CHAPTER XIII.
O
OUR midwinter trip for the mail was a chapter in our icy history never to be forgotten. We made the next fifteen miles to the Indian Igloo in good time. Cox and I slept in the igloo, but the rest in the tent. The fourth day we made the last fifteen miles to the Kotzebue Camp, where the sled and mail had been left. Besides the mail, there were two pipes about twenty feet long and weighing perhaps one hundred pounds each. Then there were our blankets and extra clothes and dog food, bringing the return load up to four hundred pounds for our six dogs. Cogan and Colclough went on down to the Riley wreck with all their belongings, so we hail no stove or tent for the return trip, trusting to good weather in making the long stretches. There is only one cabin at the Kotzebue Camp, and this avery small one, but we managed to find room to lie down somewhere. We also made a big stew of canned beef, dessicated potatoes and onions, with lots of pepper and sage. It was good and stimulating, and upon this we based our courage. It was a fine base. We found the load pretty heavy for the dogs, one of which wasn't of much account, and our progress was slow. Where the snow was deep and the trail rough we had to help some ourselves. An animal with four feet has much advantage over a human with but two. We made the return trip in three days, fifteen miles from the Kotzebue Camp to the igloo, thirty miles from the igloo to the Jesse Lou, and fifteen miles from there to the Penelope Camp, making one hundred and twenty miles in seven days. By the third day out my limbs became accustomed to the hard walking and my lameness disappeared. The thirty-mile stretch we made in twelve hours, starting from the igloo before daylight. The northern lights were not visible during our return trip, although previously one could read by them. The cold was not excessive nor did we meet with any terrible accidents, but I will record that I have had enough of winter travel in the Arctics. I am of the same mind as Hard-luck Jimmy, who, after attempting to reach the site of the "latest strike" and getting caught out in a snowstorm, said in his slow, comprehensive manner of speech: "It would take all the men in Ambler City with a great big hawser to pull me away from my warm cabin and grub again this winter."
Winter Travelers.
Winter Travelers.
The thirty-mile stretch of our road was long. So change of scenery for entertainment. When we got around one bend in the river it was just to plod along until we got to the next. It took three hours for us to cover one straight piece of trail. We ate nothing that day but a little frozen bread. We had nothing to cook, and there was no time to cook it if we had, and no dishes or stove. But we were served to a fine supper at the Jesse Lou. The dogs did finely that day. We gave them a feed in the morning before starting. Usually dogs are fed but once a day, at night, and then only about one pound of frozen or dried fish to the animal. At night we let the dogs loose and, if at a village, they forage around for scraps of anything, which of course are extra rations. They steal any provisions left unprotected. They ate Cox's leather mittens, the thongs on Cogan's snowshoes, and a leather gun case. One night they broke into the "grub-box." and got away with everything in it, including a sack of oatmeal and a side of bacon. Owing to their preference for leather, we had to sleep on the harnesses and with our heads on the "grub-box." These Eskimo dogs look just like wolves, but are docile and often playful. They do not bark like civilized dogs, but snarl and growl. Some nights they would howl in concert for hours at a time, making a weird sensation in the silence of the ice.
In sledding, the dogs are tied by their harness strings alternately to a straight lead-rope. One dog is "leader," and he is the most intelligent of the pack. During the trip Cox walked about a hundred yards ahead of the lead dog, now and then turning back and whistling or calling. I walked behind, keeping the sled straight, and untangling the team when it got mixed up. Each dog has a name, and his character qualities become as well known to us as those of a human individual. Ours were named Emik, Kubuck, Auboon, Nanuk and Tingle. One day Emik jumped on to the dog that was not pulling his share and gave him a sound whipping. The whole pack joined in and I had to beat them off with a club.
Ordinary animals would have died of broken bones, but it took a "sore chastisement" to bring these dogs to their senses. Fights are frequent and always mean twoor three minutes' delay In untangling the lines. The harnesses are provided with swivels or else the lines would soon become hopelessly twisted.
The two pipes I mentioned as part of the load, stuck out behind some eight feet beyond the sled, and many a time when the dogs slowed up suddenly my shins would come in contact with the sharp iron in a painfully emphatic manner. The crunching of the dry snow under the sled runners is a combination of sounds in which one can but imagine he hears familiar voices, and one falls to day-dreaming as he plods along, until he is surprised by running against the slacking sled or stepping into a hole.
