THE NATIVE RACES
In speaking of the native races of Alaska it is not my purpose to enter
into the subject except in so far as it belongs to a book of this
character. As was said of the mines, the real student of such subjects
will find (in the journals devoted to ethnology) what definite
information he seeks. Strangely enough, however, a diligent search has
revealed that there is not to be found in any library a book or in any
magazine an article dealing with that most unusual custom which
prevails among the Eskimos,--the trial marriage. Whether this custom
exists among any other natives of the world I do not know. But I think
not.
The natives of Alaska are of four groups. First, the _Eskimos_, who
dwell in the northern part of the territory in the area near the Arctic
Ocean and Bering Sea. Second, the _Aleut_, a people closely related to
the Eskimos, who are to be found only in the Aleutian Islands and the
mainland adjacent thereto. Third, the _Thlinkits_, who are Indians and
confined to the southeastern section of the country known as the
Panhandle. Fourth, the _Athabaskans_, of the same stock as the American
Indian, who occupy the interior and touch the coast only at Cook Inlet.
The Thlinkits were once the most civilized and at the same time the
most warlike of the native tribes. When the Russians came they found
them living in well-built log houses and with an organized tribal
system. They are to-day of greater intelligence than any of the other
native tribes and are skilled craftsmen. The Athabaskans, on the other
hand, with the exception of some of the most isolated Eskimo tribes,
are the least civilized. Only those on the coast have any kind of
tribal organization and this is not countenanced by the United States
Government. Like the clansmen of Scotland, they seem to group
themselves in families. The Aleuts were once quite prosperous, expert
in the taking of the sea-otter, a very difficult animal to catch. The
ravages of the Russian fur-traders almost annihilated the native
population. They enslaved them and compelled them to capture the
sea-otters for them. But the latter are now almost extinct and the
Aleuts eke out a precarious existence by fishing and trapping foxes.
They call their habitations _barábaras_ and they resemble the igloos
of the Eskimos.
It is the latter people that I know best and of whom I would speak
most. There are no Indians in St. Michael. The native people here are
wholly Eskimos, and one has to live among them to realize the moral
descent of a once-fine native race. One must know them in order to
comprehend the height from which they have fallen! In winter they live
in their igloos. And an igloo is a place so unspeakably filthy that one
can scarcely entertain a thought (much less a sight) of it. In summer
they live in tents. Yet----. In spite of their uncleanliness, in spite
of every other argument which may be urged against them, one always
finds himself at the end of his ruminations admitting to himself that,
after all, they are a fine native race! It is a conclusion at which he
never fails to arrive even in the face of appalling evidence. The
conviction will not be downed.
I have often walked about their summer camps at St. Michael, Nome and
other localities. Always I have found the scene practically the same.
One cannot help being struck with the industry which the Eskimos
display. Every inmate of the tent will be at work! And each is at work
upon something _useful_! Not one of them will be caught idle. The
father usually will be seen carving a piece of ivory, or wood. The
Eskimos are skilled carvers. While President Taft was in office a
magnificent piece was sent him for his desk. It was carved from the
tusk of a walrus by a native. In the tent the mother will be making
_mukluks_, or fur boots, while the older daughter beats out and twists
the caribou sinew into that strong thread with which the furs and boots
are sewed. Let me add that they never come unsewed! The smaller
children will each be engaged in some light task, such as making
curios, or smoothing the first roughness off of the ivory from which
the father, later, will carve something. Every member of the family
will be engaged in producing _something of value_. Wherever one goes
among the Eskimos he will be struck by this admirable trait.
They are a light-hearted, good-natured people, easily amused. They have
a ready smile for you as you pass them by. Compared with the white man
they are undersized. From my own six-feet-two they seem rather
diminutive to me when I look down upon them, but they are by no means
the dwarfs that people imagine them. The average height of the man is
five-feet-four. Tall Eskimos are not unusual. They are well-built,
graceful in movement and possessed of small hands and feet. The nose
(in some of the tribes) is flat, but in others it is quite the
opposite, and the mouth, although somewhat large, is always filled with
beautiful teeth. Their smile is most attractive. I have seen many
handsome Eskimos,--that is, they would be handsome if they were clean!
The centaur of old was no more a part of his horse than the Eskimo is a
part of his boat. He is a born navigator,--as aquatic as a duck. He
fashions for himself a small boat of skin in which he practically
encloses himself. These boats are of two kinds and in their
construction the Eskimo reveals his ingenuity. They are cunningly
contrived and cleverly managed. With this primitive craft he performs
all sorts of unbelievable stunts. An expert and daring fisherman is he.
