The Curse of the Viking Grave

by Farley Mowat

  The boys climbed into every nook and corner of her.

  “What a way to travel!” Jamie exclaimed as he sat with the others drinking coffee in the schooner’s cabin. “No more canoes, no more rain, no more being wind-bound, no more leaky tents…”

  “No more go down big rapids…” Peetyuk added.

  “No more mosquitoes either,” said Angeline.

  Josh Fudge’s blue eyes gleamed as he listened to their enthusiastic remarks.

  “Tell you what,” he boomed. “I’ll sign the lot of ye on for a voyage. Why don’t you come along of me this summer? We’ll make a trip to Boothia—that’s where the magnetic pole’s supposed to be. Might bring it back for a souvenir.”

  “Thanks a lot, Mr. Fudge—Josh,” Jamie replied. “I guess we’d all give our right arms to go with you. But we have to get on south. We have to sell the Viking things we found, and look after my uncle, and try and do something for the inland Eskimos.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Journey’s End

  IMMEDIATELY AFTER BREAKFAST all hands went to work loading Josh’s furs and the youngsters’ kit and canoes aboard the Arctica. Josh checked over the vessel’s gear and tested the engine. By noon she was ready to sail.

  It was a fine day with a brisk breeze off the land—a “quartering breeze,” as Josh called it. Helped by the boys, who took readily to their new roles as deckhands, Josh soon had the sails set, the anchor hauled home, and the schooner’s head pointed out to sea.

  She stood straight out from the land until the low-lying coastal plains had sunk out of sight behind them. Josh explained that it was necessary to stay well offshore because the coast to the southward was dangerously shoal. But the experience of leaving the land behind and finding themselves surrounded by a gray void of ocean unnerved Peetyuk.

  “What we do if sink?” Peetyuk asked his friends anxiously.

  “Whistle up a whale and get a ride ashore,” Jamie answered cheerfully. “Don’t worry, we won’t sink. And if we did we still have our canoes, and there’s a big dory for a lifeboat.”

  The remark about whales must have been prophetic. As Josh altered course to run southward, Awasin, who was standing near the bow, let out a warning shout. Directly ahead of the vessel a score of small waterspouts broke the surface and a moment later a number of great, white gleaming bodies arched into view.

  “Beluga—white whales,” Josh explained. “The bay’s full of they.”

  In their curiosity about the whales Peetyuk and the Meewasins forgot to be nervous, and within a few hours they had settled down to life afloat. They were full of questions and Josh was kept busy explaining how to steer a course, how to keep the sails properly set, and many other nautical matters.

  The wind held steady off the land so there was no sea or swell to set the youngsters’ stomachs heaving. Because there was no real darkness Josh kept the vessel driving south all through the night. Towards evening of the following day Awasin, who had been sent up the weather shrouds at Josh’s order to act as lookout, spotted the distant loom of the gigantic concrete grain elevator at Churchill—the end of the railroad and the point from which prairie wheat is shipped to Europe in summertime over the short arctic route.

  As the Arctica came around and headed into the mouth of the Churchill River, Josh started the engine and helped the boys take down the sail. They came chugging in past the ruins of ancient Fort Prince of Wales, which gives Churchill its Eskimo name of Stone House, and pulled alongside the Government dock.

  Peetyuk and the Meewasins stared bug-eyed at the huge structure of the elevator, towering several hundred feet into the air. They were equally amazed by the size of two ocean-going freighters loading at the long wharf, and by the roar and rattle of a freight train, laden with wheat, which was just pulling in to the dockside terminal at the end of its seven-hundred-mile run north from Winnipeg.

  They were not allowed to stand and stare for long. Once the lines were made fast, Josh ordered everyone below.

  “I wants all of ye to stay aboard, and keep out of sight,” he told them. “They’s a big Mountie detachment here. I’ll go ashore and mosey about. I knows everybody in Churchill and everybody knows me. When I finds out if the Mounties is looking for you I’ll be back. Light up the galley fire and get yourselves a scoff; but mind now, keep down below!”

  Jamie found himself left with the chore of getting supper. Peetyuk, Angeline and Awasin had their faces glued to the cabin portholes examining this—the first real town they had ever seen. Jamie was glad of a job to do, for he was now extremely nervous about the police.

