Winter at Hand.--We hold a Serious Council.--"Cold! oh, how
Cold!"--A Midnight Gun.--The Return of "The Curlew."--"A
J'yful 'Casion."--A Grand Distribution of Presents.--Good-by
to the Husky Girls.--A Singular Savage Song.--We All get
Sentimental.--Adieu to "Isle Aktok."--Homeward Bound.--We
engage "The Curlew" and her Captain for Another Year.
Aug. 11.--Water froze last night nearly half an inch of ice. It seemed
like December in our home latitude. All day the sky was hazy and cold,
with driving mists. The wind blew from the north and north-west almost
continually. A fortnight had made a great change in the weather.
Summer seemed to be fast merging into winter. During the afternoon and
evening we held a serious "council of war;" for all hope of the return
of "The Curlew" was now well-nigh abandoned. After some discussion, it
was voted to stay here on the island during the winter, rather than
attempt either to get out of the straits in our boat, or reach Nain
overland. During the morning _Shug-la-wina_ had come to our tent, and
pointed to the _oomiak_ then off to the southward. We knew that it was
to urge us to allow them to depart southward into Labrador. The
question now arose with us, Should we allow them to go according to
their habit? Raed thought we ought to let them go, and not subject
them to the peril of a winter passed here on the island; but Kit and
Wade opposed this proposition _in toto_.
"Once on the mainland," said Kit, "and our control over them will
cease. They would either desert us, or else be joined by numbers whom
we should find it impossible to govern. Not an inch shall they budge
from here while I stay."
And in this view he was supported by Wade and the sailors. Indeed, I
voted to keep them with us myself. To let them go seemed suicidal.
"But they may all starve here before spring," Raed urged. "That would
be terrible!"
"Well, we must take measures to see that they don't starve," replied
Kit. "Now's our chance to show them the advantages of our
administration. To-morrow we must begin a regular autumnal hunt. Every
seal and every bear, and such of the sea-fowl as have not already
flown, we must capture for winter-store. We must keep them at it
sharp. There's no need of starving, if we manage rightly. To-morrow we
will begin a regular hunt,--send out hunting-parties every day.
Whatever is brought in we will take charge of, and deal out as they
need."
"In case they were like to starve, a lot of these worthless dogs could
be killed for them to eat," said Donovan. "It wouldn't hurt my
feelings to slaughter the whole pack of them."
"It no need to come to that, if we manage rightly," replied Kit.
Thus it was left. The only cause for immediate alarm was the ghastly
fact, that we had only eleven cartridges remaining.
Toward evening it came on to snow. A dreary night settled down upon
the island. But we lighted our Husky lamp [it would appear that they
had procured a stone lamp from the Esquimaux], and made things as
cheery as we could. For the past week we had given up sentinel-duty,
save what Guard could do. There seemed no call for it. About ten we
all lay down on our bear-skins, and, covering them over us, were soon
comfortable. But, somehow, that night my head was full of dreams. I
dreamed everything a fellow could well imagine, and a good many things
no one ever could imagine awake. I went all over the stern experiences
of the past two months. Again we were hunting bears in "Mazard's Bay."
Again we were tossing amid the ice. At that stage of my fancies, the
dogs probably got to fighting; for suddenly I was back on our desolate
isle. It was mid-winter; cold! oh, how cold! The island was a mass of
ice. _Wutchee_ and _Wunchee_ had frozen: we were all freezing.
Suddenly one of the Company's ships hove in sight, sailing over the
ice-fields, and began a bombardment of our island. They had found us
at last, and now were about to shell us out, together with our
miserable subjects. How their heavy guns roared! Their shells came
dropping down with ruinous explosions. Then one came roaring into our
tent. There was a moment of horrible suspense. The fuse tizzed.
_Bang!_ We were blown to atoms!
I started. It had waked me,--something had. The lamp gave a sickly
light. Kit was getting up too; so was Wade. I was already on my feet,
near where we had stacked our guns.
"Did you fire a musket?" Kit demanded.
"What did you fire at?" exclaimed Wade.
Raed was rousing up; so were the sailors. I hastily disavowed any
shooting on my part.
"Well, what was _that_, then?"
"Certainly heard something," said Wade.
"I thought some of you fired," Raed observed.
They were all a little suspicious of me.
"He fired one of those muskets in his sleep!" I heard Wade whisper to
Kit as we pulled aside the flap of the tent to look out.
It was still snowing stormily. A cold, fine gust blew in our faces. A
bleak, dim light rested on the whitened earth. It was half-past two,
morning. Kit had turned back to the stack of muskets, to see if any of
them had been discharged doubtless, when like a thunder-peal came the
quick report of a cannon. It made us jump. Then in a moment we saw
_it in each other's suddenly-brightening faces_.