The smaller boat (called a _kayak_) is a sealskin canoe and is a rather
tiny affair. It has circular hatches for one man. The _bidarka_ (or
_bidocky_) will hold two men. But the _baidará_ is made of walrus hide
and will hold from twenty to thirty persons. It will live in a heavy
sea and is taken on long sea voyages. The stranger who travels even a
short distance in one, however, usually does so with his heart in his
mouth most of the time. The fabric belies its looks. It appears so
flimsy as to be dangerous and the water is plainly visible underneath.
But the natives walk boldly about in them. Every step depresses the
skin for two or three inches, but long experience has taught them that
the spot on which they stand will sustain the weight of a ton! I have
actually seen them turn a summersault in the water with one of these
home-made craft and come up smiling! Yet, strange to say, while they
are, apparently, more at home on the water than on the land, few of
them swim. Perhaps it is that the water is too cold.
Who that has seen these diminutive people venture forth into a
treacherous and perilous sea with naught between them and death but
this tiny home-made boat to do battle with the huge monsters of the
ice-encumbered deep--the whale, the walrus and the seal--can question
their courage? Not I! The Eskimo has made no effort to conquer his
environment. More wisely he has adapted himself to it and constrained
it to his needs. The land of his birth is inhospitable. His environment
is savage. He wrings his sustenance from the land only by powerful
effort, and human nature takes on a new dignity in the life of such
people. Only the sturdiest of creatures, set naked in an Arctic world,
could rise superior to such an environment.
As for the Eskimo woman,--in youth she is not unattractive, often
quite good-looking, in fact. But I hereby testify that of all the
hideously unattractive and ugly creatures known to the human race the
full-blooded, middle-aged Eskimo woman carries off the palm. As it was
in the beginning, before God said "Let there be light"--she is without
form and void! She ages rapidly. She dresses as do the men, in the
_parka_, a long, loose garment reaching to the knee, made of muskrat
and reindeer skin in winter and of drill in summer, fur-seal boots and
breeches. As the men are nearly always smooth-faced it is often
difficult to tell them apart. They both use tobacco. And they are
nothing if not economical! They chew it until every particle of flavor
has vanished. Then they dry and smoke it!
A friend of mine, a well-known woman writer who once served the
American Minister to China as personal secretary, one day confided to
me that since the day she left the celestial empire (some fifteen years
ago) she had never seen any dirt worth mentioning! Obviously, she has
never glimpsed the interior of an igloo! With an American Army Officer
of the Medical Corps I once visited one. We were told that it was one
of the cleanest Eskimo villages in Alaska. The saints preserve me from
a visit to the dirtiest one! An igloo is a windowless hut, shut tight
against the air. It is usually crowded with a large family, grossly
clad in skins which are poorly tanned, partly decayed. They are
unspeakably fed, greasy of skin. Refuse of every kind was piled about
the igloo and a recent thaw made the place a mass of liquid filth.
Of course, the reason for all this is apparent, and in a way
unavoidable. Fuel is scarce and hard to obtain. Therefore, ventilation,
with its waste of heat, would be fatally extravagant. Food is gathered
in summer and stored for winter. When it comes out of storage much of
it is decayed. Crowding is unavoidable and this means filth and
infection. Water is scanty, cleanliness impossible. All this leads to
the prevalence of disease and the disease most prevalent is
tuberculosis. Moreover, this village which we visited has no doctor.
The nearest one is seven miles away.
Conditions in Alaska, so far as medical relief for the natives is
concerned, are distressing and inexcusable. Year after year, with
persistent regularity, the Sundry Civil Appropriation Committee of the
House strikes out the modest sum of seventy-five thousand dollars
petitioned for by the Board of Education for medical relief work among
the natives of Alaska. In all southeastern Alaska there is but one
hospital for natives,--a Presbyterian institution at Haines. Dr.
Romig, a former Moravian Medical Missionary in the Bristol Bay district
in Bering Sea, gave as an estimate that forty per cent of the Eskimo
population of this district, numbering some seventeen hundred people,
were afflicted with transmissible diseases--chiefly tuberculosis,
syphilis and trachoma. The physical condition of these people is
pitiable in the extreme. Yet the government provides _one_ physician
and a small inadequate infirmary without proper equipment and
maintained in an abandoned schoolhouse!
