Chapter VI: Blueberries and Mosquitoes

Yes, sir, those mosquitoes will almost eat him alive!” Sitka’s mother assured him.

Sitka, wondering greatly, watched, as the huge old kadiak bear lumbered across the bog. Sure enough, the mosquitoes followed him in swarms. A black cloud of them hung over him, singing their horrid song. They settled black on his fur, but that did him no harm. They could not reach through to his hide. But there was, of course, no fur to protect his eyes and nostrils, and the insects began settling on his eyelids and on the tip of his nose till he had to paw them off angrily. And my, how they could sting! Every time they poked their beaks into him for a drop of blood, they left a tiny drop of poison in the wound, and made it burn and swell. By and by the poor old fellow’s eyelids were so swollen that he could not open his eyes to see where he was going. He just wandered around and around in the bog, till he thought he never would find his way out again. He had come that way for the berries, but his lips and tongue were now so swollen from the mosquito bites that he could not even enjoy the fruit.

But at last he happened to wander near the edge of the bog. Then he heard the sound of roaring water, where a river came rushing down the mountainside to the sea. Making blindly for the sound, he plunged into an icy pool, where he could cool his fevered face. And there he stayed, just the tip of his nose above water so he could breathe, until the swelling had gone down and he could see to go on up into the mountains.

“Once upon a time,” Sitka’s mother told him, “a big brown bear tried to cross the swamp, and the mosquitoes bit him till he couldn’t see, and he just wandered around and around in that swamp till he starved to death. And all the time, the mosquitoes kept pricking him for the tiny drop of his blood that each one got. That is what I meant when I said they could fairly eat one alive,--tiny as they are, when there are so many of them.”

Sitka looked back wonderingly at the kadiak bear that had had such a narrow escape. He was shuffling rapidly up the mountainside.

The next time the polar cub and his mother went exploring, they saw a band of Indians camping on the river bank. The women and children, dressed in bright hued calicoes, were fishing and gathering berries, and cooking fish over little fires. Now fire was something that Sitka had never seen before, and it looked so pretty that he wanted to feel of one. But Mother White Bear was terribly afraid of fire, because it was something she did not understand, and she kept him in hiding among the tall ferns. It was dangerous enough, she said, for a white bear to go into the woods at all, when the red men were about.

By and by they saw a band of Indian men start up the mountainside. When they had passed out of sight, Sitka’s mother began leading him up another way. Far ahead, they could see the peaks and hollows filled with snow, and she thought it would feel good to roll in the snow again. Their fur was much too warm for this kind of weather. Besides, she smelled wild mushrooms, and she meant to have a feast. In the snow they could hide perfectly, should the red men come near.

There were choice berries and other good things along the way to eat. They started following the river, where the rainbow trout leapt out of the water every now and again. They padded along as soundlessly as possible on their furry feet. The clouds were gathering about the peaks, throwing cool shadows over the woods. It would probably rain by and by, but they didn’t mind in the least. They really enjoyed being out in the rain.

At first their way lay along the bear path where the earth had been beaten hard along the river bank. On one side, the icy water swirled over rocks and fallen logs, or slid in smooth sheets over the gold-specked sands. For this was a land where much gold was found. On the other side of the path, rank meadow grass grew high on the moist soil, and even Sitka’s mother could not see above its waving tops. The cub slipped into the soft black mud, till no one would have believed, when his mother fished him out, that he had ever been a little white bear.

In this tall grass they could hear queer rustlings,--little squeals and scufflings, and Sitka wondered what could be going on in there. By and by the grass was not so tall. It was only about as high as Mother White Bear. They were on a steep slope now, where the trees had all been burned to blackened stumps, and the bunch grass grew. Suddenly a sound of many hooves thudded along the ground, and Mother White Bear drew Sitka into hiding between two granite boulders. A few minutes later, a herd of reindeer went leaping and bounding over the grass and up the mountainside. These Alaskan caribou can stand weather 60 degrees below zero. But in summer they enjoy three months of feasting on the bunch grass.

At last the two bears reached a ridge where they could see ever and ever so far. They could look back along the way they had come, across the level stretch of grass and down the river glinting in the sun. They could even see where the ocean beat against the cliffs in white foam, and beyond, where the white bergs drifted. Up here the wind was cold, and snow lay in the shady places.

Then that same band of reindeer went leaping across the side of the mountain opposite, and on up the steep slopes. After them came racing the Indians, trying to head them off and capture them. They use reindeer for both horses and cows,--driving them, milking them, and using their hide to make their clothing, boats and houses. That is, they do, when they capture them. They had all passed out of sight in a twinkling and Sitka never knew whether they caught them or not. He hoped the beautiful brown animals had escaped.

But that night he found he had troubles of his own.