THE SLEDGE JOURNEY BEGUN
Tighter and tighter grew the grip of winter. Rarely the temperature
rose above twenty-five degrees below zero, even at midday, and oftener
it crept well down into the thirties. The air was filled with rime,
which clung to everything, and the sun, only venturing now a little way
above the southern horizon, shone cold and cheerless, weakly
penetrating the ever-present frost veil. The tide, still defying the
shackles of the mighty power that had bound all the rest of the world,
surged up and down, piling ponderous ice cakes in mountainous heaps
along the river banks. Occasionally an Eskimo or two would suddenly
appear out of the snow fields, remain for a day perhaps, and then as
suddenly disappear into the bleak wastes whence he had come.
Slowly the days dragged along. We occupied the short hours of light in
reading old newspapers and magazines, or walking out over the hills,
and in the evenings called upon the Post officers or entertained them
in our cabin, where Mathewson often came to smoke his after-supper pipe
and relate to us stories of his forty-odd years' service as a fur
trader in the northern wilderness.
One bitter cold morning, long before the first light of day began to
filter through the rimy atmosphere, we heard the crunch of feet pass
our door, and a komatik slipped by. It was Dr. Milne, away to George
River and the coast on his tour of Post inspection, and our little
group of white men was one less in number.
We envied him his early leaving. We could not ourselves start for home
until after New Year's, for there were no dogs to be had for love or
money until the Eskimos came in from their hunting camps to spend the
holidays. Everything, however, was made ready for that longed-for
time. Through the kindness of The'venet, who put his Post folk to work
for us, the deerskins I had brought from Whale River were dressed and
made up into sleeping bags and skin clothing, and other necessaries
were got ready for the long dog journey out.
Christmas eve came finally, and with it komatik loads of Eskimos, who
roused the place from its repose into comparative wakefulness. The
newcomers called upon us in twos or threes, never troubling to knock
before they entered our cabin, looked us and our things over with much
interest, a proceeding which occupied usually a full half hour, then
went away, sometimes to bring back newly arriving friends, to introduce
them. A multitude of dogs skulked around by day and made night hideous
with howling and fighting, and it was hardly safe to walk abroad
without a stick, of which they have a wholesome fear, as, like their
progenitors, the wolves, they are great cowards and will rarely attack
a man when he has any visible means of defense at hand.
Christmas afternoon was given over to shooting matches, and the evening
to dancing. We spent the day with The'venet. Mathewson was not in
position to entertain, as the Indian woman that presided in his kitchen
partook so freely of liquor of her own manufacture that she became
hilariously drunk early in the morning, and for the peace of the
household and safety of the dishes, which she playfully shied at
whoever came within reach, she was ejected, and Mathewson prepared his
own meals. At The'venet's, however, everything went smoothly, and the
sumptuous meal of baked whitefish, venison, with canned vegetables,
plum pudding, cheese and coffee--delicacies held in reserve for the
occasion--made us forget the bleak wilderness and ice-bound land in
which we were.
It seemed for a time even now as though we should not be able to secure
dogs and drivers. No one knew the way to Ramah, and on no account
would one of these Eskimos undertake even a part of the journey without
permission from the Hudson's Bay Company. As a last resort The'venet
promised me his dogs and driver to take us at least as far as George
River, but finally Emuk arrived and an arrangement was made with him to
carry us from Whale River to George River, and two other Eskimos agreed
to go with us to Whale River. The great problem that confronted me now
was how to get over the one hundred and sixty miles of barrens from
George River to Ramah, and it was necessary to arrange for this before
leaving Fort Chimo, as dogs to the eastward were even scarcer than
here. Mathewson finally solved it for me with his promise to instruct
Ford at George River to put his team and drivers at my disposal. Thus,
after much bickering, our relays were arranged as far as the Moravian
mission station at Ramah, and I trusted in Providence and the coast
Eskimos to see us on from there. The third of January was fixed as the
day of our departure.
Our going in winter was an event. It gave the Post folk an opportunity
to send out a winter mail, which I volunteered to carry to Quebec.
Straggling bands of Indians, hauling fur-laden toboggans, began to
arrive during the week, and the bartering in the stores was brisk, and
to me exceedingly interesting. Money at Fort Chimo is unknown. Values
are reckoned in "skins"--that is, a "skin" is the unit of value. There
is no token of exchange to represent this unit, however, and if a
hunter brings in more pelts than sufficient to pay for his purchases,
the trader simply gives him credit on his books for the balance due, to
be drawn upon at some future time. As a matter of fact, the hunter is
almost invariably in debt to the store. A "skin" will buy a pint of
molasses, a quarter pound of tea or a quarter pound of black stick
tobacco. A white arctic fox pelt is valued at seven skins, a blue fox
pelt at twelve, and a black or silver fox at eighty to ninety skins.