Contrast this with what is being done for the Indians of the United
States. For the three hundred thousand there are now employed two
hundred doctors, eighty nurses, seven dentists, seventy field matrons,
and seventy-seven miscellaneous hospital attendants. Also, the
government maintains for the Indians forty-nine hospitals, four
tuberculosis sanitaria with a capacity for caring for a thousand four
hundred and ninety-nine patients! The reason for the striking contrast
between this and the shameful neglect of the Alaskan natives ought to
be found and removed. The present condition is a reproach to us as a
nation. Not only this, it is a menace to the health and safety of the
white people already there and an argument against the coming of
others.
Much has been said and written of the origin of the Eskimos. There is a
difference of opinion as to whence, originally, they came. My own
belief is that they are of Mongolian origin. A similarity of language
would tend to strengthen this belief. When it comes to a native tongue
I confess that the Eskimo has a peculiarity which is unique and
baffling, more so than I have ever encountered in any other language. I
once got up against this in a manner which took some time to untangle.
As United States Commissioner at St. Michael it was part of my duty to
try offenders against the law. The first time the offender chanced to
be an Eskimo I suddenly discovered that I had troubles of my own.
Apparently his _no_ meant _yes_, and vice versa. I could not understand
it at first, but at last it dawned upon me that although he spoke
brokenly in English he was _thinking_ in his own tongue. For instance,
I would say to him:
"You did so-and-so, didn't you?"
"Yes!" he would reply, when I knew very well that he meant to deny it.
I called in a priest, a man who spoke the native language, from whom I
learned that my surmise was correct. The Eskimo, when he says yes means
"Yes, I did _not_!" When he says no he means "No, I _did_!" There you
are! One has to be mentally cross-eyed in order to get him!
The Eskimos are very peaceable people except when (in violation of the
law) the white man sells them whisky. It must be acknowledged that the
latter has done little to encourage their uplift. In fact, he is
largely to blame for the demoralized condition of the Eskimo to-day.
One may no longer sell liquor in Alaska, but the mischief, so far as
the natives is concerned, is already done. For a long time there seemed
no way to prevent the furnishing of whisky to the Eskimos. A law might
cover it, it is true. But experience has taught me that if a man is
clever enough and unscrupulous enough he can drive a horse and wagon
through the best law that was ever made! Where there was no saloon the
liquor was furnished the natives in the guise of pay or bribe, and
every man who has lived in Alaska knows how little regard the white man
has had for the sanctity of the native home. Wives and daughters were
constantly dishonored. If the husband or father protested or put up a
fight he was overcome by threats or bribes and given liquor to drink
until what natural good qualities he once possessed disappeared
forever.
If one would see the native races at their best he must see them as far
as possible from the haunts of the white men. There he will find them
by no means an inferior people. I know of one cannery where every
employee except the superintendent and the bookkeeper is a native, and
one has but to observe their work to be convinced of their capability.
But it seems impossible for them to live near the white people without
both whites and natives starting down hill. From the acquaintance to
the debauchery of the native woman by a certain type of white man is
but a step. It has not been a great many years since the whalers used
to come up from San Francisco to winter in the Arctic and catch whales.
Their first act on arriving was to carry off the native women, take
them aboard the vessels and keep them all winter. In the spring when
they got ready to return they would throw them ashore unceremoniously.
This went on many years but has now been stopped by the government.
Sometimes the white men marry the native women and when they do they
quickly sink to their level. The native man, always imitative of the
white man, in time forsakes the hunting and fishing which once
furnished him an honest living and sooner or later he is to be seen
hanging around the villages, picking up odd jobs.
Some of the customs of the natives of Alaska (and elsewhere) are both
quaint and startling. When a native guest enters a house neither host
nor guest take notice of each other. The host goes on with his work and
the visitor either assists him or produces some of his own. When he
departs, however, the host says to him:
"Inûvdluaritse!" (Live well!)
But they greet the white visitor in smiling friendliness and when he
leaves the host usually says to him:
"Aporniakinatit!" (Do not hurt thy head!) Presumably this is a warning
against the upper part of the low doorway.
The Eskimo's idea of hospitality sometimes extends to lengths which are
somewhat appalling and occasionally it requires not a little diplomacy
to refuse them without giving offense. When one gets caught in an
Eskimo village and has to spend the night there it is the commonest of
occurrences for the man of the house to offer him not only the freedom
of his home but his wife as well! Among the natives the interchange of
wives is common.
And this brings us to that most discussed of all questions,--the
morality (or the lack of it) of the native peoples of the earth. No
matter to what far corner of the world one may journey he will find
this problem the same in all of them. The Eskimo is no exception.
