“MUSIC HATH CHARMS”
The next morning dawned clear and fine. We got away early and had good
going, so that by noon we reached an aranga not far from Cape Wankarem.
We were received kindly here and given tea, which was all that the
house afforded. I left some tea tablets in exchange.
Proceeding on our way again we reached Cape Wankarem at five o’clock
in the afternoon; the cape is not high land, just a low promontory. We
found four arangas here. Our usual method when we came to a place with
more than one aranga was to look the whole collection over and go to
what seemed the most likely one of the lot. Here, therefore, we passed
one or two which seemed only ordinary and stopped before the one which
seemed the best. An old man came out and made signs for us to enter.
We did so and as soon as we were inside the door an old woman took us
in charge. She removed our boots and stockings, turned them inside out
and hung them up to dry over the native lamp. Then she brought out her
best china and we had tea with sugar in it. She had two fine-looking
daughters who helped wait upon us. The aranga was scrupulously
clean, with plenty of furs; evidently the master of the house was in
comfortable circumstances.
When we had finished our tea the old man made signs that he wanted to
see my chart; clearly the men who had gone on ahead of us, the previous
day, had told him about us, and he wanted to see for himself. I brought
out the chart and showed it to him. He examined it carefully and made
signs about the crushing of the ship. Presently he went to a box and
produced a number of magazines, perhaps ten or a dozen in all, most
of them about two years old. There were copies of _The World’s Work_,
_The National Geographic Magazine_, _The Literary Digest_ and _The
Illustrated London News_. The day’s march in the cold wind, following
the long succession of such days, with the hours of searching through
the whirling snowdrift for the right path from Wrangell Island and the
glare of the sun along the tundra, had affected my eyes more and more
severely. By this time, besides being pretty tired and sleepy, I felt
more like giving my eyes a rest than trying to read. I could hardly
make out the print and it hurt my eyes a good deal, so I made signs to
our host and he understood at once and did not urge the magazines upon
me.
Fortunately, too, relief came in the person of another old man, who
entered the aranga just then. He was evidently a crony of our host,
for without more ado both fell to playing casino, like a couple of old
veterans playing cards in their club.
After a time, I fell asleep and had a refreshing nap. When I awoke,
the card-players were still at it. After a while they finished their
game and then our host got out a box. It looked very much like a
talking-machine and I remember thinking, “What in the name of Heaven is
that?” Then he removed a cloth from another box and took out a record
and I saw that it was indeed a talking-machine. The old man acted just
like an American householder who proudly plays you the latest record
by Caruso or John McCormack. He treated us to an extended concert,
numbering forty-two selections, starting off with “My Hero” from “The
Chocolate Soldier.” About half of the songs were in Russian and the
rest in English. Like the true music-lover, he kept on playing until he
had finished all of his forty-two records, while the old lady busied
herself mending our clothes. I was so sleepy that I am afraid I dropped
off several times during the concert but I enjoyed it just the same.
The old man now passed over to me a tumbler and a spoon, together with
a bottle which contained some kind of patent “painkiller.” Then he
brought out a sick boy about fifteen years old and made signs to me
to give the youngster a dose of the painkiller. The tumbler and spoon
and bottle were all carefully wrapped up in a neat package and I could
see that the old man prized this medicine kit of his as much as an
Arctic explorer might value a medal. The directions on the bottle were
printed in English. As nearly as I could find out, the boy had received
his last treatment some time during the previous summer; evidently
the doses were given him only when some one happened along who could
read the directions. I took the bottle and the spoon and measured out
the proper quantity in the glass, added water and administered it to
my patient in a very solemn manner, just as if I were a real doctor.
I don’t suppose there was enough of it to do the youngster any real
harm; certainly he did not receive medical attention often enough to do
him permanent injury. I was very deliberate in my actions; in fact I
believe I consumed fully half an hour in the process.
I enjoyed here the best night’s sleep I had had since I had left
Shipwreck Camp, nearly two months before. In the morning the old
woman presented me with a fine pair of deerskin mittens. I gave her a
gill-net. To the boy I gave a pocket compass and divided a yard or two
of ribbon between the girls. We got away shortly after day-light. Our
treatment at the kind hands of this Chukch family will always remain in
my memory.
The old man seemed to realize that we had great need for getting along
as fast as we could and he volunteered to give us a lift to the next
aranga nine or ten miles away. He said nothing about going until he
harnessed up his dogs just as we were starting. It was a great help and
enabled us to get along so well that we covered the distance by nine
o’clock. At this next aranga we met four Russian prospectors who were
on their way from East Cape to Cape North, near which are gold mines.
They were well-equipped travellers. Each had a sledge with a team of
twelve fine dogs. They treated us to black bread, butter, tea, sugar
and sardines. One of them could speak a little English; he wrote his
name for me on a piece of paper which, I am sorry to say, I lost.
We had two snow-knives with us and when we now said goodby to the
old native who had been so kind to us, I gave him one of these, with
a couple of steel drills which we used for making holes for the
sledge-shoes, and a skein of fish-line.