  Several hours went by before the youngsters heard the tramp of heavy boots on deck. Tensely they eyed the companion ladder and when Josh descended into view they were much relieved. But they tensed again when they saw that he was accompanied by a stranger.

  The newcomer was clean-shaven and smartly dressed in city clothes.

  “This here’s a perfessor fellow from the south,” Josh said by way of introduction. “I run into Old Windy Jones and he tole me this here fellow was digging in the ruins at Fort Prince of Wales. I figured he’d know about them old things you got, so I tracked him down to his hotel. And here he is.”

  The stranger smiled. “My name is Armstrong,” he said in a pleasant voice. “Actually I’m an archaeologist with the Dominion Museum in Ottawa. We’re doing research on the old fort. My own field of study is the early colonial period but it just happens that I know something about Norse culture, too. Mr. Fudge tells me you have some things you think might be Norse?”

  “Maybe we have,” Jamie replied cautiously, for he was afraid of saying too much to the wrong person.

  “I assure you it’s quite safe to tell me about it. Whatever you’ve got is yours by right of finding it. Nobody can take it away from you. And perhaps I might be of some help by giving an opinion on your finds.”

  Jamie glanced at Peetyuk and Awasin, and when they nodded their heads he got to his feet, rummaged under one of the bunks, and pulled out the carefully wrapped packages. Placing them on the saloon table he cut the lashings and drew back the deerskin coverings.

  The archaeologist bent over the table and minutely examined the sword and helmet. He whistled lightly between his teeth.

  “These seem to be the real thing, boys,” he told them. “I didn’t really believe it when Mr. Fudge told me what you thought you’d found. But this is almost certainly a twelfth or thirteenth century Scandinavian sword and helmet. What’s in the soapstone box?”

  “We’re not sure, sir,” Jamie replied, his caution forgotten. “We didn’t want to mess up the stuff that’s in it. We thought we’d better leave it alone till some expert could look it over.”

  Armstrong nodded his head approvingly. “Very wise. But I see a Nordic armlet there—looks like a gold one too.”

  “That belong Koonar. All stuff belong Koonar one time,” Peetyuk said.

  Armstrong’s eyebrows shot up. “How do you know the name of the man? I think you’d best tell me the whole story of your find.”

  He sat on a bunk and listened intently as Jamie, assisted now and again by one of the others, told the story, beginning with the finding of the stone tomb the previous summer. By the time Jamie had finished the archaeologist had become extremely excited. He got to his feet and began pacing the length of the cabin.

  “I don’t want to say too much until we’ve checked all the facts. There’s that lead tablet you have at your cabin, for instance. That will have to be examined by qualified runologists. But I’ll go out on a limb partway—I think you young people may have made one of the most valuable and important historical finds of the century.

  “Now we’d better decide how to proceed from here. These relics are far too valuable to be left lying around. I think you should place them in the hands of the police for safekeeping. I’ll radio my colleagues in Ottawa this very night…What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?” He cast a puzzled glance at Jamie, who now appeared very nervous and
ill at ease and was desperately trying to catch Josh’s eye.

  “I reckon I know the trouble, Perfessor. But you got nothing to worry about, Jamie. I had a yarn with one of the corporals at the detachment. Old chum of mine. He says he never heard tell of you. There’s no ‘wanted’ poster out on you. What’s more, he says since you’re nearly sixteen there likely never was no idea of putting you into an orphan asylum. He figures they just wanted to make sure you didn’t starve up in the woods alone. Looks like you run halfway across the arctic all for nothing. Running from shadows, you might say.” He chuckled at the expression of relief mixed with embarrassment on Jamie’s face.

  “There’s more news for you. I wired the hospital at The Pas. Got an answer back right off. Angus Macnair’s been convalescent for pretty near a month, and he’s due for discharge anytime. So I sends a wire off to him, telling the old buffalo to meet us at Hudson Bay Junction Tuesday next, when the weekly train goes south.”

  The archaeologist looked baffled as the three boys and Angeline leaped to their feet shouting with delight, and clamoring for more details.

