were taught us by the creatures about. From the hare, with its
scrupulous attention to cleanliness, we learned how to cleanse our hands
and faces. With no soap, no towels and very little water, we had some
difficulty in trying to keep respectable appearances. The hare has the
same problem to deal with, but it is provided by nature with a cleansing
apparatus. Its own choice is the forepaw, but with its need for snow
shoes the hind legs serve a very useful purpose, and then, too, the
surface is developed, a surface covered with tough fur which, we
discovered, possessed the quality of a wet sponge and did not require,
for efficiency, either soap or water. With hare paws, therefore, we kept
clean. These paws also served as napkins. To take the place of a basin
and a towel we therefore gathered a supply of hare paws, enough to keep
clean for at least six months.
The hare was a good mark for E-tuk-i-shook with the sling shot, and many
fell victims to his primitive genius. Ah-we-lah, never an expert at
stone slinging, became an adept with the bow and arrow. Usually he
returned with at least a hare from every day's chase. Our main success
resulted from a still more primitive device. Counting on its
inquisitiveness we devised a chain of loop lines arranged across the
hare's regular lines of travel. In playing and jumping through these
loops, the animal tightened the lines and became our victim
automatically.
The ptarmigan chase was possible only for Ah-we-lah. The bird was not at
all shy, for it often came close to our den and scattered the snow like
a chicken. It was too small a mark for the sling shot and only Ah-we-lah
could give the arrow the precise direction for these feathered
creatures. Altogether, fifteen were secured in our locality, and all
served as dessert for my special benefit. According to Eskimo custom, a
young, unmarried man or woman cannot eat the ptarmigan, or
"_ahr-rish-shah_" as they call it. That pleasure is reserved for the
older people, and I did not for a moment risk the sacrilege of trying to
change the custom. It was greatly to my advantage, for it not only
impressed with suitable force my dignity as a superior Eskimo, but it
enabled me to enjoy an entire bird at a time instead of only a teasing
mouthful.
To us the ptarmigan was at all times fascinating, but it proved ever a
thing of mystery. Descending from the skies at unexpected times it
embarks again for haunts unknown. At times we saw the birds in great
numbers. At other times they were absent for months. In summer the bird
has gray and brown feathers, mingled with white. It keeps close to the
inland ice, making its course along the snowy coast of Noonataks, beyond
the reach of man or fox. Late in September it seeks the lower ground
along the sea level.
Like the hare and the musk ox, it delights in windy places where the
snow has been driven away. There it finds bits of moss and withered
plants which satisfy its needs. The summer plumage is at first sight
like that of the partridge. On close examination one finds the feathers
are only tipped with color--underneath, the plumage is white. In winter
it retains only the black feathers of its tail, otherwise it is as white
as the hare. Its legs often are covered with tough fur, like that of the
hare's lower hind legs. The meat is delicate in flavor and tender. It is
the most beautiful of the four birds that remain in the white world when
all is bleak during the night.
We sought the fox more diligently than the ptarmigan. We had a more
tangible way of securing it. Furthermore, we were in great need of its
skin. E-tuk-i-shook and Ah-we-lah regarded fox hams as quite a
delicacy--a delicacy which I never willingly shared when there were musk
tenderloins about. We had no steel traps, and with its usual craft the
fox usually managed to evade our crude weapons by keeping out of sight.
Bone traps were made with a good deal of care after the pattern of steel
traps. We used a musk-ox horn as a spring. But with these we were only
partially successful. As a last resort, little domes were arranged in
imitation of the usual caches, with trap stone doors. In these we
managed to secure fourteen white and two blue animals. After that they
proved too wise for our craft.
The fox becomes shy only in the end of October, when its fur begins to
be really worth taking. Before that it followed us everywhere on the
musk ox quest, for it was not slow to learn the advantage of being near
our battle scenes. We frequently left choice bits for its picking, a
favor which it seemed to appreciate by a careful watchfulness of our
camps. Although a much more cunning thief than the bear, we could afford
its plunderings, for it had not so keen a taste for blubber and its
capacity was limited. We thus got well acquainted.
