The Ice Queen

by Ernest Ingersoll

  Katy was the first one to peep over the gunwale of the boat, though Aleck was already awake.

  "Is the place full of snow?" he asked.

  "No, but the canvas sags a good deal."

  "Well, you keep under your blankets till Tug and I—get out of this, mate!—have cleared up the floor a little, and built a fire. I'm afraid we won't get away from here to-day."

  After breakfast the two larger lads crawled over the wall, sinking up to their waists in the snow as they stepped off. Struggling out, they climbed up a little way upon the crest of the hummock, where it had been swept clear of snow by the wind, which had now subsided; but nothing could be seen through the veil of thick-flying flakes except the dirty gray of their canvas roof and the thin wisps of smoke that curled upward from beneath it. All else was pure white, sinking on every side into a circle of foggy storm. Around the outer side of the boat and the end of the house drifts had been heaped up even on to the edge of the canvas, so that their house had become a cave between the ice and the snow-bank.

  "It's snug enough," said Tug.

  "Yes, but I should hate to starve to death or freeze there, all the same," Aleck replied.

  "But it ain't very cold—and—and—say! we've lots of food, haven't we?"

  "Enough for about ten days, if we put ourselves on precious short rations; but most of it—the flour and bacon and so on—must be cooked, and this takes fire, and fire needs fuel, which is just what we haven't got. If we should use every bit of wood there is except the boat and sledge, there wouldn't be enough to cook our food for ten days. Besides, though it isn't cold now, it's likely to turn mighty cold after this snow-storm, and then we must have a fire, or freeze."

  "But we could get ashore back at the Point in a day's travel. Or, for that matter, the south shore can't be far off, though we can't see it through this fearful storm."

  "If we had clear ice it would be all right, but how can we travel in this snow? It can't be less than two feet deep everywhere for miles and miles. You and I might go a little way, but Katy and The Youngster couldn't budge twenty steps. It's really a serious scrape we have brought ourselves into; and we ought to have thought about this before we started. Talk about Dr. Kane! He never was worse off in the arctic regions than we're likely to be right here in a day or two, unless something happens."

  Aleck certainly was very down-hearted, and his companion did not seem much disposed to "brace him up," as he would have expressed it. He could only reply, in an equally discouraged voice,

  "I don't see what can happen out here—for good."

  "Nor I. Let's go in; it's no use standing here in the storm. But, mind you, no word of all this to the others yet."

  All day long the snow sifted down in fine, dense flakes that piled up higher and higher around their house, though there was enough wind to keep it from collecting on the roof, which was very fortunate. They sat in the boat, half nestling in the straw; told stories; made Tug tell them everything he could think of about animals and shooting; invented puzzles, Aleck setting some hard sums; mended clothes—this, of course, was Katy's amusement; and guessed at conundrums. Here Jim outshone all the rest. He was sharper with his answers than any of them, and finally proposed the following:

  "Ebenezer Mary Jane, spell it with two letters?"

  They knit their brows over it, pronounced it impossible to solve, and gave it up.

  "I-t, it," says Jim, and carried off the honors.

  Tired of this, they listened while Katy read from the precious book of Norwegian stories, and then chapter after chapter out of the little red Testament.

  "'Twouldn't be a bad scheme for some raven to bring us food," said Tug, thoughtfully. "I reckon Elisha's wilderness wasn't a worse one than this ice-plain."

  "The Eskimos, Dr. Kane writes, eat the raven himself sometimes, in their snow-deserts, which Elisha wouldn't have done on any account, I suppose."

  "No. That would have been like Æsop's fable of killing the goose that laid the golden eggs."

  "Yes, so it would," Katy responded; "but the Eskimos have lots of other birds to eat—auks and guillemots, and eider-ducks, and mollemokes."

  "But they're on the sea, where those birds live in enormous flocks, like our wild pigeons up in the pine woods—millions of 'em!" Tug exclaimed, with outstretched arms. "No such a thing on our lake after the blackbirds leave the marshes."

  "Except owls," interposed Jim; "and we can't eat them."

