ARCTIC FESTIVITIES
Creeping Toward the Winter Solstice—Household Economy—The
Holidays—Christmas Amusements—Christmas Dinner to the
Natives—New-Year Festivities—Moonlight Snow-shoe Tramps—Reception in
the South Parlor.
Wednesday, December 2. Thanksgiving has come and gone. We had a very
pleasant time, and enjoyed our dinner as much as any one at home. The
only difference between day and night at Redcliffe is that during the
day in addition to the bracket-lamps we have a large Rochester lamp
burning. The huskies, as we continue to call the natives, have named it
the “mickaniny sukinuk” (baby sun). Matt lights it at 8 A. M., and the
officer on watch puts it out at 10 P. M. Mr. Peary has made a rule that
no member of the party, unless ill, shall occupy his bunk between the
hours of 8 A. M. and 7 P. M. He has also changed from the four-hour
watches to twelve-hour watches; thus one man has the night watch for a
whole week, and during this time sleeps in the daytime, and one man has
the day watch. At the end of a week these two men are relieved by two
others. The boys think they like this arrangement very much better. The
native whom Ikwa brought back with him from Keati is named Mahoatchia,
and Ikwa says that he and the one-eyed bear-hunter, Mekhtoshay, of
Netchiolumy, exchange wives with each other every year. It is
interesting to note that these two men are the only ones in the tribe
who indulge in this practice, yet the other men seem to think it all
right; but the women are not at all satisfied with this social
arrangement.
[Illustration:
OUR FRIENDS ABOUT REDCLIFFE.
]
If some of our dear ones at home could look down upon us now they would
be surprised to find how comfortable and contented we are. Everybody is
busily engaged in getting the equipment and clothing ready for the long
spring sledge journey over the inland ice. Mr. Peary gives me an idea of
what kind of garments he wants, and I am making experimental outfits out
of canton flannel, which, when satisfactory, will be used as patterns by
which the skins will be cut, thus avoiding the chance of wasting any of
the valuable furs. While I am at work on this, two native women,
M’gipsu, wife of Annowkah, with her baby on her back, and Tookymingwah,
the twelve-year-old girl, are both sitting tailor-fashion on the floor,
chewing deerskins. The native method of treating the skins of all
animals intended for clothing, is first to rid them of as much of the
fat as can be got off by scraping with a knife; then they are stretched
as tight as possible, and allowed to become perfectly dry. After this
they are taken by the women and chewed and sucked all over in order to
get as much of the grease out as possible; then they are again dried and
scraped with a dull implement so as to break the fibers, making the
skins pliable. Chewing the skins is very hard on the women, and all of
it is done by them; they cannot chew more than two deerskins per day,
and are obliged to rest their jaws every other day.
Kyo, Ikwa’s brother, and Annowkah come in occasionally and scrape some
of the skins after they have been chewed. Kyo especially tries to make
himself useful. He presents rather a comical appearance in his bearskin
nanookies and blue guernsey given him by one of the boys. Every time he
sees any shavings or other trash on the floor he seizes the broom, made
by him out of the wings of eider-ducks, and sweeps it up. Mr. Peary and
the boys are carpentering from morning till night, and every day we
assure one another that we do not mind the Arctic night at all; but I
don’t think that any of us will object to seeing the sun again.
Thursday, December 10. A whole week has passed since I wrote in my
journal. We have had one or two very disagreeable days, the wind making
it too unpleasant for my daily walk.
[Illustration:
M’gipsu Sewing.
