MODES OF HUNTING — SEAL HUNTING IN THE SNOW — THE INFANT DECOY — THE SEAL’S IGLOO — AN IVORY FLOAT — SEAL “TALK” — THE HARPOONS AND SPEARS — SPEARING THE WALRUS — THE ICE RAFT — THE BOW AND ARROWS AND WRIST GUARD — DEER HUNTING — GROUSE SHOOTING — THE WOLF AND FOX TRAPS — THE BIRD SLING — BEAR HUNTING — THE MEN’S AND WOMEN’S BOATS — CONSTRUCTION OF THE KIA, AND MODE OF USING IT — AQUATIC FEATS — THE WOMEN’S BOAT AND ITS USES — THE SLEDGE — THE VARIOUS RUNNERS — SLEDGE DOGS AND THEIR TRAINING — EXAMPLES OF THEIR CLEVERNESS — BARBEKARK AND THE CAPELINS — MARRIAGE AND EDUCATION OF CHILDREN — GAMES AND DANCING — RELIGION — THE ANGEKO AND HIS MYSTERIES — “IN VINO VERITAS” — HONESTY — HOSPITALITY — DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD.

Depending wholly upon the products of the chase for their food, the Esquimaux are most accomplished hunters, and in their peculiar way are simply unequalled by any other people on earth. Take, for example, their mode of seal catching. The reader is doubtless aware that the seal, being a mammal, breathes atmospheric air, and that in consequence it cannot remain very long under water, but is obliged to come up at certain intervals for the purpose of breathing. When it dives under the ice, it would therefore be drowned did it not form for itself certain breathing holes in the ice. These are very small, not more than an inch and a half, or at the most two inches, in diameter, and do not penetrate through the coating of snow that lies on the ice.

The hunter’s dog, which is specially trained for this purpose, detects the breathing hole, and the master then reverses his harpoon, which has a long, spindle shaped butt, and thrusts it through the snow in search of the concealed hole, which often lies under some two feet of snow. When he has found it, he seats himself by the hole, with his harpoon ready; and there he will sit until he hears the blowing sound of the seal, when he drives the harpoon into the hole, and invariably secures his prey. This is the more difficult, as, if the stroke be wrong by even a quarter of an inch, the seal will not be struck, and the man is often wearied with waiting and need of sleep.

The patience with which the Esquimaux hunter will watch a seal hole far surpasses that of a cat at a mouse hole. Captain Hall mentions one case, where an Esquimaux, a notable seal hunter, actually sat watching a seal hole for two and a half days and two nights without either sleep or food. Considering the nature of the climate, such a feat as this is almost incredible. The poor man, after all his trouble, failed to secure the seal, but was not disheartened, and, after taking some food, went off again to the seal hole to renew his watch.

Some of the Esquimaux seal hunters use a singularly ingenious instrument for enabling them to detect the approach of the animal. It consists of a very slender ivory rod, about twelve inches in length, pointed at one end, and having a round knob at the other. It is about as thick as a crow quill. When the hunter has found a seal hole, he ties to the upper end a very fine thread made of sinew, and lowers it into the seal hole, where it is allowed to dangle by the thread. When the seal comes to breathe, it takes no notice of so small an object, but rises as usual for air, pushing the little rod before it. As soon as the hunter sees the rod rise, he knows that the seal is there, and drives his spear down the hole. Even a larger float—if we may so call it—might be unseen by the seal, but it would interfere with the passage of the spear.

There is another mode of catching seals, in which the young acts as a decoy for its mother. The seal, when she is about to produce her young, scratches away the ice until she comes to the snow, which lies deep upon it. She then scratches away a quantity of the snow until she has made a dome-like chamber, in form exactly like the snow hut of the Esquimaux. The tunnel through the ice is just large enough to allow the passage of the seal, while the chamber is about five feet in diameter, so that a tolerably large platform of ice is left, on which the creature can rest. Here its young is produced, and here it remains until the sun melts away the snow covering of the chamber, or igloo, as it is called, by which time the young animal is able to take care of itself.

At the proper season, the Esquimaux set off in search of these seal igloos, and when they are detected by the dogs, the hunter flings himself on the snow, thus beating down the roof of the igloo. He then thrusts his sealing hook into the igloo, and drags out the young seal. It is remarkable, by the way, that the polar bear acts in precisely the same manner, crushing down the walls of the igloo, and dragging out the young one with its paws.

When the Esquimaux has secured the young seal, he ties a long line to one of the hind flippers, and allows it to slip into the sea through the tunnel, while he creeps into the igloo with his hook, in hopes of catching the mother as she comes to help her young one. The Esquimaux always kill young seals by putting the foot on their shoulders, and pressing firmly down, so as to suffocate it. This is done for the purpose of preserving the blood.

Sometimes the seal hunter actually stalks the wary animal on the ice. The seal has a strange way of sleeping when lying on the ice. It takes short naps of only a few seconds’ duration, and between them raises its head and looks round to see if any enemy be approaching. The Esquimaux takes advantage of this habit, and, lying down on the ice, he waits for these short naps, and hitches himself along the ice toward the animal, looking himself very much like a seal as he lies on the ice, covered with seal skin garments. Whenever the seal raises its head, the hunter stops, begins to paw with his hands, and utters a curious droning monologue, which is called “seal talk,” and is supposed to act as a charm. Certain it is, that the seal appears to be quite gratified by the talk, is put off its guard, and allows the hunter to approach near enough to make the fatal stroke.

The same kind of “talk” is used when the sealer goes out in his boat, and some of the hunters are celebrated for the magical power of their song. In seal hunting from a boat, a different kind of harpoon is employed. It is longer and slighter than that which is used for ice hunting, and is furnished with a float made of a leathern bag inflated with air. This is fastened to the shaft, and just below it one end of the harpoon line is secured, the other end being made fast to the head of the weapon.

