Chapter VI

The succeeding days were occupied with the business of getting settled. Our eight-day clock recorded July 7th before we finally got down to work. By throwing up a waist-high wall around the base of the cairn we formed a circular dugout into which we moved our belongings, a man to each segment. Already the weather had begun to moderate and I found my medium-longs comfortable.

Sections of our camp were covered with tarpaulins and of course we had the Kawa to retire to in case of need. A passing shower warned me that the short Arctic summer was waning but I figured that we had ample time to remain at least three weeks longer. We had but begun our scientific work, our food supply was generously sufficient, and moreover, my men had come a long way and were entitled to a rest.

Ah! How vainly does the mind of man delude itself with false reasoning. Back in my brain nibbled the maggot of curiosity. Deep in my man-being the age-old impulse lusted for a sight of the mysterious ice-maiden. Like the old viking in the Saga--"_Moe entilgig sas, moe Tillig as var--_"[17] I would have procrastinated forever. As it was my delay ... but I am now getting south of myself.

Speaking of "getting south" we were in a curious position, one previously remarked on, but which has received scant attention. I refer to the fact that there was left to us but one direction. We had nowhere to go but south. The idea seemed so fantastic that I verified it by actual test. The empiric is after all the only actual, as Spencer says. Standing close together four of us were able to touch the Pole with our backs. At a signal we all stepped forward five paces.

We had all gone south!

And yet, Triplett and I had gone in exactly opposite directions: so had Whinney and Wigmore who were assistants.

There are some things that are beyond the mind of man. Whinney said that it was very simple. He explained that since it was already possible, in a three dimensional world, to reduce motion to one direction (which is the equivalent of one dimension) he was sure that further research would show us the way to arrive at a point in which there would be no direction at all.

"How would you get back?" I asked.

Although nonplussed he started in on a wordy explanation in the midst of which I sneaked softly away, leaving him still talking under the impression that I was at his side.

My unfortunate friend had taken up writing to mitigate his black loneliness and the click of his typewriter could be heard at any time. He was writing a description of our voyage and it surprised me to see how much clearer and more interesting his account became after his eyes were stricken and he was obliged to rely for information on what was told him rather than on what he had seen. It has long been a theory of mine that too much actual experience makes a man inarticulate, while the reverse is stimulating and beneficial.[18] A realization of the devastating dullness of most polar accounts has further confirmed this view.

In the meantime our serious work was progressing. My plan was to keep one of the men with me, giving the others freedom to pursue their respective lines of research. This made it possible for me to be at home most of the time and so not miss any recurrence of the feminine phenomenon I had noted.

AFTER THE BATH

No libel has received wider acceptance than the often made statement
that the Eskimos are an uncleanly people. It is true that during
the winter season the skin is protected by frequent applications of
various animal-oils such as seal, walrus, otary, sperm and pemmican.
Only thus could the skin be protected against the rigors of the Polar
winter. The usual specification employed by the Klinka tribe is as
follows: (1) One (1) coat of otary oil thoroughly brushed in. When
this has dried apply (2) one (1) coat of Makuik-mixture (1/3 otary to
2/3 whale, sperm or equal), applied hot with a soft tundra sponge or
seal-flipper; (3) two (2) coats grade A pemmican, applied separately;
(4) finish coat of walrus-oil rubbed to a high polish. Fastidious
individuals frequently add a coat of guppy-wax which results in a
soft lustrous surface. By this method the entire body is hermetically
sealed (just as our New England forebears used to seal their
preserves and jams with paraffin) and the skin is kept immaculately
clean.

As soon, however, as the Spring sun has ameliorated the low
temperature the native feels that it is time to slough his oily
protection. Nature demands that his pores come up for air. This is
accomplished by exposure to the sun's rays. The wax and substrata
rapidly liquefy and are easily scraped-off with curved bone knives
admirably adapted to the work in hand. The natives assist each other.
One of the pleasantest experiences of Dr. Traprock and his men was
that of watching a lovely Klinka scraping an acquaintance, aided by
the friendly suggestions of her companions.

When the final oil-coat is removed and all pores are wide open the
body is rolled in clean snow and rubbed vigorously with a dried
salmon-fin.

