hastened to retrieve our honor in the "ah-ming-ma" chase. For, after
all, the musk ox alone could supply our wants. Winter storms were coming
fast. We were not only without food and fuel, but without clothing. In
our desperate effort to get out of the regions of famine to the
Atlantic, we had left behind all our winter furs, including the sleeping
bags; and our summer garments were worn out. We required the fuel and
the sinew, the fat and the horn.
One day we saw a herd of twenty-one musk oxen quietly grazing on a misty
meadow, like cattle on the western plains. It was a beautiful sight to
watch them, divided as they were into families and in small groups. The
males were in fur slightly brown, while the females and the young ones
were arrayed in magnificent black pelts.
To get any of them seemed hopeless, but our appalling necessities forced
us onward. There were no boulders near, but each of us gathered an
armful of stones, the object being to make a sudden bombardment and
compel them to retreat in disorder and scatter among the rocks.
We approached under cover of a small grassy hummock. When we were
detected, a bull gave a loud snort and rushed toward his nearest
companions, whereupon the entire herd gathered into a circle, with the
young in the center.
We made our sham rush and hurled the stones. The oxen remained almost
motionless, with their heads down, giving little snorts and stamping a
little when hit, but quickly resuming their immobile position of
watchfulness. After our stones were exhausted, the animals began to
shift positions slightly. We interpreted this as a move for action. So
we gave up the effort and withdrew.
The days were long and the nights still light enough to continue
operations as long as we could keep our eyes open. The whip of hunger
made rest impossible. So we determined to seek a less formidable group
of oxen in a position more favorable. The search was continued until the
sinking glimmer of the sun in the north marked the time of midnight--for
with us at that time the compass was the timepiece.
When E-tuk-i-shook secured a hare with the bow and arrow, we ascended a
rocky eminence and sat down to appease the calling stomach without a
camp fire. From here we detected a family of four musk oxen asleep not
far from another group of rocks.
This was a call to battle. We were not long in planning our tactics. The
wind was in our favor, permitting an attack from the side opposite the
rocks to which we aimed to force a retreat. We also found small stones
in abundance, these being now a necessary part of our armament. Our
first effort was based on the supposition of their remaining asleep.
They were simply chewing their cud, however, and rose to form a ring of
defence as we advanced. We stormed them with stones and they took to the
shelter of the rocks. We continued to advance slowly upon them, throwing
stones occasionally to obviate a possible assault from them before we
could also seek the shelter of the rocks.
Besides the bow and arrow and the stones, we now had lances and these we
threw as they rushed to attack us. Two lances were crushed to small
fragments before they could be withdrawn by the light line attached.
They inflicted wounds, but not severe ones.
Noting the immense strength of the animals, we at first thought it
imprudent to risk the harpoon with its precious line, for if we lost it
we could not replace it. But the destruction of the two lances left us
no alternative.
Ah-we-lah threw the harpoon. It hit a rib, glanced to a rock, and was
also destroyed. Fortunately we had a duplicate point, which was quickly
fastened. Then we moved about to encourage another onslaught.
Two came at once, an old bull and a young one. E-tuk-i-shook threw the
harpoon at the young one, and it entered. The line had previously been
fastened to a rock, and the animal ran back to its associates,
apparently not severely hurt, leaving the line slack. One of the others
immediately attacked the line with horns, hoofs and teeth, but did not
succeed in breaking it.
Our problem now was to get rid of the other three while we dealt with
the one at the end of the line. Our only resource was a sudden fusilade
of stones. This proved effective. The three scattered and ascended the
boulder-strewn foreland of a cliff, where the oldest bull remained to
watch our movements. The young bull made violent efforts to escape but
the line of sealskin was strong and elastic. A lucky throw of a lance at
close range ended the strife. Then we advanced on the old bull, who was
alone in a good position for us.
We gathered stones and advanced, throwing them at the creature's body.
