A whole book could be written on Eskimo sport and on the Eskimo methods of hunting generally. These methods are based, of course, on an intimate knowledge and experience of the habits and characters of the arctic birds and animals. Something has already been said in this connection about seals and seal hunting. But a little space must now be devoted to some account of a few more of these methods and adventures.

With the coming of March, the sealing season has set in. The days begin to draw out, the sun climbs higher in the heavens, and even sheds a faint warmth now on the lee side of shelter, if there be no movement in the air. The seals are arriving in droves, and their young are being born in their caves under the snow, all over the wide expanse of the ice off shore.

A spirit of restlessness seizes upon the tribesfolk. The hunting weapons are gladly brought out for examination and getting in readiness; the small hunting sleds are put in order; the heavy winter deerskin clothing is laid aside and the lighter garments of summer sealskin put in thorough repair, to don as [236]soon as the tribe shall be ready to move off en masse to the sealing grounds. Mysterious meetings take place between the Angakooeet and the chiefs, when the spring campings are fully discussed and arranged among them.

At last the great day arrives when, with much shouting and bustle, the sleds are loaded and the dogs harnessed. Each hunter and his wife assemble and pack their belongings—the lamp, the cooking pot, the box of small tools, the large knife for building (i.e., for cutting out blocks of snow), spears, lines, spare skins for clothing, etc., etc., etc. The baby is popped into the mother’s hood; the boy takes up his station by the team, to learn to drive and manage it, and with many a shout, much touching of noses in farewell, cracking of whips, laughter and joking, each outfit pulls out and drives away, off into the frozen bay.

The old folk are left behind in the village, to await the end of the season, to dress the skins brought in to them every now and again by boys returning from the camps. Sealmeat abounds; everyone gorges to Eskimo repletion and lives in luxury. The ground is covered with skins, pegged out to dry in the sun, prior to being scraped, washed, and prepared for making up.

The newly flensed hide is first freed from its inner layer of fat and blubber, and this is rendered down for oil for the lamps. The fur is then washed with warm water to remove the grease. Then small holes are pierced all round the edge of the skin, and the [237]whole is pegged out to its full extent on a frame, or merely on the ground, to dry and sweeten and bleach in the genial brightness of the arctic spring day. After this process, the inner membrane is first pared off, and the skin is ready to be tailored. Everyone left behind in the village on shore is kept busy at this sort of work.

As the spring sealing season wears on towards the arctic summer, an entire change comes over the activities of the tribesfolk. They have, now, to prepare for the long trail inland to the feeding ground of the deer. Stacks of provisions are accumulated, and the boats and kyaks got ready for the trip to the head of the fiord, whence the expedition will make its start. The framework of the umiaks is carefully examined, and new pieces put in where required. All thongs and lashings are strengthened or renewed; secondary skins in former times were prepared as boat coverings, to be discarded when they became so waterlogged as to check the pace. As a rule, one of these large travelling boats is owned and shared by several families, and will contain the whole of their effects.

At length these preparations are complete. The day comes when a general packing up absorbs all the energies of the tribe. Tents are struck and folded away at the bottom of the boat, together with big consignments of sealskin buckets and hunting weapons. The women ship the ponderous and unhandy oars, children and dogs pile in on top of everything, and [238]the men take up their travelling stations fore and aft, in readiness to defend the transport from any sort of attack, or to launch a harpoon at any likely prey.

They pull away joyously and hilariously on the great summer trip. As often as the wind will allow they hoist the great square sail made of seal intestine, and one member of the crew takes up a station beside it with a water bucket, to keep it constantly wet. Otherwise it would dry, and split into ribbons before the breeze. At the present day canvas sails are used.

Every now and again, as they coast along among the islands, they put in here or there for fresh supplies of drinking water. At night they fetch some well-known point for an encampment. The umiaks are moored, heather and driftwood collected, fires lit, kettles slung, and the evening stew set to simmer, while the men forage afield for the next day’s provender. Then, rolling themselves up in their blankets, the travellers drop off to sleep right there on the ground, under the shelter of whatever cover it may afford, to be up and under way again before sunrise next morning.

