HUNTS AND EXPLORATIONS
Ikwa and his Family—Present of a Mirror—August Walrus
Hunt—Preparations for Sending out the Depot Party—Departure for Head
of McCormick Bay—First Herd of Reindeer—Exciting Experiences in
Tooktoo Valley—Packing the Things up the Bluffs—The Inland Ice Party
Off—Return to Redcliffe—A Foretaste of Winter.
These Eskimos were the queerest, dirtiest-looking individuals I had ever
seen. Clad entirely in furs, they reminded me more of monkeys than of
human beings. Ikwa, the man, was about five feet two or three inches in
height, round as a dumpling, with a large, smooth, fat face, in which
two little black eyes, a flat nose, and a large expansive mouth were
almost lost. His coarse black hair was allowed to straggle in tangles
over his face, ears, and neck, to his shoulders, without any attempt at
arrangement or order. His body was covered with a garment made of
birdskins, called by the natives “ahtee,” the feathers worn next the
body, and outside of this a garment made of sealskin with the fur on the
outside, called “netcheh.” These garments, patterned exactly alike, were
made to fit to the figure, cut short at the hips, and coming to a point
back and front; a close-fitting hood was sewed to the neck of each
garment, and invariably pulled over his head when he was out of doors.
His legs were covered with sealskin trousers, or “nanookies,” reaching
just below the knee, where they were met by the tanned sealskin boots,
called by the natives “kamiks.” We learned later that sealskin trousers
were worn only by those men who were not fortunate enough or able to
kill a bear. In winter these men wear dogskin trousers, which are as
warm as those made of bearskin, but not nearly so stylish. Winter and
summer the men wear stockings reaching to the knee, made of the fur of
the Arctic hare.
[Illustration:
Mané and Anadore
]
At first I thought the woman’s dress was identical with that of the man,
and it puzzled me to tell one from the other; but in a day or two I had
made out the many little differences in the costumes. The woman, like
the man, wore the ahtee and netcheh made respectively of the birdskins
and sealskin. They differed in pattern from those of the man only in the
back, where an extra width is sewed in, which forms a pouch extending
the entire length of the back of the wearer, and fitting tight around
the hips. In this pouch or hood the baby is carried: its little body,
covered only by a shirt reaching to the waist, made of the skin of a
young blue fox, is placed against the bare back of the mother; and the
head, covered by a tight-fitting skull-cap made of sealskin, is allowed
to rest against the mother’s shoulder. In this way the Eskimo child is
carried constantly, whether awake or asleep, and without clothing except
the shirt and cap, until it can walk, which is usually at the age of two
years; then it is clothed in skins, exactly as the father if it is a
boy, or like the mother if a girl, and allowed to toddle about. If it is
the youngest member of the family, after it has learned to walk it still
takes its place in the mother’s hood whenever it is sleepy or tired,
just as American mothers pick up their little toddlers and rock them.
The woman’s trousers, or nanookies, are made of foxskin, and are hardly
anything more than “trunks”; these are met by the long-legged boots, or
kamiks, made of tanned sealskin, and the long stockings, or “allahsy,”
of reindeer fur. Altogether this family appeared fully as strange to us
as we did to them. They had never before seen woven material, and could
not seem to understand the texture, insisting that it was the skin of
some animal in America.
They brought their dog, a sledge, a tent, a kayak (or canoe), and all
their housekeeping utensils and articles of furniture, which consisted
of two or three deerskins, on which the family slept; a stove made of
soapstone and shaped like our dust-pans, in which they burned seal fat,
using dried moss as a wick; and a dish or pot made of the same material,
which they hung over their stove, and in which they melted the ice for
drinking purposes and also heated their seal and walrus meat (I say
heated, for we would hardly call it cooked when they take it out of the
water). The skin tent put up, and these articles put in place, the house
was considered furnished and ready for occupancy. Wood being almost
impossible to procure, the tent was put up with narwhal tusks, which are
more plentiful and answer the purpose. The tent itself is made of
sealskin tanned and sewed together with narwhal sinews. These people
were very curious to see the white woman, who, they were given to
understand, was in the American “igloo” (house); and when Mr. Peary and
I came out, they looked at both of us, and then Ikwa asked, “Soonah
koonah?” Of course we did not know then what he wanted, but he soon made
us understand that he wished to know which one of the two was the woman.