Before the coming of the white man he was utterly godless. He had no
religion, no form of worship, no imagery, no idea of any "happy hunting
ground" hereafter. In many sections this is still true, although they
have been brought under the influence of the church in some localities.
In St. Michael the natives are not permitted to live in the village,
but their tents dot the hillsides around and during the summer months
the streets are alive with them. Often they come from great distances
with their furs, carved ivory, etc., which they have for sale. Their
winter dwelling, the igloo, is a pit in the ground, roofed over with
logs and sometimes, not always, a window made of fish skin or the
entrail of a walrus. The hut is entered by a kind of ante-chamber in
the top of which is a hole large enough to admit a man. If he chances
to be a large man he sometimes has difficulty in getting through! He
must descend a ladder to a narrow passage or tunnel which leads to the
principal room, often fifteen or twenty feet from the entrance. The
sole furniture of a native residence is a seal-oil lamp which is used
for both heating and cooking. It is lighted in the autumn and burns
incessantly until spring.
The igloo is usually from six to eight feet high and about thirty feet
in circumference. Often it houses from ten to twenty persons. During
the cold and stormy weather every aperture is closed. How they endure
the odor and the vitiated air is something no white man can understand.
The summer dwellings were formerly constructed above ground and
consisted of light poles roofed over with skins. Now, however, these
have given way to the ordinary tent which is not only cheaper but
preferable for many reasons.
In almost every village, or native settlement, the visitor will find
the council-house, a much larger hut than the others. It is called a
_kashga_, and is used also as a sort of club where the youths and the
unmarried men of the village congregate. Here matters of importance are
discussed and guests from a distance lodged. The hut is usually about
twenty feet square and ten feet high.
It was in one of these _kashgas_ that I had what was perhaps the most
interesting experience in connection with the native races that I have
had during the years that I have lived in Alaska. I have come in touch
with the ceremonies of the natives of many corners of the earth, but
this one was unique,--even more so than the celebrated Snake Dance of
the Hopi, of Arizona. I had once been able to befriend a young Eskimo.
In gratitude for the favor he invited me to attend a native festival to
which (he gave me to understand) no white man had ever been admitted.
Whether this meant that no white man had _ever_ been admitted or that
none had seen the ceremony as indulged in by this particular tribe I am
unable to say. Nevertheless I understood that he was attempting to
honor me. I confess that it was with some misgivings that I went, but I
have never been sorry.
This particular ceremony was known as The Ten Year Festival. Some tribe
from another locality is asked to visit the home tribe and the ceremony
is held during the visit. The visitors this year came from Unalakleet,
bringing large quantities of gifts and many of them going back
empty-handed at the end of the festival. "Potlatching," or trading, is
the favorite occupation of the Eskimos and many a time have I been a
victim. But I usually hastened to "potlatch" whatever I happened to
draw off onto some one else at the earliest possible opportunity!
In some respects the Ten Year Festival is not unlike the ceremonies of
the American Indians. In the _kashga_, heated to suffocation, the
natives and their visitors foregather. A square hole is cut in the
floor and a sort of shelf, or bench, runs around the sides of the room.
On this bench sit the principal personages of the tribe, their feet
dangling and not infrequently kicking those below them in the face. The
"orchestra" with their tom-toms begin their monotonous drumming. The
medicine man is heard below chanting a weird tribal song and presently
his head appears through the hole in the floor. He comes up, dancing
and singing, both song and chant increasing in intensity as he appears.
The other members of the tribe join the dance and the song. Their
motions become more and more violent. A perspiration which is largely
grease, due to the oil which exudes from their skin, rolls from their
naked bodies as they writhe and lash themselves into a perfect frenzy.
The women join the dance, cavorting about unclothed, just as the men
do.
The final episode of the ceremony occurs when the medicine man breaks
from the _kashga_ and runs outside in the bitter cold. Of course,
everything is frozen tight, but a hole is cut in the Bay and into the
ice-cold water he plunges, returning to the _kashga_ dripping wet. He
then tells them that he has been in consultation with the Great Spirit,
or whatever it is that they call their ruling power, and that he has
been instructed to tell them that the crops will be good, the furs
plentiful, that they will be successful in catching the walrus and the
seal.
I have already spoken of the unusual custom of the trial marriage which
exists among the natives of the Far North. So far as I know, it exists
nowhere else,--at least under supervision of the church. But when the
United States purchased Alaska there was a paragraph in the treaty
which read as follows:
"The inhabitants of the ceded territory, according to their choice,
reserving their natural allegiance, may return to Russia within three
years, but if they should prefer to remain in the ceded territory they,
with the exception of the uncivilized tribes, shall be admitted to the
enjoyments and all the rights, advantages and immunities of citizens of
the United States, and shall be maintained and protected in the full
enjoyment of their liberty, property and religion. The uncivilized
tribes will be subject to such laws and regulations as the United
States may from time to time adopt in regard to aboriginal tribes of
that country."
