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North-Pole Voyages

<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> <div class='chaptertitle'>THE HUT.</div> <div class='cap'>WE now made for Cape Parry with all speed, though this was slow speed. The young ice which covered the bay was too old for us, or, at any rate, it was too strong for easy progress. It was sunset when we reached the cape. Beyond this there had been open water seen by us for many days past, from the elevated points of observation which we had sought. From this point, therefore, we expected free sailing southward, and rapid progress toward safety and our homes. But here we were at last at Cape Parry against a pack which extended far southward. In our desperation we tried to force the boats through. The "Ironsides" was badly battered, and the "Hope" made sadly leaky by the operation, and no progress was made. We then pushed slowly down the shore through a lead, and having gone about seven miles, darkness and the ice brought us to a stand, and we drew up for the night.</div> In the morning we observed a lead going south from the shore at a point twelve miles distant. For six days, bringing us to the twenty-seventh of September, we fought hard to reach the lead, but failed. We could now neither retreat nor go forward. Ice and snow were every-where. The sun[121] was running low in the heavens, seeming to rise only to set; and soon the night, which was to have no sunrise morning until February, would be upon us. Our food was sufficient for not more than two weeks, and our fuel of blubber for the lamp only was but enough for eight or ten days. Our condition seemed almost without hope, but it had entered into our calculations as a possible contingency, and we girded ourselves for the struggle for life, trusting in the Great Deliverer. We were about sixteen miles below Cape Parry, and about midway between Whale Sound and Wolstenholme Sound. We pitched our tent thirty yards from the sea on a rocky upland. After securing in a safe place the boats and equipments, we began to look about us for a place to build a hut. It was, indeed, a dreary, death-threatening region. Time was too pressing for us to think of building an Esquimo hut, if, indeed, our strength and skill was sufficient. While we were looking round and debating what to build and where, one of our party found a crevice in a rock. This crevice ran parallel with the coast, and was opposite to, and near, the landing. It was eight feet in width, and level on the bottom. The rock on the east side was six feet high, its face smooth and perpendicular, except breaks in two places, making at each a shelf. On the other—the ocean side—the wall was scarcely four feet high, round and sloping; but a cleft through it made an opening to the crevice from the west. We at once determined to make our hut here,[122] as the natural walls would save much work in its construction. The only material to be thought of was rocks. These we had to find beneath the snow, and then loosen them from the grasp of the frost. For this we fortunately had an ice-chisel—a bar of iron an inch in diameter and four feet long, bent at one end for a handle, and tempered and sharpened at the other. With this Bonsall loosened the rocks, and others bore them on their shoulders to the crevice. When a goodly pile was made we began to construct the walls. Instead of mortar we had sand to fill in between the stones. This was as hard to obtain as the stones themselves, as it had to be first picked to pieces with the ice-chisel, then scooped up with our tin dinner plates into cast-off bread-bags, and thus borne to the builders. This work was done by four of us only, the other four being engaged in hunting, to keep away threatened starvation. In two days our walls were up. They run across the crevice, that is, east and west, were fourteen feet apart, four feet high, and three thick. The natural walls being eight feet apart, our hut was thus in measurement fourteen feet by eight. The entrance was through the cleft, from the ocean side. We laid across the top of this door-way the rudder of the "Hope," and erected on it the "gable." One of the boat's masts was used for a ridgepole, and the oars for rafters. Over these we laid the boats' sails, drew them tightly, and secured them with heavy stones. Being sadly deficient in lumber, Petersen[123] constructed a door of light frame-work and covered it with canvas; he hung it on an angle, so that when opened it shut of its own weight. A place was left for a window over the door-way, across which we drew a piece of old muslin well greased with blubber, and through which the somber light streamed when there was any outside. We then endeavored to thatch the roof and "batten" the cracks every-where with moss. But to obtain this article we had to scour the country far and near, dig through the deep snow, having tin dinner plates for shovels, wrench it from the grip of the frost with our ice-chisel, put it in our bread-bags and "back it" home. In four days, in spite of all obstacles, our hut assumed a homelike appearance—at