I delighted him, and won his lasting favor, by making him a present of a
knife. His wife, Mané, was almost overwhelmed by a gift of some needles;
while Anadore, the elder of the two children, amused herself by making
faces at her image in a small mirror that I had presented to her. It was
the first time these people had seen themselves, and the parents were as
much amused as the children. They asked many questions, but as we could
not understand them any more than they knew what we were talking about,
the whole conversation was decidedly more amusing than instructive.
[Illustration:
A SUMMER DAY.—IKWA AND FAMILY.
]
[Illustration:
Ikwa and his Quarry.
]
Later in the day the boys launched the whale-boat, and Mr. Peary,
Gibson, Verhoeff, Matt, and myself, with our new man Ikwa, went down to
Cape Cleveland, two and a half miles from Redcliffe, where the boys had
beached a walrus killed by them while crossing Murchison Sound. It was
very interesting to watch Ikwa cut up this enormous animal, weighing
more than 1500 pounds, with an ordinary six-inch pocket-knife. So
precisely did he know just where every joint was, that not once did he
strike a bone, but cut the entire animal up into pieces which could be
easily handled by one man, as though it had been boneless. This done,
the pieces were packed in the boat, preparatory to taking them to
Redcliffe. Here at Cape Cleveland we found the grass very green, and in
places over two feet high. This unusual growth is explained by the
presence of blubber caches, seal caches, and the ruins of an Eskimo
village. We gathered many flowers, among which the yellow Arctic poppy
was the most prominent, and also shot a number of little auk and a few
gulls and eider-ducks. Mr. Peary hobbled along the beach on his
crutches, around the cape, and had his first view up Whale Sound and
Inglefield Gulf. On our return to Redcliffe, all the meat was hung up
back of the house to be used in the winter for dog-food and as an
occasional treat for our Eskimo family. It was a little too strong for
our taste, and we decided we would resort to it only in case we were
unsuccessful in getting deer.
A few days after this, early in the morning, Ikwa came running into our
house, apparently much excited, crying, “Awick! Awick!” This we had
learned was walrus. The boys tumbled out of their beds, and in a very
few moments were in the boat with Ikwa, pulling in the direction of a
spouting walrus out in McCormick Bay. In a short time they returned with
a large mother walrus and her baby in tow. The mother had been killed,
but the baby—a round bundle of fat about four feet long—was alive, and
very much so, as we found out a little later. Mr. Peary wanted to get
photographs of the little thing before it was shot, and while he was
dressing, a task which was of necessity slow, the boys came into the
house, leaving the baby walrus about a hundred yards up on the beach.
Suddenly we heard cries for help coming from the shore. On stepping to
the window, I saw one of the most comical sights I had ever seen. The
little walrus was slowly but surely making his way to the waters of the
bay. Mané with her baby on her back was sitting in the sand, her heels
dug into it as far as she could get them, holding on to the line
attached to the walrus, without apparently arresting its progress in the
least, for she was being dragged through the gravel and sand quite
rapidly. While I looked, Matt came rushing to her assistance, and taking
hold of the line just ahead of where Mané held it, he gave it one or two
turns about his wrists, and evidently thought all he had to do would be
to dig his heels into the sand and hold back; but in an instant he was
down in the sand too, and both he and Mané were plowing along, the sand
flying, and both shouting lustily for help. So strong was this little
creature that had not the other boys rushed out and secured him, he
would easily have pulled Matt and Mané to the water’s edge, where, of
course, they would have let him go, and he would have been a free walrus
once more. I have always regretted that I did not get a “kodak” of the
scene.
