CHAPTER XXV
“MUSIC HATH CHARMS”
The next morning dawned clear and fine. We got away early and had good going, so that by noon we reached an aranga not far from Cape Wankarem. We were received kindly here and given tea, which was all that the house afforded. I left some tea tablets in exchange.
Proceeding on our way again we reached Cape Wankarem at five o’clock in the afternoon; the cape is not high land, just a low promontory. We found four arangas here. Our usual method when we came to a place with more than one aranga was to look the whole collection over and go to what seemed the most likely one of the lot. Here, therefore, we passed one or two which seemed only ordinary and stopped before the one which seemed the best. An old man came out and made signs for us to enter. We did so and as soon as we were inside the door an old woman took us in charge. She removed our boots and stockings, turned them inside out and hung them up to dry over the native lamp. Then she brought out her best china and we had tea with sugar in it. She had two fine-lookingdaughters who helped wait upon us. The aranga was scrupulously clean, with plenty of furs; evidently the master of the house was in comfortable circumstances.
When we had finished our tea the old man made signs that he wanted to see my chart; clearly the men who had gone on ahead of us, the previous day, had told him about us, and he wanted to see for himself. I brought out the chart and showed it to him. He examined it carefully and made signs about the crushing of the ship. Presently he went to a box and produced a number of magazines, perhaps ten or a dozen in all, most of them about two years old. There were copies ofThe World’s Work,The National Geographic Magazine,The Literary DigestandThe Illustrated London News. The day’s march in the cold wind, following the long succession of such days, with the hours of searching through the whirling snowdrift for the right path from Wrangell Island and the glare of the sun along the tundra, had affected my eyes more and more severely. By this time, besides being pretty tired and sleepy, I felt more like giving my eyes a rest than trying to read. I could hardly make out the print and it hurt my eyes a good deal, so I made signs to our host and he understood at once and did not urge the magazines upon me.
Fortunately, too, relief came in the person of another old man, who entered the aranga just then. He was evidently a crony of our host, for without more ado both fell to playing casino, like a couple of old veterans playing cards in their club.
After a time, I fell asleep and had a refreshing nap. When I awoke, the card-players were still at it. After a while they finished their game and then our host got out a box. It looked very much like a talking-machine and I remember thinking, “What in the name of Heaven is that?” Then he removed a cloth from another box and took out a record and I saw that it was indeed a talking-machine. The old man acted just like an American householder who proudly plays you the latest record by Caruso or John McCormack. He treated us to an extended concert, numbering forty-two selections, starting off with “My Hero” from “The Chocolate Soldier.” About half of the songs were in Russian and the rest in English. Like the true music-lover, he kept on playing until he had finished all of his forty-two records, while the old lady busied herself mending our clothes. I was so sleepy that I am afraid I dropped off several times during the concert but I enjoyed it just the same.
The old man now passed over to me a tumbler and a spoon, together with a bottle which contained some kind of patent “painkiller.” Then hebrought out a sick boy about fifteen years old and made signs to me to give the youngster a dose of the painkiller. The tumbler and spoon and bottle were all carefully wrapped up in a neat package and I could see that the old man prized this medicine kit of his as much as an Arctic explorer might value a medal. The directions on the bottle were printed in English. As nearly as I could find out, the boy had received his last treatment some time during the previous summer; evidently the doses were given him only when some one happened along who could read the directions. I took the bottle and the spoon and measured out the proper quantity in the glass, added water and administered it to my patient in a very solemn manner, just as if I were a real doctor. I don’t suppose there was enough of it to do the youngster any real harm; certainly he did not receive medical attention often enough to do him permanent injury. I was very deliberate in my actions; in fact I believe I consumed fully half an hour in the process.
I enjoyed here the best night’s sleep I had had since I had left Shipwreck Camp, nearly two months before. In the morning the old woman presented me with a fine pair of deerskin mittens. I gave her a gill-net. To the boy I gave a pocket compass and divided a yard or two of ribbon between the girls. We got away shortly after day-light.Our treatment at the kind hands of this Chukch family will always remain in my memory.
The old man seemed to realize that we had great need for getting along as fast as we could and he volunteered to give us a lift to the next aranga nine or ten miles away. He said nothing about going until he harnessed up his dogs just as we were starting. It was a great help and enabled us to get along so well that we covered the distance by nine o’clock. At this next aranga we met four Russian prospectors who were on their way from East Cape to Cape North, near which are gold mines. They were well-equipped travellers. Each had a sledge with a team of twelve fine dogs. They treated us to black bread, butter, tea, sugar and sardines. One of them could speak a little English; he wrote his name for me on a piece of paper which, I am sorry to say, I lost.
We had two snow-knives with us and when we now said goodby to the old native who had been so kind to us, I gave him one of these, with a couple of steel drills which we used for making holes for the sledge-shoes, and a skein of fish-line.
