Freddy Goes to the North Pole Read online

  “Up here in the woods it’s just the same,” said Ferdinand. “There are hunters and campers and trappers and lumbermen, and they’re always throwing away things.”

  “But how can you find them, in all these square miles of trees?”

  “You couldn’t. That’s just the point. But take one of these deer. He knows every square inch of ground for miles. If there’s an old coat within five miles of here, he’ll know it. If there isn’t, he’ll have a friend over the hill who’ll know where there is one. And so on.”

  “Why not have a lecture tonight?” said Charles. “I have one, you know, that I prepared after our trip to Florida. ‘A Trip to the Sunny Southland.’ And that one about Washington: ‘How Our Legislators Live.’ That was very well received. And—”

  “Oh, be still!” said Henrietta. “Nobody wants to hear you lecture If they’d heard you talk as much as I have, they’d pay to stay away.”

  “But that’s the point: they haven’t!” said Charles triumphantly.

  “Well, they will!” said his wife sarcastically. “Believe me, if there’s an animal between here and the pole that doesn’t know your life-history by the time the winter’s over, I’ll be surprised.”

  Charles hung his head, but Ferdinand came to his rescue. “I think it’s a good idea for Charles to deliver his Florida talk tonight,” he said. “We’ll stay here today and make snowshoes. I’ll go notify those chickadees over in that pine there, and they’ll tell all the other birds and animals. I bet we have a big attendance.”

  For the rest of the day under the crow’s supervision the travellers gnawed down small saplings and tore off strips of bark, which they bent and tied into rough snowshoes. Charles alone was absent. He had retired into a thicket where he could rehearse his speech privately, and every now and then phrases would float out to the workers and they would smile at each other. “I have been asked.… A very unpretentious task, my friends.… Undaunted I flew at the alligator and pecked him so that he winced. ‘Sir,’ I said.… With my skill in debate, I of course won the prize without difficulty.…” And so on.

  The lecture that evening, however, was a great success. A large and enthusiastic audience of deer, coons, foxes, rabbits, porcupines, and skunks hung breathlessly on Charles’s words, rocked with laughter at his sallies, and cheered wildly at the stories of hairbreadth escapes—which, as he said afterwards, while not strictly true, were founded on fact. The other members of the rescue party, with the exception of the children, Henrietta, and the bear, acted as ushers at the beginning, but sneaked off when he began to talk and played twenty questions until the meeting broke up. They had heard it all so many times that they felt they just couldn’t stand it again, and, as Ferdinand said: “We’re all fond of Charles, but he is tiresome when he gets to talking about himself, and if we stay, we’ll get so irritated we’ll throw things, and that wouldn’t do.”

  The children stayed, and at first they were so delighted to have so many animals around them that they were a little noisy, but although they didn’t understand what Charles was saying, they understood pretty soon that he was making a speech, and, being considerate children, they sat quietly and applauded when the others applauded, and at the end when some of the animals went up to shake hands with the lecturer, they went up too.

  The bear stayed, partly because he hadn’t heard Charles talk before, and partly because two of his cousins whom he hadn’t seen in a long time came to the lecture. He sat with them in the front row, but he was so glad to see them again that he talked a good deal and had to be shushed by the other animals several times before he would keep still.

  As for Henrietta, although in private she scolded her husband soundly at every opportunity, she was really very proud of him and would fly at anyone else who ventured even the slightest criticism of him, and so tonight she perched quite close beside him on the low branch from which he spoke, and admired him so openly and applauded so enthusiastically that it embarrased even Charles a little.

  “Not so loud!” he whispered to her once when she continued stamping and shouting “Bravo!” long after the audience had stopped. “They’ll think it’s funny.”

  “They don’t know I’m your wife,” she muttered.

  “They’ll think I hired you to applaud,” he replied.

  “Oh, shut up and go on with your talk,” she whispered angrily. Then she shouted “Bravo!” again and looked him defiantly in the eye. And Charles went hastily on with the lecture.

