CHAPTER VII.THE FIORD OF AUKPADLARTOK.
Onour way to Upernavik we wheeled into the fiord of Aukpadlartok, to which I have hitherto made allusion, and I verily believe there never was such another wilderness of desolation—such an interminable array of islands of ice and islands of rock; and when at last we saw another house like Jensen’s, pitched like his upon just such another point of land, and reflected that these houses are dotted here and there in this dreary waste at intervals of forty and fifty miles, and that their inmates hold communication one with the other perhaps once in the winter with dog-sledge, and once in summer, and not more, with boat, it seemed as if proof was positive that life without social intercourse was really possible—a fact which I should never have believed for a moment otherwise.
The ice was so thick along the shore that we could not get within a mile of the little house and the miserable huts which surrounded it. So we had nothing to do but tie up to an iceberg, and take to a boat and pull in as best we could. The shore was reached at last, but only after we had passed through many very dangerous places, including a hole in an enormous iceberg, and then we were landed on the rocks, where we were met by the most renowned of all the Greenland hunter—a blue-eyed and fair-complexioned and most “mild-mannered man,” named Philip, who was backed up by a staff of five sons—Christian, Wilhelm, Simon, Hans, and Lars; while still farther in the rear was the wife, Caroline, with her two daughters, Christina and Maria, and the various wives and sweet-hearts and children of all her five boys, the lover of Christina, and some forty other savages and half-savages, who constituted the promiscuous population of the village of Kresarsoak—“the village beside the mountain;” and the mountain reared its great white crest five thousand feet above our heads, pushing itself away up among the clouds.
WE GO THROUGH AN ICEBERG TO CALL ON PHILIP.
WE GO THROUGH AN ICEBERG TO CALL ON PHILIP.
PHILIP, THE HUNTER, AND HIS SONS.
PHILIP, THE HUNTER, AND HIS SONS.
The family of Philip was a very different one from that of Jensen. His wife was a full-blown Esquimaux. His half-breed children were happy and well-contented, and rejoiced in the possession of every thing needful for the hunt or domestic comfort. Christian was married, and had a small hut and seven children all to himself. Simon ditto, but he lived with his wife and baby in a seal-skin tent. Wilhelm had recently been in trouble about his lady-love, who was a thorough-bred native, she at first preferring another fellow, who was a fine hunter, and evidently the superior of Wilhelm. But then Wilhelm was the son of the “governor,” which made all the difference in the world; and so the marriage was settled upon, and was to take place as soon as the priest could come up from Upernavik to bless the nuptials. For the rest, they all lived in the paternal mansion, which had but one room, and was divided with seal-skins into a number of stalls like an oyster-cellar, and in these the different members of the family retired to rest among their bags of eider-down.
Having enjoyed the benefit of Philip’s hospitality, which was displayed chiefly in the form of seal-steaks, smoked salmon, and coffee, I strolled out with Jensen, who had told me that near by once dwelt the witch Annorasuak, who now lived at Tessuisak, and had become a Christian—that is to say, after the Greenland fashion. I accepted with alacrity his offer to guide me thither.
Crossing the neck of a promontory, in half an hour we came down into a valley, or rather wide gorge, bounded on either side by lofty cliffs, that were broken by immense clefts, which had a most glaring and forbidding aspect as they frowned down upon us from underneath the greatwhite caps that untold winters had woven round their heads. Fitful gusts of wind came moaning down the gorge, chilling us to the very bone.
Our situation at the entrance to the gorge was very striking and remarkable. Looking up the fiord, we could faintly see the glacier of Aukpadlartok over the tops of innumerable icebergs, which crowded the fiord, and upon which the sun, breaking through the clouds that had obscured the sky for some hours previous, shone with great brilliancy, without, however, reaching us or giving any warmth. Looking up the valley, we saw the front of a small glacier, perhaps fifty feet high and two hundred yards over, which crossed the valley from cliff to cliff about a mile up from the sea, and from which was gathered a stream of limpid water that came rushing down over the rocks, breaking in falls and whirling in pools, and everywhere hurrying along as if it were glad to get its freedom again, and was making the first use of it by bounding away to the sea and the warm sunshine.
The ascent of the valley was difficult and laborious; but by dint of hard scrambling we succeeded finally in making about half a mile, when we had reached a point where the cliffs rose almost perpendicularly from the border of the stream, and were scarcely more than thirty yards apart. Between them the water rushed in a series of picturesque falls, the sound of which, added to the roar of the wind, that seemed as if it had accumulated beyond, and was being forced through the narrow passage, greatly heightened the gloomy aspect of the scene.
