Snow-shoes and Sledges A Sequel to "The Fur-Seal's Tooth" — Context and Discussion

o clearly, and was so sturdily supported by Serge, that they were finally won over to his way of thinking. So the discontented engineer was forced to yield to the wishes of the majority.

Five miles from Pastolik they stopped at the Eskimo village of Coatlik for a supply of wood, and here Serge, with his ability to speak Russian, proved invaluable. Not only did he conduct the wood negotiations, but he succeeded in purchasing a number of freshly killed wild-geese, which were at that time flying southward in vast flocks. Above all, he secured a native pilot, who promised to go with them until they met running ice.

Nor did the services of the young Russo-American diminish one whit in value after Coatlik was left behind. He alone knew how to prepare the broths which formed the sole nourishment that the sick man was able to take. He only could converse with the native pilot, and learn from him the mysteries of the mighty river. He it was who was always cheerful, and could swing the lustiest axe, when, as often happened, they were obliged to renew their supply of fuel from chance drift piles; and it was he who must attend the sick man at night, because the faintest murmur served to wake him. So Serge was the very life of that dreary voyage, and but for him Phil knew it must have been abandoned long before they reached the haven for which they were steering.

And it was a dreary voyage. Day after day witnessed the same monotony of turbid waters, so widespread that one bank was often invisible from the other, and a deadly level of drowned lands bounded only by the low, far-away horizon. Day after day brought the same gray skies, chill winds, rain squalls, and flurries of snow. Every night saw heavy frosts, and it grew hourly more apparent that the stern reign of winter was close at hand.

At long intervals lonely groups of sod-covered huts gave sign that human beings dwelt even in those unlovely wastes, but save for fuel the young commander of the _Chimo_ would not pause to make their acquaintance. From earliest dawn until dusk he forced the little craft at full speed against the swift current, often grounding on sand-bars in spite of the native pilot, whose only knowledge was of the best channel but not of its obstructions.

After two days they began to see low hills on the north, and on this side the river-bank became noticeably higher. Although this was encouraging, it produced but slight impression on the spirits of the depressed crew, whose situation was indeed becoming alarming. They were worn out with anxiety, overwork, and insufficient food, for they had neither the time nor inclination to do any cooking except for the sick. The captain lay in a state of semi-stupor, and another cot within the same enclosure held one of the millwrights, who had been stricken with the dread disease twenty-four hours later.

By the end of the first week in October they were some two hundred miles from the mouth of the river, with nearly one hundred yet to go before they could reach Anvik, to gain which Phil was directing all his energies. He knew not what they would find there; but he had an intuition that help of some kind awaited them at that point. At any rate, he was determined to reach it somehow.

On the 7th of October ice began to run in the river, and with its first appearance the native pilot insisted upon starting back towards his now distant home. That night, amid the howlings of a tempest that threatened to tear the _Chimo_ from her anchorage, the stricken millwright died.

When Phil went to the engineer’s room to report this distressing news he was filled with wrath to find that individual lying in his bunk and indulging to excess in the contents of a case of brandied peaches that he had stolen from the cargo.

Without a word Phil picked up the case and flung it into the river. “I’ll see you again in the morning, sir, when you are sober,” he said, as he left the room, and, locking the door, put the key in his own pocket.

That night of storm, death, and despair was one that neither Phil nor Serge will ever forget. For long hours they sat by the bedside of the captain, whom they believed to be sleeping, discussing in low tones their melancholy situation.

Suddenly they were startled by a voice from the sick man, who said, feebly, “Get me to Anvik, boys, if you can, and you will save my life.”