Up to the present we had failed in the quest of the seal. During the
open season of summer, without a _kayak_, we could not get near the
animal. As the winter and the night advanced, we were too busy with the
land animals to watch the blow-holes in the new ice. When the sea is
first spread with the thin sheet of colorless ice, which later thickens,
the seal rises to the surface, makes a breathing hole, descends to its
feeding grounds on the sea bottom for about ten minutes, then rises and
makes another hole. This line of openings is arranged in a circle or a
series of connecting, oblong lines, marking that particular seal's
favorite feeding ground. Before the young ice is covered with snow,
these breathing holes are easily located by a ring of white frost
crystals, which condense and fall as the seal blows. But now that the
winter had sheeted the black ice evenly with a white cover, the seal
holes, though open, could not be found. We were not in need of either
fat or meat, but the seal skins were to fill an important want. We
required for boots and sled lashing the thin, tough seal hide. How could
we get it?
From our underground den we daily watched the wanderings of the bears.
They trailed along certain lines which we knew to be favorable feeding
grounds for seals, but they did not seem to be successful. Could we not
profit by their superb scenting instinct and find the blow-holes? The
bear had been our worst enemy, but unconsciously it also proved to be
our best friend.
We started out to trail the bear's footprints. By these we were led to
the blow-holes, where we found the snow about had been circled with a
regular trail. Most of these had been abandoned, for the seal has a
scent as keen as the bear, but a few "live" holes were located. Sticks
were placed to locate these, and after a few days' careful study and
hard work we harpooned six seals. Taking only the skins and blubber, we
left the carcasses for bruin's share of the chase--to be consumed later.
We did not hunt together with the bear--at least, not knowingly.
In these wanderings over game lands we were permitted a very close
scrutiny of the animals about, and it was at this time that I came to
certain definite conclusions as to prevailing laws of color and dress of
our co-habitants of the Polar wastes.
The animals of the Arctic assume a color in accordance to their need for
heat transmission. The prevailing influence is white, as light furs
permit the least escape of heat. It is evidently more important to
confine the heat of the body, than to gather heat from the sun's feeble
rays. The necessity for bleaching the furry raiment becomes most
operative in winter when the temperature of the air is 150 deg. below that
of the body. In the summer, when the continued sunshine is made more
heating by the piercing influence of the reflecting snow-fields, there
is a tendency to absorb heat. Then nature darkens the skin, which
absorbs heat accordingly.
The relative advantage of light and dark shades can be easily
demonstrated by placing pieces of white and black cloth on a surface of
snow, with a slope at right angles to the sun's rays. If, after a few
hours, the cloth is removed the snow under the black cloth will be
melted considerably, while that under the white cloth will show little
effect.
Nature makes use of this law of physics to ease the hard lot of its
creatures fighting the weather in the icy world. The laws of color
protection as advocated in the rules of natural selection are not
operative here, because of the vitally important demand of heat economy.
If we now seek the problem of nature's body colored dyes, with heat
economy as the key, our calculations will become easy. The serwah, a
species of guillemot, which is as black as the raven in summer, is
white in winter. The ptarmigan is light as pearl in winter, but its
feathers become tipped with amber in summer. The hare is slightly gray
in summer, but, in winter, becomes white as the snow under which it
finds food and shelter.
The white fox is gray in summer, the blue fox darkens as the sun
advances, while its under fur becomes lighter with increasing cold. The
caribou is dark brown as it grazes the moss-colored fields, but becomes
nearly white with the permanent snows. The polar bear, as white as
nature can make it, with only blubber to mix its paints, basks in the
midnight sun with a raiment suggestive of gold. The musk ox changes its
dark under-fur for a lighter shade. The raven has a white under-coat in
winter. The rat is gray in summer but bleaches to blue-gray in winter
time. The laws of selection and heat economy are thus combined.
While thus preparing for the coming winter by seeking animals with furry
pelts, the weather conditions made our task increasingly difficult. The
storm of the descending sun whipped the seas into white fury and brushed
the lands with icy clouds. With the descent of the sun, nature again set
its seal of gloom on Arctic life. The cheer of a sunny heaven was
blotted from the skies, and the coming of the winter blackness was
signalled by the beginning of a warfare of the elements. All hostile
nature was now set loose to expend its restive battle energy.