The supposition is that the "laws and regulations" were not immediately
forthcoming and that gradually the natives came under the influence of
the Greek Catholic Church. The trial marriage is a blending of the
customs of both of these.
I presume that there is no other place in the world where the natives
approach more nearly to living in a state of nature than here. This
applies as much to their family life as to their out-door existence. In
former times when the Eskimo man and woman decided that they would like
to wage the war of life together, to combine against their implacable
foes, the cold, the storm and the darkness, they just went ahead and
did it. This was and in many cases still is the beginning and the end
of the subject of marriage with them. The native custom in the olden
days was a somewhat strenuous experience for the bride. It is still
followed, but it has now become a mere ceremony, quaint and
picturesque. The young Eskimo seldom "falls in love." He selects a
wife, usually choosing her for her health and strength. In the olden
days, having picked her out, he would lie in wait for her, seize her by
the hair of her head and drag her off to his igloo, the whole family
following and (apparently) attempting to rescue her. Strangely enough,
his choice was not always the young girl. There was a lively
competition for widows, especially if they were the mothers of sons who
would be able to help bring in the whale and keep the wolf from the
door.
Of Eskimo morality and civilization there are many degrees. Some of the
tribes as yet untouched by the influence of the missionaries have
moral laws of extreme refinement. And they live up to them! Do you know
of another spot on earth where _both man and woman_ who have proved
guilty of unfaithfulness are meted out the same punishment? I do not.
But the reindeer Koriaks, one of the tribes not far from Nome, place
the greatest stress upon loyalty and chastity of both man and woman,
and the punishment for both, when they transgress the law, is instant
death!
As to many of the tribes, however, little can be said and that little
is not to their credit. They have no higher conception of life than
that which is wholly animalistic. Through all the long ages, with them
a physical act has been merely a physical act. It has had no moral
significance. And can the idea of untold ages be easily eradicated?
And, after all, are they worse than other people? Comparisons are
odious. But it must be remembered that these natives live out their
lives thus _thinking no evil_! What, then, of the white man, born with
the knowledge of the moral significance which is attached to the
personal relationship and who has permitted himself to become degraded
by the vices of civilization? The native man is _un_moral. The white
man is _im_moral. There is a difference! Moreover, the Scarlet Letter
is not alone for the Hester Prynnes of Old Plymouth. From time
immemorial among some of the tribes of the North the unchaste Eskimo
woman has been forced to wear a sign of her degradation,--a green band
in her hair. However, unlike Hester Prynne, she is given another
chance, albeit an unfair one. If she gives birth to an able-bodied boy
she becomes an object of unusual and sincere respect and her green band
becomes, as it were, a crown.
Humanity itself, in the Far North, sometimes becomes quite as cold and
frozen as the land itself. But there is one thing which never fails to
thaw it,--children. And any one who lives long in the north country can
not but realize that children are of vital necessity in any
sparsely-settled land. The Reverend Hudson Stuck, to whose admirable
volume, _Voyages on the Yukon_, reference has already been made,
relates a good story bearing on this point. Long residence in Alaska
has taught him much that has never yet been writ in books and has made
of him, although a man of the strictest religious convictions, kindly
tolerant of the frailties of humankind. Above all else, he is
impatient, as we all are, of the non-essentials in education which are
being crammed down the throats of the natives by teachers, often due to
youth and inexperience, while the essentials, the things of real value
to them as individuals and to the country as a whole, are neglected.
The Archdeacon relates that once he visited a Mission where the man in
charge, a youth, with misguided enthusiasm, boasted that there was
neither a half-breed nor an illegitimate child in the village! The
Archdeacon received the information in silence, but after a tour of
inspection he returned to the subject.
"I see no children at all," he remarked. "Aren't there any?"
The young man proudly admitted that there were none,--whereupon the
Archdeacon proceeded to shock him.
"I much prefer half-breed children or even illegitimate children to no
children at all!" he said. "By the grace of God, much may be done with
the half-breed or even the illegitimate child. But in the name of all
that is hopeless and preposterous," he finished, "what can ever be
accomplished in a country where there are _no children at all_?"
It has always been a matter of real regret to me that the Archdeacon
did not record the answer to his question!
