PROLONGED ABSENCE OF MR. SONNTAG.--PREPARING TO LOOK FOR
HIM.--ARRIVAL OF ESQUIMAUX.--THEY REPORT SONNTAG DEAD.--ARRIVAL
OF HANS.--CONDITION OF THE DOGS.--HANS'S STORY OF THE JOURNEY.
A full month had now elapsed since Sonntag and Hans left us, and
several days of the January moonlight having passed over without
bringing them back, I had some cause for alarm. It was evident that
they had either met with an accident, or were detained among the
Esquimaux in some unaccountable manner. I therefore began to devise
means for determining what had become of them. First, I sent Mr. Dodge
down to Cape Alexander to pursue the trail and ascertain whether they
had gone around or over the cape. The sledge-track was followed for
about five miles, when it came suddenly to an end, the ice having
broken up and drifted away since December. Dodge could now only examine
the passes of the glacier; and finding there no tracks, it was evident
that the party had gone outside.
My next concern was to determine whether the tracks reappeared on
the firm ice south of the cape; and accordingly I prepared to start
with a small foot party, and cross over the glacier. In the event of
finding tracks below Cape Alexander, my course would then be governed
by circumstances; but if the track should not appear, it would be
conclusive evidence that the party was lost, and I would proceed south
until I reached the Esquimaux, for I could no longer afford to delay
communication with them. Although the temperature had now fallen to 43°
below zero, yet the careful preparations which I had made for camping
relieved the journey from any risks on that account. The mercury
froze for the first time during the winter while Dodge was absent,
and I was extravagant enough to mould a bullet of it and send it from
my rifle through a thick plank. Dodge, who was one of my most hardy
men, returned from his twelve hours' tramp complaining that he had
suffered rather from heat than cold, and he declared that, when called
upon another time to wade so far through snow-drifts and hummocks, he
would not carry so heavy a load of furs. In truth, both he and his two
companions came in perspiring freely under their buffalo-skin coats.
[Sidenote: ARRIVAL OF ESQUIMAUX.]
My projected journey was, however, destined not to come off. The sledge
was loaded with our light cargo, and we were ready to set out on the
morning of the 27th, but a gale sprung up suddenly and detained us on
board during that and the following day. Early in the morning of the
29th, the wind having fallen to calm, we were preparing to start. The
men were putting on their furs, and I was in my cabin giving some last
instructions to Mr. McCormick, when Carl, who had the watch on deck,
came hastily to my door to report "Two Esquimaux alongside." They had
come upon us out of the darkness very suddenly and unobserved.
[Sidenote: SONNTAG'S DEATH REPORTED.]
Conjecturing that these people would hardly have visited us without
having first fallen in with Sonntag and Hans, I at once sent the
interpreter to interrogate them. He came back in a few minutes. I
inquired eagerly if they brought news of Mr. Sonntag. "Yes." I had no
need to inquire further. Jensen's face told too plainly the terrible
truth,--Sonntag was dead!
I sent Jensen back to see that the wants of our savage visitors were
carefully provided for, and to question them further. They proved to be
two of my old acquaintances,--Ootinah, to whom I was under obligations
for important services in 1854, and a sprightly fellow, who, having had
his leg crushed by a falling stone, had since hobbled about on a wooden
one supplied to him, in 1850, by the surgeon of the _North Star_, and
which I had once repaired for him. They both came on one sledge, drawn
by five dogs, and had traveled all the way through from a village, on
the south side of Whale Sound, called Iteplik, without a halt. They had
faced a wind part of the way, and were covered from head to foot with
snow and frost. Their wants were soon bountifully supplied, and they
were not slow in communicating the information which most interested
me. From them I learned that Hans was on his way to the vessel with
his wife's father and mother. Some of his dogs had died, and he was
traveling in slow and easy stages. There being no longer any occasion
for my southern journey, the preparations therefor were discontinued.
[Sidenote: HANS'S STORY.]
Hans arrived two days afterward, and, much to our surprise, he was
accompanied only by his wife's brother, a lad whom I had seen some
months before at Cape York; but the cause of this was soon explained.
His wife's father and mother, as Ootinah informed me, had journeyed
with him, but they, as well as the dogs, had broken down, and were
left behind, near the glacier, and Hans had come on for assistance.
A party was at once dispatched to bring them in. Hans being cold and
fatigued, I refrained for the time from questioning him, and sent the
weather-beaten travelers to get warmed and fed.
The two old people were found coiled up in a cave dug in a snow-bank,
and were shivering with the cold. The dogs were huddled together near
by, and not one of them would stir a step, so both the animals and
the Esquimaux were bundled in a heap upon our large ice-sledge, and
dragged to the vessel. The Esquimaux were soon revived by the warmth
and good cheer of Hans's tent, while the dogs, only five in number, lay
stretched out on the deck in an almost lifeless condition. They could
neither eat nor move. And this was the remnant of my once superb pack
of thirty-six, and this the result of a journey from which I had hoped
so much! There was a mystery somewhere. What could it all mean? I quote
from my diary:--
February 1st.
Hans has given me the story of his journey, and I sit down to record it
with very painful emotions.
The travelers rounded Cape Alexander without difficulty, finding the
ice solid; and they did not halt until they had reached Sutherland
Island, where they built a snow-hut and rested for a few hours.
Continuing thence down the coast, they sought the Esquimaux at Sorfalik
without success. The native hut at that place being in ruins, they made
for their shelter another house of snow; and, after being well rested,
they set out directly for Northumberland Island, having concluded that
it was useless to seek longer for natives on the north side of the
Sound. They had proceeded on their course about four or five miles, as
nearly as I can judge from Hans's description, when Sonntag, growing
a little chilled, sprang off the sledge and ran ahead of the dogs to
warm himself with the exercise. The tangling of a trace obliging Hans
to halt the team for a few minutes, he fell some distance behind, and
was hurrying on to catch up, when he suddenly observed Sonntag sinking.
