Our midwinter trip for the mail was a chapter in our icy history
never to be forgotten. We made the next fifteen miles to the Indian
Igloo in good time. Cox and I slept in the igloo, but the rest in the
tent. The fourth day we made the last fifteen miles to the Kotzebue
Camp, where the sled and mail had been left. Besides the mail, there
were two pipes about twenty feet long and weighing perhaps one
hundred pounds each. Then there were our blankets and extra clothes
and dog food, bringing the return load up to four hundred pounds for
our six dogs. Cogan and Colclough went on down to the Riley wreck
with all their belongings, so we hail no stove or tent for the return
trip, trusting to good weather in making the long stretches. There
is only one cabin at the Kotzebue Camp, and this a very small one,
but we managed to find room to lie down somewhere. We also made a big
stew of canned beef, dessicated potatoes and onions, with lots of
pepper and sage. It was good and stimulating, and upon this we based
our courage. It was a fine base. We found the load pretty heavy for
the dogs, one of which wasn't of much account, and our progress was
slow. Where the snow was deep and the trail rough we had to help some
ourselves. An animal with four feet has much advantage over a human
with but two. We made the return trip in three days, fifteen miles
from the Kotzebue Camp to the igloo, thirty miles from the igloo to
the Jesse Lou, and fifteen miles from there to the Penelope Camp,
making one hundred and twenty miles in seven days. By the third day
out my limbs became accustomed to the hard walking and my lameness
disappeared. The thirty-mile stretch we made in twelve hours,
starting from the igloo before daylight. The northern lights were not
visible during our return trip, although previously one could read by
them. The cold was not excessive nor did we meet with any terrible
accidents, but I will record that I have had enough of winter travel
in the Arctics. I am of the same mind as Hard-luck Jimmy, who, after
attempting to reach the site of the "latest strike" and getting
caught out in a snowstorm, said in his slow, comprehensive manner of
speech: "It would take all the men in Ambler City with a great big
hawser to pull me away from my warm cabin and grub again this winter."
[Illustration: Winter Travelers.]
The thirty-mile stretch of our road was long. So change of scenery
for entertainment. When we got around one bend in the river it was
just to plod along until we got to the next. It took three hours for
us to cover one straight piece of trail. We ate nothing that day but
a little frozen bread. We had nothing to cook, and there was no time
to cook it if we had, and no dishes or stove. But we were served to a
fine supper at the Jesse Lou. The dogs did finely that day. We gave
them a feed in the morning before starting. Usually dogs are fed but
once a day, at night, and then only about one pound of frozen or
dried fish to the animal. At night we let the dogs loose and, if at a
village, they forage around for scraps of anything, which of course
are extra rations. They steal any provisions left unprotected. They
ate Cox's leather mittens, the thongs on Cogan's snowshoes, and a
leather gun case. One night they broke into the "grub-box." and got
away with everything in it, including a sack of oatmeal and a side
of bacon. Owing to their preference for leather, we had to sleep on
the harnesses and with our heads on the "grub-box." These Eskimo dogs
look just like wolves, but are docile and often playful. They do not
bark like civilized dogs, but snarl and growl. Some nights they would
howl in concert for hours at a time, making a weird sensation in the
silence of the ice.
In sledding, the dogs are tied by their harness strings alternately
to a straight lead-rope. One dog is "leader," and he is the most
intelligent of the pack. During the trip Cox walked about a
hundred yards ahead of the lead dog, now and then turning back and
whistling or calling. I walked behind, keeping the sled straight,
and untangling the team when it got mixed up. Each dog has a name,
and his character qualities become as well known to us as those of
a human individual. Ours were named Emik, Kubuck, Auboon, Nanuk and
Tingle. One day Emik jumped on to the dog that was not pulling his
share and gave him a sound whipping. The whole pack joined in and I
had to beat them off with a club.
Ordinary animals would have died of broken bones, but it took a
"sore chastisement" to bring these dogs to their senses. Fights are
frequent and always mean two or three minutes' delay In untangling
the lines. The harnesses are provided with swivels or else the lines
would soon become hopelessly twisted.
The two pipes I mentioned as part of the load, stuck out behind some
eight feet beyond the sled, and many a time when the dogs slowed up
suddenly my shins would come in contact with the sharp iron in a
painfully emphatic manner. The crunching of the dry snow under the
sled runners is a combination of sounds in which one can but imagine
he hears familiar voices, and one falls to day-dreaming as he plods
along, until he is surprised by running against the slacking sled or
stepping into a hole.
