Bear hunting, again, is pursued by the Eskimo with no less zest than that of the seal or deer. It forms quite a subject by itself, and calls for some description of its own customs, methods, and superstitions.
The bear is much respected by the Eskimo for his intelligence and cunning, and his strength. Indeed, they consider him second only, among the creatures of the wild, to man himself. It is for this reason that they so often choose for their “tongak,” or guardian familiar, the spirit of a bear.
One very curious belief about the animal is that the bear himself has a tongak (quite distinct from his Tarngnil or soul), and that when this spirit requires any new commodity, such as a new seal warp or line, which is represented by the black skin round the mouth of its protégé, this tongak causes the bear to fall in the hunter’s way and be killed. The hunter spares the black skin, and refrains from cutting it when flaying the carcase, as an offering to the spirit. A further offering of the sort is made by transfixing various portions of the beast’s body and entrails on a stake or spear, together with a man’s implement—[253]such as a knife, if the bear were a male, or a woman’s implement, such as a needle or skin scraper, if it were a female—and exposing the gift for three days. At the end of that time it is thrown into the sea.
In bear hunting, the rule is for the skin to go to the first hunter who sights the prey (not necessarily the first to kill it.) The best part of the body goes to him who deals the fatal blow.
The arctic bear is not an hibernating animal, for it is only the female who sleeps through the winter. The pair hunt together until the approach of winter, when the female, fat, and in the pink of condition after the summer months of good feeding, searches for a suitable place in which to retire and bear her cubs. She generally chooses a sheltered spot on land, where the snow lies deeply drifted. The two partners scratch out a comfortable cave in this, and the female then enters and rolls herself up to sleep. The male bear blocks up the entrance, and the next fall or drift of snow effectively completes his task, and obliterates all traces of the animal’s activities. He takes himself off, to roam about at his own sweet will, and attend to nobody’s appetite but his own for the next few months, returning to the female only in the spring, when she emerges from her hiding place, gaunt and hungry, and accompanied by the cubs. The male is always the safer creature to hunt at such a season, since the female is then thoroughly out of condition and very savage.
Bears are particularly fond of and feed upon the [254]blubber of seal and walrus, and resort to many tricks in order to procure it. The older generation of hunters studied the habits of the arctic creatures more carefully than do the Eskimo of to-day, and affirm many interesting things as to the bear’s tactics when on the prowl for food. They—the bears—know just as much about seal hunting as the tribesmen know, i.e., that these creatures lie about on the ice in the frozen bays, but are so wary of danger that they plunge out of sight in an instant through their “agloes” or seal holes at the slightest alarm. The bear goes nowhere near the sealing ground at first, but makes his way up any slight hill or eminence in the neighbourhood from which he can view the seals, and their adjacent holes. He impresses some sort of a map of it all, and of the safest route towards it, on his mind, and then makes the best haste he can towards the broken ice along-shore. He slides down the snow on his haunches like a tobogganist, carefully avoiding any rocks and obstacles projecting themselves in his path. After that, he creeps along with extraordinary caution towards the first sleeping seal he has marked down. He is all but invisible against the white background, and he is absolutely silent. He just glides towards his victim, and then at the last, when sufficiently close, he rushes forward and kills it with a single blow of his paw.
In the latter part of the spring, when the seal holes have become so enlarged that several of the animals may be making use of the same one, the bear takes [255]careful note of this fact and adopts a bolder plan of action. He creeps up to any neighbouring hole, examines it, dives down through it, and swims along under the ice towards the place where the seals are congregated. He suddenly pops up through their own particular hole, thus cutting off their retreat, kills them at his leisure, and gorges on their fat.
Wolf Trap.
The wolves and foxes were trapped by the hunters in the above manner. A small igloo was built in the broken ice along the sea shore where it would not be conspicuous, and a loaded gun fixed pointing to the entrance, which did not allow space for anything but forward movement. A trail of meat led to the entrance, inside of which was a piece of meat (ancient) tied to a string, the other end of the string was attached to the trigger. The wolf entered, seized the meat, and shot himself.