The days pass very pleasantly. The scenery is grand, the weather clear and sunny; the water, gemmed with islands dark brown and green, is still as a mill-pond. The fleet of primitive, uncouth-looking skin boats, filled with barbaric northern folk with tattooed faces and guttural speech, reproduces a picture of pre-historic times. Many of these scenes of Eskimo life and enterprise are deserving of record [239]by the best of artists, if only to bring before us in these effete days of over-civilisation a vivid, still existent, picture of the very earliest adventures of the human race.

At length the head of the inlet is reached. The boats proceed up river at high tide to the appointed place of debarkation. Here the umiaks are hauled well inshore, unloaded, dismantled, and turned over, to be covered with a pile of stones against the time of the hunter’s return. The personal treasures of the women are also hidden away in some safe cavity among the rocks, and left there. Then the loads are carefully apportioned all round, and made up in bundles according to the strength of their carriers. The men bear the weapons and ammunition only and travel light, in order to go on ahead and secure game on the trail. Children are lightly loaded, and the old people carry nothing but their own belongings; so that the bulk of the heavy transport falls on the able-bodied women of the tribe. Each one toils along under tent poles and coverings, piles of skins and meat, and the baby of the family into the bargain. The whole staggering load is hoisted on to the woman’s back and secured by lashings round the waist and a broad leather band round the forehead. She is almost wholly eclipsed by the enormous burden.

So they file off, one by one, from the point of landing, and make their way to the uplands and the appointed general meeting place of all the tribes engaged upon the annual hunt. Thither many such [240]parties converge: the people from Fox Channel, the tribe from the neighbourhood of Kikkuktâkjuak, or Big Island, the Saddlebacks, the Noovingmeoot from Frobisher Bay, and as many more from north, south, east and west. They time themselves all to arrive as punctually as possible. The spot is a high plateau among the hills, at the head of the inlet described above.

When at last all the tribes have assembled, the elders hold a general meeting and decide upon the direction and the details of the prospective hunt. As soon as this important business is settled the people give themselves up en masse to a few days’ holiday-making.

It is the height of arctic summer; food abounds; and friends meet each other once again after a year of separation. The people are care-free and happy. No danger threatens from any direction. So that Eskimo good spirits attain their highest pitch, and for a short time the people abandon themselves to their every hospitable and sociable instinct, to their love of jollity and fun, to sports all day, to singing, entertainments, feasting and story-telling of an evening and well into the night.

The sports are inter-tribal. There are running and wrestling matches, too, races and competitions of all sorts. The youth are keenly aware of being watched by the bright, sloe-eyed, laughing girls, and of being criticised or applauded by the elders. As true a sporting spirit of emulation, good temper and fair play obtains [241]in this far-away arctic festival as on the famous “playing fields of Eton,” and as many a romance comes of it as well. For this is an immensely important social and fashionable function among these primitive folk, and men and maidens meet and strike many a match of their own.

There are contests with the bow and arrow. Poles are fixed in the ground with skins suspended from them to represent deer and seals. The vital spot, of course, is the Eskimo idea of the bull’s eye. The spear-throwing competition calls for a high degree of skill. From the top of a fixed, inclined pole, a line is carried to the earth, having an ivory ring tied in it half way down. This ring is carefully concealed by fringes of hide, and the spear throwers, stationed at a recognised distance away, have to cast their weapons deftly through it. The attempt demands the greatest accuracy of vision and training of the hand. The contests are very keen, and great éclat awaits those who distinguish themselves. Their names become household words round the igloo lamps all during the succeeding winter, much as those of crack footballers become familiar to the sporting manhood of this country.

In the evening come the singing contests—quite one of the most important features of the annual festival. Ethnologists generally are agreed that the Eskimo excel in poetry and music. Improvisation with them is a recognised art. Every man is something of a composer, and is called upon whenever festivities are [242]in progress to contribute a number of his own to the improvised concert. The form of these songs is quite strict, and the melodies, even to unaccustomed European ears, may be reduced to accepted notation. Travellers who have but a superficial acquaintance with the arctic folk, distinguish little in the extempore contests of the Kagge or of the Sedna ceremony but sheer barbaric cacophony—yowlings, yells, and monotonous and seemingly endless repetition. But there are some to whom Gregorian chant itself conveys but little more!