least homelike compared with our present quarters. We said: "To-morrow we shall move into it and be comparatively comfortable." But that day brought the advance force of a terrific storm of wind and snow. It caught some of us three miles from the tent. We huddled together in our thin hemp canvas tent and slept as best we could. Two of our company crawled out in the morning to prepare our scanty meal. They found the hut half full of snow, which had sifted through the crevices. But they brought to the tent's company a hot breakfast after some hours' toil; we ate and our spirits revived. We tried all possible expedients to pass away the time, but the hours moved slowly. The storm continued to howl and roar about us with unceasing[124] fury for four days. Our little stock of food was diminishing, our hut was unfinished, and winter was upon us in earnest. Our situation was one of almost unmitigated misery. On Friday, October sixth, the storm subsided, and nature put on a smiling face. We renewed our work on the hut, clearing it of snow with our dinner-plate shovels, and then, under greater difficulties than ever, because the snow was deeper and our strength less, we finished it. The internal arrangements were as follows: an aisle or floor, three feet wide, extended from the door across the hut. On the right, as one entered, was a raised platform of stone and sand about eighteen inches high. On this we spread our skins and blankets. Here five of us were to sleep. On the back corner of the other side was a similar platform, or "breck" as the Esquimo would call it; here three men were to sleep. In the left-hand corner, near the door, Petersen had extemporized a stove out of some tin sheathing torn from the "Hope," with a funnel of the same material running out of the roof. This sort of fire-place stove held two lamps, a saucepan, and kettle. On a post which supported the roof hung a small lamp. Into this hut we moved October ninth. Compared with the tent it was comfortable. It was evening when we were settled. At sundown Petersen came in with eight sea-fowl, so we celebrated the occasion with a stew of fresh game, cooked in our stove with the staves of our blubber kegs, and we added to our meal a pot of hot coffee.[125] The supper done, we talked by the dim light of our moss taper. A storm, which was heralded during the day, was raging without in full force, burying us in a huge snow-bank. We discussed calmly our duties and trials, and we all lay down prayerfully to sleep. What shall we do now? was the question of the morning. Indeed, it was the continual question. John reported our stores thus: "There's three quarters of a small barrel of bread, a capful of meat biscuit, half as much rice and flour, a double handful of lard—and that's all." Our vigilant hunting thus far had resulted in seventeen small birds; that was all. Some of us had tried to eat the "stone moss," a miserable lichen which clung tenaciously to the stones beneath the snow. But it did little more than stop for awhile the gnawings of hunger, often inducing serious illness; yet this seemed our only resort. The storm still raged. We were all reclining upon the brecks except John, who was trying to cook by a fire which filled our hut with smoke, when we were startled by a strange sound. "What is it?" we asked. We could not get out, so we listened at the window. "It was the wind," we said, for we could hear nothing more. In a half hour it was repeated clearer and louder. We opened the door by drawing the snow into the house, and made a little opening through the drift so we could see daylight. "It was the barking of a fox," says one. "No," said another, "it was the growling of a bear." Whipple, who was[126] half asleep, muttered, "It was just nothing at all." While these remarks were being made the Esquimo shout was clearly recognized. Petersen put his mouth to the aperture in the snow and shouted, "Huk! huk! huk!" After much shouting, two bewildered Esquimo entered our hut. They were from Netlik, the village we had last left, and one was Kalutunah. Their fur dress had a thick covering of snow, and, hardy though they were, they looked weary almost to faintness. They each held in one hand a dog-whip, and in the other a piece of meat and blubber. They threw down the food, thrust their whip-stocks under the rafters, hung their wet outer furs upon them, and at once made themselves at home. The chief hung around Dr. Hayes, saying fondly, "Doctee! doctee!" John put out his smoking fire, at the Angekok's request, and used his blubber in cooking a good joint of the bear meat. We all had a good meal at our guests' expense. Necessity was more than courtesy with hungry men. While the cooking and eating were going on, we listened to the marvelous story of the Esquimo. They left Netlik, forty miles north, the morning of the previous day on a hunting excursion with two dog-sledges. The storm overtook them far out upon the ice in search of bear, and they sheltered themselves in a snow hut for the night. Fearing the ice might break up they turned to the land, which they happened to strike