When the seal is struck, the shaft is shaken from the head, so that there is no danger of its working the weapon out of the seal by its leverage, and it acts as a drag, impeding the movements of the animal, so that the hunter is able to overtake it in his boat, and to pierce it with another harpoon. When the seal is dead, the float serves another purpose. Seals, when killed in the water, almost invariably sink so rapidly that they cannot be secured. The float, however, remains at the surface, so that the successful hunter has only to paddle to it, take it into the canoe, and haul the seal on board. Perhaps the most curious part of the business lies in the skill with which the hunter carries the seal home. The boat in which he sits is entirely covered with skin, except a small aperture which admits his body, and yet he lays the body of the seal upon this slight platform, and manages to balance it as he paddles homeward, regardless of the waves upon which his light little canoe trembles like a cork.

Of these boats we shall presently see something, and will now merely look at the weapons which are employed by the Esquimaux in hunting.

It is worthy of remark that war is totally unknown among the Esquimaux, who are perhaps the only people in the world who possess no war weapons, and have no desire to do so. Generally, when a savage obtains for the first time possession of fire-arms, he uses them in warfare, and by the superiority of his weapons raises himself to eminence. The Esquimaux cares for none of these things. He is essentially a family man, and when he is fortunate enough to procure a musket, he simply uses it for hunting purposes, never wasting the precious powder and lead upon the bodies of his fellow-men. Of fame he is totally ignorant, except that sort of local fame which is earned by skill in hunting. He finds that all his energies are required to procure food and clothing for his household, and therefore he does not expend them upon any other object.

The weapon which is to the Esquimaux what the rifle is to the backwoodsman, the boomerang to the Australian, the sword to the Agageer, the lasso to the South American, and the sumpitan to the Dyak, is the harpoon, a weapon which undergoes various modifications, according to the use to which it is put, but is essentially the same in principle throughout.

The first example is the typical harpoon. It consists of a long wooden shaft, with a float attached to it, as has already been described on page 1339. Owing to the great scarcity of wood in Esquimaux land, the greater part being obtained from the casual drift-wood that floats ashore from wrecks, such a weapon is exceedingly valuable. The shaft is generally made of a number of pieces of wood lashed together in a most ingenious fashion.

The barbed head is but loosely fitted to the shaft, a hole in the base of the head receiving a point at the end of the shaft. It is held in its place by leathern thongs, so arranged that, as soon as the wounded animal darts away, the shaft is shaken from the head. The arrangement of the leathern thongs varies according to the kind of weapon. The illustration on page 1337, shows the head of the harpoon which is used for spearing the walrus.

It is about nine inches in length, and is made of ivory, either that of the walrus or the narwhal, probably the former, as it partakes of the curve of the walrus tooth. It consists of two pieces, which we call, for convenience’ sake the body and the head. The upper part of the body is slightly pointed and rounded, and is meant to be fixed to the shaft of the harpoon. About an inch and a half from the end two holes are bored, through which is passed a double thong of leather about as thick as a goose quill. Next comes the head, which is a triangular and deeply barbed piece of ivory, armed with a thin, flat plate of iron, almost exactly like the armature of the Bosjesman’s war arrow. Through this head is bored a hole, and through the hole passes the loop of the double thong already mentioned. At the butt of the head there is a hole, into which is fitted the conical termination of the body.

By reference to the illustration, the reader will easily comprehend the arrangement. Fig. 1 shows the entire instrument, the head fitted on the body, and held in its place by the double thong. Fig. 2 shows the head disjointed from the body. The reader will now see what a perfect barb this instrument forms. When the harpoon is hurled at the walrus, the head penetrates through the tough skin, and, becoming disjointed from the body, sets at right angles across the little wound which it made on entering, and effectually prevents the weapon from being withdrawn. Fig. 3 shows the upper view of the head, and fig. 4 shows the hole at its base, into which the conical end of the body is loosely fitted.

The line attached to the shaft of this harpoon is very long and of great strength, and, when the hunter goes out to catch walrus, is coiled round and round his neck in many folds, very slightly tied together so as to prevent the successive coils from being entangled with one another. When the hunter launches his harpoon with the right hand, he with the left hand simultaneously jerks the coils of rope off his neck, and throws them after the harpoon. The jerk snaps the slight ligatures, and the animal is “played” like a salmon by an angler, until it is utterly wearied with pain, loss of blood, and its struggles to escape, and can be brought near enough to receive the fatal wound from a spear.

Casting off the rope in exact time is a most important business, as several hunters who have failed to do so have been caught in the coils of the rope, dragged under the ice, and there drowned. On the end of the harpoon line is worked a loop, and, as soon as the weapon is hurled, the hunter drives a spear deeply into the ice, slips the loop over it, and allows the walrus to struggle against the elastic rope until it is quite tired. He then hauls up the line until he has brought the animal to the ice, snatches up his spear, and with it inflicts a mortal wound. On the next page the reader may find an illustration showing the Esquimaux in his usual dress, and engaged in walrus hunting.

One mode of employing this harpoon against the walrus is singularly ingenious. When the Esquimaux hunters see a number of the animals sleeping on a sheet of ice, they look out for an ice fragment small enough to be moved, and yet large enough to support several men. Paddling to the ice, they lift their canoes upon it, bore holes in it, and make their harpoon lines fast to the holes. They then gently paddle the whole piece of ice, men, canoes, and all, to the spot where are lying the drowsy animals, who do not suspect any danger from a piece of ice floating by.

Having made their selection, the hunters tell off two men to each walrus, and, at a given signal, all the harpoons are hurled. The whole herd instantly roll themselves into the sea, the wounded animals being attached to the piece of ice by the harpoon lines. The hunters allow them to tow their ice craft about until they are exhausted, when they launch their canoes, and kill the animals with their spears. As soon as the walrus is dead, the hunters plug up the holes with little pegs of ivory, for the purpose of preserving the blood, which is so highly valued by the Esquimaux.

