hundred others that I knew to be rocks. I levelled my glasses on the
whale-backed mountain at which the Eskimo was staring, and, sure enough,
there were three musk oxen on a steep snow slope. They seemed to be
digging up the winter snow fields to get "scrub" willows. They were not
only three miles away, but at an altitude of perhaps a thousand feet
above us.
The cumbersome loads were quickly pitched from three sledges. Rifles and
knives were securely fastened. In a few moments the long lashes snapped,
and away we rushed, with two men on each of the sledges and with double
teams of twenty dogs.
The dogs galloped at a pace which made the sledges bound like rubber
balls over irregularities of rocks, slippery ice, and hard-crusted snow,
and our hold tightened on the hickory in the effort to keep our places.
It disturbed the dogs not at all whether they were on rock or snow, or
whether the sledge rested on runners or turned spirally; but it made
considerable difference to us, and we lost much energy in the constant
efforts to avoid somersaults. We did not dare release our grip for a
moment, for to do so would have meant painful bumping and torn clothes,
as well as being left behind in the chase.
It took but a brief time to cover the three miles. We made our final
advance by three separate ravines, and for a time the musk oxen were out
of sight. When we again saw them they had not taken the alarm, nor did
they until we were ready to attack them from three separate points.
All but five dogs from each sledge were now freed from harness. They
darted toward the oxen with fierce speed.
The oxen tried to escape through a ravine, but it was too late. The dogs
were on every side of them, and all the oxen could do was to grunt
fiercely and jump into a bunch, with tails together and heads directed
at the enemy. There were seven musk oxen in all, and they tried to keep
the dogs scattered at a safe distance.
The dogs would rush up to within a few feet, showing their teeth and
uttering wolfish sounds, and every now and then an ox would rush out
from its circle, with head down, in an effort to strike the dogs; but
the dogs were always too quick to be caught by the savage thrust, and
each time the ox, in its retreat, would feel canine fangs closing on its
haunches.
After a few such efforts, the bulls, with lowered horns, merely held to
the position, while the dogs, not daring actually to attack under such
circumstances, sat in a circle and sent up blood-chilling howls.
Meanwhile, the Eskimos and myself were hurrying up.
The strife was soon over. I snapped my camera at an old bull which at
that moment broke through the dogs and, followed by a group of them, was
driven madly over a cliff in a plunge of five thousand feet. The other
oxen were soon killed by the hunters.
[Illustration: "THE IGLOO BUILT, WE PREPARE FOR OUR DAILY CAMP"]
[Illustration: CAMPING TO EAT AND TAKE OBSERVATIONS ON AGAIN!]
The sun settled under mountains of ice, and the purple twilight rapidly
thickened. It was very cold. The breath of each man came like jets of
steam from a kettle. The temperature was now -81 deg. F. No time could be
lost in dressing the game. But the Eskimos were equal to the task, and
showed such skill as only Indians possess.
While this was being done by my companions, I strolled about to note the
ear-marks of the home of the musk ox. The mountain was in line of the
sweep of the winds, and was bared of snows. Here were grass, mosses, and
creeping willows in abundance, descending into the gullies. I found
fossil-stumps of large trees and bits of lignite coal. The land in
pre-glacial times had evidently supported a vigorous vegetation; but now
the general aspect offered a scene of frosty hopelessness. Still, in
this desolation of snowy wastes, nature had supplied creatures with food
in their hard pressure of life.
Fox and wolf tracks were everywhere, while on every little eminence sat
an Arctic hare, evincing ear-upraised surprise at our appearance. With
the glasses I noted on neighboring hills three other herds of musk ox.
This I did not tell the hunters, for they would not have rested until
all were secured. Living in a land of cold and hunger, the Eskimo is
insatiable for game. We had as much meat as we could possibly use for
the next few days, and it was much easier to fill up, and secure more
when we needed it, than now to carry almost impossible loads. In a
remarkably short time the skins were removed and the meat was boned and
cut in small strips in such a way that the axe would break it when
frozen. Neatly wrapped in skins, the loads did not seem large.