]
We have been busy working on the fur outfits. I have succeeded in
getting satisfactory patterns for Mr. Peary; Mané and M’gipsu are
sewing. The former is a poor sewer, but M’gipsu is very neat as well as
rapid, and I have suggested to Mr. Peary that he offer her an inducement
if she will stay and sew until all the garments are completed. She
understands us and we understand her better than any of the other
natives, including Ikwa and Mané, although they have been with us fully
ten weeks longer. I hope it is not a case of new broom, and that she
will wear well. The little girl Tookymingwah, whom we all call “Tooky,”
is a neat little seamstress, but is not very rapid. A few days ago her
mother, named Klayuh, but always called by us the “Widow,” arrived with
her two younger daughters, the youngest about five years old. I asked
her if she had only the three children, and she burst into tears and
left the house without answering me. Turning to M’gipsu, I asked her
what it meant, and she said it was “peuk nahmee” (not well) for me to
ask Klayuh about other children. When I insisted upon knowing why, she
took me aside and whispered that Klayuh had just killed her youngest
child, about two years of age, by strangling it. She went on to explain
that it was perfectly right for Klayuh to do this, as the father of the
child had been killed, and she could not support the children herself,
and no man would take her as a wife so long as she had a child small
enough to be carried in the hood. I asked her if this was always done,
and she said: “Oh, yes, the women are compelled to do it.”
Mr. Peary has spoken to M’gipsu about staying at Redcliffe as
seamstress, and she is delighted at the opportunity. When Ikwa heard of
this arrangement he rushed in and wanted to know why he was “no good”
for Peary, and why Mané could not do the sewing, and said that if Peary
preferred Annowkah and M’gipsu he would pull down his igloo and take his
family back to Keati. It was some little time before we could quiet him
and make him understand that we needed more than one woman to sew all of
the clothing.
The last three days have been particularly busy ones for me, as Matt has
been sick in bed with something like the grippe, and I have had the
cooking to do in addition to the sewing. The poor fellow has had an
uncomfortable time, but the doctor says he will be all right in a day or
two.
Our house looks like a huge snow-drift from a little distance, so
completely is it covered with snow. The whole village presents the
appearance of a series of snow-mounds of various sizes. We have five
snow-igloos inhabited by the natives, besides a storehouse, an
experimental snow-house, and some dog-houses, all built of blocks of
snow. Just at present we are getting quite a little amusement out of two
young natives from Cape York, who express the same surprise at us and
our mode of living as the country boy does the first time he comes to a
city. They are dressed in new suits throughout,—kamiks, bearskin
nanookies, foxskin kapetahs, and birdskin shirts,—and so the boys have
nicknamed them the “Cape York dudes.” The younger one, Keshu, is a
stepbrother of Klayuh, and he has brought her the sad tidings that their
father is very sick and will probably never get well again. I should not
be surprised if she would return to Cape York with them.
Monday, December 21. The dark night is just half over; to-day is the
shortest day. So far the time has not seemed very long, but I am afraid
before we have had many more dark days we shall all think it long
enough. I have done nothing as yet toward celebrating Christmas, but I
want to make some little thing for Mr. Peary. As far as the boys are
concerned, I think an exceptionally good dinner will please them more
than anything else I could give them. M’gipsu has made a pair of
deerskin trousers for one of the boys, and has also completed a deerskin
coat. She is now at work on a deerskin sleeping-bag, which is to be
fastened about the neck of the occupant, over a fur hood with a shoulder
cape, which I am endeavoring to fashion.
She is sitting on the floor in my room (an unusual honor), and her
husband, Annowkah, comes in as often as he can find an excuse for doing
so. He frequently rubs his face against hers, and they sniffle at each
other; this takes the place of kissing. I should think they could smell
each other without doing this, but they are probably so accustomed to
the (to me) terrible odor that they fail to notice it.
I dislike very much to have the natives in my room, on account of their
dirty condition, and especially as they are alive with parasites, of
which I am in deadly fear, much to the amusement of our party. But it is
impossible for the women to sew in the other room, where the boys are at
work on their sledges and ski, so I allow two at a time to come into my
room, taking good care that they do not get near the bed. At the end of
their day’s work, I take my little broom, which is an ordinary whisk
lashed to a hoe-handle, and sweep the room carefully. The boys have made
brooms out of the wings of ducks and gulls, which are very satisfactory,
there being only the bare floor to sweep; but I have a carpet on my
floor, and the feather brooms make no impression on it, so I am
compelled to use my little whisk. It answers the purpose admirably, but
it takes me twice as long as it would otherwise have done. After the
room has been thoroughly swept, I sprinkle it with a solution of
corrosive sublimate, given to me by the doctor, and in this way manage
to keep entirely free from the pests. Both Mr. Peary and myself rub down
with alcohol every night before retiring as a further protection against
these horrible “koomakshuey,” and we are amply repaid for our trouble.
