Alaska (7 page)

But they did not leave Asia with only these meager physical possessions, in their heads they carried an extraordinary understanding of the north Men and women alike knew hundreds of rules for surviving an arctic winter, scores of useful hints about finding food in summer They knew the nature of wind and the movement of those stars which guided them in the long winter night They had various tricks for protecting themselves from the mosquitoes, which would otherwise have driven them mad, and above all, they knew the traits of animals, and how to track them, kill them, and use even their hoofs when the slaughter was completed The Ancient One and the four young wives knew fifty different ways of utilizing a slain mammoth whenever their menfolk were lucky enough to bring one down, and at a killing the Ancient One was first at the carcass, screaming at the men to cut the body this way and that so as to ensure that she received the bones she needed for making more needles

On their four sleds and in their minds they earned one other precious commodity without which no group of people can long survive on the sled, tucked away in protected places, they brought with them bits of iridescent shell, or pieces of precious ivory carved in curious ways, or smoothed pebbles of attractive dimension Such trinkets were in some ways more valuable than any other part of the cargo, because some of the memorabilia spoke of the spirits who supervised the life of humans, some referred to the lucky management of animals, assuring that food would be at hand when needed, some to the placation of great storms so that hunters would not be lost in blizzards, and certain pebbles and shells were treasured merely for their uncommon beauty For example, the Ancient One kept in her secret hiding place the first bone 46

needle she had ever used. It was not so long now as it once had been, and its original whiteness had aged to a soft gold, but its supreme utility through generations had invested it with such beauty that her heart expanded with the great joy of life whenever she saw it among her few possessions.

These Chukchis who walked to Alaska twenty-nine thousand years ago were a complete people. Their foreheads may have been low, their hairline close to their eyes, and their movements sometimes apelike, but people exactly like them in southern Europe were already creating immortal art on the ceilings and walls of their caves, composing chants for the fire at night, and creating stories that represented their life experience.

If Varnak's people brought with them no physical furniture, they did bring a mental equipment which fitted them for the tasks they were about to face. If they brought no written language, they did bring into the arctic desert and steppe an understanding of the land, a respect for the animals that shared it with them, and an intimate appreciation of the wonders that occurred in any passing year. In later eons other men and women of comparable courage and ability would venture into their unfamiliar lands with a mental equipment no more competent than what these Asian stragglers carried in their dark heads.

Because emigrations like theirs would produce such tremendous consequences in world history the opening up of two entire continents to the human race certain limitations must be noted. Varnak and his companions were never conscious of leaving one continent to enter another; they could not have been aware that such landmasses existed, and had they been, they would have seen that in their day Alaska was far more a part of Asia than of North America. Nor would they have been interested in knowing that they were crossing a bridge, for the difficult land they were traversing certainly did not resemble one. And finally, they were impelled by no strong sense of emigration; their complete journey would cover only sixty miles, and as Varnak reminded them on the morning they left: 'If things are no better there, we can always return next summer.'

But despite these limitations, had there been a muse of history recording this fateful day, she might have looked down from her Olympus and exulted: 'How majestic! Nineteen little people bundled in furs moving onto the doorstep of two empty continents.'

BY THE END OF THEIR FIRST DAY, IT WAS APPARENT To all the travelers except the very young that this journey was 47

going to be extremely difficult, for in the course of that entire day they saw not a single living thing except low grasses which were permanently bent by the ceaseless wind. No birds flew; no animals watched the untidy procession; no streams flowed, with small fish huddled along their banks. Compared to the relatively rich land they had known before the hunger time struck, this was bleak and forbidding, and when they pitched their sleds against the wind that night, the runners worn from having no snow to glide upon, they could not avoid realizing what a perilous trip they were attempting.

The second day was no worse but the impact was, because the travelers could not know that they had at the most only five days of this before they reached the slightly improved terrain of Alaska; they were wandering into the unknown, and so it remained for the next two days. In all that time they came upon nothing they could eat, and the meager stores they had been able to bring with them were nearly depleted.

'Tomorrow,' Varnak said, as they huddled in the bare lee of their sleds on the third night, 'we shall eat none of our stores. Because I feel certain that on the next day we shall come to better land.'

'If the land is to be better,' one of the men asked, 'why not trust that we shall find food there?' and Varnak reasoned: 'If the food is there, we shall have to be strong enough to run it down, and fight it when we overtake it, and dare much. And to do all that, we must have food in our bellies.'

So on the fourth day no one ate anything, and mothers held their hungry children and tried to comfort them. In the warmth of the growing spring they all survived that trying day, and on the late afternoon of the fifth day, after Varnak and another had run ahead, drawing upon their courage and the spare fat from other days, they returned with the exciting news that yes, in another day's march there was better land. And that night, before the sun went down, Varnak distributed the last of the food. Everyone ate slowly, chewing until teeth met on almost nothingness, then savoring each morsel as it vanished down the throat. During the next days they must find animals, or perish.

In midafternoon of the sixth day, a river appeared, with reassuring shrubs along its banks, and on the spur of the moment Varnak announced: 'We camp here,' for he knew that if they could not find something to eat in such a favorable location, they had no hope. So the sleds were brought into position and over them the hunters raised a kind of low tent, informing the women and children that this was to be their home for the present. And to firm their decision to 48

wander no farther until they found food, they started a small fire to keep away the insistent mosquitoes.

In the early evening of this day the youngest of the grown men spotted a family of mammoths feeding along the riverbanks: a matriarch with a broken right tusk, two younger females and three much younger animals. They remained motionless, well to the east, and even when Varnak and five other Chukchis ran out to watch, the animals merely stood and stared, then turned back to their grazing.

