_A TRIP TO AN ESKIMO ENCAMPMENT._
Roy and Broom spent the evening following in desultory conversation. The
latter was feeling in one of his best moods, but a strange presentiment
of coming evil beset the trader; that peculiar instinctive feeling of
some approaching calamity with which we are all more or less acquainted;
the shadowy, indistinct sensation that some catastrophe is nigh and
about to overwhelm us.
As Roy’s naturally buoyant spirits were not prone to fits of depression
he felt irritated with himself and attempted to throw it off, but the
feeling was so persistent, so singularly distinct, that it caused him to
hesitate about making the journey. It was only by a supreme effort that
he suppressed these premonitions of evil and bent his mind on the
business before him.
He had arranged for Minnihak to accompany him as guide, and Delgezie to
follow with a second train of dogs. Consequently the charge of the Fort
fell to Sahanderry, who was summoned to the inner room to receive his
orders. Roy made a point of giving these instructions in the presence of
Broom, so that he might perfectly understand his position and that he
remained at the Fort merely as a guest, and that except for the
preparing of his meals the Chipewyan was in no wise under his direction
or supervision. After establishing this fact beyond any possibility of
doubt, Roy dismissed Sahanderry.
“And now we’ll take a last horn together,” he said, little thinking how
prophetic his words would prove.
“Thanks, old man,” returned the sailor. Then, as if the thought had
suddenly flashed upon him, he added: “By the way, you might leave a drop
with me, old chap; the time will be deuced long while you’re away.”
Roy shot him a quick glance and remained silent for some moments as if
debating within himself. He turned and lingered over the spirit chest,
and then, alas, against his better judgment, he produced two bottles of
whiskey which he handed to the sailor. There was nothing in these
innocent black bottles to warn him that they would be chiefly
instrumental in bringing about the catastrophe his gloomy forebodings
had foreshadowed—_the imp of evil was there_.
“I shall be away only four days if the weather holds good,” said Roy.
Then looking the other straight in the eyes he added a little more
seriously, but with a smile: “Of course I depend upon you behaving
yourself, Broom. You’ve given your word that you will try no more
foolishness with Kasba, and I trust you. I have given you the liquor you
asked for, but I don’t expect you to make an ass of yourself.”
Broom smiled broadly while engaged in stowing the bottles under a pillow
of his bunk.
“Dear me, what a doubting Thomas you are!” he said. Then, with the
theatrical manner he was so fond of assuming, he added: “You may proceed
on your hazardous journey, my good Samaritan, with the greatest
confidence in your humble servant’s future exemplary behavior. He will
conduct himself in the most approved manner during your absence.”
After this virtuous assurance, Broom partly filled an enamelled mug with
whiskey from a bottle on the table, and, raising it in the air, drank to
“a successful trip.” “May you return with your sleds loaded down with
furs,” he cried, in a more friendly spirit than he had shown for some
time past.
Thanking him for his wishes, Roy drank the liquor he had mixed for
himself, and prepared for bed.
“You must excuse me,” he said, “for I am making an early start in the
morning. But don’t let my going to bed interfere with your enjoyment.
There is not much in the bottle, you might as well finish it.”
Broom muttered something about the other’s generosity and drew the
bottle toward him, while Roy made haste to bed.
The trading party left the Fort long before daylight next morning and
were many miles away when the “day-sky” crept over the horizon, for the
dogs were going well. Neither of the _com-it-uks_ was loaded very
heavily, although they appeared to be so from their bulk, but this was
caused by the amount of bedding, changes of clothing, and other useful
gear that trippers in the Far North are compelled to take with them when
making a trip, it does not matter how short, in winter; for a blizzard,
like that in which Kasba was lost, easily protracts a short trip into
one of several days’ duration.
The day passed all too quickly for the little party, who, keenly alive
to the changeableness of the weather at that time of the year,
endeavored to push on with the greatest speed possible. With this end in
view, only one short stop was made “to boil the kettle,” as the phrase
goes. Beyond this there was no stopping, and each of the men was aware
of sundry severe promptings from an empty stomach long before the
approaching dusk compelled them to camp for the night.
