The land of the Eskimos is of very wide extent. From Greenland and Labrador they range over all the coasts of Arctic America to the extreme north-eastern point of Asia. Several of the Eskimo tribes are independent; others acknowledge the rule of Great Britain, Denmark, Russia, and more recently of the United States. The whaler meets with them on the shores of Baffin Bay, and in the icy sea beyond Behring Straits; the explorer has tracked them as far as Smith Sound, the highway to the North Pole; and while they descend as low as the latitude of Vienna, they rove as far north as the 81st and 82nd parallels. They are the aborigines of the deserts of ice and snow, the ancient masters of the Arctic wilderness, and all Polar America is their long-acknowledged domain. To a certain extent they are nomadic in their habits; compelled to migrate by the conditions of the climate in which they live, and forced to seek their scanty sustenance in a new locality when they have exhausted the capabilities of any chosen habitat. As Mr. Markham tells us, traces of former inhabitants are found throughout the gloomiest wastes of the Arctic regions, in sterile and silent tracts where now only solitude prevails. These wilds, it is known, have been uninhabited for centuries; yet they are covered with memorials of wanderers or of sojourners of a bygone age. Here and there, in Greenland, in Boothia, on the American coast, where life is possible, the descendants of former nomads are still to be found.

Arctic discovery, as yet, has stopped short at about 82° on the west coast, and 76° on the east, of Greenland. These two points are about six hundred miles apart. There have been inhabitants at both points, though they are separated by an uninhabitable interval from the settlements further south; we may conclude, then, that the terra incognita further north is also or has been inhabited. In 1818 it was discovered that a small tribe of Eskimos inhabited the bleak west coast of Greenland between 76° and 79° N. They could not penetrate to the south on account of the glaciers of Melville Bay; they could not penetrate to the north, because all progress in that direction is forbidden by the great Humboldt glacier; while the huge interior glacier of the Sernik-sook pent them in upon the narrow belt of the sea-coast. These so-called “Arctic Highlanders” number about one hundred and forty souls, and throughout the winter their precarious livelihood depends on the fish they catch in the open pools and water-ways. Under similar conditions, it is probable that Eskimo tribes may be existing still further north; or if, as geographers suppose, an open sea really surrounds the Pole, and a warmer atmosphere prevails, the conditions of their existence will necessarily be more favourable.

Before we come to speak of the characteristics of the Eskimos, we must briefly notice the Danish settlements in Greenland, which are gradually attracting no inconsiderable number of them within the bounds of civilization. These are dotted along the coast, like so many centres of light and life; but the most important, from a commercial point of view, are Upernavik, Jacobshav’n, and Godhav’n.

Upernavik is the chief town of a district which extends from the 70th to the 74th degree of north latitude, and enjoys the distinction of being the most northerly civilized region in the world. Its northern boundary represents the furthest advance of civilization in its long warfare against the Arctic climate.

The town of Upernavik is situated on the summit of a mossy hill which slopes to the head of a small but sheltered harbour. It contains a government-house, plastered with pitch and tar; a shop or two; lodging-houses for the Danish officials; some timber huts, inhabited by Danes; and a number of huts of stone and turf, intermingled with seal-skin tents, which accommodate the natives. Its principal evidences of civilization are its neat little church and parsonage.

The inhabitants are chiefly occupied in fishing and hunting, and in the manufacture of suitable clothing for the protection of the human frame against the winter cold. Reindeer, seal, and dog skins are deftly converted into hoods, jackets, trousers, and boots. The last-named are triumphs of ingenuity. They are made of seal-skin, which has been tanned by alternate freezing and thawing; are sewed with sinew, and “crimped” and fitted to the foot with equal taste and skill. Dr. Hayes informs us that the Greenland women, not exempt from the love of finery characteristic of their sex, trim their own boots in a perfectly bewitching manner, and adopt the gayest of colours. Red boots, or white, trimmed with red, he says, seemed most generally worn, though there was no more limit to the variety than to the capriciousness of the fancy which suggested it. And it would be difficult to imagine a more grotesque spectacle than is presented by the crowd of red, and yellow, and white, and purple, and blue-legged women who crowd the beach whenever a strange ship enters the harbour.

The population of Upernavik numbers now about two hundred and fifty souls; comprising some forty or fifty Danes, a larger number of half-breeds, the remainder being native Greenlanders,—that is, Eskimos.

In describing one Danish settlement we describe all, for they present exactly the same characteristics, the difference between them being only a question of population.

