The value to the Eskimo of a good team of about five dogs is equivalent to that of a kyak or a sled, or a reliable gun. To assess it in terms of money would have no significance in a land where utility and necessity alone determine the scale.

The breed is part, or half, wolf. In build, the true Eskimo dog is well formed, almost slim about the hindquarters compared with the rest of his body, the broad and sturdy chest, the strong neck and heavy jaws. His hair is very thick, grey or tawny in colour, and his tail immensely bushy, always carried erectly, curving over the back. He is a different creature to the Samoyede and the Kentucky wolf hound; but probably there is very little to distinguish him from the famous Alaskan “husky” dog of so much literary fame, and the dog of the Labrador.

The dogs in Baffin Land are fed solely on seal flesh, unlike those of the trappers and mail carriers in Alaska and elsewhere, who subsist on a spare and spartan ration of frozen fish. Sacks of chopped seal are always carried on the sleds for the dogs on a winter journey, skin and hair included. They are [120]wonderful travellers, although the speed with which a trip may be accomplished depends on a good many other factors than dog power alone. In the winter a team may average thirty miles a day; or when conditions of ice and wind are particularly favourable this figure may be doubled.

The Eskimo dogs begin their lives in quite pleasant domestic comfort. They breed in the spring and autumn, and the puppies when born are kept on the sleeping place in the tent or igloo, and played with by the women and children in order to accustom them to being handled, and to the scent of human beings. Otherwise they would grow up wild and savage, and a trouble to their owners; and, moreover, might too easily fall a fat and toothsome morsel to any particularly hungry parent or stray wolf about the camp. They are pretty, playful puppies, full of puppy imbecility and fun. When about six weeks old this halcyon period of irresponsibility and shelter comes to an abrupt end. Out go the lot into the hard world, to eat and sleep with the grown-up dogs of the village. And immediately the puppy’s training begins. He has a miniature harness made for him and a little sled. The small boys take him in hand. They harness him and drive him about, to his unfathomable disgust and their own diversion, until he becomes used to the process and the various words of command.

As time goes on and he gets a little older his serious education engages the attention of the men. Puppy is harnessed to the real sled with the older dogs and [121]has to help to drag it to the hunting grounds. He objects strongly to leaving the village and what it has of possibilities in the way of tit-bits; but the accustomed orders break over his head in a fearful roar he has never heard before, and he scares up a new obedience. Soon, however, he tries the effect of rebellion, and bolts back on the trail, only to be brought up with a jerk as he reaches the end of his line. He is unceremoniously dragged along on his back, bumping over the rough ice, hating everything and everybody, thinking life not a bit worth living and that the bottom of his world has fallen out. He is rudely brought to! The leader of the team knows what to do. Like a parent spanking a naughty child, the leader sails in, and with many a forceful shake and many a shrewd nip at every tender point, he forces Puppy to take his rightful station in the team and do his best to pull. As he goes back to his own position at the head the Leader just passes word along to the rest to follow his example. They make quite a point of it. As often as the recruit shows a tendency to slack off again, or so much as rolls an eye towards the back trail, they give him a shake up or a nip on the leg to encourage him to proceed, rather, in the right direction. He receives further assistance towards this desirable fixity of purpose by an occasional and painfully adroit flick of the hunter’s long driving lash.

A few days of this sort of thing, and the youngster registers the lesson that discretion is the better part of valour. He learns to keep his objections to himself. [122]

The next thing to dawn upon his expanding mind is that dragging heavy weights over the snow makes one’s feet uncommonly sore. The older dogs knew that long ago, and lay down before starting in the morning, quite willing to have their boots put on. The dog “boot” is merely an oblong strip of seal leather with two holes for the nails to go through and a couple of thongs to secure the ends round the leg. Everywhere in the Arctics the freight dogs are obliged to have protection for their feet. But Youngster, whose turn for practical investigation has ere this convinced him that nothing is inedible except sticks and stones, retires promptly to the back of the sled or behind the nearest cover, and eats his boots there and then, with early morning relish. The team, to a dog, say nothing, but start off as usual. Youngster licks his lips, curls his tail, and feels good. But after a few miles something of the curl goes out of his tail, his feet become tender and he droops a little. The others plod on; he lags. Instantly comes the sting of the whip or a nip of teeth like a vice. Youngster sprints ahead, only to flag more and more, to limp and crawl at last with the pain in his unprotected, wayworn feet. At the end of the day he simply staggers home, a very sad and sobered Puppy. Leader strolls over, when he thinks he will, looks at him en passant, and grins. The culprit adds another mental note to his list of things not good for the digestion. No more boots!