"The Curlew!" shouted Donovan.
Catching up our hats, and seizing each a musket, we rushed out into
the storm. A dozen of the Esquimaux had come to the doors of their
huts, jabbering. Without stopping to enlighten them, however, we
pulled up our jacket-collars, and ran off toward the shore, stumbling
over stones and blundering into holes in our headlong haste; Guard
racing ahead, barking loudly.
In less than five minutes we had passed over the intervening half
mile, and were coming out on the shore, where the snowy rocks stood
dim-white and ghostly against the wild, black ocean, tumbling in with
heavy swash and roar. So thick was the storm, and so dark was the air,
that we could scarcely see a hundred yards in any direction. Bringing
up among a lot of Husky _kayaks_ lying amid the snow, we paused to
listen. Momentarily a blaze of fire reddened the sea and the white
flakes for a second, and the sharp report of our old howitzer shook
the stormy air.
"Hurrah!" yelled Kit.
"Hurrah, hurrah!"
Crack, crack, crack, went the muskets!
"_Hurrah!_" came faintly from out the storm, a quarter of a mile off.
We danced, we capered, at the risk of our necks, among the slippery
_kayaks_. We fairly hooted for joy.
"Have you got the boat there?" hailed Capt. Mazard with the trumpet.
"Will you come off now?"
"Boat laid up!" shouted Kit. "Wait till light!"
"All right!" was the reply.
Nothing more could be done then. We went back to our tent.
"I suppose we ought to help the Huskies get their _oomiak_ back to the
water," Kit remarked.
"Yes; it would be a rather hard job for them alone," said Wade.
_Shug-la-wina_ came peeping into the tent with an inquiring look.
"_Oomiak-sook!_" Kit said, pointing off to the sea.
He _yeh-yehed_, and went away.
"We must make it up to these poor people all we can," said Kit.
"We'll make them such a present as they never saw before!" Raed
exclaimed.
It was already growing light. We pulled down our tent to get out the
_oomiak_-mast; and mustering the men, all of them, got the _oomiak_ on
the mast-pole and the oars, as before, and carried it back to the
shore. There was no resistance now. They were all _yeh-yeh-ing_ and
_heh-heh-ing_. This took about an hour. We then carried our own boat
down in the same way. The whole population followed us. By this time
it was broad daylight. The storm had slackened to a few straggling
flakes. There lay "The Curlew," stern to the shore, headed to the
wind, off five or six hundred yards. We could not resist the
temptation of jumping into the boat and pulling out to her instantly.
How beautiful she looked to us! Why, I do believe we could have
imitated poor little _Wutchee_ and _Wunchee_, standing back there on
the snowy ledges, and licked the schooner all over! We came up under
the side. Such a cheer! Capt. Mazard's honest, brave face glowing with
pleasure, and all the rest of the crew hearty with rough affection!
'Twas a sight to do a fellow's eyes good.
"Boys, this is hunky!"
"Well, ain't it, captain?"
"You're all there, aren't ye? Well, how do you do?" helping us over
the rail. "You don't look as if you had starved."
"Starved?--no! Catch us starving! We've got a whole tribe to back us.
But Bonney, old boy, what's the matter with your arm?" exclaimed Kit.
"Oh! nothing very bad," replied Bonney, laughing and looking to the
captain.
"Splinter hit him," said Capt. Mazard significantly.
"You don't say!" Kit exclaimed. "Did they come so near you as that?"
"So near's that!" blustered old Trull. "Guess you'd 'a' said so! Why,
look at the after-bulwarks! and look at the windlass!"
The taffrail was gone, sure enough, and the stern bulwarks broken and
patched up down to the deck. The windlass was torn up too.
"Whew!" from all of us.
"Only one shot hit us," explained the captain. "Glanced up from the
water through the stern, knocked up the taffrail, and then went
forward: just missed the mast, but hit the windlass. Haven't been able
to anchor since."
"Well, I'll be blamed!" exclaimed Wade. "Hurt you much, Bonney?"
"Broke his arm!" said the captain.
"You don't say so!"
"Yes, sir. But we've set it; and it's doing well, I think."
"Well, you must have been short-handed here!" cried Donovan.
"Bet you, we have been! Had to have Palmleaf on deck half the time.
We've made quite a sailor of him."
We all praised the darky. Even Wade cried, "Well done, old snowball!
How's that under your wool?"
"I tinks," said the negro, grinning all over, "dat dis am a bery
j'yful 'casion!"
"So 'tis!"
"But how far did they chase you?" Raed inquired.
"Clean out into the Atlantic," replied Capt. Mazard. "I should have
given them a circular race about that ice-island where we were when
'The Rosamond' fired into us; but the tide has broken up the ice there
now. We've come back just as quick as we could. But how have you
fared? Why, I've had dismal fears of finding only one or two of you
alive, devouring the bodies of the rest."