Selecting a few choice bits for later use, the balance was separated and
allowed to cool. I looked at the enormous quantity of meat, and wondered
how it could be transported to camp, but no such thought troubled the
Eskimos. Piece after piece went down the canine throats with a gulp. No
energy was wasted in mastication. With a drop of the jaws and a twist of
the neck, the task of eating was finished and the stomach began to
spread. The dogs had not yet reached their limit when the snow was
cleared of its weight of dressed meat and a canine wrangle began for the
possession of the cleaned bones.
With but little meat on the sledges, we began the descent, but the
spirit of the upward rush was lost. The dogs, too full to run, simply
rolled down the slopes, and we pushed the sledges ourselves. The ox that
had made the death plunge was picked up and taken as reserve meat. It
was midnight before camp was pitched. The moon burned with a cheerful
glow. The air was filled with liquid frost, but there was no wind and
consequently no suffering from cold.
Two comfortable snowhouses were built, and in them our feasts rivalled
the canine indulgence. Thus was experienced the greatest joy of savage
life in boreal wilds--the hunt of the musk ox, with the advantage of the
complex cunning gathered by forgotten ages. The balance of the meat left
after our feast was buried, with the protecting skins, in the snow. On
opening the meat on the following morning, it was still warm, although
the minimum thermometer registered -80 deg. F. for the night.
A few minutes before midday, on our next march, the sledge train halted.
We sat on the packs, and, with eyes turned southward, waited. Even an
Eskimo has an eye for color and a soul for beauty. To us there appeared
a play of suppressed light and bleached color tints, as though in
harmony with bars of music, which inspired my companions to shouts of
joy.
Slowly and majestically the golden orb lifted. The dogs responded in
low, far-reaching calls. The Eskimos greeted the day god with savage
chants. The sun, a flushed crimson ball, edged along the wintry outline
of the mountains' purplish snowy glitter. The pack was suddenly screened
by a moving sheet of ever-changing color, wherein every possible
continuation of purple and gold merged with rainbow hues.
Soon the dyes changed to blue, and eventually the sky was fired by
flames of red. Then, slowly, the great blazing globe sank into seas of
fire-flushed ice. The snowy mountains about glowed with warm cheer. The
ice cooled again to purple, and again to blue, and then a winter
blackness closed the eye to color and the soul to joy.
IN GAME TRAILS TO LAND'S END
SVERDRUP'S NEW WONDERLAND--FEASTING ON GAME EN ROUTE TO
SVARTEVOEG--FIRST SHADOW OBSERVATIONS--FIGHTS WITH WOLVES AND
BEARS--THE JOYS OF ZERO'S LOWEST--THRESHOLD OF THE UNKNOWN
XII
SHORES OF THE CIRCUMPOLAR SEA
March 2 was bright and clear and still. The ice was smooth, with just
snow enough to prevent the dogs cutting their feet. The heavy sledges
bounded along easily, but the dogs were too full of meat to step a
lively pace. The temperature was -79 deg. F. We found it comfortable to walk
along behind the upstanders of the sledges. Some fresh bear tracks were
crossed. These denoted that bears had advanced along the coast on an
exploring tour, much as we aimed to do. Scenting these tracks, the dogs
forgot their distended stomachs, and braced into the harness with full
pulling force. We were still able to keep pace by running. Hard exercise
brought no perspiration.
After passing the last land point, we noted four herds of musk oxen. The
natives were eager to embark for the chase. I tried to dissuade them,
but, had we not crossed the bear trail, no word of mine would have kept
them from another chase of the musk ox.
Long after sunset, as we were about to camp, a bear was sighted
advancing on us behind a line of hummocks. The light was already feeble.
It was the work of but a minute to throw our things on the ice and start
the teams on the scent of the bear. But this bear was thin and hungry.
He gave us a lively chase. His advance was checked, however, as our rush
began, and he spread his huge paws into a step which outdistanced our
dogs. The chase was continued on the ice for about three miles. Then
bruin, with sublime intelligence, took to the land and the steep slopes,
leading us over hilly, bare ground, rocks, and soft snows. He gained the
top of the tall cliffs while we were still groping in the darkness among
the rocks at the base, a thousand feet below.