  The box-office, presided over by Ferdinand, took in enough food to feed them for a week, a heavy flannel shirt checquered in big red and black squares, two old sweaters, four pairs of lumbermen’s heavy socks, a knitted bed jacket with pink ribbons, a whisk broom, two boxes of matches, a bottle of hair-tonic, and a postage-stamp album containing a complete collection of the stamps of the British colonies. The woods animals had found these various articles at different times and had hidden them away for no particular reason, as animals do. Everett put on the flannel shirt, which came down to his heels, and Ella wore one of the sweaters, which she had to hold up so she wouldn’t trip over it, and they both put on the heavy socks, which were much too large, so that they looked very funny. But they didn’t care, for they were warm.

  From that day on, the trip became more of a lecture tour than a rescue expedition. The news of their coming ran ahead of them, and every ten miles or so they would be met by a committee of animals who wanted to engage them to give a series of lectures in their territory. But of course they were in a hurry, so they decided that they could give only one lecture in each place, and if the animals wanted to hear a different talk, they would have to travel along with them to the next stop. Many animals did this, and the result was that although the snow soon got very deep, they seldom had to use their snowshoes, for in order to pay their admission to the next lecture, the animals who travelled with them would go on ahead and break trail for them. When fifty to a hundred moose and deer and bear had tramped over a trail, it was almost as hard and smooth as a state road.

  Of course Charles couldn’t do all the lecturing. He always talked so loud that he was hoarse for a week after one lecture. “He gives himself too much,” said Henrietta. So Uncle William talked on “Life under the Big Top,” which was recollections of his year with a circus, and Bill had a humorous talk, “Here and There in Rural New York,” which was very well received, and Jack spoke on “Our Civilization: Whither Bound?” which was rather philosophical and not so popular among the younger woods animals. After a time he gave that up and talked on “How to Live with Human Beings,” a good many of the facts for which he got from the mice. Ferdinand talked on “Life in a Southern Tree-top,” and Mrs. Wiggins had two topics: “The Inside of the Dairy Business” and “From Cow-barn to White House,” which told of her trip to Washington, where she shook hands with the President. She had a homely humour which always went well with the crowd, and always spoke extempore, which means that she never knew what she was going to say until after she had said it. Her lectures were always well attended, partly, of course, because many of the woods animals had never seen a cow before. Later, too, they got up some debates, the most popular of which was one between the bear and Uncle William called “Farm vs. Forest.” Uncle William argued that life on the farm was best, and the bear took the opposite view. But to please the woods audience it was arranged beforehand that the bear should win.

  And so the gallant little band went on northward, travelling swiftly on the road that the woods animals made for them. They were always on the alert for news of their friends, and at the end of each lecture the speaker would explain the purpose of the expedition and appeal to his audience for news of the whaling ship and the lost animals. But although among the birds and the deer there were many rumours of a party of strange animals who had been seen here and there in the arctic regions, there was no real news.

  All these rumours seemed to come from the north, however, so they knew they were still travelling in the right direc
tion.

  CHAPTER VIII

  JACK AND CHARLES GET INTO TROUBLE

  And now the winter came down upon them in earnest. The snow was like powdered ice, the trees snapped and cracked in the cold, and though at night under their feather beds they were snug and comfortable, during the day they had to keep moving briskly to keep warm. And as it got colder, it got more and more difficult to get the bear up in the morning, because he was accustomed to crawling into his hole and sleeping all winter, and no matter how loud Charles crowed, he just went on snoring comfortably, and if they pulled the covers all off him, he just curled up tighter and grunted and went on sleeping. They tried shaking him, but he was so big and heavy and they had to shake so long before he woke up that they were all tired out afterwards and had to rest for an hour before they could start the day’s march. Then one morning when she was helping to shake him awake, Mrs. Wiggins happened to stick one horn into his ribs. And immediately the bear’s eyes flew open and he gave a wriggle and a silly laugh and shouted: “Ugh! Stop that tickling!”