It was now the end of August, and active preparations were in progress
for sending a party with provisions to establish an advance depot on the
inland ice for the spring sledge journey across the great ice desert to
the northern terminus of Greenland. It was decided that Astrup, Gibson,
and Verhoeff should go on this trip, while Dr. Cook and Matt remained
with Mr. Peary and myself at Redcliffe.
On September 3, all arrangements having been perfected for the inland
ice-party, every one in the settlement, except Matt and Mané with her
children, sailed for the head of McCormick Bay, where it had been
decided that the boys should ascend the cliffs and attack the ice.
Redcliffe House is about fifteen miles from the head of the bay, and
this distance had to be rowed, for we got no favoring breeze. It was
late in the evening when we rounded a point of land whence we could see
the green valley stretching from the water’s edge back to the giant
black cliffs, which here form the boundaries of the inland ice. The
landscape was a beautiful one. As I looked I beheld moving objects on
one of the hillsides, which, seen through the glass, seemed to me to be
the size of a cow. We at once knew they were reindeer, and their
apparent size was due to mirage. Astrup was landed with a Winchester at
a point where he could go round and come upon the grazing herd from
behind the hill; it was hoped they would not see him, and that he would
bag quite a number. After landing Astrup we kept on until we were
opposite the center of the valley; here our boat was run ashore, and we
decided to camp.
Mr. Peary told me to take a run over the rocks and down the valley in
order to get warm, as I had become chilled from sitting in the boat and
not exercising for several hours; so after seeing him safely on the
little knoll about twenty feet above the shore-line, where we intended
to make camp, I strolled away. Upon climbing the hill, just back of the
camping-ground, I came in sight of the herd of deer which we had seen
from the boat, and as I watched them I saw the smoke and heard the
report of Astrup’s rifle. In an instant they were scampering off in
every direction, and although Astrup fired shot upon shot not one
dropped. One of the animals, however, after running some distance,
stumbled and fell, lay still for an instant, then got up, ran on a few
yards, and fell again. As it did not rise I judged it had received one
of Astrup’s bullets, and forgetting how deceptive distances are in the
pure, clear air, I started on the run toward the prostrate creature,
apparently not more than a mile distant. Happening to look back, I saw
Dr. Cook and Ikwa coming in my direction, and waited for them. On
reaching me the doctor said they were on their way to help Astrup bring
in his game. I called his attention to the little white spot on the
green grass, and told him it was a deer, and that I had seen it drop. As
we could see nothing of Astrup, we decided to take care of the animal.
Dr. Cook had his rifle loaded with twelve cartridges, Ikwa had a
muzzle-loader charged, and an extra load for it besides, and I had on my
cartridge-belt and revolver (a 38–caliber Colt). After walking—or
trotting would perhaps express it better—for some distance, we came to a
stream that flowed down the center of the valley throughout its length,
which we had to cross in order to reach our destination. Fortunately the
doctor had on his long-legged rubber boots, for we soon saw that the
only way to get on the other side was to wade the stream. We tried it at
different places, and finally the doctor found a place where he could
cross. First taking his rifle and my revolver and belt of cartridges
over, he returned for me and carried me across; then we continued in the
direction of the white spot, which all this time had not moved. After
traveling for nearly an hour we were near enough to see that beside the
prostrate deer stood a tiny black-and-white creature, a fawn. Whether it
saw us and whispered to its mother, I do not know; but immediately after
we had made out the little one, the mother deer raised her head, looked
at us, then rising slowly, started off at a moderate walk. We quickened
our steps, and so did she. When within three hundred yards, Dr. Cook
discharged his rifle several times, but only succeeded in wounding her
in the fore leg, which did not seem to retard her progress in the least.
