We talked over ways and means. The ice in Bering Strait, I found, had broken up so that I should be unable to get across by sledge; later on I could get a whale-boat, he said, with some Eskimo, to take me across to the Diomede Islands and from there another whale-boat or a skin-boat to get across to Cape Prince of Wales. That would be some time in May, just when would depend entirely on the amount of ice in the waters of the Strait. The present was a kind of between-season time when it was too late for sledges and too early for boats. It would be June before any ships would get to East Cape.
It seemed to me that my best chance of getting immediately in touch with Ottawa would be to go south to Anadyr and send a message from the wireless station there. Mr. Caraieff was inclined to think that the season was already so advanced that I would not really save any time in that way, because the ice would be breaking up in the rivers that I must cross on the way and there was an even chance that when I reached Anadyr I might find that the wireless was out of commission, in which event my journey would be in vain. At Emma Harbor on Providence Bay was a Mr. Thompson, he said, who had a schooner with a gasoline engine. He would be leaving for Nome the first week in June and would take me with him.
Thinking things over I felt that the trip to Anadyr would be worth the risk, for even if the wireless were out of commission there I could still get across to Nome, so the next day, with Mr. Caraieff’s assistance, I made all arrangements with some natives to take me to Indian Point, where I could get some other natives to take me on to Anadyr. We planned to start in a day or so and I considered the matter settled, when over night, so to speak, came a rapidly increasing swelling in my legs and feet, due, I suppose, to the punishment they had received, and before I realized it I found myself a helpless invalid, forced to accept Mr. Caraieff’s kind hospitality.
My host had a Russian servant by the name of Koshimuroff, who was most assiduous in his efforts to restore my legs to their normal condition, massaging them faithfully at Mr. Caraieff’s direction. He filled a large pork-barrel about half full of warm water and I took the first bath I had had since I left Shipwreck Camp. He also cut my hair, what there was left of it; the constant use of the hood had literally worn much of it off the top of my head; several months elapsed before it grew out again. I also shaved, and when I saw myself in the looking-glass, after shaving and having my hair cut, I hardly recognized myself.
My stay here was made pleasant by the opportunity I had, when my eyes became more nearly normal, to read the magazines which Mr. Charles Carpendale, an Australian-born trader, with a station at the same place as Mr. Caraieff’s, brought me. These had been sent across from Nome the previous summer and were not what might be described in the language of the train-boy as “all the latest magazines,” but they were a pleasure to me, just the same, as they are to all the traders who are scattered up and down the Siberian coast.
The third day after my arrival I was sitting alone in the front room of Mr. Caraieff’s house when in walked a Russian gentleman who shook hands with me and introduced himself in English as Baron Kleist, the Supervisor of Northeastern Siberia. He passed on in search of my host and shortly afterwards returned with him and we all sat and talked, while I showed the Baron my charts. I had been looking for him for several days, for I knew that he had left his home at Emma Harbor shortly after New Year’s Day and had been on an inspection trip, across country to Koliuchin Bay and eastward along the coast, ever since. He was now bound home again.
He had heard of me from Mr. Olsen at Koliuchin Bay and had been told by him that I was a man of fifty-five or so. “I see that you are much younger than I was told you were,” he said. Later on in the progress of our pleasant acquaintance, as I began to show the good effects of rest and substantial food, he said, “You’re getting younger every day. After all there is not much difference in our ages.” He was a man of about forty, only a few years older than myself.
He told us all the news. It was two months old but I had heard hardly any news of the outside world for nearly a year. Nothing unusual had happened or seemed likely to happen. Peace reigned everywhere. He told us of the discovery the previous year of Nicholas II Land off the Taimir Peninsula by the Russian ships Taimir and Vaigatch under the command of Captain Vilkitski, an achievement of which as a Russian he might be justly proud.
Baron Kleist discussed with me the best course for me to pursue in getting word to the Canadian Government. He planned to leave about May 10 for Emma Harbor, he said, and he asked me to go along with him and be his guest at his home. Mr. Caraieff from Cape North had come to East Cape about the time the baron arrived, and I had made arrangements for him to take me to Emma Harbor, so it was arranged that we should all travel together. Kataktovick I would leave at East Cape; we had taken him on at Point Barrow, but he said he wanted to go to Point Hope. I could give him provisions and outfit enough to last him for some time and, after navigation opened, he could get a ship to take him across to Point Hope.
Corrigan went back to Cape Serdze. Before he left he begged very hard for my binoculars, so I finally gave them to him on condition that he would never part with them; this he promised faithfully.