Jacobshav’n and Godhav’n are situated on the island of Disko, which is separated from the west coast of Greenland by Weygat Strait, and has been described as one of the most remarkable localities in the Arctic World. The tradition runs that it was translated from a southern region to its present position by a potent sorcerer; and an enormous hole in the rock is pointed out as the gully through which he passed his rope. It is a lofty island, and its coast is belted round by high trap cliffs, of the most imposing aspect. Near its south-west extremity, in lat. 69° S., a low rugged spur or tongue of granite projects into the sea for about a mile and a half,—a peninsula at low water, and an island at high water,—and forms the snug little recess of Godhav’n, or Good Harbour. To the north of the bay, in face of rocky cliffs, which rise perpendicularly from the sea to a height of 2000 feet, lies the town of the same name, which our English whalers know as Lievely, probably a corruption of the adjective lively; for the tiny colony is the metropolis of Northern Greenland; and since the beginning of the present century has been the favourite rendezvous of the fishing fleets and expeditions of discovery.

Further to the north lies Jacobshav’n, which possesses a celebrity of its own as one of the most ancient of the Moravian mission-stations in the north of Greenland. Besides a church, it boasts of a college for the education and training of natives who desire to be of service to their fellow-countrymen in the capacity of catechists or teachers. So great has been the industry, and so well deserved is the influence of the missionaries, that it is difficult now to find an Eskimo woman in this part of Greenland who cannot read and write. Prior to the Danish colonisation of Greenland, the language of the natives was exclusively oral. Only through the medium of speech could they represent their simplest ideas; and the picture-writing of the North American Indians was beyond their skill. But the missionaries have raised the Eskimo tongue into the rank of written languages. At Godthaab a printing-press is in full operation, and has already produced some very interesting historical narratives and Eskimo traditions.

As is the case with all the Greenland colonies, Jacobshav’n owes its prosperity to the seal-fishing. Moreover, the Greenland, or “right” whale, in its annual migrations southward, enters the neighbouring waters during the month of September, and furnishes employment to the fishing population.

In the neighbourhood of Jacobshav’n an enormous glacier, one of the offshoots of the great central mer de glace of Greenland, finds its way to the sea. Yet the temperature is said to be milder than at Godhav’n.

The following remarks apply, of course, to those Eskimos who still lead a nomadic life, and have profited little or nothing by the Christian civilization of the Danish settlements and Moravian missions.

Among themselves the Eskimos are known as Inuits, or “men;” the seamen of the Hudson Bay ships have long been accustomed to call them Seymos or Suckemos—names derived from the cries of Seymo or Teymo with which they hail the arrival of the traders; while the old Norsemen designated them, in allusion to their discordant shouts, or by way of expressing their infinite contempt, Skraelingers, “screamers” or “wretches.”

The European feels impelled to pity the hard fate which condemns them to inhabit one of the dreariest and most inhospitable regions of the globe, where only a few mosses and lichens, or plants scarcely higher in the scale of creation, can maintain a struggling existence; where land animals and birds are few in number; and where human life would be impossible but for the provision which the ocean waters so abundantly supply. As they live in a great degree upon fish and the cetaceans, they dwell almost always near the coast, and never penetrate inland to any considerable distance.

In the east the Eskimos, for several centuries, have been subjected to the civilizing influences of the English and the Dutch; in the west, they have long been under the iron rule of the Muscovite. In the north and the centre their intercourse with Europeans has always been casual and inconsiderable. It will therefore be understood that the different branches of this wide-spread race must necessarily exhibit some diversity of character, and that the same description of manners and mode of life will not in all points apply with equal accuracy to the savage and heathen Eskimos of the extreme northern shores and islands, the Greek Catholic Aleüts, the faithful servants of the Hudson Bay Company, and the disciples of the Moravian Brethren in Labrador or Greenland. Yet the differences are by no means important, and it may be doubted whether any other race, living under such peculiar conditions, and extending over so vast an area, can show so few and such inconsiderable specific varieties. When one thinks of an Eskimo, one naturally calls up a certain image to one’s mind: that of a man of moderate stature or under medium size, with a broad flat face, narrow tapering forehead, and narrow or more or less oblique eyes; and this image or type will be found to be realized throughout the length and breadth of Eskimo America. The Eskimo, generally speaking, would seem to have sprung from a Mongol stock; at all events, he can claim no kinship with the Red Indians. Happily for Europeans, if inferior to the latter in physical qualities, he is superior in generosity and amiability of disposition.