We thereupon gave the captain a brief account of our sojourn on the
island, and how we had managed the Huskies.
"That only demonstrates that you are natural-born sovereign Yankees,"
remarked the captain, laughing heartily.
"But you must come ashore and see our _subjects_!" exclaimed Kit.
"I'll do it!"
"But not before you've ben ter brackfus', sar?" said Palmleaf. "Coffee
all hot, sar."
"Bully for you, Palmleaf!" shouted Weymouth. "Don't care if I do!"
"It seems an age since I last tasted coffee," said Raed.
That we did justice to Palmleaf's coffee and buttered muffins I have
no need to assure the reader.
Breakfast over, we went back to our island, taking the captain along,
and Hobbs in the place of Weymouth. The savages were gathered on the
shore, watching the _oomiak-sook_ rather disconsolately; for, roughly
as we had used them, I think they had somehow gotten up a regard for
us. Seeing us coming toward the shore again, they began to shout and
hop about in a most extravagant manner. Landing, we sent the boat back
after the iron, knives, flannel, etc. We then took the captain with us
to see their huts and our walrus-skin tent. We had thoughts of taking
the hides away with us; but as they were very heavy, and withal
emitted a rather disagreeable odor, we finally gave them to
_Shug-la-wina_. Our _spider_, off which we had eaten so many fried
eggs and broiled ducks, we left set in our arch.
The captain was formally presented to _Wutchee_ and _Wunchee_, and
bowed very low. Their little black eyes sparkled; but, at a nod from
Kit, they bowed in turn,--lower than the captain even: so that, on the
whole, the ceremony was a rather grotesque one.
"But, my stars!" exclaimed Capt. Mazard, turning to us. "Which is
which? Twins, to a dead certainty!"
"_Bi-coit-suk_," replied Wade.
Shortly after, we went back to the beach, making signs for them all to
follow, which they did; our fair twins smiling on the arms of two of
our party, whose names we forbear to give. The boat had come. A
general distribution of presents was the next thing in order. To each
of the men we gave a long bar of iron. Their exclamations of surprise
and delight were only surpassed by those of the women when we gave
them each two yards of red flannel. We next gave to each one of them a
jack-knife; then to each one of the women a butcher-knife, for cutting
up their seals. They were in ecstasies. Kit then gave a hatchet to
each man and each boy. Raed gave to _Shug-la-wina_ an extra knife for
one of his dog-whips, which he wished to keep for a curiosity; and Kit
gave to little _Twee-gock_ an extra knife and hatchet for the
walrus-tusk dagger with which he had tried to stab him. The little
dark chap was too much astonished at that to do anything but stare.
The boat was then sent back after a load of four-foot wood, and
returned, bringing each one a stick. Nothing else seemed wanting to
make the poor creatures regard us as objects worthy of worship.
Meanwhile the pretty twins, and also _Igloo-ee_ and _Coo-nee_, were
not forgotten by any means. Kit and Wade had brought off for each of
them a green pea-jacket; which, considering the fact that they wore
jackets, were not incongruous gifts. Then there were scarfs,
scarf-pins, and big darning-needles; in short, a most munificent
variety of presents: for though we must needs pronounce Kit and Wade a
trifle unscrupulous in their way of getting possession of the island,
yet they were now princely in their generosity.
The captain now got into the boat: Raed and I followed him. Wade
turned to the girls, pointing to himself, then off to the schooner,
and, shaking his head, said, "_Annay, annay!_" Kit did the same. They
then both shook hands with them, shaking their heads all the time very
mournfully, and still repeating the sad "_Annay!_" It is no poetic
fiction to add, that the little black eyes of the pretty savages were
glistening with tears. Kit and Wade then got into the boat, and we
shoved off amid sorrowful cries from the entire group.
"Hold on a bit!" said Raed. "I like to observe them now their feelings
are wrought upon."
The sailors stopped rowing, and the boat was allowed to lie at about
twenty yards from the beach, while Wade sang "Dixie" in his rich,
clear voice. We then waved our hands to them slowly and sorrowfully.
Immediately little _Coo-nee_, with _Wutchee_ and _Wunchee_ and
_Igloo-ee_, took their white bird-skin gloves from their boots, and
drew them on. Then, coming down where the waves touched their feet,
they raised their hands slowly, and began a low, clear chant. At the
end of what appeared to be a stanza, the group on the shore behind
them joined in a sort of chorus resembling the words _Amna-ah-ya,
amna-amna-ah-ya_. The girls then began another stanza, extending their
hands downward toward the sea, waving them slowly to and fro together.