The two nights we spent in the Eskimo igloo were interesting in
detail. On the way down I was so tired that I paid little attention
to anything, curling up and thankfully sleeping. On the return trip
we made the igloo just at dusk. The trail was poor and the snow deep
and the load heavy, so that we had made scarcely more than two miles
to the hour. When we got within sight of the igloo the dogs pricked
up their ears, as is their wont, and started forward at an increasing
gait. Dogs will sometimes smell a camp long before it comes into
view, and their quickened pace testifies to their hope of food. When
our team rushed up to the igloo, we followed at a trot behind, and
nearly all the inmates hurried out, curious to see us. These poor
people are very hospitable, and at once invited us inside. We did not
enter, however, until everything was attended to, for, after one has
straightened out to rest before a warm fire, it is very hard to get
up and crawl out again on stiffened limbs to attend to duties easier
performed before one settles down. The native boys helped us to untie
knots, and soon the dogs were loose, scurrying everywhere for bits of
anything devourable, and frequently having a savage fight over some
imaginary tidbit. Everything but the two iron pipes, which we trusted
the dogs would not eat, was deposited on the scaffold for the night.
This scaffold is a necessary feature of every igloo. It consists of a
platform of poles and boughs raised about eight feet above the ground
and supported on four posts. On this are stored all the fish, skins,
nets, harnesses, sleds, kyaks, and, in fact, every article not needed
for Immediate use in the igloo.
[Illustration: Native Igloo, with Scaffold for Stores.]
After the dogs were fed, we took a blanket apiece and crawled into
the igloo. We were motioned to a vacant place on one side, where we
stretched out as far as the limits of the room permitted. This igloo
was built like a Sioux wick-i-up. Long, slender poles are fastened
into the ground at one end, bent over and lashed with thongs on the
opposite side. These are planted about a foot apart all around,
until the whole completed frame is like an inverted hemisphere.
Over this are fastened thicknesses of spruce bark stripped from the
trees in sheets one or two feet wide and twice as long. At the top a
circular opening is left, a foot in diameter, for the exit of smoke.
The whole structure is covered and packed with six inches of snow,
which effectually keeps out every bit of wind and incidentally every
particle of fresh air, except what steals in through the smoke-hole
and door when they are open. The entrance is closed by several strips
of sail-cloth attached above and weighted, so that it always hangs
over the opening and completely covers it. When one enters he must
get down on his hands and knees and, lifting up a corner of this
canvas door, crawl through the passage. The door falls back into
its place behind. The passageway is so narrow and low that a large
man can with difficulty crawl through. The floor inside, with the
exception of a space around the fireplace, is carpeted with slender
willow saplings, laid parallel and fitted closely together, forming
a fairly good paving or heavy matting, sufficient to protect the
occupants from direct contact with the ground. A few old deerskins
are spread out where the elders sleep. The space on the opposite
side of the fireplace from the door is not occupied by anyone,
but is filled with cooking utensils, the water bucket with its
wooden dipper, carved wooden bowls, and birch bark baskets. In this
igloo--about twelve feet in diameter--fifteen people live almost all
the time, only going outside when they must for wood and water. No
books to read, no politics to discuss, no school to get ready for,
and no visiting to do. Once in this residence, we were allotted a
space next to the oldest man of the igloo. We were content with our
small lot, for we were tired and hungry.
[Illustration: Getting Supper Under Omiak-puk.]
The light was furnished from seal oil. A plate of this, with a pinch
of moss for a wick, furnished the light. The penetrating smell of
burning seal oil is very stifling, and a white man can hardly stand
it. Considering our distinguished character, these people dispensed
with the oil and lighted candles instead, which I suppose had been
obtained from the whites by trade. Our scanty grub-bag next claimed
our attention and, considering it good policy under the peculiar
circumstances, we distributed the remainder of the hardtack, which
had been reduced to crumbs, among our hosts, who watched our every
movement. We also had a little flour, but, as we had no means of
cooking it, we presented that also to the woman on the far side
of the igloo, who was apparently the mistress of ceremonies; for,
although three other women were in the house, she carried all the
water, chopped all the wood and prepared the meals. We made our
supper from a can of corned beef and a loaf of bread, baked for us
at the Kotzebue camp. Seeing our destitution, with true American
hospitality the woman before mentioned left the igloo and shortly
returned with a birch-bark basket about eighteen inches long by six
inches wide full of a frozen mass of blueberries. This was evidently
a "company dish," the best in her possession. She detached a large
chunk of the preserves and placed it in a frying pan over the
fire. As it melted into individual berries she stirred the mixture
constantly. After the mess was thoroughly melted she passed the pan
over to me, and, by the smell which arose, I was aware that the
blueberries were put up in seal oil, as a sort of salad, I suppose.
Cox declared his appetite lacked severity sufficient to tempt him to
even taste the compound, but I was hungry enough to eat anything, and
partly because I did not want to disappoint the motherly old woman,
who had taken all that trouble to treat us to the greatest luxury
possible, I ate with apparent relish. I did no more nor less than
hundreds of my people do at any civilized banquet or even a meal at
a friend's, when they pretend to like oysters or shrimps or anything
from sheer politeness, the which they thoroughly detest. I got away
with the entire panful, along with a slab of dried salmon given to
me by the old man. These kind people evidently looked upon me as a
good-natured, hungry little boy whom they enjoyed entertaining out of
their natural hospitality of heart. I have no doubt my mother will
long to grasp that old Eskimo woman's hand and possibly kiss her ugly
but kind features, for the sake of her goodness to her "wandering
boy."