The Eskimos are sometimes spoken of as if they were dwarfs or Lilliputians, but such is not the case. They are shorter than the average Frenchman or Englishman, but individuals measuring from five feet ten inches to six feet have been found in Camden Bay. Dr. Kane speaks of Eskimos in Smith Strait who were fully a foot taller than himself. It is true of the females, however, that they are comparatively little.

The Eskimos are a stalwart, broad-shouldered race, considerably stronger than any other of the races of North America. In both sexes the hands and feet are small and well-shaped. Their muscles are strongly developed, owing to constant exercise in hunting the seal and the walrus. They are also powerful wrestlers, and on no unequal terms could compete with the athletic celebrities of Devon and Cornwall. Their physiognomy, notwithstanding its lack of beauty, is far from displeasing; its expression is cheerful and good-tempered, and the long winter night does not seem to sadden their spirits or oppress their energies. The females are well made, and though not handsome, are scarcely to be stigmatized as ugly. Their teeth are very white and regular; and their complexion is warm, clear, and good. It is true that it cannot be seen to advantage, owing to the layers of dirt by which it is obscured; but it is not much darker than a dark brunette, and as for the dirt—well, perhaps, it is preferable to cosmetics!

Even in the Arctic World, woman seems conscious of the influence of her charms, and man seems willing to recognize it. They plait their black and glossy hair—these Eskimo beauties!—with much care and taste; and they tattoo their forehead, cheeks, and chin with a few curved lines, which produce a not altogether unpleasant effect.

From Behring Straits eastward, as far as the river Mackenzie, the males pierce the lower lip near each angle of the mouth, in order to suspend to it ornaments of blue or green quartz, or of ivory, shaped like buttons. Some insert a small ivory quill or dentalium shell in the cartilage of the nose. They decorate themselves, moreover, with strings of glass beads; or when and where these cannot be obtained, with strings of the teeth of the musk-ox, wolf, or fox; hanging them to the tail of the jacket, or twining them round the waist like a girdle.

The influence of climate upon dress is a subject which we commend to the notice of art-critics and æsthetic philosophers. Within the Arctic Circle the problem to be solved is, how to obtain the greatest amount of protection for the person, without rendering the costume too heavy or cumbrous; and the Eskimos have succeeded in solving it satisfactorily. They can defy the rigour of the Arctic winter, its extreme cold, its severest gales, and pursue their avocations in the open air even in the dreariness of the early winter twilight, so cleverly adapted is their garb to the conditions under which they live. Their boots, made of seal-skin, and lined with the downy skins of birds, are thoroughly waterproof; their gloves are large, but defend the hands from frost-bite: they wear two pair of breeches, made of reindeer or seal-skin, of which the under pair has the close, warm, stimulating hair close to the flesh; and two jackets, of which the upper one is provided with a large hood, completely enveloping the head and face, all but the eyes. The women are similarly attired, except that their outer jacket is a little longer, and the hood, in which they carry their children, considerably larger; and that, in summer, they substitute for the skin-jacket a water-tight shirt, or kamleika, made of the entrails of the seal or walrus. They sew their boots so tightly as to render them impervious to moisture, and so neatly that they may almost be included in the category of works of art. In Labrador the women carry their infants in their boots, which have a long pointed flap in front for the purpose.

In a preceding chapter we have spoken incidentally of the Eskimo huts. These, like the Eskimo dress, are admirably adapted to the circumstances of the country and the nature of the climate. The materials used are either frozen snow, earth, stones, or drift-wood. The snow-hut is a dome-shaped edifice, constructed in the following manner:—

First, the builders trace a circle on the smooth level surface of the snow, and the snow gathered within the area thus defined is cut into slabs, and used for building the walls, leaving the ice underneath to serve as the flooring.

The crevices between the slabs, and any accidental fissures, are closed up by throwing a few shovelfuls of loose snow over the building. Two men are generally engaged in the work; and when the dome is completed, the one within cuts a low door, through which he creeps. As the walls are not more than three or four inches thick, they admit a soft subdued light into the interior, but a window of transparent ice is generally added. Not only the hut, but the furniture inside it, is made of snow; snow seats, snow tables, snow couches—the latter rendered comfortable by coverings of skins. To exclude the cold outer air, the entrance is protected by an antechamber and a porch; and for the purposes of intercommunication, covered passages are carried from one hut to another.

