sleeping in snow.
cold comfort is naturally suggested by a bed of snow, yet i have enjoyed great comfort and much warmth in such a bed.
my friend lumley was particularly fond of warmth and of physical ease, yet he often expressed the opinion, with much emphasis, that there was nothing he enjoyed so much as a night in a snow-bed. jack lumley was my chum—a fine manly fellow with a vigorous will, a hardy frame, and a kindly heart. we had a natural leaning towards each other—a sort of undefinable sympathy—which inclined us to seek each other’s company in a quiet unobtrusive way. we were neither of us demonstrative; we did not express regard for each other; we made no protestations of undying friendship, but we drew together, somehow, especially in our hunting expeditions which were numerous.
on holidays—we had two in the week at the outpost in the american backwoods where we dwelt—when the other young fellows were cleaning gulls or arranging snow-shoes for the day’s work, lumley was wont to say to me:—
“where d’you intend to shoot to-day, max?” (max was an abbreviation; my real name is george maxby.)
“i think i’ll go up by the willows and round by beaver creek.”
“i’ve half a mind to go that way too.”
“come along then.”
and so we would go off together for the day.
one morning lumley said to me, “i’m off to north river; will you come?”
“with pleasure, but we’ll have to camp out.”
“well, it won’t be the first time.”
“d’you know that the thermometer stood at forty below zero this morning before breakfast?”
“i know it; what then? mercurial fellows like you don’t freeze easily.”
i did not condescend to reply, but set about preparing for our expedition, resolving to carry my largest blanket with me, for camping out implied sleeping in the snow.
of course i must guard my readers—especially my juvenile readers—from supposing that it was our purpose that night to undress and calmly lie down in, or on, the pure white winding-sheet in which the frozen world of the great nor’-west had been at that time wrapped for more than four months. our snow-bed, like other beds, required making, but i will postpone the making of it till bed-time. meanwhile, let us follow the steps of lumley, who, being taller and stronger than i, always led the way.
this leading of the way through the trackless wilderness in snow averaging four feet deep is harder work than one might suppose. it could not be done at all without the aid of snow-shoes, which, varying from three to five feet in length, enable the traveller to walk on the surface of the snow, into which he would otherwise sink, more or less, according to its condition. if it be newly fallen and very soft, he sinks six, eight, or more inches. if it be somewhat compressed by time or wind he sinks only an inch or two. on the hard surface of exposed lakes and rivers, where it is beaten to the appearance of marble, he dispenses with snow-shoes altogether, slings them on his gun, and carries them over his shoulder.
our first mile lay through a clump of pine-wood, where snow had recently fallen. when i looked at my comrade’s broad back, and observed the vigour of his action as he trod deep into the virgin snow at every stride, scattering it aside like fine white powder as he lifted each foot, i thought how admirably he was fitted for a pioneer in the wilderness, or for the work of those dauntless, persevering men who go forth to add to the world’s geographical knowledge, and to lead the expeditions sent out in search of such lost heroes as franklin and livingstone.
my own work was comparatively light. i had merely to tread in the beaten path. i was not, however, thereby secured from disaster, as i found when, having advanced about half a mile, my right shoe caught a twig to which it held for a moment, and then, breaking loose, allowed me to pitch head down with such violence that i almost reached mother earth four feet below the surface.
this kind of plunge is always awkward owing to the difficulty of rising, and usually disagreeable, owing to the manner in which snow stuffs itself into neck, ears, nose, eyes, mouth—if open—and any convenient crevice of person or garments. the snow-shoes, too, which are so serviceable when you are above them, become exasperatingly obstructive when you are below them. after a struggle of two minutes i got my head clear, winked the snow out of my eyes, blew it from my mouth and nostrils, and looked up. lumley was standing there with a bland smile on his amiable face; he seldom laughed, though he sometimes chuckled!
“what do you mean by grinning there like a cheshire cat?” i exclaimed, “why don’t you lend a hand?”
“what do you mean by tumbling there like a christmas goose?” he retorted, “why don’t you look out for stumps and twigs as i do?”
he made some amends for this reply by extending his hand and helping me to rise.
in a few minutes we were clear of the pine-wood, and came out upon a piece of swampland, where the stunted willow bushes just showed their tops above the surface of the snow. this led us to a bend of the broad river near to which, further down, stood our outpost—fort dunregan.
for four months there had been neither sight nor sound of water in that river. it was frozen to the bottom, except in the middle where its dark unseen waters flowed silently under six feet or more of solid ice through many a river-channel and lake to the distant sea. in fact, save for the suggestive form of its banks, the river might have been mistaken for an elongated plain or piece of open land. the surface of the snow here was, from exposure to wind and sun, as hard as pavement. we therefore took off our snow-shoes, and, the necessity for maintaining the indian-file position being removed, we walked abreast.
“the air is keen here,” remarked lumley, pulling the thick shawl that was round his neck as far up over his mouth as his well-developed nose would permit.
