CHAPTER XIVWINTER TRAVEL BENEATH THE ARCTIC AURORA
With the advent of darkness and the dying out of the wind there came such an increase of cold that from all parts of the forest were heard sharp, crackling sounds caused by the cruel pinchings of a bitter frost. Phil had thrust his thermometer into the snow at the head of his bed, and was surprised to find, on looking at it, that it already registered fifteen degrees below zero. He had been so warmed with violent exercise that it had not seemed so very cold; but now he shivered and drew closer to the fire.
For his cooking, Serge was first obliged to melt snow in order to obtain water; but now the teakettle was singing merrily, bacon and dried venison were sizzling together in the capacious fry-pan; and on the opposite side of the fire the two Indians were rapturously sniffing the delicious odors that came from it. They were toasting a fat salmon impaled on a slender stick, and at the same time whetting their appetite by frequent bites from a lump of pemmican that was handed from one to the other.
Phil asked for a bit of this when Serge took it from its bag, for, he said, “I have read of pemmican all my life, and from the amount of praise bestowed on it by the writers, think it must be pretty fine eating.” So he tried it, took one mouthful, and flung the rest to Musky, who had drawn close to him, and was watching his experiment with undisguised interest.
“Whew-w!” sputtered Phil, ejecting the tasteless morsel from his mouth. “If that’s pemmican, then those who like it may keep it to themselves; but I certainly don’t want any more of it. I suppose, though, it is because my taste has not been cultivated to appreciate it any more than it has raw seal’s liver and similar dainties.”
Before supper both Phil and Serge afforded the Indians considerable amusement by devoting a basin of the precious water to a thorough cleansing of their faces and hands. Kurilla and Chitsah not only considered this a waste of time, water, and soap, but, as the former remarked, with an expressive shake of his head:
“No good. More clean, more quick git dirty, yaas.”
“Which sentiment,” said Phil, in a low tone, to Serge, “explains why Indians and Eskimos and the like generally sit on one side of the fire when white men occupy the other.”
Throwing a handful of tea into the chynik, lifting it from the fire the moment it again came to a boil, and then setting it in a warm place to “draw,” Serge next removed the cooked meat from the fry-pan to a heated plate. Into the hot grease that remained he placed a double handful of broken biscuit, previously soaked for a few minutes in the brass kettle. When this had absorbed every drop of grease and begun to brown, it was ready to be eaten with molasses as a dessert.
“One of the very best dinners I ever ate in all my life, old man!” declared Phil, after half an hour of uninterrupted devotion to plate and cup. “I believe it is fully equal to that gorgeous spread you had ready for me on Oonimak after my experience with the sea-otter hunters. As for the tea! Well, I never realized before what a good thing tea is, and how much a fellow can drink of it. Have I had six or twenty of thosebig tin cups full? No matter, it’s either one or the other, and every one of them has gone right to the spot where it will do the most good. Wouldn’t my Aunt Ruth be horrified, though, if she could see us dispose of that amount of straight tea? She used to consider one small cup, with plenty of milk in it, about the proper thing for a boy’s daily allowance. But then Aunt Ruth never enjoyed the advantage of drinking her tea out-of-doors, with the mercury away down below freezing.”
“Don’t you mean below zero?” suggested Serge, who was refilling the chynik with hot water, and setting it on to boil, that what virtue still remained in the tea-leaves might be extracted for the use of the Indians.
“Certainly not!” retorted Phil. “Why, it has grown at least twenty degrees warmer during the past half-hour.” So saying, he reached for the thermometer and held it to the light, where, to his disgust, he saw that it registered three degrees lower than when he last looked, or eighteen degrees below zero.
“You prevaricating old tin villyan!” he cried. “You are away off, and you know it. Oh, if I could only get one cup of that tea inside of you! It would bring you to your senses quick enough.”
The Indians had their own wooden bowls, or “kantags,” horn spoons, and tin cups, and while they ate their supper they were again amused by seeing Serge wash all his dishes and cooking utensils with hot, soapy water. They allowed their favorite dogs to lick their kantags clean, and it must be admitted that the operation was quickly and thoroughly performed.
After supper a line was rigged, and on it were hung mittens, travelling-boots, and the pads of dry grass that are worn inside of them as insoles. Serge set a big kettle of deer meat, pemmican, and oatmeal on the fireto simmer into a stew for breakfast and lunch the next day. He also fixed a slab of snow where, as it melted, it would drip into the teakettle. By his advice Phil bathed his swollen ankles with water as hot as he could bear it and rubbed tallow on the blistered places. This treatment was to be followed by a dash of ice-water and a brisk rubbing the first thing in the morning.
On the other side of the fire the Indians indulged in the long-pipe smoke that after a hard day’s work affords the chief enjoyment of their monotonous lives. When it was finished Kurilla went out for a final look at the sledges and dogs, and threw a couple more logs on the fire. Then he rolled up in his rabbit-skin robe for as many hours of sleep as he could obtain before it would be necessary to again replenish the fire and incidentally to take another smoke.
