OUR DOGS.
There being no cairn, as a matter of course there was no guide to
conduct us to it; but instead of returning to New York from Camp Daly,
as he would have been justified in doing, Lieutenant Schwatka
determined to make the summer search in King William Land, in order to
find the records, if possible; or, at any rate to so conduct the search
as to make it final and conclusive of the Franklin expedition.
Lieutenant Schwatka was much impressed with the statements made by
Nutargeark, especially as this native's intelligence and veracity were
tested by his pointing out correctly upon the map the location of
cairns which he had seen, including one at Cape Herschel, built by
Dease and Simpson in 1839, and the spot where McClintock saw a boat
with skeletons. Both Hall and McClintock account for the fact of so few
bodies being found, by the presumption that Captain Crozier and his men
followed the shore ice down, and, dying there, fell through into the
water when the ice melted during the summer. Nutargeark, however, said
that there were plenty of bodies lying upon the ground on King William
Land, which would be invisible in winter from being covered with snow.
To verify these statements was the purpose of our journey.
The first thing necessary was to get dogs enough for our teams. To that
end I made a visit to the land of the Kinnepatoos, which is about
seventy miles west and north from Marble Island. I found them in
igloos, upon a large lake on the western shore of Hudson Bay, and was
the first white man who had been there. Many of this tribe had never
seen a white man before, but all were exceedingly friendly. I found
that they had but few available dogs, but succeeded in securing from
them several fine animals by the exchange of ammunition, tobacco, and
matches, which are the staples of trade with these people. I found
their igloos to be much larger and better built than those of
the northern natives. The entrance would usually be by a narrow
passage-way, excavated from a snow-drift, six to eight feet below the
surface, and perhaps twenty-five or thirty feet long. They had no
fires for heating the igloos, and, consequently, there was a clammy,
vault-like atmosphere indoors that was anything but pleasant. They use
oil only for light, and, even in the depth of winter, cook what little
food they do not eat raw with moss. As I approached the village I was
walking ahead of my guides, who were with the sled. It was getting
late, and we were endeavoring to trace the direction by following the
tracks on the snow which covered the lake; but a high wind, which was
blowing from the north, had nearly obliterated all signs and rendered
the task a difficult one. Presently, however, I heard the barking of
dogs and the voices of a number of children, who soon appeared
approaching over a hill on the right bank of the lake, beyond which the
village was built. I hastened toward them, and was shortly conducted
into an igloo where all the men were seated, tailor fashion, around
bones which showed that justice had been done to a hearty repast of
frozen deer meat. They extended a rude but cordial welcome, and
hospitably inquired if I was hungry; but as I had recently eaten a
quantity of frozen salmon I declined further food. I had long ago
learned to relish fish and meat which they call "topee," and which
civilized people denominate "rotten". When frozen it does not taste
any worse than some kinds of cheese smell, and is a strong and
wholesome diet unless eaten in great quantities. It fortifies the
system against cold, and, shortly after eating, causes a healthy
glow of warmth to pervade the body, even in the coldest weather. I can
now eat almost anything an Esquimau can, and almost as much. Though
the weather during the four days of my journey out was intensely
cold--the thermometer ranging from thirty to sixty degrees below zero
most of the time, with a strong wind blowing--I did not suffer with
the cold, except that my nose and cheeks would occasionally freeze. In
fact, if I had no nose I believe I could stand the cold nearly as well
as the natives. Even they are constantly freezing their noses and
cheeks, and there seems to be no way of avoiding this very
disagreeable contingency.
I was with the Kinnepatoos a week, during which I lived upon frozen
meat and fish, and enjoyed myself studying their habits and customs.
Every night they met in one large igloo, twenty-five feet in diameter
at the base, and twelve feet high, where the men would play upon the
ki-lowty while the women sung in unison. The ki-lowty is a drum, made
by stretching a thin deerskin over a huge wooden hoop, with a short
handle on one side. In playing, the man grasps the handle with his left
hand, and constantly turns it, while he strikes it upon the wooden
side, alternately, with a wooden drumstick shaped like a potato-masher.
