THROUGH THE LONG NIGHT
The crashing and cracking sounds which rent the air seemed to justify
the man's cry. It was true the ice pack was being driven in sharply by
the wind, which had greatly increased during the past hour. It pressed
on the side of the ship with telling force, and all those outside heard
several timbers give way inside and collapse.
But just at the crucial moment the work the men had been doing proved
its worth. The ice began to crack and split a little deeper down, and
suddenly the _Ice King_ gave a start upward.
"I think she is coming up!" cried Dr. Slade, and even as he spoke the
steamer rose up higher as part of the ice pack got under the hull. Then
came a swishing sound, some water spurted up into the air, and the
vessel came up still higher, while the ice appeared to close in solidly
under the keel.
"Saved!" roared Captain Williamson, and his face showed his relief.
"Are you sure?" asked Andy, anxiously.
"Yes, my lad. The _Ice King_ is now riding on top of the ice instead of
between it. Any additional move of the ice pack will simply force us
upward."
"She may tip over on her side!" cried Chet.
"We can easily guard against that, Chet. Yes, we are saved, and I am
mighty glad of it."
"And so am I," added Barwell Dawson.
The grinding of the ice pack continued for several days, and the vessel
was squeezed several inches higher. But the pressure on the side was
gone completely, and the ship's carpenter was set to work to repair the
damage done. One of the timbers running across the boys' stateroom had
been snapped in twain, and the lads viewed the wreckage in deep concern.
"If we had been sleeping in here when that happened, we might have been
killed," said Chet, and his chum agreed with him.
During the following three weeks it snowed a great deal. It was,
however, clear on Christmas Day, and the boys went out for a walk in the
vicinity of the vessel. All hands were treated to a dinner of wild duck
and plum pudding, and something of a church service was held by the
captain, assisted by Dr. Slade, who had a good tenor voice, and had once
sung in a church choir.
"Makes a fellow feel just a little bit less like a heathen," remarked
Chet, after the church service had come to an end.
"Indeed, that is true," answered Andy. At Pine Run he had attended the
village chapel whenever he had the chance to do so.
As Professor Jeffer had predicted, it grew steadily colder, and there
were many days between Christmas and the middle of January when the boys
did not care to venture outside. Outdoor work was out of the question,
and all hands busied themselves within as best they could. The men
smoked and played games, and sometimes got up boxing matches. The boys
often took part in the games, and Chet showed his skill as a boxer by
flooring two of the tars hand-running.
Yet with it all the time passed slowly, and both Andy and Chet were
anxious for the Long Night to come to an end. The darkness was beginning
to tell on many of the party, and Pep Loggermore especially began to act
strangely. Once he began to sing hysterically, and the doctor had to
give him some medicine to quiet him.
"He's a strange Dick, that chap," said Captain Williamson. "I am sorry I
had him sign articles with me. He's one of the old-fashioned
superstitious kind that I don't like."
The boys were glad when the full moon shone down on the ship, for then
it was almost as bright as day. The moonshine made the distant cliffs
and peaks of ice look like castles of white, and added a rare beauty to
the scene. Professor Jeffer took several photographs in the
moonlight,--of the ship, the hut and storehouse, and of different members
of the party. To pass the time, some of these films and plates were
developed on the ship, and the boys aided in printing the pictures, many
of which proved very good.
One moonlight night Andy and Chet determined to take a short walk to a
point some distance behind the storehouse, and in the direction of the
_igloos_ of the Esquimaux. So far, they had not seen the inside of any
of the houses of ice, and they were a bit curious to know just how the
natives lived.
They soon met Olalola, who had been on a hunt, and he invited them
inside his temporary home, and one after another they crawled through
the passageway that answered for a vestibule.
Inside, the _igloo_ was about ten feet in diameter, and rounding upward
into a dome a foot or two above their heads. Here lived six of the
Esquimaux. They had some dirty skins on the floor and in the center was
a tiny fire, resting on some flat stones, the smoke escaping through
some small holes in the top of the dome.
The smell was something awful in the place, coming from some seal meat
that was cooking over the fire, and also from the pipes of the
Esquimaux, who were all smoking stuff that the lads later on learned was
a combination of plug tobacco and seal hair--the hair being added to the
tobacco to make the latter last longer.
Olalola could speak a few words of English, and he invited the lads to
have some of the stew that was being made. Just for the novelty each lad
tried a mouthful. But to swallow the nauseating mess was impossible, and
they had to spit it out. At this all of the Esquimaux laughed loudly.
They were not in the least offended because the boys did not like the
food.
"Boy no eat, me eat," said Olalola, and filled his mouth with great
gusto. Then the youths excused themselves and got out as fast as
possible.
"Phew! talk about fresh air!" cried Chet, when he and his chum were in
the open. "Wouldn't you think the Esquimaux would die in that kind of
rot?"
"I don't believe they are very healthy," answered Andy. "Dr. Slade says
they are not."
"They all need a bath, and need it badly," said Chet, in deep disgust.
It was his first and last visit to the _igloos_.