At a word from Roy the guide selected a suitable spot, and the dogs were
brought to a halt in a little bluff of trees. The place chosen was not
an ideal one, for the brush was poor and dry wood scarce, but, as the
men well knew, there was no better for some miles, and they lost no time
in idle speculation or useless regrets. Silently, and with the skilful
precision and dexterity of men well accustomed to the work, they went
about their several duties, each to his own task, knowing what was
expected of him. To Delgezie fell the task of “making camp.” Having
picked a spot free from underwood and where there were no holes, he
slipped off his snowshoes and using one as a spade proceeded to clear
the ground of snow, while Roy, acting as the old man’s assistant, cut
and brought suitable spruce trees which Delgezie “branched” as soon as
he had cleared a space some ten feet square, strewing the small branches
thickly over the uncovered ground, and at the same time making a
three-sided barricade some four feet high out of the robbed trunks. The
back of the camp was toward the wind, while the front, or open side of
the square, was reserved for the fire.
The camp built, Roy stopped cutting “brush” and joined Minnihak in
procuring “dry wood,” which Delgezie cut into lengths as soon as
brought.
Then the trader and the Chipewyan turned their attention to the dogs,
which were unharnessed, tied to adjacent trees and bedded down with
brush. A terrific clamoring ensued, for long experience told the dogs
that these acts betokened the feeding hour. Four pounds of venison were
now thrown to each of them, as a reward for the faithful efforts of the
day, and on a tree near by a bag containing a night’s feed for men and
dogs was cached for the return journey. Thus the _com-it-uks_ were
lightened by many pounds’ weight the first day out.
By this time Minnihak had a fire blazing fiercely and throwing its glare
all about them, making the camp appear a comfortable haven indeed, as
compared to the cold, bleak surroundings, and Roy and Delgezie stepped
into its warm radius and knocked the snow from their moccasins and
trousers with their thick deerskin mittens, smiling the pleased smile of
weary men satisfied.
The duties of cook fell upon the guide, Minnihak, according to the rules
of tripping. But although the Eskimo had acquired the elements of
civilization he was sadly remiss in the nicer details of cleanliness,
which made his services in that capacity quite undesirable. Therefore
Delgezie cooked the food, while Minnihak carried out the more menial
labors of cook’s mate, in pursuance of which he had already gone to a
near-by river and brought back several large blocks of ice for the
kettle, and these lay ready to the cook’s hand, glistening in the
firelight.
Supper over, the men gave themselves up to a few minutes’ smoke and
reverie—the most delightful time of the tripper’s day—and their
thoughts naturally turned to sleep. Delgezie, who always held prayer
before retiring, began a hymn, which he sang alone, for Roy was unable
to follow the old man’s peculiar intonation, and Minnihak was ignorant
of both language and tune.
In a reverie Roy’s gaze wandered from the bright glow of the fire,
through the few sparse spruce trees and out to the cold, desolate region
beyond. The moon was shining brightly, illuminating the surrounding
solitude which stretched into the far distance on either side like a
terrestrial eternity, having no visible beginning or end.
With a shudder of awe at the weird grandeur, profound silence, and
magnitude of the scene, Roy realized himself an insignificant atom in
God’s great plan of creation, and his eyes, following the bent of his
thoughts, instinctively sought the heavens, where they discovered a
magnificent lunar halo, a white corona with a pale-hued edge completely
encircling the moon.
Withdrawing his gaze from this beautiful phenomenon as Delgezie fell on
his knees to pray, Roy whipped off his cap and stood with head
reverently bowed while the old man stumbled through the General
Confession. At the words “_Nota Yaka Thenda Nese_” (Our Father, etc.),
Roy repeated the prayer with such fervor as to cause the Eskimo to look
up in astonishment.
None but those who have witnessed it can understand the singularly
striking effect of such a scene—the small, rudely constructed camp with
the fire throwing its glare afar; the profound silence; the vast
surrounding solitudes and the little group of devotees, apparently alone
in an immense wilderness, their faces lit by the lurid glow of the fire;
the gentle soughing of the wind; the celestial canopy bright with
myriads of twinkling stars—all this appeals to the imagination and,
despite an inclination to ridicule, a distinctly religious feeling
prevails, while thoughts prone to wander on excursions of levity are
brought sharply to order and turned inward.
Delgezie was the last to retire. Before lying down the old Indian made
all secure from fire by pushing the burning embers out in the snow.
Then, after making certain that the trader was well covered, he raised
himself to take a last look about him.
A light wind from the west seemed somewhat capricious and threatened to
change to another point of the compass. This caused Delgezie some
uneasiness; he feared it might change during the night, which meant a
change of camp. And changing camp in the dark, on a bitter-cold night,
is a most disagreeable experience.