by G. A. Henty
“Well, Jack, old fellow, what do you think of it?” Godfrey said to the dog as it nestled up close to him. “Here we are now, out in a regular storm. It is lucky we have plenty of sea-room, Jack. I reckon it is seventy or eighty miles across to the other side of the gulf, and I don’t suppose she can drag those spars through the water much more than a mile an hour. So we have plenty of time before us. We must both put away as much time in sleep as we can. We have lost almost all our provisions, old boy, and our water, which was of still more consequence. It is very lucky I always made a rule of having the kettle filled and put on board here after each meal and of keeping a dozen pounds of meat here. I thought we might be obliged to cast the boat adrift suddenly. Well, if we have luck, we may find it again. We shall both drift in the same line, and there is no reason why she shouldn’t live through it. The stock of firewood has gone down, and she has not got above a couple of hundred pounds’ weight in her altogether. I am afraid she will take enough salt water on board to spoil our supply of fresh, but I think we are drifting pretty straight for the Kara River. I calculated that it lay dead to leeward of us when the wind went to the north-west.”
It was a considerable time before Godfrey went off to sleep owing to the rapid changes of the angle at which he was lying. Sometimes his head was two or three feet higher than his feet, and directly afterwards the position was exactly reversed. The rolling was but slight, and this he scarcely felt, being too tightly packed in along with the furs and the dog to move much. But at last the noise of the water and the roar of the wind lulled him to sleep. He woke once, and then went off again, and his watch told him that he had been altogether asleep twelve hours. When he next woke, he felt at once that the motion was slighter than it had been and that the wind had greatly abated.
“Are you asleep, Luka?” he shouted.
“I am not asleep now,” Luka replied drowsily.
“The storm is pretty nearly over; I will get the cover off and look round, and then we will see if we can’t boil some water and have some tea. We have never used any of those candles yet; this will be a good opportunity to try them.”
Unlashing and removing the cover, Godfrey sat up and looked round. The gale had broken. Black clouds were hurrying past overhead, but there were patches of blue sky. The sea was still very heavy, but it was rarely that the canoe dipped her nose under a wave, so lightly did she rise and fall over them.
“In a few hours we shall have our sail up again, Luka,” he said as the Tartar thrust his head up through his opening. It was but for a moment. He instantly dived under again and replaced the cover, appalled at the sea, which was infinitely rougher than anything he had ever before witnessed.
“It looks pretty bad, doesn’t it?” Godfrey said, laughing, as he, too, resumed his position of shelter.
“It is terrible,” Luka said.
“I expect it has been worse. At any rate, as you can see we have got through it without taking a drop of water on board, thanks to the floating anchor. Now I will pass the kettle forward to you. Be very careful with it, for it is all the water we have.”
“All the water! Why, what has become of the boat?” Luka exclaimed.
“I had to cut her adrift half an hour after the squall struck us. Did not you hear me look out when I took your paddle?”
“I felt you take the paddle, but there was too much noise to hear anything, and I was too frightened to listen. I thought that surely we should go to the bottom. Why did you cut her loose?”
“Because she was tugging so hard. She would have pulled us to pieces, and it was better to let her go than to risk that. She will have drifted the same way we have done, only she will have gone three times as fast, for she was a good deal higher out of water, and the paddles which I fastened on to her head-rope won’t have anything like the hold on the water that our spars have. We will keep in the same direction when we get our sails up, and if she has lived through it we shall very likely find her ashore somewhere along the coast. Now be sure you lash that kettle securely to the deck-beam, Luka. Put it as near one side as you can get it, then there will be room for you to lie alongside and watch it. But stop! Before you fasten it pour out half a mugful of water for Jack. He doesn’t like tea, and there will be nothing but tea for him after we have once made it.”
The candle was lighted and fixed under the kettle, but the four wicks gave out such an odour that Godfrey was glad to sit up again and remain outside, until a nudge from Luka told him that the tea was ready. They ate with it some slices of raw bear’s ham. Luka offered to cook it, but Godfrey had had the candle put out the moment he got under the cover and would not hear of its being lighted again.
