_September 22nd, 1888._--My good friends are determined that I shall
see a real sledge and team of dogs start and travel. So after dinner
the sledge is brought to the gate of the mission premises. It consists
of a couple of iron-bound wooden runners about fifteen feet long and
eight inches high, across which many cross-pieces of wood are secured
with thongs. Nails would soon be pulled out or broken off on a journey
over hummocky ice or uneven ground. First the sledge is laden with
everything necessary for a winter journey. A great white bear skin is
folded and laid along the front, making a comfortable seat. That bruin
must have been an enormous creature. The box comes about the middle;
it contains the traveller's traps. Behind it some coats, a gun, a
harpoon (we may see a seal if we go on the ice), some wood (we shall
want a fire for camping out, and I hope matches have not been
forgotten), the coats of the men, a sleeping sack and a pair of
sealskin trousers. Those two oval frames like a large lawn tennis bat
without handle, are a pair of snow-shoes. All these traps are secured
by a sealskin thong passing over the ends of the cross-boards, and
pulled tight. It would not do to lose anything on the way.
Now seat yourself there in front of the box. But the dogs are not
attached to the sledge. _Seat yourself_; they are all harnessed. Each
has a band of sealskin round his neck and another round his body, and
to this simple harness is attached the separate trace or thong by
which he does his share in pulling the sledge. In one moment the
sledge rope will be passed through the loops of all their traces, and
they will be off almost before you can say "Hoo-eet," for they, like
the Eskimoes standing round, seem to enjoy the fun. We are supposed to
start southward for Okak, and to come home, by way of Ramah. I seat
myself and get a good hold, with my back against the box and my feet
well off the ground. "Hoo-eet!" The dogs are directed by the voice,
and that is the word used to start them. Shout "Owk, Owk," and they
will run to the right, or "Ra, Ra, Ra," and you will soon find
yourself going to the left. Say, "Ah, Ah," and your dogs will lie
down. Now you have all your directions so "Hoo-eet," we are off,
gliding easily over the grass, for snow and ice there is none this
warm autumn day after a night when there were two or three degrees of
frost. So it is rather hard for the dogs, when we turn the corner of
the mission enclosure and are going a bit up-hill through the long
grass. Thomas, one of the Eskimoes, is running in front of the dogs in
his sealskin boots with the fur outside--a handsome pair. Enoch is
minding the sledge, now running beside me, now throwing himself down
on it in front of me, or lifting the front end of the runners from
right to left, or _vice versâ_ to turn a corner or avoid a stone.
"Owk, Owk," he shouts as we wish to turn the corner to the _right_. A
third Eskimo, who is running between us and the dogs with the whip,
takes up the sound and the dogs obey. But as it seems hard for them
through the long grass, I get off and run after till we come to the
corner by the church. It will go easier along the path to the _left_.
I seat myself again and the driver cries "Ra, Ra, Ra." Away we go. It
is well I was wary of the stones, another inch and that rock just
passed would have given me a sore foot or a sprained ankle. "Owk,
Owk." We leave the path on our left and turn away to the _right_ over
rocks and moss. The ground is broken but the long runners of the
sledge make it go fairly smoothly. "Ah, Ah," or as Thomas pronounces
it long drawn, "Aw, Aw." At this sound the dogs stop and lie down,
with their tails curled over their backs. We are supposed to have
arrived at a halting place where we shall camp out for the night.
The wood is unloaded; to make the fire would be the first thing and
then perhaps a snow-house for a shelter. The sleeping sack is ready to
be my night's couch on the floor. Meanwhile, the dogs lie quite
contentedly, and we use the first opportunity to count them. There are
fourteen in harness and two are running beside them of their own
accord, entering into the spirit of the thing in spite of their fear
of that formidable whip. Nine of these useful animals belong to the
mission. Their names are Yauerfritze, Purtzelmutter, Purtzel, Caro,
Pius, Fanny (an exceptionally friendly Eskimo dog), Ammi, Kakkortak
and Takkolik. The others belong to different natives.
[Illustration: TRAVELLING IN LABRADOR.]
Our imaginary night has been short enough, and we are supposed to be
preparing for a new start. "Look, see," says Thomas to me, and pours
some water on the iron of the runners, for the sledge has meanwhile
been turned upside down. Were it winter, that water would at once
freeze on the iron and form a splendid smooth surface for the sledge
to run on over ice or snow. "Hoo-eet." The sledge has been turned
right again and repacked, and the dogs get up. No, there is nothing
left behind. "Hoo-eet;" away we go. It is astonishing how widely the
dogs spread themselves in pulling. However, the course of the sledge,
as it follows them, depends more on the nimble drivers. See yonder dog
is getting to the wrong side of that post, by way of illustrating the
difficulties of travelling through a wood. Hebron is beyond the
northern limit of trees, but our missionaries at Hopedale have often
great trouble in passing through forests of stunted fir-trees. The
front dogs also have got their traces foul of the two other posts in
our forest of three trees without any branches. So we are brought to a
standstill until, all the harness being cleared, we are ready for a
fresh start down that slope to the right. "Owk, Owk," is the word, but
at the brook our wild career is brought to a sudden stop. Our specimen
sledge trip would not be complete without an accident. The bed of the
little stream proves just too wide for the sledge to clear it, and the
points of the runners have bored into the further bank. The thong of
the sledge has broken in two places with the jerk, and the dogs who
were pulling with might and main are suddenly released. Four or five
have been caught by our nimble Eskimoes, but the majority are off
home. Were the station three hours or three days distant and we were
left in the snow it would be a bit different to the present situation.
The station is about three minutes distant, and we have time for a
good laugh before our dogs are caught and brought back. What has
become of the passenger? Oh, he is unhurt; the shock did not even
unseat him. There he sits on the sledge, which stretches like a little
bridge from bank to bank. It is freed from the earth, and the dogs are
again attached, after a fierce little quarrel between two or three of
them, just to keep up their credit as quarrelsome creatures. Order and
obedience restored, "Hoo-eet," away we go homeward, but at a more
moderate pace, for it is uphill. By the mission-house the road bends
to the left, "Ra, Ra, Ra." At the corner a number of women are
standing and laughing, and as the sledge approaches, they ran,
according to their usual custom, and throw themselves on to it, so the
poor dogs finish their course with an extra load, and are quite
willing to lie down in obedience to the final command, "Ah, Ah." If
you were on a real journey, you would learn by experience to avoid
that interjection in your conversation, for the weary animals would at
once take the permission to stop and lie down.
Now the dogs are released from their harness and run away to their
respective homes with glee. The sledge is unloaded, and its contents
carried off by their owners. "When did you leave Ramah?" says the
missionary to Thomas. "Yesterday morning," replies the good fellow,
keeping up the joke with thorough appreciation. I give them my hearty
thanks, "Nakungmék," for Thomas and Co. have not only given me a great
pleasure, but provided interest for young friends at home, to whom I
may detail my winter journey on a sunny autumn afternoon at Hebron. A
real midwinter Labrador sledge journey, with the thermometer far below
zero of Fahrenheit and the wind blowing hard and cold, is not so
pleasant, especially if the dogs be quite invisible because of the
driving snow. Should the traveller then be pitched off the sledge, and
the drivers not perceive his absence at once, they may lose one
another for ever. But God has watched over our travellers by sea and
land, by ice and snow on many an errand of spiritual import to the
settlers, or journey from station to station.