This, we found, did not enrage him, but it prevented his making an
attack. As we gained ground he gradually backed up to the edge of the
cliff, snorting viciously but making no effort whatever either to escape
along a lateral bench or to attack. His big brown eyes were upon us; his
sharp horns were pointed at us. He evidently was planning a desperate
lunge and was backing to gain time and room, but each of us kept within
a few yards of a good-sized rock.
Suddenly we made a combined rush into the open, hurling stones, and
keeping a long rock in a line for retreat. Our storming of stones had
the desired effect. The bull, annoyed and losing its presence of mind,
stepped impatiently one step too far backwards and fell suddenly over
the cliff, landing on a rocky ledge below. Looking over we saw he had
broken a fore leg. The cliff was not more than fifteen feet high. From
it the lance was used to put the poor creature out of suffering. We were
rich now and could afford to spread out our stomachs, contracted by long
spells of famine. The bull dressed about three hundred pounds of meat
and one hundred pounds of tallow.
We took the tallow and as much meat as we could carry on our backs, and
started for the position of our prospective winter camp, ten miles away.
The meat left was carefully covered with heavy stones to protect it
from bears, wolves and foxes. On the following day we returned with the
canvas boat, making a landing about four miles from the battlefield. As
we neared the caches we found to our dismay numerous bear and fox
tracks. The bears had opened the caches and removed our hard-earned
game, while the foxes and the ravens had cleared up the very fragments
and destroyed even the skins. Here was cause for vengeance on the bear
and the fox. The fox paid his skin later, but the bear out-generaled us
in nearly every maneuvre.
We came prepared to continue the chase but had abandoned the use of the
harpoon. Our main hope for fuel was the blubber of the walrus, and if
the harpoon should be destroyed or lost we could not hope to attack so
powerful a brute as a walrus with any other device. In landing we had
seen a small herd of musk oxen at some distance to the east, but they
got our wind and vanished. We decided to follow them up. One day we
found them among a series of rolling hills, where the receding glaciers
had left many erratic boulders. They lined up in their ring of defence
as usual when we were detected. There were seven of them; all large
creatures with huge horns. A bitter wind was blowing, driving some snow,
which made our task more difficult.
The opening of the fight with stones was now a regular feature which we
never abandoned in our later development of the art, but the manner in
which we delivered the stones depended upon the effect which we wished
to produce. If we wished the musk oxen to retreat, we would make a
combined rush, hurling the stones at the herd. If we wished them to
remain in position and discourage their attack, we advanced slowly and
threw stones desultorily, more or less at random. If we wanted to
encourage attacks, one man advanced and delivered a large rock as best
he could at the head. This was cheap ammunition and it was very
effective.
In this case the game was in a good position for us and we advanced
accordingly. They allowed us to take positions within about fifteen
feet, but no nearer. The lances were repeatedly tried without effect,
and after a while two of these were again broken.
Having tried bow and arrow, stones, the lance and the harpoon, we now
tried another weapon. We threw the lasso--but not successfully, owing to
the bushy hair about the head and the roundness of the hump of the neck.
Then we tried to entangle their feet with slip loops just as we trapped
gulls. This also failed. We next extended the loop idea to the horns.
The bull's habit of rushing at things hurled at him caused us to think
of this plan.
A large slip loop was now made in the center of the line, and the two
natives took up positions on opposite sides of the animal. They threw
the rope, with its loop, on the ground in front of the creature, while I
encouraged an attack from the front. As the head was slightly elevated
the loop was raised, and the bull put his horns in it, one after the
other. The rope was now rapidly fastened to stones and the bull
tightened the loop by his efforts to advance or retreat. With every
opportunity the slack was taken up, until no play was allowed the
animal. During this struggle all the other oxen retreated except one
female, and she was inoffensive. A few stones at close range drove her
off. Then we had the bull where we could reach him with the lance at
arm's length, and plunge it into his vitals. He soon fell over, the
first victim to our new art of musk ox capture.
