The Walrus Hunters: A Romance of the Realms of Ice

“My hand points the direction in which we have gone. Your loving daughter is following the man who ran away with her. The Eskimo women and men, and dogs, and all the rest of them, are marching before us. Follow me for ten days, and you will come to the snow-huts where we are to winter.”

Could anything be plainer? The happy father thought not. He took an extra meal. His team gave themselves an extra feed of bits of old blubber picked up in the camp, and while daylight was still engaged in its brave though hopeless struggle with the Arctic night, he tied up his sledge, thrust the old moccasin into his bosom, gave Attim the order to advance, and set off with revived strength and hope on his now hopeful journey.

Chapter Eighteen.

A Surprise and a Catastrophe

The trail of the Eskimos as they traversed the frozen sea, although not always very distinct on the hard snow, was as plain as a highway to one so skilled in tracking as the Indian chief Nazinred. The weather having been clear and calm ever since he left home, the marks had not been obliterated, and he pursued his way without halt or hesitation.

But on the fourth day out there came symptoms of a change. The chief had adopted the plan of travelling during every hour of the short day, or twilight, in order to make more sure of not missing the trail, and the stars with frequent aurora borealis had made each night so brilliant that he advanced almost as easily as during the day-time. The fourth day, however, on awaking, his ears were greeted with sounds that caused him to rise in haste and force out the door of his sleeping hut, when to his dismay he found that a furious gale was blowing, that the sky was black, and that he could hardly see the poor dogs, whom he found crouching as close as possible on the sheltered side of the hut. In these circumstances, to advance without losing his way was impossible, so that he was compelled to make the most of his time by sleeping as much as he could.

To do him justice he possessed a wonderful capacity in that way. Having put the sledge outside in order to make room, he called all the dogs in, resolving that the poor things should not be exposed to the pitiless storm. Then, having fed himself and them, he lay down with them and was soon in happy oblivion.

Of course he had no artificial means of measuring time, and, the sky being overclouded, darkness visible pervaded the region. But a healthy stomach helped in some degree to furnish a natural chronometer, and its condition when he awoke suggested that he must have slept till near daylight of the following day. Rousing the dogs, he gave them a feed, ate heartily himself, and then went out to look at the weather.

The sight which the grey dawn rendered barely visible was one which caused him to return to the hut with extreme promptitude for his gun, for, about fifty yards off, were two white polar bears of apparently, colossal size, frolicking about in a curious manner, and evidently amusing themselves with something. The something turned out to be the chief’s sledge, which the bears had unpacked; eating whatever they had a fancy for, scattering about what they did not want, smashing the sledge itself to pieces, and twisting the leathern wraps and cordage into unimaginable knots.

Nazinred did not discover all this at once, being too much excited by the unexpected visit to note trifling details. Besides, prompt action was necessary, for the four dogs, on becoming aware of what was transacting outside, made a united and clamorous dash at the foe. Two of them, being too valorous, ran close up to the bears, who seemed to regard them with haughty surprise. Another movement and the two dogs rose into the air with a yell in unison, and fell back upon the snow, where they lay motionless. The other two, learning wisdom from experience, kept back and barked furiously.

Nazinred, although taken by surprise, was used to sudden alarms and not easily frightened. Knowing that the two dogs were very courageous, and therefore all the more likely to run into danger, he sprang forward towards the nearer of the two bears. It rose on its hind-legs to receive him, and in this position appeared to stand at least eight feet high. Without a moment’s hesitation the Indian pointed his gun when the muzzle was not more than a foot from the creature’s breast, and fired. The bear fell dead on the instant, shot through the heart.

The loud report and flash frightened the other bear away. It was closely followed, however, by the dogs, and the chief availed himself of the opportunity to re-load. While he was thus engaged a peculiarly loud yell told only too plainly that one of the remaining dogs was injured, if not killed. He called to the remaining one to come back. Obedient to the call it returned, and, to its master’s great relief, proved to be his favourite Attim, a good deal cut about the shoulders and much crestfallen, but not seriously injured.