The two nights we spent in the Eskimo igloo were interesting in detail. On the way down I was so tired that I paid little attention to anything, curling up and thankfully sleeping. On the return trip we made the igloo just at dusk. The trail was poor and the snow deep and the load heavy, so that we had made scarcely more than two miles to the hour. When we got within sight of the igloo the dogs pricked up their ears, as is their wont, and started forward at an increasing gait. Dogs will sometimes smell a camp long before it comes into view, and their quickened pace testifies to their hope of food. When our team rushed up to the igloo, we followed at a trot behind, and nearly all the inmates hurried out, curious to see us. These poor people are very hospitable, and at once invited us inside. We did not enter, however, until everything was attended to, for, after one has straightened out to rest before a warm fire, it is very hard to get up and crawl out again on stiffened limbs to attend to duties easier performed before one settles down. The native boys helped us to untie knots, and soon the dogs were loose, scurrying everywhere for bits of anything devourable, and frequently having a savage fight over some imaginary tidbit. Everything but the two iron pipes, which we trusted the dogs would not eat, was deposited on the scaffold for the night. This scaffold is a necessary feature of every igloo. It consists of a platform of poles and boughs raised about eight feet above the ground and supported on four posts. On this are stored all the fish, skins, nets, harnesses, sleds, kyaks, and, in fact, every article not needed for Immediate use in the igloo.
Native Igloo, with Scaffold for Stores.
Native Igloo, with Scaffold for Stores.
After the dogs were fed, we took a blanket apiece and crawled into the igloo. We were motioned to a vacant place on one side, where we stretched out as far as the limits of the room permitted. This igloo was built like a Sioux wick-i-up. Long, slender poles are fastened into the ground at one end, bent over and lashed with thongs on the opposite side. These are planted about a foot apart all around, until the whole completed frame is like an inverted hemisphere. Over this are fastened thicknesses of spruce bark stripped from the trees in sheets one or two feet wide and twice as long. At the top a circular opening is left, a foot in diameter, for the exit of smoke. The whole structure is covered and packed with six inches of snow, which effectually keeps out every bit of wind and incidentally every particle of fresh air, except what steals in through the smoke-hole and door when they are open. The entrance is closed by several strips of sail-cloth attached above and weighted, so that it always hangs over the opening and completely covers it. When one enters he must get down on his hands and knees and, lifting up a corner of this canvas door, crawl through the passage. The door falls backinto its place behind. The passageway is so narrow and low that a large man can with difficulty crawl through. The floor inside, with the exception of a space around the fireplace, is carpeted with slender willow saplings, laid parallel and fitted closely together, forming a fairly good paving or heavy matting, sufficient to protect the occupants from direct contact with the ground. A few old deerskins are spread out where the elders sleep. The space on the opposite side of the fireplace from the door is not occupied by anyone, but is filled with cooking utensils, the water bucket with its wooden dipper, carved wooden bowls, and birch bark baskets. In this igloo—about twelve feet in diameter—fifteen people live almost all the time, only going outside when they must for wood and water. No books to read, no politics to discuss, no school to get ready for, and no visiting to do. Once in this residence, we were allotted a space next to the oldest man of the igloo. We were content with our small lot, for we were tired and hungry.
Getting Supper Under Omiak-puk.
Getting Supper Under Omiak-puk.
The light was furnished from seal oil. A plate of this, with a pinch of moss for a wick, furnished the light. The penetrating smell of burning seal oil is very stifling, and a white man can hardly stand it. Considering our distinguished character, these people dispensed with the oil and lighted candles instead, which I suppose had been obtained from the whites by trade. Our scanty grub-bag next claimed our attention and, considering it good policy under the peculiar circumstances, we distributed the remainder of the hardtack, which had been reduced to crumbs, among our hosts, who watched our every movement. We also had a little flour, but, as we had no means of cooking it, we presented that also to the woman on the far side of the igloo, who was apparently the mistress of ceremonies; for, although three other women were in the house, she carried all the water, chopped all the wood and prepared the meals. We made our supper from a can of corned beef and a loaf of bread, baked for us at the Kotzebue camp. Seeing our destitution, with true American hospitality the woman before mentioned left the igloo and shortly returned with a birch-bark basket about eighteen inches long by six inches wide full of a frozen mass of blueberries. This was evidently a "company dish," the best in her possession. She detached a large chunk of the preserves and placed it in a frying pan over the fire. As it melted into individual berries she stirred the mixture constantly. After the mess was thoroughly melted she passed the pan over to me, and, by the smell which arose, I was aware that the blueberries were put up in seal oil, as a sort of salad, I suppose. Cox declared his appetite lacked severity sufficient to tempt him to even taste the compound, but I was hungry enough to eat anything, and partly because I did not want to disappoint the motherly old woman, who had taken all that trouble to treat us to the greatest luxury possible, I ate with apparent relish. I did no more nor less than hundreds of my people do at any civilized banquet or even a meal at a friend's, when they pretend to like oysters or shrimps or anything from sheer politeness, the which they thoroughly detest. I got away with the entire panful, along with a slab of dried salmon given to me by the old man. These kind people evidently looked upon me as a good-natured, hungry little boy whom they enjoyed entertaining out of their natural hospitality of heart. I have no doubt my mother will long to grasp that old Eskimo woman's hand and possibly kiss her ugly but kind features, for the sake of her goodness to her "wandering boy."