The adjacent photograph shows little Kopek returning in his mother's
oomiak after his Spring scouring. The snowy whiteness of his tender
skin is ample proof of the hygienic wisdom of the Klinka method.

Note the iglootinous character of the background. The perforated
mounds are really hives, the winter quarters of the Poks or Arctic
snow-bees which lay blue honey in large quantities from June to
September.

After a comfortable breakfast my followers departed in various directions, each carrying his luncheon which Sausalito put up for him. She, by the way, had become the uncrowned queen of all hearts and I felt more than justified in having acceded to Triplett's sinful wishes.

Plock found it difficult to make any headway with his anthropology because he could discover no inhabitants. Up to July 20th, he kept entering regularly in his journal: "Density of population 1/316 to square mile."

"It hardly seems enough," said Frissell brightly.

Plock gave him a sour look.

"I was not speaking of mental density," he said.

In zoology he was more successful, though he complained bitterly that my "no hunting" edict cramped his style.

"You can't study life without taking it," he said.

I thought he was referring to the magazine.

"My family have been taking it since Vol. 1, No. 1," I retorted, "and you know perfectly well it has always been anti-vivisection."

"Who said anything about vivisection?" he demanded, "though for that matter, that's just one of Life's kinks, something that was wished on 'em in a will. Let me kill a few animals first, and I'll cut 'em up, and maybe eat 'em afterward!"

He licked his lips greedily. In him, too, dormant appetites were stirring, the blood thirst of the tiger! Strange irony, that he should be the first to go.

Nevertheless he brought in some interesting live specimens caught with ingenious snares and traps, among other things numerous birds, ptarmigan, pelican and pemmican and a pair of polar kittens, the young of the Felis-polaris, those quaint cats which always point toward the north.[19] These charming creatures soon became our pets and took avidly to the condensed milk which Sausalito prepared for them.

The pair of nesting pemmican who had pre-empted our crow's nest were a source of constant interest. Three magnificent eggs about the size of footballs were jealously watched day and night. Plock informed us that the young birds might hatch any day now and warned us to be ready for interesting developments. Though I believed him I was unprepared for anything as novel as what took place.

Fortunately the event transpired on a Sunday--July 23rd to be exact--which was a day of rest. We had just finished divine service when Plock pointed excitedly toward the main truck.

"She's going to hatch!" he yelled.

The mother bird had risen from the nest. Between her powerful legs she clutched one of the perfect ovates. Circling the Kawa three times she uttered a piercing shriek and dropped the egg.

"Key-ryste!" ejaculated Triplett.

Plock motioned for silence.

The egg struck the floe with a deep boom off our weather lee and a dense cloud of bright orange smoke filled the air in the midst of which we saw the fledgling pemmican in full flight, rising to join its mother. The male or bull pemmican now added himself to the party and together they made off to the edge of the ice bowl where the young one alighted.

"Stand back," warned Plock. "Cover up your noses."

The saffron laying fumes were drifting toward us, and their odor was overpowering and indescribable. Even as I crouched behind our bulwarks I thought of my old friend Lucien Sentent, the nasal gourmet of Battambang and wished he were with us. He could have had my share!

Three times this curious phenomenon was repeated and though vastly diverted we were glad when it was over.

Along other lines, Miskin covered a large number of cardboards with maps. He was preparing a folio, "The Pole and its Environs," he called it. A difficulty was that of locating any other point in relation to the Pole. Triplett's science could go no further than it had.

"Son," he said to Miskin, who had been anxiously asking which direction New York was. "Son, I kin tell yer where we be, but not where we ain't."

So Miskin tried the effect of the Pole in various positions on the sheets and said he would fill in the details later.

Swank got some excellent photographs using Whinney's camera, some of which are reproduced with this book. The views from the Pole itself were particularly interesting, but his best results were to come later.

Wigmore kept adding to his collection of snow crystals and algæ which he packed carefully in cracked ice, while Whinney, even in his darkened condition found it possible to tinker with his radio outfit. Sloff helped him rig his antennae to the Pole itself and we began to get messages with increasing clarity.

Thus it will be seen that all our little band were busy and that not an hour was wasted.

