The Wilderness Castaways. Dillon Wallace
made a short cut around the opposite side of the pan, and as the boat shot out behind the ice its bow nearly struck the bear. The pursuers were no less surprised than the pursued, and as the boat darted past, the bear made a vicious lunge with its powerful paw, caught it amidships and nearly capsized it.
Dan made a graceful swing, and brought the hunters almost too close to the animal to permit the use of guns. It charged them again, but Dan, on the lookout for this maneuver, neatly avoided it.
“Now, Paul,” advised Remington, “shoot!”
The bear was less than twenty feet from the boat, but Paul was still in so high a state of excitement that he missed two shots, and it was only at the third attempt that he struck the animal in the head, and it collapsed.
“It’s a stunning big fellow!” Remington declared, while he slipped a rope over the animal’s neck to tow it to the ship.
“That was a splendid shot from the ship—I doubt if I could have made it,” said Ainsworth. “And you’ve got the first game of the trip, Paul.”
“’Twere a rare fine shot,” put in Dan. “I were standin’ by, an’ I’ve missed many a better.”
When the bear was at length hoisted on deck it proved indeed to be a monster polar bear, and Captain Bluntt declared it one of the largest he had ever seen.
Paul’s pleasure was beyond bounds. His face, which was already losing its sallow, yellow appearance, glowed with delight. He was in a fair way to have his head turned by the unstinted praise of his companions.
The fine smoking roast which came on the supper table that evening certainly had an appetizing appearance, but when Paul received a helping he fancied he detected a fishy odor, and when he tasted the meat he made a wry face and exclaimed:
“Ugh! Why, it’s strong with fish!”
“A bit fishy in flavor, lad. A bit fishy,” agreed Captain Bluntt. “But a man o’ the sea and a sportsman shouldn’t mind that.”
“Well I don’t like it,” asserted Paul, “but I killed it and I’m going to eat some of it anyway.”
“That’s the right spirit,” said Remington, “but I think I’ll pass it by. I never could bring myself to eat polar bear or seal. Perhaps because I never had to.”
“I can’t say that I care for it,” admitted Ainsworth.
“’Tis fine meat, I thinks,” declared Captain Bluntt, helping himself liberally. “I finds it fine. Bear’s meat is rare strong meat.”
“I don’t think I can go it,” said Paul, who had tried another mouthful. “It’s strong, all right—too strong of fish for me.”
“I weren’t meanin’ that kind o’ strong. No, no! ’Tis good, wholesome, strengthenin’ meat. ’Tis not so high flavored of fish, either, as old swile, an’ swile is good.”
“Swile? What’s that?” asked Paul.
“Seal, lad, seal. We calls un swile in Newfoundland and down on the Labrador. Swile an’ ice bears live on fish, lad, and ’tis but natural they should carry a bit of the flavor of fish. That rascal the cook should have given un an extra parboil.”
“I didn’t suppose any one but Eskimos ate seal.”
“Only Eskimos eat seal! No, no, lad! We all eats un an’ likes un. Old seal is a bit high flavored, but white coats I finds as sweet an’ fine as mutton or fowl.”
“What are white coats?”
“Never heard of white coats? Well! Well! You sure has some things to learn of the North. White coats is young seals—very young uns.”
“I never heard them called that.” Paul felt some resentment at the implication that he was not well informed.
The sun went down that night in a blaze of wondrous glory. No human artist would dare be so prodigal with his colors or resort to such marvelous blendings of shades as the Almighty Artist paints into His sunsets upon the sky of the Arctic and sub-Arctic regions. The sunset on this occasion was unusually gorgeous. Brilliant reds shaded up into opalescent purples, deep orange into lighter yellow, reaching to the very dome of heaven. The water reflected the red, and the North Star seemed steaming through a mighty heaving, throbbing sea of blood. It was as though the earth’s very heart had been laid bare.
For a long time it lasted. Paul and his friends stood enthralled. It made them breathe deeply. They felt that they were in the presence of some mighty power, that very near them was the Master Himself, He who guides the world in its eternal journey, and holds in their places the innumerable millions of stars and untold other worlds that reach out into infinite space.
“Isn’t this wonderful—wonderful!” exclaimed Paul, at the end of a period of breathless awe.
“I never saw anything to compare with it!” declared Ainsworth. “It’s beyond the dreams of my wildest imagination!”
“It’s nowhere but in the North that such sunsets are ever seen,” said Remington.
“Fine sunset, sir. Fine sunset,” remarked Captain Bluntt, as he passed them on his way to the chart house.
“It promises a good day tomorrow, doesn’t it?” asked Remington
“Not so sure of that, sir. Not so sure of that.”
Captain Bluntt’s pessimistic prophecy of the morrow’s weather was well founded. When day broke the sea was enveloped in a blanket of fog—thick, stifling, impenetrable. The rigging dripped moisture, the decks were wet and slippery, the atmosphere was heavy, clammy, difficult to breathe.
For two days the fog lay over the sea like a pall. The North Star, her engines working at slow speed, felt her way cautiously, for she was in uncharted waters. The tremendous tides of Ungava Bay render navigation here dangerous, even under the most favorable conditions, and Captain Bluntt was not the man to take undue risks, though he was a fearless seaman, and in his time had done many dashing and daring deeds, when circumstances had demanded.
Following the fog came several hours of cold dismal rain, accompanied by sleet. Then the clouds broke, and as though some fairy hand had brushed them away, the sky cleared and the sun shone warm and beautiful to cheer the depressed world.
“And there lies Cape Wolstenholm, sir,” said Captain Bluntt, pointing toward a low-lying coast off their port bow. “We’ll soon be in Hudson Bay now, sir, and what’s your pleasure?”
“While the fine weather holds I think we’d better do some fishing,” answered Remington. “Besides, I think we all want to get ashore to stretch our legs.”
“As you say—as you say, sir! But we’ll have to locate some huskies, sir, and get a native pilot.”
Upon rounding Cape Wolstenholm, which occupies the northwestern extremity of the Labrador peninsula, the ship swung in close to the coast, and, proceeding with great care, the leadsman calling his fathoms, felt its way between several small islands, until, the following morning, a safe anchorage was found outside a large island near the head of Mosquito Bay.
“We’ll be sure to find huskies up this bay, sir,” assured Captain Bluntt. “We can’t risk the ship any farther, sir. It won’t do, sir. But it’s a short run for the power boat to the head of that bay, and unless I’m mistaken there’ll be plenty of huskies there, sir. Yes, sir, plenty of ’em. I’ll send Tom Hand. Tom Hand speaks their lingo. Tom! Tom Hand!” he called.
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Go ashore, Tom. We wants a husky pilot; a good one. A good husky, now! Dan! Here, you rascal! Go ashore with Tom, and help him look after things!”
“Come, fellows, we’ll go along,” suggested Remington to Ainsworth and Paul. “We’ll not be in the way, will we, Captain.”
“No, no! Go ashore if you likes. Better take some grub with you. Dan, tell the cook to put up some grub! Look sharp, now!”
Presently