With each blow he bends his knees, and though there are various degrees
of skill in playing, I have never yet learned to be critical. I can
only see a difference in style. Some are dramatic, some classical, some
furious and others buffo. The song is a monotonous, drawling wail, with
which the drumming has no sort of connection, for it increases and
diminishes in rapidity according to the pleasure or strength of the
player. I am sure a concert, such as I witnessed nightly, would cause a
sensation in New York, though I do not believe it would prove a lasting
attraction to cultivated audiences. I frequently got very weary of it,
and often slept during the performance without giving offence to my
hosts by my lack of appreciation. One night the entertainment was
varied by a dramatic performance that was exceedingly interesting.
There were three players, who walked about the arena and conversed,
occasionally passing off the stage, not by the right and left, but
stooping down and darting in and out of the door of the igloo, an
entrance two feet high and about the same width. As nearly as I could
understand, while outside in the dark the players saw some supernatural
horror, which on entering they would endeavor to explain to the
audience; but words failing to convey all they felt, they resorted to
pantomime, until at last one, who was more affected than the others,
came in and expired in the arms of his comrades. I was intensely
interested during this novel performance, and imagined I recognized
considerable histrionic ability on the part of the players.
[Illustration: ESQUIMAU PLAYING THE KI-LOWTY.]
During the daytime those men who were not out hunting engaged
in playing a game somewhat allied to gambling, which they call
"nu-glew-tar." A small piece of bone is suspended from the
roof by a line made of walrus hide, and a heavy weight dangles below
it to keep it from swinging. The bone is pierced with four small holes,
and the players, as many as choose to engage, stand around, armed with
sharp sticks, with which they jab at the bone, endeavoring to pierce
one of the holes. Some one starts the game by offering a prize, which
is won by him who pierces the bone and holds it with his stick. The
winner in turn offers something for the others to try for. It is
perfectly fair, because unless one wins it costs him nothing. They are
very fond of this game, and play almost incessantly. Another similar
game is played by placing a prize in a bowl made out of a musk-ox
skull, the players standing in a circle around the bowl, which is then
set twirling rapidly. The one toward whom the handle points when the
bowl stops moving is the winner, and replaces the prize with another.
This game, like nu-glew-tar, has no end, and the players only stop when
they get hungry and adjourn to eat. The men all dine together in one
igloo, no women being allowed to be present, and generally demolish
the whole of a carcass of reindeer at a meal. This may be called their
dinner, but when they have plenty of food on hand they eat nearly all
the time. In the morning, before getting out of bed, they eat; and at
night, after getting into bed, or "sin-nek-pig," as they call
it, they eat. A few whiffs from a pipe are always in order, and
especially so after eating. The pipe is passed from mouth to mouth,
without regard to any foolish civilized notions of cleanliness. Eating
frozen fish or meat always makes one cold at first, but presently warm.
So always, after eating the mid day repast, the men pull their hoods
over their heads, draw their arms out of their sleeves and cross
them over their warm, naked breasts, and wait patiently and in silence
for the heated term to ensue; but during the silent period they
resemble a group of mummies, and are about as cheerful. When they begin
to feel warm their spirits rise, and they are soon like a parcel of
good-natured children. When their stomachs are full they are contented
and happy. The principal diet of the Kinnepatoos is deer meat, as that
of the Iwilliehs is walrus and seal.
I left the Kinnepatoo village, returning to Marble Island in two days'
journey, though it took me four days to go. I returned by a shorter
route, and travelled after the sun had gone down, the moon affording
sufficient light to see our way. On my return I discovered another
large lake between the one on which the Esquimau village was located
and the salt-water ice. This smaller lake is probably twelve miles long
and from two to four miles wide. The larger one is about forty-five
miles long and fourteen wide at the widest point. It is known among the
natives as "The Big Lake," and with the approval of Lieutenant Schwatka
I named it Brevoort Lake, after Mr. James Carson Brevoort, of Brooklyn,
N. Y., whose deep interest in Arctic research was felt by this as well
as other expeditions. The other lake I named after General Hiram
Duryea, of Glen Cove, a warm personal friend and comrade in arms, who
was also a contributor toward the expedition. On my way back to Marble
Island, instead of following the shore ice along to the narrow place
where the pack is choked between Rabbit and Marble islands, I struck
off in nearly a direct line for our destination, crossing most of the
distance over the thin new ice. The advantage in this route was that,
besides being much shorter, the ice was free from snow, and the dogs
could run at nearly full speed. To be sure it was open to the objection
of being dangerous; but moving as rapidly as we did there was scarcely
time for the sled to break through, though the water oozed up along the
track of the sled as we sped swiftly over the surface of smooth thin
ice. It was pretty venturesome, perhaps, and I might be excused if I
was nervous, for twice before I had broken through on a sled and bathed
in the waters of Hudson's Bay. But I was anxious to reach the ships and
finish what work I had to do, so as to get back to Depot Island in time
to have all the dogs well fed before starting upon our long journey.