Comes another milestone on the hard path of learning and virtue—pilfering. [123]

Young dogs have to learn that everything on the sled is rigorously taboo—for them. Not to be touched, or so much as sniffed at, on any account whatever. This lesson can only be enforced by many a whipping. For Youngster does so love to stroll past the sled with a preoccupied air, hands in pocket as it were. If he were a human being he would hum a hymn tune. Then, just in that flick of time when no one seems to be looking, he steals a mouthful of seal-meat or blubber. Instantly retribution envelops him. He is severely thrashed. If an experience of this sort repeated once or twice does not cure him his master becomes harsh indeed. The hunter must at all costs gain and keep the ascendancy over his dogs. The thief has his head forced hard back with the mouth wide open, and the man smashes out the two long upper fangs with the back of his hunting knife. That bit of violence completes this part of Youngster’s spartan education.

He graduates by learning how to smell for seal holes in the ice, how to tackle a bear, how to defend himself, how to guard the tent or igloo, how to brave every extreme of bitter weather. When an Eskimo dog knows all this he becomes a valuable asset to his master.

The Eskimo drives his sled team spread out fanwise. In this formation they are less likely to break through the snow crust than if driven Indian fashion, one ahead of the other. The tandem style is suitable for wooded country, where there is no room to expand [124]and where it is imperative to keep to a narrow, perhaps ill-defined trail; but in the Arctics one of the greatest dangers of travelling is to fall into deep snow. Men and dogs alike can be smothered if the crust gives way, for their struggles only cause them to sink the deeper. The dogs are driven by word of command only (i.e., orders to get up, start, straight ahead, right or left, lie down), and by the whip, a tremendously long thong of white whale hide attached to a short stock. Half the art of dog driving consists in the right management of this difficult whip. It has to sail out to touch just the right dog in just the right place, and should crack sharply at the tip. The Leader is the most important, reliable and experienced dog in the team. He is attached to the sled by a longer trace than the others, so that he runs ahead of them, and his position is in the centre. It goes without saying that he is very conscious of his eminence, and gives himself insufferable airs.

In camp the team always sleep curled round in the snow, if not in the porch at least near their master’s dwelling, ready for any scraps that may be flung out; and woe betide any other dog who dares to come near, or even essays to pass by! There is a rush and the outsider is severely mauled. Another time, he makes a wide détour. The people never leave the tents without a guard if they can possibly help it. If the man and woman are both away a child is left. The dogs can tell the place is inhabited and refrain from a raid, which would only bring a storm about their ears if [125]once the alarm were raised. But should the dwelling be empty even for a short time, the dogs at once get to know it—and they know about the stores of meat and oil and blubber inside! Now, the Leader of the team belonging to the establishment is there also as a “guard,” but his argument seems to be that this obligation applies only to outsiders. Having driven off any strange visitants who may venture around, he has no further scruples about helping himself. Moreover, he has a remarkable business head. He believes, in letting the others down—for his own advantage and prestige.