Truly the fish was not at all bad, and I secured a piece for my lunch the next day. It proved to be just the thing, as I could chew it while tramping along, and one does not need water to drink with it. The native next to me in the igloo showed me how to strip the skin from the piece of dried salmon and prepare it for eating. He held the skin side over the fire until it began to crinkle and writhe. The oil which it contains is thus melted and the dainty rendered more toothsome.
After our hunger was, with these native articles of food besides our own bread and corned beef, sufficiently subdued, we stretched out as far as possible in our limited space. Cox was soon asleep. We agreed that in order to make the thirty miles next day it would be necessary to start before daylight, as there was then a waning moon to light us a little. Cox was especially impressed with this idea, and went to sleep determined to wake up the minute the moon rose, which would be about five in the morning. He had scarcely been asleep ten minutes, and I had not dozed off yet, when he started up, and I had all I could do to persuade him that the night had hardly begun.
Later, and until we finally did start, he woke me several times and would go out and look for the moon, which he was sure was behind the schedule time. We could not see the trail until it did appear, so each time he would return and drop to sleep again. This crazy conduct on his part vexed me not a little, as I wanted to sleep, being prevented by other disturbances besides his own.
After we had eaten our supper and got settled down, the other people ate theirs, which consisted entirely of dried salmon. This was eaten raw, each mouthful being chewed for a long time. The young men say that this kind of diet is what makes the Kowak-mitts (natives of the Kowak valley) so strong. I must confess to the apparent truth of this statement, for the whole house knows it when an Eskimo enters; that is, if there hasn't been one around long enough to have allowed an airing. Even the pretty girls are so fishy that a tenderfoot in this land can scarcely endure their remote presence. The salmon is cured during the summer and kept on scaffolds, being brought down only as it is required for use. The old men soak it up in water a while before eating it.
Directly after their simple supper the natives began arranging themselves in their proper nooks in any place where there was room enough to lie down. The men and older women and all the children in the igloo wore nothing but skin pants, being entirely naked from the waist up. At night, however, they put on their skin parkas, as the temperature in the room falls quickly when the fire goes out. When all are ready, the woman of the household goes outside and covers up the smoke-hole in the top of the house with an old skin, and besides piles snow over it thickly so not a particle of cold can get in. The fire in the center of the room has meanwhile been allowed to burn down to a bed of coals, so there is no smoke or flame left. In returning the woman also tightly closes the doorway. If any air is getting in anywhere one can see the stream of dense vapor caused by the extremely cold outside air striking the warm, moist air of the interior. If the door is left the least bit ajar a stream of this vapor is seen flowing along the floor straight into the fire. If one's feet meet this current of cold they soon chill. After the coals are heaped together and all other preparations for the night completed, the light is extinguished and sleep reigns. For a while after the igloo has been closed the air seems extremely hot and stifling and the odors are terrific. In an hour or two the fire is dead and the air cools off.
My night's rest might have been quite sound but for certain disturbances. I had just dozed off after being aroused by Coxie, when one of the men began to sing some Eskimo ditty in a weird monotone. He would drone it through and stop, and I would just be dropping off to sleep when he would start it up again. He continued for fully half an hour, and I was so thoroughly tried by it that I could have choked the fellow. The natives all slept soundly and probably considered it a lullaby. Another time I was awakened by the old man next to me singing in a high, jerky voice. He got up, all the time singing, and went over to the old woman, who was saying something to him. Then followed a series of the most diabolical noises—hisses, swishes, grunts, groans, guttural rattles and so forth. It hardly seemed possible that some of these sounds could originate in a human throat, but as they were without intermission. I suppose they did. This was finally interrupted by a loud, ripping swish, as if something had been forcibly torn up. All was then quiet, and the old man returned and lay down next to me. I did not know but he would practice his incantations upon me next, but my fears were groundless. During the creepy performance it was pitch dark, and I could almost imagine we were about to be sacrificed in some heathen rite. I asked one of the young men what was the matter, and he told me that the woman had a pain in her stomach, probably from swallowing her salmon in too much haste, and the old man had cured her by driving the demon out. This practice is like that I have heard my father say existed among the Comanche Indians in the Southwest.
At last, after one of his frequent observations. Coxie reported that the moon was up. The candle was lighted and we soon had all our traps out of the igloo. Our mitts, scarfs, socks, etc., had been hung up to dry. The dryer one's clothes are, the warmer he keeps. Rain is not necessary to dampness either, perspiration every walking moment being free and persistent. We soon had the dogs hitched up, all but one, Nanuk, who caused us considerable delay by running off into the brush and hiding himself. Finally after several of the natives had helped, he was secured and our pack arranged.
The Departure.
The Departure.