The others did not run very far away. Indeed, they were too fat to run,
and two more were soon secured in the same way. This time we took all
the meat we could with us to camp and left a man on guard. When all was
removed to the bay we found the load too heavy for our boat, so, in two
loads, we transported the meat and fat and skins to our camp, where we
built caches which we believed impregnable to the bear, although the
thieving creatures actually opened them later.
Our lances repaired, we started out for another adventure a few days
later. It was a beautiful day. Our methods of attack were not efficient,
but we wished to avoid the risk of the last plunge of the lance, for our
lives were in the balance every time if the line should break, and with
every lunge of the animal we expected it to snap. In such case, we knew,
the assailant would surely be gored.
We were sufficiently independent now to proceed more cautiously. With
the bull's willingness to put his head into the loop, I asked myself
whether the line loop could not be slipped beyond the horns and about
the neck, thus shutting off the air. So the line was lengthened with
this effort in view.
Of the many groups of oxen which we saw we picked those in the positions
most to our advantage, although rather distant. Our new plan was tried
with success on a female. A bull horned her vigorously when she gasped
for breath, and which aided our efforts. A storming of stones scattered
the others of the group, and we were left to deal with our catch with
the knife.
Our art of musk ox fighting was now completely developed. In the course
of a few weeks we secured enough to assure comfort and ease during the
long night. By our own efforts we were lifted suddenly from famine to
luxury. But it had been the stomach with its chronic emptiness which had
lashed the mind and body to desperate efforts with sufficient courage to
face the danger. Hunger, as I have found, is more potent as a stimulant
than barrels of whiskey. Beginning with the bow and arrow we had tried
everything which we could devise, but now our most important acquisition
was our intimate knowledge of the animal's own means of offense and
defense.
We knew by a kind of instinct when an attack upon us was about to be
made, because the animal made a forward move, and we never failed in our
efforts to force a retreat. The rocks which the animals sought for an
easy defense were equally useful to us, and later we forced them into
deep waters and also deep snow with similar success. By the use of
stones and utilizing the creatures' own tactics we placed them where we
wished. And then again, by the animal's own efforts, we forced it to
strangle itself, which, after all, was the most humane method of
slaughter. Three human lives were thus saved by the invention of a new
art of chase. This gave us courage to attack those more vicious but less
dangerous animals, the bear and walrus.
The musk ox now supplied many wants in our "Robinson Crusoe" life. From
the bone we made harpoon points, arrow pieces, knife handles, fox traps
and sledge repairs. The skin, with its remarkable fur, made our bed and
roofed our igloo. Of it we made all kinds of garments, but its greatest
use was for coats with hoods, stockings and mittens. From the skin, with
the fur removed, we made boots, patched punctures in our boat, and cut
lashings. The hair and wool which were removed from the skins made pads
for our palms in the mittens and cushions for the soles of our feet in
lieu of the grass formerly used.
The meat became our staple food for seven months without change. It was
a delicious product. It has a flavor slightly sweet, like that of
horseflesh, but still distinctly pleasing. It possesses an odor unlike
musk but equally unlike anything that I know of. The live creatures
exhale the scent of domestic cattle. Just why this odd creature is
called "musk" ox is a mystery, for it is neither an ox, nor does it
smell of musk. The Eskimo name of "ah-ming-ma" would fit it much better.
The bones were used as fuel for outside fires, and the fat as both fuel
and food.
At first our wealth of food came with surprise and delight to us, for,
in the absence of sweet or starchy foods, man craves fat. Sugar and
starch are most readily converted into fat by the animal laboratory, and
fat is one of the prime factors in the development and maintenance of
the human system. It is the confectionery of aboriginal man, and we had
taken up the lot of the most primitive aborigines, living and thriving
solely on the product of the chase without a morsel of civilized or
vegetable food. Under these circumstances we especially delighted in the
musk ox tallow, and more especially in the marrow, which we sucked from
the bone with the eagerness with which a child jubilantly manages a
stick of candy.