near our boats and[127] tent. Knowing we must be near, they picketed their dogs under a sheltering rock and commenced tramping and shouting. The supper eaten, the story told, and the curiosity of our visitors satisfied in closely observing every thing, we made for them the best bed possible, tucked them in, and they were soon snoring lustily. In the morning we tunneled a hole from our door through the snow. Kalutunah and Dr. Hayes went to the sea-shore. The dogs were howling piteously, having been exposed to all the fury of the storm during the night without the liberty of stirring beyond their tethers. Besides, they had been forty-eight hours without food, having come from home in that time through a widely deviating track. Every thing about them was carefully secured which could be eaten, and they were loosened. Dr. Hayes turned toward the hut, and having reached the snow-tunnel he was about to stoop down to crawl through it, when he observed the whole pack of thirteen snapping, savage brutes at his heels. Had he been on his knees they would have made at once a meal of him. They stood at bay for a moment, but seeing he had no means of attack, one of them commenced the assault by springing upon him. Dr. Hayes caught him on his arm, and kicked him down the hill. This caused a momentary pause. No help was near, and to run was sure death. It was a fearful moment, and his blood chilled at the prospect of[128] dying by the jaws of wolfish dogs, whose fierce and flashing eyes assured him that hunger had given them a terrible earnestness. His eye improved the moment's respite in sweeping the circle of the enemy for the means of escape, and he caught a glimpse of a dog-whip about ten feet off. Instantly he sprang as only a man thus situated could spring, and clearing the back of the largest of the dogs, seized the whip. He was now master of the situation. Never amiable, and terribly savage when prompted by hunger, yet the Esquimo dog is always a coward. Dr. Hayes's vigorous blows, laid on at right and left with much effect and more sound and fury, sent the pack yelping away. In our discussions of the question of subsistence, we had about decided that we must draw our supplies from the Esquimo or perish. Our hunting was a failure, and our supply of food was about exhausted. So when Kalutunah came back we proposed to him through Petersen to purchase blubber and bear meat with our treasures of needles, knives, etc., so valuable in the eyes of the natives. He looked at our sunken cheeks and desolate home with a knowing twinkle of his eye, and a crafty expression on his besotted face. This was followed by the questions, "How much shoot with mighty guns? how much food you bring from ship?" These questions, and the speaking eye and tell-tale face, were windows through which we saw into the workings of his dark heathen mind. They meant, as we understood them, "If you are[129] going to starve we had better let you. We shall then get your nice things without paying for them." But Petersen understood and outmanaged the crafty chief. "How we going to live?" he boldly exclaimed, facing the questioner. "Live! Shoot bear when we get hungry, sleep when we get tired; Esquimo will bring us bear, we shall give them presents, and sleep all the time. White man easily get plenty to eat. Always plenty to eat, plenty sleep." The glory of life from the Esquimo point of view is plenty to eat and nothing to do. They held those who had attained to this high estate in profound respect. The starving could scarcely be brought within the range of their consideration. Hence the policy adopted by Petersen, and it had its desired effect. Kalutunah and his companion tarried another night, and departed promising to return with such food as the hunt afforded, and exchange it for our valuables. Two weeks—days of misery—passed before their return. We set fox-traps, constructed much after the style of the rabbit-traps of the boys at home, tramping for this purpose over the coast-line for ten miles. One little prisoner only rewarded our pains, while the saucy villains showed themselves boldly by day, barking at us from the top of a rock, dodging across our path at the right and left, and even following us within sight of the hut. But all this was done at a safe distance from our guns.[130] Petersen went far out to sea on the ice, but neither bear nor seal rewarded his toil. We had burned up our lard keg for our semi-daily fire to cook our scanty meals, and now, with a sorrow that went to our hearts, began to break up the "Hope." We knew this step argued badly for the future, but what could we do? Besides, it was poor, water-soaked fuel, and would last but a little while. We saved the straightest and best pieces for trade with the Esquimo. Our scanty meals, badly helped by the stone moss, told upon our health. Stephenson gasped for breath with a heart trouble; Godfrey fainted, and was happily saved a serious fall by being caught in John's arms. <hr style="width: 65%;" />[131] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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