I should here say that the dogs of Hudson's Bay and contiguous
territory do not resemble those usually pictured in the illustrated
editions of Arctic works, which are the Greenland dogs. From what I
gather by reading of the performances of the dogs in Greenland and
North-eastern Asia, and comparing them with our experience in Hudson's
Bay, I should judge the animals from the latter country to be
immeasurably the superior in endurance and pluck, though perhaps
inferior in speed for one or two days' travel. When food is plentiful
the dogs are fed every other day while travelling; but if living in
camp once in ten or twelve days is considered enough, and often twenty
days will intervene between meals. Not but that they pick up a trifle
now and then, and by a raid on an igloo will secure meat enough to last
for several days. Their mode of life forces upon them the character of
thieves, and all their waking moments are devoted to the one object of
making a raid. Whether it be on the meat in the igloo or the
storehouse, or the bag of blubber for the lamps, or the seal-skin
clothing, it is all the same. They know from experience that the
severest penalty will be enforced as a punishment for their offence but
to them the pleasure of theft and the exquisite bliss of greasing their
stomachs with a slice of blubber outweighs every other consideration.
Too often have they felt the cruel snow-stick across their defenceless
heads, and the sting of the long-lashed whip cutting a morsel of flesh
at each blow, to doubt the quality of their reception, and the howl of
pain as they start upon the grand rush is in anticipation of the end. A
raid can sometimes be brought to an end with a good stout club that
will knock a dog senseless at each blow; but there is nothing like the
ip-er-ow-ter, the Esquimau dog whip, to bring them to their senses. The
ip-er-ow-ter has a handle made of wood, bone, or reindeer horn, about
twelve or eighteen inches long, and a lash from eighteen to thirty feet
in length. The lash is of seal-skin or oak-jook, that part of the thong
near the handle being plaited or doubled to stiffen it, or give a
spring that adds materially to its usefulness.
The men acquire considerable dexterity in the use of this whip, the
lash of which is thrown forward or back with a quick turn of the wrist.
That portion of the lash near the handle strikes the ground first, and
then the long seal-skin thong unwinds, gaining rapidity and strength as
the end is reached, and this strikes with such force as to make the
snow fly, and with a report like a pistol. It is not a handy implement,
for it requires time to get in position to swing the long lash. First
it is thrown back, and then forward--this time for execution; and it is
no unusual thing to see a dog with an eye gone or a piece of ear
missing--a witness to the power of the ip-er-ow-ter in the practised
hand of the Esquimau dog driver. Even the boys are quite skilful in the
use of the whip, and dog driving is taught them almost from infancy.
The driver sits on the front part of the sled or runs alongside, the
long lash of the whip trailing behind him on the snow, so that when
occasion occurs calling for the administering of punishment it is
already in the proper position for delivering the blow.
The first effect of the whip is to retard the sled. The dog that is
struck invariably draws back, and then usually pitches upon his
neighbor, and for a while there is a row that threatens the sled with
stoppage. The driver usually takes advantage of this occasion to
administer a general chastisement, each dog receiving a share of the
punishment, whether guilty of insubordination or not. The Esquimau
theory is, that if not deserving of the whip this time he would be
before long, and so might as well receive it now as any time.
The dogs are attached to the sled by harness made of either reindeer or
seal-skin. One loop passes around the neck, while each leg is lifted
through a loop, all three loops joining over the back and fastened to a
long seal-skin line. These lines are of different lengths, so as to
allow the dogs to pull to greater advantage than if all the traces were
of the same length, causing the dogs to spread out like a fan. At every
few miles the traces have to be unloosened and extricated from the most
abominable tangle that it is possible to conceive. This comes from a
habit the dogs have of constantly running under and over the other
traces to avoid the whip, or in some cases merely from a spirit of pure
deviltry.
