Ellis Edward Sylvester
Among the Esquimaux; or Adventures under the Arctic Circle

CHAPTER XXVIII
A HOPELESS TASK

A fearful task confronted the little party. Thirty miles of snow, several feet deep, lay between them and their only haven of refuge, and they were without sled or snow-shoe. If they succeeded in their prodigious task, it must be done by sheer strength and the power of continued desperation.

But, with compressed lips and the resolution to do or die, they bent to the work without faltering.

The Esquimau naturally took the lead to break the way so far as he could; Jack Cosgrove came next, then Rob Carrol, while Fred Warburton brought up the rear.

The first move that the native made proved he was a veteran. He plunged in, following the decline down to the plateau, which was the scene of their adventures two days before. He walked like one who had only an ordinary tramp before him. In truth, he could have gone faster and done better, but he accommodated himself to his friends, to whom the labor was new and trying to a degree.

None spoke for a long time. It requires strength to do even so slight a thing as that, and no one had an ounce to spare. The question that was uppermost in the minds of the three was whether they would be able to hold out to the end.

"I don't see why we can't," reflected Fred, who, being at the rear, had an easier task than any of the others; "it would be well enough if we had snow-shoes, but neither Jack nor Rob nor I can use them, and we would flounder around a good deal worse than we are doing now and likely enough wouldn't get ahead at all."

The meditations of Rob Carrol were of a similar strain.

"I've seen better fun than this, but it beats staying in the cavern and freezing to death on wolf steak. I believe I'm strong enough to see the business through; I hope Fred won't give out, for he isn't as strong as Jack and I. I believe Docak enjoys it. Gracious! if I ever live to get out of this outlandish country, I'll never set foot in it again. I haven't lost any North Pole, and those that think they have can do their own hunting for it."

The sun still remained obscured, and the wonder of the three was how their guide kept his bearings, after debouching from the highlands and entering upon the broad, undulating plain which stretched away to Davis Strait and Baffin's Bay. There was no misgiving, however, in that respect. Docak could not go astray, or, at least, if there was any likelihood of his doing so, not one of his friends was able to help him.

As the boys had anticipated, the labor of walking in this difficult fashion soon generated a warmth in their bodies that was a vast comfort, after sitting benumbed and shivering so long in the cavern. Despite the extreme cold they felt no discomfort, for the air was quite dry, and less trying, therefore, than a damp atmosphere would have been, even though twenty-five degrees higher.

But it is in such an Arctic climate that one can have his limbs or a portion of his body hopelessly frozen without suspecting it. All were so effectually protected that only a small portion of their faces, their eyes, and tips of their noses were exposed.

The bear-skin, which has been referred to as belonging to Docak, was carried by him after his usual manner. He would have offered it to his friends in turn, had he not known that it would soon have become a burden which he could carry better than they.

Jack, who trod close on the heels of the Esquimau, was admiring the sturdy manner in which he plowed through the snow, his labor being much greater than any one of those who followed him, when the native turned his head and scanned his face with curious intensity. Pausing for the moment in his labor, he leaned to one side, and did the same to the others. His act was all the more singular since he did not speak. The lads smiled under their head-coverings, but their faces were so wrapped up that the relaxation of the features could not be perceived.

"I wonder why he did that," thought all three.

"The chap has been acting curious ever since this trouble began," continued the sailor, "and I wouldn't be s'prised if he's just a little off."

"Can it be," asked Rob, following up a whimsical idea, "that he fears we aren't ourselves? He has started out to take us to the seacoast, and doesn't mean that anybody else shall rope himself in on him. I guess he's satisfied, though we're so covered up that our nearest friends wouldn't know us."

For fully an hour the party toiled on, and all, with the exception of the leader, began to feel the effects of the severe exertion. Still, no one protested or asked for rest; each determined to keep it up, if possible, until the leader chose to halt.

But Docak did not forget them. At the end of the time named he turned about, and, with something of his old pleasantry, said:

"Much tired – wait while – den go on."

Each of the boys longed to ask him what he thought of the prospect of getting through, but forebore, recalling his moodiness, which might be still upon him despite his present manner.

"I think we're doing quite well, Docak," said Jack; "it's a little hard, but we can take a breathing spell now and then, and keep at it till we strike your home."

Had the Esquimau made any response to this half-inquiring remark the sailor would have followed it up, but he did not. On the contrary, he was busy studying the sky and the surrounding landscape, doubtless with a view of determining what weather changes impended.

The others did the same, but though Jack had learned a good deal of the science at sea he was now at a loss. The dull, leaden sky, so obscured that it was impossible to tell in what part of the heavens the sun was, told him nothing beyond the fact that more snow was likely to fall before many hours.

As the best thing that could be done, the friends studied the actions of the Esquimau.