South of Hamilton Inlet, where competition is keen with the fur
traders, they pay in cash six dollars for white, eight dollars for blue
(which, by the way, are very scarce there) and not infrequently as high
as three hundred and fifty dollars or even more for black and silver
fox pelts. The cost of maintaining posts at Fort Chimo, however, is
somewhat greater than at these southern points.
Here at Ungava the Eskimos' hunt is confined almost wholly to foxes,
polar bears, an occasional wolf and wolverine, and, of course, during
the season, seals, walrus, and white whales. An average hunter will
trap from sixty to seventy foxes in a season, though one or two
exceptional ones I knew have captured as many as two hundred. The
Indians, who penetrate far into the interior, bring out marten, mink
and otter principally, with a few foxes, an occasional beaver, black
bear, lynx and some wolf and wolverine skins. There is a story of a
very large and ferocious brown bear that tradition says inhabits the
barrens to the eastward toward George River. Mr. Peter McKenzie told
me that many years ago, when he was stationed at Fort Chimo, the
Indians brought him one of the skins of this animal, and Ford at George
River said that, some twenty years since, he saw a piece of one of the
skins. Both agreed that the hair was very long, light brown in color,
silver tipped and of a decidedly different species from either the
polar or black bear. This is the only definite information as to it
that I was able to gather. The Indians speak of it with dread, and
insist that it is still to be found, though none of them can say
positively that he has seen one in a decade. I am inclined to believe
that the brown bear, so far as Labrador is concerned, has been
exterminated.
New Year's is the great day at Fort Chimo. All morning there were
shooting matches and foot races, and in the afternoon football games in
progress, in which the Eskimo men and women alike joined. The Indians,
who were recovering from an all-night drunk on their vile beer, and a
revel in the "Queen's" cabin, condescended to take part in the shooting
matches, but held majestically aloof from the other games. Some of
them came into the French store in the evening to squat around the room
and watch the dancing while they puffed in silence on their pipes and
drank tea when it was passed. That was their only show of interest in
the festivities. Early on the morning of the second they all
disappeared. But these were only a fragment of those that visit the
Post in summer. It is then that they have their powwow.
At last the day of our departure arrived, with a dull leaden sky and
that penetrating cold that eats to one's very marrow. The'venet and
Belfleur came early and brought us a box of cigars to ease the tedium
of the long evenings in the snow houses. All the little colony of
white men were on hand to see us off, and I believe were genuinely
sorry to have us go, for we had become a part of the little coterie and
our coming had made a break in the lives of these lonely exiles. Men
brought together under such conditions become very much attached to
each other in a short time. "It's going to be lonesome now," said
Stewart. "I'm sorry you have to leave us. May God speed you on your
way, and carry you through your long journey in safety."
Finally our baggage was lashed on the komatik; the dogs, leaping and
straining at their traces, howled their eagerness to be gone; we shook
hands warmly with everybody, even the Eskimos, who came forward
wondering at what seemed to them our stupendous undertaking, the
komatik was "broken" loose, and we were away at a gallop.
Traveling was good, and the nine dogs made such excellent time that we
had to ride in level places or we could not have kept pace with them.
When there was a hill to climb we pushed on the komatik or hauled with
the dogs on the long bridle to help them along. When we had a descent
to make, the drag--a hoop of walrus hide--was thrown over the front end
of one of the komatik runners at the top, and if the place was steep
the Eskimos, one on either side of the komatik, would cling on with
their arms and brace their feet into the snow ahead, doing their utmost
to hold back and reduce the momentum of the heavy sledge. To the
uninitiated they would appear to be in imminent danger of having their
legs broken, for the speed down some of the grades when the crust was
hard and icy was terrific. When descending the gentler slopes we all
rode, depending upon the drag alone to keep our speed within reason.
This coasting down hill was always an exciting experience, and where
the going was rough it was not easy to keep a seat on the narrow
komatik. Occasionally the komatik would turn over. When we saw this
was likely to happen we discreetly dropped off, a feat that demanded
agility and practice to be performed successfully and gracefully.
It was a relief beyond measure to feel that we were at length, after
seven long months, actually headed toward home and civilization. Words
cannot express the feeling of exhilaration that comes to one at such a
time.
We did not have to go so far up Whale River to find a crossing as on
our trip to Fort Chimo, and reached the eastern side before dark.
Sometimes the ice hills are piled so high here by the tide that it
takes a day or even two to cut a komatik path through them and cross
the river, but fortunately we had very little cutting to do. Not long
after dark we coasted down the hill above the Post, and the cheerful
lights of Edmunds' cabin were at hand.
Here we had to wait two days for Emuk, and in the interim Mrs. Edmunds
and Mary went carefully over our clothes, sewed sealskin legs to
deerskin moccasins, made more duffel socks, and with kind solicitation
put all our things into the best of shape and gave us extra moccasins
and mittens. "It is well to have plenty of everything before you
start," said Mrs. Edmunds, "for if the huskies are hunting deer the
women will do no sewing on sealskin, and if they're hunting seals
they'll not touch a needle to your deerskins, though you are freezing."