[Illustration: ARCTIC WOLF]
WITH A NEW ART OF CHASE IN A NEW WORLD OF LIFE
THREE WEEKS BEFORE THE SUNSET OF 1908--REVELLING IN AN EDEN OF
GAME--PECULIARITIES OF ANIMALS OF THE ARCTIC--HOW NATURE DICTATES
ANIMAL COLOR--THE QUEST OF SMALL LIFE
XXVII
COMING OF THE SECOND WINTER
In two months, from the first of September to the end of October, we
passed from a period of hunger, thirst and abject misery into the realm
of abundant game. The spell for inactivity had not yet come. Up to this
time we were too busy with the serious business of life to realize
thoroughly that we had really discovered a new natural wonderland. The
luck of Robinson Crusoe was not more fortunate than ours, although he
had not the cut of frost nor the long night, nor the torment of bears to
circumscribe his adventures. In successive stages of battle our eyes had
opened to a new world of life.
In searching every nook and cranny of land we had acquired new arts of
life and a new perspective of nature's wonders. We slept in caves in
storm; in the lee of icebergs in strong winds and on the mossy cushions
of earth concavities. Here we learned to study and appreciate primal
factors of both animal and plant life.
In the Arctic, nature tries to cover its nakedness in places where the
cruel winds do not cut its contour. The effort is interesting, not only
because of the charm of the verdant dress, but because of the evidence
of a motherly protection to the little life cells which struggle against
awful odds to weave that fabric wherever a terrestrial dimple is exposed
to the kisses of the southern sun. In these depressions, sheltered from
the blasts of storms, a kindly hand spreads a beautiful mantle of
colorful grass, moss, lichens and flowery plants.
Here the lemming digs his home under the velvet cover, where he may
enjoy the roots and material protection from the abysmal frost of the
long night. Here in the protected folds of Mother Earth, blanketed by
the warm white robe of winter, he sleeps the peace of death while the
warring elements blast in fury outside.
Here the Arctic hare plays with its bunnies during summer, and as the
winter comes the young grow to full maturity and dress in a silky down
of white. Under the snow they burrow, making long tunnels, still eating
and sleeping on their loved cushions of frozen plants, far under the
snow-skirts of Mother Earth, while the life-stilling blasts without
expend their wintry force.
Here the ptarmigan scratches for its food. The musk ox and the caribou
browse, while the raven, with a kind word for all, collects food for its
palate. The bear and the wolf occasionally visit to collect tribute,
while the falcon and the fox with one eye open are ever on the alert for
the exercise of their craft.
In these little smiling indentations of nature, when the sun begins to
caress the gentle slopes, while the snow melts and flows in leaping
streams--the sea still locked by the iron grip of the winter
embrace--the Arctic incubator works overtime to start the little ones of
the snow wilds. Thus in these dimples of nature rocks the cradle of
boreal life.
Relieved of the all-absorbing care of providing food, I now was often
held spellbound as I wandered over these spots of nature's wonders.
Phases of life which never interested me before now riveted my
attention. Wandering from the softly cushioned gullies, the harsh ridge
life next came under my eyes. While the valleys and the gullies become
garden spots of summer glory, the very protection from winds which makes
this life possible buries the vegetable luxuriousness in winter under
unfathomable depths of snow. The musk ox and the caribou, dependent upon
this plant life for food, therefore become deprived of the usual means
of subsistence. But Mother Nature does not desert her children. The same
winds which compel man and feebler animals to seek shelter from its
death-dealing assault, afford food to the better fitted musk ox and
caribou. In summer, plants, like animals, climb to ridges, hummocks and
mountain slopes, to get air and light and warm sunbeams. But the battle
here is hard, and only very strong plants survive the force of wind and
frosts.
The plant fibre here become tenacious; with a body gnarled and knotty
from long conflict the roots dig yards deep into the soil. This leaves
the breathing part of the plant dwarfed to a few inches. Here the
winter winds sweep off the snow and offer food to the musk ox and
caribou. Thus the wind, which destroys, also gives means of life. The
equalizing balance of nature is truly wonderful.