Just when the custom of the trial marriage in its present form
originated I do not know. That it must have entered with or at least
followed closely in the wake of the Greek Catholic Church is
undeniable. As was the case with the native ceremonies of the American
Indians,--the Sun Dance, the Ghost Dance, the Flute Dance and the Snake
Dance--_religious_ ceremonies, every one of them, exaggerated and
highly-colored reports of which were carried to the government by
over-enthusiastic and sometimes fanatical missionaries and agents with
the result that the government took steps to suppress them, the trial
marriage of the natives of Alaska, while not yet suppressed, now rests
under official displeasure. A part of my duty was to investigate this
subject. I did so--with a result more astonishing to myself than it
could possibly have been to any one else. Like the man of old who went
to the temple to scoff and remained to pray, I issued forth from this
investigation with most of my preconceived theories on the subject
knocked galley-west. Some of my hitherto staunchest principles, if not
quite broken, were so badly bent that I have never yet been able to
hammer them out quite straight again!
I had it out one day with Father B----, a priest of the Greek Church, a
benevolent and kindly old man who in the early days of his mission
among the Eskimos had cherished a dream of them as a separate
people,--a race apart, who should work out their own salvation with the
_assistance_ (not the _insistence_) of a wisely directed form of
religion. That dream for a while promised to be realized, at least to a
certain extent. But with the coming of the first white men, most of
whom were utterly lawless, he saw his vision fade and finally vanish.
Nevertheless he worked on and the trial marriage is his solution of the
problem. It is a sort of welding of the customs of both the native and
the church.
There is one point in regard to the custom on which I wish to be
plainly understood. In Alaska it is against the law for an unmarried
man and woman to live together. To say that the custom exists with the
_consent_ of the Church is wholly unfair. Every one who has lived in
such a country as this knows very well that many of the customs as well
as the laws are born of necessity, and the custom of the trial marriage
is unquestionably one of these. It certainly exists with the
_knowledge_ of the Church and its origin undoubtedly lies in this fact:
The parishes over which one priest has jurisdiction lie far apart. A
visit to each of them is possible only about once a year. Without the
Church there would be _no_ marriage, even a belated one. Not
infrequently it happens that a young Eskimo who wishes a wife goes to
the priest and asks his assistance in finding one. The girl may (and
often does) live in one parish and the young man in another. He will
either go to her home or she will go to his. But they can not be
married until the next visit of the priest which is sometimes a whole
year later.
Before the priest will consent to assist the youth in finding a
suitable companion, however, he makes certain requirements which the
young man must meet. He must build an igloo, furnish it and stock it
with supplies. He must then construct his boat in order that he may
fish and thus make a living for them both. This done he may have his
girl. _Score one in favor of the trial marriage!_ He may _not_ have her
unless he is prepared to house and support her. When his igloo and boat
are complete the young people go to the new home and live together for
one year. At the end of the year, however, they must be married by the
ceremony of the Church. If they do not come to him to be married the
priest seeks them out and forbids them to live together any longer.
While the idea itself rather sticks in one's throat, the thoughtful man
can not deny that the trial marriage has much to recommend it. They who
have come most closely in touch with it, the missionaries and priests,
say that it is indeed seldom that the couple fail to return at the end
of the year to be married. When they do, it is asserted, there is
usually a reason, and when this reason exists, they claim, it is far
better for them to separate. The year of trial has proved that they are
not suited to each other. If a child has come to them, the mother takes
it and goes back to her people, and both the man and woman may select
another mate and enter into another compact if they desire. But this
seldom happens.
I argued the question to a finish with Father B----. He could not be
moved from his position and in the end I could but acquiesce in much
that he said. How much better this system is than that which prevails
under the stress of our present day civilization! In the rapid and
feverish life of the cities of the world to-day,--what happens? The
lover and his lass during the period of courtship put forth their whole
stock of attractiveness. Seeing each other periodically it is quite
simple to keep out of sight one's faults and weaknesses. No sooner are
they married than the hitherto concealed frailties begin to appear.
Then----. They realize that there exists a _bond_ between them and more
often than not, like a dog straining at his leash, they endeavor to
find out just how elastic the tie is,--just how far they can strain or
stretch it. First arguments, then differences, then quarrels. Before
they know it the cord snaps. Life is never the same again. Lovers'
quarrels may be made up. Family quarrels never! What then? Nine times
out of ten, for social or economic reasons, they go on living together,
ekeing out an unhappy and often tortured existence. What could be
worse? That which (for lack of a better term to apply to it) we call
the social evil is not confined to the scarlet woman of the streets. It
often exists in the best families of the land!
