now, I may have made a mistake there. Short as the delay was, by the time I trotted down to the water’s edge the canoe had drifted considerably and was moving at an alarming rate.
I plunged into the water—and received an icy shock which left me gasping for breath. I quickly reached swimming depth, still struggling for breath. Little waves dashed water in my face, and in my unsettled state I was unable to keep from swallowing gulp after gulp of bitter salt water. In a few moments the first cold shock had passed; I regained my breath and attended strictly to the business of swimming.
By this time the canoe was far enough out to catch the full sweep of the wind against the mast and furled sail, and was making good progress. Already it seemed far away. I pushed on with all my strength—I simply had to catch that canoe!
How long did I swim? I don’t know. One does not think of time in an emergency. I was working hard, but I could see that the canoe was gaining.
Then something else was happening. I began to feel a numbing sensation at the small of my back, seeming to reach inward to quench the source of all my activity. I must hurry even more, for I realized then that our lives were at stake—and certainly my own life was precious to me. But a deadly chill was creeping over me as I floundered in the icy water. The power had gone from my strokes, and a sense of disaster crept into my heart. Cold and low in spirit, I struggled on, stupidly wondering why the canoe grew small and indistinct. When I felt a cramp in one leg, I knew I had lost the race; and as I looked back at the island, now far away also, a panic came over me. Land, any piece of land, seemed so good. I headed back for the island. Could I make it?
I can’t remember much about that return swim—I moved more and more slowly. But one does not give up easily when life is immediately at stake—and I am here now telling about it! I do remember finally touching bottom and stumbling up the beach. I was so numb I could hardly feel the gravel under my feet. Mr. Todd was there reaching for me and helped me over to a lively fire he had built. How gratefully I leaned over and practically embraced those flames!
I was so concerned with my own immediate needs that I was unaware of what was going on. But when I was a little warmed and still alive, I looked out toward the canoe. Out in the water I saw another craft, and Mr. Todd explained to me:
When Willie and Jocko had seen that I was losing the race, they found a few small drift logs and lashed them together with my coil of wire to make a crude, makeshift raft. They climbed aboard, fore and aft, took their paddles, and began the long, slow journey. When I looked, standing naked beside the warm fire, they were already small in the distance. Then Mr. Todd and I saw something else. Far out there was another small island whose windward beach would stop the drift of the fugitive canoe. The two Indians paddled on. It was no longer a race—they only had to reach the stranded canoe. When they boarded it with paddles, all was under control once more.
It is interesting, at a time of more leisure, to appraise such an experience. At one moment all seemed against us—we must fail. But I did get back to the island alive. More important, we had taken paddles with us ashore, there happened to be a few driftwood logs on the beach, I had taken ashore a coil of wire, and above all, our guides had seen the possibilities and used their ingenuity to save our lives. All these details had worked to effect our rescue. How can one understand such things?
For several days that little island was home, this time with the canoe well up on the beach. I was in bed, recovering from all the seawater I had swallowed, until on the second day Mr. Todd brought me a big cup of cocoa. That settled my system, and next day we continued our journey northward, once more taking note of bird life and looking forward to normal adventures.
How different things can be! A few days later we camped on a rocky shore, and I see in my diary that at this camp I was painting flowers. That evening I wrote:
“The sun was setting behind the island as we landed; the little dark, stunted trees were outlined against the colored sky. A flock of ducks flew by and with the gleam of the rich light on the water made a beautiful picture. As we came ashore, a robin was singing—a welcome sound up here. We also heard some white-crowned sparrows.”
We were now traveling in what ornithologists call the Hudsonian Life Zone, next below what they have named the Arctic Zone. At this place we found bear skulls hung in the trees by Indians, but I did not learn the full story about this until later. Also, in these waters I saw my first white whale— an animal I was to know better as time went on.
On July 22 we reached Fort George, another Hudson’s Bay Company trading post. Again we had the hospitality of the place and another glimpse of human life in such a wilderness outpost. Two days later, on Sunday, the missionary Reverend Walton held services. We all went to church, where were assembled all the Indians and white people of the village.
Here at Fort George we also heard of a tragedy. At Cape Jones an Eskimo with two boys had been out from shore, presumably in a kayak, when a heavy squall struck, and they disappeared.
We ourselves had to round Cape Jones, and a few days later we reached the scene of the tragedy. Here is another occasion vivid in memory. There was a northerly wind, and as we came up in the lee of the cape the water was smooth. We moved along easily, but out beyond the point we could see white water.
“Pretty rough water out there,” Jocko warned from the stern. No one made any decision to stop here to camp. Jocko didn’t feel that he was boss, and only made that mild suggestion. But when we got around the point, we realized what Jocko had meant. We really were in for it!
We were suddenly confronted by huge sea rollers. We couldn’t turn; we had to go ahead and hope to make it to a bay farther on. Each wave as it came on us was a problem. I earnestly hoped our guides had the skill to cope with it. I glanced over to the land, and there on the skyline of Cape Jones stood a row of Eskimos, no doubt watching to see if we would make it. It didn’t make me feel a bit better. Up high, then down low in the trough, then up again. How long could we keep this up? I was scared, but I kept on with my methodical paddling. Mr. Todd and I had nothing to do with managing the canoe. Then a human voice broke into my thoughts. It was Jocko, in the stern behind me.
“Pretty big swell, hey Shogenosh?” I heard him chuckle. When we kidded each other, he always called me Shogenosh (“white man”) and I called him Ishinabe (“Indian”). Apparently he saw how scared the head of the expedition was, but how could he chuckle at a time like this? This was serious, no question about it—but I felt better. I imbibed some of the confidence of my friend in the stern. And after a struggle which seemed hours long but was actually less than an hour, we reached the haven of the little bay we had seen in the distance and, with enormous relief, made camp for the night.
So it went—observing and collecting birds, writing our notes, plunging into situations where our lives were in danger, and at other times seeing only the beauty around us. We are not always the same, are we? The night before this emergency, encamped on an island, I had enthusiastically recorded in my diary:
“There was a beautiful aurora tonight, extending across the sky overhead from horizon to horizon. It made a lovely scene as I watched the glow of the tents in the distance, the wide stretch of the barren island, and the aurora overhead.”
There was something vital to the purpose of the expedition about Cape Jones. No matter in what direction we go over the globe, we find something different. Natural forces are constantly at work on our planet, shaping the character of different parts of it. One of the most fascinating aspects of our life experience is to try to understand these natural influences. We had just succeeded in getting around this cape, and when Mr. Todd and I had time to look around, we were both impressed by what we saw.
