First at the North Pole Part 35

During the following three weeks it snowed a great deal. It was, however, clear on Christmas Day, and the boys went out for a walk in the vicinity of the vessel. All hands were treated to a dinner of wild duck and plum pudding, and something of a church service was held by the captain, a.s.sisted by Dr. Slade, who had a good tenor voice, and had once sung in a church choir.

"Makes a fellow feel just a little bit less like a heathen," remarked Chet, after the church service had come to an end.

"Indeed, that is true," answered Andy. At Pine Run he had attended the village chapel whenever he had the chance to do so.

As Professor Jeffer had predicted, it grew steadily colder, and there were many days between Christmas and the middle of January when the boys did not care to venture outside. Outdoor work was out of the question, and all hands busied themselves within as best they could. The men smoked and played games, and sometimes got up boxing matches. The boys often took part in the games, and Chet showed his skill as a boxer by flooring two of the tars hand-running.

Yet with it all the time pa.s.sed slowly, and both Andy and Chet were anxious for the Long Night to come to an end. The darkness was beginning to tell on many of the party, and Pep Loggermore especially began to act strangely. Once he began to sing hysterically, and the doctor had to give him some medicine to quiet him.

"He's a strange d.i.c.k, that chap," said Captain Williamson. "I am sorry I had him sign articles with me. He's one of the old-fas.h.i.+oned superst.i.tious kind that I don't like."

The boys were glad when the full moon shone down on the s.h.i.+p, for then it was almost as bright as day. The moons.h.i.+ne made the distant cliffs and peaks of ice look like castles of white, and added a rare beauty to the scene. Professor Jeffer took several photographs in the moonlight,--of the s.h.i.+p, the hut and storehouse, and of different members of the party. To pa.s.s the time, some of these films and plates were developed on the s.h.i.+p, and the boys aided in printing the pictures, many of which proved very good.

One moonlight night Andy and Chet determined to take a short walk to a point some distance behind the storehouse, and in the direction of the _igloos_ of the Esquimaux. So far, they had not seen the inside of any of the houses of ice, and they were a bit curious to know just how the natives lived.

They soon met Olalola, who had been on a hunt, and he invited them inside his temporary home, and one after another they crawled through the pa.s.sageway that answered for a vestibule.

Inside, the _igloo_ was about ten feet in diameter, and rounding upward into a dome a foot or two above their heads. Here lived six of the Esquimaux. They had some dirty skins on the floor and in the center was a tiny fire, resting on some flat stones, the smoke escaping through some small holes in the top of the dome.

The smell was something awful in the place, coming from some seal meat that was cooking over the fire, and also from the pipes of the Esquimaux, who were all smoking stuff that the lads later on learned was a combination of plug tobacco and seal hair--the hair being added to the tobacco to make the latter last longer.

Olalola could speak a few words of English, and he invited the lads to have some of the stew that was being made. Just for the novelty each lad tried a mouthful. But to swallow the nauseating mess was impossible, and they had to spit it out. At this all of the Esquimaux laughed loudly.

They were not in the least offended because the boys did not like the food.

"Boy no eat, me eat," said Olalola, and filled his mouth with great gusto. Then the youths excused themselves and got out as fast as possible.

"Phew! talk about fresh air!" cried Chet, when he and his chum were in the open. "Wouldn't you think the Esquimaux would die in that kind of rot?"

"I don't believe they are very healthy," answered Andy. "Dr. Slade says they are not."

"They all need a bath, and need it badly," said Chet, in deep disgust.

It was his first and last visit to the _igloos_.

When it was clear the Esquimaux often played games. One was leapfrog, and another was of the "snap-the-whip" variety. In the latter sport they would roar loudly when the last man was sent whirling over and over on the ice.

"You'd think he'd break his head," was Andy's comment, as he saw one unfortunate land with a crash on a hummock of ice.

"Well, they are rough fellows, and so their sports must be rough,"

answered Professor Jeffer.

Nearly every Esquimau is skillful with the dog-whip, and one of their pastimes amused the boys very deeply. The men would gather around in a big circle, and in the center of this a small object, usually of wood, would be half buried in the snow. Then the men, each with his long dog-lash, would try to "snap" the object from the ring. Crack! would go the lash, making a report like a pistol, and the snow would come up in a little whirl, and sometimes the object would come with it.

