[CHAPTER VIII]
LIFE AT AN ARCTIC MISSION
The first thing to be undertaken after the Chimo was safely moored in her snug berth was the removal of Gerald Hamer to the little log hospital that was the pride of the doctor’s heart. This was accomplished without any danger from exposure by means of a canvas-covered litter especially constructed for the occasion. To be undressed for the first time in many days, given a warm bath, and placed in a bed that was actually spread with sheets was to be so “lapped in luxury” that, as the sick man whispered to Phil, any one who wouldn’t get well under such conditions deserved to die.
The second duty was the burial of poor Martin, for whom a grave was already prepared in the quaint little cemetery of the settlement. The rude coffin was borne by his late shipmates, and the entire community of Anvik, natives as well as whites, followed the body to its place of final rest. Never had Phil been so impressed with the solemn beauty of the Episcopal service as when he listened to its grand utterances amid the surroundings of that wild Northern land. The low-hanging sun, the moan of the wintry wind through the sombre forest, the attentive groups of dark-skinned natives, the mighty river rolling its tawny flood at their feet, and the encircling solitudes, vast, silent, and mysterious, centring at that simple grave, combined to form a picture that none of its spectators will ever forget.
When all was over the living left the dead with the dead, and returned to their homes. Even Phil and Serge declined, on the plea of utter weariness, the proffered hospitality of the mission for that night, and went back to their own quarters aboard the Chimo, where for the next twenty-four hours they slept almost without intermission.
Then they were ready for anything, and when they again presented themselves at the mission, clad in new suits taken from the steamer’s ample trade stock, the ladies found it difficult to realize that these handsome, wide-awake young fellows were the same who, heavy-eyed, unkempt, and ready to drop with exhaustion, had brought the Chimo to port two days before.
Nor did it seem to the boys that they could be in the same place, for while they slept the river had frozen completely over, a fall of snow had infolded all nature in its spotless mantle, and now the whole world lay sparkling in unclouded sunlight. If they were amazed at the change in the aspect of the mission they were also delighted with the missionary’s house, which they now entered for the first time. Not since leaving far-away New London had either of them seen anything to compare with the prettiness and comfort displayed in this wilderness house on the verge of arctic Alaska.
There were books, magazines, and pictures, rugs and potted ferns, a small organ, luxurious divans and easy-chairs, a museum of native curios, and many other noticeable objects of use or ornament. In an immense fireplace a cheery blaze roared and crackled, and before it a fine big cat purred forth his content. In the eyes of the boys there was nothing lacking to the perfection of this interior. And yet it was all very simple and inexpensive. Most of the furniture was home-made, the divans were cushioned with feathers from native wild-fowl, and the rugs were trophies from neighboring forest or waters.
The missionary’s family consisted of his wife, the doctor, a young lady teacher, and a white man who had charge of the saw-mill. Besides these there were a few bright native boys and girls who were under special instruction.
While the lads chatted with the ladies and marvelled at their surroundings one of the native boys was seen approaching the house, whereupon its mistress, saying, “Ah! there comes the mail,” went to the door. “Nothing but the paper,” she announced on her return; “but we shall at least learn the latest news.”