  Mrs. Wiggins sat back on her haunches and bellowed with laughter. “Hey! Animals!” she gasped. “He’s ticklish! Can you imagine that—a ticklish bear?” But while she was laughing, he had gone back to sleep. So she tickled him again, until he rolled round, giggling and pawing the air and begging her to stop. And this time she woke him up thoroughly. After that it was Mrs. Wiggins’s job to get the bear up every morning.

  The animals slept very soundly at night, and, with the feather beds over their ears, they couldn’t hear anything that went on in the forest around them. But very early one morning Jack and Charles, who were sleeping next to Uncle William, woke up, feeling cold, to find that the horse had dragged the covers off them in his sleep.

  Jack got one corner in his teeth and tried to drag them back, but Uncle William was lying on them.

  “We’ll have to wake him up,” said Charles.

  “We’ll disturb everybody if we do,” replied the dog.” You know how he snorts when he wakes up.”

  “Well, it can’t be helped,” said the rooster sharply.” It won’t be time to get up for nearly two hours yet, and I don’t propose to lie here and freeze just because that big lump has—”

  “Listen!” said Jack.

  From the dark forest came a long-drawn howl.

  “Sounds like a dog,” said Charles. “But dogs always live with people, don’t they? And there aren’t any people for miles.”

  “Maybe he’s lost,” said Jack. “I tell you what we’ll do. You aren’t sleepy any more, are you?”

  “Not after all this row,” said Charles grumpily.

  “Well then, let’s take a little walk and see if we can find him. If he’s lost, maybe we can put him on the road home.”

  Charles grumbled a little, but he was just as curious to know about the strange dog as Jack was, so presently they set out, leaving their friends snoring comfortably away in their beds. The snow was packed so hard that even the rooster could walk on it without sinking in, but as it made his feet cold, he preferred to ride on Jack’s back. As soon as they were a little way from the camp, Jack gave a few barks, to let the other dog know they were coming, and was answered after a minute with some sharp yelps.

  “Maybe he’s caught in a trap,” said Charles. “Anyway, he didn’t sound very far away. But what are those funny noises in the bushes?”

  “I don’t know,” Jack replied. “I’ve noticed them on both sides of us. It’s as if somebody were going along beside us, keeping out of sight. But of course that’s impossible. It must be the snow. There’s a funny smell, though. D’you notice it?”

  “Yes. I’ve been wondering what it was,” said Charles. This wasn’t true, for roosters can’t smell at all. Even the very finest perfume would be wasted on them. But they’re so vain that they never want to admit that there’s anything they can’t do, and that was why Charles said yes.

  “Smells like bear a little, and like dog a little,” said Jack reflectively, “yet it isn’t either. I wonder—Hello! Here he is!” For they had come out into an open glade, in the middle of which a very big shaggy dog was lying in the snow.

  “How do you do?” said Jack politely. “We thought we heard you howl, and we wondered if there was anything we could do for you. We thought perhaps you were lost, and although we’re strangers in this part of the country ourselves, we can perhaps help to put you on the right road.”

  “Thank you, thank you. Very kind, I’m sure,” said the other. He got up and shook the snow from his coat, which was thick and shaggy, and greyish tan in colour. He smiled as he spoke, but his eyes, which were slanting and sly, did not smile, and his teeth were long and white. Charles shifted his feet uneasily on Jack’s back and whispered: “I don’t like this fellow. I don’t like the way he looks at me. He makes me feel as if I didn’t have any feathers on.”

  “Yes, yes,” the other continued as he came closer to them. “Very kind indeed. You’re a farm dog, I expect?”

  “Yes,” said Jack. “We’re travelling with a party of friends—bound for the north pole. My friend and I were just wondering what kind of dog you were. A very rare species, no doubt. We’ve never seen a dog like you before.”

  “Never seen—No, I dare say you haven’t,” said the stranger absently. “The north pole! Well, well! How interesting!” He came very close and, putting up his nose, sniffed at Charles so intently that the rooster felt the goose-flesh prickling on his back between his wings. “And your friend is a rooster? Yes, yes; I know the smell”—he licked his chops—“though it’s a long time since—” He broke off. “Ah, well; we’ll speak of that later. I must tell you how much I appreciate your thoughtfulness in coming out to find me. I had scarcely hoped—” He broke off again and smiled as if very much pleased with himself.