In small, circumscribed areas we thus found ourselves in a new Eden of
primeval life.
The topography of North Devon, however, placed a sharp limit to the
animated wilderness. Only a narrow strip of coast about Cape Sparbo,
extending about twenty-five miles to the east and about forty miles to
the west, presented any signs of land life. All other parts of the south
shore of Jones Sound are more barren than the shores of the Polar sea.
Although our larder was now well stocked with meat for food and blubber
for fuel, we were still in need of furs and skins to prepare a new
equipment with which to return to the Greenland shores. The animals
whose pelts we required were abundant everywhere. But they were too
active to be caught by the art and the weapons evolved earlier in the
chase of the walrus, bear and musk ox.
A series of efforts, therefore, was directed to the fox, the hare, the
ptarmigan and the seal. It was necessary to devise special methods and
means of capture for each family of animals. The hare was perhaps the
most important, not only because its delicately flavored meat furnished
a pleasing change from the steady diet of musk ox, but also because its
skin is not equalled by any other for stockings. In our quest of the
musk ox we had startled little groups of creatures from many centers.
Their winter fur was not prime until after the middle of October. Taking
notes of their haunts and their habits, we had, therefore, reserved the
hare hunt until the days just before sunset.
[Illustration: E-TUK-I-SHOOK WAITING FOR A SEAL AT A BLOW-HOLE]
[Illustration: TOWARD CAPE SPARBO IN A CANVAS BOAT WALRUS--PRIZE OF A
FIFTEEN HOUR BATTLE--4,000 POUNDS OF MEAT AND FAT]
We had learned to admire this little aristocrat. It is the most
beautiful, most delicate of northern creatures. Early in the summer we
had found it grazing in the green meadows along the base of bird cliffs.
The little gray bunnies then played with their mothers about crystal
dens. Now the babes were full grown and clothed in the same immaculate
white of the parents. We could distinguish the young only by their
greater activity and their ceaseless curiosity.
In the immediate vicinity of camp we found them first in gullies where
the previous winter's snow had but recently disappeared. Here the grass
was young and tender and of a flavor to suit their taste for delicacies.
A little later they followed the musk ox to the shores of lagoons or to
the wind-swept hills. Still later, as the winter snows blanketed the
pastures and the bitter storms of night swept the cheerless drifts, they
dug long tunnels under the snow for food, and when the storms were too
severe remained housed in these feeding dugouts.
An animal of rare intelligence, the hare is quick to grasp an advantage,
and therefore as winter advances we find it a constant companion of the
musk ox. For in the diggings of the musk ox this little creature finds
sufficient food uncovered for its needs.
With a skeleton as light as that of the bird and a skin as frail as
paper it is nevertheless as well prepared to withstand the rigors of the
Arctic as the bear with its clumsy anatomy. The entire makeup of the
hare is based upon the highest strain of animal economy. It expends the
greatest possible amount of energy at the cost of the least consumption
of food. Its fur is as white as the boreal snows and absorbs color
somewhat more readily. In a stream of crimson light it appears red and
white; in a shadow of ice or in the darkness of night it assumes the
subdued blue of the Polar world. Nature has bleached its fur seemingly
to afford the best protection against the frigid chill, for a suitable
white fur permits the escape of less bodily heat than any colored or
shaded pelt.
The fox is its only real enemy, and the fox's chance of success is won
only by superior cunning. Its protection against the fox lies in its
lightning-like movement of the legs. When it scents danger it rises by a
series of darts that could be followed only by birds. Its expenditure of
muscular energy is so economical that it can continue its run for an
almost indefinite time. Shooting along a few hundred paces, it then
rises to rest in an erect posture. With its black-tipped ears in line
with its back it makes a fascinating little bit of nature's handiwork.
Again, when asleep, it curls up its legs carefully in the long fur of
its body, and its ever-active nose, with the divided lip, is then pushed
into the long soft fur of the breast where the frost crystals are
screened from the breath when storms carry drift snow. It is a fluffy
ball of animation which provokes one's admiration.