"Why is that?" I asked.
"Oh, some of their heathen beliefs," she answered. "They think it
would bring bad luck to the hunters. They believe all kinds of
foolishness."
Emuk had never been so far away as George River, and Sam Ford was to be
our pilot to that point, and to return with Emuk. The Eskimos do not
consider it safe for a man to travel alone with dogs, and they never do
it when there is the least probability that they will have to remain
out over night. Two men are always required to build a snow igloo,
which is one reason for this. It was therefore necessary for me at
each point, when employing the Eskimo driver for a new stage of our
journey, also to engage a companion for him, that he might have company
when returning home.
Our coming to Whale River two months before had made a welcome
innovation in the even tenor of the cheerless, lonely existence of our
good friends at the Post--an event in their confined life, and they
were really sorry to part from us.
"It will be a long time before any one comes to see us again--a long
time," said Mrs. Edmunds, sadly adding: "I suppose no one will ever
come again."
When we said our farewells the women cried. In their Godspeed the note
of friendship rang true and honest and sincere. These people had
proved themselves in a hundred ways. In civilization, where the
selfish instinct governs so generally, there are too many Judases. On
the frontier, in spite of the rough exterior of the people, you find
real men and women. That is one reason why I like the North so well.
We left Whale River on Saturday, the sixth of January, with one hundred
and twenty miles of barrens to cross before reaching George River Post,
the nearest human habitation to the eastward. Our fresh team of nine
dogs was in splendid trim and worked well, but a three or four inch
covering of light snow upon the harder under crust made the going hard
and wearisome for the animals. The frost flakes that filled the air
covered everything. Clinging to the eyelashes and faces of the men it
gave them a ghostly appearance, our skin clothing was white with it,
long icicles weighted our beards, and the sharp atmosphere made it
necessary to grasp one's nose frequently to make certain that the
member was not freezing.
When we stopped for the night our snow house which Emuk and Sam soon
had ready seemed really cheerful. Our halt was made purposely near a
cluster of small spruce where enough firewood was found to cook our
supper of boiled venison, hard-tack and tea, water being procured by
melting ice. Spruce boughs were scattered upon the igloo floor and
deerskins spread over these.
After everything was made snug, and whatever the dogs might eat or
destroy put safely out of their reach, the animals were unharnessed and
fed the one meal that was allowed them each day after their work was
done. Feeding the dogs was always an interesting function. While one
man cut the frozen food into chunks, the rest of us armed with cudgels
beat back the animals. When the word was given we stepped to one side
to avoid the onrush as they came upon the food, which was bolted with
little or no chewing. They will eat anything that is fed them--seal
meat, deer's meat, fish, or even old hides. There was always a fight
or two to settle after the feeding and then the dogs made holes for
themselves in the snow and lay down for the drift to cover them.
The dogs fed, we crawled with our hot supper into the igloo, put a
block of snow against the entrance and stopped the chinks around it
with loose snow. Then the kettle covers were lifted and the place was
filled at once with steam so thick that one could hardly see his elbow
neighbor. By the time the meal was eaten the temperature had risen to
such a point that the place was quite warm and comfortable--so warm
that the snow in the top of the igloo was soft enough to pack but not
quite soft enough to drip water. Then we smoked some of The'venet's
cigars and blessed him for his thoughtfulness in providing them.
Usually our snow igloos allowed each man from eighteen to twenty inches
space in which to lie down, and just room enough to stretch his legs
well. With our sleeping bags they were entirely comfortable, no matter
what the weather outside. The snow is porous enough to admit of air
circulation, but even a gale of wind without would not affect the
temperature within. It is claimed by the natives that when the wind
blows, a snow house is warmer than in a period of still cold. I could
see no difference. A new snow igloo is, however, more comfortable than
one that has been used, for newly cut snow blocks are more porous. In
one that has been used there is always a crust of ice on the interior
which prevents a proper circulation of air.
On the second day we passed the shack where Easton and I had held our
five-day fast, and shortly after came out upon the plains--a wide
stretch of flat, treeless country where no hills rise as guiding
landmarks for the voyageur. This was beyond the zone of Emuk's
wanderings, and Sam went several miles astray in his calculations,
which, in view of the character of the country, was not to be wondered
at, piloting as he did without a compass. However, we were soon set
right and passed again into the rolling barrens, with ever higher hills
with each eastern mile we traveled.
At two o'clock on the afternoon of Tuesday, January ninth, we dropped
over the bank upon the ice of George River just above the Post, and at
three o'clock were under Mr. Ford's hospitable roof again.
Here we had to encounter another vexatious delay of a week. Ford's
dogs had been working hard and were in no condition to travel and not
an Eskimo team was there within reach of the Post that could be had.
There was nothing to do but wait for Ford's team to rest and get into
condition before taking them upon the trying journey across the barren
grounds that lay between us and the Atlantic.