Removing only their heavy outer parkas, with their feet incased in soft arctic sleeping-socks, their heads protected by close-fitting fur caps, and sheltered from the cold by the triple thickness of their fur-lined sleeping-bags, Phil and Serge lay on their bear-skins, feet to the fire, and slept the untroubled sleep of tired and healthy youth. About them clustered the solemn trees of that Northern forest, just beyond lay the river frozen into white silence, and above all glowed the exquisite mysterious sky-tintings of an aurora, pervading all space with its flashing brilliancy quivering with ceaseless motion, though giving forth neither heat nor sound and but little light. With the rising moon frost crystals glistened in the air, and the long-drawn howl of a wolf echoed mournfully through the forest. Every dog in the camp promptly answered it, while Kurilla arose with a shiver and mended the fire; but of all this the two lads lying side by side on their rude couch knew nothing.
It was Phil who first awoke and looked out from hiswarm nest. With a shudder at the bitterness of the air he would have withdrawn his head and snuggled down for another nap, but for two thoughts that just then flashed into his mind. One was of his father, whom he believed to be encamped within one hundred miles or so of him on that very river, and whom he was bound to overtake. The second thought was that as leader of the expedition it was his place to set the others an example. It would be pleasant to lie there and sleep until sunrise, but braver to set forth at once. In another minute he had struggled from the sleeping-bag, pulled on his heavy parka, and was shouting, cheerily:
“Come, wake up! wake up! Tumble out, all hands! Don’t you see the sun a-shining, and hear the little birds a-singing?”
“Looks more like the moon, and sounds like dogs,” growled Serge, sleepily, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. “My! but itiscold!”
“Yes,” admitted Phil. “Fifty below at least, and more, I’ll be bound.”
It really seemed as cold as that, and when his thermometer showed only twenty degrees below zero he declared it to be a fraud, and unworthy of further consideration. None but those who have experienced similar conditions can imagine the misery of that camp-breaking and getting under way. The hunting from their snowy lairs and harnessing of unwilling dogs, the lashing of loads and the tying of knots with numbed fingers, the longing to hug the fire in one’s arms, and the hundred other forms of torture incident to the relentless cold, all combined to give Phil a rude foretaste of what that journey was to be. Amid all the wretchedness Serge was, as usual, the comforter, and with his smoking stew and hot tea did much towards restoring cheerfulness.
It wanted some hours to sunrise when the sledgespulled out from camp, regained the river, and resumed their northward journey. The sky was overcast, and an ominous moaning sounded through the forest. Soon a breeze began to blow in angry gusts full in the faces of our travellers, and by sunrise it was sweeping furiously down the river, whirling the dry snow in blinding clouds and driving the icy particles with stinging force into face and eyes. Noses and cheeks became white and numb, the deadly cold was driven through fur and flannel until it penetrated the very marrow. Even the dogs plodded on with lowered heads and pitiful whimperings, while their masters were obliged to turn their backs to the gale every few minutes for breath and a momentary respite from the fierce struggle.
“’Tispoorga—yaas!” shouted Kurilla.
“Aye,poorga!” answered Serge, and for the first time Phil comprehended the full significance of the terrible word which means the wind of death.
By noon human endurance could hold out no longer, and, ready to drop with cold, pain, and exhaustion, Phil led his train to camp in a belt of timber so thick that even that fierce wind could not penetrate it, though among the tree-tops it shrieked and howled with demoniac fury.
Thus from camp to camp, through sunshine and darkness, storm and calm, stinging cold and whirling snows, the little party toiled onward, making twenty, thirty, and as high as forty miles a day. They passed the Indian settlement of Nulato, once a noted Russian trading-post, at the end of ten days’ travel, and a week later gained the mission station of old Fort Adams, four hundred miles from their point of departure. At several Indian villages they had heard of the party in advance of them, whose camps they also sometimes found. The trail was growing fresh, and at FortAdams they expected to gain definite information of those whom they sought, if indeed they did not overtake them at that point. At any rate, they would find a missionary there from whom they would surely receive news.
The first word obtained by Kurilla from the mission Indians, who swarmed forth to greet them, was that the missionary was absent, and that those whom they sought had passed only the day before. The second was that one of that party had returned but an hour previous, and was even now in the missionary’s house.
“You fadder, yaas,”added Kurilla, reassuringly, with a grin of delight, as he led Phil in that direction.
“YOU FADDER, YAAS”
“YOU FADDER, YAAS”
With a loudly beating heart the excited lad opened the door. There sat a man—a white man—in an attitude of the deepest dejection. He was long and lank. His fur garments ill became him. Phil’s heart sank; for in this uncouth figure there was no trace of his own dear father. Then, as the woe-begone face was slowly turned to meet his, he uttered a gasping shout of amazed recognition.
“Jalap Coombs, by all that is wonderful!”