Among these people of the Northland, however, it is different. Both the
youth and the maiden know very well that at the end of the year there
is a possibility of either leaving the other. The result of this
knowledge is that from the very first they fall into the habit of
trying to please each other! And it is a habit they seldom outgrow. If
they find that they can _not_ please each other they are privileged to
separate,--in fact, are required to do so. They are not permitted to
remain together quarreling all their lives and ruining the family life
of the children who come to them. This, in my judgment, explains the
light-heartedness of the Eskimos. They are a happy people and the
parents never punish the children. Domesticity counts for much among
them. Home is sanctuary from the elements. They have little else,--but
they have each other! The manner in which they are forced to live for
so many months of the year, so closely confined, draws them very
closely together. I question whether what they lack, or what we imagine
they lack, does not matter less than we think. To me it seems that they
miss little of life's essential meaning. They do not have much, it is
true. They are often ill-fed. They are not intellectual. They are not
sentimental. They are just human! And although they may be for months
shut in by the icy blasts of winter they do not complain. Why? Because
no cold can penetrate the inner glow and warmth which is born of an
adequate comradeship!
The trial marriage permits the indulgence in one of their quaintest of
customs. No Eskimo maiden ever accepts a proposal of marriage.
Indifference to the attention of her admirer is the acme of good form!
I find that "keeping up appearances" is characteristic of humanity
whether the latter dwell on Greenland's icy mountain or India's coral
strand! And propinquity is and ever has been the most prolific parent
of love--at either the North Pole or the Equator. The "force" with
which the Eskimo youth of to-day seizes his bride by the hair to
"drag" her off to his igloo is altogether counterfeit, as is also the
attempt on the part of her family to "rescue" her. It is merely the
indulgence in one of their most ancient customs.
I have been much among the natives,--especially those who abide on my
island, and because of what I have seen of their family life I am
almost a convert to the system. As a rule the Eskimo makes a good
husband, willing to perform any labor, endure any hardship or suffer
any deprivation in order to procure food for his wife and children.
Many an Arctic man of my acquaintance has died for his family, and I am
often reminded when I think of them of the familiar lines:
"All love that hath not friendship for its base
Is like a mansion built upon the sand!
Love, to endure life's sorrow and earth's woe,
_Needs friendship's solid masonry below_!"
It is said that some one once asked Diogynes this question:
"At what age is it best for a man to marry?"
With the classical brevity of the Greeks he replied:
"In youth it is too soon,--in age too late!"
I disclaim any intention of offering a treatise on the subject of
marriage, but the investigation of this custom of the natives
unquestionably gave me a huge jolt! It turned my thoughts into a
channel which otherwise I might never have had occasion to explore.
Would that I could chart it! If only we could bring ourselves to regard
marriage as a profession and would set ourselves in a business-like way
to excelling in it! Could it in any way detract from its dignity? Or
its sacredness? Surely not. Medicine and surgery are professions. The
Law is a profession, and the Church. Diplomacy, legislation and arms
are professions. Marriage is the greatest of all professions,--and the
most difficult of any to master! One may master to a degree which
may be regarded as little short of perfection the other
professions,--music, art, oratory, etc. What man of to-day has the
conceit to regard himself as a well-nigh perfect husband?
That the rewards of marriage are incomparable is undeniable. Life's
journey, at best, is lonely. No man can deny that even though his daily
task may take him amidst the crowd he lives the greater part of his
life alone! A dear and close companionship is all that makes life
tolerable. Nothing else ever has, will or can. Fame is a delusion and a
snare. Ambition is a disease. Affectionate companionship and a home are
the only things worth having. Why not build a _home_ instead of a
house? Why not go about the process in a business-like way? Why not
make honor and loyalty fashionable and permit faithlessness to go out
of style?
One of America's foremost writers declares repeatedly throughout his
excellent novels that judgment has never yet entered into the selection
of a mate,--that sentiment and emotion alone decide the after life of
every couple who are wed. This is, unfortunately, true except in rare
cases. None would care to abolish wholly the electrical current which
flashes between the sexes. And yet----. Marriage entered into from a
sense of duty on both sides is not without its strong argument. He who
undertakes marriage because he regards it as both a duty and a
privilege, or solely from a sense of duty, who either actively or
passively selects a mate for no other reason, is very likely because of
that same sense of duty to fulfill his obligations faithfully and to
behave well. Nothing in all the earth is quite so fine as an active
conscience! For such a man life reserves some of her grandest hours.
