The Wilderness Castaways

“Then in comes th’ Moravian missionary from Nain, a wonderful kind man. He asks where my mother is. I tells he how my mother goes away to look for my father an’ never comes back, an’ th’ hard time I has. That th’ baby were hungry, but she’s sleepin’ now.

“He goes an’ looks at un, an’ then very quiet he covers un over with th’ blanket, an’ puttin’ his hand on my head an’ lookin’ in my eyes, he says: ‘Is you brave, lad? We all has troubles, lad, an’ you must be brave to meet yours.’

“Then he calls old Muklutuk, his driver, to bring in some grub. They puts on a good fire, an’ gives me a plenty t’ eat, an’ goes away sayin’ they’ll be back by night.

“When they comes back the missionary holds me up to him, and he says, very kind: ‘Lad, I’m goin’ to take you to a new home, for your father and mother has been called away to heaven by th’ Lord. He’ll be needin’ ’em there, an’ they can’t come back t’ you, but th’ Lord wants me t’ take you with me.’

“I were wonderful lonesome when he says that, at not seein’ mother an’ father again, but I holds back th’ tears, for mother has often been tellin’ me that some day th’ Lord might be callin’ she or father away t’ live in heaven, an’ not t’ cry or feel bad about un, for ’t would be right, as everything th’ Lord done were right.

“Well, th’ missionary takes me on his komatik t’ th’ station where he lives, an’ th’ women there cries over me an’ makes a wonderful lot o’ me, an’ every one there is wonderful kind.”

“What had happened to your father and mother?” asked Ainsworth, after a pause.

“I were comin’ t’ that. He’d been meetin’ with an accident, his gun goin’ off an’ shootin’ his foot off. She finds him in th’ snow, an’ tries t’ carry him home, but ’t were too much for she, an’ when it comes on t’ snow again she sticks to him, an’ they both freezes t’ death. Leastwise that’s what th’ missionary thinks, for he finds un froze stone dead. Mother has her arms around father, holdin’ he close to her bosom, as though tryin’ to keep he warm.

“So you sees, sir, how I come t’ speak th’ Eskimo lingo. My mother were a half-breed of th’ Labrador.”

“The baby?” asked Paul, much moved by the story. “What became of that?”

“The baby were dead for a long while ere th’ missionary comes.”

Tom rose and threw some fresh wood on the fire, cut some fresh tobacco from his plug, refilled his pipe, and sat down again.

“But you live in Newfoundland now, Tom?” Remington asked.

“Oh, aye, sir. My father’s brother comes down t’ the Labrador fishing the next summer, and takes me home with he. I’d like wonderful well for you t’ meet my woman, and my little lad and lass, sir. There’s no likelier lad and lass on the coast, sir. They’re wonderful likely, sir.”

Dan resumed his soft music on the harmonica. Twilight gave way to darkness. Beyond the campfire’s circle of light the forest lay black. Below them the rapid roared. In the North the aurora flashed up its gorgeous glory.

“Well,” said Remington at length, rising, “I reckon it’s time to turn in for we want to be out early and make the most of our time.”

His warm sleeping bag seemed very cozy to Paul when he crawled into it, this first night he had ever spent in camp, the perfume of his spruce bough bed very sweet, and quickly he fell into deep and restful slumber, to be suddenly awakened by the sharp report of a rifle.

CHAPTER V

WRECKED

IT was broad daylight. Remington and Ainsworth were gone. Bang! Bang! Bang! The shots came in quick succession, and not far above the camp. Paul was frightened for a moment, then highly excited. He disentangled himself from his sleeping bag, sprang to the front of the tent and shouted to Tom, who was unconcernedly cooking breakfast:

“What is it? What’s up?”

“Bears.”

He drew on his clothes as quickly as possible, grabbed his rifle and ran in the direction of the shooting. A little way up the ravine he came upon Remington, Ainsworth, Dan and Kuglutuk, surveying the carcasses of two polar bears.

“Hello, Paul, you’re a little late for the fun,” greeted Remington.

“Got two,” said Ainsworth.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“No time for that. Dan was poking around up here and saw them coming, and we had to hustle as it was.”

“It would only have taken a minute to call me.”