As soon, then, as he decides the tupik is really empty, he gives one short, deep note, well understood by the others dogs, signifying that the coast is clear. Then he bounces at the tent wall, bursts through it, and snatching the first big mouthful of meat he can get, beats a discreet retreat, leaving the others like thoughtless children to do the work and get themselves into the required mess. They rush in, of course, make hay of the tent, and kick up a tremendous uproar, giving themselves away to the whole village. It does not take long for the natives to cope with the situation. Armed with sticks, they hurry to the spot, and while some penetrate the tent to lay about and drive the dogs outside, others stand ready for the culprits when they come out, to give them such hard blows as will last them well—until next time! Out comes number one, a lump of provender in his teeth. He gets his blows right enough, but sticks to the meat [126]… only to be met, further on by the Leader, a surprised and indignant look on his face, as who should say “What! You at it again! Stealing, when you ought to be on guard! And having the effrontery to try to pass Me with your plunder! Put that meat down instantly and I’ll take charge of it! If you want any more, go back and get it.”

There is no getting past this. The delinquent is bowled out, rolled over, bullied until he loses his head and his booty into the bargain. He is glad to escape alive. He breaks away at last, frantically licking his wounds. Whereupon Leader absent-mindedly eats the meat and sits down to await another scrap from the next offender. He calls this keeping his end up with the mob.

On one lurid occasion of this sort, all the canine raiders had escaped from the tent but one, a small fat puppy. He happened to be in the place at the time and quite enjoyed entering into the spirit of the thing—meant to do his best like the others. So he climbed into the lamp, freshly replenished with oil, and fitted it so exactly, lubricating himself from head to foot, that he stuck in situ to be caught, but looking quite proud of his position and feeling altogether grown up. He was soaked in oil and grime; oil dripped from his mouth, and the laugh on his face plainly said, “My! This is good! Why didn’t I think of it before?” He was summarily pulled both out of the lamp and out of his complacency. Infantile yells outside told of early correction being administered and a lesson in honesty [127]enforced. After that his mother took him in hand and licked him clean.

It is sometimes asserted that the Eskimo dog does not bark. This is a mistake, as he certainly has a snappy bark of his own, however little it may resemble the recognised barks of all other sorts of dogs. For the most part he howls.

The dogs, one and all, are up to every sort of trick. Moreover, their stomachs are for ever empty and always keen for any sort of food. They are fed at night whilst on the trail, in order that the meal should have time to digest and strengthen them. Incidentally, they sleep soundly buried in the snow, and neither attempt to stray nor to break into the hunter’s sleeping place. In the morning they are nowhere to be seen. The white expanse remains unbroken. They are all under the snow, and in no way inclined to rouse up and be harnessed. Nobody wastes time looking for them. Someone takes a lamp outside the shelter and empties the oil on the ground. Immediately black noses emerge from here and there, tempted by the smell, and the rest is easy.

Once upon a time Nannook (the bear) the Bad Hat of the team, had a brilliant idea. He had often considered the weighty problem of the driving lash it seemed so impossible for his master ever to forget. The point was, how to get rid of it. So long as that whip cracked forever about them there was no chance of making the other dogs do his share of the work, no opportunity to slack off or snatch a rest. The only [128]scheme seemed to be to eat it. Nothing loth, Nannook waited for the usual midday halt. The hunter chopped off some frozen pieces of meat, sat down in the lee of the sled and ate and smoked. The whip lay unheeded on the snow behind his shoulder.

Nannook sneaked up, caught hold of the end of the lash, and steadily began to chew. He chewed yard after yard, his stomach feeling better with every foot of the way. He chewed up to the very stock, undetected; and having packed away at least eighteen feet of seasoned whalehide, crept back to the team. Presently the hunter bestirred himself for a start. Picking up his whip—he just gazed round. It was a dog, without a doubt; but which one? Who on earth could tell! All were innocently dozing, every one in his place, the picture of virtuous decorum. No one could tell. No one, therefore, could be punished. The rest of the journey was accomplished perforce of shouting only. For once in a way the dogs had the best of the joke.

