Returning along the beach we see Matthew's skin-covered canoe lying
upside down on the grass, and we induce him to give us a specimen of
kayak navigation. He picks up the end of his light craft, runs round
so as to bring it right end foremost to the sea, and pushes it over
the beach till three-fourths or more are in the water. Then he steps
lightly over the flat top, paddle in hand, sets himself deftly in the
man-hole, and in a moment he is afloat, paddling to and fro with quiet
powerful strokes. Returning at full speed, he runs his kayak, which
only draws a few inches, straight on to the shore; stepping lightly
over the front of it, he stands dry shod on the beach and drags his
kayak out of the water.
Further along a little group of Eskimoes have just finished unloading
a boat, which has brought goods from the ship. Let us join them, for I
want to see a whip, such as they use in driving the dog-sledge. My
request is interpreted and one of the natives runs to fetch his. Truly
it is a formidable instrument. The wooden handle is only a few inches
in length, but the lash is more than thirty feet. It is made of many
thongs of stout, tough sealskin sown together, and tapering till a
single thong goes off almost to a point. The owner gives us a specimen
of its powers by cracking it, but I am glad he does not practice on
anything living. Stepping backwards from us, he drags the whip out to
its full length, so as to be sure he is beyond reach of us, then
deftly throws the lash behind him. Now a rapid movement of the hand
and arm sends the long lash back towards us, and a quick turn of the
wrist makes the end of it crack like a pistol. I have purchased that
implement, but I doubt if any amount of practice would enable me to
perform the feat of cracking it with safety to myself and the
bystanders.
To the east of the mission-house there is a pretty waterfall about ten
or twelve feet in depth. It is the last leap of a mountain brook,
which in summer flows swiftly down the deep ravine, which it has cut.
Higher up, a part of the pure, clear stream is diverted as the water
supply for the mission-house and the native huts. As at Hopedale and
Zoar, this runs off a trough about a hundred yards from the house. At
Nain and Okak it is conducted straight into the kitchen, when desired.
In winter every station is liable to the freezing of the ordinary
supply, and then water must be fetched from a distance, or if none can
be found, snow or ice must be melted. Icicles are hanging from the
trough here to-day, for though the sun is warm now, there were four or
five degrees of frost last night, and the wind is still keen. In
spring, when a thaw sets in, this little stream is a source of danger
to Ramah. Its deep channel is filled with snow, and the pent-up
torrent, seeking an outlet, is apt to escape from its usual bounds and
start an avalanche down the steep declivity. When the thaw becomes
general, there is a grand series of leaping cataracts and roaring
rapids in that ravine.
[Illustration: AN ESKIMO IN HIS KAYAK.]