An equal weight of bacon.
I have sampled some of each item already, a welcome relief from scorched bear.
One day later_My search of the ship for food continues, but without any further success. As I had thought, imminent starvation was the reason why this stout vessel was abandoned.
In my investigations I have turned up a considerable variety of clothing—none of it, naturally enough, big enough to fit me.
Two days later_Much to tell. Company has ar-rived, and I am no longer alone. Six human beings have joined me, two men, two women, and two small children. I suppose that these are the folk known to us as Esquimeaux, though the name seems to mean nothing to them when I pronounce it. All arrived in a group—from where?—traversing the shifting fields of ice by dogsled and on foot without apparent difficulty.
Neither French, German, nor English make any impression on them, nor does my smattering of Russian. Their language does not sound to me like any that I have ever heard before.
The two men, armed with short spears for hunting—any people less warlike it would be hard to imagine—came clambering onto my ship before I had reason to suspect the presence of any human beings within five hundred miles. On hearing the sounds of movement, I emerged from belowdecks with my reloaded musket at the ready, more than half believing that the presence of four more unfamiliar feet upon my deck signalled the arrival of another bear.
Naturally enough, my visitors recoiled at first from such an apparition as myself. But then they quickly, though with an obvious effort, mastered their initial fright, and by words and signs endeavored earnestly to convey to me that I had nothing to fear from them. I put down my weapon and responded in kind, as well as I was able. Finding language of no use, I employed what sounds and gestures I could think of to make my guests understand that they were welcome to feed themselves, their wives and children, and their dogs, from the carcass of my bear, which trophy I think much impressed them. From that beginning our sociability has progressed, I think to a remarkable degree. Indeed, I already find myself more at ease in their company than in any other that my admittedly imperfect memory can bring to mind.
Later_The women are, if anything, friendlier than the men. They all intend, if I understand them correctly, to make camp—somehow—on the ice hard by the ship, rather than accept my invitation to move aboard. I have done my best to indicate that they are welcome.
These folk are not natives of Lapland, or at least they do not respond to the few words of that tongue that I have lately recollected and tried on them. My only reward was looks as blank, if as pleasant, as before.
Later_My friends the Inoot—that is as nearly as I can try to spell the word by which they seem to call themselves—are much taken with my writing, the captain's notebook which I use, the graphite pencils, and the small knife with which I carry out the occasional ritual of sharpening.
I am excited. One of the men has made the sign of the cross, from which I infer the presence of missionaries. Now I can hope that some outpost of civilization may exist, at a reachable distance from where I am.
European civilization—is that indeed what I now yearn for? But my origins, the answers to the riddle of my life, must lie in Europe. And Walton and Saville are there, most probably, if vengeance on Saville and Walton is what I really seek.
My life—from whatever cause, and even though the whole world find it hateful—flows strongly in my veins. I am determined to survive, and to seek out the secrets of my self.
When the Inoot move on, I shall go with them.
Chapter 3
June? 1782?
I write this by clear sunlight, though the time is near midnight—the sun has dipped its closest to the horizon. Between me and this sun there are no cabin windows. The ship, the cabin, all ships and all cabins, are far behind me now.
The aperture through which the sun must pass to fall upon my paper is the narrow doorway of a small house made of ice. This strange structure my companions, with some trifling help from me, have erected in less than an hour's time, cutting and placing the blocks with a sureness and rapidity that must be born of long practice. Inside the house is a single chamber, with room for seven travelers to huddle in their furs. Directly in the center of the floor of ice there burns a small oil-lamp, with a small chimney-hole directly over it, at the apex of the ice-dome. The single curved surface of the interior wall gleams with melted and re-frozen water. The air inside the dwelling is grown surprisingly warm; any warmer and soon I shall find my fur robes oppressive.
The Inoot and I are headed into the south—where else? But I have doubts that I am still in the longitude of Europe. If not, then it is to be North America; my own flight from Europe, my last nightmarish encounter with my tormentors aboard the Argo, and the drifting of the Mary Goode, have carried me farther west than I at first thought possible. But the truth of the matter is that I can scarcely guess at my location.
So, with my new friends—undoubtedly my only friends in all the world—I go south. When we have managed to reach something other than ice and snow, then I may grow more particular as to my destination. The remnants of the frozen bear travel with us, and now with other food supplies are walled away from the dogs in a small ice-closet constructed for that purpose.
The dogs do not like me, any more than did the ones I drove in Russia. But then sled dogs do not like anyone or anything, except when it. appears as food.
Next morning_or, at any rate, after some hours of sleep. And after much else.
For as far back as I can remember I had been firmly convinced that no human female would ever, conceivably—at least without great financial inducement—be willing to join herself to me in the manner of a woman with a man, not even in a fashion devoid of all the finer sentiments, and purely animal or brutal. This assumption—I was persuaded of it by many things that my creator said, and by other evidence as well—has now been proven wrong.
My thoughts are humble ones, and yet in a way proud, as I write of the experience. Even as my encounter with the white bear marked a point of sharp division between one epoch of my life and another, so did last night's encounter with Kunuk signal another end, and a beginning.
I marvel at the suddenness and naturalness with which it came about. In the confined space of the ice-shelter there was no question of privacy. As we all made such preparations as were possible before retiring, I observed that my companions, male and female, young and old alike, divested themselves of all clothing before entering their beds of sleeping furs. Years of experience as a traveler have taught me that when about to embark upon some unfamiliar activity, it is wise to imitate the actions of the natives when they perform the act in question; and I considered that sleeping in a house made of ice was new and strange enough to bring this rule into full force. I removed my clothes entirely.
The women made not the least effort to conceal themselves from me, and I, following the lead of my hosts, was equally frank in my behavior. The older woman was indifferent to what she saw; but the younger gave evidence in her facial expressions and her manner that what she beheld amused and perhaps amazed her; and with unmistakable gestures she beckoned me to share her furs. Here, it seems that morals and customs that are well-nigh universal in other lands must give way before the sheer animal need to conserve warmth, and, I suppose, to avoid conflict among members of a party when all are confronted at every hour with the challenge of survival in a most savage and unforgiving environment.