“It is not at all bad raw,” he said. “They eat raw ham in Germany, and that last smoking it got was almost as good as cooking it. I expect the sea will have gone down in a few hours, and then we can have a regular meal; but if you were to light that smelly thing again now it would make me ill. Now, Jack, I will light my pipe and look out again, and you shall come out too for a breath of fresh air. I will hold you tight and see that you don’t go over.”
In twelve hours the sea had almost gone down. The floating anchor was hauled up and unlashed, the masts were stepped, the large sail hoisted, and, free from the dead weight that had hitherto checked her speed, the little craft sped along gaily before the gentle wind, Godfrey keeping her as near as possible dead before it, on the chance that they might catch sight of the boat.
“If we drifted a mile an hour and she drifted three,” he said, “she would have gained four-and-twenty miles while we were asleep, and perhaps since then she has been gaining a mile an hour; so she is from thirty-five to forty miles ahead of us, and must be quite half-way across the gulf. Anyhow, we need not begin to look out yet; we are going about four knots an hour, I should think, and I don’t suppose she is going more than one. In about ten hours we must begin to look about for her.”
Before the end of that time the sea had gone quite down, and the wind had fallen so light that Godfrey thought they were scarce making three knots an hour. “I hope it won’t fall altogether,” he said, “for as we have no paddles it would be awkward for us.”
“Two of the bottom boards will do for paddles.”
“Yes, I know that, Luka, I am steering with one of them; but they would do very little good, for they are so thin that they would break off directly we put any strength on to them.”
Godfrey occasionally stood up and looked round, but could see no signs of the boat, and indeed could hardly have done so unless he had passed within a couple of miles at most of her.
“The wind may have changed a little,” he said, “though I don’t think it has done so. Anyhow, I will head a little more to the south, so as to be sure that we shall strike the shore to the east both of the Kara River and the point she is likely to drift to.”
Four hours later they made out land ahead of them, some six miles away as they guessed, and holding on reached it in two hours and a half’s time. They stepped out as soon as they got into shallow water, carried the canoe ashore, drank a mug of cold tea and ate some raw meat, and then lay down for a long sleep. When they woke they collected some drift-wood and lighting a fire, cooked some meat.
“What are you going to do, Godfrey?” Luka asked. “Are you going to set out at once to look for the boat?”
“No, we had better wait for a few hours. She may not have drifted to the shore yet, though I do not think she can be far off; still it is as well to give her plenty of time. At any rate we can shoot some birds, so the time won’t be lost.”
Having made a fair bag and been absent from the canoe for five hours they returned, and after cutting up a capercailzie and grilling it over the fire, they got the boat into the water and started.
They had sailed about eight miles to the west when Luka exclaimed, “There is something there by the shore close to that point. It may be the boat; it may be a rock.”
It was another quarter of an hour before Godfrey was ab
le to assure himself that it was really the boat. “Thank God for that, Luka!” he exclaimed. “We have reason to thank Him for a great many things. I do so every hour, and I hope you do so too. But finding the boat again safe seems to me the greatest blessing we have had yet; I don’t know what we should have done without it.”
Another quarter of an hour brought them to the point. The boat lay just afloat, bumping on the sand as each little wave lifted and left her. They sprang out of the canoe into shallow water and threw out the anchor, and then waded to the boat. She had about four inches of water in her, but was entirely uninjured.
“Hurrah!” Godfrey shouted, “she is as good as ever. Now, Luka, get everything out of her as soon as you can, then we can turn her over and empty her, put the things in again, and be off at once. We have got no time to lose, for you must remember there is not much more than a quart of cold tea left in the kettle. I am sure the Kara River can’t be very far off, but I can’t say whether it is three miles or thirty.”
In half an hour they were again afloat and working their paddles to assist the sail. Two hours later Luka said, “Huts on that point ahead of us.”