  "I feel as though even an owl-stew wouldn't be bad about now," Aleck replied.

  Nevertheless, when lunch-time came, both the big boys vowed they were not a bit hungry, and refused to eat. Katy took only a cracker, but Jim ate three crackers and the last bit of the cold ham, picking the bone so clean that, big as it was, Rex, who was frightfully hungry, could get little comfort out of it, though he gnawed at it nearly all the afternoon. Then Tug smashed it for him, and gave him another try, which he appreciated highly.

  "Poor Rex!" said Katy, with a sigh. "Travellers get so badly off they have to kill and eat their dogs sometimes"—Rex stopped crunching, and looked up with a glance of alarm at this—"and if we should—"

  "What a grand time Rex would have at his own bones!" interrupted Tug—a joke the utter absurdity of which wrinkled the faces that had become straight into hearty laughter. Towards evening a fire was built, which used the last of the sticks and one of the box-covers before the biscuits could be baked in the skillet, the ham fried, and tea made.

  "I'm 'fraid it won't be long before I shall have to try the little stove," said Katy.

  "I had no idea we were so near the end," Aleck muttered, under his breath.

  The meal that evening was a very dull one, and if they did not go to sleep at once after they had gone to bed, certainly there was little fun-making among the weather-bound prisoners. Aleck said afterwards he thought he slept about an hour that night, and Katy was sure she didn't really get soundly asleep at all; but it is difficult to lie awake all night, though your rest may be so broken that you think in the morning you have never once lost your knowledge of what was going on.

  * * *

  Chapter XIII.

  SAVED FROM STARVATION.

  When they arose next morning the air was much lighter, for it was no longer snowing. Breaking their way out after breakfast, Aleck and Tug climbed to the crest of the hummock above the house, where pretty soon they were joined by Katy and Jim, anxious to get a look abroad. There was not much satisfaction in this, though. On all sides stretched an unbroken area of white—a spotless expanse of new snow such as you never can see on land, for there was nothing to break the colorless monotony, except where the hummock stretched away right and left, half buried, and as white as the rest, save at a few points where crests of upturned ice-blocks stood above the drifts.

  "There is a higher point a little way over there," said Aleck to Tug; "let's go across, and see if it will show us anything new."

  "Mayn't we come?" asked Jim.

  "No, Youngster, stay with Katy. It would be a useless journey for you, and we'll soon be back."

  And off they went, floundering up to their waists much of the time.

  "Jim," says Katy, "I see, just beyond the hut"—pointing in the direction opposite to that in which the lads had gone—"a space under the edge of the hummock where the ice seems pretty clear. Understand? And look! don't you see that long, dark line there? I wonder what it can be? Let us go and find out. We can get along easily enough after a few steps."

  Jim strode ahead, and stamped down a path for Katy through the snow that lay between their house and the clear space of ice that had been swept by the eddy under the hummock, until, a moment later, they were both running along upon a clean floor towards the object they had seen. Now they could make it out clearly; and at the first discovery Jim tossed his cap high in the air and gave a hurrah, in which the girl joined, wishing she too had a cap to throw up. What do you suppose it was that had so excited and gladdened them? Can't you guess?

&
nbsp; A log of wood frozen into the ice!

  "Now we can have all the fire we want."

  "And I can keep the coffee hot for the second cup."

  Then they looked at one another, and laughed and clapped their hands again. Were two children ever before made so happy by the simple finding of a log?

  Just then they heard Aleck's voice:

  "Hallo-o-o! Where are you?"

  Jim jumped up, and was about to shout back, but his sister threw her hand over his mouth.

  "Stop, Jimkin! Let them look for us, and have the fun of being surprised by our great discovery."

  So both kept quiet, and let the boys shout. By and by they saw their heads bobbing over the drift, and presently Tug came running towards them, with Aleck close behind.

  "Why didn't you answer? Didn't you hear us? Hello! Whoop—la! Wood, or I'm a Dutchman!" and all echoed his wild shout, and tried to imitate his dance, until the joy was bumped out of them by sudden falls on the slippery ice.