These Eskimo songs deal with any and every subject which may occur to the singer, those of a satirical or personal or topical character proving the most popular. The contests give rise to untold amusement and delight. Nothing is more appreciated in the whole round of the programme. As a rule, the competitors are only men. The “ptarmigans” (i.e., those born at the end of winter or beginning of spring) challenge the “ducks” (or those born in the summer). Each side extols its own prowess in hunting, its natal advantages, etc., etc., to the detriment of the other. All sorts of ridicule is poured upon the opposite party, causing the wildest merriment among the auditors, who shriek with laughter at each successful or witty sally, clap their hands, and vociferate over the comedian who wins the contest. The Eskimo have a very lively sense of fun, and appreciate each home thrust and happy skit every bit as keenly as a Cockney music-hall audience. [243]

The Kagge, or singing house, of the summer deer-hunt is, like that of the Sedna ceremony, a big round house, similarly tenanted by the people in circles around the walls. The summer Kagge is built of sod and stones. The women wear skin gloves—the backs black and the palms white—and take their station behind everybody else, with the children. The men come next, and the Angakooeet, as judges, sit in the front circle. The centre of the house is left vacant for the performers.

The first part of the entertainment consists of songs describing the exploits of the dead and gone heroes and hunters of the tribe, each song having a refrain which is taken up by the women, who sway their bodies from side to side as they sing, so raising and lowering their arms as to show first a circle of waving white and then a circle of waving black hands. Many of these songs are old-established favourites, extemporised at first by some individual as his own contribution to some occasion, which “caught on” and became part of the tribe’s collective musical tradition.

After these come the extempore efforts of the current evening. Each man contributes a song of his own, turning upon some event in his career, or some more or less poetic fancy which has occurred to him. The songs have probably been composed and polished, and possibly practised, in private for some time, but the contest is the occasion of their publication to the musical world. They are most attentively received, and judged by the Angakooeet. [244]

The outstanding event of the evening, to which all look forward on the tip-toe of expectation, is the tournament of satires between the ptarmigans and the ducks. A ball of thoroughly good-tempered musical ridicule is tossed backwards and forwards between each pair of singers, accompanied by roars of laughter from the auditors, who hold their sides and roll in ecstasies of enjoyment. Tears of merriment stream down the women’s faces.

This sort of thing goes on night after night for as long as a whole week; and only at the end of that time does the gathering begin to break up, and set about the prodigious business of getting on with the summer’s work.

As soon as this interlude of festivity and recreation is concluded, the tribes separate, each bound for its own appointed sphere of hunting operations, independently of the others. The new camp is soon pitched in some sheltered valley where there is a running stream, but not too close to the selected district, for fear of alarming the shy quarry. The men then go daily to search the hills and stalk the deer.

As soon as a herd is located, word is passed down to the camp, and the women rally to the men’s assistance. As each arrives she receives her instructions from the hunters. A valley is selected having but one exit, where there seem to be plenty of boulders. The women station themselves in a rough sort of ring all round it, hidden behind the rocks, each one with her skin jacket off and slung over her arm. Meanwhile, [245]the men creep up, and, keeping also under cover, surround the herd, and begin, by the well aimed throwing of first one stone, then another, to drive it off in the direction of the selected ravine, where other hunters are gathered in force with bows and arrows ready.

The deer, still suspecting nothing, move slowly to their fate. Presently one woman, to the rear, and then another, gets up in the open and beats her jacket on the rock behind which she had been hiding. This scares the creatures forward in the right direction, and drives them within the reach of the men. Directly they come within bowshot their doom is sealed. So skilful are the hunters that no man expends more than an arrow apiece on the deer. The whole herd is killed with the greatest celerity.

The carcases are retrieved and skinned, and immense feasting follows. These manœuvres are repeated day after day throughout the whole season, until the snow begins to appear again on the higher ranges, and the arctic summer is on the wane. Gradually the tribesfolk move off again towards the lower grounds, the south, and the sea, transporting with them huge bundles of invaluable skins and a great quantity of deer hams, until one by one they reach the various points of water where they left and stored their boats on the up-country trip.

There is no general point of assembly on the return journey. Each tribe takes its own course and works its way back towards its own territory unaccompanied [246]by the others. The women and children get a brief spell of rest when they reach the coast, while the men put in a few days seal hunting, to provision the homeward voyage. Finally, the umiaks are launched again and reloaded to the very gunwales; the sails are hoisted, and the fleet draws away through the archipelagoes of the coast to its port of registration!