The Esquimaux have another kind of spear. The shaft is made of wood, but the point and the barbed projections are of ivory. This spear is chiefly used for catching fish, and is flung by means of a throwing stick, almost in the same manner as the spears of the Australians. The throwing stick is made of wood, flattish, and near one end has a hole, into which the butt of the spear is passed. This is altogether a much slighter and lighter weapon than that which has been described.

Bows and arrows are also employed by the Esquimaux. The former are made of horn, bone, or wood, and are almost always composed of several pieces lashed firmly together. As is the case with the bows of the North American tribes, the chief strength is obtained, not so much from the material of the bow, as from a vast number of sinew strings which run down its back. There are often a hundred or more of these sinews, which are put on sufficiently tight to give the bow a slight curvature against the string. The shape of the bow is rather peculiar. And though the weapon is so powerful, it is seldom used at a greater distance than twelve, or at most twenty yards. The length of the bow is on an average three feet six inches.

The arrows are extremely variable. Some have wooden shafts tipped with bone, but the shafts of the best specimens are half bone and half wood, and the points are armed with a little piece of iron. The arrows are contained in a quiver, and the bow is kept in a case. This quiver and bow-case are generally made of seal skin, as being impervious to wet, though they are frequently made of other materials. My own specimen is formed from the hide of the reindeer. When the Esquimaux shoots, he always holds his bow horizontally. The bow-string is made of some fifteen or twenty sinew strings, which are loosely twisted, but not made into a cord.

The bow and arrows are chiefly used in the capture of the reindeer and in shooting rabbits, birds, and other small game. The mode of deer hunting is very ingenious. When the hunter sees some deer feeding on the level plain, he takes his bow and arrows, draws his hood well over his head, and creeps as close as he can to the spot where the deer are reposing. Here he begins to bellow in imitation of the cry with which the deer call each other, and thus attracts the animals within the short distance at which an Esquimaux archer shoots.

Even if he should not use the bellowing call, he has only to lie patiently on the ground to be sure that, sooner or later, some of the deer will come and look at him. They are most inquisitive animals, and when they see any strange object, they cannot resist satisfying their curiosity by inspecting it. Providing the object of their curiosity does not move after them, they approach in a series of circles which they gradually narrow, capering and tossing their heads capriciously, and at last will come within a yard or two of the motionless hunter, and so fall a victim to the arrow which he has already fitted to his bow.

Sometimes the deer hunters adopt an ingenious ruse. Two of them walk near the deer, and purposely show themselves. When the animals’ attention is fixed upon them, they walk slowly away, knowing that the innate curiosity of the deer will induce them to follow. They direct their course past some stone or similar object, when one of them quickly steps behind it, while the other walks onward as before. The deer do not notice that one of the men has disappeared, and so follow the other, thus coming within a yard or two of the deadly arrow.

The arrow is also used for shooting birds, which are always killed when sitting. The arctic grouse are killed in great numbers by the arrow. They pack closely together, so that an arrow shot at random among them can scarcely avoid hitting one of them; and the birds are so apathetic that, when the missile falls among them, they only fly a few yards further and then settle, so that the hunter can pick up his arrow and shoot it at them again, until he has shot the greater number of the covey.

In order to save the wrist from the recoil of the bow-string, the Esquimaux wears a very ingenious guard, composed of several pieces of bone tied together and fastened on the wrist by a bone button and loop. The pieces of bone are about four inches in length. Below the wrist-guard, which is shown on the 1353d page, some curiously formed hooks are represented. No bait is required with them. They are simply moved up and down in the water so as to attract the attention of the fish, and then are jerked sharply upward, so as to catch the fish on one of the projecting points. There are many varieties of this curious hook, but those which are illustrated are the most characteristic.

There is also an instrument called the kakeeway, or little nippers, which is used in a similar manner by the Esquimaux boys. They take a model of a fish made of ivory, tie a string to it, and troll it about in the water in order to attract the fish, when they are struck with the kakeeway, and hauled out of the water. The artificial fish are about three inches long, and are very neatly made, with eyes of iron pyrites. This is a very slow process of fish catching, but the boys, to whom time is of no object, are very fond of it, and will sit on their heels all day for the chance of catching two or three little fish.

The foxes and wolves are generally taken in traps. There are several kinds of traps, but they are mostly made on one or the other of two principles. The usual trap is very like a common mouse trap, except that it is made of ice instead of wood. It is so long and narrow that a wolf cannot turn himself in it, but, if he wishes to retreat, must do so backward. The door is a heavy slab of ice, which moves up and down in two grooves. The door being raised, it is held in position by a line which passes over the top of the trap, through a hole at the end, and is then slightly hitched over a peg. A bait is then attached to the end of the line, and when the wolf pulls it, the door is released, and effectually secures the animal in the icy prison. A hole is then made in the side of the trap, and the wolf is speared where he lies.

Foxes are also taken in these traps, but the usual kind of fox trap is made on a different plan. It is built in a form somewhat resembling a lime-kiln, and the aperture is covered with a piece of whalebone, along which the animal must walk to get at the bait. As it steps on the whalebone, the elastic material gives way, lets the fox into the trap, and then resumes its former position, ready for another victim.

It has already been mentioned that birds are often shot with arrows as they are sitting. The Esquimaux have a singular instrument by which they can capture birds on the wing, provided that they do not fly at any great height from the ground. It consists of seven or eight pieces of bone or ivory, or stone, the latter being preferred on account of its weight. To each of the weights is attached a sinew cord about two feet six inches in length, and all the ends of the cords are tied together, their junction being usually ornamented by a tuft of feathers. When the Esquimaux sees a bird flying so that it will pass tolerably near him, he whirls the sling round his head and flings it at the bird. As it leaves his hand, all the weights fly apart, on account of the rotatory motion which has been communicated to them, so that the weapon covers a space of five feet. Should one of the weights or strings strike the bird, the whole of the sling becomes wrapped round it, and the bird falls helpless to the ground. The reader will doubtless see that this sling is in fact a modification of the Patagonian bolas.