“it is,” said i, following his example with greater success, my own nose being a snub.
there was no wind; not even a breeze—there seldom is at such temperature—but there was a very slight movement of the air, caused by our own advance, which was just sufficient to make one appreciate the intensity of the cold. it became necessary now to pay frequent attention to our noses and cheek-bones and toes, to prevent frostbite. but the sun was brilliant and the air invigorating. so was the aspect of nature, for although there was no grandeur in the character of the scenery, there was extreme beauty in the snow lacework of the trees and leafless shrubs; in the sky, whose bright blue was intensified by the white drapery of earth; and in the myriads of snow-crystals which reflected the dazzling sun with prismatic splendour.
indeed, the scene was too dazzling, and as there was a tendency in it to produce snow-blindness, we soon returned to the friendly shelter of the woods.
“tracks!” exclaimed lumley, in a low voice, pointing to the ground, where footmarks were clearly visible, “and fresh,” he added, turning up the snow under the track with the butt of his gun.
“ptarmigan!” said i in a whisper, pointing towards a little knoll, not quite a gunshot ahead of us, where some dozens of the beautiful snow-white creatures stood gazing at us in motionless surprise. their plumage was so white that we had not observed them at first, almost the only black specks about them being their sparkling eyes, and the tips of their wings and tails.
our guns were pointed instantly. i am ashamed to say that we were guilty of shooting them as they stood! in that land we shot for food as much as for amusement, and, some of us being poor shots, we were glad to take our game sitting! nay, more, we tried to get as many of the birds in line as possible, so as to make the most of our ammunition. we were not sportsmen in the civilised sense of that term.
the extreme stillness of the woods was broken by the report of our guns in quick succession. a very cloud of pure white birds arose, as if nature had taken to snowing upwards in rather large flakes, and seven victims remained behind.
“a good supper,” remarked lumley, as we bagged the game and re-loaded.
it is not my intention here to describe a day’s shooting. let it suffice to say that a little before nightfall we arrived at a place where was a snowy mound capped by a clump of spruce firs of small size but picturesque appearance.
“behold our camp!” said lumley.
“not inviting at present,” said i, as we slowly toiled up the mound, for we were weary, having walked about twenty miles, weighted with heavy flannel-lined deerskin-coats, blankets, and cooking utensils, besides a small quantity of pemmican, sugar, tea, and ship’s biscuit, axes and firebags. it is true, the cooking utensils were few and simple, consisting of only two tin kettles and two tin mugs.
dreary indeed—lonesome, desolate, and eerie was our mound when we got to the top of it. by that time the sun had set, and a universal ghostly grey, fast deepening into night, banished every sensation of joy aroused by the previous lightness. although the scene and circumstances were nothing new to us we could not shake off the depressing influence, but we did not allow that to interfere with our action. silently, but vigorously—for the cold was increasing—we felled several small dead trees, which we afterwards cut into lengths of about four feet. then we cleared a space in the snow of about ten or twelve feet in diameter until we reached the solid earth, using our snow-shoes as shovels. what we threw out of the hole formed an embankment round it, and as the snow lay at that spot full four feet deep, we thus raised the surrounding wall of our chamber to a height of six feet, if not more. standing on the edge of it in the ever-deepening twilight, and looking down into the abyss, which was further darkened by the overspreading pines, this hole in the snow suggested a tomb rather than a bed.
at one end of it we piled up the firewood. extending from that towards the other end, we spread a carpet of pine-branches, full six inches thick. to do all this took a considerable amount of time and labour, and when lumley stood up at last to strike a light with flint, steel, and tinder, we felt pretty well exhausted. the night had by that time become profoundly dark, insomuch that we had to grope for the various articles we required.
“we’ve been rather late of beginning to make the camp,” said i, as i watched the sparks.
“never mind, max, my boy, we shall soon be all right,” replied my friend, as one of the sparks at last caught on the tinder. in a few seconds the spark was blown into a blaze, and placed in the midst of a handful of dry moss and thin chips. this was applied to some dry twigs under our piled-up logs, and a vivid tongue of flame shot upward.
blessed fire! marvellous light! it is a glorious, wonder-working influence, well chosen by the almighty as one of his titles. there is no change in nature so intense as that from darkness to light as well in physical as in spiritual things. no sudden change from heat to cold, or from calm to storm; no transformation ever achieved in the most gorgeous of pantomimes, could have the startling effect, or produce the splendid contrast that resulted from the upward flash of that first tongue of fire. it was a vivid tongue, for the materials had been well laid; a few seconds later it was a roaring tongue, with a host of lesser tongues around it—all dancing, leaping, cheering, flashing, as if with ineffable joy at their sudden liberation, and the resulting destruction of dismal darkness.
our snow-abyss was no longer black and tomb-like. its walls sparkled as though encrusted with diamonds; its carpet of pine-branches shone vividly green; the tree-stems around rose up like red-hot pillars, more or less intense in colour, according to distance; the branching canopy overhead appeared to become solid with light, and the distance around equally solid with ebony blackness, while we, who had caused the transformation, stood in the midst of the ruddy blaze like jovial red-hot men!