For brief moments the weather was quiet, and then in awe-inspiring
silence we steered for sequestered gullies in quest of little creatures.
This death-like stillness was in harmony with our loneliness. As the sea
was stilled by the iron bonds of frost, as life sought protection under
the storm-driven snows of land, the winds, growing even wilder, beat a
maddening onslaught over the dead, frozen world. The thunder of elements
shook the very rocks under which we slept. Then again would fall a spell
of that strange silence--all was dead, the sun glowed no more, the
creatures of the wilds were hushed. We were all alone--alone in a vast,
white dead world.
[Illustration: LEMMING]
A HUNDRED NIGHTS IN AN UNDERGROUND DEN
LIVING LIKE MEN OF THE STONE AGE--THE DESOLATION OF THE LONG
NIGHT--LIFE ABOUT CAPE SPARBO--PREPARING EQUIPMENT FOR THE RETURN
TO GREENLAND--SUNRISE, FEBRUARY 11, 1909
XXVIII
LIFE ABOUT CAPE SPARBO
The coming night slowly fixed its seal on our field of activity. Early
in August the sun had dipped under the icy contour of North Lincoln, and
Jones Sound had then begun to spread its cover of crystal. The warm rays
gradually melted in a perpetual blue frost. The air thickened. The land
darkened. The days shortened. The night lengthened. The Polar cold and
darkness of winter came hand in hand.
Late in September the nights had become too dark to sleep in the open,
with inquisitive bears on every side. Storms, too, increased thereafter
and deprived us of the cheer of colored skies. Thus we were now forced
to seek a retreat in our underground den.
We took about as kindly to this as a wild animal does to a cage. For
over seven months we had wandered over vast plains of ice, with a new
camp site almost every day. We had grown accustomed to a wandering life
like that of the bear, but we had not developed his hibernating
instinct. We were anxious to continue our curious battle of life.
In October the bosom of the sea became blanketed, and the curve of the
snow-covered earth was polarized in the eastern skies. The final period
for the death of day and earthly glory was advancing, but Nature in her
last throes displayed some of her most alluring phases. The colored
silhouette of the globe was perhaps the most remarkable display. In
effect, this was a shadow of the earth thrown into space. By the
reflected, refracted and polarized light of the sun, the terrestrial
shadows were outlined against the sky in glowing colors. Seen
occasionally in other parts of the globe, it is only in the Polar
regions, with its air of crystal and its surface of mirrors, that the
proper mediums are afforded for this gigantic spectral show.
We had an ideal location. A glittering sea, with a level horizon, lay
along the east and west. The weather was good, the skies were clear,
and, as the sun sank, the sky over it was flushed with orange or gold.
This gradually paled, and over the horizon opposite there rose an arc in
feeble prismatic colors with a dark zone of purple under it. The arc
rose as the sun settled; the purple spread beyond the polarized bow; and
gradually the heavens turned a deep purple blue to the zenith, while the
halo of the globe was slowly lost in its own shadow.
The colored face of the earth painted on the screen of the heavens left
the last impression of worldly charm on the retina. In the end of
October the battle of the elements, storms attending the setting of the
sun, began to blast the air into a chronic fury. By this time we were
glad to creep into our den and await the vanishing weeks of ebbing day.
In the doom of night to follow, there would at least be some quiet
moments during which we could stretch our legs. The bears, which had
threatened our existence, were now kept off by a new device which served
the purpose for a time. We had food and fuel enough for the winter.
There should have been nothing to have disturbed our tempers, but the
coming of the long blackness makes all Polar life ill at ease.
Early in November the storms ceased long enough to give us a last fiery
vision. With a magnificent cardinal flame the sun rose, gibbered in the
sky and sank behind the southern cliffs on November 3. It was not to
rise again until February 11 of the next year. We were therefore doomed
to hibernate in our underground den for at least a hundred double nights
before the dawn of a new day opened our eyes.
The days now came and went in short order. For hygienic reasons we kept
up the usual routine of life. The midday light soon darkened to
twilight. The moon and stars appeared at noon. The usual partition of
time disappeared. All was night, unrelieved darkness, midnight, midday,
morning or evening.