The result of his survey was not satisfactory – that was clear. He shook his head and muttered something in his own language, which had anything but a pleasant effect on the others.

The scene was one of utter loneliness and desolation. North, east, south, and west stretched the snowy plain, unrelieved by tree, house, or sign of a living creature. Far up in the sky sounded the honk of some wild fowl, and, looking aloft, a line of black specks could be seen, sailing swiftly southward through space, as if to escape the Arctic cold that would soon smother everything in its icy embrace.

The rest was barely ten minutes, when Docak, looking at his companions, asked:

"Be rested? We go on?"

"Yes; we're ready," replied Jack.

"All right – work hard now – don't get tired."

"I won't, if I can help it; but the only way I know of is to stand still, which don't pay in this kind of business."

The Esquimau bent to his work, as if striving for a wager. He had a way not only of stepping down in the soft snow, but of shoving it partly aside from his path. It would have been the severest kind of labor for anyone else, and it is hard to understand how he managed it so well. It was a great help to the one immediately behind him. Jack would have been glad to lighten the task for the boys, but that was out of his power, and he wasted no strength in the attempt.

The party was becoming accustomed to the work. That the guide was aware of this was proven when he kept at it fully twice as long as before. They were going slowly – very slowly – but there was comfort in the consciousness that every step taken was toward safety, and the task before them was lessened, even to that small extent.

At the moment the boys were beginning to think it about time another halt was called, Docak stopped in his former abrupt way, and, leaning to one side, peered into each face in turn.

Something in Fred's appearance caught his attention, and, with an exclamation, he sprang out of the path, and hurried back to where the lad stood, wondering what was the matter with the fellow.

CHAPTER XXIX
TEN MILES

Docak, when flurried, generally forgot his broken English, and spoke in his own tongue. Before Fred could divine his intention he had slipped off one of his mittens, grasped a handful of snow, and throwing one arm about the boy's neck, began rubbing his nose as though he meant to rub it out of existence.

The watchful native was on the watch for the first sign of freezing in the case of his companions, and, discovering that the youngest member was becoming a victim without himself or friends suspecting it, he resorted to heroic measures, with no unnecessary delay.

Fred understood what it all meant, and, like the sensible boy he was, submitted with good grace, though the vigorous handling to which that organ was subjected made it hard for him to keep from protesting. Not only that, but, when the Esquimau, pausing to inspect his work, said:

"All right," Fred thanked him.

Jack and Rob, who looked grinningly on, while the performance lasted, now asked Docak whether they were in need of a similar manipulation. He took another look at the faces, and gave Rob's a slight rubbing, but said nothing more was needed.

It was a piece of thoughtfulness on the part of the native, for which he deserved to receive gratitude. But for him Fred Warburton, and probably the others, would have suffered injuries from which they never could have recovered.

Having rested but a brief while, Docak moved on, and the dismal procession wound its way slowly through the snow, which clogged their feet and obstructed their path to that extent that more than once the hardy guide had to come to a full halt that he might decide in what way to flank the obstacle.

The blizzard had played fantastic tricks with the snow. In many places it was drifted to a depth of six or eight feet, through which, as may be supposed, it was the severest labor to force a path. In others, again, it had swept the crust entirely clear of the new layer, so that they walked as easily as when making their way from the coast. Unfortunately, these bare places, as they may be called, were not only few and far apart, but of such slight extent that their aid counted for little.

There is nothing more cheering than the certainty that we are approaching our goal, even though the rate of progress is more tardy than we wish. As the afternoon drew to a close Fred was positive they had made fully twenty miles. Rob believed it was more, but, to be on the safe side, fell in with his friend's figures. When Jack was appealed to he declined to hazard a guess, saying he preferred to wait till the halt for the night, when he would leave it to Docak.

"He'll tell you within a quarter of a mile," added the sailor, "and he won't make a mistake. I can let you know one thing, howsumever, my hearties, and that is that you'll find it a good deal less than you think."

"I don't know about that," said Rob; "Fred and I have calculated the matter pretty closely."

"You may think so, but you haven't. We have worked hard enough to tramp a hundred miles, but we haven't been able to use it in the best way."

Another fact, which might mean a good deal or little, was that a marked moderation in the temperature took place in the course of the afternoon. What this portended was left to the Esquimau to determine. Toiling through the snow was not favorable to conversation, and it was dropped.

With only short halts the party pushed onward, until night began settling over the dreary landscape. They would have kept on had not the darkness been impenetrable. The sun had not shown itself during the day, and the obscurity was so dense that not a solitary star twinkled overhead.

"Besides," as the boys concluded, "the rest of the distance is so brief that we can afford to leave it until morning, by which time we will be fully rested. Inasmuch as it is necessary to pass a night on the road, one spot is as good as another."