Travelling all day long, we came some time after the sun went down to a place where there were three arangas. The Russian miners had told us about them and had said they thought we should be able to reach them by nightfall. Two of thearangas were close together and the third was off by itself. The people here were less hospitably inclined than those whom we had met before and, though they did not actually tell us to keep away, they did not volunteer any invitation to enter. It was dark and we had come a long distance, so I did not feel like spending an hour building an igloo for shelter for the night; I went up to one of the arangas, therefore, and when a young man came out I made signs that we should like to stop there. When we finally got inside I understood why the people were not especially glad to see us. They had evidently had hard luck and had very little food, even for themselves. While Kataktovick was outside feeding the dogs, I got the Primus stove going, made some tea and passed it around, with pemmican.
There was a young woman here, with a baby two or three months old who was evidently sick; he was what would be described, I believe, as “fussy.” His mother would get him quiet and then he would cry out and to my great surprise she would get very angry and shake him violently; then she would repent and would croon to him, only to repeat the shaking when the poor little fellow cried out again. In all my long experience with Eskimo I had never before seen a woman even speak a cross word to her child.
Perhaps she could not get along with her mother-in-law and took it out on her baby. At all events the mother-in-law, who was very old, was a tough customer. Quite unknowingly I sat down in her place and fell asleep. Some time after midnight I was awakened by a smart slap on the cheek. I was too drowsy to pay much attention to this but presently was brought up broad awake by having the old woman step on my face. I found her snorting and grunting; the young mother was still crooning and talking to the baby. I had all my clothes on, so I shook Kataktovick and we went outdoors.
The light was just showing along the eastern horizon. We made a little snow shelter, had some tea and pemmican and started on our way about two o’clock in the morning. We travelled hard all day. There was a strong northwest gale and the air was filled with drifting snow so that we could not see very far ahead. When we came to Cape Onman we were disappointed to find no arangas there; only the framework was left and we found out later that the people had moved to Koliuchin Island. We kept along the trail, which to our surprise took us away from the land and out on to the ice on the broad entrance to Koliuchin Bay, and presently we came to Koliuchin Island, a high formation, like a warship bottom up.
Here we found ten or a dozen arangas and visible signs of prosperity. A young man came out on our approach and said, “Me speek ’em plenty English. Me know Nome. Me know trader well. Me spend long time East Cape. You come in aranga. Me speak ’em plenty. You get plenty eat here.”
We went in. It was a well-appointed Siberian home, occupied jointly by two young men and their families. The men were deer men, with fine herds of reindeer twelve or fourteen days’ journey into the interior. We had some tea and some frozen deer meat. Then the women cooked us some seal meat, which was excellent. The older man’s wife made flapjacks out of flour and they tasted good.
These people had evidently heard about us and they knew our desire to get to East Cape, for after we had finished eating, the native who had first greeted us said, “I bring you East Cape; how much?”
I asked him how many dogs he had. He told me, and said he had a good sledge, too, and could get us to East Cape in five days, if we were to start at once.
I had with me forty-five dollars which Mr. Hadley had lent me when I left Wrangell Island. Naturally I wanted to keep this sum intactas long as possible. To get to East Cape in five days, however, would justify me in parting with my money.
“How much you pay me?” the man asked again.
“Forty dollars,” I replied, for the trip seemed to me well worth that. It was a mistake; I should have said twenty. Forty was so large a sum that the native soon made clear that he doubted my having so much money. He was a trader, for reindeer skins and fox skins, and he knew, or thought he knew, how a bargain should be made.
“All right,” he said. “You show me money.”
“No,” I replied.
“Maybe you no have money,” he ventured.
“I have the money,” I answered.
In his anxiety to see that I should not suffer in the Chukch’s estimation, Kataktovick now started to explain to him about the money and I had to stop him.
“You bring me East Cape me give you forty dollars.”
The Chukch seemed satisfied. It was agreed that we should leave our sledge and about all our possessions and that we should journey onward on the deer man’s sledge. At Koliuchin Bay we should find an American trader, Mr. Olsen, about whom I had been hearing all along the coast. Asfar as Mr. Olsen’s the other deer man was to accompany us with his sledge, Kataktovick riding with him; for this service he was to receive a hatchet, a piece of tent canvas and two tins of pemmican.
The next morning, April 19, Kataktovick complained of pains in his legs and wanted to stay where we were for a day to rest. I did not object to the idea and was glad of an opportunity of resting the dogs.
That night our prospective tourist conductor began talking again about the money. Evidently he was worried, or else his conscience pricked him.
“By and by you meet Olsen,” he said. “He white man. Perhaps he tell you you pay me too much money. You no pay me.”
I replied that whatever Mr. Olsen might tell me would make no difference, that I had promised to pay and I would. I refused to let him see the money, however, though he was itching to get a look at it. “You no trust me, I no trust you,” I said.
Then he voiced the age-old cry of the savage against the civilized; the pity of it is that the savage is right.
“White man steal from other man,” he said. “White man promise bring things for fox skins and bear skins. White man no bring ’em. White man go ’way, forget come back.”
I could not deny it, but I repeated my statement that I would pay him forty dollars if he brought me to East Cape.
There was silence for a while; then he said he would do it.