It sometimes happens on a long trail with a heavy sled that a blizzard, or some other untoward circumstance, may delay a traveller for a longer or shorter time; sometimes for days. His food supply gives out and the dogs come to an end of their rations. The team gets ever more weary and more weak. The hunter goes on ahead, breaking the trail for them on snowshoes; the dogs stagger along after him, often lying down and refusing to get up. But the trouble has not been unforeseen. The master has prepared [129]for this sort of emergency by carefully bringing along some particularly bad bits of refuse seal meat. The stench of them would imbue a skunk with self-respect, in comparison. Taking one of these, he forges ahead, calling the dogs and leaving behind him a lure like poison gas. He drops the meat, and the Leader, picking up the scent, with a new cock in his dispirited ears, bustles round, spurring up the team with the information. “Come on!” he says. “Can’t you see he’s dropped that bit? My, can’t you smell it? Hurry up, and let’s get it!” They do get up, poor dupes; but the Leader, in virtue of his longer trace gets there first, and doesn’t wait to argue. Over and over again this manœuvre is repeated, both on the hunter’s part and on the Leader’s. The rest of the team make all the effort they can to get equal with such duplicity, and sometimes even succeed in snatching first at the bait. Anyway, it is a fine way of getting the sled along and taking their minds off their troubles. A trail of loathsome scraps, each one encouraging a spurt on the part of the dogs, helps over the distance. Often an exhausted team has been enabled to cover the last few miles by this method, when otherwise they must have dropped.

In spite of the rigour of his life and the necessary hardness of his owner, the Eskimo dog is not without that glorious power of faithful canine devotion which is one of the most beautiful forms of love on earth. The writer knows of at least two instances where a dog has wasted away and died of grief in his master’s [130]absence or after his death. But such a true canine trait is very rare. For the most part, these animals readily transfer their affections to the hand that feeds them.

They are savage to all strangers. The team guards its master’s tent or igloo because he is the one who provides for it. The dogs sleep in the porch as a rule; and before entering a dwelling the visitor is well advised to call to one of the inmates to quiet them, otherwise he will be severely bitten. In winter, when hungry, the dogs are more dangerous than ever. It happened, once, that two Eskimo had died, and been sewn up in their blankets and buried beneath a cairn of huge stones in a neighbouring valley. One of the bodies was even enclosed in a light barrel. During the night the dogs raided the place, tore down the stones, and ate the dead. In the summer time they forage for themselves on the seashore, picking up small fish left by the tide, and anything edible they can find.

The Eskimo dog has a great deal that is wolfish and dangerous in him. The strain, indeed, is very little differentiated from the wolf. Sometimes a dog will leave camp, go back to the wild, and join a pack of wolves as one of themselves. Those who do this seldom return; but when they do, puppies of the direct resulting strain are greatly valued. It has been remarked that, whereas wolves in the Arctic seldom attack a human being, dogs will not uncommonly do so. The extraordinary thing about this is that hydrophobia [131]is practically unknown. It would be difficult to say exactly what may be the natural span of life of the Eskimo dogs, but they seem to be at least as long lived as the larger breeds of European dogs.

The Eskimo names his dog ‘The Lively One,’ the ‘Bear,’ the ‘North Star,’ and in similar fashion. The animals possess much humour of their own; one belonging to the writer, of whom he was extremely fond, certainly enjoyed fun, and could very nearly speak!

Lest, while on the subject of these creatures too much space should be devoted to them, this chapter cannot be concluded without a brief description of the sleds to which their toilsome lives are vowed.

The small, light-going sled used for hunting is only about six feet in length. The cross bars are fastened to the runners by sealskin thongs, to ensure a certain degree of pliability in travelling over rough ice. A pair of reindeer horns with part of the skull attached are fastened by thongs to the back of the sled, forming a sort of erect triangle. This serves as a rack upon which to hang coils of sealing line and various implements, and also as a rest to lean against for anyone sitting on the sled. The runners are shod with strips of bone sawn from the ribs or jaw of the whale, and fastened on either by wooden pegs or by thongs sunk into grooves to prevent them wearing through. These runners are the object of very special care and constant daily attention on the part of the owner. They are covered with a thick coating of seal’s blood, [132]for the sake of a fine surface. The craftsman takes a mouthful of this material and squirts it upon the runners, moulding it at the same time with his fingers. It freezes even as he smooths it down, and with a final squirting of water takes a high, hard glaze which ensures smooth and swift running for the sled. If seal’s blood happens to be scarce the maker uses a mixture of moss roots and water, which gives an almost equally good surface when applied in the same way, and looks like nothing so much as a first-class cork lino.

