A Woman who went to Alaska

by May Kellogg Sullivan

What were they to do? This might be their best and only chance to escape. The shore ice lay near them, but, as yet, beyond their reach. This treacherous wind might continue for days and even weeks. From experience they knew that the wind blew where he listed, regardless of the forlorn creatures under him, and with the thermometer at forty degrees below zero, as it was, swimming was out of the question. The crack appeared a dozen or so feet in width, and escape was only possible by reaching the other side.

Their strait was a desperate one. The captain decided to make the leap. Removing his furs, he rolled them tightly, and threw them across the chasm. It was now a positive dash for life, as without his furs he would soon perish with the cold.

He made the run and leaped. At that instant one of the natives, from intense interest, or from a desire to assist, gave a loud Eskimo whoop, which startled the captain, and he missed his footing, falling forward upon the ice, but with his lower limbs in the water.

The natives now bestirred themselves and threw to the captain a large hunting knife and rifle, attached to their long sled lashings. With a good deal of exertion, the captain crawled upon the ice, and with the knife he chopped a hole, and inserted the rifle barrel, fastening the lashings to it and holding it firmly in place. The natives then pulled with united strength on the line, bringing the ice cake slowly up toward the captain until within a few feet of the shore ice, when, using a sled for a bridge, they and the dogs crossed safely over, without so much as wetting their feet. To all, this was a matter for great rejoicing, and no regretful farewells were given to the ice floe which had been their prison house so long. They were not yet out of danger, however, for the shore ice upon which they stood might, in the gale, at any moment be loosened and carry them, like the other, out into the ocean. So with all haste possible, they proceeded to get away. Punni Churah brought the captain's fur sleeping bag and robes, in which he was stowed away in one of the sleds, though his wet clothing was now frozen. There was no time nor place to make a change, with the thermometer nearly forty degrees below zero.

Hours afterward they reached the mainland. How good once more to step foot on terra firma! The dogs barked, and the natives hallooed cheerfully to each other, for they were now going home. A deserted native village was soon entered, an igloo in passable condition taken possession of, and the dogs tied up for the night.

The natives now worked rapidly and cheerfully, two putting up their camp stove, another bringing snow for water with which to make the coffee, and Punni Churah looking after the captain, who tried to remove his clothing, but to no purpose. Muckluks and trousers were frozen together, and as fast as the ice melted sufficiently they were cut away. Contrary to his expectations, he was not severely frozen, a white patch, the size of his hand, appearing upon each limb above the knee. With these they did the best they could, and dry clothing from the sleds was put on.

Their supper that night was a feast of rejoicing. They were now on the home trail, and would soon be among friends. One more day of travel and their long, hazardous, and eventful trip of two hundred miles over an Arctic waste would be successfully accomplished. As they rolled themselves in their furs at midnight for a few hours of needed rest and sleep, they could almost fancy themselves at home again and happy. The dogs huddled in the snow outside, now and then barking in their usual way, but the tired men in the igloo did not hear them, for their sleep was oblivion, after the strain of the last two weeks.

Next morning, after traveling for several hours, a halt was made, and a lunch was taken in an Eskimo camp; but the captain, by this time, was suffering from exposure and frosted limbs, the trail was bad, and he concluded to hurry on ahead of the teams. The way was familiar, and only one low mountain, called the Portage, was to be crossed. It was early in the day, and his teams would follow immediately; so on his snowshoes the captain hastened toward home.

God help the man who travels alone in the Arctic in winter! Little matters it if the sun shines brightly at starting, and the sky appears clear as a summer pool. In one short hour the aspect of all may be changed, heavens overcast, snow flying, and wind rapidly driving. Under the gathering darkness and whirling snowflakes the narrow trail is soon obscured, or entirely obliterated, the icy wind congeals the traveler's breath and courage simultaneously, he becomes confused and goes round and round in a circle, until, benumbed by the frost, he sinks down to die. This was what now happened to the captain.

Another storm was upon him when he reached the hill portage, and as he expected his natives momentarily, and beyond this point the trail was good, so that he could ride behind the dogs, he waited until they should come up to him. Hour after hour he waited. Night came on, and the blizzard increased in severity. Hungry, cold and already frost-bitten, he must spend the night on the mountain alone. Still he listened for the bells on the malemutes, and the calls of his Eskimo drivers.