Kitabı oku: «First at the North Pole: or, Two Boys in the Arctic Circle», sayfa 11
CHAPTER XXI – A FIGHT WITH POLAR BEARS
“Look out, he’s coming for you!” shouted Barwell Dawson.
Both Chet and Andy heard the words, but paid no attention. Their guns were raised, and each was aiming at the bear nearest to him. Crack! went Andy’s firearm, and the polar bear was halted by a wound in the forepaw.
Chet was not so fortunate, as his gun failed to go off. The next instant the polar bear leaped on him and bore him to the ice. As boy and beast went down, Barwell Dawson opened fire, and the bear was hit in the side, a wound that made him more savage than ever.
Although Chet was sent sprawling, he did not lose his presence of mind. As quick as a flash he rolled over, from under the very forepaws of the polar bear, and continued to roll, down a slight hill to one side.
By this time Andy and Mr. Dawson were firing again, and Olalola, coming up, used several spears with telling effect. At the increase in noise, – the Esquimau adding his yells to the cracks of the weapons, – one after another of the bears turned and commenced to run away.
“Don’t go after them!” sang out Barwell Dawson. “They may turn again, if you do. Shoot them from a distance.”
Once more he discharged his gun, and Andy did likewise. Then Chet scrambled up and used his firearm, the piece this time responding to the touch on the trigger.
Another of the bears was now killed outright, while the largest of the group was badly wounded in the hind quarters. This bear dropped behind the others and, drawing closer, Chet let him have a shot in the ear that finished him. The other beasts disappeared behind a hummock of ice, and that was the last seen of them.
“Are you hurt?” asked Andy of his chum, as soon as the excitement was over, and while all were reloading their weapons and the Esquimau was securing his spears.
“Got a scratch on the back of the neck,” answered Chet. “It’s bleeding a little, but that’s all. Say, this is a dandy haul, isn’t it?” he continued, enthusiastically.
“We must be more careful in the future,” said Barwell Dawson. “Usually polar bears are timid and run away, but these chaps must have been very hungry, and that made them aggressive.”
The largest of the polar bears was all of eight feet long, and correspondingly heavy. To lift him on the sledge was no easy task, and with the others, the hunters found they had all the game the dogs could drag over the ice and snow.
“We may as well start for the ship at once,” said Barwell Dawson. “Olalola thinks a snowstorm is coming, and we don’t want to get caught out in it if we can help it.”
They returned to where they had encamped for the night, and picked up the few belongings left there. Then they started direct for the shelters put up near the ship.
The last half-mile of the journey was covered in a heavy snowstorm, and all were glad when they caught sight of the Ice King. They found Captain Williamson and Professor Jeffer on the deck, watching for them.
“I was afraid you would be snowbound,” said the captain.
He and the professor were astonished at the sight of the polar bears. The game was taken to one of the storehouses, where some of the natives were set to work to prepare it for use during the winter now close at hand.
It had been arranged that the Esquimaux and some of the sailors were to live on shore, while Barwell Dawson and his party, and the captain and engineer and two others, remained on the steamer. Thus all had more “elbow room” than if they had crowded the entire party in one place or the other. From the hold of the vessel several large lamps were produced and put into readiness for use.
“The darkness of the winter months is the worst feature of a trip to these parts,” explained Barwell Dawson to the boys. “Of course, I hope for a great deal of moonlight, but even so the dark days are many, and lights are absolutely necessary.”
“The darkness has a strange effect on some people,” said Professor Jeffer. “I have heard of sailors going mad because of it. But I trust nothing of the sort happens to any one in our party.”
After that, there was a good deal to do for a week around the ship and up at the hut, and the days passed swiftly. Then, one clear morning, the explorer called to Andy and Chet.
“Come with me, if you want to get your last look at the sun for some months,” said he.
They left the Ice King and walked to the top of an icy cliff a mile away. Professor Jeffer was with them, and so were Dr. Slade and Mr. Camdal.