We stood watches of six hours each to keep the fires going, to keep off
the bears and to force an interest in a blank life. We knew that we were
believed to be dead. For our friends in Greenland would not ascribe to
us the luck which came after our run of abject misfortune. This thought
inflicted perhaps the greatest pain of the queer prolongation of life
which was permitted us. It was loneliness, frigid loneliness. I wondered
whether men ever felt so desolately alone.
We could not have been more thoroughly isolated if we had been
transported to the surface of the moon. I find myself utterly unable to
outline the emptiness of our existence. In other surroundings we never
grasp the full meaning of the word "alone." When it is possible to put a
foot out of doors into sunlight without the risk of a bear-paw on your
neck it is also possible to run off a spell of blues, but what were we
to do with every dull rock rising as a bear ghost and with the torment
of a satanic blackness to blind us?
With the cheer of day, a kindly nature and a new friend, it is easy to
get in touch with a sympathetic chord. The mere thought of another human
heart within touch, even a hundred miles away, would have eased the
suspense of the silent void. But we could entertain no such hopefulness.
We were all alone in a world where every pleasant aspect of nature had
deserted us. Although three in number, a bare necessity had compressed
us into a single composite individuality.
There were no discussions, no differences of opinion. We had been too
long together under bitter circumstances to arouse each other's
interest. A single individual could not live long in our position. A
selfish instinct tightened a fixed bond to preserve and protect one
another. As a battle force we made a formidable unit, but there was no
matches to start the fires of inspiration.
The half darkness of midday and the moonlight still permitted us to
creep from under the ground and seek a few hours in the open. The stone
and bone fox traps and the trap caves for the bears which we had built
during the last glimmer of day offered an occupation with some
recreation. But we were soon deprived of this.
Bears headed us off at every turn. We were not permitted to proceed
beyond an enclosed hundred feet from the hole of our den. Not an inch of
ground or a morsel of food was permitted us without a contest. It was a
fight of nature against nature. We either actually saw the little sooty
nostrils with jets of vicious breath rising, and the huge outline of a
wild beast ready to spring on us, or imagined we saw it. With no
adequate means of defense we were driven to imprisonment within the
walls of our own den.
From within, our position was even more tantalizing. The bear thieves
dug under the snows over our heads and snatched blocks of blubber fuel
from under our very eyes at the port without a consciousness of
wrongdoing. Occasionally we ventured out to deliver a lance, but each
time the bear would make a leap for the door and would have entered had
the opening been large enough. In other cases we shot arrows through the
peep-hole. A bear head again would burst through the silk covered window
near the roof, where knives, at close range and in good light, could be
driven with sweet vengeance.
As a last resort we made a hole through the top of the den. When a bear
was heard near, a long torch was pushed through. The snow for acres
about was then suddenly flashed with a ghostly whiteness which almost
frightened us. But the bear calmly took advantage of the light to pick a
larger piece of the blubber upon which our lives depended, and then
with an air of superiority he would move into the brightest light,
usually within a few feet of our peep-hole, where we could almost touch
his hateful skin. Without ammunition we were helpless.
Two weeks after sunset we heard the last cry of ravens. After a silence
of several days they suddenly descended with a piercing shout which cut
the frosty stillness. We crept out of our den quickly to read the riddle
of the sudden bluster. There were five ravens on five different rocks,
and the absence of the celestial color gave them quite an appropriate
setting. They were restless: there was no food for them. A fox had
preceded them with his usual craftiness, and had left no pickings for
feathered creatures.
A family of five had gathered about in October, when the spoils of the
chase were being cached, and we encouraged their stay by placing food
for them regularly. Some times a sly fox, and at other times a thieving
bear, got the little morsels, but there were usually sufficient picking
for the raven's little crop. They had found a suitable cave high up in
the great cliffs of granite behind our den.
We were beginning to be quite friendly. My Eskimo companions ascribed to
the birds almost human qualities and they talked to them reverently,
thereby displaying their heart's desire. The secrets of the future were
all entrusted to their consideration. Would the "too-loo-ah" go to
Eskimo Lands and deliver their messages? The raven said "ka-ah" (yes).
E-tuk-i-shook said: "Go and take the tears from An-na-do-a's eyes; tell
her that I am alive and well and will come to take her soon. Tell
Pan-ic-pa (his father) that I am in Ah-ming-ma-noona (Musk Ox Land).