But deep in my heart lurked a determination to see again my lady of mystery. As the days lengthened to weeks without my having made any progress I at last confided in Swank.

He was incredulous but logical and infinitely woman-wise.

"You were cuckoo," he said. "But if you weren't, the only way to get her is to rouse her curiosity. Then grab her."

"How?" I asked.

He pondered a moment before replying.

"See those snow men?"

I nodded. Frissell had occupied his valuable time carving effigies for what he called his "Hall of Ill-fame, or Northern Musee of the World's Worst Worms."--Volstead, Anderson, Dr. Pease, John Roach Straton, Anthony Comstock and others. While I deprecated his taste I had no suspicion how thankful I should be for its results.

"Here's the idea," Swank continued. "Get everybody else out of the way for a whole day, see? Then plant a decoy over on the other side of the cairn where you saw the woman; something bright and snappy in color."

"My old hunting coat!" I suggested.

"Just the thing. Then you and I creep into a couple of Frizzie's masterpieces, poke out their prune-stone eyes and watch."

"Swank!" I cried, grasping his hand, "you are a genius."

He shrugged his shoulders modestly.

"In more ways than one," he conceded.

The plan was simple of execution. My only problem was Whinney, Sausalito and Triplett who commonly stuck around home. This I solved by sending Sausalito off for a day's picnic with Whinney so that the Captain followed, as a matter of course. Since Reginald had been unable to see Sausalito and only heard her vibrant voice, he had become dangerously fond of her, a fact which Triplett's one eye was quick to notice. They, therefore, departed, Sausalito leading Whinney with Triplett trailing. The others had gone long ago. Swank and I at once began our preparations.

Twenty feet from the foot of the cairn I spread my M.F.H. coat on the snow. Its vivid scarlet with the Derby brown collar and turn-back cuffs made a vivid spot amid the surrounding whiteness. Swank meanwhile was burrowing into the back of Dr. Pease. A moment later I was enclosed in Volstead, a disguise which I had never thought to assume. The air was suffocating inside and to fortify myself I nibbled a fragment of A-P with ironic appreciation of the contrast between the outer man and the inner. Swank, not to be outdone, solaced himself with a smoke which must surely have irked the cold semblance of the arch anti-cigarettist. But I hissed a warning and the blue smoke spiral ceased.

From then on we waited. The time was interminable. It was probably not more than thirty minutes, but it seemed hours. My A-P was exhausted and I began to think of quitting.

Then, with a suddenness that nearly caused me to fall through Volstead's abdomen, things began to happen. I glanced at Dr. Pease; he was trembling slightly, or maybe it was my own excitement.

DINNER IS SERVED

The closeness of primitive man to the abysmal brute is strikingly
illustrated in the accompanying photograph. Makuik at mealtime must
surely remind the reader of the Bronx Park Zoo at that time which the
poet beautifully describes:

"Between the dark and the daylight, When the lions release their lung-power, Comes a pause in the day's occupation Which is known as the feeding-hour."

Eskimo diet varies with the season. During the long winter it
consists mainly of the fatty overcoats worn by seal, walrus and
otary. Another favorite _plate_ is made, en casserole, with alternate
layers of whale-blubber and seal-flippers. The result tastes very
much like stewed tennis-shoes. These wobbly dishes, garnished with
seal-eyes, are served on squares of hide and are scraped-up with
flippers or guppy-fins. Both hide and flipper are eaten at the close
of the meal which eliminates the tedious dish-washing, wiping and
putting-away of so-called civilized housekeeping. These blubberous
foods supply the calories (about 2000 to the square inch) necessary
to combat the absurd temperature of the winter season.

When the sun re-appears in the spring and the song of the first
lapwing is heard, the Eskimo begins to think intently of raw meat.
"_Ukuk matok tomatok_," he mutters to himself. "I must have some
vitamines."

The scent of a bear two miles to windward crazes the native huntsman
and speedily sets him to sharpening his spears and knives to
razor-keenness. Yet so strict is his observance of Kryptok law that
when a kill has been made he will touch no morsel until the meat has
been divided according to the custom, for the chief the sirloins and
porterhouses, for the lesser men the second and third joints and for
the women the ribs, rump, neck and feet or whatever else is left.