On the top of the cliff they had to wait nearly an hour before the sun showed itself. The long beams of light flashed across the ice, and then gradually grew dimmer and dimmer, and then disappeared altogether.
“Gone!” said Chet, in a low tone. All had been very silent for several minutes.
“Yes,” answered Barwell Dawson. “And you’ll not see the sun again until next February!”
“What a night!” murmured Andy, and somehow his heart seemed to sink within him.
It was a silent party that returned to the ship. Andy and Chet both began to wonder how the long spell of darkness was going to affect them.
“It won’t be so bad the first few days – or nights,” said Andy. “But after that – ” He finished with a grave shake of his head.
“Let us try to occupy our minds with work and by reading,” answered Chet. “I guess it’s the only way to keep from going crazy.”
The lights were lit after that, and kept burning brightly all through the long winter – one large lamp on the deck of the Ice King, and another equally large in front of the hut on shore. Smaller lamps were likewise kept burning constantly indoors.
Hunting continued from week to week, and the boys aided in the shooting of more polar bears, and also in bringing down several large musk oxen. The musk oxen, with heads resembling big buffalo bulls, were a source of great wonder to the lads.
“This is hunting, and no mistake,” said Andy. “I wonder what the fellows in Maine would say to these, if they could see them.”
“Beats moose hunting, doesn’t it, Andy?”
“Rather. By the way, Chet, I’d like to know how my Uncle Si is making out.”
“He ought to be up here. Phew! wouldn’t he complain of the cold! It was 38° below zero this morning!”
“I know it, and Professor Jeffer says it will be colder than that before long.”
They had to guard carefully against the cold, for it would have been an easy matter to have an ear or one’s nose frostbitten. As it was, one of the sailors had a big toe “nipped” by the frost, and suffered greatly because of it. The boys found it unwise even to touch anything metallic with a bare hand, for fear the member would get “burnt” or cling fast.
It was late in November that something happened which disturbed the party not a little. Late in the day, while Andy and Chet were dozing in their bunks, they not having anything to do, there came a curious grinding sound from the sides of the Ice King.
“What is that?” asked Andy, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Bless me if I know,” responded Chet. “Let us go on deck and see.”
They donned their fur coats and mitts, and ran out on the deck just as the grinding increased. They found Captain Williamson and Barwell Dawson engaged in earnest conversation.
“It’s the ice pack,” explained the explorer. “It is closing in on us.”
“Closing in!” cried Andy. “Why, it’s as close in now as it can get!”
“Not quite,” was the grim reply.
“Why, do you mean – ” Andy stopped short.
“Isn’t the Ice King strong enough to stand the pressure?” questioned Chet.
“The steamer is braced to stand a great deal. But this ice has an enormous power,” replied Captain Williamson. “If it comes against us too strongly, it may crush the ship like an eggshell.”
At first the commander could think of nothing to do to relieve the vessel, but presently it was suggested that the ice be chopped away from the bow and one side in a slanting direction. All hands, including the boys, went at the work, with picks, and crowbars, and spades.
It was a fight against nature and the elements, and never did men and boys work harder. As they labored, the ice of the vast pack continued to move closer to the ship, causing the Ice King to groan and crack in every timber.
“If she breaks, jump for your lives!” cried Captain Williamson. He was more anxious than words can describe, yet he managed to keep cool, and directed the work as well as he was able.
By night the ice had been chopped away to the depth of a foot and a half the entire length of the vessel. Then the wind, which had been blowing strongly from one direction, shifted to another, and the pressure on the vessel let up a little.
“I think we are safe for the present,” said the captain. “All hands can rest for a few hours. But come in a hurry if I blow the whistle.”
Utterly exhausted by their labors, the boys went to their stateroom and threw themselves down to rest. Both fell asleep instantly, and it seemed to Andy that he had not slept more than five minutes when Chet shook him.
“On deck!” cried the former. “The whistle is blowing!”