The sledges were now left, and the dogs freed. They flew up a gully in
which the bear tracks guided an easy path. In a short time their
satisfying howls told of the bear's captivity. He had taken a position
on a table-rock, which was difficult for the dogs to climb. At an easy
distance from this rock were steep slopes of snow. One after another,
the dogs came tumbling down these slopes. With but a slight cuff of his
paw, the bear could toss the attacking dogs over dizzy heights. His
position was impregnable to the dogs, but, thus perched, he was a
splendid mark for E-tuk-i-shook. That doughty huntsman raised his gun,
and, following a shot, the bear rolled down the same slopes on which he
had hurled the dogs. To his carcass a span of strong dogs were soon
hitched, and it was hauled down to the sea level. Quickly dressed and
distributed, the bear was only a teasing mouthful to the ever-hungry
dogs.
It was nearly midnight before we returned to our sledge packs. The work
of building the houses was rendered difficult by the failing moon and
the very low temperature. The lowest temperature of the season, -83 deg.,
was reached this night.
The sun rose in the morning of March 3 with warm colors, painting the
crystal world surrounding us with gorgeous tints of rose and old gold.
It was odd that in the glare of this enrapturing glory we should note
the coldest day of the year.
With the returning sun in the Arctic comes the most frigid season. The
light is strongly purple, and one is tempted to ascribe to the genial
rays a heating influence which is as yet absent, owing to their slant.
The night-darkened surfaces prevent the new sunbeams from disseminating
any considerable heat, and the steadily falling temperature indicates
that the crust of the earth, as a result of its long desertion by the
sun in winter, is still unchecked in its cooling. Because of the
persistence of terrestrial radiation, we have the coldest weather of the
year with the ascending sun.
It is a fortunate provision of nature that these icy days of the
ascending sun are usually accompanied by a breathless stillness. When
wind and storms come, the temperature quickly rises. It is doubtful if
any form of life could withstand a storm at -80 deg. F. A quiet charm comes
with this eye-opening period. The spirits rise with indescribable
gladness, and, although the mercury is frozen, the body, when properly
dressed, is perfectly comfortable. The soft light of purple and gold, or
of lilac and rose, on the snowy slopes, dispels the chronic gloom of the
long night, while the tonic of a brightening air of frost returns the
flush to the pale cheeks. The stillness adds a charm, with which the
imagination plays. It is not the music of silence, nor the gold solitude
of summer, nor the deathlike stillness of the winter blackness. It is
the stillness of zero's lowest, which has a beauty of its own.
The ice pinnacles are lined with hoar frost, on which there is a play of
rainbow colors. The tread of one's feet is muffled by feathery beds of
snow. The mountains, raised by the new glow of light or outlined by
colored shadows, stand against the brightened heavens in sculptured
magnificence.
The bear admires his shadow, the fox peeps from behind his bushy tail,
devising a new cult, for his art of night will soon be a thing of the
past. The hare sits, with forelegs bent reverently, as if offering
prayers of gratitude. The musk ox stands in the brightest sun, with his
beautiful coat of black and blue, and absorbs the first heaven-given sun
bath, and man soars high in dreams of happiness.
Shadows always attract the eye of primitive people and children. In a
world such as the one we were invading, with little to rest the eye from
perpetual glitter, they were to become doubly interesting. When we first
began observing our shadows, on March 3, I did not dream that a thing so
simple could rise to the dignity of a proof of the Polar conquest. But,
since then, I have come to the conclusion that, if a proof of this
much-discussed problem is at all possible, it is in the corroborative
evidence of just such little things as shadows.
Accordingly, I have examined every note and impression bearing on
natural phenomena en route.
To us, in our daily marches from Bay Fiord, the shadow became a thing
of considerable interest and importance. The Eskimo soul is something
apart from the body. The native believes it follows in the shadow. For
this reason, stormy, sunless days are gloomy times to the natives, for
the presence of the soul is then not in evidence. The night has the same
effect, although the moon often throws a clear-cut shadow. The native
believes the soul at times wanders from the body. When it does this, the
many rival spirits, which in their system of beliefs tenant the body,
get into all sorts of trouble.
Every person, and every animal, has not only a soul which guards its
destiny, but every part of the body has an individual spirit--the arm,
the leg, the nose, the eye, the ear, and every other conceivable part of
the anatomy, with a peculiar individuality, throbs with a separate life.
The separate, wandering soul in the shadow is the guiding influence.
Furthermore, there is no such conception as an absolutely inanimate
thing. The land, the sea, the air, ice, and snow, have great individual
spirits that ever engage in battle with each other. Even mountains,
valleys, rocks, icebergs, wood, iron, fire--all have spirits. All of
this gives them a keen interest in shadows in an otherwise desert of
gloom and death.
