AN ESKIMO CHRISTMAS.
NOT long after this Etu's people celebrated a festival. It was about
Christmas time, but the boy had never heard of our own great holiday.
Yet his own Christmas always means very much to him.
All the people of the village met together on a certain evening in
Etu's home. The medicine-man was there, and made a sort of prayer.
He prayed that all might go well with the people during the coming
year. This medicine-man is the priest as well as the doctor among the
Eskimos. After the prayer there was a feast. The hunters had done their
best, and had managed to get a good supply of seal meat on hand.
The next day after the feast, men, women, and children gathered
together in a circle in the open air. A vessel of water had been placed
in their midst. Each one brought a piece of meat with him. No one spoke
while it was being eaten, but each thought of his good spirit, and
wished for good things. Then each in turn took a drink of water from
the vessel. As he did so he spoke, telling when and where he was born.
When this ceremony was over, all threw presents to each other. They
believed they would receive good things from the good spirits if they
were generous at this time.
Soon after this festival came New Year's. This, too, was a strange
celebration.
Two men, one of them dressed as a woman, went from hut to hut blowing
out the flame in each lamp. It must be lighted from a fresh fire.
The people believe there is a new sun in the heavens at the beginning
of each new year. They think they ought to picture this great change in
their own homes.
The year was a moon old, as Etu would say, when one day he was out
hunting for seal-holes with his father. They brought a pack of dogs
along with them. These had just been loosened for a run when they
darted off as though they had found a fresh scent. They rushed toward a
great bank of snow on the side of a high rock.
Surely it was no seal-hole they had discovered. The small opening on
the surface of the snow showed that it was the breathing-place of
a polar bear. The mother bear eats vast quantities of food at the
beginning of winter; then she seeks a sheltered spot at the foot of
some rock, and begins her long rest. The snow falls in great drifts
over her. This makes a warm, close house. Does it seem as though she
must die for want of air? There is no danger of this, for the breath
from her great body thaws enough snow around her to form a small room.
It also makes a sort of chimney through the snow, to the air above.
The baby bear is born in this house of snow, and there he stays with
his mother till old enough to hunt for himself.
It was the home of a mother bear, then, that the dogs had discovered.
They were wildly excited, for Eskimo dogs are no cowards. They love a
bear hunt hugely. They rushed upon the opening and quickly pushed away
the snow. Etu and his father stood on the watch for the mother bear and
her cub to appear. They were as much excited as the dogs, but stood
with spears in hand, perfectly still.
Look out now! for here they come. What a tiny little thing the baby
bear is! It is like a little puppy. It would be easy to end its life,
but Etu knows that would not be safe. It would make the mother a
hundred times more dangerous.
The great creature looks now in one direction, now in another. It would
not be hard for her to escape; but she will not leave her cub. So she
rushes madly toward Etu's father. The dogs jump around her, biting at
her heels. She does not seem even to notice them. Look at the long
sharp teeth as she opens her mouth for a spring upon the man. One blow
of her paws would knock him senseless. But he does not fear. He jumps
to one side and dodges the blow. At the same time, he strikes at her
throat with his long spear.
The blood gushes forth and she staggers. However, she shakes herself
together with a great effort and rises on her hind legs to strike
again. The pack of dogs surround her and keep biting at her legs, but
the man would not be able to escape if Etu did not suddenly come up
behind. He plunges his own spear far into her side. She gives one
fearful groan and falls to the ground. No hunter will ever be troubled
by her again.
The poor little cub runs to its mother's side, giving piteous cries.
But no one is left now to pity and love it, so its life is mercifully
and quickly ended. The men and dogs are soon on their homeward way.
They must get sledges and go back quickly for the bodies of the two
bears. Suppose that while they were gone another party of Eskimos
should come along, need they fear their prey would be stolen? The
thought does not enter their heads, for such a thing has never been
known to happen among their people. They are honest in all ways, and
would not touch that which they believe to be another's.