In bear hunting the Esquimaux use either the walrus harpoon or the spear, and often both. They set their dogs at the bear, and while he is engaged in repelling their attacks, which are always made at his back and hind-quarters, the hunter drives the harpoon at him, and fastens the end of the line to the ice, so as to prevent the bear from escaping. He then attacks the animal with another harpoon and with his lance, and, avoiding skilfully the repeated attacks which the bear makes upon him, drives the sharp weapon into the animal’s heart.

The Esquimaux are always very careful not to kill a young bear without previously killing its mother. Should one of them, pressed by hunger, commit so rash an act, the whole party to which he belongs are obliged to take the strictest precautions lest they should be assailed by the mother, who will assuredly follow on their track. They therefore proceed for some five or six miles in a straight line, and then suddenly turn off at right angles, so that the bear may overrun their track as she presses eagerly forward. This manœuvre is several times repeated. When the houses are reached, the weapons are laid ready for use by the bedside, and the sledges are stuck upright outside the house. This is intended by way of a warning to the sleepers. The bear is suspicious about the erect sledge, and always knocks it down before attacking the house, so that the noise of the falling sledge awakens the sleepers, and puts them on their guard.

The two means of transport used by the Esquimaux are the boat and the sledge, both of which deserve description.

There are two kinds of boats, those of the men and those used by women. The man’s boat is called kajak or kia, according to the dialect of the people, and is a very remarkable piece of workmanship. It is shuttle shaped, both ends being sharply pointed. It is made of a very slight framework of wood and whalebone, over which is stretched a covering of skin. In the middle there is a hole just large enough to admit the body of the rower, and when he takes his seat, he gathers his skin together and ties it round his waist, so that the boat is absolutely impervious to water. The average length is twenty-five feet, and so light are the materials of which it is made, that a man can carry his kia on his head from the house to the water.

These slight canoes have no keel, and sit so lightly on the water that they can be propelled over, rather than through, it with wonderful speed. The paddle is a double one, held in the middle, and used in a manner which is now rendered familiar to us by the canoes which have so largely taken the place of skiffs. It is between nine and ten feet in length, small in the middle, which serves as a handle, and gradually widening to the blades, which are about four inches in width, and edged with ivory, not only for ornament but for strength.

The paddle acts much the same part as the balance pole to the rope-dancer, and by its aid the Esquimaux canoe man can perform really astonishing feats. For example, if two kias are out together, one of them will remain still, the canoe man keeping his boat exactly in the same place, by delicate management of his paddle. The other goes to a distance at right angles to him, and then, urging his kia to the utmost speed, drives it fairly over that of his friend. In performing this remarkable feat, the skill of both is equally tried, for it is quite as difficult to preserve the balance of the stationary kia as to drive the other over it.

There is one feat which is sometimes performed in order to show the wonderful command which an Esquimaux has over his little vessel. He does not, however, attempt it unless another kia is close at hand. After seeing that the skin cover is firmly tied round his waist, and that his neck and wrists are well secured, the man suddenly flings himself violently to one side, thus capsizing the kia, and burying himself under water. With a powerful stroke of his paddle he turns himself and canoe completely over, and brings himself upright again. A skilful canoe man will thus turn over and over some twenty times or so, almost as fast as the eye can follow him, and yet only his face will be in the least wet.

In the illustration on page 1347 both these feats are shown.

The paddler is so tightly tied to the kia, that he is unable to change his position without assistance, or even to lift a heavy weight, such as a seal. In such a case, he asks assistance from a companion. The two kias are placed near each other, and paddles are laid from one to the other, so that for the time they are formed into a double canoe, which cannot be upset. Small lines of whalebone are stretched across the end of the kia, and under them are thrust the points of the spears and harpoons, so that they cannot roll off the boat, and yet are always ready to hand. An inflated seal’s bladder is always attached to the canoe. When the kia is not in use, it is taken out of the water, and rested in a reversed position upon the snow houses, as is seen on page 1327.

The second kind of boat is that which is called the oomiak, and is used by the women. It is evident that the slight and fragile kia, useful as it is for hunting purposes, cannot be employed for the conveyance of baggage, or for the transport of more persons than one, and that therefore some other kind of boat must be made. This is a large, clumsy, straight sided, square ended, flat bottomed vessel, more like a skin trough than a canoe, to which it bears about the same analogy as a punt does to a racing skiff. The framework of the oomiak is made of wood and whalebone, and the covering is of seal skin, from which the hair has been removed. When wet, these skins are nearly transparent, so that the forms of the persons sitting in the boat can be indistinctly seen.

The sides of the boat are about three feet in height, and the weight which a well-made oomiak will carry is really wonderful. Captain Lyon mentions that in one of these boats, measuring twenty-five feet in length by eight in width and three in depth, more than twenty human beings were conveyed. There are two very clumsy paddles by which the boat is slowly propelled, and it is steered by another paddle in the stern. The post of steerer is usually occupied by an old man, who is unable any more to manage the kia, but is still capable of guiding the oomiak, and of flinging a knife, a harpoon, a seal hook, or anything that may come to hand, at the women, if they neglect their paddling.

To each oomiak there can be attached a very primitive mast, with its sail. The mast is but a short one, and is stepped in the fore-part of the boat. Toward the top it is pierced, and in the hollow is placed a sheave, or deeply grooved wheel of ivory, on which the halyards run. The sail is that simplest of all sails, the lug, and is made of the intestines of the walrus, split open so as to form strips of some four inches in width. These strips are sewed together, and produce a sail which is remarkable both for its strength and its extreme lightness. The reader will doubtless have noticed the singular contrast between the canoes of the hot and cold parts of the world. In the former, the canoe and sails are entirely of vegetable materials, without a particle of hide, sinew, or any animal product; while, in the latter, the animal world furnishes almost the whole of the materials.