The rapidity with which these snow-huts are raised is quite surprising, and certainly affords a vivid illustration of the old saying that “practice brings perfection.” Captain M’Clintock for a few nails hired four Eskimos to erect a hut for his ship’s crew; and though it was twenty-four feet in circumference, and five and a half feet in height, it was erected in a single day.

Much ingenuity is frequently displayed in their construction.

Dr. Scoresby, in 1824, found some deserted huts on the east coast of Greenland, which showed no little constructive skill on the part of their builders.

A horizontal tunnel, about fifteen feet in length, and so low that a person entering it was compelled to crawl on his hands and knees, opened with one end to the south, while the other end terminated in the interior of the hut. This rose but slightly above the surface of the earth, and being generally overgrown with moss or grass, could scarcely be distinguished from the neighbouring soil. It resembled, indeed, a large ant-hill, or the work of a mammoth mole! In some cases the floor of the tunnel was on a level with that of the hut; but more frequently it slanted downwards and upwards, so that the colder, and consequently heavier, atmospheric air was still more completely prevented from mixing too quickly with the warmer air within. The other arrangements exhibited the same ingenuity in providing against the inconveniences of a rigorous climate.

From the huts of the Eskimos we pass to their boats.

The kayak or baidar is as good in its way as the light and swift canoe of the Polynesian islanders. It consists of a narrow, long, and light wooden framework, covered water-tight with seal-skin, with a central aperture for the body of the rower. Sometimes the frame is made of seal or walrus bone. The Eskimo takes his seat in his buoyant craft, with legs outstretched, and binds a sack—which is made from the intestines of the whale, or the skins of young seals—so tightly round his waist, that even in a rolling sea the boat remains water-tight. Dexterously and rapidly using his paddle, with his spear or harpoon before him, and preserving his equilibrium with marvellous steadiness, he darts over the waves like an arrow; and even if upset, speedily rights himself and his buoyant skiff. The oomiak, or woman’s boat, consists in like manner of a framework covered with seal-skins; but it is large enough to accommodate ten or twelve people, with benches for the women who row or paddle. The mast supports a triangular sail, made of the entrails of seals, and easily distended by the wind.

It has been observed that a similar degree of inventive and executive skill is displayed by the Eskimos in their spears and harpoons, their fishing and hunting implements. Their oars are tastefully inlaid with walrus teeth; they have several kinds of spears or darts, according to the character of the animal they intend to hunt; and their bows, with strings of seal-gut, are so strong and elastic as to drive a six-foot arrow a really considerable distance. The harpoons and spears used in killing whales or seals have long shafts of wood or bone, and the barbed point is so constructed that, when lodged in the body of an animal, it remains imbedded, while the shaft attached to it by a string is loosened from the socket, and acts as a buoy. Seal-skins filled with air, like bladders, are also employed as buoys for the whale-spears, being stripped from the animal with such address that all the natural apertures are easily made air-tight.

Fish-hooks, knives, and spear or harpoon heads, the Eskimos make of the horns and bones of the deer. In constructing their sledges, and roofing their huts, they have recourse to the ribs of the whale, when drift-wood is not available. Strips of seal-skin hide are a capital substitute for cordage, and cords for nets and bow-strings are manipulated from the sinews of musk-oxen and deer.

A strange and deadly antagonism prevails between the Eskimos and the Red Indians. On the part of the latter it would seem to originate in jealousy, for the Eskimos are superior in skill, social habits, general intelligence, personal courage, and strength; on the part of the former, in the necessity for self-defence and the provocations they have received from a sanguinary enemy.

Hence, the Indians inhabiting the borders of the Polar World seek every opportunity of surprising and massacring the inoffensive Eskimos. Hearne relates that, in the course of his expedition to the Coppermine River, the Indians who accompanied him obtained information that a party of Eskimos had raised their summer huts near the river-mouth. In spite of his generous efforts, they resolved on destroying the peaceful settlement. Stealthily they made their approach, and when the midnight sun touched the horizon, they swooped down, with a frightful yell, on their unfortunate victims, not one of whom escaped. With that love of torture which seems inherent in the Red Indian, they did their utmost to intensify and prolong the agonies of the sufferers; and one aged woman had both her eyes torn out before she received her death-blow. The scene where this cruel slaughter took place is known to this day as the “Bloody Falls.”

Dr. Kane supplies some interesting particulars of a party of Eskimos with whom he became acquainted during his memorable expedition. The intimacy began under unfavourable circumstances, for three of the party had been detected in a scandalous theft, had attempted to carry off their plunder, were pursued, overtaken, and punished. Soon afterwards, Metek, the head man or chief, arrived on the scene, and a treaty of peace was concluded.

