THE DYING ESQUIMO.
CHRISTMAS and New Year's (1861) were not forgotten as holidays by the
sojourners in the regions of cold and ice. Mr. Hall gave his friend
Tookoolito a Bible as a memento of December twenty-fifth. She was much
pleased, and at once spelled out on the title-page, _Holy Bible_.
Mr. Hall having heard that an Esquimo named Nukerton was seriously sick,
invited Tookoolito to visit her with him. Sitting down with the sick
one, with Tookoolito as an interpreter, Mr. Hall spoke to her of Jesus
and the resurrection, while many of her friends stood listening with
intense interest. Tookoolito bent over her sick friend weeping, and
continued the talk about God, Christ, and heaven, after Mr. Hall had
ceased.
Mr. Hall visited the sick one daily, administering to her bodily and
spiritual wants. Going to see her on the fourth of January, he found
that a new snow-hut had been built for the dying one, and her female
friends had carried her into it, opening, to pass her in, a hole on the
back side. It was at once her dying chamber and her tomb. For this
purpose it was built in conformity to the Esquimo usage. He found
Nukerton in her new quarters of stainless snow, on a bed of snow
covered with skins, happy at the change though she knew that she had
been brought there to die, _and to die alone_, as was the custom of her
people. Mr. Hall proposed to carry her to die on board the ship. But
even Tookoolito objected to this. It was better she should die alone;
such was the custom of their fathers. Mr. Hall remained to watch alone
with the dying one, but, on his leaving her igloo to do an errand at a
neighboring tent, her friends sealed up its entrance. He threw back the
blocks of snow piled against it and crept in. Nukerton was not dead; she
breathed feebly; the lamp burned dimly, and the cold was intense; the
solemn stillness of the midnight hour had come; sound of footsteps were
heard, and a rustling at the entrance. Busy hands were fastening it up,
not knowing, perhaps, that Mr. Hall was within. "Stop! stop!" he
shouted, and all was silent as the grave. "Come in!" he again said.
Koodloo, Nukerton's cousin, and a woman came in. They remained a few
moments and left. Mr. Hall was alone again, and remained until the
spirit of the dying woman departed. He gently closed her eyes, laid out
the body as if for Christian burial, closed up the igloo, and departed.
Mr. Hall knew cases, later in his stay with this people, in which the
dying were for some time alone before the vital spark was extinguished.
The only attendance that the sick have is the howling and mummery of the
Angekoks, who are sometimes women. They give no medicine.
Mr. Hall made several sledge excursions with his Innuit friends. One to
Cornelius Grinnell Bay was full of thrilling incidents, of storms, of
perils by the breaking up suddenly of the ice on which he had encamped,
and one showing the wolfish rapacity of Esquimo dogs. He also had a bear
chase and capture. But these, though full of exciting interest, are
similar to those of other explorers, already related. The Esquimo
themselves, with all their knowledge of the ice and storms, have many
desperate adventures. A party of them was once busily engaged in
spearing walrus, when the floe broke up and they went out to sea, and
remained three months on their ice-raft! The walrus were plenty, and
they had a good time of it, and returned safely.
We have given our readers an incident relating to Mr. Hall's dog,
Barbekark--a not very creditable incident, it will be remembered, so far
as that dog's discernment of moral right is concerned. But then we must
remember that heathen dogs are not supposed to know much in that
respect. Barbe, as we will call him for shortness, appears again in our
story in a way which shows that he was very knowing about some matters
at least.
One day, at nine in the morning, a party of the ship's company, attended
by the native Koojesse, started for an excursion into Frobisher Bay.
When well out of sight of the vessel a blinding storm arose, making
farther progress both difficult and dangerous. Koojesse counseled an
immediate construction of a snow-hut, and a halt until the storm
subsided, which was the right thing to do. But the white leader ordered
a return march. The dogs, as they generally will with a fierce wind
blowing in their face, floundered about in reckless insubordination.
Their leader, a strong animal, finally assumed his leadership, and
dragged them for a while toward some islands just appearing in sight.
But Barbe set back in his harness, pricked up his ears, and took a
deliberate survey of the situation. To be sure he could _see_ only a few
rods in any direction, but his mind was made up. He turned his head away
from the islands, and drew with such vigor and decision that all, both
men and dogs, yielded to his guidance. Through the drifts, and in the
face of bewildering clouds of snow which darkened their path, he brought
the party straight to the ship! A few hours more of exposure and all
would have perished.
Young Barbe was a brave hunter as well as skillful guide. On a bright
morning in March, the lookout on the deck of the "Henry" shouted down
the gangway that a herd of deer were in sight. Immediately the
excitement of men and dogs was at fever-heat. The dogs, however, did not
get the news until Koojesse had crept out, and from behind an island had
fired upon the deer. His ball brought down no game, but the report of
the gun called out Barbe with the whole pack of wolfish dogs at his
heels, in full pursuit of the flying, frightened deer. The fugitives
made tortuous tracks, darting behind the islands, now this way, and
then off in another direction. But Barbe struck across their windings
along the straight line toward the point at which they were aiming,
while the rest of the dogs followed their tracks, and so fell behind.
Koojesse returned to the vessel, the hope which just now was indulged of
a venison dinner was given up, and the affair was nearly forgotten,
except that some anxiety was felt lest the dogs should come to harm in
their long and reckless pursuit.
About noon Barbe came on board having his mouth and body besmeared with
blood. He ran to this one, and then to that, looking beseechingly into
their faces, and then running to the gangway stairs, where he stopped
and looked back, as much as to say, "An't you coming? Do come, I'll show
you something worth seeing!" His strange movements were reported to Mr.
Hall in the cabin, but being busy writing he took no notice of it. One
of the men having occasion to go toward the shore Barbe followed him,
but finding that he did not go in the right direction he whined his
disappointment, and started out upon the floe, and then turned and said
as plainly as a dog could speak, "Come on; this is the way!"
A party from the ship determined now to follow. Barbe led them a mile
northward, then, leaving them to follow his foot-prints in the snow, he
scampered off two miles in a western direction. This brought the men to
an island, under the shelter of which they found the dogs. Barbe was
sitting at the head of a slaughtered deer, and his companions squatting
round as watchful sentinels. The deer's throat had been cut with Barbe's
teeth, the jugular vein being severed as with a knife. The roots of the
tongue, with bits of the windpipe, had been eaten, the blood sipped up,
but nothing more. Several crows were pecking away at the carcass
unforbidden by Barbe, who petted crows as his inferiors.
Barbe wagged his tail and shook his head as the men came up, and said in
expressive dog-language, "See here, now! didn't I tell you so!"
The disturbed and blood-stained snow around showed that the deer had
fought bravely. One of his legs was somewhat broken in the bloody
conflict, which incident might have determined Barbe's victory.
The men skinned the deer, and bore the skin and dissected parts to the
vessel.