THE WILD MEN OF GREENLAND
A sharp bark broke the stillness, a peculiar cry followed, and then,
out from the swirl and flurry of the eddying snow, came a string of
Esquimau dogs. There were six couples fastened to a rude sleigh, and
at the side of the frisky animals skurried one of the wild men of
Greenland on snow-shoes, and with a whip in hand having a short stock
and a very long lash.
Directly behind him followed two similar teams, and then a fourth
emerged with seven spans of dogs. There was a driver to each, and the
sleighs were loaded with pelts intended for the nearest settlement.
Not one of the Esquimaux was riding, though it was their custom to do
so for a goodly portion of the way.
This singular collection of men and animals were approaching in a line
that would have carried them right over the amazed party that were
about to start on their hopeless attempt to reach the sea coast, had
they not veered to one side.
When the foremost driver discerned the four figures through the snow
he emitted a sharp cry, not dissimilar to that of his own dogs, and
the obedient animals halted. The others did the same, and in a few
minutes the four teams, with their drivers, were ranged about the
others.
These individuals were genuine Esquimaux, the real wild men of
Greenland. Their homes were far in the interior, and only at rare
intervals did they venture forth with their dogs and sleighs to the
coast settlements, where they were welcome, for they never failed to
bring a good supply of peltries with them, for which they found ready
barter among the agents of the Danish government.
There was no mixed blood among these Esquimaux. They were
copper-colored, short, of stocky build, and with more muscular
development in the lower limbs than is seen among the coast natives.
The latter, giving most of their time to fishing and the use of the
paddle, have powerful arms and shoulders, but as a rule are weak in
the legs.
They were warmly clad in furs, their heads being covered with hoods
similar to that worn by Docak, but there was nothing in the nature of
the dress ornamentation which he displayed.
None of the party could speak English, but that made no difference,
since Docak understood their curious gibberish. An animated
conversation began at once between him and the four, who gathered
about him while Jack and the boys stood silently listening and looking
upon the singular scene.
What the guide said was in the nature of "business." They had talked
but a short while when one of the wild men went to his sleigh and
brought forth a big piece of cooked reindeer meat, evidently a part of
their own liberal supply of provisions, and offered it to Jack. The
latter accepted with thanks, shown more plainly by manner than his
words.
And didn't those three fellows have a feast, with Docak himself as a
participant? You need to be told no more on that point.
The guide, after the brisk interview, explained the meaning of the
conversation to his friends.
The Esquimaux were on their way to Ivigtut, some forty miles in a
southwest direction. They had come a long way from the interior,
having been three days on the road, and it was their intention to push
matters so vigorously that they would reach the famous mining town
that night.
But, best of all, they agreed to carry the three whites as passengers.
They could be stowed in the sleighs among the peltries, as the drivers
were accustomed to do at times, though they were capable of keeping
pace with the dogs hour after hour without fatigue. They would do so
now on their snow-shoes, and the three could ride all the way to
Ivigtut.
It meant the rescue and salvation of the party, who were in the
uttermost depths of despair but a few minutes before, and tears of
thankfulness came to the eyes of all three.
"We haven't much money with us," said Rob, addressing Docak, "but we
will pay them as well as we can when we reach Ivigtut."
"Don't want much," replied the grinning guide, "jes' little
money--two, t'ree bits."
"We'll give 'em all we've got," added Jack; "but what about you,
Docak?"
"Me go home," was the answer, accompanied by one of his pleasing
grins.
"Can you find the way?"
"Me all right now--hark! hear de water?"
He spoke the truth, it being a singular fact that the atmospheric
conditions had changed to that degree that the dull, hollow moaning
for which they had listened so long in vain was now audible to all. It
was like a beacon light, which suddenly flames out on the top of a
high hill, for the guidance of the belated traveler. There could be no
going astray, with that sound always in his ears, and strengthened by
his meal of venison, the hardy native would press on until he ducked
his head and passed through the entry of his home.
It might well be questioned how the wild men could maintain their
bearings, but they had come unerringly across the snowy wastes from
their distant homes, and the boom of the ocean was as sure an aid to
them as it was to Docak. No fear but that they would go as straight as
an arrow to Ivigtut.
There was no call for delay or ceremony. A long journey was before
them, and it being the season when the days were not unusually long,
they must be improved to the utmost. The wild men beckoned to the
three to approach the sleighs, where, with a little dexterous
manipulation of the bundles, they made room for each.
Jack found himself seated at the rear of one of the odd vehicles,
which consisted mainly of runners, but had a framework at the back
that gave grateful rest to the body. The peltries were fastened in
front and around him, some being used to cover his limbs, and a part
of his body, so that he could hardly have been more comfortable. The
runners were made very broad to prevent them sinking in the snow. But
for that, it would have been hard work for the nimble dogs to drag
them and their loads with any kind of speed. The situation of the boys
was similar to the sailor's.
The arrangement left one of the sleighs without an occupant. This was
well, since the wild men could take turns in riding, when they felt
the need, and the whites need not walk a step of the way to Ivigtut.
While the confab was going on, the dogs were having their own fun.