On the part of the Inuit, or Eskimos, it ran as follows:—

“We promise that we will not steal. We promise we will bring you fresh meat. We promise we will sell or lend you dogs. We will keep you company whenever you want us, and show you where to find the game.”

On the part of the Kablunah, or white men, it ran as follows:—

“We promise that we will not visit you with death or sorcery, nor do you any hurt or mischief whatsoever. We will shoot for you on our hunts. You shall be made welcome aboard ship. We will give you presents of needles, pins, two kinds of knife, a hoop, three bits of hard wood, some fat, an awl, and some sewing-thread; and we will trade with you of these and everything else you want for walrus and seal meat of the first quality.”

The treaty, says Dr. Kane, was not solemnized by an oath; but it was never broken.

The Eskimo settlement at Anatoak, lat. 73° N, on the shore of Smith Strait, near Cape Inglefield, seems to merit description.

The hut or igloë was a single rude elliptical apartment, built not unskilfully of stone, the outside lined with sods. At its further end, a rude platform, also of stone, was raised about a foot above the entering floor. The roof was irregularly curved. It was composed of flat stones, remarkably large and heavy, arranged so as to overlap each other, but apparently without any intelligent application of the principle of the arch. The height of this cave-like abode barely permitted one to sit upright. Its length was eight feet, its breadth seven feet, and an expansion of the tunnelled entrance made an appendage of perhaps two feet more.

The true winter-entrance is called the tossut. It is a walled tunnel, ten feet long, and so narrow that a man can hardly crawl along it. It opens outside below the level of the igloë, into which it leads by a gradual ascent.

Thus the reader will see that the hut at Anatoak was constructed on the same principles as the huts discovered by Dr. Scoresby.

Time had done its work, says Dr. Kane, on the igloë of Anatoak, as among the palatial structures of more southern deserts. The entire front of the dome had fallen in, closing up the tossut, or tunnel, and forcing visitors and residents to enter at the solitary window above it. The breach was wide enough to admit a sledge-team; but the Eskimos showed no anxiety to close it up. Their clothes saturated with the freezing water of the floes, these men of iron gathered round a fire of hissing and flaring whale’s blubber, and steamed away in apparent comfort. The only departure from their usual routine was suggested probably by the open roof and the bleakness of the night; and therefore they refrained from stripping themselves naked before coming into the hut, and hanging up their dripping vestments to dry, like a votive offering to the god of the sea.

Their kitchen implements were remarkable for simplicity. “A rude saucer-shaped cup of seal-skin, to gather and hold water in, was the solitary utensil that could be dignified as table-furniture. A flat stone, a fixture of the hut, supported by other stones just above the shoulder-blade of a walrus,—the stone slightly inclined, the cavity of the bone large enough to hold a moss-wick and some blubber; a square block of snow was placed on the stone, and, as the hot smoke circled round it, the seal-skin saucer caught the water that dripped from the edge. They had no vessel for boiling; what they did not eat raw they baked upon a hot stone. A solitary coil of walrus-line, fastened to a movable lance-head (noon-ghak), with the well-worn and well-soaked clothes on their backs, completed the inventory of their effects.”

The Eskimos entertained Dr. Kane and his companions with a choral performance, singing their rude, monotonous song of “Amna Ayah” till the unfortunate white men were almost maddened by the discord. They improvised, moreover, a special chant in their honour, which they repeated with great gravity of utterance, invariably concluding with the sonorous and complimentary refrain of “Nalegak! nalegak! nalegak-soak!”—“Captain! captain! great captain!” The chant ran as follows:—

[[Listen]

In the early spring the Eskimos resume their hunting expeditions, and their snow-covered huts are transformed into scenes of the liveliest activity. Stacks of jointed meat, chiefly walrus, are piled upon the ice-foot; the women stretch the hide for sole-leather, and the men collect a store of harpoon-lines for the winter. Tusky walrus heads stare at the spectacle from the snowbank, where they are stowed for their ivory; the dogs are tethered to the ice; and the children, each one armed with the curved rib of some big walrus or seal, play ball and bat among the snow-drifts.