We now come to the sledge, which is quite as important to the Esquimaux as the canoe. The materials and form of the sledge differ exceedingly, so that in these respects no two sledges are alike, while the principle is identical in all. A sledge is nothing more than two runners, connected with each other by a number of cross-pieces, on which the driver can sit and the goods be packed.

The best sledges are those in which the runners are made from the jaw-bone of a whale, sawn into narrow planks and cut into the proper shape. They are always shod with a strip of the same material. Others are made of wood, shod with bone, and in these cases the wooden part is usually in several pieces, which are lashed together with hide thongs. In the winter, the hide of the walrus is often used for runners. It is fully an inch in thickness, and, when frozen, is very much stronger than a board of the same thickness.

When neither wood, bone, nor walrus skin can be procured, the Esquimaux is still at no loss for runners. He cuts long strips of seal skin, and sews the edges of each strip together, so as to make two long tubes. The tubes are next filled with moss and earth, and water is then poured into them. In a minute or two they are frozen as hard as stone, and are then ready to form the runners of a sledge. The lower edge of the runner, whether it be of bone, wood, or skin, is always shod with a coating of ice, which is renewed as soon as it is worn off by friction, which not only causes the sledge to glide faster over the frozen surface, but preserves the valuable material of the runners from being rubbed to pieces.

The cross-bars of the sledge are generally of bone. They project a little beyond the runners on either side, and are so arranged that the sledge is narrower in front than behind. They are not lashed too tightly, as they are required to yield to the jerks and continual strain which the sledge undergoes in its travels.

The sledge is drawn by a team of dogs, varying from seven to ten, or even more, according to the weight to be carried. They are very simply harnessed to it by a strong cord, or trace, made of seal hide, the trace of the leading dog being considerably longer than that of any of the others. Being accustomed to the work of the sledge, as soon as they can walk, their training is very complete, and a good team will do almost anything but speak.

A team of seven dogs drew a heavy sledge, full of men, a mile in four minutes and a half; and Captain Lyon mentions that three dogs drew him the same distance in six minutes, the weight of the sledge being one hundred pounds. Several times, when returning to the ships, the sagacious animals brought him and his companions safely to the vessels, though the night was pitchy dark and the snow-drift blowing about in clouds. They kept their noses to the ground, and galloped on at full speed, in absolute certainty of their proper line.

The dogs are guided, not by reins, but by a whip, the lash of which is from eighteen to thirty feet in length, and the handle only one foot in length, much like the stock-whip of Australia. A skilful driver makes but little use of the whip when he has a good team of dogs, but guides the animals partly by his voice, and partly by flinging the lash of the whip on one side or other of the leader, who perfectly understands the signal. When they are required to stop, the driver gives a cry almost exactly like the “Woa!” of our own country. He then throws the lash gently over their backs, when they all lie down, and will remain couched in the snow for hours even, during their master’s absence.

The worst of these dogs is that they are very quarrelsome, and are apt to snap and snarl at each other as they gallop along. Sometimes a dog will be exasperated with a bite, and turn furiously on his assailant, when a general fight takes place, the whole of the dogs tumbling over each other, and entangling the traces in a manner that none but an Esquimaux could hope to disentangle. A plentiful application of whip is then made, which is always resented by the dog that receives the stroke. He chooses to think that his next neighbor has hurt him, and so bites his ear. Sometimes a dog is so unruly that the driver is obliged to use his last argument. Making a little hole in the snow with the toe of his boot, he presses the dog’s snout into it, and pounds away at it with the ivory handle of his whip. The dog never howls, nor tries to release himself, but only utters a low whine. Such a punishment never has to be repeated, and the dog always goes quietly for the rest of the day.

The endurance of these animals is wonderful. They are kept in the open air when the temperature is from thirty to forty degrees below zero. They are very ill fed, being forced to content themselves with the bones of fish and seals, scraps of hide, and such very few fragments as their masters cannot devour. Consequently they are always hungry, and can eat almost anything. Captain Hall mentions that in one night they ate a whiplash thirty feet long, and that on one occasion a single dog ate in seven seconds a piece of walrus hide and blubber six feet long and an inch and a half square.

Yet, in spite of all the hardships which they undergo, they can endure almost any amount of fatigue without appearing to be the worse for it, and a team has been known to eat nothing for at least forty-eight hours, to traverse some seventy miles of ground, and yet to return to their homes apparently as fresh as when they set out.

Many of them are possessed of singular intelligence, especially those which are trained to chase the seal, the bear, or the deer. One of these dogs, named Barbekark, belonging to Captain Hall, actually killed a deer himself, took one morsel from the neck, and then went home and fetched his master to the spot where he had left the dead deer. He had a brother that equally distinguished himself in seal catching. He was the leading dog in the team, and once, while drawing a sledge, he caught sight of a seal on the ice. He immediately dashed forward at full speed, and just as the seal was plunging into the water, caught it by the hind flippers. The seal struggled frantically to escape, but the dog retained his hold, and, aided by his fellows, dragged the seal firmly on the ice, when it was secured by his master.

A very amusing example of the intelligence of these dogs is related by Captain Hall. He fed the dogs on “capelins,” a small dried fish, and used to make them stand in a circle round him, so that each received a capelin in turn. “Now Barbekark, a young and shrewd dog, took it into his head that he would play a white man’s trick. So every time he received his fish he would back square out, move a distance of three or four dogs, and force himself in line again, thus receiving double the share of any other dog. But this joke of Barbekark’s bespoke too much of the game many men play upon their fellow-beings, and, as I noticed it, I determined to check his doggish propensities. Still, the amusing and the singular way in which he evidently watched me induced a moment’s pause in my intention.