  “Well,” said Jack bluntly, “I see you’re not in trouble, and you’re evidently not lost, so I guess there isn’t anything we can do for you, and we’d better be getting back to our friends. If you’d care to come back and have a bite of breakfast with us, I know our friends would be pleased.”

  “Thanks so much,” replied the other; “you’re too kind. But I can’t permit your generosity to go unrewarded. I really must insist on your staying and having breakfast with me and my friends. I’m sure they’ll be ever so much more pleased to see you than your friends would be to see me.” And he laughed outright.

  “Your friends?” exclaimed Jack. “But I thought you—”

  “Forgive me,” said the stranger. “In the pleasure of meeting you I had forgotten that I was neglecting to present them to you.” He raised his nose and sent forth a long, doleful howl, and immediately there was a rustling in the bushes all about them, and the two travellers found themselves the centre of a ring of huge shaggy grey dogs, all sitting on their haunches and smiling at them with very hungry-looking jaws.

  Too late Jack realized that he had walked straight into a trap, although what kind of a trap it was, and what sort of animals these were, he had no idea. He could feel Charles trembling violently, but he managed to keep his presence of mind.

  “Well, well,” he said, “I’m very glad to meet them, I’m sure. But I don’t think I’ve seen any of them at any of our lectures, have I?”

  The other laughed, a little less politely this time. “No,” he said, “I don’t think you have. And you won’t see them at any lectures in the future. In fact, you’re not likely to attend any future lectures yourself, unless you do exactly as we tell you to. Eh, boys?” And he looked round at his friends, who all grinned and licked their chops expectantly.

  In spite of his danger, Jack began to get mad. It was beginning to get light now, and he could see that these animals were really a very ferocious-looking crew. But although it was high time his own friends were up and about the business of getting breakfast, he knew that without Charles to wake them they would probably sleep late, and it would be an hour or more before they would become alarmed at his absence and set out to
look for him. He must gain as much time as he could. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, “but I suppose it’s some sort of a joke, for I don’t believe for a minute that you intend to try to keep us here against our will. We’ve never done you any harm—” But he got no further, for the leader suddenly lifted his muzzle and barked a sharp command. Immediately the other animals got to their feet and closed in around their prisoners.

  “Come,” said the leader. “We’ve stayed here long enough. You come with us.”

  Jack looked round at the ring of sharp teeth and menacing eyes. “All right,” he said. “But if any harm comes to us, you’ll be sorry.”

  Two or three of the captors laughed at this as they moved off, but the leader said: “You’ll come to no harm if you go quietly and do as we say. Forward, march!” And the animals wheeled like a squad of soldiers and marched their prisoners off into the forest.

  As Jack walked along over the frozen snow, listening to the laughter and coarse jokes of his guards, an idea came to him. “Get up on my head, Charles,” he said in a low voice.

  Charles was so frightened that at first he paid no attention, but kept on shivering and muttering: “Oh dear! Oh dear me! Whatever will Henrietta do without me? And my eighteen little ones at home; shall I never see them again? Oh, what a sad and untimely end to a useful and glorious life!” But presently, after Jack had repeated his order several times, Charles obeyed. Most of the trees in this part of the forest were tall and had no branches for twenty or thirty feet up, but pretty soon they passed through a clump of spruces whose low boughs were just over their heads. “Now, Charles! Jump when I tell you,” whispered Jack. Before the other animals realized what he was doing, he stopped, shouted: “Jump!” and, rearing up on his hind legs, fairly tossed the fluttering rooster up on to one of the limbs. “Now crow for all you’re worth!” he cried.

  And Charles crowed as he had never crowed before. His feet slipping and sliding on the ice-covered limb, his tail feathers snapped at by the mob of infuriated animals, who were leaping up beneath him and trying to pull him down, he crowed until the woods echoed for miles, and elk and bears and beaver and foxes and weasels, going about their morning business in distant parts of the forest, paused and lifted their heads and said: “Is that someone singing? What a beautiful voice!”