The quantity of walrus meat which the Eskimos accumulate during a season of plenty should certainly raise them above all risk of winter want; but other causes than improvidence render their supplies scanty. They are never idle; they hunt incessantly without the loss of a day. When the storms prevent the use of the sledge, they occupy themselves in stowing away the spoils of previous hunts. For this purpose they dig a pit either on the mainland, or, which is preferred, on an island inaccessible to foxes, and the jointed meat is stacked inside, and covered with heavy stones.

The true explanation of the scarcity from which these people so frequently suffer is the excessive consumption in which they indulge during the summer season. By their ancient laws all share in common; and since they migrate in numbers when their necessities press them, the tax on each separate settlement is excessive. The quantity which the members of a family consume seems excessive to a stranger; yet it is not the result of inconsiderate gluttony, but due to their peculiarities of life and organization. In active exercise, and under the influence of exposure to a severe temperature, the waste of carbon must be enormous.

When in-doors, and at rest, engaged upon their ivory harness-rings, fowl-nets, or other household gear, they eat, as many eat in more civilized lands, for mere animal enjoyment, and to pass away the time. But when engaged in the chase, they take but one meal a day, and that not until the day’s labour is ended. They go out upon the ice without breakfast, and seldom eat anything until their return. Dr. Kane estimates the average ration of an Eskimo in a season of plenty at eight to ten pounds of meat a day, with soup and water to the extent of half a gallon. Such an allowance might almost have satisfied the appetite of Gargantua!

Dr. Hayes, in the course of his adventurous Arctic boat-journey, held much intercourse with the Eskimos, and his impressions, on the whole, would seem to have been highly favourable.

His sketch of a couple whom he met in the neighbourhood of the Eskimo colony of Netlik is very amusing.

He describes them as a most unhuman-looking pair. Everything on and about them told of the battle they fought so gallantly and patiently with the elements. From head to foot they were invested in a coat of ice and snow. Shapeless lumps of whiteness, they resembled the snow-kings or statues which boys delight in making, except that they possessed the faculty of motion. Their long, heavy fox-skin coats, reaching nearly to the knees, and surmounted by a hood, covering, like a round lump, all of the head but the face, the bear-skin pantaloons and boots and mittens were saturated with snow. Their long, black hair, which fell from beneath their hoods over their eyes and cheeks, their eyelashes, the few hairs growing upon their chins, the rim of fur around their faces, all glittered with white frost—the frozen moisture of their breath. Each carried in his right hand a whip, and in his left a lump of frozen meat and blubber. The meat they flung down on the floor of Dr. Hayes’ hut; then, without pausing for an invitation, they thrust their whipstocks under the rafters, and divesting themselves of their mittens and outer garments, hung them thereon. Underneath their frosty coats they wore a warm, close shirt of bird-skins.

In the same bold explorer’s narrative of his voyage of discovery in 1860, two other Eskimos figure very conspicuously; and one of these, named Hans, would seem to have been a very fair type of the Eskimo character. Hans, we may observe, had originally served in Dr. Kane’s expedition, and had then gained the confidence of Dr. Hayes; so that when the latter undertook his own memorable voyage, he became anxious to secure the Eskimo’s services.

When his ship had crossed Melville Bay, and lay in the grim shadows of Cape York, Dr. Hayes bethought himself of the Eskimo hunter. He remembered to have heard that Hans had fallen in love, and taken a wife, and repaired, with her at his side, to share the fortunes of the wild Eskimos who inhabit the remote northern shores of Baffin Bay.

But Dr. Hayes felt confident that the hunter, having known something of the superior comfort and happiness of the social life of civilization, would soon weary of his voluntary banishment, and of the penury and hardships of the existence of the Eskimo nomads. He made up his mind that Hans would return to Cape York, and there take up his residence, in the hope of being picked up by some passing ship.

So Dr. Hayes stood close in-shore, to find that his conjectures were completely realized. As he sailed along the coast he discovered a group of human beings eagerly endeavouring by signs and gestures to attract attention. Heaving the schooner to, he and his second in command, Mr. Sountag, went ashore in a boat, and there was Hans! The Eskimo recognized both of them immediately, and called them by name.

We may adopt the remainder of Dr. Hayes’ interesting little episode, because it illustrates the ingrained selfishness, or self-concentration, of the Eskimo character.

Hans had deteriorated greatly during his residence with the wild Eskimos, and he had sunk to their level of filthy ugliness. He was accompanied by his wife, who carried her first-born in a hood upon her back; his wife’s brother, a quick-eyed boy of twelve years; and his wife’s mother, “an ancient dame with voluble and flippant tongue.” They were all attired in the usual Eskimo dress of skins; objects of interest and curiosity, but not “things of beauty.”

