A HOPEFUL TOWN IN A HOPELESS PLACE.
This “Land of Desolation,” to which we had come, is the Greenland of
history and of the present time. All the southern part of it, as far
up as the sixty-first degree of latitude, is called the “District
of Julianashaab,” and the town of Julianashaab is its capital. This
town is one of the most flourishing in the whole country. It is,
perhaps, the most pleasantly situated of all of them, and, standing
in a region full of historic and legendary interest, it presents a
good type of Greenland life, past and present, and it is well worth
looking at.
Being the residence of the Governor of the “District,” something of
additional importance is attached to it on that account. Country
squires who come up to London; backwoodsmen casting their curious
eyes about them in Washington; children on a holiday excursion to
a neighboring village, are not seized with greater wonder at what
they behold, than is the hunter from some remote station of the
Julianashaab District, when, after having braved the dangers of
flood and field, he finds himself observing the latest fashions, and
learning how the world moves generally in the town of Julianashaab.
So much, therefore, for its social and political importance.
[Illustration: VIEW OF JULIANASHAAB.]
They call it a colony, and its governor, or director, is the
_colonibestyrere_, which is to say, the steerer of it. There are
eleven other colonibestyreres in the country, one for each of the
other eleven “Districts,” which extend northward one above the other
from Julianashaab to the very confines of the habitable globe.
The northernmost is Upernavik, beyond which there are no Christian
people, or people of any kind living on the earth, except a few
skin-clad savages. And, strange enough, this most northern place of
Christian occupation bears a name which signifies “the summer place,”
derived from _Upernak_, or, as it might be better spelt, _Oo_pernak,
the native Esquimaux word for summer.
Julianashaab, on the other hand, expresses a compliment to royalty.
It was founded nearly a hundred years ago, at which time a king sat
on the Danish throne who had a queen named Juliana. So, in honor of
her majesty, they called this hopeful place the _haab_ of Juliana,
which is to say, in English, Julia’s Hope. I could but wonder if
all the expectations that the name bespeaks were ever realized; for
if so, the founders of it must have been extremely modest. I was
especially impressed with this feeling when I landed next morning,
on a visit to the governor’s house, and was greeted there by the
principal part of the population.
Not a soul of them had, I believe, ever gone to bed after our
arrival; but, on the contrary, had remained as they began—gazing
at the _Panther_ all the morning. When they first saw signs of
activity on board, they expressed their delight in a very hilarious
fashion; calling to each other, laughing, and running about from
place to place, singly and in flocks, in a manner to indicate a very
lively state of feeling. The little huts from which they emerged
were scarcely distinguishable from the rocks themselves, and the
people appeared to be coming out of the earth, and dropping into it
again like prairie-dogs. Great was the rush when I got in my boat
and started for the landing-place. Here they formed themselves in
two lines, a hundred or more of them—men, women, and children—all
talking or laughing, and all much delighted. Some pointed with
their fingers; others remarked the singular performances of my
tailor; others said, properly enough, what an odd-looking thing a
round-topped hat was; and they all stood their ground while I marched
between the two files, not one of them willing to forego for a moment
the gratification of the passion of curiosity, which it is pleasant
to know that arctic frosts can no more destroy than civilization
unseat from its prying stool.
To see yourself gazed at by so many persons, even although they may
be half-savage, is an embarrassing circumstance; and I should no
doubt have felt bashful about running the gauntlet of their eyes had
not another sense than that of sight claimed its legitimate right
of precedence, and with such remarkable energy, too, that all minor
emotions were impossible. Accordingly, I made my way through the
crowd without any delay whatever, and, in fact, with a speed not
at all calculated to give that opportunity for close examination
which is always desirable to a traveller. The fact is, like the
pilot we had picked up, they smelt fishy, and, had I not been most
positively informed otherwise, I should have written the inhabitants
of Julianashaab down as amphibious creatures of a fishy nature. And
it would have been no very unnatural mistake either—not so bad, at
least, as Sir John Mandeville’s imagining boles of cotton to be
woolly hens.