Quick to obey the order to halt they squatted on their haunches facing
in all directions, and for a time were quite motionless and well
behaved, but it was not long before their natural mischievousness
asserted itself, and they began frolicking with each other. They were
snapping, barking, snarling, and then half of them were rolling over
in the snow, fighting with good nature, the evil of which was that it
tangled the simple harness into the worst sort of knots, which
undoubtedly was just what the canines wanted to do.
The head driver spoke angrily to them, cracked his long whip, and,
bringing the knot down on their bodies, or about their ears, added
their yelps of pain to the general turmoil, while the confusion was
greater than before.
He was used to the dogs, knowing every one of the half-hundred, and
was quick to detect which was the ringleader. This canine belonged to
the rear team, and not only started the rumpus, but kept it going with
the utmost enthusiasm. He knew the driver would be after him, and he
dodged and whisked among the others so dexterously that the well-aimed
lash cracked against the side of some innocent spectator more than it
touched him.
But the driver was not to be baffled in that fashion. Dropping the
whip, he plunged after the criminal, and, seizing him with both hands,
gave him several vigorous bites on the nose, which made him howl with
pain. When released he was the meekest member of the party, all of
whom sat quiet, while the angry Esquimau devoted himself to unraveling
matters.
Rob Carrol had not forgotten the admiration which Docak showed more
than once for his rifle. When the native came over to the sleigh to
shake his hand, as he was bidding all good-bye, the boy said:
"Docak, I meant that you should have this on our return from the hunt.
I sha'n't need it any more; accept it as a reminder of this little
experience we had together."
The Esquimau was so taken aback that for a moment he could not speak.
Before he recovered himself, Jack and Fred added their requests that
he would not refuse the present. His gratitude was deep, and found
expression only in a few broken words as he turned away.
It had been on the point of the sailor's tongue several times to
apologize for the kick of the evening before, but he felt that the
result of it all was a sufficient apology of itself. Besides, there
are some matters in life which it is best to pass over in silence.
The wild men showed little sentiment in their nature. Seeing that all
was ready, they cracked their whips, called out to their dogs, and off
they went.
Jack and the boys turned their heads to take a last look at Docak, who
had served them so faithfully and well. As they did so, they observed
him plowing through the snow again to the westward, his form quickly
disappearing among the myriad snowflakes. They never saw him again.
The first thought that came to each of the passengers, after the start
was fairly made, was that the forty miles' journey could not be
accomplished before nightfall. The sleighs were so heavily loaded with
pelts and themselves that they formed quite a task for the dogs, which
of necessity sank deep in the snow. But they tugged and kept at it
with a spirit worthy of all admiration.
But one of the remarkable features of the blizzard and snow storm that
had come so near destroying our friends quickly made itself apparent,
and raised their hopes to the highest point.
The fall of snow decreased until at the end of half an hour not an
eddying flake was in the air. The sun, after struggling awhile,
managed to show itself, and the glare of the excessively white surface
fairly blinded the passengers for a time. They noticed, however, that
the depth of the last fall continued to grow less, until to their
unbounded amazement and relief it disappeared altogether. They struck
the hard surface, which was like a smooth floor, and capable of
bearing ten times the weight of the sleighs without yielding.
This proved that the blizzard was of less extent than supposed. The
wild men more than likely were beyond its reach, while Docak and his
companions were caught in its very centre. Its fury extended southward
but a short way, and the party had now crossed the line. The country
before them was like that over which Jack and the boys set out to
prosecute their hunt for game.
The travelers were like athletes, who, emerging from a struggle with
the angry waters, find themselves on solid land, free to run and leap
to their heart's content. They had shaken off the incubus, and now
sped forward with renewed speed and ease. The small feet of the dogs
slipped occasionally, but they readily secured enough grip, and the
sleighs, hardly scratching the frozen surface, required but a
fractional part of their strength. Several uttered their odd barks of
pleasure, at finding their labor so suddenly turned into what might be
called a frolic.
But the wild men were a source of never-ending wonder to the whites.
They sped forward through the soft snow, with no more apparent effort
than the skilled skater puts forth, and when they struck the smooth
surface, they became more like skaters than snow-shoe travelers. They
cracked their whips about the ears of the dogs, called sharply, and
made them yelp from the stinging bites of the whips handled with a
dexterity that would have flicked off a fly from the front dog's ears,
had there been one there.
(If we were not opposed to all forms of slang, we would be tempted to
say just here that there are no flies on the Esquimaux canines.)
The brutes were quick to respond, and galloped swiftly with their
drivers skimming by their side, holding them to the task by their
continued orders and cracking of whips. They gave no more attention to
the passengers than if they were not present.
The latter were delighted, for there was every reason why they should
be. Their limbs still ached from the severe exertion through which
they had gone, and the sensation of being wrapped about with furs and
fixed in a comfortable seat was pleasant of itself. Then to know that
they were speeding toward safety--what more could be asked?
The sleigh containing Jack Cosgrove was in the advance; Rob came next,
then Fred, while the one loaded only with peltries held its place at
the rear.
When the smooth surface was reached, they drew quite near each other,
the friends finding themselves almost side by side.
"This is what I call ginooine pleasure," said the sailor, turning his
head and addressing the boys.
"Yes, I'm enjoying it," replied Rob.
"So am I," added Fred; "it makes up for what we suffered."
"We'll skim along in this style all day as if we was on the sea in a
dead calm; nothing like a capsize--"
At that very moment, the sailor's sleigh went over.