The Golden Apples do not grow so far above the heads of any of us that
we can not reach out and gather them if we try! And he who follows the
path of duty will find his own apple quite as luscious and sweet at
the core as that of him who trod the flowery road of personal pleasure!
I am one of those who hope that with the end of the great World War a
new spirit of tolerance may spread its white wings over all the world
and that sooner or later some of the time-worn social rules and
regulations, archaic because designed for a civilization two thousand
years ago, may be abrogated or at least amended and modified. May the
day come when life shall be individual, when creed and dogma shall be
buried in a grave so deep that there shall be no possibility of a
Resurrection! When that nameless and indefinite thing known as Public
Opinion shall be forced to lower its threatening finger and lose its
power! When all men and all women shall enjoy the privilege of working
out, each for himself and herself, that most potent factor in the human
experience, namely, the personal relationship, and when we shall all
live saner, cleaner, healthier, happier and _more moral_ lives in
consequence!
Dr. William H. Dall, Paleontologist of the United States Geological
Survey and Honorary Curator of Mollusks at the National Museum at
Washington, D. C., has written the following charming verses about the
natives of Alaska. "Innuit" is the name by which the Eskimo calls
himself and his people from Greenland to Mt. St. Elias. The _topek_ is
the winter house of turf and walrus hide. In the igloo, or snow house,
there is no wood. All Innuit believe in evil spirits which are supposed
to dwell far inland, away from the shores. In times of starvation
Innuit ethics permit a mother to put her baby, when she can no longer
feed it, out in the snow to die. The child's mouth must be stuffed with
mud or grass. Otherwise its spirit will return and be heard crying
about the house at night.
THE SONG OF THE INNUIT
O, we are the Innuit people,
Who scatter about the floe
And watch for the puff of the breathing seal
While the whistling breezes blow.
By a silent stroke the ice is broke
And the struggling prey below
With the crimson flood of its spouting blood
Reddens the level snow.
O, we are the Innuit people,
Who flock to the broken rim
Of the Arctic pack where the walrus lie
In the polar twilight dim.
Far from the shore their surly roar
Rises above the whirl
Of the eager wave, as the Innuit brave
Their flying lances hurl.
O, we are the Innuit people
Who lie in the topek warm;
While the northern blast flies strong and fast
And fiercely roars the storm;
Recounting the ancient legends
Of fighting, hunting and play,
When our ancestors came from the southland tame
To the glorious Arctic day.
There is one sits by in silence
With terror in her eyes,
For she hears in dreams the piteous screams
Of a cast-out babe that dies--
Dies in the snow as the keen winds blow
And the shrieking northers come,--
On that dreadful day when the starving lay
Alone in her empty home.
O, we are the Innuit people,
And we lie secure and warm
Where the ghostly folk of the Nunatak
Can never do us harm.
Under the stretching walrus hide
Where at the evening meal
The well-filled bowl cheers every soul
Heaped high with steaming seal.
The Awful Folk of the Nunatak
Come down in the hail and the snow,
And slash the skin of the kayak thin
To work the hunter woe.
They steal the fish from the next day's dish
And rot the walrus lines--
But they fade away with the dawning day
As the light of summer shines.
O, we are the Innuit people
Of the long, bright Arctic day,
When the whalers come and the poppies bloom
And the ice-floe shrinks away;
Afar in the buoyant umiak
We feather our paddle blades
And laugh in the light of the sunshine bright,
Where the white man's schooner trades.
O, we are the Innuit people
Rosy and brown and gay;
And we shout as we sing of the wrestling ring
Or toss the ball at play.
In frolic chase we oft embrace
The waist of a giggling maid
As she runs on the sand of the Arctic strand
Where the ice-bears bones are laid.
O, we are the Innuit people,
Content in our northern home;
Where the kayak's prow cuts the curling brow
Of the breakers snowy foam.
The merry Innuit people,
Of the cold, gray Arctic sea,
Where the breathing whale, the Aurora pale
And the snow-white foxes be.
There is a diversity of opinion as to the ultimate fate of the native
races of the earth. To my mind there is but one answer. Search the wide
world over to-day and where will you find a wilderness? There are none
which the aggressive white man has not penetrated. And wherever the
white man enters the native man begins to disappear. It has always
been so, and it always will be so.
If only the white man would let them alone! Is it not better to have
the vast Arctic spaces people by a native race than to have it
unpeopled by anybody? The Eskimos live where no one else on earth can
or will live. They are a picturesque and harmless people. In their
struggle for existence they have fought valiantly. Surely they have
earned the right to exist unmolested, earned it bravely.