To explain all this, it is needful only to observe that, this Hope
of Juliana being nothing but a fishing-town, the people are all
fishermen, and therefore every thing smells of fish exceedingly. The
odor extended everywhere; the wharf and rocks were strewn with fish,
and the air seemed charged with fish that had evaporated. I became in
a little while saturated thoroughly; so much so, indeed, that I felt
myself hardened sufficiently to approach and examine the people more
carefully than I had done at first.
They proved to be of many shades of color, from the tawny hue of
the native Esquimaux (Greenlanders they call them here), to the
almost pure Caucasian complexion, with transparent skin and rosy
cheeks. Of this latter class was one girl especially, who stood
apart from the rest as if she were superior to them, and yet could
not wholly restrain her curiosity. Her hair, which was auburn, was
very abundant, and had been arranged with much care. A red silk
handkerchief was tied about the forehead, and ribbons without stint
fluttered from the knob of hair which stood up on the crown of her
head. The labors of her toilet had evidently been performed with
the greatest nicety. Her boots were as red as her handkerchief and
quite as spotless; her trowsers were of the choicest and most shining
seal-skin, neatly ornamented with needle-work and beads. Then her
jacket, which was of some bright color to match, looked very jaunty.
It met the trowsers at the hips, where it was trimmed with a broad
band of eider-down. About the neck there was a collar of the same
material, and the beads upon the breast and around the wrists, where
there was more eider-down, were quite dazzling.
Altogether she was very pretty. Her complexion was a dark brunette,
but very delicate. When I approached to speak to her, she blushed
and ran away, which was the only fault I had to find with her. The
little, savage, coy coquette would not let me have a word with her,
but got behind a house, taking good care, however, to show herself
from time to time around the corner, peeping there, after the very
simple and artless fashion of coquettes the world over. She was not,
however, allowed to remain there undisturbed; for following after me
came a young gentleman from the _Panther_, who immediately proceeded
to invest the house, stealing around in the rear of it. When he had
fairly cornered her she did not seem at all afraid, but spoke to him
civilly enough; and then from that time forward, whatever might be my
disposition towards a better acquaintance with this lively maiden of
Julianashaab, my chances were clearly gone forever; for afterwards
she smiled only on this young gentleman. It is said (such was the
influence of his engaging manners and the delicacy of his flattery)
that she gave him her red boots at the very first interview.
This young gentleman bore among his shipmates the name of Prince;
but whether that name was natural to him, or whether it was, as
some asserted, on account of a fancied resemblance to the Prince of
Wales, or whether on account of his being the prince of good-fellows
(which is more likely than all), is not important. But Prince he was,
and like a prince he behaved. Concordia was the name, as afterwards
appeared, of the coy damsel. I shall hereafter have occasion to
relate how the Prince actually (as was said) proposed to abandon the
_Panther_ that he might make Concordia as happy a little princess as
ever was Cinderella.
Proceeding up the path after leaving the native population, I
encountered a man who was a full-blooded Dane in appearance, and I
should not have known otherwise had he not told me afterwards that
his mother had some native blood in her veins. He had been born here
in the infant days of the colony, and when we fell into conversation
he expatiated upon its growth, and manifested much pride in its
prosperity. For a long while he had been the assistant bestyrere; but
now he steers an island of his own, some thirty miles away, and he is
at present up on a visit, with his family, to see the metropolitan
sights. They had seen the church, the parson, the governor and
his wonderful store-rooms, and now, to cap the climax, here had
unexpectedly come an _Oomeasoak_ (big boat) that could breathe,
and had feet to kick through the water with! What a journey up to
town this had been, to be sure! How envious this would make their
fellow-villagers, when they got home and told of all the wonders they
had seen!
