MY TOUGHEST TRIP
by Sergeant Reading
An Arctic adventure of a most unusual sort is graphically set forth by an officer of the Canadian Mounted Police.
For a good many years I was a member of the Arctic Patrols of the old Royal Northwest Mounted Police—now called Royal Canadian Mounted Police—and naturally had my share of the duties assigned that force. Since resigning from the force and taking up my abode in a city I have been greatly amused at fiction writers and movie producers’ ideas of the work of the Mounties; according to those fellows we spent the most of our time hunting desperate gunmen and rescuing beautiful damsels in distress. On the toughest trip I ever made I rescued a female, young but not beautiful—an Eskimo baby, in fact. I will briefly record how it was brought about.
Most of the trouble which the Mounties have to straighten out in the Arctic is occasioned by clashes between the white men, who go in to trade for the furs which milady of civilization deems necessary, and the natives. But a great deal of our work was straightening up inter-tribal sex tangles among the Eskimos.
In one such case, to decide which of two natives really owned a certain native girl, we brought both the men and the woman to our post at Tree River. Perhaps I had better explain that owing to the fact that the Eskimos destroy girl babies during years when food is scarce, there is a great shortage of marriageable girls among these nomads of the North. Consequently competition for wives is keen, often resulting in killings.
Anyway, after thinking and talking over this particular case for some time, we found out that neither of the two men really owned this girl; they had, in fact, stolen her from her rightful husband, belonging to another tribe. The upshot of it was the males were sentenced to do two years’ chores apiece at the post, while I was detailed to return the woman to her lawful husband.
One bright June morning, I loaded up our sailboat with grub for a six-weeks’ journey, and taking the girl, I set out.
For two weeks I sailed, making slow progress owing to contrary winds. Then a storm overtook us. I did my best, but it wasn’t good enough—the storm won and we were washed ashore with the boat.