DOG TEAM AND SLEDGE.
WHEN he was three years old, our little northern cousin had his first
and only pets. They were two little puppies left without any mother.
They looked like baby wolves with their sharp, pointed noses, erect
ears, and furry backs; but they were very cunning, and amused their
little master all day long. When night came they crept under the heavy
covers, and lay close to Etu's feet while he slept, keeping him as warm
and comfortable as he could possibly desire to be.
But, like all other pets, these puppies _would_ grow up, and then their
work in life began as well as Etu's. They must be trained to draw a
sledge, for they must be able to carry their young master on long
journeys over the snowy plains.
Etu's mother made him some reins to be fastened to the dogs' necks.
She placed the ends in the hands of her little boy, who sat on the
platform, holding a whip. He must learn to manage the team, he must
teach the dogs to obey his voice, to move to the right or the left, as
he directed; in short, to understand that he was truly their master.
Every new birthday two more dogs were given to Etu, and it became his
duty to feed and train them to be in readiness when he was old enough
to hunt with his father.
Do not imagine for a moment that this was an easy matter. No white man
has ever yet, I believe, found himself able to manage a pack of Eskimo
dogs. Each one is fastened to the sledge by a single cord, and, as they
hurry onward at the sound of their master's voice, it seems as though
there were the most dreadful confusion. One dog, wiser and cleverer
than the rest, is always chosen as the leader; his rein is a little
longer than the others. He is always the one that listens most closely
to the directions given, turning his head backward from time to time
to look at his master, and make sure that he is right. Then onward he
dashes, the other dogs following close at his heels.
[Illustration: "ETU HAD BECOME QUITE SKILFUL"]
Etu spent some time in deciding which dog was the best out of his own
pack, but when he was quite sure of Vanya's strength and brightness he
gave him the greatest care and attention of all.
But the whip! It was far harder to learn its use than to master all his
other lessons. The handle was only six inches long, while the lash was
at least sixteen feet. To throw it out and then bring it back without
letting it become entangled among the legs of two or three dogs was a
difficult task. But to be sure of striking only the one for whom it
was intended, was a far harder thing to learn. Even when Etu had become
quite skilful, it seemed as though every time he rode away he must come
home with at least one broken bone. For as the dogs gradually gained in
speed, and one or another received a stroke of the whip to remind him
of his duty, he would jump wildly around. Perhaps he would upset two
or three others in an instant. Then there would be such a yelping, and
such a breaking of reins would follow, it seemed impossible for Etu to
straighten them out again, and harder still it must have been for him
to keep his seat, and not be thrown off.
But the boy loves the work, and nothing pleases him more than to be
sent twenty miles to a neighbouring village on an errand for his father.
In the winter season, when the dogs are not working, they are sometimes
allowed to stay in the passageway leading to the house. And you
already know that they try again and again to make their way inside.
The burning lamp gives such pleasant warmth, and the smell of the seal
or reindeer meat is so tempting that they are willing to run the chance
of the blows they are almost sure to get for being so daring.
They are warmly clothed, however, and can bear the most terrible
weather without harm coming to them. Beneath the long hair a heavy soft
wool grows in the winter time, and protects their bodies from the icy
cold.
It is Etu's duty to feed all the dogs of the household. It does not
take a great amount of his time, for the poor hard-working creatures
have only one meal in two days! If there is danger of a famine, and
provisions are scarce, they are fed but once in three days. This is
during the winter, moreover, for in summer they are expected to provide
for themselves, getting fish from the shallow beds of the rivers,
killing birds as they alight on the shore, catching baby seals, and
getting reindeer moss or lichens from the rocks.
It is fun to watch Etu on feeding day. He gathers the dogs around him
in a wide circle, and tosses first to one, then to another, his strip
of sealskin. If a dog moves from his place or jumps out of turn to
receive his food, he is only rewarded by a lash of the whip, instead of
the longed-for meat. So by long experience they have learned to wait
patiently.
These Eskimo dogs must have wonderful stomachs to digest the tough food
on which they live. It is simply impossible to chew the strips of skin,
so they are swallowed whole. Sometimes a young dog chokes over his hard
work, and coughs up his precious bit, only to have it snatched away
from him by one of his neighbours.
We feel like pitying these dogs of the cold lands. They are deeply
devoted to their masters, yet a word of kindness is rarely spoken to
them. Their work is hard, and their food is scant. In winter they must
draw the sledges, and in summer, as their masters travel from place to
place, they are laden with heavy packs which they carry cheerfully.
This reminds me that when Etu played "horse" in his early days, it
wasn't _horse_, after all; it was _dog_, instead, for the Eskimo dog is
the only horse of the far north.
When Etu was old enough to drive a team of a dozen dogs, he had reached
his tenth birthday. His father said to him then:
"Now, Etu, you are old enough to make your own sledge. You have often
helped me, but now you are able to do the work alone."
Our little cousin set manfully to work at once. It was so nice to think
of having a sledge for his very own, and one that he had made himself,
too. It was not a very hard task, once he had gathered his materials
together. The jawbones of a whale were used for the framework and
runners. Sealskin was fitted over this framework, and a little seat
made from which Etu's legs hung over in front when he was driving.
"But will the bone runners travel swiftly enough over the snow?" some
one asks.
"Not unless they are properly iced," Etu would answer.
Every time the boy starts out on a journey, he must prepare the runners
afresh by squirting water upon them from his mouth. A coating of smooth
ice is formed almost instantly, which will last for a short distance.
Then it must be renewed.
Soon after Etu's sledge was completed, he was sent by his father to
look for seal-holes along the coast. It was a bright, clear day, and,
although it was fifty degrees below zero, the boy enjoyed his ride; he
had no thought of cold, as there was only a slight wind blowing.
He journeyed on and on, his bright eyes watching for signs of seals
beneath the snow-covered ice. He did not realise how far he was from
home. He was many miles away, when a strong wind suddenly arose. How it
cut his cheeks and bit his nose! He knew he must turn back at once or
he might be overcome.
Brave boy as he was, there would keep entering his mind the thought of
a neighbour who was frozen while travelling in just such weather. When
his sledge arrived at his own doorway, there sat the man in his seat,
straight and stiff; but the reins were tightly held in dead hands. The
dogs had kept on their way unharmed, while the driver gradually lost
all knowledge of them, and of this world.
Etu put his gloved hand to his nose again and again, to make sure it
was all right; it was such an easy thing for it to freeze without his
knowledge. And now his hands began to grow numb, and then his feet,
although he often sprang from his sledge to run with the dogs and jump
in the snow.
Ah, that icy wind! Would it never stop? The boy's eyes became blinded,
and at last he thought:
"It is of no use. I don't care very much, anyway. I begin to feel so
queer and stupid. What does it mean?"
That was the last he knew till he awoke in his own home to find his
mother bending over him; she was rubbing him with balls of snow, and
looking very, very anxious. How the blood tingled through his body, as
it began to move freely once more! But he was safe now, and could no
longer feel the terrible wind blowing against him.
It was a narrow escape for Etu. It was well for him that he was within
a mile of the village when he lost the power to think. The dogs kept on
their way, and brought him quickly to his own home.