Camping at such times is simple. They were in the middle of a snowy waste, without tree or rock to shelter. Starting a fire, of course, was out of the question. A slight wind was blowing, and though less rigorous than that of the preceding night, it was necessary to protect themselves from its force while they were idle.

For a few minutes Docak acted like a man seized with convulsions or the St. Vitus' dance. He leaped about, kicked, and swung his arms, the snow flying in a storm from him, until, at the end of a few minutes, he had scooped out a bowl-like space, large enough to hold the party. In doing this he cleared the way down to the lower crust only, which was strong enough to bear their weight. To have dug to the ground would have been too laborious, and no special advantage was to be gained by doing so.

This completed, he carefully spread his bear-skin on the hard surface, and the four seated themselves back to back. They had camped for the night.

The discomforts of this primitive method were less than would be supposed. There is warmth in snow, as you are well aware, cold being a negative existence, and, so long as they were below the surface, they could not be reached by the wind that swept across the dismal waste. Then, too, the change in the temperature was in the right direction as affecting their comfort, so there was little fear of suffering before morning.

When they were adjusted for the night, Rob asked the question of Docak which had been in his mind for hours:

"How far have we got toward home?"

Fred was confident the answer would be twenty miles; while Rob was quite hopeful it would be more. Judge, therefore, their consternation when the reply struck their ears:

"Purty near ten mile – not quite – purty near."

The hopes of the boys sank to zero. Jack, knowing they had placed their estimate too high, still believed it greater than was the fact.

Ten miles! Barely a third of the distance between the cavern and the first place that could offer refuge.

They had used a day in advancing thus far. At that rate two more days, and possibly nights, remained ere the terrible task would be ended. They had eaten the last mouthful before starting, leaving behind some food which they might have brought, but which was not deemed necessary.

It was not the prospect of hunger that appalled them. In such a severe climate they could go a couple of days without food, and not suffer greatly, though the draught upon their strength would be trying to the last degree.

The great question was whether the task they had essayed was a possible one. Recalling the terrific exertions of the day, their exhaustion, and the repeated rests that were necessary, they might well doubt their ability, though it need not be said there was no thought of giving up so long as life and strength held out.

"Ten miles," repeated Fred Warburton; "are the Esquimau miles the same as our English, or aren't they double their length?"

"I don't know about that," said Rob; "they must get their ideas from the Danes, who have a system of measurement different from ours, but it don't matter in this instance."

"Why not?"

"When we set out, and after reaching the hills, Docak told us we were thirty miles from home; he tells us now that we are ten miles less."

"Not quite ten mile – purty near," interrupted the native.

"Well, calling it ten miles, we have come about one-third of the way to the coast. No matter what system of measurement is followed we can't figure out that we have gone further than that."

"And not quite that far," suggested Jack, who was not less disappointed than they, but was quicker to rally.

"It isn't the thing calculated to make a chap feel good to learn a thing like that," he added; "but all we've got to do is to buckle down to it and we'll get there one of these days, with fair sailing and no more squalls."

"It is those squalls or blizzards, Jack, that are the real danger before us."

It was Rob who made this remark, and his friends knew he spoke the truth.

CHAPTER XXX
THE LAST PAUSE

The night slowly settled over the snow waste, and the little party, feeling no discomfort because of the cold, gradually sank into unconsciousness.

Just before slumber weighed down their eye-lids the dismal howl of a wolf echoed faintly across the plain. All heard it, and Jack and the boys believed that one of the brutes had struck the trail of the hunters, and would soon be hot upon it, with an eager pack at his heels. Jack asked the Esquimau whether they ought not to prepare for a fight, but he replied that there were no preparations to make. Each had his loaded gun and a good supply of ammunition; they could fight as well there as in any other place.

Docak showed no trepidation of voice and manner, and his coolness had a good effect upon the others. They were sure that, if there was any cause for alarm, he would feel it.

This confidence proved well placed; for that single cry was all that reached their ears. They slept, and were not molested.

But sometime during the night the fine snow began sifting downward, falling so gently that even the Esquimau was not disturbed. Through the long gloomy hours it silently descended, until when the daylight stole over the desolate plain, fully six inches had been added to the mass that covered the earth long before.

Sitting nearly upright and back to back, the pressure upon the sleepers was so slight and gradual that no discomfort resulted. All were so worn out that their slumber was profound, doubtless lasting as long as it would have done had no such snowfall taken place.

It was Jack Cosgrove who first opened his eyes, and his amazement may be imagined when he saw their laps buried out of sight, only the outlines of their limbs showing, while head and shoulders were weighted down with the feathery mass.

"By the great horned spoon!" he called, shaking himself free and rising to his feet, with such a flurry that the others were aroused; "wake up, for we're all snowed under, and, if we wait a few minutes longer, we'll be buried clean out of sight."