Hans led his visitors, over rough rocks and through deep drifts of snow, to his rude hut, which stood on the cold hill-top, about two hundred feet above the sea-level. An excellent position for a “look-out,” but as inconvenient for a hunter as can well be imagined. Here he had watched and waited for many a dreary month; surveying the sea day after day, in the faint hope of discovering some European vessel. But none came; summer passed into winter, and winter lengthened into summer; and still Hans watched and waited, yearning after his southern home and the friends of his youth.

His tent—for it was rather a tent than a hut—was made of seal-skins, and its capacity was scarcely sufficient to accommodate his little family.

Dr. Hayes asked him if he would accompany the expedition.

“Yes.”

Would he take his wife and baby?

“Yes.”

Would he go without them?

“Yes.”

This last answer reveals the curious unimpressionableness of the Eskimo, who endures with calmness, nay, even with indifference, those partings which try the heartstrings of the European. It is, perhaps, a result of the constant warfare he maintains against an uncongenial and austere Nature that he comes to regard himself as his first and chief, as almost his only concern. So long as his wife and children surround him, he shows no evident want of affection; but he has no objection to part from them, if the separation will prove to his individual interest.

As Dr. Hayes had no leisure to examine critically into the state of his mind, and as he cherished a conviction that the permanent separation of husband and wife was to be regarded as a painful event, he determined on giving the Eskimo mother the benefit of this conventional suspicion. Both husband and wife, therefore, were carried on board the schooner, as well as their baby, their tent, and all their household goods. The bright-eyed boy and the ancient dame cried to accompany them; but Dr. Hayes had no further room, and was compelled to leave them to the care of their tribe, who, about twenty in number, had discovered the schooner, and with a merry shout had come across the hill. After bestowing upon them some useful gifts, Dr. Hayes returned to his vessel.

He adds that Hans was the only unconcerned person in the party. At a later period the thought crossed his commander’s mind that he would by no means have been displeased had wife and child been left to the charity of their savage kin: while Dr. Hayes had abundant reason, during the course of the expedition, to wish that he had left the selfish and indolent Eskimo to linger in his seal-skin tent among the hills and rocks of Cape York.

The same traveller describes the hunting equipment of a party of Eskimos setting out in pursuit of bears.

First, the dogs. These were picketed, each team separately, on a convenient area of level ground; and on the approach of Dr. Hayes and his companions they sprang up from the knotted heap, in which they had been lying through the night, with a wild, fierce yell, which died away into a low whine and impatient snarl. They evidently were hungry, and their masters seemed desirous of feeding them; for, going to their sledges, each one brought up a flat piece of something which looked singularly like plate-iron, but, upon examination, was found to be walrus-hide, three-quarters of an inch thick, and frozen intensely hard. Throwing it upon the snow a few feet in advance of their respective teams, they drew their knives from their capacious boots, and attempted to cut up the skin; but its hardness defied all their efforts, and Dr. Hayes had to fetch hatchet and saw before the work of division could be completed.

During the few minutes thus occupied, the dogs had become almost frantic. They endeavoured to break loose; pulling on their traces, running back and springing forward, straining and choking themselves until their eyes shot fire, and the foam flew from their mouths. The sight of food had stimulated their wolfish passions, and they seemed ready to eat each other. Not a moment passed that two or more of them were not flying at each other’s throats, and, grappling together, rolled, and tossed, and tumbled over the snow.

The Eskimos looked on apparently unconcerned, except when there appeared a risk of one of the dogs being injured, and then they secured a temporary calm by uttering an angry nasal “Ay! Ay!”

When at length the food was thrown, the dogs uttered a greedy scream, which was followed by a moment’s silence while the pieces were falling, then by a scuffle, and the hard, frozen chunks had vanished. How they were swallowed, or how they were digested, was, to the spectator, inexplicable! Enough to say that “the jaws of darkness did devour them up,” and calm instantaneously succeeded to the storm.

The Eskimo dog is of medium size, and squarely built; in fact, he is a reclaimed wolf, and exhibits that variety of colour which, after a few generations, generally characterizes tame animals. Gray, which is often seen, was probably at one time the predominating colour. Some of the dogs are black, with white breasts; some are wholly white; others are reddish or yellowish; but, indeed, almost every shade may be seen amongst them. Their skin is covered with a coarse, compact fur, and is much valued by the natives for the purposes of clothing. In the form of the animals the variety is considerable; but the general characters would seem to be a pointed nose, short ears, a cowardly, treacherous eye, and a hanging tail. But exceptions occasionally occur, and one figures in Dr. Hayes’ narrative under the name of Toodlamik, or, more briefly, Toodla.