Not infrequently on one of these big summer hunting expeditions, traces are discovered of a winter deer hunting party which had been overtaken by disaster. The evidences of some tragedy lie there for all to read: the sled torn to pieces, weapons scattered about, small boxes lying here and there, and bones—human, canine or vulpine—all over the place. Hunger, perhaps, overtook the party; sickness followed. Wolves attacked, or the hungry team of dogs got out of hand and tore down the hunters, who were unable successfully to defend themselves. The writer could instance many a savage incident of this description.

In a very similar district to the one described in the preceding account of the summer hunting, there was a fiord leading up to a landlocked bay, a favourite resort of the white whales. Regularly each year the hunters of the tribes in the vicinity used to go to hunt these creatures with gun and spear, taking splendid hauls of meat back to the camp, and bales of stout hide to be made into thongs, harness, etc. So much flesh and offal was left about on the scene of action that wolves came to infest the entire region. In early [247]spring the fiord afforded a particularly good sealing ground, being so sheltered from the crashing seas outside.

An Eskimo and his son ventured thither one day, intending to form a camp there for awhile and put in some good hunting. Mile after mile was covered, headland after headland passed, until they were nearing the sealing grounds, when the dogs began to show signs of panic. They could scarcely be got to proceed, no matter how sharply urged by voice and whalehide whip. Nothing moving, however, caught the keen sight of the men; no sound came to their ears. Suddenly, just as they passed another point, a fierce howl rang out on the bitter air, followed by a chorus of more howls, and a large pack of wolves swept out from behind it and came into full view. They had been lying in wait until the sled came up. Their bleached coats had rendered them invisible until they moved.

The hunters at once realised their deadly peril, and turning instantly about, headed at top speed for home. A long fierce chase ensued. There was no need to drive the dogs. They strained every terrified nerve in their bodies and flew over the ice. The wolves rushed on behind. They spread out fanwise, trying to encircle the dogs and cripple them one by one as opportunity offered, by making brilliant forward dashes and slashing with savage fangs at their legs.

The man thrust a sealing spear into the boy’s hands and shouted to him to thrust it at any wolf attempting [248]to attack at close quarters at side or rear, while he himself, armed with the terrible dog whip, lashed out continuously with the courage of despair, and the effectiveness of years of practice. He roared, and swung the murderous thong over the backs of the team, so as to protect it from the attacking wolves, crippling any one of them who ventured within its sweep. As often as one of the bloodthirsty brutes rushed in, it was met with a terrific cut, and fell back howling and disabled.

Hour after hour the awful race went on; until at last, when it seemed even to the hardy and seasoned hunter that neither he nor the wretched dogs could sustain the strain a moment longer, they came in sight of the last headland which hid the settlement from view. A final heroic effort might yet bring them to safety!

With a yell of encouragement to the exhausted son, and renewed vigour in his wielding of the whip, the hunter pressed on. The wolves, realising that their prey was actually escaping, redoubled their efforts to close in upon the sled. It dashed round the point only in the nick of time. The dogs in camp beyond, scenting what was afoot, instantly rushed out to give battle to the wolves. The pack, perceiving that the odds were now heavily against them, snarled viciously, turned coward tails, and vanished.…

The refugees arrived in camp in a state of utter collapse. The man’s whip arm was swollen beyond further usage, like his tongue, and his voice had gone. [249]He staggered to his house, and both he and the boy lay there for days before either sufficiently recovered to rise and go about their ordinary work again.

Many a party have been waylaid by wolves like this, and have not had the good fortune to survive. Should there be a shortage of food, resulting in subsequent sickness and weakness among the travellers or hunters, they fall victims very easily to the rapacity of the savage animal denizens of the wild. The male dogs of the teams get killed, and the females join the marauding horde and revert to their wolfish state.

THE SONG OF THE PINTAILED DUCK.

As sung in Competition in the Kagge.

[250]

Free Translation of the Song of the Pintailed Duck in Competition with the Ptarmigan.

The singer goes through all the appropriate (if somewhat broad) actions of this bit of burlesque, flapping his arms to ridicule the birds caught fast on the rocks in their own frozen droppings. The Ptarmigan is not slow to respond.

THE SONG OF THE HUNTER.

Free Translation of the Song of the Hunter:

[252]