The World of Ice by R. M. Ballantyne (digital e reader TXT) đź“•
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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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While the battle above described was going on, two smaller walrus had been killed and secured, and the Esquimaux were in a state of great glee, for previous to the arrival of the sailors they had been unsuccessful in their hunts, and had been living on short allowance. On returning home there was a general feasting and merry-making, and Saunders felt that if he remained there long they would not only eat up their own meat, but his also. He therefore resolved to return immediately to the ship with his prize, and leave part of his men behind to continue the hunt until he should return with the sledge.
But he was prevented from putting this intention into practice by a hurricane which burst over the Arctic regions with inconceivable bitterness, and for two days kept all the inhabitants of the snow-village confined to their huts. This hurricane was the fiercest that had swept over these bleak regions of ice since the arrival of the Dolphin. The wind shrieked, as it swept round the cliffs, and down the ravines, and out upon the frozen sea, as if a legion of evil spirits were embodied and concentrated in each succeeding blast. The snow-drift rose in solid masses, whirled madly round for a few seconds, and then was caught by the blast, and swept away like sheets of white flame. The thermometer stood at 23 degrees below zero, a temperature that was mild compared with what it usually had been of late, but the fierce wind abstracted heat from everything exposed to it so rapidly that neither man nor beast could face it for a moment.
Buzzby got a little bit of his chin frozen while he merely put his head out at the door of the hut to see how the weather looked, and Davie Summers had one of his fingers slightly frozen while in the act of carrying in one of the muskets that had been left outside by mistake.
As for the Esquimaux, they recked not of the weather. Their snow-huts were warm, and their mouths were full, so like wise men and women they waited patiently within-doors till the storm should blow itself out. The doings of these poor people were very curious. They ate voraciously, and evidently preferred their meat raw. But when the sailors showed disgust at this, they at once made a small fire of moss, mingled with blubber, over which they half-cooked their food.
Their mode of procuring fire was curious. Two small stones were taken, one a piece of white quartz, the other a piece of iron-stone, and struck together smartly; the few sparks that flew out were thrown upon a kind of white down, found on the willows, under which was placed a lump of dried moss. It was usually a considerable time before they succeeded in catching a spark, but once caught they had no difficulty in blowing it into a flame.
They had also an ingenious contrivance for melting snow. This was a flat stone, supported by two other stones, and inclined slightly at one end; upon this flat stone a lump of snow was placed, and below it was kindled a small fire of moss and blubber. When the stone became heated, the snow melted and flowed down the incline into a small seal-skin cup placed there to catch it.
During the continuance of the storm the sailors shared the food and lodging of these Esquimaux. They were a fat, oily, hospitable, dirty race, and vied with each other in showing kindness to those who had been thus thrown into their society. As Davie Summers expressed it, “they were regular trumps”; and, according to Buzzby’s opinion, “they wos the jolliest set o’ human walrusses wot he had ever comed across in all his travels, and he ought to know, for he had always kep’ his weather-eye open, he had, and wouldn’t give in on that p’int, he wouldn’t, to no man livin’.”
It is interesting to meditate, sometimes, on the deviousness of the paths by which men are led in earthly affairs—even when the starting-point and object of pursuit are the same. The two parties which left the Dolphin had for their object the procuring of fresh food. The one went south and the other north, but their field was the same—the surface of the frozen sea and the margin of the ice-girt shore. Yet how different their experiences and results were the sequel will show.
As we have already said, the northern party was in command of Bolton, the first mate, and consisted of ten men, among whom were our hero Fred, Peter Grim, O’Riley, and Meetuck, with the whole team of dogs, and the large sledge.
Being fine weather when they set out, they travelled rapidly, making twenty miles, as near as they could calculate, in the first six hours. The dogs pulled famously, and the men stepped out well at first, being cheered and invigorated mentally by the prospect of an adventurous excursion and fresh meat. At the end of the second day they buried part of their stock of provisions at the foot of a conspicuous cliff, intending to pick it up on their return, and, thus lightened, they advanced more rapidly, keeping farther out on the floes, in hopes of falling in with walrus or seals.
Their hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment. They got only one seal, and that was a small one—scarcely sufficient to afford a couple of meals to the dogs.
They were “misfortunate entirely”, as O’Riley remarked, and, to add to their misfortunes, the floe-ice became so rugged that they could scarcely advance at all.
“Things grow worse and worse,” remarked Grim, as the sledge, for the twentieth time that day, plunged into a crack in the ice, and had to be unloaded ere it could be got out. “The sledge won’t stand much o’ sich work, and if it breaks—good-bye to it, for it won’t mend without wood, and there’s none here.”