  It was a tree trunk of oak, that had been floating about, frozen into the ice, above the surface of which fully half of it was to be seen. The stubs of the roots were towards them, while the upper end of the tree, which had been a large one, was lost in a drift more than forty feet distant.

  "There is enough good wood here," said Aleck, "to keep us warm for two months, if we don't waste it; and we ought to be very thankful."

  "Then let's have a fire right away!" Jim exclaimed.

  "All right, Youngster," was the Captain's response. "Fetch the axe, and we'll soon light up."

  When Jim had disappeared, Katy asked her brother what he had seen.

  "Nothing," was the reply. "And it would just be impossible to move half a mile a day in this snow. It's one of the deepest falls I ever saw. We've got to stay here, for all I see, till it melts, or crusts over, or blows away, or something else happens."

  "Well, we have plenty of fuel now."

  "Yes, but we can't live on oak—though we might on acorns. But here comes Jimkin. Let's say no more about it now, Katy."

  As the chips flew under Tug's blows, Katy gathered an armful, and hastened back to kindle a fire, while Jim and Aleck busied themselves in clearing a good path, and in hauling the hand-sled from under the boat, where it had been jammed into the drift out of the way. By the time it was ready Tug had chopped a sled-load of wood, and they hauled it to the house. It had been very awkward climbing over their wall of boxes, but they had been afraid to move any part of it, for fear of throwing down the snow which had banked it up and made the place so tight and warm. However, there was one box which must shortly be opened in order to get at more provisions; so it was carefully moved, and the wood piled in its place, leaving a low archway underneath, through which they could crawl on their hands and knees.

  "That's just like an igloo," said Katy.

  "What's an 'igloo'?"

  "An Eskimo house made of frozen snow, in the shape of a dome, and entered by a low door, just like this one. By the way, are you getting hungry?"

  "Yes; bring us something to eat."

  They went back to their chopping. Pretty soon Katy came running out, bringing some crackers, a little hard cheese, and the last small jar of jelly—"just for a taste," she explained. Then she broke out with her story:

  "Oh, boys, there's a whole lot of little birds—white and brown—around the house. They seem to like to get near the smoke. I'm going to throw out some crumbs."

  "Yes, do," said Tug, eagerly, "and I'll get my gun."

  "What? to shoot them! Oh, no."

  "But they will make good eating."

  "Ye-e-s, I suppose so," agreed the kind-hearted girl; "but I hate to have them shot."

  "It's hard, I know," Aleck said, sympathizing more with his sister than with the birds, I fear; "but we need everything we can get. It may be a great piece of good-fortune that they have come, and—Hold up, Tug; aren't you afraid if you shoot at them they will be scared away for good?"

  "No fear of that," was the answer; "and we have no other way. Come along, Katy, and keep Rex quiet."

  Luncheon was stuffed in their pockets, and all hastened towards the house.

  There they still were—several flocks of birds resembling sparrows, but larger than any common sparrow, and white; so white, in fact, that they could only be seen at all against the snow by glimpses of a few brown and black feathers on their backs. In each flock, however, there were one or two of a different sort, easily distinguishable by their darker plumage and rusty brown heads. Tug said they were Lapland longspurs, and had pretty much the same habits as their numerous associates. The whole flock of birds was very restless, constantly rising and settling, but showed no disposition to go away, and took little alarm at the four figures that stealthily approached.

  "What are they?" whispered Aleck to Tug.

  "White snow-flakes, or snow-buntings," he whispered back. "Mighty good eating."

  Creeping quietly into the house, Tug took his shot-gun out of the boat and hastily loaded it, but with great care to see that the priming was well up in the nipple and a good cap on. Then he slung over his shoulders his shot-pouch and powder-horn—a short, black, well-polished horn of buffalo, of which he was very proud, for it had been a curiosity in Monore—and begged them all to stay in the house and let him alone, unless he called to them, and, above all, to keep the dog inside.

  This said, he crawled forward out of the low doorway, holding his gun well in front of him, and the other three sat down to wait for the result.