“Yes, but that would have been a minute too long, if they had happened to get a sniff of camp, and only for the north breeze they would have anyway, and been off before Dan saw them.”

“Did they put up any fight?”

“Didn’t have a chance. We got them quick. Close shot and no trick at all. Nothing like your shot.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t up earlier. What were they doing on land? I thought they kept to the ice.”

“No, we’re liable to see them anywhere on these shores. Guess they were going down to catch a salmon breakfast in our pool at the foot of the rapid.”

They saw no more bears while encamped on Richmond Gulf, though they caught plenty of salmon and trout, and now and again took excursions back into the hills and along the streams where ptarmigans were found, or took advantage of excellent duck and goose shooting on near-by lakes. Mallards and black ducks were plentiful, great flocks of wavies flew overhead and the Canada gray goose was fairly numerous.

The sport was so good, in fact, that the week which they had originally planned to remain ashore lengthened into two, and it was a fortnight after their arrival when reluctantly they broke camp one morning and returned to the North Star, carrying with them enough salmon and trout to supply both cabin and forecastle for several days.

“Glad to see you! Glad to see you!” greeted Captain Bluntt as they drew alongside the ship. “Good sport? Have a good time?”

“Bully!” answered Remington. “Never better. Salmon and trout hungry for flies, and we got two bears in the bargain.”

“Good! Good, sir! And how did you find it, youngster?”

“Fine and dandy,” answered Paul. “Best time I ever had in my life.”

“Good! Good! Glad you’re aboard, Mr. Remington—glad you’re aboard. Barometer falling rapidly—outlook for bad weather—northeast blow, I’m thinkin’. Bad anchorage here. We’ll make for open sea. Get right away. Growing a bit nervous about it, sir—just a bit nervous.”

“All right, Captain,” said Remington. “We’re ready to go.”

Anchor was weighed, and slowly the North Star felt her way out of the uncertain waters toward the wide bosom of Hudson Bay.

“Now,” asked Captain Bluntt, when they had gained “elbow room,” as he expressed it, “what’s your pleasure, sir?”

“Well,” said Remington, “we want to have a little walrus hunting, we’d like to pick up another bear or two, and I’m mighty anxious to get a crack at caribou before we leave the country. Kuglutuk says, though, that all the caribou on this side are far inland on the highlands, and out of reach. I’ve been thinking that we might cross to the other side somewhat south of Chesterfield Inlet, and perhaps find caribou there, then cruise back along the islands looking for bear, and stop up toward Mosquito Bay a few days for our walrus hunt before we strike for home. Kuglutuk says the Eskimos up there will help us.”

“Good plan! Good plan, sir! But we must try to be through the straits by middle of September. Taking chances, sir—taking chances with ice if we’re any later, sir.”

“All right, Captain. That’ll give us over three weeks. We won’t spend much time with walrus, but we’d like to get two or three heads for trophies.”

The blow that was predicted came. It began with driving rain and sleet, which swept the sea in blinding sheets, and a rising northeast wind pounded Hudson Bay into a fury of wild white-crested waves that tossed and buffeted the North Star. But Captain Bluntt was an able master. He kept well offshore, faced the storm, and lay to, using only enough power to permit him to hold his position, and making no attempt to proceed upon the voyage.

Thus a week was consumed, and September was near at hand, when at length the clouds wearied of their task, and the sun again shone out of a clear sky through a glorious, transparent atmosphere.

But the northeast gale had reaped a harvest of ice from the Arctic waters, sweeping it down into Hudson Bay, where the packs broke into fragments, and vagrant pans were distributed far and wide, steadily working their way southward. This was not bay ice such as had been encountered off the eastern coast of Labrador, but the adamantine product of the Arctic. There was little difficulty, however, in avoiding the larger and widely distributed pans, and the smaller fragments bobbing here and there in the swell were quite harmless to the strongly built little steamship.

“Looks bad for the straits, sir, bad,” remarked Captain Bluntt, descending from the barrel in the foremast. “I’m thinkin’ th’ straits has plenty of ice now, plenty, sir. Bad place to meet ice, sir! Bad place! But if the weather holds calm for a week most of it’ll work out.”