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CHAPTER XIX – GREENLAND AND THE ESQUIMAUX
There was a good deal of ice near the coast, yet, by setting a constant watch in the crow’s nest of the steamer, Captain Williamson was able to steer a fairly straight course for Holstenborg.
“It is only a small Danish settlement,” said Barwell Dawson, in reply to a question from Chet. “Ordinarily, on account of the marine laws made by Denmark, we might have trouble in landing, but being in need of repairs, I fancy there will be no difficulty.”
A little later land was discovered, and presently the coast loomed up, dark and rocky, with the mountain tops covered with snow and ice. Then, through the glasses, they made out a few buildings, of stone and wood, clustered together near a natural harbor.
“Not much of a town, that’s sure,” was Andy’s comment.
Signals were set, and as the steamer came to anchor, a small boat came out from shore. It contained one of the government officials, a round-faced, pleasant-looking Dane, with yellowish hair and mild blue eyes.
It was with some difficulty that matters were explained, and then arrangements were made to have the Ice King towed to a spot where the necessary repairs could be made. Work on the vessel began the next day, and while this was going on the boys received permission to go ashore.
They found but little to see. There was a mine back of the settlement, where ore was being blasted out, and they watched several blasts go off. Then they walked to where a fishing vessel had just come in with, a large quantity of seals, and some fish which were called cod, but which they found to be of a different variety from those caught off the New England coast.
“Those seals ought to be valuable,” said Andy. “Think of the price of a sealskin coat!”
“Not this kind of seal,” answered Professor Jeffer, who chanced to be near at the time. “The seals from which we get sealskin coats such as you refer to come from the coast of Labrador and from Alaskan waters. These seals, as you will find by close examination, do not have a skin of fur, but one of hair, like a horse. But the Esquimaux use them for garment-making. An Esquimau woman will make herself a very fine dress out of these sealskins.”
The boys watched the fish and seals taken ashore, and then caught sight of a man in the crowd who looked as if he might be American or English.
“I’d like to talk to that man,” said Chet, and watching his chance, he called to the individual. The fellow called back, and when his work was ended, walked over to the boys.
“My name is Rooney, Jack Rooney,” he said after the youths had introduced themselves. “I’m from New Brunswick, although I once lived in Maine. Glad to know you.” And he shook hands.
“Have you been along the coast of Greenland long?” asked Chet.
“About fifteen years, off and on.”
“Then you must know something about the whalers that come up here.”
“Yes, I’ve been aboard plenty of ’em, – one time and another.”
“Did you ever see the Betsey Andrews?”
Jack Rooney stood for a moment in deep thought, and then scratched his grizzled chin.
“How long ago is it she was in these parts?”
“Oh, two years ago at least.”
“Who was her captain, do you know?”
“Captain Jacob Spark.”
“Spark? Oh, yes, I remember him! A one-armed man, an old war veteran.”
“Yes, I was told he had but one arm.” Chet’s heart began to beat a little faster. “Then you remember him and his ship?”
“Oh, yes.”
“My father was on board the Betsey Andrews. He shipped the last time she left New Bedford.”
“I see.”
“She never came back, and I can’t find out what became of her,” continued Chet.
“What! was she lost at sea? But hold on, I remember hearing something about that.” Jack Rooney scratched his head. “Let’s see, who was it told me? Oh, I remember now, Tom Fetjen. He told me something about her getting fast in the ice, but I don’t remember the particulars.”
“Who is Tom Fetjen?”
“Oh, he’s a fellow who travels up and down the Greenland coast, bartering with the Esquimaux – in a small way, you know.”
“You don’t remember what he said about the Betsey Andrews?”
“None of the particulars, no. But Fetjen could tell you, I am sure. He knew this one-armed Spark quite well. Often told stories about the captain.”
“Where is Tom Fetjen now?”
“I don’t know, but maybe I can find out,” answered Jack Rooney.
The fisherman became interested in the boys, and had Chet tell more about his missing parent. Then he went in search of some men who had business dealings with Tom Fetjen, and talked to them in Danish.
