“THE ARCTIC SIX.”
Eric named his first settlement Brattahlid. The next he called
Gardar; another, the Norse name of which has been lost, now bears the
Esquimaux name of Krakortok, which means, “the place of the white
rocks.” The rocks are of the same metamorphic character as elsewhere
in that neighborhood, and only differ from them in having, by one of
Nature’s freaks, been made of lighter hue than those of the region
round about.
The fiord forks a short distance above Julianashaab, the southern
branch leading to Brattahlid and Gardar, the northern, to Krakortok,
which place it was our design to visit first.
Mr. Anthon not only offered to be our pilot, as before stated, but he
likewise offered us his Greenland boat. We had boats of our own, and
good ones too; but then what so appropriate for a Greenland fiord as
a Greenland boat? So, at least, said our pastor-pilot, and so we were
all willing to confess. But what was a Greenland boat?
A Greenland boat is a curiosity in marine architecture. Mr. Anthon
took us down to look at the one he had offered us. It was turned
bottom up on a scaffolding, so that we could stand under it and
almost see through it, for it was semi-transparent like a bladder.
When I thumped it with a stick, it rattled like a drum.
“There it is,” said the pastor; “how do you like the looks of it?”
[Illustration: THE OOMIAK AND CREW.]
“What! that thing?” exclaimed the captain, with ill-concealed
contempt; “go to sea in a thing like that?”
“Certainly,” said the pastor; “why not?”
Then he called three or four people, who had it off the scaffolding
in a twinkling and down into the water, where it floated like a
balloon that had been set adrift by mistake upon the sea.
“It’s a woman’s boat,” explained the pastor.
“Oh yes, I see,” answered the professor; “made by women. Quite an
interesting object.”
It was certainly made with great cunning. It was about thirty-six
feet long, by six feet wide, and two and a half deep. There was not a
peg, or nail, or screw in it, so far as we could see; and, judging by
the same method of inspection, it was all leather.
The pastor asked again how we liked the looks of it, now that it was
in the water.
To confess the truth, it looked a little too balloonish to suit
any body’s fancy. The captain broke into a laugh. The professor
speculated upon the quantity of stones that would be required to
ballast it, measured by the ton; our sagaman began to institute
comparisons between it and the ancient Phœnician craft, contending
that the latter possessed decided advantages in a sea-way, which
nobody doubted for a moment. The photographers came running along
after it with their camera; the artists ran after it with their
pencils—particularly a young gentleman much given to caricature (who,
for short, bore the euphonious name of Blob), and who in a twinkling
sketched her launched from an iceberg into an atmosphere of green
above a golden sea, sailing away like a kite, with our trader for
a bob. The trader was not there at first, but he came up in time
to make a liberal offer of pork and beans, or a note of hand, in
exchange for it—any thing of that description would be so handy to
have on board the _Panther_—a boat thirty-six feet long—handy as the
door-plate in the Toodles house.
Some one asked Mr. Anthon if he would not be good enough “to have the
thing shoved off, that we might get a touch of its quality.”
“Of course—by all means,” replied the pastor. Then he called the crew
together.
“Now, shades of Harvard and Oxford defend us, _what_ a crew! and
what a rig!” exclaimed the Prince, breaking into a laugh as the crew
appeared.
And he was quite right. It was a strange rig for a boat’s crew,
without any sort of doubt. Very long boots that reached above the
knees, of divers colors and pretty shape, gave a trim and natty
look to the pedal extremities. Then they wore seal-skin pantaloons,
very short, beginning where the boots left off and ending midway
on the hips, where they met a jacket bright of hue, and lined with
fawn-skin. This jacket was trimmed around the neck with black fur,
beneath which peeped up a white covering to the throat. The hair
was drawn out of the way, and tied with red ribbon on the top of
the head; and altogether the costume was calculated to show off the
respective figures of the crew to the greatest possible advantage.
Then the Prince laughed again when the pastor called their names.
“They’re a jolly lot,” said he.
“Go along,” said Mr. Anthon; “go along, Maria, and take the others
with you.”
Maria proved to be stroke-oar, and she called, “Catherina, Christina,
Dorothea, Nicholina, Concordia, here, come along.”
And off they all ran, chattering and giggling at an amazing rate; and
they tumbled into the boat in a manner that made the captain fairly
frown to see such lack of discipline. We were all much amused to see
the gay and lively manner in which they skipped over the thwarts to
their respective places, brimful of fun and mischief, and altogether
making quite a shocking exhibition for a boat’s crew, whose duties we
are usually in the habit of seeing performed in a very sober manner.
But they quieted down a little when a more sedate individual (who
proved to be the coxswain)—dressed in short boots and long seal-skin
pantaloons, and a cap instead of ribbons on the head—came along, and,
taking the steering-oar, gave the order to “shove off.”
The order was executed in handsome style, and the boat shot out
over the little harbor very swiftly, each of the crew rising with
the stroke of the oar; and bending to their work with a will, this
singular-looking crew made their boat fairly hum again.
“Fine oarsmen!” exclaimed somebody who had just come up, and had not
heard the roster called.
“Oars_men_!” replied the pastor, laughing at somebody’s exceeding
innocence. “Oarsmen! why, dear me, they are oars_women_!”
“Oars what?”
“Oarswomen, to be sure.”
“Oars_women_! Man alive! and do they always pull the boat?”
“Always,” replied the pastor; “always. A man will never pull an oar
in a woman’s boat. He would think it a humiliation and disgrace. The
most he will do is to take the steering-oar, which is, indeed, quite
legitimate business for him. He has his own small boat, the handling
of which requires skill, while the woman’s boat requires none. A man
steers the boat now; the other six, who pull the oars, are all of the
other sex, and I could not wish for a better crew.”
Upon being asked what duties as a crew they usually performed, he
answered:
“They row me about from place to place, as my pastoral duties
call me; they gather hay for the cows, and bring home the fish
(principally capelin and cod) that the fishermen catch and dry at
distant places. Besides this, they do any thing they are told to do,
and do not hesitate to expose themselves in any weather, unless it
should blow too hard for the safety of the boat.”
“Has such a boat any particular name?” the captain asked.
“We call it an _oomiak_, which signifies, simply, a woman’s boat;
while the man’s boat is called a _kayak_.”
Here the Prince, who was growing somewhat impatient over this long
catechizing, broke in with a query as to whether they pulled the
oomiak to-morrow, in case we should conclude to go in her?
“Certainly,” replied the pastor.
“Just that same precious crew?”
“The same crew exactly.”
“Including the bow-oar you call Concordia?”
“Including her, of course. She is the life of the crew, and I could
never get along without Concordia.”
“Nor I,” replied the Prince. “The boat will do for me. Sink or swim,
survive or perish, I ship in that craft for one. Pipe the dear
creatures back.”
So the pastor called to them to return, which they did in splendid
style; and, every body agreeing with the Prince, it was forthwith
arranged that we should go in the oomiak upon the morrow.
As the boat came in, the Prince proffered assistance, in a very
gallant manner, to the bow-oar, but the girl hurried from the gunwale
and ran, laughing, away. Nothing daunted, however, he gave chase;
but, fleet as a young deer, she outstripped him and disappeared in
the village, where the Prince was observed afterwards to be wandering
around looking for her disconsolately.