When hunting walrus the bear adopts different tactics. He knows that these creatures are at a great disadvantage on land, but that they love to drag themselves up on to the rocks or shore ice, and lie there asleep or basking in the sun beneath some cliff, and safely screened from their principal enemy—man. When the bear sights a walrus in such a position, he risks no direct attack, but takes careful note of the situation, loads a massive piece of ice or rock upon his shaggy shoulder, and making a cunning détour, works his way to some spot directly behind and above his [256]intended victim. Then he launches his missile down upon its head. The skull of the walrus is so thick it is almost impossible to smash it; but at least the animal is stunned, and the bear has only to scramble down and complete his work with a blow or two of his paw.
(This method of hunting, incredible though it seems, has been emphatically affirmed by several ancient hunters.)
No wonder the human hunter has conceived the highest respect for the bear, and is anxious to secure his Tongak for a familiar spirit!
In the water the walrus is a swift and formidable creature, to capture whom taxes the kyaker’s utmost skill and courage. The man has nothing but his spear and drag, i.e., an inflated sealskin attached to his spearhead, by means of which the animal, when transfixed, is prevented from diving too deeply or travelling too fast. As he approaches the walrus, man and beast manœuvre for an opening. The kyaker, keenly on the alert, with a touch of the paddle just keeps his frail craft moving until the other, with a sudden grunt and roar, rushes at him through the water, rearing right up at striking distance, a terrible vision indeed, with huge slavering tusks, eyes bloodshot and glistening with rage … The coolest courage is required to face it!
The hunter pauses there for just that fraction of a second until the creature is upon him, then slips aside, and the harpoon drives deep as the animal surges [257]past. It instantly dives, intending to come up and tear the kyak from beneath. But the drag of the float upon the line checks it and causes it to misjudge the distance, so that when it rises the kyak is not there. Meanwhile, the hunter has easily kept track of the beast’s rush under water, by the air bubbles (or by his highly trained instinct), and when its savage head reappears he races up, and strikes it in the face before it has recovered from its bewilderment. The startled, baffled foe immediately dives again, and remains below the surface as long as possible, only to be driven down once more the instant it emerges for a breath of air.
An Eskimo Trap for Bears, Foxes or Wolves.
This was used before the time of Europeans living in this country. The trap was composed of thin pieces of whalebone with sharpened points bent up and bound at the top by cross strings of gut or sinew, the whole being embedded in a piece of meat and left in the run of animals. The animal swallows the meat and trap. The gut strings dissolved in the stomach and the instrument sprang open as in the accompanying sketch, transfixing the stomach and killing the animal.
At last, utterly exhausted and nearly drowned, it comes up the last time and meets its fate at the hands of the plucky and relentless pursuer. Should the [258]hunter miss his stroke at the first awful attack and fail to get clear, the kyak is instantly overturned and the man savagely mauled in the water, the walrus driving its tusks right through his body time and time again. Or it sometimes seizes the hunter between its flippers and, in full view of the other kyakers, holds him under water, coughing hoarse defiance at them all as they rush up to the rescue; and then slowly submerges, taking its enemy with it. Such are the casualties of arctic life.
One of the very few creatures who seems to have it all his own way in the frozen regions of the north is the raven. He supplies an element of sheer impishness and insouciance in Eskimo life, without which the native might want for a good deal of fun and aggravation.
The bird abounds everywhere. Even in the most bitter and desolate spots the raven turns up in a sufficiently glossy and well nourished condition. His huge beak is a formidable weapon and always stands him in good stead. He is like a spirit of mischief, able to calculate to a hair how near to spear or gun he may with safety venture. He is the despair of men and dogs alike. He is an expert thief, and cannot be excelled in pilfering.
During the day, whilst the hunters are away and there is nothing much doing, the raven sits on a crag or other convenient spot overlooking the village, and with a melancholic and malignant eye broods in disgust. You can almost hear him hoarsely remark: [259]
“What a rotten show! What a poverty-stricken hole! This really is the limit! Not a scrap to filch since daybreak!”
Should you pass by, he brightens up and cocks an eye at you in an expectant way, as though it were the plainest duty of all bipeds to shed scraps and bits for him to enable him to pick up an honest living. Although, as a matter of fact, he much prefers a dishonest one.
Towards evening, there is an air of expectancy about the raven group. They have trimmed themselves up and sharpened their beaks on any stone or pole handy for the purpose. As the hunters begin to put in an appearance the birds move off and entrench themselves behind such cover as the neighbourhood may afford. They know from experience that man is uncertain with his gun, and it may go off unexpectedly with detrimental effects to themselves. Anyhow, they prefer to have a boulder in between.