“They say Tom Fetjen went up the coast to Upernivik,” said Rooney, after the interview. “If your ship is bound for that port, you’ll probably find him there. He owns a boat called the Northland, a little two-master.”
This was all the information Chet could obtain in Holstenborg concerning the missing whaler.
“Well, that’s something,” said Andy. “You can talk to this Tom Fetjen when we reach Upernivik.”
“If he doesn’t leave there before we arrive.”
“Rooney said he was apt to stay there quite a while, Chet.”
“I know he did. Well, I suppose I can only wait and see.” And Chet heaved a deep sigh.
While Andy and Chet were ashore interviewing Jack Rooney and others who could speak English, Captain Williamson was waited on by three of his hands. The delegation was headed by Pep Loggermore.
“What do you want?” demanded the master of the Ice King, briefly. He could readily see that trouble was brewing.
“We came to speak about them boys,” replied Loggermore, doggedly. “We been talkin’ amongst ourselves, and we don’t want to take no more chances.”
“What boys?” asked the captain, although he knew perfectly well who were meant.
“The boys that shot them geese and brought us bad luck.”
“See here, Loggermore, this is all nonsense.”
“Excuse me, Cap’n, but it ain’t nonsense at all. We talked it over, and we are sure it was the killin’ of them geese – ”
“You talk like a fool,” interrupted the master of the steamer. “Those boys are no more responsible for our ill luck than you or I. The ice knocked us a bit too hard, that’s all.”
“We want them boys kept ashore!” cried Pep Loggermore. “Ain’t that so, mates?” he added, turning to his companions, and they nodded.
“What! Are you going to try to dictate to me?” roared Captain Williamson.
“We ain’t asking anything but what’s right. We – ”
“Not another word, Loggermore. Go for’ard, all of you, and don’t let me hear another word of this nonsense,” said the captain, sharply.
“But, Cap’n – ”
“Not another word, I told you, unless you want the cat!” answered Captain Williamson.
He drew himself up, and his eyes flashed dangerously, and the men silently left him and resumed their work in the forward part of the ship.
“Sailors are queer fellows,” was Dr. Blade’s comment. “Once they get an idea in their heads, you can’t drive it out.”
“I’ll drive it out, don’t fear!” answered the captain.
“It is too bad that the boys have made such enemies,” went on the ship’s physician. “I am afraid it will spoil a good deal of their pleasure.”
When the chums came back to the steamer that evening, they noticed that two of the sailors looked at them darkly. Yet nothing was said to them of what had occurred, the sailors being afraid to speak, and the others not wishing to make the boys uneasy.
But among the sailors there was quite a talk over Andy and Chet.
“We’ll make ’em stay ashore if we can,” said Loggermore. “Just wait until we are ready to sail. I am not going to trust myself with fellows like that to bring me bad luck.”
The repairs to the Ice King took the best part of a week to make, but at the end of that time the ship’s carpenter pronounced the craft as seaworthy as ever.
“She may stay up here for a year now, and never start those seams again,” he said.
“Let us hope so,” answered Barwell Dawson. “A leaky ship isn’t at all to my liking.”
Pep Loggermore and a crony watched for a chance to catch Andy and Chet ashore. What the sailors might have done, there is no telling, but certainly they would have done all in their power to prevent the boys from returning to the Ice King. But the lads kept on the vessel, there being nothing more to visit on land.
“We might heave ’em overboard some night,” suggested Loggermore, but the other sailor would not listen to this proposal. He was willing to have the youths left behind, but that was as far as he cared to go.
“Never mind, we can watch them at Upernivik,” said the tar. “There will be a better chance to leave them behind there than there was here.” And with this proposal the affair rested, although Loggermore declared that if there was any more killing of birds from the ship he would heave the boys overboard sure. This may seem a terrible threat to some of my readers, but they must remember that some sailors, especially ignorant ones, are extremely superstitious, and they deem the killing of a bird at sea the worst kind of a bad omen.