According to Makuik bear's-meat is greatly prized because of its
toughness. It is considered effeminate to eat tender meat. The sound
of an Eskimo meal is not unlike a Red-Cross bandage-tearing session.

A study of the photograph under the microscope clearly shows the
vitamines winding their curiously spiral course up and down the meal.

The absence of table manners is not remarkable when one considers the
absence of tables.

Swiftly and noiselessly a large block of snow at the base of the cairn itself moved to one side disclosing a laughing face, the same lovely countenance upon which I had gazed several weeks before. The wearer listened for a full minute with bird-like intentness, then leaped lightly out and straightened up, a long-limbed, graceful creature wearing the conventional summer furs of the Northern Eskimo. Her hood was thrown back showing a glimpse of entrancing shoulder but what dazzled me most were the starry blue eyes, fair skin and wealth of molten, golden hair!

Her first act was to circumnavigate the cairn which she did with the same silent rapidity that marked her every motion. She then made directly for the lure, bending over it, touching it cautiously and finally raising it and burying her face in its scarlet folds, while her laughs rang out muffled but intoxicating.

This was my chance!

Bursting through my prison walls I rushed toward her while Swank, by arrangement, crashed out of Pease, darted to the entrance, slid the block into place and sat on it. I was upon her before she had a chance to move.

"_Akalok!_" I cried (the Northern dialect for "friend"), as we rolled over and over in the snow. My old football training stood me in good stead for I had made a perfect diving tackle. Inwardly blessing the name of Ted Coy, I pinned the lithe, palpitating body to the snow, repeating more tenderly the soft appellation, "_Akalok, Akalok_."

But my triumph was shortlived.

For the first time her lips moved and from between them burst a wild, frantic cry, strangely familiar to my ears.

"Makuik! Makuik!"

At the repetition I heard a shriek of pain from Swank and glanced over my shoulder in time to see him rise in the air. The ice block was shattered beneath him and I saw an ugly stub of seal-spear, thrust accurately where he had formerly sat. Directly back of him leaped an ape-like figure as swart and scowling as a Japanese war mask. He carried a terrific weapon, a keen-edged blubber cutter, with which he made directly at me.

At ten paces I recognized him but too late to stop the impending blow. Firing over my shoulder, a tricky shot at best, I shattered the bone blade into a thousand fragments, at the same instant jumping to my feet and shouting--"Makuik! Tapok!"

I had given my name, "Tapok," the Icelandic pronunciation, and at the sound he stopped like a man shot.

"Makuik!" I cried again.

His ferocious scowl faded through stupefaction to astonishment and gleeful recognition.

"Tapok!" he rumbled, spreading his arms wide. "_Kata pokok_ Ikik _nakatok_!"

I regret that I cannot translate his remark which was highly improper and referred definitely to the woman, Ikik, who stood trembling beside us. She had raised her oomiak and now, to hide her blushes, folded her glorious hair across her face so that she resembled some divine being, half goddess, half skye-terrier. Back of the screen I saw her blue eyes shining and caught a suppressed gurgle of mirth. All, then, was not lost.

In the meantime the cairn was humming like a mighty hive while through a re-opened aperture crawled other individuals, first a younger Eskimo, a mere stripling, followed by four other Eskimos, all radiant blondes. One of them carried a child, slung over her shoulder in her oomiak.

At a command from Makuik, Swank was helped to his feet, the spear being extracted from his person by Snak, a slender maiden with a mischievous smile who deftly poulticed the wound with a handful of snow.

If the reader is astounded at the sudden turn of events he can imagine my feeling when my eyes rested on Makuik, mighty hunter of the Kryptok tribe, whom I had last seen twenty years ago when we had fought our way four hundred miles across broken ice from Ki, an uncharted speck north of Iceland, to Archangel. It is a long story. Suffice it to say that I had saved his life twelve times during the trip while he had done nearly as well by me. We had sworn eternal blood-brotherhood and the word of an Eskimo is as good as his bond; better, in fact.

The Kryptok tongue came back to me fluently and I quickly assembled the family group--for such it was--in our dugout where a distribution of A-P and such small presents as I could lay my hands on transformed what had been two hostile camps into one joyous assemblage.

