“Then,” said Harry, “if the ships cannot come to us, we shall have to go to the ships. They will surely be at Point Hope, and if we go there we shall meet them.”
“Of course they will,” agreed Joe. “Father will be up here on a ship of some sort. He will be anxious to see if there is possible news of us. He is a whaler, and he will not go out of the business just because one ship is lost. We will go to Point Hope. How long will it take, Kroo?”
Kroo meditated. “When the ice is gone,” he said, “s’pose take umiak. Not blow too much, you catch Point Hope in twenty sleeps. S’pose blow a good deal, no can tell.”
“But if the ice stays, we will have to go overland,” replied Joe. “How long will that take with a good dog team?”
Kroo’s answer to this was “Ticharro pejuk?” which is a sort of Eskimo “How do I know?” There was some snow left in places, and they might follow the coast on the ice for a good way. At Cape Beaufort they would have to make a turn inland, as no one could pass Lisburne heights on the coast. There were mountains and there would be much soft tundra. It was a good deal of an undertaking. He could not tell. It was better to stay till the sea opened.
Thus reasoned Kroo and Harluk, and the others gave assent to this, but the boys were not to be moved. There was nothing for them to stay for now, and they were determined to go, even if the trip was to be a hard one. The Eskimos said little more. They knew if the boys had decided to go, go they would, and in their own way. A team of three dogs was picked, the best in the village, their goods were packed on the sled,—food enough to last for weeks, rifles and ammunition, blankets, and their little tent.
The parting was hard. The two boys had not realized before how much attached they were to these brave, gentle, kindly friends; and as for the Eskimos, they were like children about to be deprived of their parents. The village wept, and at the last moment Harluk declared that he would not let his brothers go alone. He would travel with them to Point Hope, guide them on their journey, and then come back to his wife and children. Atchoo embraced him and bade him go, and Kroo came gravely forward to Harry and made him an address in Eskimo that was quite flowery, and the purport of which was that he wished Harry to become his brother, to which Harry cheerfully assented, assuring him that he was the brother of them all, and wrung his hand, thinking the matter was to end there.
Not so. Kroo took from his poke his ancient ivory pipe, carved from a walrus tusk to represent the body and flukes of a whale, its stem cunningly fashioned of whalebone. He held this toward the sun with one hand, pointed at Harry with the other, and solemnly recited something which sounded like poetry but which had few words which Harry could understand. It seemed like an ancient ritual. Then he passed the pipe to Harry and looked at him expectantly. Harry looked at Joe in some dismay. He did not know what ceremony demanded of him in return. But the ever resourceful Joe pulled from his own pocket a briarwood pipe with imitation amber mouthpiece and German silver mountings, quite a pretty pipe.
“That belongs to the mate,” he said, “but I guess he won’t mind. I found it in the cabin one day, and it has been in my pocket ever since. Hurry up, he’s looking anxious. Recite him something or other.”