Now for a visit to our Eskimoes in their own dwellings, as the two
missionaries are ready to accompany me and interpret for me. It may
not be a pleasant expedition in every respect, as within and without
there is a pervading fishy smell. Rows of drying fish hang on frames
high enough to be out of reach of the dogs, who sniff about
everywhere, sometimes climbing into the boats to see if any fish be
left. Those red rows are trout, the white ones are cod.
When we arrived here last Sunday, two families were living in skin
tents. One has now taken down the temporary abode and removed into the
more permanent winter residence, a low turf hut. We will enter the
other tent. Frederick, the owner, is not at home, but his wife,
Susannah, is there with her two children. Whilst she inquires after
her former missionaries and sends a grateful greeting to the widow of
the late Samuel Weitz, take the opportunity to glance around the tent.
It is more spacious and better furnished than one would think. We can
all three stand upright in the middle of it, which is not possible in
every house. Deer skins spread on a raised platform at the further end
make two beds. In that open box are hymn-book, liturgy-book, and some
volumes of the Eskimo Bible. Next it are a set of very fair cups and
saucers, but it seems incongruous for the china to stand on the mud
floor. Various utensils lie about, but there is neither chair nor
table.
We cannot stay long, however, for we are going to visit every house in
the place. The first house is Gottlob's. He came hither from Hebron,
and has enjoyed a better education than the Ramah people, most of whom
grew up in heathenism. His wife's baptismal name is Lydia; as a
heathen, she was Auinasuak. This is one of the best huts, but the best
are poor inside as well as outside, compared to many log-houses I have
seen further south. Through the low porch, without any remonstrance
from the dogs, we reach a lower door. It is hot inside. Yes, there is
a stove to the left, and it appears to be the only article of
furniture in the room entered. Behind the partition is a very
different chamber. It is furnished with the usual couches spread with
skins, and on the edge of one of these, Lydia is seated. She does not
rise to greet her visitors, nor does it occur to her to offer a seat.
What shall she offer? A box? As with the rest of those visited, her
welcome takes the form of a good-humoured laugh. One or two objects in
her room testify to a refinement unusual for this station. A guitar
hangs on the wall near a cage with a bird in it, and against the
partition stands a piano. Fancy such an instrument in a low turf hut,
even though it be but an old square piano! Here, as elsewhere, we
speak a few words of kindly greeting and spiritual interest, and then
take leave with "Aksunai."
The occupant of the next hut is not at home. This is indicated by two
great slabs of slate, one at the entrance to his porch and one over
his front (and only) window. These are more for protection against
prowling dogs than dishonest men.
Now we come to the dwelling of the oldest couple, William and Hulda,
whose heathen names were Nochasak and Aksuana. They are, respectively,
fifty-five and fifty, but look older. Two sons live with them, of whom
the elder is married. Both parents are at home, and the
daughter-in-law with her first baby in her arms. Here first I notice
the curious lamp, a sort of dish hollowed out in a soft stone. The
wick is a kind of moss which floats in seal-oil, and gives a feeble
flame apparently more for warmth than for light, for the houses are
not dark.
Next to William's stand the roofless remains of an unoccupied
dwelling, which may serve to show how these huts are built. It is a
square enclosure three or four feet in height; the back is dug out of
the sloping bank, the front wall is built up with turf. Put a roof
over this and your house will be made. Two upright posts in the
middle, about seven feet in height, will serve as the supports for the
frame of your roof, which will also be covered with turf. The low door
must be in front, facing the bay, and, both for warmth and as a
shelter for the dogs, must invariably be protected by a low covered
porch. Whether he be dwelling in his turf hut or sheltering in some
snow hut, quickly built for a night away from home, the Eskimo enters
his abode by a little tunnel, at the further end of which is the door.
Just above this comes the window-frame, sometimes on a slant, better
perpendicular. The window of his turf hut is semi-transparent seal
bladder unless the owner of the mansion can afford and obtain glass.
Now your house is complete, but lacks interior fittings. If you are an
Eskimo, you do not want many. Your two poles supporting the roof may
help you to partition off the sleeping places, either with boards or
with curtains. These are raised about a foot from the ground, and the
edge of the bed is the general seat.