The run up the Greenland coast was made without unusual incident. They passed a number of icebergs, but always at a distance, and the small ice did not bother them seriously. The weather moderated a little, so that life on deck proved delightful. The boys saw more wild geese, some ducks, and also some northern petrel, but, warned by Captain Williamson, did no more shooting.
“Upernivik is about the last settlement north of any importance,” said Professor Jeffer to the boys. “It can be called the most northern town in the world. It is a trading station for the Esquimaux, and also has a mine, from which large quantities of cryolite are obtained.”
“And what is cryolite?” asked Chet, curiously.
The professor smiled faintly. “It is a substance, found only in Greenland, from which washing soda is made, and also some kinds of baking powder. The metal, aluminum, is obtained from it, and it is also used in the making of certain kinds of glass. Greenland has a very large stratum or deposit of cryolite, and it is a source of considerable revenue to the mine owners, and also to the Danish government, the latter putting a heavy export tax on it.”
It was nightfall when the steamer dropped anchor in the harbor of Upernivik. From the deck of the vessel Barwell Dawson, who had visited the settlement before, pointed out the governor’s house, the Moravian church, and other buildings.
“There are quite a number of Esquimaux here, full-blooded and half-breeds,” said he. “Most of them live in the stone huts along the mountain side.”
“What do you mean by half-breeds?” questioned Andy.
“The half-breeds are the families of the Danish men who have married Esquimaux women,” replied the explorer. “Some of the half-breeds are very intelligent, and they are also much cleaner than the full-blooded Esquimaux.”
“Are the Esquimaux very dirty?” asked Chet.
“They are the dirtiest people on earth,” was the emphatic answer. “And why shouldn’t they be? They never wash, and the only thing they rub on their bodies is whale or seal oil, to keep out the cold and to help limber them up.”
“Gracious! I shouldn’t want to live in the same house with them!” cried Andy.
“You couldn’t live with them, that is, not for any great length of time. The smell would make you sick.”
CHAPTER XX – FAST IN THE ICE
“Well, there is one piece of luck,” said Barwell Dawson, the next morning. “Our collier is here, so we can take on coal at once, and get away from here inside of three or four days.”
“Yes, we want to take advantage of the weather while it lasts,” answered the captain of the Ice King. And the task of transferring the coal began an hour later.
Andy and Chet asked for permission to go ashore, and, after word had been sent to the governor of the place, they entered a steam launch in company with Barwell Dawson and Professor Jeffer. The explorer knew what was on Chet’s mind, and aided him to find out if the Northland was at Upernivik.
“She is here,” said Barwell Dawson, after making inquiries. “I will have you taken to her.”
Chet found Tom Fetjen, a Danish-American, tall and powerful, with a shrewd but kindly face. He listened to the boy’s story with interest, and then shrugged his big shoulders.
“I no can tell you mooch ’bout dat whaler, Betsey Andrews,” he said, slowly. “I not know for truf what happen to him. But I hear som’t’ing las’ year. Two Esquimaux men come to me an’ da say dat de whaleboat he got stuck by de ice far up dare.” And Tom Fetjen waved his hand northward.
“Stuck in the ice?” queried Chet.
“Dat is what de Esquimaux men say. Da climb up de ice mountain an’ see him ship stuck fast, but go – what you say him? – float, yes, float up dat way,” and again the trader pointed northward.
“Do you mean that the Betsey Andrews got stuck in some floating ice, and was carried northward?” asked Chet.
“Yes, dat is eet. Nobody hear more of de whaleboat.”
“Where did you hear this?”
“Hear him at Etah, las’ summer.”
“How did the Esquimaux know it was the Betsey Andrews?” asked Andy.
“One Esquimau big chief, got glass to look. He see de cap’n who got de one arm. He try to git to ship, but tumble in water – ’most drown heem. Den snowstorm come big an’ can’t see de ship no more.”
This was all the trader could tell. He was of the opinion, however, that the whaler had been finally crushed in the ice, and all those aboard had been lost.