“Each dog thankfully took his capelin as his turn came round, but Barbekark, finding his share came twice as often as his companions, appeared to shake his tail twice as thankfully as the others. A twinkle in his eyes as they caught mine seemed to say, ‘Keep dark; these ignorant fellows don’t know the game I’m playing. I am confoundedly hungry.’ Seeing my face smiling at his trick, he now commenced making another change, thus getting three portions to each of the others’ one. This was enough, and it was now time for me to reverse the order of Barbekark’s game by playing a trick upon him.

“Accordingly, every time I came to him he got no fish, and though he changed his position three times, yet he got nothing. Now, if ever there was a picture of disappointed plans—of envy at others’ fortunes, and sorrow at a sad misfortune—it was to be found in that dog’s countenance as he watched his companions receiving their allowance. Finding that he could not succeed by any change of his position, he withdrew from the circle to where I was, and came to me, crowding his way between my legs, and looked up in my face as if to say, ‘I have been a very bad dog. Forgive me, and Barbekark will cheat his brother dogs no more. Please, sir, give me my share of capelins.’ I went the rounds three times more, and let him have the fish, as he had shown himself so sagacious, and so much like a repentant prodigal dog.”

Marriage among the Esquimaux is of the very simplest description, and is generally arranged by the parents of the bride and bridegroom, the latter having nothing to do with the affair. There is no marriage ceremony, the parties merely going to live in the same igloo. A man may, and often does, have several wives, and in this case one of them takes the position of the chief, or igloo wife, and is supreme under her husband. She has the largest lamp, the best bed, and the best provision. But she also has the entire management of the household, such as cooking the food, and drying the clothes on the “dry-net.” This is by no means a sinecure, as it forces her to rise many times in the night for the purpose of turning the clothes and drying them equally. She also has to see that the boots are properly “milled.”

After a child is born, the mother is obliged to confine herself to her own igloo for some months, and when the allotted time has expired, she throws off all the clothing which she has worn, and never wears it again. She then dresses herself in a totally new suit of clothes, and visits in succession the inhabitants of every igloo. If a second or third child be born, a separate igloo is always built for the mother, to which she repairs before the birth of the child, and in which she remains until the customary time has elapsed and she is able to call upon her neighbors.

The children begin their education at a very early age; the boys being taught to paddle the kia, to hunt and to fish, and to build igloos; while the girls learn to row the women’s boat, to dress skins, to manage the lamp, to cook, and perform the multitudinous tasks that fall to their lot. The carving of the Esquimaux women is wonderfully good. They make spirited, though conventional, imitations of fish, ducks, dogs, and various animals, from ivory, using in the manufacture nothing but a knife. In the earlier days, before white men visited them, the Esquimaux were obliged to rely entirely upon flint as a material for their knives, which were exactly like those of the ancient and perished races. In chopping the flakes off the flint, the Esquimaux employed a very simple instrument, the use of which showed an exact knowledge of the fracture-line of flint. It is made of bone and ivory, and is about six inches in length. Iron, indeed, is of so late introduction, that when Captain Lyon visited the natives, in 1821, he could purchase a complete harpoon, with its ivory head, float, and line, for a nail; while a knife would purchase a kia, or indeed anything that was asked in exchange for it.

As may be inferred from the climate, the games of the Esquimaux are but few. They are wonderful experts at a sort of “cat’s-cradle,” producing with a piece of string imitations of seals, reindeer, ducks, canoes, and other objects. The little ivory models of ducks and other animals, which have already been mentioned, are used in several of the native games.

Their dances are remarkable for their simplicity, the dancer inventing the steps according to his own taste. There is a dance in which a number of women stand in a ring, with their hands under the front flaps of their jackets, and sing, with half-closed eyes, the inevitable Amna-aya song: these are the band. The dancers are represented by one man, who takes his place in the middle of the ring, swings his head and arms from side to side, his long, lank hair flapping in the wind, while he utters sharp yells at intervals, and occasionally flings one leg as high as his thick garments permit.

The women have a special dance of their own, which consists in kneeling on the ground, leaping to their feet as fast as they can. This is really a difficult task when the heavy and clumsy boots are taken into consideration. Sometimes the men challenge each other to dance, and in that case the challenge is accepted by employing the “koonik,” or national salutation, which is given by rubbing the noses together, and inhaling strongly through the nostrils.

With regard to religion, the Esquimaux seem to have no very definite idea of the subject, except that they believe in a future existence, in a heaven and a hell—the latter being, according to their ideas, dark, full of ice, with snow-storms always blowing, and no seals. They have also a hazy description of a Supreme Being, and a secondary female divinity, the special protector of the Esquimaux.

By way of worship, they have sundry medicine men, or “angekos,” as they are called, who go through a series of strange ceremonies on various occasions, such as illness, or when a party is setting out on a hunting expedition. They make the people pay heavily for their services, and rule with a rod of iron, so that no Esquimaux is likely to retain possession of any valuable piece of property if an angeko should happen to be in the neighborhood. They act upon a very simple and intelligent principle, namely, that the amount of success in “ankooting,” or divining, is in exact ratio with the amount of pay.

Sometimes, in order to impress awe upon their victims, the angekos go through a series of imposing ceremonies, the performance of which infers a vast amount of practice. By the present of a knife and some beads, Captain Lyon induced a celebrated angeko, named Toolemak, to have an interview with a Tornga, or familiar spirit, in the cabin of the ship.

“All light excluded, our sorcerer began by chanting to his wife with great vehemence, and she, in return, answered by singing the Amna-aya (the favorite song of the Esquimaux), which was not discontinued during the whole ceremony. As far as I could learn, he afterward began turning himself rapidly round, and, in a loud, powerful voice, vociferated for Tornga with great impatience, at the same time blowing and snorting like a walrus. His noise, impatience, and agitation increased every moment, and he at length seated himself on the deck, varying his tones, and making a rustling with his clothes.