The chorus was then repeated. Their hands and faces were next
directed, during a third stanza, to the west; then toward the far
east. Finally they raised them to the sky, and, chanting clear and
earnestly, seemed to be imploring the blessing of Heaven on us now
departing from them over the wild seas. Kit took off his cap; and we
all followed his example, as if impelled to it. It was really an
affecting incident. Our hardy captain is not a soft-hearted man; but I
saw him wipe a tear from his eye as the chant ceased. I have not
sought to color the picture. There was a wonderful pathos about it. We
had not heard the song before; and I am inclined to believe it
_extempore_,--one of those musical efforts which persons in what we
term the savage state will sometimes make when their feelings are
touched by new and strange influences. Even after the song had ceased,
the girls, as if under its spell, stood holding out their white hands
to us. I can hardly express how much we were moved by it all. Farewell
is, as we all know, a hard word to say. But we were leaving them
forever; and the dark storm-clouds, the icy sea, and snowy ledges,
seemed a pitiless fate for those whose voices had such power to touch
our feelings. What if they were savage Huskies: they had human hearts,
with all the beautiful possibilities of souls that might be made
undying.
"Give 'way!" ordered the captain.
We went off with them gazing sadly after us in silence. Kit and Wade
were in the bow, talking.
"Why need we leave them here?" I overheard Wade ask.
"Oh, nonsense, Wade!" said Kit.
"But to leave them to the cruel elements!" Wade whispered.
"Yes--I know--but they're happier here than they would be--in--in some
great cotton-factory at home."
"Too true," Wade sighed, and fell to softly whistling "Dixie."
"I suppose," said the captain as we got aboard, "that it will be too
late to get into Hudson Bay farther this season."
"Yes," replied Raed: "we are all a little home-sick, I expect. Let's
go home."
The boat was taken up, and the schooner brought round. The sails
swelled out in the stormy wind. "The Curlew" stood away, down the
straits.
"Adieu to Isle Aktok!" cried Kit, looking off toward the snowy island.
"Our reign ends here; but no one can say that we have not been kings
in our day."
We were five days going out to the Atlantic. During most of that time,
the wind blew hard and cold. We were glad to keep snug as we could in
the cabin. The ice collected along the water-line of the schooner to
the depth of several inches.
With the exception of a heavy gale of seventeen hours' duration while
off Halifax, our voyage home to Boston was, though tedious, quite
uneventful,--the mere monotony of the ocean, which has been so often
and so well described.
Arrived in Boston harbor on the forenoon of the 9th of September. Raed
went up to the bank where we had deposited our bonds, and, effecting
an exchange of $1,600 worth, came back to pay off our men; viz.:--
Capt. Mazard, three months and a half, $350
The six sailors, three months each, 720
Palmleaf, three months, 90
Schooner, 300
Damage done by shot, 100
------
In all, $1,560
Then the expense of outfit, 1,100
------
Giving a total, for the voyage, of $2,660
The remaining $40 from the $1,600 we gave to Bonney in consideration
of the wound received in our service.
"Wish that splinter had hit me!" laughed Donovan.
"Go with us next summer, and we will give you a chance for _one_,"
replied Kit.
"Do you really think of going up there another season?" said Capt.
Mazard.
"Not into Hudson Straits, perhaps," replied Raed. "But we are going
north again next spring. And, captain, I wish we might again be able
to secure your services as well as those of the crew. 'The Curlew'
just suits us. We have got her fitted up for our purpose. We intended
to have built a schooner-yacht; but, if you will put a price on 'The
Curlew,' we will consider it with a view to buying her."
Capt. Mazard was unwilling, however, to sell his vessel.
"But I will make you this proposition," said he: "I will place 'The
Curlew,' with my own services as captain, at your disposal,--you to
pay all expenses,--for the sum of fifteen hundred dollars per annum."
We went below to consult.
"I don't believe we could do better," remarked Kit. "It will relieve
us of all the cares of building and ownership."
We were unanimous in that opinion, and immediately closed with the
captain's offer.
Our big rifle, howitzer, in short, all our property, has been left on
board. The services of Palmleaf, as cook, have been retained; and
during the fall, thus far (Nov. 16), we have been making the schooner
our floating home, off and on. We have got a good anchorage off from
the wharves. Occasionally we make a short trip down the bay, and go on
board to have dinner, chat, read, and write, at pleasure. Indeed, this
humble narrative has been recorded mostly on board, sitting at the
table-shelf in our "saloon." We all like the arrangement, and
cheerfully recommend it to young gentlemen of similar tastes.
* * * * *
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| Typographical errors corrected in text: |
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| Page 56: conpanion-way replaced with companion-way |
| Page 106: dulness replaced with dullness |
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| The term Esquimau is the singular form of Esquimaux, |
| though the author is sometimes inconsistent with its' |
| usage. |
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