Their entire religious creed would require a long time to work out. Even
that part of it which is represented by the shadow is quite beyond me.
As I observed in our following marches toward Svartevoeg, their keen
eyes detect in shadows incidents and messages of life, histories that
would fill volumes. The shadow is long or short, clear-cut or vague,
dark or light, blue or purple, violet or black. Each phase of it has a
special significance. It presages luck or ill-luck on the chase,
sickness and death in the future, the presence or unrest of the souls of
parted friends. Even the souls of the living sometimes get mixed. Then
there is love or intrigue. All the passions of wild life can be read
from the shadows. The most pathetic shadows had been the vague, ghastly
streaks of black that followed the body about a week before sunset in
October. At that time all the Arctic world is sad, and tears come
easily.
The shadow does not quickly come back with the returning sun. Continuous
storms so screen the sunbeams that only a vague, diffused light reaches
the long night-blackened snows. When the joy of seeing the first shadows
exploded among my companions I did not know just what intoxication
infected the camp. With full stomachs of newly acquired musk ox loins,
we had slept. Suddenly the sun burst through a maze of burning clouds
and made our snow palace glow with electric darts. The temperature was
very low. Only half-dressed, the men rushed out, dancing with joy.
Their shadows were long, sharp-cut, and of a deep, purple blue. They
danced with them. This brought them back to the normal life of Eskimo
hilarity. Then followed the pleasures of the thrill of the sunny days of
crystal air and blinding sparkle during never-to-be forgotten days of
the enervating chill of zero's lowest at -83 deg. F.
In the northward progress, for a long time the shadows did not
perceptibly shorten or brighten to my eyes. The natives, however, on our
subsequent marches, got from these shadows a never-ending variety of
topics to talk about. They foretold storms, located game, and read the
story of respective home entanglements of the Adamless Eden which we had
left far away on the Greenland shore.
Our bear adventures took us on an advance trail over which progress was
easy. Beyond, the snow increased rapidly in depth with every mile.
Snowshoes were lashed to our feet for the first mile. We halted in our
march at noon, attacked suddenly by five wolves. The rifles were
prepared for defense. No shots were to be fired, however, unless active
battle was commenced. The creatures at close range were slightly
cream-colored, with a little gray along their backs, but at a greater
distance they seemed white. They came from the mountains, with a
chilling, hungry howl that brought shivers. The dogs were interested,
but made no offer to give chase.
The wolves passed the advancing sledges at a distance, and gathered
about the rear sledge, which was separated from the train. The driver
turned his team to help in the fight. As the sledges neared, the teams
were stopped, the wolves sat down and delivered a maddening chorus of
chagrin. The dogs were restless, but only wiggled their tails. The men
stood still, with rifles pointed. The chorus ended. The battle was
declared off. Seeing that they were outnumbered, the howling creatures
turned and dashed up the snowy slopes, from which they had come, with a
storming rush. The train was lined up, and through the deep snow we
plowed westward.
In two difficult marches we reached Eureka Sound.
Wolves continued on our trail nearly every day along the west coast of
Acpohon, and also along North Devon.
In the extreme North, the wolf, like the fox, is pure white, with black
points to the ears, and spots over the eyes. In the regions farther
south his fur is slightly gray. In size, he is slightly larger than the
Eskimo dog, his body longer and thinner, and he travels with his tail
down. Like the bear, he is a ceaseless wanderer during all seasons of
the year.
In winter, wolves gather in groups of six or eight, and attack musk ox,
or anything in their line of march. But in summer they travel in pairs,
and become scavengers. The wolf is alert in estimating the number of his
combatants and their fighting qualities. Men and dogs in numbers he
never approaches within gunshot, contenting himself by howling
piercingly from mountains at a long distance. When a single sledge was
separated from the others, he would approach to an uncomfortable range.
Bear tracks were also numerous. We were, however, too tired to give
chase. Close to a cape where we paused, on Eureka Sound, to cut
snow-blocks for igloos attached to the sledges, E-tuk-i-shook noted two
bears wandering over the lands not far away. Watching for a few moments
with the glasses, we noted that they were stalking a sleeping musk ox.