"What's the matter?" called Rob, being the next to climb to his feet; "has the snow tumbled in on us?"

"Yes; and more of it is tumbling every minute."

Docak was astonished that he had not been the first to awake, for his mind was burdened with anxiety for the rest. He forgot that, inasmuch as his labors had been far greater than theirs, his weariness of body was in more need of rest.

"What time be it?" he asked of the boys, who carried watches.

The answer showed that day had dawned more than two hours before. He sighed at the knowledge of the precious time wasted. Harder work than ever was before them, and when night came again they might count themselves fortunate if one-half the remaining distance was accomplished.

Rising to their feet, with their heads above the surface, they found the snow falling so fast that they could not see fifty feet in any direction.

"How can Docak keep his bearings?" asked Rob, in a low voice, of the others, when the native, walking a few feet, paused and looked earnestly about him.

"It doesn't seem to me that it is any harder for him to do so than it was yesterday when there was no snow falling."

"There is a big difference. We couldn't have done any better in the one case than the other, but he could see the sky. He knew where the sun was, though we did not; and there must have been something in the looks of the landscape to help, but there is none of that now."

"I can give you the right answer to Fred's question," said Jack, in the same guarded undertone.

"What is it?"

"When you ask whether Docak can keep the p'ints of the compass in his mind, and make sure that he is heading straight for home, the real answer is – he can't."

There could be no denying that the sailor spoke the truth. The native, like the Indians further south, may have possessed a subtle skill in the respect named beyond the comprehension of his more civilized neighbors, but, in all cases, there is a limit to such ability. Where there is nothing to afford guide or clue no living man can walk in a straight line – hour after hour, or hold his way undeviatingly toward a fixed point of the compass.

But, admitting this unquestioned truth, nothing was more self-evident than that it was sure death to stay where they were; the one and only thing left to them was to push on while the opportunity was theirs.

The Esquimau was a man of deeds rather than words. He showed no disposition to discuss the situation, and, beyond a few insignificant words, said nothing to his companions, who were as eager to be on the move as he. He stood a minute or two in study, and then, uttering the words:

"Come on – work hard – neber stop," began pushing through the snow with the vigor shown the day before.

The others followed in the order named, and with a resolution as strong as his to keep it up to the last verge of endurance.

It was necessary. In no other way could they escape the frightful doom that impended. Another condition was equally necessary; their efforts must be rightly directed. The guide must lead them toward the sea-coast. Had he the power to do so? The test was now going on, and the question would soon be settled.

They were terrible words spoken by Jack, but the time had passed when he felt it necessary to mince matters. He had done so at the beginning, but his companions were not children unable to bear the truth, however unpleasant it might be.

But, despite the good reason in what he said, neither Rob nor Fred quite credited its full meaning. While they could not explain how any person could guide himself unerringly, when there was no visible help for the eye, they believed that somehow or other he would "get there just the same."

They proved their own earnestness when Docak, after a long struggle through the clogging snow, stopped, turned about, and said:

"You be tired – then rest awhile."

"No," responded Fred, "I want no rest."

"Push on, then," added Rob, "unless you are tired yourself, Docak."

The idea that the native needed rest caused him a half-smile, as he faced forward and resumed his weary plowing through the snowy mass.

There was no call now to watch the countenances of the youths to protect them against freezing. The weather was so moderate that they would have felt more comfortable with their outer covering removed. If the blizzard had come back, it was in such a mild form that it could lay no claim to the name. It was simply snowing hard, and there was only a breath of air at intervals. Had there been anything approaching the hurricane of two days before, they could not have fought their way for a single rod.

When the guide, after another long interval, proposed a brief rest, it was acquiesced in by all. They had kept at it longer than before, and the pause must have been grateful to Docak himself.

"We are not going fast," remarked Rob, "but I am sure we have covered a good deal of ground since starting, and when we go into camp to-night there ought not to be many miles between us and the sea."

"Remember the mistake we made in our calculations," said Fred, warningly, "and don't count too much."

"How far have we come?" asked Jack, putting the question directly to the Esquimau.

"Dunno," he answered, turning about and resuming his labor.

"That's the last time I will ask him anything," growled the sailor, displeased at the curt treatment.

A sad story awaits our pen. The poor hunters toiled on, on, on, slower and still more slowly, with the snow falling thicker and still more thickly, and the uncertainty growing more intensified as the day wore away. With short intervals of rest they kept at it with heroic courage, until at last the shades of night began closing once more around them. Then, all of a sudden, the Esquimau uttered a despairing cry and threw himself down in the snow.

He had made a terrifying discovery. They had come back to the very spot where they spent the previous night. All day long they had journeyed in an irregular circle, as lost persons almost invariably do, and the dreadful labor was utterly thrown away.

The Esquimau had essayed a task beyond his power, and he now threw up his hands and would struggle no more.