Matt has entirely recovered from his sick spell, and has again taken
charge of the cooking.
I was right in my surmise about the widow; she accompanied the “dudes”
to Cape York, taking her three children with her. Kyo also left at the
same time for his home at Omanooy. He says he will return in ten days
with a load of deerskins which he has at his igloo. Mr. Peary loaned him
two of his dogs, and has promised him ammunition in exchange for the
deerskins. We are anxious to see what kind of a gun he has; he says he
got it from an old man who had received it from a white man long ago.
We have had a great house-cleaning in honor of the approaching holidays.
I have replaced the cretonne curtains at the bottom of my bed,
wash-stand, bookcase, and trunk, with new ones, and have put fresh
muslin curtains at my windows. The boys have cleaned the large room,
taking all superfluous lumber and tools out, and have even scrubbed the
floor. The natives think we are crazy to waste so much water. Poor
things, they think water was made only for drinking purposes.
Saturday, December 26. Just after I made the last entry in my journal,
one of the boys reported that the tide-gage wire was broken. Mr. Peary,
Verhoeff, and Gibson went out to put it in commission. After about an
hour Verhoeff rushed into the house calling, “Doctor, Doctor, come out
to the tide-gage as quick as you can!” The doctor, whose turn it was to
be night watchman, and who was therefore asleep at this hour, tumbled
out of his bunk and into his clothes, and made a rush for the tide-gage.
I was lying in my bed suffering from the effects of a sick-headache; but
never having fully recovered from the shock caused by Mr. Peary’s
accident in Melville Bay, and realizing that he was not yet quite sure
of his injured limb, the thought flashed across my mind that something
had happened to him. No sooner did this idea occur to me than it became
a settled fact, and in less time than it takes to tell I had thrown on
my wrapper and kamiks, caught up a steamer-rug to throw about me, and
was on my way down to the tide-gage. As I ran down the beaten path, I
could see the light of the little bull’s-eye lantern flashing to and fro
in the distance. It was as dark as any starlight night at home, although
it was early in the evening, and not any darker now than it had been at
noon. I could hear the low buzz of conversation without being able to
distinguish any voices, and the figures seemed all huddled together. My
whole attention was absorbed by this little group, and I did not
properly watch my path; consequently I stumbled, then slipped and lost
my footing, falling astride a sharp ridge of ice on the ice-foot. For an
instant I could not tell where I was hurt the most, and then I
discovered that I could move neither limb, the muscles refusing to do my
bidding. I next tried to call Mr. Peary, whose voice I could now
distinctly hear, but I could utter no sound. Then I lost consciousness.
The next thing I knew, I was lying on the same spot in the same
position. The little group, not more than sixty yards away, were
laughing and talking; but I was unable to raise my voice above a hoarse
whisper, and could in no way attract their attention, so interested were
they in their work of raising the tide-gage anchor. I was clothed in
such a way that lying out on the ice with the temperature eighteen
degrees below zero was anything but comfortable. I found that by great
exertion I could move myself, and by doing this a little at a time, I
gradually got on my hands and knees and crawled back to the house. As
the whole distance was up-hill and every movement painful, I was obliged
to make frequent stops to rest. At last I reached my room and had just
strength enough left to drag myself upon the bed. I noticed by the clock
that I had been absent thirty-five minutes. On examination it was found
that I was cut and bruised all over, but the doctor declared that I was
not seriously hurt; but even now I have not entirely recovered from the
effects of the fall.
The day before yesterday was spent in decorating the interior of our
Arctic home for the Christmas and New-Year festivities. In the large
room the ceiling was draped with red mosquito-netting furnished by Mr.