Truly the fish was not at all bad, and I secured a piece for my lunch
the next day. It proved to be just the thing, as I could chew it
while tramping along, and one does not need water to drink with it.
The native next to me in the igloo showed me how to strip the skin
from the piece of dried salmon and prepare it for eating. He held the
skin side over the fire until it began to crinkle and writhe. The
oil which it contains is thus melted and the dainty rendered more
toothsome.
After our hunger was, with these native articles of food besides our
own bread and corned beef, sufficiently subdued, we stretched out as
far as possible in our limited space. Cox was soon asleep. We agreed
that in order to make the thirty miles next day it would be necessary
to start before daylight, as there was then a waning moon to light us
a little. Cox was especially impressed with this idea, and went to
sleep determined to wake up the minute the moon rose, which would be
about five in the morning. He had scarcely been asleep ten minutes,
and I had not dozed off yet, when he started up, and I had all I
could do to persuade him that the night had hardly begun.
Later, and until we finally did start, he woke me several times and
would go out and look for the moon, which he was sure was behind the
schedule time. We could not see the trail until it did appear, so
each time he would return and drop to sleep again. This crazy conduct
on his part vexed me not a little, as I wanted to sleep, being
prevented by other disturbances besides his own.
After we had eaten our supper and got settled down, the other people
ate theirs, which consisted entirely of dried salmon. This was eaten
raw, each mouthful being chewed for a long time. The young men say
that this kind of diet is what makes the Kowak-mitts (natives of the
Kowak valley) so strong. I must confess to the apparent truth of this
statement, for the whole house knows it when an Eskimo enters; that
is, if there hasn't been one around long enough to have allowed an
airing. Even the pretty girls are so fishy that a tenderfoot in this
land can scarcely endure their remote presence. The salmon is cured
during the summer and kept on scaffolds, being brought down only
as it is required for use. The old men soak it up in water a while
before eating it.
Directly after their simple supper the natives began arranging
themselves in their proper nooks in any place where there was room
enough to lie down. The men and older women and all the children in
the igloo wore nothing but skin pants, being entirely naked from the
waist up. At night, however, they put on their skin parkas, as the
temperature in the room falls quickly when the fire goes out. When
all are ready, the woman of the household goes outside and covers
up the smoke-hole in the top of the house with an old skin, and
besides piles snow over it thickly so not a particle of cold can get
in. The fire in the center of the room has meanwhile been allowed
to burn down to a bed of coals, so there is no smoke or flame left.
In returning the woman also tightly closes the doorway. If any air
is getting in anywhere one can see the stream of dense vapor caused
by the extremely cold outside air striking the warm, moist air of
the interior. If the door is left the least bit ajar a stream of
this vapor is seen flowing along the floor straight into the fire.
If one's feet meet this current of cold they soon chill. After the
coals are heaped together and all other preparations for the night
completed, the light is extinguished and sleep reigns. For a while
after the igloo has been closed the air seems extremely hot and
stifling and the odors are terrific. In an hour or two the fire is
dead and the air cools off.
My night's rest might have been quite sound but for certain
disturbances. I had just dozed off after being aroused by Coxie, when
one of the men began to sing some Eskimo ditty in a weird monotone.
He would drone it through and stop, and I would just be dropping off
to sleep when he would start it up again. He continued for fully half
an hour, and I was so thoroughly tried by it that I could have choked
the fellow. The natives all slept soundly and probably considered
it a lullaby. Another time I was awakened by the old man next to me
singing in a high, jerky voice. He got up, all the time singing, and
went over to the old woman, who was saying something to him. Then
followed a series of the most diabolical noises--hisses, swishes,
grunts, groans, guttural rattles and so forth. It hardly seemed
possible that some of these sounds could originate in a human throat,
but as they were without intermission. I suppose they did. This was
finally interrupted by a loud, ripping swish, as if something had
been forcibly torn up. All was then quiet, and the old man returned
and lay down next to me. I did not know but he would practice his
incantations upon me next, but my fears were groundless. During the
creepy performance it was pitch dark, and I could almost imagine we
were about to be sacrificed in some heathen rite. I asked one of the
young men what was the matter, and he told me that the woman had a
pain in her stomach, probably from swallowing her salmon in too much
haste, and the old man had cured her by driving the demon out. This
practice is like that I have heard my father say existed among the
Comanche Indians in the Southwest.
At last, after one of his frequent observations. Coxie reported that
the moon was up. The candle was lighted and we soon had all our traps
out of the igloo. Our mitts, scarfs, socks, etc., had been hung up to
dry. The dryer one's clothes are, the warmer he keeps. Rain is not
necessary to dampness either, perspiration every walking moment being
free and persistent. We soon had the dogs hitched up, all but one,
Nanuk, who caused us considerable delay by running off into the brush
and hiding himself. Finally after several of the natives had helped,
he was secured and our pack arranged.
[Illustration: The Departure.]
[Illustration]