Childhood in the arctics does not last long. There are among the Eskimo a number of strange customs and superstitions attending not only the transition time between girlhood and maturity, but the whole physical life of woman, which may have their interest for the ethnologist (especially from the point of view of the interpretation of the mentality of primitive peoples), but in which the general reader would scarcely find much interest. Suffice it to say that the root reason—probably instinctive—underlying many of these observances and rites, these taboos and indications, is very possibly a hygienic one, since in nearly every instance some purpose of the sort seems to be unconsciously served. It may be that herein lies one of the true distinctions between uncivilised and civilised existence. In the latter, most of the functional aspects of life are subordinated to the intellectual and the spiritual, while in the former they bulk self-consciously and far more obtrusively even than among the lower animals.

The Eskimo community in sanitation or in sex matters has few reticences. This may be another way [155]of saying it has no pruderies. The native attaches no more importance to the functions of sex than to those of eating, drinking or sleeping. It would, of course, be easier to attribute complete insouciance in these respects to the native mind if, instead of trapping some of them out with rather elaborate ceremonial, it kept them all much on a level. In most instances of insistence, however, a hygienic motive, conscious or unconscious, lies behind them. Although the people live under very crude conditions, crowded together in the igloo, without privacy or special quarters for women, they are not without a sense of the fitness of things or some idea of personal modesty. It is the height of ill-breeding to stare, for instance, at anyone whilst dressing or undressing.

Like the Indians, and like most other uncivilised people, the Eskimo marry early, sometimes indeed at the age of twelve years. Unions are arranged by the mothers and grandmothers. A woman with a marriageable daughter is fully alive to the advantage of seeing a good hunter attach himself to the domestic circle. She looks round in good time, and noting some promising youth, makes overtures to his mother on the score of the cleverness, the docility and the industry of her girl. The whole thing at once becomes a fertile topic of discussion. Some amicable understanding having been reached, presents are interchanged and the young couple are informed that they are to be married. There is no ceremony. The girl is sent to her mother-in-law’s house, and for a [156]month or more works there under a pair of sufficiently vigilant eyes. This gives the boy also an opportunity of making up his mind about her. And the prospective bride has a chance to do the same about him. As a rule, the whole thing works out quite satisfactorily, and even happily; but if the girl turns out lazy or careless or bad-tempered, a divorce is declared and she returns to her parents’ igloo, to be married elsewhere, with better luck next time.

This sending of the bride to the hunter’s mother’s house scarcely amounts to an interval of probation. The girl certainly expects to stay. In all probability the young folk have known each other from childhood up, and there is no reason to suppose their marriage will be anything but a success. It is the Eskimo way of asserting the world-wide fact that you never know a person until you have to live with him—or her.

Should, however, real faults of temper or character be presently discovered on either side, it is quite open to the bride or bridegroom to ask to have a divorce declared. The matter is arranged between the families concerned, not necessarily by the Angakok. Should a girl be returned on her people’s hands enceinte, after an experiment of this sort (not a likely contingency at an early age), the child forms no obstacle to her contracting another union later on. It is adopted into the mother’s family and cared for as usual, without a trace of stigma attaching to either. In the Arctics, where families are small, children are an asset, and represent little burden to a community [157]every member of which is willing to help feed and support them. If a child is a boy, he will grow up to be a hunter, and catch seals for the tribesfolk; if a girl, she will become the wife of a hunter and the mother of more hunters.

The difference between married life and free or promiscuous unions, even with this primitive folk, is quite clearly marked. A married woman, i.e., a woman belonging definitely and recognisedly to such and such a man, is faithful to him and he to her, so long as harmony reigns between them and no “divorce” takes place. The occasional interchange of wives, such as during the Sedna ceremony, is a recognised institution of Eskimo life, and interrupts the even tenor of the connubial way in no permanent sense. There is a good deal of “immorality” (according to standards entirely inapplicable to this people in the native state), and promiscuous intercourse with widows and discarded wives. It is from this class that strangers staying in camp are accommodated with their temporary partners.

Fidelity is observed between married people while they agree to remain married. Sometimes, however, two husbands will come to an agreement with each other, with the knowledge and consent of their respective wives, to effect a temporary exchange. Again, fidelity is now observed as long as the exchange endures, but reverts to the original partner when presently dissolved. Should any children come of this interlude, they generally remain with the mother, the [158]permanent husband being quite willing to adopt them.