  Scarcely a minute had passed before a sharp report was heard, and a little thud upon the canvas roof. At this sound Rex leaped up, and was greatly excited. His ears were raised, his eyes flashed, and he gave several short, quick barks. But Aleck had twisted his fingers in the dog's mane, and forced him to drop down and keep quiet.

  Very soon afterwards there rang out a second report, and again, after time enough to reload, a third. Then the sportsman's voice was heard calling, and all ran out to see how many he had bagged.

  "A SHARP REPORT WAS HEARD."

  * * *

  Chapter XIV.

  THE ARCTIC VISITORS.

  "Help me catch these wounded ones!" cried Tug, dancing round in chase of several wing-tipped and lame birds that were floundering in the snow.

  The others rushed after them too, and it was exciting sport, for the chase often led them into deep drifts and down the scraggy sides of the hummock; it thus became the scene of many comical tumbles and failures, for several of the birds, having been shot as they crowded together in a bunch, were only slightly wounded, and able to make a vigorous attempt to escape. Rex took part also, but his work consisted chiefly in barking himself hoarse, for all he accomplished was the finding of one dead bird; and this, as he was not a retriever, he devoured on the spot.

  When, panting, red-faced, and tired out, they gathered again at the door, they counted up seventeen fat buntings and one long-spur as the result of the three shots. Three of these were badly mangled, and were given to Rex; the others they began at once to make into a stew for supper, which they always ate about sundown. This meal also took the place of a dinner, as they ate only "a bite" at noon.

  While they were plucking the birds—and their bodies seemed wofully small when the thick coat of feathers had been removed—they asked Tug many questions about the buntings. He could not answer all of them, but the substance of what he told them was this:

  The snow-buntings—white snow-birds, or snow-flakes—belong to the far northern regions, where they go in summer to make their nests, often within the arctic circle. As soon as their young are able to fly they must begin their southward migration, for the excessive cold and the deep snow cut off all the grass-seeds, mosses, and insects upon which they feed in summer. So they begin to spread southward, not into British America alone, but also into Lapland and Russia, and the lower parts of Siberia. The bird seems to be a lover of cold, and used to scant fare and the roughest climate. It is not always, therefore, that t
hey are to be seen in the United States south of the Great Lakes.

  Around these lakes, however, they are likely to come in large flocks after a cold snap or a deep fall of snow. The wild rice tracts and frozen marshes afford them an abundance of seeds and dried berries, upon which they grow fat. Though seeming less in danger than most other birds, since our hawks are gone southward, these buntings are exceedingly restless and timid, which makes them scurry away at the least alarm. Yet their timidity is not enough to insure their safety, for though they are constantly rising up and settling again, their flights are so short and uncertain that, as we have seen, a good marksman has no difficulty in shooting them. They are so small, however, that in this country of large game-birds they are never shot for food unless a necessity like the present one compels it. With the first bit of warm weather the snow-buntings and their companions, the long-spurs, whirl away to the bleak northward, crowding close upon the heels of Winter as he retreats to his polar stronghold.

  In the cool mountainous parts of the Far West there are several species of birds closely akin to the snow-flake, whose summer homes are among the peaks. They belong to the same genus (Plectrophanes), but none of them are so white as the Eastern bunting; in fact, like the ptarmigan, he is pure white only in midwinter, changing in summer to a dress much mottled with warm brown and black, traces of which remain in his winter hood and collar.

  "What do you suppose brought the snow-flakes away out hither on the ice?" Tug was asked.

  "Oh, we're not so far from land—though we might as well be a hundred miles away for all the good it will do us!—and I suppose they were flying across to the marshes and islands on the north shore. Probably our smoke attracted them."

  Having got done with their birds, the boys returned to their chopping. Two or three large pieces were hacked out as back-logs to build their fire upon, instead of making it right on the ice; and since this last load was not needed in the wall, which had been banked up anew, it was spread around on the floor of the house to lift their canvas carpet above the chilly and often wet floor, for the weather was not cold enough now to keep it frozen always hard and dry under the tent.