Under the Great Bear

by Kirk Munroe

  CHAPTER XXIII.

  THE COMFORT OF AN ESKIMO LAMP.

  In that dreary waste of snow, unrelieved so far as the eye could reachby so much as a single bush, the making of a camp that should containeven the rudiments of comfort seemed as hopeless to White, who hadalways been accustomed to a timbered country, as it did to Cabot, whoknew nothing of real camp life, and had only played at camping in theAdirondacks. Left to their own devices, they would have passed a mostuncomfortable if not a perilous night, for the mercury stood at manydegrees below zero. But they had Yim with them, and he, beingperfectly at home amid all that desolation, was determined to enjoy allthe home comforts it could be made to yield.

  First he marked out a circular space some twelve feet in diameter, fromwhich he bade his companions excavate the snow with their snowshoes,and throw it out on the windward side. While they were doing this hewent a short distance away, and, from a mass of closely compacted snow,carved out with his knife a number of blocks, as large as could behandled without breaking, to each of which he gave a slight curve.With time enough Yim could have constructed from such slabs a perfectigloo or snow hut, but the fading daylight was very precious, and hedid not consider that the cold was yet sufficiently severe to demand acomplete enclosure. So he merely built a low, hood-like structure onthe windward side of the space the others had cleared. One side ofthis was still further extended by the sledge, relieved of its load andset on edge.

  The precious provisions were placed inside the rude shelter, thesleeping bags covered its floor, and, when all was completed, Yimsurveyed his work with great satisfaction.

  "It is pretty good so far as it goes," admitted. White, dubiously,"but I don't see how we are to get along without at least enough fireto boil a pot of tea, and of course we can't have a fire without wood."

  "That's so," agreed Cabot, shivering.

  Yim only smiled knowingly as he groped among the miscellaneous articlespiled at the back of the hut. From them he finally drew forth ashallow soapstone bowl having one straight side about six inches long.It was shaped something like a clam shell, and was a specimen of theworld-famed Eskimo cooking lamp. He also produced a bladder full ofseal oil.

  "Good enough!" cried Cabot. "Yim has remembered to bring along histravelling cook stove."

  Setting the lamp in the most sheltered corner of the hut, Yim filled itwith oil, and then, drawing forth a pouch that hung from his neck, heproduced a wick made of sphagnum moss previously dried, rolled, andoiled. This he laid carefully along the straight side of the lamp.Then, turning to Cabot, he uttered the single word: "Metches."

  "Great Scott!" exclaimed the young engineer, "I forgot to bring any.But of course you must have some, White."

  "No, I haven't. Matches were among the things you were to look after,and so I never gave them a thought."

  The spirits of the lads, raised to a high pitch of expectation by thesight of Yim's lamp, suddenly sank to zero with the discovery that theyhad no means for lighting it. Yim, however, only smiled at theirdismay. Of course he had long since learned the use of matches, and toappreciate them at their full value; but he also knew how to producefire without their aid in the simplest manner ever devised by primitiveman. It is the friction method of rubbing wood against wood, and, inone form or another, is used all over the world. It was known to themost ancient Egyptians, and is practised to-day by natives of theAmazon valley, dwellers on South Pacific islands, inhabitants of Polarregions, Indians of North America, and the negroes of Central Africa.These widely scattered peoples use various models of wooden drills,ploughs, or saws. But Yim's method is the simplest of all. When hesaw that no matches were forthcoming, he said:

  "A' yite. Me fix um." At the same time he produced two pieces of softwood from some hiding place in his garments. One of these, known asthe "spindle," was a stick about two feet long by three-quarters of aninch in diameter and having a rounded point. The other, called the"hearth," was flat, about eighteen inches in length, half an inchthick, and three inches wide. On its upper surface, close to one edge,were several slight cavities, each just large enough to hold therounded end of the spindle, and from each was cut a narrow slot downthe side of the hearth. This slot is an indispensable feature, andwithout it all efforts to produce fire by wood-friction must fail.

  Laying the hearth on the flat side of a sledge runner and kneeling onit to hold it firmly in position, Yim set the rounded end of hisspindle in one of its depressions, and holding the upper end betweenthe palms of his hands, began to twirl it rapidly, at the same timeexerting all possible downward pressure. As his hands moved towardsthe lower end of the spindle he dexterously shifted them back to thetop, without lifting it or allowing air to get under its lower end.

  With the continuation of the twirling process a tiny stream of woodmeal, ground off by friction, poured through the slot at the side ofthe hearth, and accumulated in a little pile, that all at once began tosmoke. In two seconds more it was a glowing coal of fire. Then Yimdropped his spindle, covered the coal with a bit of tinder previouslymade ready, and blew it into a flame, which he deftly transferred tothe wick of his lamp.

  At sight of the first spiral of smoke our lads had been filled withamazement. As the coal began to glow they uttered exclamations ofdelight, and when the actual flame appeared they broke into suchenthusiastic cheering as set all the dogs to barking in sympathy.