When it was clear the Esquimaux often played games. One was leapfrog,
and another was of the "snap-the-whip" variety. In the latter sport they
would roar loudly when the last man was sent whirling over and over on
the ice.
"You'd think he'd break his head," was Andy's comment, as he saw one
unfortunate land with a crash on a hummock of ice.
"Well, they are rough fellows, and so their sports must be rough,"
answered Professor Jeffer.
Nearly every Esquimau is skillful with the dog-whip, and one of their
pastimes amused the boys very deeply. The men would gather around in a
big circle, and in the center of this a small object, usually of wood,
would be half buried in the snow. Then the men, each with his long
dog-lash, would try to "snap" the object from the ring. Crack! would go
the lash, making a report like a pistol, and the snow would come up in a
little whirl, and sometimes the object would come with it.
"Pretty good shots, some of them," said Andy.
"Wait until we get on the road with the sledges," answered Barwell
Dawson. "Then you'll see some fancy doings with the whips. Some of those
chaps can reach a dog twenty feet away, and take a nip out of his hide
as quick as a wink. That's the way they get the dogs under such perfect
control."
"I wish I could learn how to drive the dogs," said Andy.
"You'll have plenty of chance, when we get on the move again," returned
the explorer.
Two days later, Andy was walking from the storehouse to the ship when,
in the dim light from the lamp near the hut, he saw something unusual
that attracted his attention. A man was crawling along on all-fours,
muttering wildly to himself.
"Whatever can that fellow be up to?" asked the boy of himself. For the
instant he thought he might be mistaken, and that the form was that of
some wild beast.
His curiosity aroused to a high pitch, the lad stopped short, and then
made a detour, coming up on the opposite side of the storehouse. Here he
found the man, still on all-fours, bending over a case of some sort.
"Oh, this darkness! Why don't the sun shine?" the man was muttering to
himself. "I must have light! I will have light!"
"It is Pep Loggermore, and he is as crazy as a loon!" murmured Andy. "I
had better tell the captain of this at once! The sailor may hurt
somebody if I don't!"
Andy turned around, to make a quick run toward the ship, when he heard
the scratching of a match. A tiny flash of flame followed, and in that
little flare of light he saw the crazed sailor bending over what looked
to be a can of oil!
"He is going to set something on fire!" thought Andy. "Maybe the
storehouse! That's his crazy idea of getting light!"
Andy was right, Loggermore was trying to set fire to the storehouse.
Already he was pouring oil from the can over a number of boxes, the ends
of which formed that side of the shelter.
"If I run to the ship, it will take time," reasoned Andy. "By the time I
get back with some of the others it may be too late. What shall I do?"
It was a hard question to answer. He had no desire to tackle the crazy
sailor alone. But even while he stood debating with himself he saw
Loggermore strike another match.
"Stop! Don't light that, Loggermore!"
So shouting, Andy leaped toward the man, who was still crouched down,
mumbling to himself about wanting a light. At the sound of the youth's
voice, the sailor turned, and something like a snarl broke from his
lips.
"Go away! Go away!" he shrieked.
"Loggermore, you mustn't set anything on fire."
"I want light! I must have light! I hate the darkness!" growled the
crazed sailor.
"You'll burn up all our stores. If you do that, we'll starve to death!"
continued Andy, as he drew closer.
"I want light!" went on Loggermore, doggedly. "The darkness hurts my
head--I can't think straight. Stand back and see what a fine light I'll
soon have!" And so speaking, he lit another match, for the other had
fallen in the snow and gone out.
"Help! help!" yelled Andy, at the top of his lungs. He could think of
nothing else to do. "Help! help!"
"Shut up!" cried the crazed sailor. "Shut up!" And now, dropping the
match he had just struck, he leaped at Andy and caught him by the
shoulder and the arm.
The grip of the crazy fellow was like steel, and do his best, the boy
could not break away. Pep Loggermore whirled him around and sent him
crashing up against the boxes of the storehouse. There both stood,
panting heavily, with the sailor's eyes glowing like two balls of fire.
"Le--let me go!" gasped Andy. "Loggermore, you are crazy--you don't know
what you are doing. Don't be so foolish, that's a good fellow----"
"No, no, I'll not let you go! You are a Jonah, Andy Graham! You shot the
geese, you and that other lad, and you've brought us all kinds of
trouble! I'll not let you go!" shrieked Loggermore and then he slammed
Andy against the boxes once more. The feet of both came down on the can
and on the box of matches the sailor had dropped, smashing each down
into the ice and snow.
Then suddenly a light flared up, coming from the broken box of matches.
They spluttered an instant and set fire to the oil, and also to the
clothing of the man and the boy. Loggermore was too crazy to mind this,
but Andy was filled with horror.
"Let go!" yelled the youth, and struggled in vain to release himself.
But he could not break that awful hold, and so he dragged the tar with
him, and both rolled over and over in the snow. Andy tried to kick out
the fire around his legs, and in the meanwhile Loggermore got a grip on
his windpipe as if to strangle him. The boy tried to fight the man off,
but could not, and presently all grew dark around him, and then he knew
no more.