for an hour afterward he indulged at
intervals in quiet chuckles, and even after the two boats had drawn
alongside, and tea and fried bear's steaks had been passed to Skipper Ed
and Jimmy, that they too might share in the feast, Abel laughed.
It was noon the following day when the boats drew up to the old landing
place on Itigailit Island, and an hour later the two tents were pitched
on Abel Zachariah's old camping ground, and everything was as snug and
settled, and they were all as perfectly at home, as though they had been
living there for months.
Then the dogs in the skiffs were brought ashore and released from their
two days' confinement, and Abel's train and Skipper Ed's train, after
the manner of Eskimo dogs, immediately engaged in a pitched battle. They
began by snarling and snapping at one another with ugly, bared fangs,
and then followed a rush toward each other and they became a rolling,
tumbling mass of fearsome, fighting creatures, and had to be beaten
asunder with stout sticks before they could be induced to settle into
their quiet and uneventful summer existence.
When all was arranged Bobby, after his custom, walked quietly back to
the cairn which he had built in previous summers to mark the grave of
the mysterious man that Abel and Mrs. Abel had buried so many years
before, and Jimmy went with him.
"I often wonder," said Bobby, as he replaced some stones that winter
storms had loosed, "who the man was and how he came by his death. I
remember I called him Uncle Robert, but I can't remember much else about
him, and that is like a dream."
"I wonder if he really was your uncle?" suggested Jimmy.
"I don't know," said Bobby. "I try to remember, until my head is
spinning with it, and sometimes it seems as though I am going to
remember what happened away back there. It's just as though I had lived
before, and I think of bright lights, and beautiful things, and
wonderful people. I wonder if Father and Mother are right, and what I
remember is heaven? Do you think so, Jimmy?"
"I--I wonder, now!" Jimmy's voice was filled with awe. "Maybe you did
come from heaven, Bobby!"
"I don't believe so," and Bobby was practical again. "I don't feel as
though I'd ever been an angel, and I don't look it, do I?"
And he squared his shoulders and laughed his good-natured, infectious
laugh, in which Jimmy joined, and the two returned to camp.
There was no floe ice on the coast now, but the sea was dotted with many
icebergs, children of the great northern glaciers, drifting southward on
the Arctic current. Some of them were small and insignificant. Others
towered in massive majesty and grandeur high above the sea, miniature
mountains of ice. Some were of solid white, but the greater part of them
reflected marvelous blues and greens and were a riot of beautiful color.
One of the smaller icebergs lying a half mile or so from Itigailit
Island attracted Bobby's attention as he and Jimmy walked back from the
cairn.
"See that berg, Jimmy?" he asked.
"The little one close in?"
"Yes. Do you know, I've got an idea. That bear meat won't keep long
unless we pack it in ice or salt it, and I'd rather have it fresh than
salted, wouldn't you?"
"Of course I would!" said Jimmy.
"Then let's take your skiff--it's bigger than ours--and go for a load of
ice."
"It's dangerous to go digging on icebergs. They're like to turn over,"
suggested Jimmy.
"Oh, don't be afraid, now. Come on. There isn't any danger," said Bobby,
with impelling enthusiasm. "We can get enough ice to keep the meat fresh
until it's all used up. Come on."
And Jimmy, as was his custom when Bobby urged, agreed. Skipper Ed's
skiff lay at the landing, and arming themselves with an ax the two
pulled away unobserved.
It was a small iceberg, perhaps sixty feet in diameter, and rising not
more than twenty feet above the water. Its surface was irregular, and
there were several places where excellent footing could be had. The boat
was directed toward one of these.
"You stay in the boat," said Bobby, seizing the ax, "and I'll go aboard
her and cut the ice."
"Be careful," cautioned Jimmy.
"Oh, there's no danger," said Bobby, climbing to the iceberg.
Bobby began chopping off as large pieces as he thought he could
conveniently handle. The ice was exceedingly hard and brittle. It had
frozen centuries before, under the extremely low temperatures of the
Arctic regions. It had its beginning, perhaps, in snow deposited in some
far-off Greenland valley. Other snows had come upon it, and still other
snows, until a tremendous weight of snow pressed it, as it froze, into a
glass-like hardness.
And all the while the great mass was moving, inch by inch, and slowly,
down the long valley toward the sea. Perhaps a century passed, perhaps
two or three, or even more, centuries, before this particular portion of
the glacier, as these masses of ice between the hills are called,
reached the sea and was at last thrust out beyond the land.
And then, one day, with a report like the report of a cannon, it
separated from the mother glacier, slid out into the current, and began
its southward voyage. Months had passed since then--perhaps a year, or
even two or three years--and all the time it had been wasting away in
the water until Bobby and Jimmy found it this July day, off Itigailit
Island.
But neither Bobby as he chopped at the ice, nor Jimmy as he sat in the
boat, gave that a thought, if indeed they knew it. They were intent only
upon gathering enough of the aged ice to preserve the meat of a polar
bear.
Neither did they realize that with each stroke of the ax Bobby was
disturbing the center of gravitation of the iceberg, already delicately
balanced in the water, until presently Jimmy noticed that the side next
him was rising--very slowly and deliberately at first.
"Bobby! Look out--the berg's turning!" he shouted in a terrified voice.
Up and up went the side of the iceberg. Bobby was lost to view. Then
came a rush of water, a great deluging wave swamped the skiff, and
Jimmy went down with a crash and roar of water and crumbling ice in his
ears.