They had been asleep five hours, and the rest had refreshed them greatly. They hurried again to the deck, and as they did so they felt the Ice King tremble from stem to stern.
“I’d rather be outside than in – if she is going to be crushed,” said Andy, in a voice he tried in vain to steady. He well knew what it would mean to be cast away in the Arctic regions without a ship.
Again everybody was set to work to cut away the ice at the side and the bow of the Ice King. Small holes were drilled, and cartridges exploded in them to help the work along. In the meantime the crashing of the ice pack continued, as the wind, having changed to its former course, drove the great white mass tighter and tighter against the vessel.
“I am afraid the ship is doomed!” cried Professor Jeffer. He was laboring as well as his years permitted.
“A little deeper!” cried Captain Williamson. “And throw all the coal on deck overboard!”
The coal added considerable to the weight of the ship, and when this was deposited on the ice, the vessel’s draught was lessened by several inches. With a straining and cracking she came up, and then the work of cutting the ice at her side continued.
By noon, the prospect of clearing the Ice King was almost hopeless. The interior timbers were cracking, and one had snapped in twain. To prevent a conflagration, the fires were put out, and the lamps also extinguished.
“Another hour will tell the tale,” said Barwell Dawson, almost sadly. “A little more pressure, and if she doesn’t come up she will be smashed as flat as a pancake!”
Captain Williamson was now trying to raise the vessel by means of steel cables slipped under the bow and stern. The cable ends on the ice pack side were fastened down by crowbars set in deep holes, and the other ends were hauled as near taut as possible by means of temporary windlasses.
“I believe we’ll make it!” cried the captain, presently. “Now then, one more turn on the cables!”
The windlasses groaned and twisted, and then, of a sudden, one broke from its fastenings and hit the side of the ship, letting the steel cable slip down into the water. This allowed the bow to rise and the stern to go down.
“The ice pack is moving!” yelled one man. “It’s coming in for all it is worth! The Ice King is doomed!”
CHAPTER XXII – THROUGH THE LONG NIGHT
The crashing and cracking sounds which rent the air seemed to justify the man’s cry. It was true the ice pack was being driven in sharply by the wind, which had greatly increased during the past hour. It pressed on the side of the ship with telling force, and all those outside heard several timbers give way inside and collapse.
But just at the crucial moment the work the men had been doing proved its worth. The ice began to crack and split a little deeper down, and suddenly the Ice King gave a start upward.
“I think she is coming up!” cried Dr. Slade, and even as he spoke the steamer rose up higher as part of the ice pack got under the hull. Then came a swishing sound, some water spurted up into the air, and the vessel came up still higher, while the ice appeared to close in solidly under the keel.
“Saved!” roared Captain Williamson, and his face showed his relief.
“Are you sure?” asked Andy, anxiously.
“Yes, my lad. The Ice King is now riding on top of the ice instead of between it. Any additional move of the ice pack will simply force us upward.”
“She may tip over on her side!” cried Chet.
“We can easily guard against that, Chet. Yes, we are saved, and I am mighty glad of it.”
“And so am I,” added Barwell Dawson.
The grinding of the ice pack continued for several days, and the vessel was squeezed several inches higher. But the pressure on the side was gone completely, and the ship’s carpenter was set to work to repair the damage done. One of the timbers running across the boys’ stateroom had been snapped in twain, and the lads viewed the wreckage in deep concern.
“If we had been sleeping in here when that happened, we might have been killed,” said Chet, and his chum agreed with him.
During the following three weeks it snowed a great deal. It was, however, clear on Christmas Day, and the boys went out for a walk in the vicinity of the vessel. All hands were treated to a dinner of wild duck and plum pudding, and something of a church service was held by the captain, assisted by Dr. Slade, who had a good tenor voice, and had once sung in a church choir.
“Makes a fellow feel just a little bit less like a heathen,” remarked Chet, after the church service had come to an end.
“Indeed, that is true,” answered Andy. At Pine Run he had attended the village chapel whenever he had the chance to do so.