  "It is one of the most wonderful things I ever saw," cried Cabot."I've often read of fire being produced by wood friction, and I havetried it lots of times myself, but as I never could raise even a smoke,and never before met any one who could, I decided that it was all afake got up by story writers."

  "I was rather doubtful about it myself," admitted White. "But, I say!Isn't that a great lamp, and doesn't it make things look cheery?"

  White's approval of "Yim's cook stove," as Cabot called it, was wellmerited, for its five inches of blazing wick yielded as much light andtwice the heat of a first-class kerosene lamp. Over it Yim had alreadysuspended a kettle full of snow, and now he laid a slab of frozen porkclose beside it to be thawed out.

  While waiting for these he fed the dogs, who had been watching him withwistful eyes and impatient yelpings. To each he threw a two-poundchunk of frozen walrus meat, and each devoured his portion with suchravenous rapidity that Cabot declared they swallowed them whole.

  Half an hour after the lamp was lighted it had converted enough snowinto boiling water to provide three steaming cups of tea, and while ourlads sipped at these Yim cut slices of thawed pork, laid them in thefry-pan, and holding this over his lamp soon had them sizzling andbrowning in the most appetising manner. This, with tea and shipbiscuit, constituted their supper.

  When Yim no longer needed his lamp for cooking he removed two-thirds ofits wick and allowed the flame thus reduced to burn all night. Over ithung a kettle of melting snow, and above this, on a snowshoe, supportedby two others, wet mittens and moccasins were slowly but thoroughlydried.

  In spite of the hot tea, their fur-lined sleeping bags, and theeffective wind-break behind which they were huddled, our lads sufferedwith cold long before the night was over, and were quite willing tomake a start when Yim, after a glance at the stars, announced thatdaylight was only three hours away. For breakfast they had morescalding tea and a quantity of hard bread, broken into small bits,soaked in warm water, fried in seal oil, and eaten with sugar. Whitepronounced this fine, but Cabot only ate it under protest, because, ashe said, he must fill up with something.

  The travel of that day, with its accompaniments of blisters andstrained muscles, was much harder than that of the day before, and ourweary lads were thankful when, towards its close, they entered a beltof timber that had been in sight for hours.

  That night they slept warmly and soundly on luxurious beds of spruceboughs beside a great fire frequently replenished by Yim.

  "I tell you what," said Cabot, as, early in the evening, he basked inthe heat of this blaze, "there's nothing in all
this world so good asthat. For my part I consider fire to be the greatest blessing everconferred upon mankind."

  "How about light, air, water, food, and sleep?" asked White.

  "Those are necessaries, but fire is a luxury. Not only that, but it isthe first of all luxuries and the one upon which nearly all othersdepend."

  When, a little later, Cabot lay so close to the blaze that his sleepingbag caught on fire, and he burned his hands in putting it out, Whitelaughingly asked:

  "What do you think of your luxury now?"

  "I think," was the reply, "that it proves itself the greatest ofluxuries by punishing over-indulgence in it with the greatest amount ofpain."

  "Umph!" remarked Yim, who was listening, "Big fire, goot. Baby fire,more goot. Innuit yamp mos' goot of any."

  "Oh, pshaw!" retorted Cabot, "your sooty little lamp isn't in it with ablaze like that."

  On the third day of their journey the party had skirted the edge of thetimber for several hours, when all at once Yim held his head high withdilated nostrils. At the same time it was noticed that the dogs werealso sniffing eagerly.

  "What is it, Yim?"

  "Fire. Injin fire," was the reply.

  "I'd like to know how you can tell an Indian fire from any other," saidCabot. "Especially when it is so far away that I can't smell anythingbut cold air."

  But Yim was right, for, after a while, his companions also smelledsmoke, and a little later the yelping of their dogs was answered byshrill cries from within the timber. Suddenly two tattered scarecrowsof children emerged from the thick growth, stared for an instant, andthen, with terrified expressions, darted back like frightened rabbits.

  "The Arsenic kids!" cried Cabot, who had recognised them. "Now I'llcatch that scoundrel." As he spoke he sprang after the children, andwas instantly lost to view in the low timber.

  "Hold on!" shouted White. "You'll run into an ambush."

  But Cabot, crashing through the undergrowth, failed to hear thewarning, and with the loyalty of true friendship White started afterhim. A minute later he overtook his impulsive comrade standing stilland gazing irresolute at a canvas tent, black with age and smoke, andpatched in many places. It stood on the edge of a small lake, andshowed no sign of occupancy save a slender curl of smoke that driftedfrom a vent hole in its apex.

  "Get behind cover," cried White. "They may take a pot shot at anymoment."

  "I don't believe it," replied Cabot. "Any way, I'm bound to see what'sinside."

  Thus saying he stepped forward and lifted the dingy flap.