He had come upon the thin ice, covering a recently open tide-crack,
and, probably not observing his footing, he stepped upon it unawares.
Hans hastened to his rescue, and aided him out of the water, and then
turned back for the shelter which they had recently abandoned. A light
wind was blowing at the time from the northeast, and this, according
to Hans, caused Sonntag to seek the hut without stopping to change
his wet clothing. At first he ran beside the sledge, and thus guarded
against danger; but after a while he rode, and when they halted at
Sorfalik, Hans discovered that his companion was stiff and speechless.
Assisting him into the hut with all possible despatch, Hans states
that he removed the wet and frozen clothing, and placed Sonntag in the
sleeping-bag. He next gave him some brandy which he found in a flask
on the sledge; and, having tightly closed the hut, he lighted the
alcohol lamp, for the double purpose of elevating the temperature and
making some coffee; but all of his efforts were unavailing, and, after
remaining for nearly a day unconscious, Sonntag died. He did not speak
after reaching the hut, and left no message of any kind.
After closing up the mouth of the hut, so that the body might not be
disturbed by the bears or foxes, Hans again set out southward, and
reached Northumberland Island without inconvenience. Much to his
disappointment, he found that the natives had recently abandoned
the village at that place; but he obtained a comfortable sleep in a
deserted hut, and under a pile of stones he found enough walrus flesh
to give his dogs a hearty meal. The next day's journey brought him to
Netlik, which place was also deserted; and he continued on up the Sound
some twenty miles further to Iteplik, where he was fortunate enough to
find several families residing, some in the native stone hut and others
in huts of snow. Whale Sound being: a favorite winter resort of the
seal, the people had congregated there for the time, and were living in
the midst of abundance. Hans told his story, and, delighted to hear of
our being near their old village of Etah, Ootinah and he of the wooden
leg put their two teams together and resolved to accompany Hans when he
set out to return.
Meanwhile, however, my hunter had other projects. He was only three
days from the vessel, and had he come back at once the chief purpose of
the journey would still have been accomplished; but instead of doing
this, he gave large rewards to two Esquimaux boys to go with his team
down to Cape York. The stock of presents which Sonntag had taken for
the Esquimaux all now fell to Hans, and he did not spare them. And he
vows that his disposition of the property and the team was made in my
interest. "You want the Esquimaux to know you are here. I tell them.
They will come by and by and bring plenty of dogs." Why did he not go
himself to Cape York? He was too tired, and had, besides, a frosted toe
which he got while attending upon Mr. Sonntag.
Notwithstanding all these protestations of devotion to my affairs, I
strongly suspect, however, that certain commands were laid upon him by
the partner of his tent and joys; and, if domestic secrets were not
better kept than are some other kinds, I should probably discover that
the journey to Cape York was made for the sole purpose of bringing up
from that place the two old people who own Hans for a son-in-law. So
even here under the Pole Star the daughters of Eve govern the destinies
of men.
It was the old story of the borrowed horse over again. The journey was
long and difficult; the dogs were over-driven and starved; and the
party came back to Iteplik with only five dogs remaining of the nine
with which they had set out. Four of them had broken down, and were
left to die by the way.
February 2d.
Ootinah and his wooden-legged companion have left us, promising to
return as soon as they have provided for their families. They carried
away with them many valuable presents, and if these do not tempt their
savage kindred to the ship, nothing will. They will tell the Esquimaux
that I want dogs, and I have charged them to circulate the knowledge of
the ample returns which I will make to the hunter who will loan or sell
to me his team. But alas! dogs are scarce; most of the hunters have
none to spare, and many of them are wholly destitute. I had not a bribe
in the ship large enough to induce either of those who have left me to
part with even one of their precious animals. Having discovered this, I
could afford to be lavish with my presents, and these poor wanderers on
the ice deserts probably left me quite as well off as if they had sold
me their entire teams. They plead the hunt and their families, and
these are strong arguments. Needles and knives, and iron and bits of
wood, will not feed wives and babies, and a hundred and fifty miles is
a long way to carry a child at the breast through the cold and storms
of the Arctic night, even though it be to this haven of plenty. My
charity was, however, intended to cover a double purpose,--to do them
a substantial service, and to stimulate as well their cupidity as that
of the tribe who are sure to flock around them at Iteplik, to inspect
their riches. I must own, however, that my prospects for obtaining dogs
do not look encouraging. But few of the Esquimaux are likely to come so
far with their impoverished teams.
Hans sticks to the story of yesterday; and, after questioning and
cross-questioning him for an hour, I get nothing new. Although I
have no good reason for doubting the truth of his narrative, yet I
cannot quite reconcile my mind to the fact that Sonntag, with so
much experience to govern him, should have undertaken to travel
five miles in wet clothing, especially as he was accompanied by a
native hunter who was familiar with all of the expedients for safety
upon the ice-fields, and to whom falling in the water is no unusual
circumstance. The sledge and the canvas apron which inclosed the cargo
furnished the means for constructing a temporary shelter from the wind,
and the sleeping-bag would have insured against freezing while Hans got
ready the dry clothing, of which Sonntag carried a complete change.
Nor can I understand how he should have lived so long and have given
Hans no message for me, nor have spoken a word after coming out of the
water, further than to have ordered his driver to hasten back to the
snow-hut. However, it is idle to speculate about the matter; and since
Hans's interests were concerned in proving faithful to the officer who,
of all those in the ship, cared most for him, it would be unreasonable
as well as unjust to suspect him of desertion.
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