He differed from his kind in having a more compact head, a less pointed nose, an eye denoting affection and reliance, and an erect, bold, fearless carriage. Dr. Hayes, however, expresses some doubt as to his purity of blood. From the beginning to the end of the cruise he was master of all the dogs that were brought to the ship. In this connection it is worthy of remark, that in every pack one dog invariably attains the mastership of the whole—a kind of major-generalship; and in each team, one who is master of his comrades, a general of brigade. Once master, always master; but the post of honour is gained at the cost of many a lame leg and ghastly wound, and is held only by doing daily battle against all comers. These could easily gain the ascendancy in every case, but for their own petty jealousies, which often prevent their union for such a purpose. If a combination, however, does happen to be brought about, and the leader is hopelessly beaten, he is never worth anything afterward; his spirit is completely prostrated, the poor fellow pines away, and dies at last of a broken heart.

Toodla, says Dr. Hayes, was a character in his way. He was a tyrant of no mean pretension. Apparently he thought it his special duty to attack every dog, great or small, that was added to the pack: if the animal was a large one, in order, probably, that he might at once be forced to feel that he had a master; if a small one, in order that the others might hold him in the greater awe. It was sometimes quite amusing to see him set off in pursuit of a strange dog, his head erect, his tail curled gracefully over his back; slowly and deliberately he went straight at his mark, with the confident, defiant air of one who recognizes the power and importance of his office. Leagues and conspiracies were not unfrequently formed against him, induced, no doubt, by a feeling of despair; but he always succeeded in overthrowing them,—not, it is true, without occasional assistance from “without;” for the sailors, who petted him greatly, would sometimes take his part when the struggle was manifestly unequal.

But we must leave the dogs, and turn to the sledge.

This was, in very truth, an ingenious specimen of native mechanical skill. It was made wholly of bone and leather. The runners, which were square behind and rounded upward in front, and about five feet long, seven inches high, and three-fourths of an inch thick, were slabs of bone; not solid, but made up of a number of pieces of various shapes and sizes, dexterously fitted and tightly lashed together. Some of these were not larger than one’s two fingers; some were three or four inches square; others were as large as one’s hand, and triangular in shape; others, again, were several inches in length, and two or three in breadth. They all fitted into their several places as exactly as the blocks of a Chinese puzzle. Near their margins ran rows of little holes, and through these strings of seal-skin were inserted, by which the blocks were fastened together, until the whole was as firm as a board.

The marvel of the thing is that all these pieces are flattened and cut into the required shape, not with nicely contrived instruments and tools, but with stones. The labour must be immense. The grinding needed to make a single runner must be the work of months. The construction of an entirely new sledge would probably occupy the lifetime of a generation; and hence a vehicle of this kind becomes a family heirloom, and is handed down from father to son, and son to grandson, and is constantly undergoing repair and restoration; a new piece here, another there, until as little remains of the original structure as of the sailor’s old knife, when it had had a new blade and a new handle! The origin of some of the Eskimo sledges is lost in the mists of a remote antiquity.

The runners are usually shod with ivory from the tusk of the walrus. The said ivory had likewise been ground flat, and its corners made square, with stones; and it was fastened to the runner by a string looped through two counter-sunk holes. The pieces of which it was composed were numerous; but the surface was wonderfully uniform, and as smooth as glass.

The runners stood about fourteen inches apart, and were fastened together by bones, tightly lashed to them; the bones used being the femur of the bear, the antlers of the reindeer, and the ribs of the narwhal. Two walrus-ribs, lashed one to the after-end of each runner, served as upstanders, and were braced by a piece of reindeer antler, secured across the top.

Having thus disposed of the team and the sledge, we now come to the equipment.

First, one of the Eskimo hunters spread a piece of seal-skin over the sledge, fastening it securely by little strings attached to its margin. On this he placed a small piece of walrus-skin, as a provision for the dogs; a piece of blubber for fuel; and of meat for his own lunch. During his absence he would cook no food, but he would want water; and therefore he carried his kotluk, or lamp—namely, a small stone dish; a lump of mannek or dried moss, designed for the wick; and some willow-blossoms (na-owinals) for tinder. To ignite the tinder, he had a piece of iron-stone and a small sharp fragment of flint.