The new-made bridegroom does not leave his parents’ home and set up his own establishment until he is able to maintain it by hunting. If the husband and wife belong to different tribes, the woman is adopted into that of the man. The men sometimes maltreat their wives, if aggravated by shrewish tempers or bad household management, but children very seldom experience any but the kindest and most indulgent treatment. The writer knew a boy who stabbed his mother in the arm during a fit of temper, but was merely scolded for it. That he knew no better was the excuse alleged in his defence, and it was his elder’s business to teach him self-control and good behaviour. Children are devotedly loved by the Eskimo, and maternity (never prolific in the arctics) is held in the highest esteem. If the men occasionally beat the women it has never been known that children are ever abused or neglected. All travellers and observers agree in this respect.

A girl will be attended in childbirth with her first baby, but not after that. The expectant Eskimo mother has to be alone (except on the first occasion), in a little house set apart for her, and without assistance. After it is born, the baby is never washed but rubbed down with a soft fur or bird skin and put straight away, stark naked, into the capacious hood of its mother’s tunic. The woman must, however, never eat alone during this time, lest a Tougak with three fingers [159]steal her food and bring evil upon the child. She must pay no visits until she has quite recovered in the space of a full month, and only then if she has a new suit of clothes.

As an illustration of what has been said about some real reason underlying such injunctions as the foregoing, it may be remarked that, why the mother may not eat alone is probably to ensure that she does not starve. She is in solitary confinement, and cannot procure and prepare food for herself. To ensure her being fed she must have the food brought to her and the messenger stays to share the meal. Again, an expectant mother must always run out of her igloo or tupik during the day when the dogs howl. They do not howl incessantly, as might be imagined, since they are away with the hunters in the day, and asleep, buried in the snow, at night. The woman has to sit up on her haunches when she hears the dogs in the night-time, and not lie down again until they cease. After all, there is good sense in this. The women sit about in their houses for the most part, and get comparatively little exercise. The two rules involved in this dog howling enactment ensure the expectant mother a modicum of exercise and fresh air, which she might not otherwise exert herself to obtain.

Childbirth is always attended by the women conjurors, never by the men. The event in itself is thought little of, and not looked forward to with any dread. The writer has known of a case of husband and wife being on the trail together with their sled, [160]in midwinter, when the woman was taken in labour. The man merely stopped the team and hastily put up a snow shelter. The wife retired to it for a little while, then placed the new-born child in her hood, clambered back upon the sled, and continued the journey. A long day’s journey later, they reached the village for which they were making, and in a very short while the mother was walking about in it, as well and strong as ever.

The would-be mother who has reason to fear her hopes of a child are groundless, has recourse to the conjuror, the Angakok. Here again, the interrogations, the incantations, the conjuration to which this worthy commits himself (the while his spirit is supposed to ascend to the moon to procure “material for a child”), the conjuror claims and is allowed the right of cohabitation and so follow the accompaniment of a natural sequence of events, which probably result in the woman realising her desire. In many instances the superstitions with which Eskimo laws and injunctions are wrapped up, serve to enforce them. Otherwise they would either not be followed at all, or would have no weight in public estimation. It is only possible to make head or tail of primitive ritual by the aid of some tentative interpretation of the sort, which must be deduced from long familiarity with the people amid their own surroundings.

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All was quiet in the village. The sealers had gone off early in the morning, taking the boys with them, [161]and the women had settled down to their own tasks for the day. The old folks were for the most part asleep on the sleeping benches in the dwellings. It was a cloudy day, visibility very low, sun-dogs in the misty heavens foretold bad weather to come.

Suddenly a tumult of sound broke upon the village, and the few old dogs left there on guard gave vigorous tongue in turn, as somewhere from out the murk came a chorus of yowls and yelps mingled with the shouts of men and the sharp crack of whips.

An immediate exodus took place. Everyone sprang up and ran off to meet the newcomers. The children scrambled up the cliff at the back of the little settlement, sheltering it, and the elders tottered along to the head of the pathway cut through the sijak or shore ice, to catch a glimpse of the strangers and their sleds. Presently two large travelling outfits with full team of dogs, and crowded with Eskimo, swept into view. Cries of “Chimo! Chimo!” (Welcome) resounded from every side, and there were hearty hand-shakings as the strangers tumbled out and declared their gladness to have arrived.