In the growing darkness Varnak assumed control: 'Tonight we must surround the beasts, one man in each direction. When dawn breaks we shall be in position to cut one of the younger animals off from the rest. That one we will run to earth.' The others agreed, and Varnak, as the most experienced, said: 'I will run to the east, to head off the mammoths if they try to return to some homeland pasturage,' but he did not move in a direct line, for that would have carried him too close to the animals.

Instead, he plunged into the river, swam across, and went well inland before heading east. As he ran he kept the six huge beasts in sight, and with an expense of effort that might have exhausted a lesser man fortified with ample food, this starving little hunter, running breathlessly in the moonlight, gained the commanding position he sought. Swimming back across the river, he took his stance beside some trees, and now if the mammoths sought to flee eastward, they would have to run over him.

As night ended, the four Chukchis were in position, each man with two weapons, a stout club and a long spear tipped at the end and along the sides with sharp bits of flint. To kill one of the mammoths, they knew that each man must sink his spear close to some vital spot and then beat the wounded animal to death as it staggered about. From long experience, they knew that the initial chase, the culminating fight and the tracking of the wounded animal to its death might take three days, but they were prepared, because they either completed their task or starved.

It was a mild March day when they closed in upon the mammoths, and Varnak warned them: 'Do not try to spear the old matriarch. She'll be too wise. We'll try for one of the younger ones.'

Just as the sun appeared, the mammoths sighted them, and began to move eastward, as Varnak had anticipated, but they did not get far, because when they approached him, he daringly ran at them, brandishing his club in one hand, his spear in the other, and this so confused the old matriarch that she turned back, seeking to lead her troop westward, but now two other Chukchi men dashed at her, until, in despair, she

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headed due north, ignoring spears and clubs and taking her companions with her.

The mammoths had broken free, but all that day as they ran in one direction or another, the determined hunters kept on their trail, and by nightfall it was apparent to both animals and men that the latter could keep in contact, no matter how cleverly the former dodged and ran.

At night Varnak directed his men to light another fire to keep away the mosquitoes, and he suspected correctly that this would command the attention of the exhausted mammoths, who would remain in the vicinity, and at sunrise on the next day they were still visible, but the camp where the Chukchi women and children waited was far in the distance.

All that second day the tiring mammoths tried to escape, but Varnak anticipated every move they attempted. No matter where they turned, he was waiting with that dreadful spear and club, and toward the end of the day he would have succeeded in isolating a young female had not the old matriarch anticipated his

move and rushed at him with her broken tusk. Forgetting his target, he leaped aside just as the fearful tusk ripped by him, and with the old matriarch safely out of the way, he moved in, brandished his spear, and drove the young mammoth to where the other men waited.

Deftly, in accordance with plans perfected centuries before, the hunters surrounded the isolated animal and began to torment her so adroitly that she could not protect herself. But she could trumpet, and when her screams of terror reached the old matriarch, the latter doubled back, driving directly at the menacing hunters and scattering them as if they were leaves fallen from an aspen tree.

At this moment it looked as if the wise old mammoth had defeated the men, but Varnak could not allow this to happen. Knowing that his life and that of his entire group depended on what he did next, he dove headfirst, throwing himself directly under the feet of the young mammoth. He knew that one step of one powerful foot would crush him, but he had no alternative, and with a terrible upward thrust of his spear he jabbed deep into her entrails and rolled clear of her. He did not kill her, nor did he even wound her fatally, but he did damage her so seriously that she began to stagger, and by the time he rose from the ground, the other hunters were screaming with joy and starting to chase their prey. Unable to retrieve his spear, which dangled from the belly of the mammoth, he nevertheless ran after her, brandishing his club and shouting with the others.

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Night fell and once again the Chukchis built a fire, hoping that the mammoths would remain within range, and the great beasts were so fatigued that they were unable to move far. At dawn the chase resumed, and guided by a trail of blood, and encouraged by the fact that it grew wider as the long day progressed, the Chukchis kept running, and finally Varnak said: 'We're getting close. Each man to his duty.' And when they saw the massive beasts huddling within a stand of birch trees, he grabbed the spear of the youngest Chukchi and led his men toward the kill.

It now became his duty to neutralize the matriarch, who was stomping the earth and trumpeting her determination to fight to the end. Bracing himself, he walked precariously toward her, he alone against this great beast, and for just a moment she hesitated while the other men crashed their clubs and spears against the exposed body of the wounded mammoth.

When the old grandmother saw this, she lowered her head and drove right at Varnak.

He was in mortal danger and knew it, but he also knew that once he allowed that fierce old creature to rampage among his men, she could destroy them all and rescue her young charge. This must not be allowed to happen, so Varnak, showing a courage few men could have exhibited, leaped in front of the charging mammoth and jabbed at her with his spear. Confused, she fell back, giving the other men breathing space in which to finish off their prey.

When the wounded mammoth stumbled to her knees, blood streaming from many wounds, the three Chukchis leaped upon her with their spears and clubs and beat her to death.

When she expired, they acted in obedience to procedures observed through thousands of years: they slit open her innards, sought for the stomach loaded with partly digested greens, and hungrily consumed both the solids and the liquids, for their ancestors had learned that this material contained life-giving nutrients which human beings required. Then, their vigor restored after the days of starvation, they butchered the mammoth, producing cuts of meat big enough to sustain their families into the summer.

Varnak played no role in the actual killing; he had given the mammoth the first wound and had driven off the old matriarch when the latter might have disrupted the hunt.

Now, exhausted, deprived of food for so many days, and depleted of what little strength he had by the arduous chase, he leaned against a low tree, panting like a spent dog, too tired to partake of the meat already steaming on the new fire.