The leader of the team is a dog selected for his intelligence, and is
one known as setting an example of constant industry under all
circumstances. You will always see the leader of a team of dogs working
as if the load was being drawn by him alone. He goes along, his head
bent over and tugging in his harness, his mouth open and tongue lolling
out, while his ears are ever ready to hear the word of command from the
driver. To go to the left, the command is given, "Ah'-root," and to the
right, "Why-ah'-wah-ha." Then he sometimes, to encourage or urge to
greater exertion, says, "Ah-wah-hagh-oo-ar." To stop the team he says
"Woah," as one says when driving horses. It is the noisiest method of
travel yet invented, for the driver is constantly talking to his team,
calling each by name, and usually following the word with a blow of the
whip, so that the next time that dog is spoken to, he will understand
that it means "hurry up." The conversation with a dog team is
incessant, and the work of the driver is not confined to his team
alone. He has to constantly keep watch over the front of the sled, to
turn it to the right or left in order to avoid hummocks or stones that
would upset the load or tear the ice from the bottom of the runners.
Inuits are fond of riding on the sled while travelling, and as long as
there is a spot that would hold one they will pile up there. But should
there be no place for them, they will run alongside without apparent
discomfort for almost any length of time or distance. This is equally
true of the children of both sexes, and when any are compelled to walk,
for lack of dogs or of room on the sled, it is the women and girls who
have to give way to the men and boys. With a light sled, and from nine
to fifteen good strong dogs, the Esquimaux of North Hudson's Bay will
sometimes make a journey of from eighty to one hundred miles during the
long days of spring. A light sled has reference to one with nothing on
it except the skins for the beds, a lamp and small quantity of oil,
with not more than one or two days' rations of food. The same number of
dogs will drag a sled, with about fifteen hundred pounds of load, at
the rate of three or four miles an hour over the smooth salt-water ice
and snow. When travelling with light sleds all the party ride, except
when necessary to run for the purpose of getting warm. In travelling,
and especially when starting from a halt, some one runs ahead of the
team so as to get them to pull together. When the sleds are heavily
loaded the start is effected in the same way, and the driver, gathering
the reins in his hands, pulls back with all his might until he sees
every dog straining against his collar, when he lets go his hold and
all spring forward together.
It often happens that there are not a sufficient number of dogs, or
that they are poor and unable to travel with sufficient rapidity, and
then the people have to put on harness and help. First the women and
children engage in this labor, and, lastly, the men. And the drivers
will sit on the sled and smoke, with the utmost composure, while their
wives and daughters are tugging in the harness. The women do not mind
this treatment, for they are accustomed to it and look upon it as the
proper thing. In the summer the Esquimaux use their dogs while
travelling as pack animals, and a stranger would be astonished to see
what loads these dogs will carry. I have seen a fine large dog that
would carry two saddles of reindeer meat, or the entire fore-quarters
of two reindeer. His back would be bent low beneath the burden he bore,
but still he would struggle along, panting the while and regarding his
master with a look of the deepest affection whenever he came near him
yet ever ready to fight any other dog that got in his way.
These, then, were the faithful comrades of our march. Before the day
appointed by Lieutenant Schwatka they were ready. We were all eager to
start. The projected journey was one which more than one expedition had
undertaken without success since Sir Leopold McClintock's memorable
sledge journey, which accomplished so much, and left so much to be
desired. We were determined to bring it to a successful issue. Our
igloo life at Camp Daly during the previous winter had inured us to the
climate, so that, though we often found the cold intensely
disagreeable, we were free from the evil consequences that have
assailed many expeditions and make Arctic travel so dangerous, though
few have been exposed to such low temperature as was our party,
especially during the return trip in the winter of 1879-80. Previous
sledge journeys had taught us how to clothe ourselves and otherwise
provide against the cold, and we had already become acquainted with
Inuit fare, so that when the emergency arrived when we were compelled
to subsist entirely upon such food, we did not regard it with that
repugnance that those would who had not become accustomed to it. In
other words, we had become thoroughly acclimated during the eight
months we had already lived in the country.