"Pretty good shots, some of them," said Andy.

"Wait until we get on the road with the sledges," answered Barwell Dawson. "Then you'll see some fancy doings with the whips. Some of those chaps can reach a dog twenty feet away, and take a nip out of his hide as quick as a wink. That's the way they get the dogs under such perfect control."

"I wish I could learn how to drive the dogs," said Andy.

"You'll have plenty of chance, when we get on the move again," returned the explorer.

Two days later, Andy was walking from the storehouse to the s.h.i.+p when, in the dim light from the lamp near the hut, he saw something unusual that attracted his attention. A man was crawling along on all-fours, muttering wildly to himself.

"Whatever can that fellow be up to?" asked the boy of himself. For the instant he thought he might be mistaken, and that the form was that of some wild beast.

His curiosity aroused to a high pitch, the lad stopped short, and then made a detour, coming up on the opposite side of the storehouse. Here he found the man, still on all-fours, bending over a case of some sort.

"Oh, this darkness! Why don't the sun s.h.i.+ne?" the man was muttering to himself. "I must have light! I will have light!"

"It is Pep Loggermore, and he is as crazy as a loon!" murmured Andy. "I had better tell the captain of this at once! The sailor may hurt somebody if I don't!"

Andy turned around, to make a quick run toward the s.h.i.+p, when he heard the scratching of a match. A tiny flash of flame followed, and in that little flare of light he saw the crazed sailor bending over what looked to be a can of oil!

"He is going to set something on fire!" thought Andy. "Maybe the storehouse! That's his crazy idea of getting light!"

Andy was right, Loggermore was trying to set fire to the storehouse.

Already he was pouring oil from the can over a number of boxes, the ends of which formed that side of the shelter.

"If I run to the s.h.i.+p, it will take time," reasoned Andy. "By the time I get back with some of the others it may be too late. What shall I do?"

It was a hard question to answer. He had no desire to tackle the crazy sailor alone. But even while he stood debating with himself he saw Loggermore strike another match.

"Stop! Don't light that, Loggermore!"

So shouting, Andy leaped toward the man, who was still crouched down, mumbling to himself about wanting a light. At the sound of the youth's voice, the sailor turned, and something like a snarl broke from his lips.

"Go away! Go away!" he shrieked.

"Loggermore, you mustn't set anything on fire."

"I want light! I must have light! I hate the darkness!" growled the crazed sailor.

"You'll burn up all our stores. If you do that, we'll starve to death!"

continued Andy, as he drew closer.

"I want light!" went on Loggermore, doggedly. "The darkness hurts my head--I can't think straight. Stand back and see what a fine light I'll soon have!" And so speaking, he lit another match, for the other had fallen in the snow and gone out.

"Help! help!" yelled Andy, at the top of his lungs. He could think of nothing else to do. "Help! help!"

"Shut up!" cried the crazed sailor. "Shut up!" And now, dropping the match he had just struck, he leaped at Andy and caught him by the shoulder and the arm.

The grip of the crazy fellow was like steel, and do his best, the boy could not break away. Pep Loggermore whirled him around and sent him cras.h.i.+ng up against the boxes of the storehouse. There both stood, panting heavily, with the sailor's eyes glowing like two b.a.l.l.s of fire.

"Le--let me go!" gasped Andy. "Loggermore, you are crazy--you don't know what you are doing. Don't be so foolish, that's a good fellow----"

"No, no, I'll not let you go! You are a Jonah, Andy Graham! You shot the geese, you and that other lad, and you've brought us all kinds of trouble! I'll not let you go!" shrieked Loggermore and then he slammed Andy against the boxes once more. The feet of both came down on the can and on the box of matches the sailor had dropped, smas.h.i.+ng each down into the ice and snow.

Then suddenly a light flared up, coming from the broken box of matches.

They spluttered an instant and set fire to the oil, and also to the clothing of the man and the boy. Loggermore was too crazy to mind this, but Andy was filled with horror.