The Kummotik, or long travelling sled, is double the length of the foregoing and heavier in proportion. Otherwise its construction is the same. It requires a team of from twelve to eighteen dogs, whereas five are sufficient for the hunting sled. The loading of a Kummotik is a work of art. There is a place for everything, and everything has to go, just so, into its place. The spears and weapons are stowed in the bottom of the sled in front, by the driver. At the far end, a piece of skin is laid down and upon this slab upon slab of blubber for the lamp is piled up, and the lamp set atop of the lot, bottom up, because of the grease and dirt. Then the meat for the journey is put aboard—frozen deer hams, and frozen seals entire, enough for the whole party until they fetch up at the next tribe’s camping ground. The meat is, of course, uncooked, since a minimum of raw meat gives a maximum of heat and strength. (Hence the Eskimo prefer their rations raw when there is work to be [133]done. The cooked stew of an evening is a mere luxury meal.) A skin is thrown over the heap of provisions to prevent the travellers’ clothing being soiled by it. Over it all are piled the rolled-up sleeping blankets and the karsâte or deerskin rugs for mattresses. Knives, axes and lines hang upon the horns behind. The driver’s seat in front is a box containing small tools, flint and steel. The whole load is securely lashed down to the cross bars of the sled. The man’s spear is slipped into the lashings on one side, so as to be handy for use at a moment’s notice. The women and children perch on top of the load, or make their way alongside on foot, as they prefer. The dogs’ lines are all gathered to a point (like the sticks of a fan) just in front of the runners, when they are tied and then divided into the two short traces which, fastened to right and left on the runners, draw the sled.

A still more ancient form of sled was in use among the Eskimo before the advent of the whites, but the elders of the villages remember it well and describe it to-day. In those times wood was very scarce, tools very rude, and whales more abundant than at present. So strips of whalebone taken from the mouth (before this valuable material came into the markets of the world at all) were stitched together by whale or hide thongs, until a sled could be fashioned out of them, something like a huge, long, black shovel, very hard, durable and strong. Dogs harnessed to this contrivance made good speed with it, even with the driver squatting upon it. In one respect it was more serviceable [134]than the modern form with runners, since unlike these it did not sink in snow or easily break through a rotten crust. It should be noted that a full-grown whale has about a ton of this black whalebone fringe hanging from his jaw, the longest part of it attaining six or seven feet when the mouth is open; so that a fair sized sled could easily be made out of such a great supply.

The struggle for existence in the Arctic has taught the Eskimo to utilise in the most ingenious ways resources at their disposal so limited that the marvel is so self-sufficing, so healthy, hearty and happy a civilisation, of its kind, could ever have been evolved.

Where these tribes have come so much in contact with other peoples, and even with well-meaning white enterprise on their behalf, that they have attempted to substitute for their old ways a method and mode of living indigenous neither to the climate nor to their own physique, they have invariably degenerated. The Eskimo of Labrador and Alaska have largely abandoned [135]the snow house for the log shack or sod hut, and have in consequence been decimated by tuberculosis. Everywhere, contact with “civilisation” has tended so to divorce these children of the North from their natural environment as to initiate their wholesale decline. It is only now, in “the last North of all”—in Baffin Land, Boothia Island, Victoria Land, and the rest—that the Eskimo retain their old ways and their old vigour. Their life and their type everywhere else has become mongrel and nondescript. While there can never, of course, be any question in believing and thinking man’s mind about the inestimable boon of Christianity and educating these people along the lines suggested by a sympathetic study of them on the spot, it seems to be very inadvisable to interfere with them, to “civilise” them too much after the unsuitable European model, to revolutionise the natural and suitable scheme of life they have so bravely and so ingeniously worked out for themselves during the uncivilised centuries of their existence in the bleakest and most inhospitable regions of the earth. [136]