Now we did not care particularly for the bears, but the musk ox was
regarded as our own game, and we were not willing to divide it
knowingly. The packs were pitched into the snow, and the dogs rushed
through deep snow, over hummocks and rocks, to the creeping bears.
As the bears turned, the rear attack seemed to offer sport, and they
rose to meet us. But as one team after the other bounced over the
nearest hills, their heads turned and they rushed up the steep slopes.
We now saw twenty musk oxen asleep in scattered groups. These interested
us more than the bears. The dogs were seemingly of the same mind, for
they required no urging to change the noses from the bears to the musk
oxen.
As we wound around the hill upon which they rested, all at once arose,
shook off the snow, rubbed their horns on their knees, and then formed a
huge star. In a short time the entire herd was ours. The meat was
dressed, wrapped in skins, the dogs lightly fed, and the carcasses
hauled to camp. Then we completed our igloos. Bears and wolves wandered
about camp all night, but with one hundred dogs, whose eyes were on the
swelled larder, there was no danger from wild brutes.
Early in the morning of March 4 we were awakened by a furious noise from
the dogs. Koo-loo-ting-wah peeked out and saw a bear in the act of
taking a choice strip of tenderloin from the meat. With a deft cut of
the knife, a falling block of snow made a window, and through it the
rifle was leveled at the animal. He was big, fat, and gave us just the
blubber required for our lamps.
A holiday was declared. It would take time to stuff the dogs with twenty
musk oxen and a bear. Furthermore, our clothing needed attention. Boots,
mittens, and stockings had to be dried and mended. Some of our garments
were torn in places, permitting winds to enter. Much of the dog harness
required fixing. The Eskimos' sledges had been slightly broken. Later,
the same day, another herd of twenty musk oxen were seen. Now even the
Eskimo's savage thirst for blood was satisfied. The pot was kept
boiling, and the igloos rang with chants of primitive joys.
On March 7 we began a straight run to the Polar sea, a distance of one
hundred and seventy miles. The weather was superb and the ice again free
of heavy snow.
In six marches we reached Schei Island, which we found to be a
peninsula. We halted here and a feast day was declared. Twenty-seven
musk oxen and twenty-four hares were secured in one after-dinner hunt.
This meat guaranteed a food supply to the shores of the Polar sea. A
weight was lifted from my load of cares, for I had doubted the existence
of game far enough north to count on fresh meat to the sea. The
temperature was still low (-50 deg. F.), but the nights were brightening,
and the days offered twelve hours of good light. Our outlook was hopeful
indeed.
In the Polar campaign, the bear was unconsciously our best friend, and
also consciously our worst enemy. There were times when we admired him,
although he was never exactly friendly to us. There were other times
when we regarded him with a savage wrath. Only beyond the range of life
in the utmost North were we free from his attacks. In other places he
nosed our trail with curious persistence. He had attacked the first
party that was sent out to explore a route, under cover of night and
storms. One man was wounded, another lost the tail of his coat and a
part of his anatomy.
In our march of glory through the musk ox land, the bear came as a
rival, and disputed not only our right to the chase, but also our right
to the product from our own catch. But we had guns and dogs, and the
bears fell easily. We were jealous of the quest of the musk ox. It
seemed properly to belong to the domain of man's game. We were equal at
the time to the task, and did not require the bear's help.
The bears were good at figures, and quickly realized ours was a superior
fighting force. So they joined the ranks in order that they might share
in the division of the spoils. The bear's goodly mission was always
regarded with suspicion. We could easily spare the bones of our game,
which he delighted to pick. We were perfectly able to protect our booty
with one hundred dogs, whose dinners depended on open eyes. But the bear
did not always understand our tactics. We afterwards learned that we did
not always understand his, for he drove many prizes into our arms. But
man is a short-sighted critic--he sees only his side of the game.
In the northern march a much more friendly spirit was developed. We
differed on many points of ethics with bruin, and our fights, successful
or otherwise, were too numerous and disagreeable to relate fully. Only
one of these battles will be recorded here, to save the reputation of
man as a superior fighting animal.
We had made a long march of about forty miles. Already the dull purple
of twilight was resting heavily on darkening snows. The temperature was
-81 deg.. There was no wind. The air was semi-liquid with suspended
crystals. When standing still we were perfectly comfortable, although
jets of steam from our nostrils arranged frost crescents about our
faces.