“Suddenly the voice seemed smothered, and was so managed as to sound as if retreating beneath the deck, each moment becoming more distant, and ultimately giving the idea of being many feet below the cabin, where it ceased entirely. His wife, now, in answer to my queries, informed me very seriously that he had dived, and that he would send up Tornga.

“Accordingly, in about half a minute, a distant blowing was heard very slowly approaching, and a voice which differed from that which we at first had heard was at times mixed with blowing, until at length both sounds became distinct, and the old woman informed me that Tornga was come to answer my questions. I accordingly asked several questions of the sagacious spirit, to each of which inquiries I received an answer by two loud slaps on the deck, which I was given to understand was favorable.

“A very hollow yet powerful voice, certainly much different from the tones of Toolemak, now chanted for some time, and a strange jumble of hisses, groans, shouts, and gabblings like a turkey succeeded in rapid succession. The old woman sang with increased energy, and, as I took it for granted that this was all intended to astonish the Kabloona, I cried repeatedly that I was very much afraid. This, as I expected, added fuel to the fire, until the form immortal, exhausted by its own might, asked leave to retire. The voice gradually sank from our hearing, as at first, and a very indistinct hissing succeeded. In its advance, it sounded like the tone produced by the wind upon the bass-cord of an Æolian harp; this was soon changed to a rapid hiss, like that of a rocket, and Toolemak, with a yell, announced his return. I held my breath at the first distant hissing, and twice exhausted myself; yet our conjuror did not once respire, and even his returning and powerful yell was uttered without a previous stop or inspiration of air.

“Light being admitted, our wizard, as might be expected, was in a profuse perspiration, and certainly much exhausted by his exertions, which had continued for at least half an hour. We now observed a couple of bunches, each consisting of two strips of white deer-skin and a long piece of sinew, attached to the back of his coat. These we had not seen before, and were informed that they had been sewed on by Tornga while he was below.” A similar exhibition has been seen by several travellers, and they have expressed their astonishment at the length of time during which an angeko can howl, hiss, and gabble without taking breath.

While he is below the earth, the angeko is supposed to visit the habitation of the particular spirit whom he is addressing, and sometimes gives a detailed account of the places in which he has been, and of their inhabitants. One female spirit, for example, is called Aywilliayoo. She commands all the bears, whales, seals, and walruses by means of her right hand. So, when there is a scarcety of provisions, the angeko makes a visit to Aywilliayoo and attacks her hand. If he can cut off her nails, the bears immediately are set free, the loss of one finger joint liberates the small seals, the second joint sends the large seals, the knuckles free the whole herds of walrus, while the entire hand liberates the whale.

In figure this spirit is very tall, and has only one eye and one pigtail, but this is as large as a man’s leg, and descends to her knee. Her house is a very fine one, but Toolemak did not venture to enter it, because it was guarded by a huge dog with black hind-quarters and no tail. Her father is no larger than a boy of ten years old, and he has but one arm, which is always covered with a large bear’s-skin mitten. His house is also handsome, but its entrance is guarded by troops of bears and walruses, who keep up a continual growling.

Unfortunately for his own credit, Toolemak got drunk one evening, as he might well be, having consumed in succession nearly ten glasses of rum, or “hot water,” as he was pleased to call it. During his intoxication he became very good-natured, and betrayed the secrets of his magic art, showing how he altered his voice by covering his face with his hands and then with his jacket, so as to make the voice appear as if it came from a continually increasing depth. He finished this singular exhibition by drinking in succession eleven pints and one gill of water, and within a few minutes became sober enough to leave the ship and walk to his sledge.

Sometimes the Esquimaux say that they are annoyed by spirits. On one occasion when a man nicknamed Kettle was eating in Captain Lyon’s cabin, he became uneasy, and frequently ceased eating, a very remarkable circumstance in a hungry Esquimaux. Presently he said that there was a spirit sitting on the opposite side of the cabin, making grimaces at him, and preventing him from eating. He asked leave to drive his tormenter away, which he did by raising a long, bellowing sound, and then blowing sharply on the ends of his fingers. He resumed his meal quietly, and nothing would induce him to blow on his fingers or raise the exorcising yell again, on the ground that the spirit was no longer to be seen.

The Esquimaux possess wonderful powers of drawing. They know scarcely anything of perspective, but they can make their sketches tell their own tale; while in drawing from memory a chart of a coast, their skill is really admirable. In Captain Hall’s book there are fac-similes of several native charts and sketches, the most curious of which is one which was not only drawn but engraved on wood by the native draughtsman. It represents a woman with a child nestling in the hood behind her back, and is quite equal in execution to wood-cutting in the earlier stages of the art. The point about it which most strikes a practised eye is the force and fidelity with which the artist has marked the texture of the different parts of the dress; the fur coat and trowsers edged with leather, and the white-edged, fur-lined hood, are most admirably managed.

Of music and musical instruments the Esquimaux know little. They have the Amna-aya song, which has already been mentioned, and they possess one national musical instrument, called the “keeloun.” This is something like a tambourine, being formed of a very thin deer skin, or the envelope of the whale’s liver, stretched over one side of a wooden hoop. A handle is attached to the hoop, and the instrument is struck, not upon the membrane, but upon the hoop.

As a nation they are remarkable for two good qualities, honesty and hospitality. There are, of course, exceptions to every rule, and such is the case with the Esquimaux. But the early voyagers found that they might leave their knives and axes on shore, and that not one of them would be touched. Now, to an Esquimaux a steel knife or axe is more valuable than a box full of sovereigns would be to us, and the honesty of the Esquimaux was as much tried by the sight of these articles as would be that of our London poor if a heap of sovereigns were left lying on the pavement.