It seemed they had come from Fox Channel, many “sleeps” away, and had travelled over hills and across frozen bays and through deep snow, for days and days, in order to visit this tribe. In a twinkling the dogs were unharnessed and fed, the sleds unloaded, and the guests carried off into the hospitable igloo under the cliff. [162]

Then matters began to clear, and the object of the journey declared itself. A head man and his wife, it seemed, had come this long distance on behalf of their son, a lad of about fifteen, a promising young hunter of marriageable age, who desired to find a wife. No girl in his own tribe had taken his fancy, but the family had heard of a likely bride in the Middle Coast tribe, and had come to see her and her people. She had the reputation of being clever at all household duties, docile and pleasing in manner, with eyes like sloes and hair as glossy black as the raven’s wing. Moreover, they had heard that she had no relatives and dependents except a widowed mother. The whole idea had pleased them so much—mother, father and son—that here they were, to look into the thing for themselves, to give and receive news, and to do a bit of incidental trading. They settled down in camp for a few days, and both hosts and visitors thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

Negotiations proceeded apace, without hitch or difficulty, and at last were brought to a pleasant conclusion. The prize secured, a day was fixed for the departure of the bride and bridegroom and his people. Her treasures and possessions were packed on the sleds, and with many tears she said goodbye to the good folk of her own village.

All seemed to augur well for the wedding journey. The sky was clear and the sun shone. The ice was perfect and the snow well packed and good for sled travelling. The dogs, rested and well fed, flew over [163]the ground in high spirits. The sleeping houses built en route by the wooer’s party, proved to have remained intact; the frozen meat and blubber, buried beneath the floor in each of them, had not been disturbed.

The first night was spent in singing. The young man gave a vocal account of the exploits of his tribe and of his own prowess in hunting, to an audience consisting of his admiring parents and the bride. All went merrily, too, the second day out; but after that, disaster overtook the party.

They came to a stretch of newly formed ice, over which they must pass or make a long détour. They decided to risk the shorter way. The ice was very thin, so they got off the sleds and attempted the crossing on foot, each one at a stated distance from the other. Treading as lightly as possible, they started the venture, but, half-way across, a scream rang out, the ice broke, and the two women were engulfed in the icy current beneath. Lines were flung to them and a rescue effected, although they remained in imminent danger of being frozen. Prompt measures had to be taken. There was no shelter at hand, and no immediate means of making a fire. There was only the powdery snow! In this the half-drowned women were rolled and rubbed. The snow acted almost like blotting paper, and they were soon comparatively dry, although still perishingly cold. A shelter was quickly built for them and a lamp hastily lit. Their blankets were unrolled and they were snugly [164]wrapped up in their capacious folds and put to sleep, to recover from the shock.

The very next day, late in the afternoon, as they drew near their next sleeping place and were looking forward to a feast on the rations stored there, another disaster befell this ill-fated arctic wedding party. They actually sighted the wayside house and were driving right up to it, when a deep growl came from inside and, before they had time to descend or prepare for attack, a full sized polar bear rushed out and hurled himself upon them.

The women fled and the men scattered, whilst the animal took possession of the sleds. All the spears and guns were lashed in place, so the refugees were unarmed and powerless. The bear, muttering and growling, tore the bales of provisions apart and feasted on the meat and blubber. While he was so engaged, one of the hunters, bolder than the rest, stalked his way up to one of the sleds and managed to secure a spear. Then he opened an attack on the highwayman, after the approved manner of bear-fighting.

Crouching with poised weapon low on his haunches, he suddenly sprang up and began to sing and dance about, on this side and on that, but drawing nearer all the time to his astonished adversary. The bear became more and more bemused by the noise and the agility of the oncomer, until at last the latter was able to rush close in and strike him one fatal blow with the practised spear. Although the creature had rifled [165]the travellers’ house and devoured their cache, it was now their turn to skin and eat him; and so accounts were squared.

After this, the luck of the bride and bridegroom seemed to turn again, and the rest of the journey was accomplished in comfort and safety. The young woman settled down happily with the Fox Channel tribe into which she had married, and became a model wife under the vigilant eye of her husband’s mother.

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Having sketched something of the education the native children receive, and of the adult life and occupations of the tribe generally, the next thing to deal with is death, and the elaborate ritual of an Eskimo funeral.

These people fear death, and the dying. Just before a man dies he is dragged outside the house or tent, so that his spirit may not haunt it. No dwelling where a death has taken place is ever re-occupied. Should anyone chance to die inside, all the possessions are held to be polluted and must be cast away.

A corpse is sewn up in the deceased’s accustomed sleeping blanket, placed upon a hand sled, and hauled away to the chosen place of burial, followed by the members of the family and the relatives. It is laid upon the bare rock (the ground being frozen hard as iron, grave-digging is out of the question), and huge stones are piled around and upon it, like a cairn. In the case of a man, his weapons, drinking cup and knife, or these things in miniature, are placed beside [166]him, his sled or a small model of it nearby, and he is buried with a little sort of doll representing a woman. In the case of a female, her needles, knife, cup, and a man doll, are laid beside her. Food is deposited on a flat rock near the pile, and the mourners sit down to eat a farewell meal with the spirit of the dead. Then they march in single file seven times round the cairn, following the direction of the sun, i.e., from east to west, chanting directions to the departed:—

The idea is that the spirit must follow the course of the sun, to guide it to the realms of bliss and light whence comes that glory, and whither it goes.