As Professor Jeffer had predicted, it grew steadily colder, and there were many days between Christmas and the middle of January when the boys did not care to venture outside. Outdoor work was out of the question, and all hands busied themselves within as best they could. The men smoked and played games, and sometimes got up boxing matches. The boys often took part in the games, and Chet showed his skill as a boxer by flooring two of the tars hand-running.
Yet with it all the time passed slowly, and both Andy and Chet were anxious for the Long Night to come to an end. The darkness was beginning to tell on many of the party, and Pep Loggermore especially began to act strangely. Once he began to sing hysterically, and the doctor had to give him some medicine to quiet him.
“He’s a strange Dick, that chap,” said Captain Williamson. “I am sorry I had him sign articles with me. He’s one of the old-fashioned superstitious kind that I don’t like.”
The boys were glad when the full moon shone down on the ship, for then it was almost as bright as day. The moonshine made the distant cliffs and peaks of ice look like castles of white, and added a rare beauty to the scene. Professor Jeffer took several photographs in the moonlight, – of the ship, the hut and storehouse, and of different members of the party. To pass the time, some of these films and plates were developed on the ship, and the boys aided in printing the pictures, many of which proved very good.
One moonlight night Andy and Chet determined to take a short walk to a point some distance behind the storehouse, and in the direction of the igloos of the Esquimaux. So far, they had not seen the inside of any of the houses of ice, and they were a bit curious to know just how the natives lived.
They soon met Olalola, who had been on a hunt, and he invited them inside his temporary home, and one after another they crawled through the passageway that answered for a vestibule.
Inside, the igloo was about ten feet in diameter, and rounding upward into a dome a foot or two above their heads. Here lived six of the Esquimaux. They had some dirty skins on the floor and in the center was a tiny fire, resting on some flat stones, the smoke escaping through some small holes in the top of the dome.
The smell was something awful in the place, coming from some seal meat that was cooking over the fire, and also from the pipes of the Esquimaux, who were all smoking stuff that the lads later on learned was a combination of plug tobacco and seal hair – the hair being added to the tobacco to make the latter last longer.
Olalola could speak a few words of English, and he invited the lads to have some of the stew that was being made. Just for the novelty each lad tried a mouthful. But to swallow the nauseating mess was impossible, and they had to spit it out. At this all of the Esquimaux laughed loudly. They were not in the least offended because the boys did not like the food.
“Boy no eat, me eat,” said Olalola, and filled his mouth with great gusto. Then the youths excused themselves and got out as fast as possible.
“Phew! talk about fresh air!” cried Chet, when he and his chum were in the open. “Wouldn’t you think the Esquimaux would die in that kind of rot?”
“I don’t believe they are very healthy,” answered Andy. “Dr. Slade says they are not.”
“They all need a bath, and need it badly,” said Chet, in deep disgust. It was his first and last visit to the igloos.
When it was clear the Esquimaux often played games. One was leapfrog, and another was of the “snap-the-whip” variety. In the latter sport they would roar loudly when the last man was sent whirling over and over on the ice.
“You’d think he’d break his head,” was Andy’s comment, as he saw one unfortunate land with a crash on a hummock of ice.
“Well, they are rough fellows, and so their sports must be rough,” answered Professor Jeffer.
Nearly every Esquimau is skillful with the dog-whip, and one of their pastimes amused the boys very deeply. The men would gather around in a big circle, and in the center of this a small object, usually of wood, would be half buried in the snow. Then the men, each with his long dog-lash, would try to “snap” the object from the ring. Crack! would go the lash, making a report like a pistol, and the snow would come up in a little whirl, and sometimes the object would come with it.
“Pretty good shots, some of them,” said Andy.
“Wait until we get on the road with the sledges,” answered Barwell Dawson. “Then you’ll see some fancy doings with the whips. Some of those chaps can reach a dog twenty feet away, and take a nip out of his hide as quick as a wink. That’s the way they get the dogs under such perfect control.”