Travelling all day long, we came some time after the sun went down to
a place where there were three arangas. The Russian miners had told us
about them and had said they thought we should be able to reach them by
nightfall. Two of the arangas were close together and the third was
off by itself. The people here were less hospitably inclined than those
whom we had met before and, though they did not actually tell us to
keep away, they did not volunteer any invitation to enter. It was dark
and we had come a long distance, so I did not feel like spending an
hour building an igloo for shelter for the night; I went up to one of
the arangas, therefore, and when a young man came out I made signs that
we should like to stop there. When we finally got inside I understood
why the people were not especially glad to see us. They had evidently
had hard luck and had very little food, even for themselves. While
Kataktovick was outside feeding the dogs, I got the Primus stove going,
made some tea and passed it around, with pemmican.
There was a young woman here, with a baby two or three months old who
was evidently sick; he was what would be described, I believe, as
“fussy.” His mother would get him quiet and then he would cry out and
to my great surprise she would get very angry and shake him violently;
then she would repent and would croon to him, only to repeat the
shaking when the poor little fellow cried out again. In all my long
experience with Eskimo I had never before seen a woman even speak a
cross word to her child.
Perhaps she could not get along with her mother-in-law and took it out
on her baby. At all events the mother-in-law, who was very old, was
a tough customer. Quite unknowingly I sat down in her place and fell
asleep. Some time after midnight I was awakened by a smart slap on the
cheek. I was too drowsy to pay much attention to this but presently was
brought up broad awake by having the old woman step on my face. I found
her snorting and grunting; the young mother was still crooning and
talking to the baby. I had all my clothes on, so I shook Kataktovick
and we went outdoors.
The light was just showing along the eastern horizon. We made a little
snow shelter, had some tea and pemmican and started on our way about
two o’clock in the morning. We travelled hard all day. There was a
strong northwest gale and the air was filled with drifting snow so that
we could not see very far ahead. When we came to Cape Onman we were
disappointed to find no arangas there; only the framework was left
and we found out later that the people had moved to Koliuchin Island.
We kept along the trail, which to our surprise took us away from the
land and out on to the ice on the broad entrance to Koliuchin Bay, and
presently we came to Koliuchin Island, a high formation, like a warship
bottom up.
Here we found ten or a dozen arangas and visible signs of prosperity.
A young man came out on our approach and said, “Me speek ’em plenty
English. Me know Nome. Me know trader well. Me spend long time East
Cape. You come in aranga. Me speak ’em plenty. You get plenty eat here.”
We went in. It was a well-appointed Siberian home, occupied jointly
by two young men and their families. The men were deer men, with fine
herds of reindeer twelve or fourteen days’ journey into the interior.
We had some tea and some frozen deer meat. Then the women cooked
us some seal meat, which was excellent. The older man’s wife made
flapjacks out of flour and they tasted good.
These people had evidently heard about us and they knew our desire to
get to East Cape, for after we had finished eating, the native who had
first greeted us said, “I bring you East Cape; how much?”
I asked him how many dogs he had. He told me, and said he had a good
sledge, too, and could get us to East Cape in five days, if we were to
start at once.
I had with me forty-five dollars which Mr. Hadley had lent me when I
left Wrangell Island. Naturally I wanted to keep this sum intact as
long as possible. To get to East Cape in five days, however, would
justify me in parting with my money.
“How much you pay me?” the man asked again.
“Forty dollars,” I replied, for the trip seemed to me well worth that.
It was a mistake; I should have said twenty. Forty was so large a sum
that the native soon made clear that he doubted my having so much
money. He was a trader, for reindeer skins and fox skins, and he knew,
or thought he knew, how a bargain should be made.
“All right,” he said. “You show me money.”
“No,” I replied.
“Maybe you no have money,” he ventured.
“I have the money,” I answered.
In his anxiety to see that I should not suffer in the Chukch’s
estimation, Kataktovick now started to explain to him about the money
and I had to stop him.
“You bring me East Cape me give you forty dollars.”
The Chukch seemed satisfied. It was agreed that we should leave our
sledge and about all our possessions and that we should journey onward
on the deer man’s sledge. At Koliuchin Bay we should find an American
trader, Mr. Olsen, about whom I had been hearing all along the coast.
As far as Mr. Olsen’s the other deer man was to accompany us with his
sledge, Kataktovick riding with him; for this service he was to receive
a hatchet, a piece of tent canvas and two tins of pemmican.
The next morning, April 19, Kataktovick complained of pains in his legs
and wanted to stay where we were for a day to rest. I did not object to
the idea and was glad of an opportunity of resting the dogs.
That night our prospective tourist conductor began talking again about
the money. Evidently he was worried, or else his conscience pricked him.
“By and by you meet Olsen,” he said. “He white man. Perhaps he tell you
you pay me too much money. You no pay me.”
I replied that whatever Mr. Olsen might tell me would make no
difference, that I had promised to pay and I would. I refused to let
him see the money, however, though he was itching to get a look at it.
“You no trust me, I no trust you,” I said.
Then he voiced the age-old cry of the savage against the civilized; the
pity of it is that the savage is right.
“White man steal from other man,” he said. “White man promise bring
things for fox skins and bear skins. White man no bring ’em. White man
go ’way, forget come back.”
I could not deny it, but I repeated my statement that I would pay him
forty dollars if he brought me to East Cape.
There was silence for a while; then he said he would do it.