“Down, Attim,” said his master.

The poor creature obeyed at once, and his master hurried forward, but the bear had retired.

The result of this encounter was that three of the dogs were killed, many of his things destroyed, and his provisions rendered almost useless, while the sledge was irreparably broken to pieces. There was daylight enough to render the extent of his misfortune visible, and to show him that the trail which he had been following so long was drifted over and entirely obliterated.

To a man of weak resolution this might have been overwhelming, but Nazinred was very much the reverse of weak, and his utter recklessness of life in his endeavour to recover his lost child would have rendered him a hero for the time being, even if he had not been one by nature.

After collecting the remains of his property, and ascertaining that the sledge was hopelessly destroyed, he made up his mind to carry the provisions on his back and push forward in the direction pointed out by Adolay until he found her. If he did not succeed, the failure of his food would soon end the struggle.

It was some consolation to the unfortunate man that his favourite dog had been spared. The amount of “company” afforded even by an ordinary dog is well-known, but the civilised world can but feebly understand the value of a more than usually affectionate creature in the forlorn circumstances in which our Indian was now placed. Like many other people, he had got into the habit of talking to the dog about himself and his affairs, as if it were human. Whether he held the opinion we have heard so often expressed that “he understands every word I say,” we cannot tell, but the gravity of his expression and the solemnity of his tone when conversing with it, encouraged that belief, and the very earnest attention of the dog almost justified it.

But the friendly feelings existing between them did not relax the chief’s notions of discipline. Attim was not permitted to follow his master as an idle companion. He was made to carry, or rather to drag, his own food, by means of a collar with two pieces of stick attached, the ends of which trailed on the ice, thus forming as it were a pair of trains without wheels. This is a simple contrivance, largely used by the prairie Indians with their horses as well as dogs. The two sticks or poles, being long, project a good way behind the animal, thus leaving space for a load. As the poles are suited to their size, each horse or little dog is loaded with an appropriate bundle, and it is to be presumed does not feel overburdened.

When all was arranged, Nazinred started off with a large pack on his broad shoulders, and Attim, with a small bundle, followed close at his heels.

Of course the Indian shouldered his gun, and he slung upon it his snow-shoes, for the hard-driven snow rendered these unnecessary at the time. He also carried with him a bow and quiver of arrows, with the ornamented fire-bag—made for him by Adolay—which contained his flint, steel, and tinder as well as his beloved pipe and tobacco.

Things went well with him for the first few days, and although the trail was now lost, he guided himself easily by the stars, of which he had been careful to take note and make comparison with the hand in the letter before disturbing its position. But one night the sky became overcast, and he would have been compelled to halt had he not previously laid his course by several huge icebergs which towered up in the far distance.

When he had passed the last of these bergs, however, he began to hesitate in his movements, and Attim, trotting quietly by his side, looked inquiringly up into his face once or twice with the obvious question, “What’s the matter?” in his soft brown eyes—or some Dogrib idiom equivalent thereto.

“I’m afraid to go on,” murmured the Indian gravely.

To this Attim replied with a reassuring wag of his tail.

“Without stars it won’t be easy to keep the straight line,” continued the chief, stopping altogether and looking up at the clouds.

Attim also looked up, but evidently could make nothing of it, for he turned his eyes again on his master and wagged his tail dubiously.

At the moment a rift in the clouds revealed some of the stars, and the Indian, regaining his direction again, hurried forward—all the more rapidly that a pretty stiff fair wind was blowing, to speak nautically, right astern of him.

By degrees the breeze increased to a gale, and then to a regular hurricane, which whirled among the bergs and hummocks, shrieked round the ice-pinnacles, and went howling over the plain of the solid sea as if all the Hyperborean fiends had been let loose and told to do their worst. Its violence was so great that the Indian was forced to scud before it, and more than once Attim’s little bundle caught the blast and whirled him round like a weathercock, while the drifting snow at last became so thick that it was impossible to see anything more than a few yards ahead. In these circumstances to advance was madness.