“there’s nothing like a fire,” i remarked with some enthusiasm.
“except supper,” said lumley.
“gross creature!” i responded, as he went about the preparation of supper with a degree of zest which caused me to feel that my epithet was well deserved.
“gross creature!” he repeated some time afterwards with a pleasant smile of intense enjoyment, as he sat in front of the blaze sipping a can of hot tea, and devouring pemmican and biscuit with avidity. “no, max, i am not a gross creature. your intellects are probably benumbed by the cold. if phrenologists are right in dividing the human brain into compartments, wherein the different intellectual powers are said to be located, i should think that some of those chambers lying nearest to the top of the skull are apt to freeze at a temperature of forty below zero, in which case the perfect working of the half-paralysed machine can scarcely be looked for. hold your head to the fire, and thaw it while i expound this to you.”
“stay,” said i, holding out my tin pannikin for more tea; “inward heat as well as outward is necessary to my thorough comprehension of your expositions.”
“true, max, all the faculties of such mind as you possess, in their most active condition, are required to enable you to take in the simplest proposition. just give my bird a turn, like a good fellow.”
he referred to a ptarmigan which, plucked, split open, roughly cleaned, and impaled on a stick, was roasting in front of the fire. i turned his bird and my own, while he continued:—
“to gratify the appetite with thorough and hearty appreciation after working hard for your food, or walking far to find it, is not gross. grossness consists in eating heavily when you have not toiled, and stimulating with fire-water, pepper, or mustard, your sluggish appetite. to call me a gross creature, then—”
he stopped short, and, looking up, performed that operation with the nose which is styled sniffing.
“what do i smell?”
“my bird—burnt!” i shouted, snatching at the stick on which it was impaled. in doing so i capsized our can of tea. lumley looked at it with a sigh, while i regarded with a groan the breast of my bird burnt to a cinder.
“max, you should remember that a fire strong enough to subdue forty degrees below zero is intense—also, that our supply of tea is limited. all this comes of your unwisely calling me a gross creature.”
“no, it comes of the intense application of my unthawed intellect to your absurd expositions.”
“whatever it comes of,” returned lumley, “we must remedy the evil. here, fall upon my ptarmigan. i’m not quite ready for it, being still engaged with the pemmican. meanwhile, i’ll replenish the kettle.”
so saying, he took up the kettle, went to the margin of our hole, and filled it with fresh snow well pressed down. this being put on the fire, soon melted; more snow was added, till water enough was procured, and then fresh tea was put in to boil. we were not particular, you see, as to the mode of infusion. while my friend was thus engaged, i had plucked, split, cleansed and impaled another bird. in a marvellously short time—for our fire was truly intense—the tea and ptarmigan were ready, and we proceeded with supper as comfortably as before.
“now i shall continue,” said lumley, with a satisfied clearing of the throat, “the exposition of grossness,—”
“oh, pray spare me that,” said i, quickly, “but tell me, if you can, why it is that such a tremendous fire as that does not melt our snow walls.”
“put your head nearer to it, max, for some of the phrenological chambers must still be frozen, else it would be clear to you that the intensity of the cold is the reason. you see that only a small part of the snow quite close to the fire is a little softened. if the fire were hotter it would melt more of it—melt the whole hole and us too. but the cold is so great that it keeps the walls cool and us also—too cool indeed, for while my face and knees are roasting my back is freezing, so i shall rise and give it a turn. now,” he continued, rising and turning his back to the blaze as he spoke, “i will resume my remarks on gross—”
“you’ve no objection to my making our bed while you lecture?” said i, also rising.
lumley had not the least objection, so, while he held forth, i spread a large green blanket over our carpet of pine-brush. a bundle of the same under the blanket formed a pretty good pillow. wrapping myself tightly round in another blanket (for physical heat evaporates quickly in the frozen regions) i lay down. my friend lay down beside me, our feet being towards the fire.
after a silent interval, while lying thus, gazing up through the overhanging branches at the stars that twinkled in the clear frosty sky, our thoughts became more serious. the grandeur of creation led us to think and speak of the creator—for we were like-minded friends, and no subject was tabooed. we conversed freely about whatever chanced to enter our minds—of things past, present, and to come. we spoke of god the saviour, of redemption and of sin. then, with that discursive tendency to which most minds are prone, we diverged to home and civilised lands, contrasting these with life in the wild-woods of the great nor’-west. after that we became sleepy, and our converse was more discursive—at times even incoherent—in the midst of which lumley reverted to his unfinished exposition of grossness, and, in the enthusiasm of his nature, was slowly working himself back into a wakeful condition, when i put an abrupt end to the discourse by drawing a prolonged snore. it was a deceptive snore, unworthy of success, yet it succeeded.
my friend turned round and, with a contented sigh, went to sleep. after a brief space the snore which had been a fiction became a reality, and thus, on our bed of snow, in the depths of an arctic night, in the heart of the frozen wilderness, and while the mighty fire burned slowly down, we unitedly took our departure for the land of nod.