Gibson. Dr. Cook and Astrup devised wire candelabra and wire
candle-holders, which were placed in all the corners and along the
walls. Two large silk United States flags were crossed at one end of the
room, and a silk sledge-flag given to Mr. Peary by a friend in
Washington was put up on the opposite wall. I gave the boys new cretonne
for curtains for their bunks. In my room I replaced the portières, made
of silk flags, with which the boys had decorated their room, by
portières made of canopy lace, and decorated the photographs of our dear
ones at home, which were grouped on the wall beside the bed, with red,
white, and blue ribbons. This occupied us all the greater part of the
day. About nine o’clock in the evening Mr. Peary made a goodly supply of
milk-punch, which was placed upon the table, together with cakes,
cookies, candies, nuts, and raisins. He gave each of the boys a book as
a Christmas gift. We spent the evening in playing games and chatting,
and at midnight Mr. Peary and I retired to our room to open some
letters, boxes, and parcels given to us by kind friends, and marked, “To
be opened Christmas eve at midnight.” I think our feeling of pleasure at
the many and thoughtful remembrances was clouded by the feeling of
intense homesickness which involuntarily came with it. It was the first
Christmas in my life spent away from home, and for the first time since
the little “Kite” steamed out of Brooklyn I felt how very far away we
are from those we love and who love us. I shall never forget the
thoughtful kindness of Mrs. Beyer, wife of the governor of Upernavik, to
a perfect stranger. Although she is obliged to get all her supplies from
Denmark, and then order them a year in advance, out of her slender stock
she had filled a large box with conserves, preserves, bonbons,
spice-cakes, tissue-paper knickknacks for decorating the table, and very
pretty cards wishing us a merry Christmas. Mr. Peary had carved for me
two beautiful hairpins, and I made a guidon out of a silk handkerchief
and a piece of one of my dresses, to be carried by him on his long
journey over the ice-cap to the northern terminus of Greenland.
Yesterday—Christmas morning—we had a late breakfast, and it was very
near noon before all the inmates of Redcliffe were astir. I had decided
to have an early dinner, and then to invite all our faithful natives to
a dinner cooked by us and served at our table with our dishes. I thought
it would be as much fun for us to see them eat with knife, fork, and
spoon as it would be for them to do it.
While I was preparing the dinner, most of the boys went out for a walk,
“to get a good appetite,” they said. After the table was set, Astrup
placed a very pretty and cleverly designed menu-card at each plate. Each
card was especially appropriate to the one for whom it was intended.
At 4.30 P. M. we all sat down to our “Merry Christmas.” The dinner
consisted of
Salmon _à la_ can.
Rabbit-pie with green peas.
Venison with cranberry sauce.
Corn and tomatoes.
Plum-pudding with brandy sauce.
Apricot pie.
Pears.
Candy, nuts, raisins.
Coffee.
[Illustration:
Christmas Dinner to the Natives.
]
We arose from the table at half-past seven, all voting this to have been
the jolliest Christmas dinner ever eaten in the Arctic regions. After
Matt had cleared everything away, the table was set again, and the
Eskimos were called in. Ikwa and his family sent regrets, as they had
just returned from a visit to Keati, and were too tired to put on “full
dress” for a dinner-party. We therefore had only two of our
seamstresses, M’gipsu and Inaloo, with us; in place of Ikwa and his wife
we invited two visitors, Kudlah and Myah. We had nicknames for all the
natives. Ahngodegipsah we called the “Villain” on account of the
similarity of his expression, when he laughed, to that of the villain on
the stage. His wife, Inaloo, talked so incessantly that she at once
received from the boys the nickname of the “Tiresome.” M’gipsu was
called the “Daisy” because she could do anything she was asked to do.
Her husband, Annowkah, we knew as the “Young Husband”; Kudlah was called
“Misfortune”; and Myah was known as the “White Man.” The “Villain” was
put at the head of the table and told that he must serve the company
just as he had seen Mr. Peary serve us. The “Daisy” took my place at the
foot of the table, her duty being to pour the tea. The “Young Husband”
and “Misfortune” sat on one side, while “Tiresome” and the “White Man”
sat opposite. Their bill of fare was as follows:
Milk-punch.
Venison-stew, corn-bread.
Biscuit, coffee.
Candy, raisins.