The objects placed with the corpse under the stones are to assist and accompany the spirit on this journey.

The word illooprakoole is a “spirit word,” used only in addressing spirits. It means a route through pleasant ways not beset by dangers. The same significance, in an ordinary mortal connection, is expressed by a different word altogether. Nakrook is another “spirit word,” meaning the Great-Air-Space-beyond-the-Earth. The ordinary word in everyday usage is [167]Sillarlo. This spirit language used by the conjurors has its parallel in every case in ordinary parlance. The following are a few instances:—

In the case of the burial of an unpopular or badly conducted man, the people walk round the cairn in the reverse direction, i.e., from west to east, with a different refrain. The idea being to direct the spirit away from the light and into outer darkness, their refrain begins with the words to the effect:—

All this is called the custom of the Kingarngtooktok.

The mourners at length return to their village, and apparently forget all about the funeral, unless in the case of the deceased being of ill repute. Should the conjuror assert that his spirit has gone to the realms of Sedna (the Eskimo hell), gifts and offerings have to be collected in order that the necessary conjurations may effect his translation to some other abode (the Eskimo purgatory). [168]

The people much dislike to have their dead bodies devoured by dogs, lest their souls have to wander over the ice and land on vain hunting trips; but they do not object to wolves on the same score, since the wolves also devour the souls, and the departed, thus disposed of, will always hunt deer successfully and live on the meat. Neither do they object to the carrion-loving raven, as the soul in this case is also absorbed by the bird and provided for in perpetuity. It would indeed take a trained psychologist to determine wherein comes the distinction as between dogs and the other scavengers!

On the anniversary of a death, the spirit of the deceased, good or bad, is supposed to return to the grave of its body, and is there met by its friends still in the flesh, who bring it offerings of food.

On the return from a funeral the mourners march round the dead man’s dwelling from east to west, then entering, take a draught of water, for luck in sealing. The chief mourners neither leave the house nor work on any skins for three days in succession. Afterwards they throw away their clothes and abandon the dwelling. After a death the community should not wash or do their hair nor cut their nails for three days. Those who transgress this injunction are called Nuggatyauyoot, the disobedient. Nor are men allowed to have their stockings taken out of their boots and dried, for the Tarnuk (spirit) will kill them in that case.

Unfathomable to the white man’s intelligence as [169]many of these odd observances may be, the root idea will explain the general scope of them. The spirit of the deceased is earth-bound for three days, and if of an evil disposition when alive, is liable to do much mischief to his late family and friends. Earth-bound spirits are the Toopelât (pl.), the evil spirits of the dead. Hence the custom of haling the dying well outside the house. During the three following days, a knife edge, placed outwards, is set at the entrance of the igloo to prevent the spirit from returning, especially at night, and doing some injury—causing some pain, sickness or death—to the sleepers within.

When an Eskimo community hears of a death in its midst, the husband on his return from sealing waits for the first quiet moment in his house, and then offers his wife the third finger of the right hand, to crook, and they say together, “Tokkoneangelagoot” (we shall not die). This is the custom of “Killaryo.” The children then come to the mother, and in turn she takes the third finger of each one’s left hand between her teeth and singes a little piece of the hair on the left temple of the child. The child is bidden to bite the mother’s jacket on the shoulder, and say “Sittatoot,” the mother answering with another formula of preservation. The writer has made every effort to get at the meaning of these doings, but they seem to have lost their original significance by now, and even the oldest natives fail to interpret them any more. They were probably some form of supplication [170]against the entry into the body of the Spirit of Death.

From much of the foregoing it will be seen that the Eskimo have a decided belief in the soul, the innua—the spiritual, immortal essence of man. Also that they have formed for themselves definite ideas about the after life, either in bliss, as a reward for good living, or in misery, as a punishment for evil—Good and Evil, of course, being tinctured by the cast and scope of the Eskimo mind and its standards of social life. There is little of ethical content in it all. The heaven and hell of Eskimo conception are gross and material. Heaven is a land of warmth and sunshine, with good hunting, absence of storms and hard seasons, and plenty of fat seals in its ice-free sea. Hell is the dark and bitter abode of the submarine Sedna, the enemy of man, who engineers bad weather and times of scarcity. Descriptive legends of her awful “house” abound among the tribes, showing a fancifulness and imagination fantastic as nightmare.

To deal with the subject of the Eskimo religion, however, requires a chapter to itself. Its chief priests are the Conjurors, and its chief festival the Sedna ceremony. [171]