“It won’t do, pup,” cried Nazinred, turning suddenly to his right round a mass of ice, and taking shelter in the lee of a towering berg; “come, we will encamp here.”

He had scarcely uttered the words when a tremendous rending sound was heard above the noise of the hurricane. The Indian looked up quickly, but nothing was to be seen anywhere save that wild confusion of whirling snow, which in more southerly lands is sometimes called a blizzard, and the back-whirl of which nearly suffocated man and dog. Suddenly there came a crash as if a mountain were being shattered near them. Then Nazinred saw, to his horror, that an ice-pinnacle as big as a church steeple was bowing forward, like some mighty giant, to its fall. To escape he saw was impossible. It was too near and too directly above his head for that. His only hope lay in crushing close to the side of the berg. He did so, on the instant, promptly followed by the dog, and happily found that the ice-wall at the spot was slightly concave.

Another moment and the stupendous mass fell with an indescribable crash, which was prolonged into sounds that bore quaint resemblance to the smashing up of gigantic crockery, as the shivered atoms shot far away over the frozen plain. But the chief heard nothing of this save the first great crash, for the avalanche, although it passed harmlessly over his head, had buried him in what seemed to him a living tomb.

The chamber in which he and his dog were thus enclosed was of course absolutely dark—a darkness that might be felt; and the man would have been more than human if he had not experienced a sinking of the heart as he contemplated his awful position. Once again arose in his mind the question, Does the Maker of all care nothing about such things? The feeling deepened in him that such could not be true,—that the All-Father must certainly care more for His children than ordinary fathers for theirs, and with that thought came also the old feeling, “I will trust Him.” The poor dog, too, had the consolation of trust, for it rubbed its head against its master with a touch that implied implicit belief in his power to deal effectively with any difficulty whatever.

Feeling his way carefully round the walls of his prison, the Indian ascertained that it was not much more than about twelve feet long by three or four broad. On one side was the comparatively smooth wall of the berg, but for the hollow in which he would have been crushed; in front was the rugged heap of confused masses which had thoroughly closed him in. There was no outlet anywhere; he felt assured of that after three careful examinations of the chamber, and how many thousand tons of ice lay between him and liberty of course he could not guess.

There was only one course open to him now, and that was to cut his way out with his hatchet. Before beginning to act he unstrapped his bundle and sat down to eat, having previously relieved Attim of his load and given him some food. Everything he did had to be done by feeling, for he could not see his hand even when held only an inch from his face.

Then he set to work. It was difficult at first, for he had to strike out at random, sometimes hitting a lump of ice unexpectedly, sometimes just tipping it, and occasionally missing it altogether, when the axe would swing round behind him, to the great danger of Attim, who insisted on keeping close to his master’s heels wherever he went. By degrees, however, he learned to guess more correctly the position of the walls, especially after he had advanced a few feet and cut a tunnel, with the shape and dimensions of which he soon became familiar. For hours he laboured with unflagging diligence, clearing back the ice débris into the cavern from which he had started. But no sign of open air rewarded him.

At last, when almost exhausted, he made preparations for passing the night where he was. Before lying down he ate a hearty meal and fed the dog, who indicated his satisfaction by an occasional whine and the usual wag of the tail, which could be faintly heard though not seen.

A pipe of course followed, and during the process of lighting it he and Attim obtained a fleeting glimpse of their abode. As his materials could not produce a flame—only a dull red glow—the glimpse was not cheering, or of much value.

Then Nazinred spread a deerskin on the ice, rolled himself in his blanket, pillowed his head on the dog, who seemed to be perfectly satisfied with the arrangement, and went to sleep till—we cannot say morning, for pitch darkness still prevailed, but till that point of time when the stomachic chronometer awoke them.