But Chet would not believe this. He shut his teeth hard and looked at his chum.
“I’ve got to have positive proof before I give up,” he said, in a voice that choked with sudden emotion.
Although the boys were not aware of it, Pep Loggermore and his crony did their best to follow them around Upernivik, hoping to place them in some position whereby it would be impossible to regain the ship. But, by mere chance, the boys kept out of the sailors’ way, and when the coaling was at an end, and the Ice King sailed, they were on the ship.
“Let us try it again at Etah,” said Loggermore to his crony.
“As you please, Pep,” answered the other. His hatred of the lads who had killed the geese had somewhat subsided. But Loggermore was as much against Andy and Chet as ever. He had it firmly fixed in his mind that if they were taken along, dire disaster would surely overtake the expedition.
The course of the Ice King was now up Baffin Bay and past Cape York to the entrance to Smith Sound. Although it was midsummer, the weather seemed to grow colder hourly, and it was not long before the boys were glad enough to don additional clothing.
“As soon as we get to Etah you will get your first taste of polar exploration,” said Barwell Dawson. “We’ll go out on a hunt.”
“Is it much of a settlement?” asked Chet.
“Hardly any settlement at all. In the summer the Esquimaux have their skin tents pitched there, and in the winter they put up a few igloos, that is, ice huts, and that’s all.”
That night came another scare. They almost ran into a tremendous iceberg that towered like a giant in the water. But the lookout saw the monster just in time – it was rather foggy, or he would have seen it sooner – and they sheered to windward.
“What a high iceberg!” exclaimed Chet, when the danger was past.
“Yes, and to think that it is much deeper in the water than out of it,” added Andy.
They reached the inlet leading to Etah in a fog, and that afternoon experienced a snowstorm that lasted for over two hours. Then the weather cleared, and they made out a number of tents lining the coast. Here and there they saw some Esquimaux in their strange little boats, fishing. The natives set up a shout when the Ice King came to anchor, and some lost no time in coming on board. They were strange-looking creatures, short of form and round of face, with straight black hair and mouths unusually large. But they were good-natured, and smiled and laughed as they talked to Barwell Dawson, Professor Jeffer, and Captain Williamson, all of whom could speak a little of the Esquimaux tongue.
The boys were allowed to go on a hunt the next day. Led by two of the Esquimaux, the party went off in one of the small boats to a point where it was said game might be found. They were out for six hours with Barwell Dawson, and came back loaded down with birds, and with a small polar bear. Chet and Andy had shot the bear between them, and were proud of their haul.
“The first polar bear!” cried Andy. “I don’t think it will be the last.”
Before returning to the ship, the two boys went off on a little excursion by themselves. Pep Loggermore followed them, and tried to think of some way of keeping them from returning to the Ice King, but got no opportunity of carrying out his plan to do them harm.
At Etah a large quantity of meat was purchased from the Esquimaux, who had been awaiting Mr. Dawson’s arrival for over a month. They had been out hunting bears, musk oxen, walrus, seals, and other game for him, and they had likewise collected for him over a hundred of the best Esquimaux dogs to be found. With the dogs they brought six sledges, that were light but strong.
“My, but those Esquimaux do smell!” was Andy’s comment when ten of them came on board and took quarters in the forward part of the ship. “They smell worse than a fish market!”
The dogs were penned up, and made the air hideous with their barking and snarling. All the supplies were taken on board, and then the Ice King steamed away from Etah on her voyage into the great Unknown.
“It’s good-by now to everything, civilized and uncivilized,” said Barwell Dawson. “From now on we have got to trust to luck as to what comes.”
It was the explorer’s plan to push as far as the ice would let him into Smith’s Sound. Then, when the Ice King could sail no further, they would disembark and prepare for the coming winter – the terrible Long Night. Now it was summer, and daylight at all hours of the twenty-four.