“No fear of it,” cried Bolton encouragingly; “it’s made of material as tough as your own sinews, Grim, and won’t give way easily, as the thumps it has withstood already prove. Has it never struck you, Fred,” he continued, turning to our hero, who was plodding forward in silence,—“has it never struck you that when things in this world get very bad, and we begin to feel inclined to give up, they somehow or other begin to get better.”
“Why, yes, I have noticed that; but I have a vague sort of feeling just now that things are not going to get better. I don’t know whether it’s this long-continued darkness, or the want of good food, but I feel more downcast than I ever was in my life before.”
Bolton’s remark had been intended to cheer, but Fred’s answer proved that a discussion of the merits of the question was not likely to have a good effect on the men, whose spirits were evidently very much cast down, so he changed the subject.
Fortunately at that time an incident occurred which effected the mate’s purpose better than any efforts man could have made. It has frequently happened that when Arctic voyagers have, from sickness and long confinement during a monotonous winter, become so depressed in spirits that games and amusements of every kind failed to rouse them from their lethargic despondency, sudden danger has given to their minds the needful impulse, and effected a salutary change, for a time at least, in their spirits. Such was the case at the present time. The men were so worn with hard travel and the want of fresh food, and depressed by disappointment and long-continued darkness, that they failed in their attempts to cheer each other, and at length relapsed into moody silence. Fred’s thoughts turned constantly to his father, and he ceased to remark cheerfully, as was his wont, on passing objects. Even O’Riley’s jests became few and far between, and at last ceased altogether. Bolton alone kept up his spirits, and sought to cheer his men, the feeling of responsibility being, probably, the secret of his superiority over them in this respect. But even Bolton’s spirits began to sink at last.
While they were thus groping sadly along among the hummocks, a large fragment of ice was observed to break off from a berg just over their heads.
“Look out! follow me, quick!” shouted the first mate in a loud, sharp voice of alarm, at the same time darting in towards the side of the berg.
The startled men obeyed the order just in time, for they had barely reached the side of the berg when the enormous pinnacle fell, and was shattered into a thousand fragments on the spot they had just left. A rebounding emotion sent the blood in a crimson flood to Fred’s forehead, and this was followed by a feeling of gratitude to the Almighty for the preservation of himself and the party. Leaving the dangerous vicinity of the bergs, they afterwards kept more inshore.
“What can yonder mound be?” said Fred, pointing to an object that was faintly seen at a short distance off upon the bleak shore.
“An Esquimaux hut, maybe,” replied Grim. “What think’ee, Meetuck?”
Meetuck shook his head and looked grave, but made no reply.
“Why don’t you answer?” said Bolton; “but come along, we’ll soon see.”
Meetuck now made various ineffectual attempts to dissuade the party from examining the mound, which turned out to be composed of stones heaped upon each other; but, as all the conversation of which he was capable failed to enlighten his companions as to what the pile was, they instantly set to work to open a passage into the interior, believing that it might contain fresh provisions, as the Esquimaux were in the habit of thus preserving their superabundant food from bears and wolves. In half an hour a hole large enough for a man to creep through was formed, and Fred entered, but started back with an exclamation of horror on finding himself in the presence of a human skeleton, which was seated on the ground in the centre of this strange tomb with its head and arms resting on the knees.
“It must be an Esquimaux grave,” said Fred, as he retreated hastily; “that must be the reason why Meetuck tried to hinder us.”
“I should like to see it,” said Grim, stooping and thrusting his head and shoulders into the hole.
“What have you got there?” asked Bolton, as Grim drew back and held up something in his hand.
“Don’t know exactly. It’s like a bit o’ cloth.” On examination the article was found to be a shred of coarse cloth, of a blue or black colour, and, being an unexpected substance to meet with in such a place, Bolton turned round with it to Meetuck in the hope of obtaining some information. But Meetuck was gone. While the sailors were breaking into the grave, Meetuck had stood aloof with a displeased expression of countenance, as if he were angry at the rude desecration of a countryman’s tomb; but the moment his eye fell on the shred of cloth an expression of mingled surprise and curiosity crossed his countenance, and without uttering a word he slipped noiselessly into the hole, from which he almost immediately issued bearing several articles in his hand. These he held up to view, and with animated words and gesticulations explained that this was the grave of a white man, not of a native.
The articles he brought out were a pewter plate and a silver table-spoon.
“There’s a name of some kind written here,” said Bolton, as he carefully scrutinised the spoon. “Look here, Fred, your eyes are better than mine; see if you can make it out.”
Fred took it with a trembling hand, for a strange feeling of dread had seized possession of his heart, and he could scarcely bring himself to look upon it. He summoned up courage, however, but at the first glance his
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