After another feed the chief again set to work with indomitable perseverance, and extended the tunnel during many hours; yet when he had accomplished what appeared to him a long and severe day’s work, it seemed as if he were as far off as ever from deliverance. Just as he was giving way to weary disappointment, however, a rush of cold air came against his face, and with an irrepressible exclamation of satisfaction he found that his last blow with the axe had opened a way to the outer world. A few more strokes, delivered with unwonted vigour, set him free, to find that the gale was over, that a profound calm prevailed, and that the faint grey light of the Arctic noon was illuminating the ghostly scene.

He also discovered that during his imprisonment a heavy fall of snow had taken place, so that he sank a full foot into it—if not more—at every step. Congratulating himself on having brought his snow-shoes with him, he at once put on those useful implements, and, having secured the pack on his back, he once more set forth on his journey, beating a track as he went on which the dog followed him with ease, though without such a track the poor thing could not have travelled at all until the surface of the snow had hardened.

But although our Indian’s heart was lighter after his deliverance, the toil which he had undergone, and the cold which he had experienced in the berg, had told somewhat severely even on his hardy frame, and when he built his hut that night it was with a feeling of despondency, for he became aware of a considerable diminution of strength. An unusually keen frost on the following day increased this feeling, and when he was about to encamp at night, Nazinred said to himself, as well as to his dog, that he feared they would never complete their journey.

But “Hope springs eternal in the human breast.” On looking round for a sheltered spot on which to build the snow-hut he observed three objects in the distance which bore a strong resemblance to Eskimo dwellings. Pushing forward eagerly, he soon reached them, and found that they were indeed huts of these children of the ice, but that they were deserted. The disappointment was very great, yet our chief bore up against it manfully. He made use of one of the huts as a resting-place for the night. Next morning he found that the prolonged strain had rendered him much weaker than he had believed to be possible. Diminishing provisions, also, had increased the evil, and a still further fall in the temperature induced a feeling of feebleness which the hitherto vigorous man had never before experienced.

The idea of giving in, however, had never once entered his mind. To persevere in the search until success or death should arrest him had been his fixed resolve from the beginning.

“Come on, pup,” he said, patting the head of his faithful friend, as he fastened on his snow-shoes and set forth.

To his surprise he found that he staggered a little at first, but as he warmed to the work his vigour increased and his powers of endurance seemed almost as strong as ever.

Chapter Nineteen.

The Eskimos again, and a Great Discovery and Rescue

While Nazinred, under the influence of strong affection, was thus fighting with the unfamiliar difficulties and dangers of the polar sea, Cheenbuk and his Eskimo friends were enjoying life in what may be called their native element.

“Will Adolay come for a drive?” said our gallant Eskimo one day when the sun had risen near enough to the eastern horizon to almost, but not quite, extinguish the stars. “We go to seek for walruses.”

The Indian maiden was sitting at the time in the snow residence which belonged to Mangivik. Mrs Mangivik was sitting opposite to her mending a seal-skin boot, and Cowlik the easy-going was seated beside her, engaged with some other portion of native attire. Nootka was busy over the cooking-lamp, and old Mangivik himself was twirling his thumbs, awaiting the result of her labours. Oolalik was there too—he was frequently there—courting Nootka in the usual way, by prolonged silent staring. The process might have been trying to some women, but Nootka did not mind. Like many young damsels, she was fond of admiration, and could stand a good deal of it, no matter how peculiar the mode in which it was expressed.

“I don’t care to go,” said Adolay, with a sigh.

Cheenbuk did not repeat the invitation or press for a reason. He was a considerate as well as a gallant youth. He knew that the poor girl was pining for her parents, and that she regretted having left them—even although remaining in her native village might have involved her being wed against her will to the hated Magadar, or subjected to his persecutions during her father’s absence. Cheenbuk did his best to comfort her with the assurance that he would take her back to her home with the very first of the open water. But when Adolay began to realise what a very long time must elapse before the ice would reopen its portals and set the waters free, her heart sank and she began to mope.

“We may as well have some women with us,” remarked Oolalik, with a pointed glance at Nootka, but Nootka took no notice of either the observation or the glance. Even Eskimo girls understand how to tease!