“I wish I could learn how to drive the dogs,” said Andy.
“You’ll have plenty of chance, when we get on the move again,” returned the explorer.
Two days later, Andy was walking from the storehouse to the ship when, in the dim light from the lamp near the hut, he saw something unusual that attracted his attention. A man was crawling along on all-fours, muttering wildly to himself.
“Whatever can that fellow be up to?” asked the boy of himself. For the instant he thought he might be mistaken, and that the form was that of some wild beast.
His curiosity aroused to a high pitch, the lad stopped short, and then made a detour, coming up on the opposite side of the storehouse. Here he found the man, still on all-fours, bending over a case of some sort.
“Oh, this darkness! Why don’t the sun shine?” the man was muttering to himself. “I must have light! I will have light!”
“It is Pep Loggermore, and he is as crazy as a loon!” murmured Andy. “I had better tell the captain of this at once! The sailor may hurt somebody if I don’t!”
Andy turned around, to make a quick run toward the ship, when he heard the scratching of a match. A tiny flash of flame followed, and in that little flare of light he saw the crazed sailor bending over what looked to be a can of oil!
“He is going to set something on fire!” thought Andy. “Maybe the storehouse! That’s his crazy idea of getting light!”
Andy was right, Loggermore was trying to set fire to the storehouse. Already he was pouring oil from the can over a number of boxes, the ends of which formed that side of the shelter.
“If I run to the ship, it will take time,” reasoned Andy. “By the time I get back with some of the others it may be too late. What shall I do?”
It was a hard question to answer. He had no desire to tackle the crazy sailor alone. But even while he stood debating with himself he saw Loggermore strike another match.
“Stop! Don’t light that, Loggermore!”
So shouting, Andy leaped toward the man, who was still crouched down, mumbling to himself about wanting a light. At the sound of the youth’s voice, the sailor turned, and something like a snarl broke from his lips.
“Go away! Go away!” he shrieked.
“Loggermore, you mustn’t set anything on fire.”
“I want light! I must have light! I hate the darkness!” growled the crazed sailor.
“You’ll burn up all our stores. If you do that, we’ll starve to death!” continued Andy, as he drew closer.
“I want light!” went on Loggermore, doggedly. “The darkness hurts my head – I can’t think straight. Stand back and see what a fine light I’ll soon have!” And so speaking, he lit another match, for the other had fallen in the snow and gone out.
“Help! help!” yelled Andy, at the top of his lungs. He could think of nothing else to do. “Help! help!”
“Shut up!” cried the crazed sailor. “Shut up!” And now, dropping the match he had just struck, he leaped at Andy and caught him by the shoulder and the arm.
The grip of the crazy fellow was like steel, and do his best, the boy could not break away. Pep Loggermore whirled him around and sent him crashing up against the boxes of the storehouse. There both stood, panting heavily, with the sailor’s eyes glowing like two balls of fire.
“Le – let me go!” gasped Andy. “Loggermore, you are crazy – you don’t know what you are doing. Don’t be so foolish, that’s a good fellow – ”
“No, no, I’ll not let you go! You are a Jonah, Andy Graham! You shot the geese, you and that other lad, and you’ve brought us all kinds of trouble! I’ll not let you go!” shrieked Loggermore and then he slammed Andy against the boxes once more. The feet of both came down on the can and on the box of matches the sailor had dropped, smashing each down into the ice and snow.
Then suddenly a light flared up, coming from the broken box of matches. They spluttered an instant and set fire to the oil, and also to the clothing of the man and the boy. Loggermore was too crazy to mind this, but Andy was filled with horror.
“Let go!” yelled the youth, and struggled in vain to release himself. But he could not break that awful hold, and so he dragged the tar with him, and both rolled over and over in the snow. Andy tried to kick out the fire around his legs, and in the meanwhile Loggermore got a grip on his windpipe as if to strangle him. The boy tried to fight the man off, but could not, and presently all grew dark around him, and then he knew no more.