While the women gurgled their satisfaction over their new fly swatters and empty herring boxes, vying with each other in their attempts to ease Swank's pain, Makuik explained the situation.

The women were all his wives, fruits of victorious battle. They were of the Klinka tribe, perfect blondes, as I have noted. The young man was his oldest son by an Iceland mother.

"Too old. I eat. No good wife ... good eat," he explained frankly.

The infant was his youngest. There would be others. His party had been caught at the Pole by an unexpectedly early summer. For protection from the heat they had taken to the cairn, there to await the winter freeze which would make travel comfortable and possible.

"But why did you hide?" I asked.

"Me not know," he said, smiling craftily. "You have trees."

"Trees?" I mused, then burst out laughing. Of course! He referred to my imperial and goatee, which I have worn since my service in the Bodansky Zouaves, and which he had never seen!

It was as clear as day.

Chuckling with delight, the old warrior showed me over their living quarters while I marvelled at his vigor, preserved in this world of ice. The interior of the cairn was astounding. Instead of entering a domed chamber, similar to the many igloos I have inhabited, we went down, down for a surprising distance. The entire habitation was hewn from the eternal ice to depths far beyond the reach of sun or storm. It was a three-room-and-bath arrangement, the latter consisting of a trough, at a slightly lower level than the main floor, filled with lucent seal oil. The rooms were respectively, living-room (which also served as kitchen and dining-room), bedroom, simply furnished with community sleeping-bag, etc., and storeroom, piled high with blubber, fur-steaks, walrus eyes and other Eskimo dainties. The temperature was slightly below freezing, a delightful change from the prostrating heat we had been enduring, though I will confess that I began to think longingly of mittens and bear-skins and was glad when we once more ascended into warmer atmosphere.

I reached the surface just in time to meet the returning members of my party who, needless to say, were faint with astonishment at the change in conditions.

General introductions were in order and a blithe evening meal was soon under way. But how different a feast from the man-made orgy that had disgraced our arrival. How completely the presence of these gentle savage women had altered the complexion of our enjoyment.

Sprawling about Ikik and Snak, and the other three, Yalok, Klikitok and Lapatok (whose babe had been placed in its cold storage niche), my companions engaged in all sorts of innocent foolery. Though they spoke not a word of each other's language a subtle understanding had sprung up between them. Was it the common strain of Caucasian blood or simple sex calling to even simpler sex? I cannot answer.

Frissell had produced a lavish supply of toys from his pack which made an enormous hit. Ikik had a colored doll which she nursed affectingly. Lapatok joyfully wound a police rattle, while Snak, Klikitok and Yalok sucked rubber teething-rings with evident relish.

Makuik reserved for himself a monkey-on-a-stick which he regarded as a sceptre, the mechanism of which pleased and mystified him.

At nine o'clock Whinney announced triumphantly that his radio was working. He switched it on and we listened in awe while a far-away voice, introduced as Miss Anita Scatchett of the New Jersey State Normal School, told a Bedtime story, "How the Animal Crackers Came Alive."

I say "we listened in awe." I must amend that statement. For a few moments I was mildly impressed. It did seem odd to think of a gentle spinster in Newark, thousands of miles away, speaking to these children of nature. But as far as our guests were concerned, the feature was a dud. The subject matter soon began to bore us all and we shut it off, to Whinney's disgust.

A FAR-OFF FASHION-PLATE

In the charming scene herewith depicted, Yalok, the beautiful Klinka
belle, is posing as if she were a mannequin on parade in some
lovely _al fresco fête_, as indeed she is. The background in itself
is interesting, showing, at stage right, the Tarpaulin Tea-House
erected and conducted during the Summer months by Herman Swank, Dr.
Traprock's artistic fellow-voyager. To this picturesque châlet the
Eskimo maidens turned with womanly instinct and its accommodations,
limited to two, were in great demand. Mr. Whinney, when not
entertaining a personal guest, sat outside. But these intimate
details need not detain us.