“So there are,” Godfrey said. “Six or eight of them and a lot of cattle.”
“Reindeer!” Luka corrected. “Samoyede village.”
“Why, there must be hundreds of them,” Godfrey said in surprise.
“Yes, the Ostjaks told me in our old camp that many of the Samoyedes had five hundred, and some of them a thousand reindeer. They keep them just as we do cattle. Their wealth is counted by their reindeer. They make their clothes of its skin; its milk and flesh are their chief food. It draws their sledges, and when they want money they can sell some of them.”
“Did you ask how much they can be sold for?”
“Yes, the Ostjaks said that they were worth here two or three roubles each.”
“Then if there are many of these encampments along the shore, Luka, we need not trouble about food; and if anything happens to our boat we can make a couple of sledges, buy four reindeer, and start by land.”
“Then we should have to wait until winter,” Luka said.
“Yes, that would be a nuisance; but it would not be so very long to wait. I had no idea reindeer were so cheap. If I had I think instead of spending the winter hunting I would have bought some reindeer and started to drive. Still it would have been a terrible journey, and perhaps we have done better as it is. Well, shall we land? What do you think?”
“We don’t want anything,” Luka said. “The Samoyedes are generally friendly. They are not like the Tunguses and Yuruks. But you see there are but two of us, and we have hatchets and knives and other things they value. If we wanted anything I should say let us land, but as we don’t it would be better to go on.”
“You are right, Luka. I don’t suppose there would be any risk of being robbed; still it is just as well not to run even the smallest chance of trouble when everything is going on so well.”
On passing the point on which the encampment was situated they saw a wide opening. “The Kara!” Godfrey exclaimed joyously. “We will cross to the other side, and coast up on that shore till the water becomes fresh.”
It required four hours’ sailing and paddling before they got beyond the influence of the sea, then they landed, shot and hunted for a couple of days, took in a fresh supply of water, and started again.
“We have passed the line of the Ural Mountains now,” Godfrey said. “The Kara rises in that range. We may almost consider ourselves in Russia.”
One morning Luka woke Godfrey soon after he had lain down for his turn of sleep.
“Fog coming,” he said.
Godfrey sat up and looked round. “That it is, Luka. We must head for shore directly.” He seized his paddle, but the fog cloud had drifted rapidly down upon them, and before they were half-way to shore drifts of white cloud floated past them on the water, and five minutes later they were surrounded by a dense white wall, so thick that even the canoe towing behind was invisible. They ceased paddling.
“There is nothing to do but to wait,” Godfrey said. “Get your fur coat on; it is bitterly cold. There is one comfort, what wind there is is towards the shore, and we shall drift that way.”
“I can’t feel any wind at all,” Luka said.
“No, it is very slight; but there must have been some to bring this fog down from the north. We were not more than half a mile from the shore when it closed in upon us. If we only drift fifty yards an hour we shall be there in time. Let us have a cup of tea and then we will rig up the cover and turn in. We have a lot of sleep to make up for. There is one comfort, there is no chance of our being run down.”
Godfrey saw by his watch when he woke that he had been asleep for four hours, and he sat up and looked round. The fog was as thick as before. The movement woke Luka, and he too sat up.
“Listen, Luka!” Godfrey exclaimed as he was about to speak. “I heard a bird chirp.” The sound was repeated. “It is over there,” Godfrey said. “Hurrah! we shall soon be ashore,” and they seized their paddles.
After rowing for a minute or two they stopped and again listened. “There it is again,” Godfrey said; “right ahead. Paddle gently, Luka; we sha’n’t see the shore until we are on it, and we must not risk running head on to a rock.” Presently something dark appeared just in front of the canoe.
“Hold water!” Godfrey exclaimed, and as they stopped her way the boat drifted quietly against a rock. They brought her broadside to it and stepped out.