Bring us some powder to blacken the bear's snout." "Ka-ah, ka-ah," said
the two ravens at once.
Ah-we-lah began an appeal to drive off the bears and to set the raven
spirits as guardians of our blubber caches. This was uttered in shrill
shouts, and then, in a low, trembling voice, he said: "Dry the tears of
mother's cheeks and tell her that we are in a land of todnu (tallow)."
"Ka-ah," replied the raven.
"Then go to Ser-wah; tell her not to marry that lazy gull, Ta-tamh; tell
her that Ah-we-lah's skin is still flushed with thoughts of her, that he
is well and will return to claim her in the first moon after sunrise."
"Ka-ah, ka-ah, ka-ah," said the raven, and rose as if to deliver the
messages.
For the balance of that day we saw only three ravens. The two had
certainly started for the Greenland shores. The other three, after an
engorgement, rose to their cave and went to sleep for the night as we
thought. No more was seen of them until the dawn of day of the following
year.
A few days later we also made other acquaintances. They were the most
interesting bits of life that crossed our trail, and in the dying effort
to seek animal companionship our soured tempers were sweetened somewhat
by four-footed joys.
A noise had been heard for several successive days at eleven o'clock.
This was the time chosen by the bears for their daily exercise along our
foot-path, and we were usually all awake with a knife or a lance in
hand, not because there was any real danger, for our house cemented by
ice was as secure as a fort, but because we felt more comfortable in a
battle attitude. Through the peep-hole we saw them marching up and down
along the foot-path tramped down by our daily spells of leg-stretching.
They were feasting on the aroma of our foot-prints, and when they left
it was usually safe for us to venture out. Noises, however, continued
within the walls of the den. It was evident that there was something
alive at close range.
We were lonely enough to have felt a certain delight in shaking hands
even with bruin if the theft of our blubber had not threatened the very
foundation of our existence. For in the night we could not augment our
supplies; and without fat, fire and water were impossible. No! there was
not room for man and bear at Cape Sparbo. Without ammunition, however,
we were nearly helpless.
But noises continued after bruin's steps came with a decreasing metallic
ring from distant snows. There was a scraping and a scratching within
the very walls of our den. We had a neighbor and a companion. Who, or
what, could it be? We were kept in suspense for some time. When all was
quiet at the time which we chose to call midnight, a little blue rat
came out and began to tear the bark from our willow lamp trimmer.
I was on watch, awake, and punched E-tuk-i-shook without moving my head.
His eyes opened with surprise on the busy rodent, and Ah-we-lah was
kicked. He turned over and the thing jumped into a rock crevasse.
The next day we risked the discomfort of bruin's interview and dug up an
abundance of willow roots for our new tenant. These were arranged in
appetizing display and the rat came out very soon and helped himself,
but he permitted no familiarity. We learned to love the creature,
however, all the more because of its shyness. By alternate jumps from
the roots to seclusion it managed to fill up with all it could carry.
Then it disappeared as suddenly as it came.
In the course of two days it came back with a companion, its mate. They
were beautiful little creatures, but little larger than mice. They had
soft, fluffy fur of a pearl blue color, with pink eyes. They had no
tails. Their dainty little feet were furred to the claw tips with silky
hair. They made a picture of animal delight which really aroused us from
stupor to little spasms of enthusiasm. A few days were spent in testing
our intentions. Then they arranged a berth just above my head and became
steady boarders.
Their confidence and trust flattered our vanity and we treated them as
royal guests. No trouble was too great for us to provide them with
suitable delicacies. We ventured into the darkness and storms for hours
to dig up savory roots and mosses. A little stage was arranged every day
with the suitable footlights. In the eagerness to prolong the rodent
theatricals, the little things were fed over and over, until they became
too fat and too lazy to creep from their berths.
They were good, clean orderly camp fellows, always kept in their places
and never ventured to borrow our bed furs, nor did they disturb our
eatables. With a keen sense of justice, and an aristocratic air, they
passed our plates of carnivorous foods without venturing a taste, and
went to their herbivorous piles of sod delicacies. About ten days before
midnight they went to sleep and did not wake for more than a month.
Again we were alone. Now even the bears deserted us.