A good deal of floating ice was encountered within six hours after leaving Etah, and after that the thumping and grinding on the sides was kept up night and day. Although the vessel had full steam up, the engines were run slowly, as too hard a crash might result disastrously. Occasionally they could make out the shore line, but usually low icebergs shut the land from sight.
“I don’t think we can go much further,” remarked Andy, on the third day out from Etah. “The ice seems to be closing in all around us.”
Nevertheless, the next day they struck a wide “lead,” and ran through this for miles. But then the ice became thicker than ever, and Captain Williamson shook his head gravely.
“Not much further, Mr. Dawson,” he said. “I think we had best make for the shore yonder,” and he pointed with his gloved hand.
“As you think best, Captain,” was the explorer’s reply. “We have now come about as far as I thought we could go.”
The boys watched the working of the vessel until late that night. When they awoke in the morning, they found that the engines had stopped. They dressed and ran on deck.
“Well, I never!” cried Andy. “We are high and dry now, and no mistake!”
All around them were immense fields of ice and snow. The Ice King had slid up on the ice, and the big, transparent blocks held her as if in a vise. Not far away was an iceberg that looked like a small mountain.
“This is as far as the ship will go,” said Professor Jeffer to the lads. “The rest of our journey will be made by walking, or on the dog sledges.”
It was so cold the boys were glad enough to hurry below and drink some steaming coffee. While eating, they learned that Barwell Dawson had already arranged to take the most of the supplies ashore and house them on a hill not far away. The Esquimaux were getting out the sledges and dogs to do the carting.
“We’ll go off on a hunt soon,” said the explorer. “But before we do that we must get ready for winter, which will ere long be upon us.”
Several days of hard labor for all hands followed, as many of the supplies were taken off the steamer and carted on the sledges to a small hill, upon which the Americans erected a living hut and a storehouse, and the Esquimaux put up half a dozen igloos and dog shelters. The boys were glad to work, for it helped to keep their blood in circulation.
The Esquimaux had a perfect system regarding their dogs and sledges, and were under the leadership of a chief named Olalola. Olalola had the largest sledge and the best dogs, and it was a sight to see him load up and start his team of half a dozen or more.
Crack! would go the whip, and away the dogs would bound with their load. Sometimes the boys or the men would ride on the sledge, and Andy and Chet thought it the best sport they had ever experienced.
A week passed, and during that time they experienced two blinding snowstorms. But then the weather cleared off as if by magic, and Barwell Dawson asked the boys if they wanted to go off on a hunt after polar bears.
“Just the thing!” cried Andy, and Chet said practically the same.
It was decided that the party should be made up of Mr. Dawson, the boys, Olalola, and several others. The Esquimau was to take along some provisions on the sledge, for it was thought the party might be out several days.
“This is something like it!” cried Chet, as they trudged along over the snow and ice. “I hope we bag about a hundred polar bears!”
“Why not make it two hundred while you are at it?” answered his chum, dryly.
The first day was a disappointment, as no game of any sort appeared in sight. But on the following morning Olalola said there were bears ahead, and they soon came upon unmistakable traces of the game.
They were going toward an icy hill, and rounding this they saw at least a dozen bears. Telling the Esquimau and the others to remain to the rear, Barwell Dawson crept up on the bears, taking Andy and Chet with him.
“Don’t fire until I give the command,” said the hunter, and both boys nodded to signify that they understood.
It was a thrilling moment for Andy and Chet, but they were used to hunting big game, so they did not get nervous. Coming up within gunshot, Mr. Dawson gave the signal, and all three fired their weapons. One bear fell dead, and another was badly wounded.
“Hurrah! that’s the way to do it!” cried Andy. “Come on, let us bag some more!”
He ran forward, and Chet and Mr. Dawson followed. The polar bears were evidently dumfounded, and did not know for the moment what to do. Some turned to run away, but others arose on their hind legs to do battle.
“Some of ’em are coming for us!” cried Chet, in alarm, and then Mr. Dawson’s rifle spoke up, and another of the big fellows was laid low. But the other bears leaped for the boys, as if to hug them to death or eat them up.