  “Whoa there!” Josh bellowed. “Steady down! The perfessor here’ll think you’re ‘bushed.’ Where’s your manners, eh? Missy Angeline, put on a pot of coffee for the man. Now then, Jamie, I figures you can trust the perfessor here. Windy Jones reckons he’s okay, and Windy don’t make no mistakes. You’d best do what he says.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Fudge. You can certainly trust me, boys—and you too, young lady. We’ll get a receipt from the police for the relics. If I get the reception I expect from my radio message to Ottawa, I’ll come south with you myself and we’ll arrange to have some museum specialists from Ottawa and Toronto meet us in Winnipeg. Perhaps you would agree to going on as far as Winnipeg? I can guarantee that the National Museum will pay all your expenses for the journey.”

  A week later when the train left Churchill for the long run south it carried four excited youngsters, all of them togged out at Josh’s expense in brand-new “store clothing.” The boys felt somewhat stiff and peculiar in their new gear, but Angeline was delighted with a smart new dress which made her feel as pretty as she looked—and that was pretty enough to draw a good many admiring glances from other male passengers, and to make Peetyuk growl a little with barely suppressed jealousy.

  This was the first train ride Awasin, Angeline and Peetyuk had ever taken and they found it fascinating. Crowded on the rear platform they watched the rails slip away behind them as the clattering train swung away from the gray waters of Hudson Bay and plunged into the stunted spruce forests. And although a train trip was no novelty for Jamie he was just as excited as were the others, for a telegram had arrived shortly before their departure telling him that Angus Macnair would join the party at Hudson Bay Junction. It had been decided that they would all go on to Winnipeg together and enjoy a holiday in that prairie city while the Viking relics were being examined by the experts.

  Josh Fudge joined them on the open platform and after a moment he drew their attention to the pale evening sky where a black and straggling “V” of Canada geese also pointed southward.

  “The Big River people claims them geese carries summer with them when they takes to wing,” he told his young companions. “And in the spring, they brings it back. Maybe when they pitches at Big River next year you younkers’ll come along with they; and we can make that voyage to the nor’west we talked about…but that’s for later on. Right now let’s go and see what kind o’ grub they gives a feller on this here ‘muskeg express.’…”

  BOOKS BY FARLEY MOWAT

  People of the Deer (1952, revised edition 1975)

  The Regiment (1955, new edition 1973,

  paperback edition 1989)

  Lost in the Barrens (1956)

  The Dog Who Wouldn’t Be (1957)

  Grey Seas Under (1959)

  The Desperate People (1959, revised edition 1975)

  Owls in the Family (1961)

  The Serpent’s Coil (1961)

  The Black Joke (1962)

  Never Cry Wolf (1963, new edition 1973)

  Westviking (1965)

  The Curse of the Viking Grave (1967)

  Canada North (illustrated edition 1967)

  Canada North Now (revised paperback edition 1967)

  This Rock Within the Sea (with John de Visser)

  (1968, reissued 1976)

  The Boat Who Wouldn’t Float

  (1969, illustrated edition 1974)

  Sibir (1970, new edition 1973)

  A Whale for the Killing (1972)

  Wake of the Great Sealers (with David Blackwood) (1973)

  The Snow Walker (1975)

  And No Birds Sang (1979)

  The World of Farley Mowat, a selection from his works

  (edited by Peter Davison) (1980)

  Sea of Slaughter (1984)

  My Discovery of America (1985)

  Virunga: The Passion of Dian Fossey (1987)

  The New Founde Land (1989)

  Rescue the Earth! (1990)

  My Father’s Son (1992)

  Born Naked (1993)

  THE TOP OF THE WORLD TRILOGY

  Ordeal by Ice (1960, revised edition 1973)

  The Polar Passion (1967, revised edition 1973)

  Tundra (1973)

  EDITED BY FARLEY MOWAT

  Coppermine Journey (1958)

  Copyright © by Farley Mowat, 1966

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher—or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency—is an infringement of the copyright law.

  National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Mowat, Farley, 1921-

  The curse of the viking grave

  eISBN: 978-1-55199-242-6

  I. Geer, Charles. II. Title.

  PS8526.089C87 1987 C813’.54 C87-094471-1

  PR9199.3.M69C87 1987

  McClelland & Stewart Ltd.

  The Canadian Publishers

  75 Sherbourne Street

  Toronto, Ontario

  M5A 2P9

  www.mcclelland.com

  v1.0

  FOOTNOTES

  *1The story of this adventure is told in Farley Mowat’s Lost in the Barrens.

  Return to text.

  *2“Eskimo” is our version of the Cree word Ayuskeemo.

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