The principal figure is Yalok who, for the purposes of photography,
has donned the very latest 1922 Spring-model sports-suit. She wears,
it will be noted, "a woman's crowning glory"--her own hair. The other
glories are supplied by the hair of various animals indigenous to the
Arctic.

Reading from North to South this snappy get-up consists of the otary
over-smock or slip-in with sliding sleeves of unborn-seal, the
roomy "roamers" of polar bearskin and the pliant _chassures_. The
sleeves, another loose seal effect, modestly cover the entire arm
or arms and flare back vehemently from the gauntlets, which may be
eider-down or up. The roamers, again, cut loose from conventional
lines and melt suavely into the retroussée wading slippers. The last
mentioned articles are fashioned from the pelt of the Amok, which
usefully grows hair on both sides of its hide. The fore-and-aft apron
or windshield is nattily edged with ermine and at the back runs
smartly into a train. A last-minute accessory is the fly-swatter, Dr.
Traprock's gift to the lady, which is held at the correct angle of
45°.

More important, however, than mere costume is the art of wearing it,
an art in which this lovely model is evidently entirely at home.
Her position is that demanded of a debutante in the most exclusive
Eskimo society, when she is presented to a distinguished foreigner,
the head modestly bowed, the eyes downcast, the arms in an alluring
come-and-get-me position and the feet gracefully parted in the middle.

A final touch of chic unreproduceable by photography but which has
all the allure of a truly Parisian _pomboire_, is the perfume (Eau de
Musk-ox) which adds its ineffable odor to this arctic rose, a hovery
halo, and exquisite ectoplasm.

A few moments later I rose with a start. Something in the air chilled me with horror. Glancing toward the horizon I gasped, then quickly caught myself.

The sun was half hidden below the horizon! The light was distinctly dim!

I thought no one had noticed my involuntary start, but Makuik, though seemingly absorbed in his monkey, leaned toward me and whispered, "Night come."

Night! My God! It had stolen upon us unaware. We would be caught, trapped in the deadly grip of the North King who had claimed so many brave men before us.

The darkened atmosphere suggested but one thought.

"Bed," I said. "Sleep."

My oblivious companions took it as a signal for dispersal. They rose reluctantly. Good-byes were said. Noses were rubbed affectionately.

Then an embarrassing episode took place.

Makuik, who had marshalled his flock before him, suddenly seized the lovely Ikik by the shoulder and thrust her into my arms.

"You take," he said, smiling broadly. "Me give."

Her warm body pressed against me, not unwilling. It is the Kryptok custom, as usual as giving a man a drink.

Confused and inefficient, I stood there. But my perplexity was shattered by another surprise. A compact, wiry form hurled itself between us. It was Sausalito, her face livid with fury!

"You let that woman be!" she shrieked, panting, glaring.

Makuik shrugged his shoulders and pushed the Eskimo woman roughly toward her fellow wives. Then, turning, he glanced contemptuously at Sausalito.

"No good ... you eat." He leered, swinging off toward his sub-cellar.

"Dog-face!" screamed Sausalito. "Pig's-foot...."

Triplett's great hammer fist struck her squarely on the jaw and she sank limp in his arms.

Late that night I lay tossing on my blankets, prey to a thousand conflicting emotions, fear, joy, and sickening anxiety, beneath which, like the burden of a refrain, ran the overwhelming thought: "She loves me. Sausalito loves me. What shall I do?"

It was the first time such a proposition had ever daunted me.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 17: Literally.

"When the wine of his love Is the grave of his wit."

See "The Song of Beer-wolf," trans. by Ola Ramberg.]

[Footnote 18: Puvis de Bloue says, in his "Voyages Blageux" (Flammarion ed., 1918) "les yeux sont l'enemie de la verité."]

[Footnote 19: A variant of the always interesting skunk family, distinguished by the constant orientation of its physical peculiarity. It is perfectly safe to capture these little fellows from the south. The Arctic type has been found as far south as Lake Wayagamac.

(See "Among the Moufette." J. Pell, Col. Coll., N.Y.) The pair captured by Plock had been nullified by the usual method. Author.]

Chapter VII

_Still procrastinating. Our pastimes at the Pole. An exchange of
love-tokens. Ikik's avowal. Caught in the embrace of the Aurora._