It was amusing to see the queer-looking creatures, dressed entirely in
the skins of animals, seated at the table and trying to act like
civilized people. Both the “Villain” and the “Daisy” did their parts
well. One incident was especially funny. Myah, seeing a nice-looking
piece of meat in the stew, reached across the table, and with his fork
endeavored to pick it out of the dish. He was immediately reproved by
the “Villain,” who made him pass his mess-pan to him and then helped him
to what he thought he ought to have, reserving, however, the choice
piece for himself. They chattered and laughed, and seemed to enjoy
themselves very much. Both women had their babies in their hoods on
their backs, but this did not hinder them in the least. Although at
times the noise was great, the little ones slept through it all.
M’gipsu watched the cups of the others, and as soon as she spied an
empty one she would say: “Etudoo cafee? Nahme? Cafee peeuk.” (More
coffee? No? The coffee is good.) Finally at ten o’clock the big lamp was
put out, and we told them it was time to go to sleep, and that they must
go home, which they reluctantly did.
To-day has been a rather lazy day for us all, and now at 11 P. M. Mr.
Peary, Dr. Cook, and Matt have just come in from a visit to the
fox-traps about two miles distant. On the return they indulged in a
foot-race, and when they came in they looked as if they had been dipped
in water. The perspiration ran in streamlets down their faces. This trip
has encouraged Mr. Peary very much in the belief that by next spring his
leg will be just as good as it ever was.
Saturday, January 2, 1892. I have been lazy about writing up my notes
lately, but now I shall turn over a new leaf. 1891 has gone; what will
1892 bring? I don’t think I want to know. Better take it as it comes,
and hope for the best. The “Villain” and his wife have gone to their
home in Netchiolumy, Myah and Kudlah also have left us, and, with the
exception of Keshu (alias the “Smiler”) and his wife, all of our Eskimo
visitors have departed; Ikwa and family and Annowkah and family remain,
but they are not considered company at Redcliffe.
The sun is surely coming back to us, for at noon now we have a
perceptible twilight, and the cliffs opposite Redcliffe can be plainly
seen. Since December 29 the weather has been very disagreeable, and we
have considerable new snow. The whole week has been a semi-holiday.
Almost every day I have been out for a snow-shoe tramp, and I have
rather enjoyed it in spite of the wind, which is just high enough to be
disagreeable.
On the 30th I issued cards of invitation for an “At home in the south
parlor of Redcliffe, December 31, from 10 P. M. 1891 to 1892.” The day
was a thoroughly Arctic one, and I was glad that my guests would not
have far to come. All day I was busy preparing for company. I had to
manufacture my own ice-cream without a freezer, bake my own cake and
crullers, and set everything out on an improvised sideboard. At 9 P. M.
I dressed myself in a black silk tea-gown with canary silk front,
covered and trimmed with black lace, cut square in the neck and filled
in with lace, and having lace sleeves. At ten my guests began to arrive.
The invitations were limited to the members of the North Greenland
Expedition of ’91 and ’92, and they all looked especially nice and very
much civilized, most of them actually sending in their cards. They were
all dressed in “store clothes,” although one or two clung to their
kamiks. I had no chairs, so each guest was requested to bring his own.
Mr. Peary sat on the bed, while I occupied the trunk. I spent a very
delightful evening, and I think the boys enjoyed the chocolate ice-cream
and cake. At midnight we all drank “A Happy New Year” in our Redcliffe
cocktail, and then my guests departed. All this time the wind was
howling and moaning, and the snow was flying, while the night was black
as ink, not a star being visible. More than once during the evening,
when a particularly heavy gust swept down from the cliffs and fell
against our little house with a shriek, the contrast between inside and
outside was forced upon us.
The next day we had a late breakfast, and then two of the boys went out
to lay off a course for the athletic games which they had been
discussing for some time. The weather was so bad that I did not go out
to witness them, but let Matt go, and prepared our New-Year’s dinner
alone. This time Mr. Peary decided that he would give the natives the
materials for their own New-Year’s dinner and let them prepare it
themselves. They were given eider-ducks, reindeer legs, coffee, and
biscuit. We have quite a batch of new Eskimos, among them two men from
Cape York, who are almost as tall as Mr. Peary, and whom we call the
“giants.” They have quite a number of narwhal tusks to trade, and are
determined to have a rifle for them, but I hardly think they will get
it.