Presently one bird, sharper-set than the rest, peers from his concealment to see how things are progressing. A croak of disgust at the leaden-footedness of events announces his observations to the rest. But presently a hunter emerges from his house with a bowl of dainties for the dogs (the dainties are more or less putrid), and empties it into a tumultuous crowd of them, when each one vies with his neighbour in catching and bolting as much as possible in the least space of time. At this, there is an ebon rush from [260]the surrounding crags, and a fierce rear attack upon the dogs from the voracious birds.
A beak like cold steel driven deep into a dog’s flank just as he is engulfing a particularly delicious morsel, tends to make him choke. He does so in fact, and his feathered aggressor, striking hard now at his nose, snatches the lump of meat from him in the very act of flapping and floating off to safety in mid air. The dog, disgusted and disappointed beyond expression, sits down and howls maledictions on thieves in general and ravens in particular, to the remotest of their generations.
No one loves the raven. The hunter uses every art to catch him, but generally in vain. He will set out early of a winter’s morning with a supply of the most cunning traps he can contrive, and of the most tempting bait. Nothing is in sight as he leaves the camp. When he reaches the trapping grounds he sets a line of fox traps in all the most likely places, and carefully conceals his work with snow. But his every movement his been ’cutely watched, and as soon as his back is turned there comes an amused and contemptuous croak, as who should say: “What an ass! Do you suppose I’m not equal to that?”
The croaker spreads bold wings and sails over to the trap. Inserting his bill beneath it like a lever, he simply wrests it over and so springs it. In a trice he tweaks out the bait and bolts it. He makes a point of being there on the hunter’s return in the evening, just to hear his remarks. The bird has the audacity [261]indeed to sit there, close by, his head upon one side and a bored expression in his eye, as though he were reflecting on the pitiable amateurishness of the whole affair.
A Seagull Trap.
The skins of these birds are used for socks, which go over the fur stocking and inside the boot to prevent the cold striking through to the foot. The old hunters build a small igloo amid the broken ice of the sea shore, leaving a hole in the top. Pieces of blubber are scattered outside to attract the gulls, who alight by the side of the hole and are caught by their legs and dragged inside. The flesh is eaten.
“What!” he seems to say. “You call that a snare? And you think you’re eloquent about it now! Why, if it comes to that, I could make your hair stand on end with the force and aptness of my remarks!” [262]
With a hoarse, derisive note, he rises then and wheels off into the arctic empyrean.
The gulls, on the other hand, come well within the category of those creatures whom the Eskimo hunter can outwit. These birds are always much in demand, both as food and for the sake of their skins, which latter, turned inside out, make capital socks. The old men spend a good deal of their time in winter, catching gulls.
The hunter builds himself a small igloo among the rough ice by the seashore, and creeps inside. He proceeds to cut a hole in the top just big enough for the passage of a bird’s body, and round this opening, on the outside, he spreads attractive bits of seal meat and blubber. Then he prepares to wait. Presently a gull, sweeping by on the endless search for food, spies these dainties, and descrying no sign of foe or danger, swoops ever nearer and nearer, until at last it alights on top of the igloo for a brief second, seizes a morsel and wheels off again. Nothing untoward having occurred, the bird grows bolder, returns, and finally settles down to the feast outspread in that tempting spot.
Suddenly a hand comes up and grips it by the legs, and drags it downwards through the hole. Another hand slides up its body to its neck, so that it cannot fight or bite, and in a moment or two the life is choked out of it. Bird after bird is caught in this way, until at the end of the day the hunter returns to the village under a load of white and grey feathers. He laughs [263]delightedly to think how he has tricked the greedy gulls, and how his cunning bird-calls have deceived one after another.
He recounts the story of it all over the cooking pot into which the birds are thrown as soon as skinned, and keeps his women-folk well entertained as they sit chewing the skins to pliability in their strong white teeth, for the rest of the arctic evening.
Such is a glimpse into the lives of these brave and hardy warriors of the North, a country which they love. Fierce and relentless though it be, it brings out all the best that is in them. All honour and praise to them. [265]