Several times we were near enough to have shot her without any trouble,
but we were so excited—a case of buck-fever, I believe the hunters call
it—that she escaped every shot. To add to our difficulties the deer made
for a neighboring lake, and in the effort to stop her before she reached
it, we fired shot after shot until the doctor’s rifle was empty. There
was now nothing for us to do but stand around and crouch behind the
boulders in the hope that the poor wounded animal would come ashore
within pistol-shot range. It was evident that she was too weak to swim
across, and it was very touching to see how the little fawn would
support its mother in the water. Once or twice she tried to climb out on
the ice-foot, but the ice was not strong enough, and broke beneath her
weight. We were thoroughly chilled and hungry by this time, but disliked
the idea of returning empty-handed to camp after such a long absence. At
last, just as we were talking of returning, we saw Astrup in the
distance, and called to him to join us. When he came up to us he said he
had had no luck. He had a few cartridges left in his rifle, which he
expended on our victim without, however, harming her in the least.
Astrup then urged us to return, as he, too, was tired out; but we were
loath to leave our wounded deer, especially as we now knew it was only a
matter of time when we should get her, for she could not hold out much
longer. Nearer and nearer she came to the ice, finally leaning against
the edge as if to gather strength, when suddenly the doctor darted over
the ice-foot into the icy water, and before the startled animal realized
his intention, he had her by her short horns, which were still in the
velvet, and was pulling her slowly ashore. The little one then left its
mother for the first time, ran as fast as it could over the rocks, and
disappeared behind the cliffs.
The doctor had some trouble in pulling the wounded animal out on the
ice, which kept constantly breaking. All this time he was standing
knee-deep in the ice-cold water, and before long he had to call to us to
relieve him, his feet and legs being so numb that he could stand it no
longer. As Astrup had on low shoes, he did not feel like wading out to
the doctor, who was rubbing and pounding his feet, so I went to his
relief. My oil-tan boots kept the water out for some time. Although I
could not drag the poor creature out on the ice, still I had no
difficulty in holding her, as she made no resistance whatever. After the
doctor had somewhat restored his circulation, he came to me, and
together we pulled the wounded animal out. Then I was asked to kill her
with my revolver, but I could not force myself to do it, and Astrup took
the weapon and put her out of her misery. We placed the body on a large
flat rock, piled boulders on it, and left it. Both Dr. Cook and I were
thoroughly cold by this time, and we all hurried toward camp. It was now
nearing midnight, and I had been away from camp since six o’clock. It
was hard to realize the time of day, as the sun was shining just as
brightly as in the early afternoon. We soon reached the river, and
across it the poor doctor had to make three trips: first to carry the
rifles over, then to come back for me, and then to go after Astrup. As
this last load weighed 183 pounds, and the current was very swift,
progress was of necessity slow. The doctor had to feel his way, and did
not dare to lift his feet from the bottom. At last we were all safely
over. Ikwa, who had taken off his kamiks and stockings and waded the
stream, was lying flat on his back on a mossy bank nearly convulsed with
laughter at the sight of the doctor carrying Astrup. Once across the
river we redoubled our speed, and soon reached camp, where I found Mr.
Peary, with Gibson and Verhoeff, anxiously awaiting me.
The next two days the boys spent in packing their provisions and
equipment over the bluffs to the edge of the ice, while I stayed in camp
and cooked, and Ikwa put in his time hunting. On the fourth day, Monday,
September 7, right after lunch, the boys left with their last load, and
in spite of the snow, which had been falling lightly all day, determined
to keep on to the inland ice. Dr. Cook accompanied them, helping them
carry their provisions to the edge of the ice, and on his return we were
to start for Redcliffe.
[Illustration:
LOOKING DOWN INTO THE SUN GLACIER FJORD FROM THE ICE-CAP.
]
[Illustration:
The Crew of the “Faith.”
Cook. Ikwa. Gibson. Astrup. Verhoeff.
]
Just as everything had been stowed away in the boat, a wind-storm came
down upon us which threatened to blow our little craft upon the rocks.
The sea was rough and the wind cold, which made the time of waiting for
the doctor seem very long. At last we were joined by our companion, who
told us that he had left the inland ice-party ensconced in their
sleeping-bags, and that it was snowing furiously upon the ice-cap. When
we reached Redcliffe seven hours later, we found everything white and
about ten inches of snow on the ground.