The name of this man was Peter Motzfeldt, and a very field of moss
he was, if a ripe and fresh old age can be called so. Seventy bleak
arctic winters had passed above his head, but not a single one had
apparently gone into his heart, or even scattered frost upon his
coal-black hair. He was as lively and elastic as if he were but
twenty, which was the time when he first took service with the Royal
Greenland Fishing Company, in whose employ he has been ever since.
He had never been to Denmark, and he did not wish to go. It was all
that he could do (naturally enough) to look after his two-and-twenty
children, two boat-loads of which he had brought up with him to town.
This was the fiftieth anniversary of his employment by the Company,
and the Company, in recognition of his faithfulness, had sent him a
present, which was unfortunately, he said, down at Kraksimeut, where
he lived. I thought he might have started with some of it on board
the boat, and was the further confirmed in that suspicion when I
ascertained that the present was an importation from Santa Cruz, and
that there was no such token of civilization anywhere in Julianashaab
as a public bar-room.
He promised to call upon me in the _Panther_, and devote himself to
my service if I needed him. That I should need him was most evident,
for he was perfectly charged with local knowledge, and besides that,
had been with Captain Graah in the exploration which the Danish
Government had ordered of this region in 1828-30. His name was
therefore familiar to me already, from Graah’s narrative. He went
with me to the government-house, and there left me to present myself
before Colonibestyrere Kursch, who I was glad to find (as I have
usually found elsewhere with educated Danes) spoke English fluently,
and, gratified with the welcome, I felt quite at home immediately,
and began already to entertain a high opinion of Julianashaab. If my
first introduction to the Land of Desolation had been somewhat rough,
my first intercourse with its people (barring the fishy odor which
they carried about with them) was decidedly pleasant.
Mr. Kursch was kind enough to furnish me with some charts of the
coast, all drawn with that care and nicety for which the Danish
hydrographers are famous. Afterwards we went together over to the
house of the missionary, who lived at the opposite end of the town.
In going there, we passed two store-houses, the Parliament-house
(even here they can not do without a Parliament), the doctor’s
house, numerous turf-covered huts of the natives, a few of better
construction, where some half-breed families reside (including
the catechist, the assistant bestyrere, the blacksmith, and the
carpenter); then we crossed a narrow, dashing stream upon a bridge,
and were at the church and parsonage.
The church is quite a picturesque little building, constructed
of wood (of course brought from Denmark), as are indeed all the
buildings put up by the Government. The walls are double, and, the
space between being made quite air-tight by calking, the interior
is easily warmed. Indeed there is little suffering from cold at any
time of year in any of the buildings at Julianashaab. They need no
fire during three months of the summer, and for the winter the home
government sends them out a liberal supply of coal. As a further
protection, the houses (which are but one story high) are all
plastered over on the outside with pitch, which closes tightly every
crack and cranny, and protects them from the weather.
If the church had not been black, it would have been in all respects
neat and tidy. Black though it was, it was a pleasant sight to see
this house of God here in the desert, and by its very appearance
giving proof unmistakable of good, earnest, Christian work.
“Cleanliness before godliness,” was meant for men, but it will do for
a church as well.
The same neatness was observable at the pastor’s house. The little
building was surrounded with a yard and garden, which was inclosed
with a white fence; and in every window of the house plants were
growing in brightly-painted pots, filling the rooms with their
delicious perfume.
In the pastor I met with a great surprise. I had seen him before
in 1860-61 at Upernavik, away up among the polar frosts, almost a
thousand miles beyond his present residence. It seemed as if he could
not quit Greenland; as if his heart and soul were in his missionary
work, and he would not give it up. He had been compelled to ask for
change of residence, for the Upernavik winters had been too much for
him. I had scarcely crossed the threshold, when I distinguished a
pleasant smile and gentle voice that had welcomed me before. “Can
this be Mr. Anthon?” I asked.