“That is a comfort. The fog can last for a week now. Let us get the canoe ashore. We can moor the boat; the water is as smooth as glass, and there is no risk whatever of her damaging herself. Bring an armful of firewood ashore,” he went on as they laid the canoe down gently on a flat rock. “I will look about for a place for the tent.”
“Do not go far or you will lose yourself.”
“I will take care of that. I won’t go beyond speaking distance.”
Godfrey soon found a patch of sand large enough for the tent, and this was soon erected and a fire lit. Jack as usual indulged in a wild scamper, but returned to Godfrey’s whistle. “Don’t go too far, Jack, or you will be losing your way too.”
The fog did not clear off for another forty-eight hours, but when at the end of that time they looked out of their tent the sky was clear and the birds were singing gaily. The ground rose almost perpendicularly behind them to a height of from twenty to thirty feet. It was rocky, with some deep indentations.
“We will do some shooting, Luka; but as there may be some natives near we will hide the canoe. It is no use running any risks. We will stow the tent and get everything packed before we start, and then we shall be able to set out when we return.”
The canoe was packed and carried some fifty yards along the shore, and then laid behind a great boulder that had fallen at the mouth of a cleft in the rock.
“Shall we pull up the boat?” Luka asked.
“No, I don’t think that is worth while. There is nothing there worth stealing. The natives have got plenty of fish of their own, no doubt, and drift-wood too. Now let us be off.”
The birds were scarcer than usual, and they wandered a long distance before they had made up anything like their usual bag.
“We have been eight hours out,” Godfrey said, looking at his watch. “We may as well have a meal before we start back. It will take us two or three hours to get to the boat again. There will be no loss of time. It takes no longer cooking here than it would there, and we may as well carry the birds inside as out.”
They were engaged in eating their meal when Jack suddenly gave an angry growl, and looking up they saw a party of a dozen Samoyedes with bows and arrows at a distance of fifty yards behind them. They sprang to their feet.
“Shall I shoot?” Luka asked.
“No, no, Luka, their intentions may be friendly. Besides, though we might kill three or four of them they would riddle us with arrows. We had best meet them as fri
ends.”
When the Samoyedes came up Luka gave them the ordinary salutation of friendship.
“Where come from?” the man who seemed to be the leader of the natives asked suspiciously.
“A long way from the east,” Luka said, pointing in that direction.
“Who are you?”
“Ostjak,” Luka said, knowing that the Samoyedes would have heard of that tribe, but would know nothing of his own.
“Who this?” the native asked, pointing to Godfrey.
“A friend of Ostjaks,” Luka said, “come to hunt and shoot. I come with him.”
“This Samoyede country,” the native said; “not want Ostjaks here.”
“We do no harm,” Luka said. “We go west, far along, not want Samoyede country. Buy milk of Samoyedes. Good friends.”
The Samoyedes talked together, and then the leader said “Come!” Without any appearance of hesitation Godfrey and Luka set off with the natives. Their language, though differing from that of the northern Ostjaks, was sufficiently alike for them to be able to understand each other.
“Do you think they mean to be friendly?” Godfrey asked in Russian.
“I don’t know,” Luka replied. “Perhaps not made up their minds yet.”
“They are going down to the coast, that is a comfort, Luka; they are going to the west of our boats. I suppose they have an encampment there. I expect they heard my gun and have been following us at a distance until they saw us sit down.”
“Must have seen them,” Luka said.
“Only one may have been following us, and may have sent the others back to fetch up the rest from their tents. Well, it does not matter now they have got us. If they ask where we came from, as I expect they will, you had better tell them, Luka, we came in a boat. They will guess it without our telling, and will very likely look for it. It is better to make no concealment.”
Two hours’ walking brought them to a little valley, in the middle of which ran a small stream. They followed it down for half a mile, and then at a sudden turn they saw the sea in front of them, a cluster of ten Samoyede yourts and a herd of reindeer feeding on the slope behind them. A number of women and children and five or six old men came out to look at them as they approached.