Let us continue our visits to the inhabited houses, one next the
other, in an irregular row. Outside them the children are playing
about and seem to enjoy life. Here and there one may see a sledge, or
a kayak, the skin-covered boat such as is used, by the men. The larger
umiak, or women's boat, is now scarcely met with in Labrador. There
are one or two light wooden skeleton frames of kayaks, but most are
tightly covered with white smooth skins, cleverly sewn together by the
women. Look at this one lying on the grass; it is about fifteen feet
long, but you can lift the end of it quite easily. The owner paddled
home in it this morning from his fishing-place at the head of the
fjord, and sold fifty-two trout off the top of it to the captain, as
he passed the "Harmony." His bone-pointed harpoon and a hook with a
long handle are strapped on top of the canoe. Beside it lies his
paddle, which the Eskimo wields so deftly and silently that even a
seal may fail to detect his swift approach. Its blades at both ends
are beautifully finished off with bone. I see his gun is carelessly
left in the round man-hole in which he sits when afloat. It may be
loaded; I hope the children will let it alone.
Passing Daniel's empty hut, for he and his family are away fishing, we
call on Ikkaujak and Sakkearak (now John and Ernestine), and then on
Matthew and his wife Verona, who not long ago were known as Swanzi and
Akkusane. Matthew is interested to show and explain the weapons of the
chase. His racket-shaped snow-shoes are the shortest I ever saw.
Longer ones, unless like the Norwegian skydder, would be unpractical
among these mountains. His harpoons hang on the wall next his gun. The
blunt one, pointed with a walrus tooth, is used in the body of a seal,
but the iron-pointed one is needed when the animal's head alone is
above the water or the ice. Both are cleverly put together with wood,
bone, and thongs, so arranged that when necessary head and haft easily
come apart.
Some of these Ramah Eskimoes are perhaps 5 ft. 10 in. in height, and
most of them look robust and strong; but little Paul's door is very
low, and I must bend double to enter his hut. His heathen name was
Simigak and his wife's Ikkinek when they came from Nachvak in 1881. He
is not at home, but his Adolfine gives us a welcome in Eskimo fashion.
There is a stove in the corner, and on it a pot with some pieces of
salmon in it. A few trout are strung up to the roof. I notice a clock
in the corner, but am told that it is broken. Perhaps Paul can mend
it; at any rate, while I was at Hopedale some Newfoundland fishermen
entrusted their ship clock to an Eskimo for repairs.
The last hut in the village is Frederick's. Some of his goods are
here, but most are in the tent where we found his wife and family. A
few pictures are pasted on his walls. Many houses at other stations
are almost papered with pages from the _Graphic_ and _Illustrated
London News_.
What is your impression of Eskimo abodes now you have seen their
interiors? Well, they are not prepossessing to a European with the
ordinary notions of what belongs to the necessaries of life, yet they
are airier and cleaner than I had expected from their exterior aspect.
I am assured that there is much Christian life in those queer homes,
and that in many a heart there a "candle of the Lord" has been
lighted, which shines for the illumination of the dark North. If
honoured with an invitation to a meal in some Eskimo hut, I would
rather it were not at Ramah. In the southern stations there are some
tidy log-houses, where one need not hesitate to sit down to table with
Christian Eskimoes, who have learnt cleanly and tidy habits from
intercourse with and the example of missionaries. Here there are no
tables; the people have scarcely learnt the use of forks, and are apt
to handle the knives in eating in a somewhat uncouth fashion. The meat
is taken in the teeth and cut off near the mouth, so that the upward
motion of the blade seems to endanger the nose at every bite,
especially in the case of very small children with a very big knife.
Do my readers want to know about the gardens? There are none.
Gardening is no employment for the Eskimoes; the severity of the
climate and their migratory habits forbid it. Nor do they seem to have
much taste for flowers, though they see them in the missionaries'
gardens. They appreciate the vegetables grown there, but they do not
care for the trouble of raising them for themselves.