“Will Cowlik go?” asked Cheenbuk.

“Yes.” Cowlik smiled, and was quite ready to go.

“No, she won’t,” said Mrs Mangivik, with a positiveness almost European in its tone.

“Very well.” Cowlik smiled, and was equally ready to remain.

Mangivik himself expressed no opinion on the subject, but twirled his thumbs faster as he expressed a hope that the cooking would be soon completed.

It was finally arranged that only young men should go, with sledges and teams of dogs to fetch the meat home.

The little town in which this scene was being enacted was composed of between twenty and thirty whitey-brown bee-hives of snow, of the usual shape, ranged on the ice near the shore of a large island. The scene presented was a lively one, for while some of the inhabitants were creeping into the small tunnels which formed as it were porches before the doors, others were creeping out. Men and dogs were moving about—the former harnessing the latter to sledges in preparation for the approaching hunt, while hairy little balls of children were scampering about in play, or sitting on the tops of the snow bee-hives, watching the proceedings with interest.

The Eskimo sledge is a contrivance of wood capable of accommodating five or six men, and usually drawn by a team of from six to ten dogs, each dog being fastened to it by means of a separate line of tough walrus-hide. In a short time the long-lashed, short-handled, powerful whips cracked, the teams yelped, the men shouted, and away they all went with much noise over the frozen sea.

After a short run the parties separated and went in different directions. Cheenbuk and his men drove in a southerly direction. Soon they came to a place which had been kept open by walruses as a breathing-hole. Here they got out, hid the sledge and dogs behind a hummock, and, getting ready their spears and harpoons, prepared for an encounter. After waiting some time a walrus thrust its ungainly head up through the young ice that covered the hole, and began to disport itself in elephantine, or rather walrusian, gambols.

Tiring of this in a few minutes, it dived, and the natives ran to the edge of the hole to be ready when it should come up again. The animal was a female, and a small one. When it re-appeared harpoons and lances were at once driven into it, and it was killed almost immediately. This is not always the result of such an encounter, for this elephant of the polar seas is naturally a ferocious brute, and when bulls are attacked they are prone to show fight rather than take fright.

Leaving the young men to skin and cut up the meat, Cheenbuk went on, with only Anteek to keep him company, in search of another breathing-hole.

“You must harpoon the next one all alone, and kill him without help,” said Cheenbuk to his companion soon after they had started.

“I’ll try,” returned the boy, with the air of confidence befitting a knight who had already won his spurs, yet with the modesty of a youth who was aware of his fallibility.

But Anteek was not destined to distinguish himself that day, for, about three miles beyond the place where the walrus had been slain, they came across a track so singular that, on beholding it, they were stricken dumb with surprise.

Stopping the dogs, they gazed at it for a few moments in speechless wonder.

“I am not an old man,” said Cheenbuk at length in a solemn tone, “but I have seen most of the wonderful things in this world, yet have I never seen a track like that!”

He pointed to the track in question, and turned a look of blazing inquiry on Anteek.

“And I am not an old boy,” returned the other, “but I too have seen a good many of the wonderful things of this world, yet have I never even dreamed of the like of that!”

It will doubtless strike the reader here, as an evidence that Eskimos are under similar delusions to the rest of the human family, that these two referred to that world of theirs as equivalent to the world at large!

“What can it be?” murmured Cheenbuk.

“The very biggest bear that ever was, come to frighten the wisest people that ever lived, out of their wits,” suggested Anteek.

The face of the elder Eskimo underwent a sudden change, and an intelligent expression flitted over it as he said—

“I know now—I remember—I guess. You have often heard me talk of the Fire-spouters, Anteek? Well, the snow where they live is very deep and soft—not at all like the snow here, except when our snow is new-fallen—so that they cannot travel in the cold time without great things on their feet. That,”—pointing downward—“must be the track of those great things, and there must be a Fire-spouter not far off.”

“Perhaps a number of Fire-spouters—a war-party,” suggested Anteek, becoming excited.

“I think not, for there is only one track.”