“Yes;” and the good pastor opened wide his eyes, greatly astonished
to see me there; but, recovering himself presently, he addressed me
by name, and then called his wife and sister, and I could almost
think myself back again in the same neat parsonage where I had
first met this interesting family years before. A lovely girl and a
bright-eyed boy had been added to the group since then; but now, as
then, there was soon a bottle of wine upon the table, fragrant coffee
in the urn, some Danish fare soon followed; and there was plenty of
Danish heartiness all round. In the afternoon we strolled up the
bank of a little stream that runs beside the church and parsonage,
and came upon a broad valley, in the centre of which there is a lake.
Around the lake there were extensive pasture-grounds, upon which
were browsing a herd of cows and a flock of goats. At this I was not
a little surprised, for although I knew that in former times cattle
had been reared here in great numbers, I had received the impression
that at the present time they would not thrive. Mr. Anthon informed
me that there was no difficulty in raising them, except the very
important one of forage for the winter, for at Julianashaab the grass
never grows high enough for hay. Farther up the fiord, however, it
is abundant; but since the hay must all be brought in boats, it
was both a tedious and expensive operation to gather it. Yet he
managed to keep three cows; the governor had an equal number; the
doctor had two; others had each one; and, indeed, all the well-to-do
people in the village—Danes, half-breeds, and the better class of
Greenlanders—had a daily supply of milk the year round.
The lake abounds in trout, a few of which were caught, and, when we
returned for dinner, Mrs. Anthon had them for us on the table. She
had, besides, some Greenland beef, and Greenland milk and butter;
some smoked Greenland salmon too, and some Greenland venison; also
some radishes and lettuce from her garden: and now, when these were,
after a while, comfortably settled in their proper places with a
glass of good old Santa Cruz punch, and an old Dutch pipe was brought
to keep it company, and the governor and his assistant, and the
doctor and Motzfeldt had come in to join us, we fell into a lively
talk of Greenland and its legends; and it was not until a new day was
breaking above the solemn hills around that I found my way back to
the _Panther_. For fear, however, the reader should think we “made a
night of it” at the parsonage, I will remind him that the “break of
day” there, in the early part of July, is about two o’clock.
I have rarely passed a more pleasant evening or one more profitable.
Our conversation ran mostly upon events of the past rather than
of the present; for Julianashaab, although not without interest
in itself, is doubly interesting from its locality. It stands on
historic ground. Here was the spot that we were seeking when the
_Panther_ drove in among the “hills and fields of ice” upon the Land
of Desolation; a spot which history had made famous, and legend and
tradition had been busy with; where brave old Eric the Red had come
nearly nine centuries ago, and, with his followers, founded a sort of
independent state.
The fiord on the banks of which stands this modern town of
Julianashaab extends some forty miles beyond; but, while the modern
town stands alone, in ancient days hamlets were dotted beside it
everywhere; thousands of cattle once browsed where there are now but
a few cows; and peace and plenty reigned here once among a Christian
people, who, after maintaining themselves through nearly five hundred
years, undisturbed by the elements of discord that afflicted the
world elsewhere, became at length extinct, and, while they passed
away, left only a few meagre records of their growth and progress,
and ruins of their decay. These ruins, I had learned, were still
to be seen at many points of the fiord, the walls of some of the
buildings being, even at this late period, in a tolerable state of
preservation.
To visit these ruins was, in fact, our principal object in putting
into Julianashaab. Around them, indeed, centred the principal
interest of the voyage—at least, so far as concerned myself; and I
did not quit, therefore, the house of the good pastor until we had
planned an expedition to the place where the founder of this ancient
people dwelt, and the church wherein he worshipped, in those latter
days of his life when he had abandoned his war-god, Odin, for the
Prince of Peace.
I had hoped Peter Motzfeldt would offer to accompany us, as he had
visited some of the ruins forty years before with Captain Graah;
but other engagements preventing him, Mr. Anthon was good enough to
undertake to be our guide.