Continuing on our course, we finally reached the summit of the falls, and came then upon a level plain of considerable extent—a sort of natural amphitheatre. Here in this wild and desolate place, close to the fall and beneath the glacier, Annorasuak had, many years ago, chosen her residence.From here went forth her decrees, which stilled the winds or made them blow, and sent good-fortune to her friends, and disaster to those who disregarded her. The heathen natives held her in the greatest awe, and were glad to propitiate her with the offer of food, clothing, and every thing needful for her comfort; and even those who had professed to embrace the Christian religion held her in superstitious dread, and thought it no harm to add a contribution to the witch’s wardrobe and larder. The ruins of her hut, which was entered through a long and intricate cleft in the rock, were still visible. I examined this ruin, and heard the story of this last trace of the heathen practices in Greenland, with intense interest, not alone on account of this circumstance, but because of the peculiar mystery which shrouded her history, and the romantic side of which culminated in a daughter—a girl with light complexion and black hair. The father of this girl was believed to be a criminal who had escaped from an English whale-ship, fled hither with this woman, and managed while he lived to avoid detection through her arts; for it was at the period of her flight there that she first assumed to be the “Mother of the Winds.” From that time forth no native was ever known to enter the valley, except to a certain spot, where he left his offering; and even the Danes seemed to have a superstitious dread of it, associating it with the evil one. They called the glacier hanging above the witch’s home “The Devil’s Castle,” and the valley itself borrowed its name from its wicked mistress. It was “The Valley of the Winds.” The daughter’s name was Annore—“Daughter of the Winds;” and she had been really taught to believe that she was born of the air.
Love, which is and always has been the disturber of so many human devices, finally broke up this nest of witchcraftand sorcery. A youthful Dane, named Elsen, saw the child, and had pity for her. His tenderness soon suggested means by which to approach without frightening her, and without her mother’s knowledge. Then he fell in love with his wild favorite, and addressed the mission of Upernavik for help to save her. “Poor Annore,” the lover wrote, in his despair at her condition; “she is a wild flower in the wilderness. Can the wild flower be transplanted? Will the lustre of the leaves come out in other soil, and will gentler airs bring brightness to the blossom? Poor misguided child!—her birth a mystery to her; her very name a falsehood to her mind perpetually. And yet she is taught to honor it, and taught to think with pride that she was born of the winds, and to the winds will go away again, to wander to and fro, doing good or ill, forever. Annore, poor Annore! Will the falsehood pass away? Will the daughter of the winds become a child of God?”
And the lover’s question was answered favorably. The missionary became interested, and the two together managed, in the end, to entice the mother and daughter away; and through their efforts Annore became Nina, and the wife of Elsen; and Annorasuak, her mother, became Barbara, and the wife of a Christian native, and she is now the ugly hag that has pitched her tent at Tessuisak, right beneath the nose of Jensen, who hates her cordially.
We did not remain longer in the valley than was necessary for an inspection of the place. The wind shortly increased in violence, accompanied with occasional gusts of snow, and sometimes it fairly shrieked along the cliffs; and it seemed clear enough that if there ever was a place on earth fitted for the abode of evil spirits, this was it. As if to increase that impression, and leave no doubt at all about it, an ancient raven, with a ragged coat, floppeddown near by, and set up a dismal croak. Then he walked off deliberately, muttering to himself the while in a sepulchral tone, and, mounting to the ruined wall of the witch’s hut, he croaked again. Then he cocked his head to one side, and looked at us in a very sinister way out of one eye; after which he went to the edge of the fall and looked over into the foaming abyss. Then he croaked once more, flopped himself over to the other side of the stream, and, lighting on a rock, began sharpening his bill, as if preparing for a sacrifice, croaking all the while. He seemed to know the spot, and to be at home there, for the moment he struck the rock I perceived there was a double echo, so that his voice resounded from cliff to cliff, until it seemed as if the air were peopled with spirits that were in league with him, and were answering to his call.
THE RAVEN.
THE RAVEN.
By the time we had reached Philip’s but it was snowing heavily, and it being clear from the first that we had come up the fiord for nothing, the icebergs being so thick above as to defy even the passage of a boat to the glacier, we got aboard with all haste, and steamed away.