As to hospitality, their food is considered to be merely common property, so that if one of the Esquimaux should kill a seal, all his friends and neighbors assemble as a matter of course to assist in eating it; and even though the family of the successful hunter should be starving, he will nevertheless invite all his friends to partake of the food. In this way, it often happens that an entire seal barely affords a single meal to all who come to share it.

Funerals among the Esquimaux are rather variable in their forms. Generally, when a sick person is on the point of death, a new igloo is built, and carefully fitted with lamp, provisions, and other furniture. The dying person is carried in—not through the regular doorway, but through a breach in the wall—placed on the couch, the lamp lighted, and the provisions laid ready to hand. The attendants then leave the igloo, build up the openings, and never trouble themselves again about the sick person. The principal reason why the dying are left alone is, that if the relatives are in the igloo at the moment of death, they are obliged to throw away the dresses which they were wearing, and never to wear them again. None of them can tell the reason for this strange belief, but it is so strongly ingrained that no argument can induce them to abandon it.

Sometimes the body of a dead person is simply buried in a hole scooped in the snow, and sometimes it is laid upon a ledge of rock, accompanied by the lamp, kettle, knives, spears, and dresses which the deceased used while in life. When a child dies, all its toys are placed with it in the grave, that it may be supplied with them in the next world.

The demeanor of the Esquimaux with regard to their dead is a most extraordinary mixture of affection and unconcern. After having buried the body, whether alive or dead does not matter, they care nothing about it, and this strange insensibility is even displayed before the burial. For example, a man’s wife had died, leaving a child of a few weeks old, which in a short time followed its mother. The father was very sorrowful for his dying child, and was seen in the night lifting the curtains of its bed as it lay ill on board ship, and sighing deeply. But, on the next day, when he came to the ship, he made no scruple of laying his meat on the body of the child, and using it as a table at breakfast.

Once, when Captain Lyon visited the grave where an Esquimaux named Pekooya had been laid, he found that the wolves and dogs had uncovered the body, and had eaten a considerable portion of it. He was naturally shocked at the scene, but the natives treated it with absolute indifference, and though the father and a brother of Pekooya were witnesses of the desecration, they would not cover up the mangled body, and only laughed when Captain Lyon remonstrated with them. Moreover, when the body was buried, it was covered so slightly with snow that the first day’s thaw would melt off all the snow, and leave it to the mercy of the dogs.

Judging from such a fact as this, it might be thought that the Esquimaux have but little natural affection, and that they are indifferent to the loss of their nearest relatives. Such, however, is not the case. An Esquimaux never passes the grave of an acquaintance without depositing a piece of meat as an offering, and the surviving relatives often visit the burying-place of their dead, and sit there for hours, talking to them as if they were still alive. On comparing all the conflicting accounts respecting the Esquimaux and their dead, it seems likely that they consider the dead body as something that the deceased once possessed, but cast away at death, and that, as their departed friend abandoned the body, they need take no trouble about so worthless an article.

If the reader will refer to the illustration on page 1347, he will see that the horizon is illuminated by strange and wild-looking dashes of light. These represent the Aurora Borealis, as it often appears in those parts,—not pale and flickering as we see it in these comparatively southern regions, but blazing with all imaginable hues, and giving out a light that stands the natives in stead of the sun, which in those latitudes is absent for months at a time. The glory and magnificence of these displays can only be described by those who have seen them, and very inadequately even by such.

There is an account given by Captain Hall of one of these marvellous exhibitions:—“I had gone on deck several times to look at the beauteous scene, and at nine o’clock was below in my cabin, when the captain hailed me with these words, ‘Come above, Hall, come at once! The world is on fire.’

“I knew his meaning, and quick as thought I re-dressed myself, scrambled over several sleeping Innuits close to my berth, and rushed to the companion stairs. In another moment I reached the deck, and as the cabin door swung open, a dazzling and overpowering light, as if the world were really ablaze under the agency of some gorgeously colored fires, burst upon my startled senses. How can I describe it? Again I say, No mortal hand can truthfully do so. Let me however, in feeble, broken words, put down my thoughts at the time, and try to give some faint idea of what I saw.

“My first thought was, ‘Among the gods there is none like unto Thee, O Lord; neither are any works like unto Thy works!’ Then I tried to picture the scene before me. Piles of golden light and rainbow light, scattered along the azure vault, extended from behind the western horizon to the zenith; thence down to the eastern, within a belt of space, 20° in width, were the fountains of beams, like fire-threads, that shot with the rapidity of lightning hither and thither, upward and athwart the great pathway indicated. No sun, no moon, yet the heavens were a glorious sight, flooded with light. Even ordinary print could easily have been read on deck.

“Flooded with rivers of light! Yes, flooded with light; and such light! Light all but inconceivable. The golden hues predominated, but in rapid succession prismatic colors leaped forth. We looked, we saw, and trembled; for as we gazed, the whole belt of aurora began to be alive with flashes. Then each pile or bank of light became myriads; some were dropping down the great pathway or belt; others springing up, others leaping with lightning flash from one side, while more as quickly passed into the vacated space; some twisting themselves into folds, entwining with others like enormous serpents, and all these movements as quick as the eye could follow.

“It seemed as if there were a struggle with these blazing lights to reach and occupy the dome above our heads. Then the whole arch above became crowded. Down, down it came; nearer and nearer it approached us. Sheets of golden flame, coruscating while leaping from the auroral belt, seemed as if met in their course by some mighty agency that turned them into the colors of the rainbow, each of the seven primary colors 3° in width, sheeted out to 21°.

“While the auroral fires seemed to be descending upon us, one of our number could not help exclaiming,—

“‘Hark! hark! such a display! almost as if a warfare were going on among the beauteous lights above—so palpable—so near—it seems impossible without noise.’

“But no noise accompanied this wondrous display. All was silence....

“I would here make the remark that the finest displays of the aurora only last a few moments. Though it may be playing all night, yet it is only now and then that its grandest displays are made. As if marshalling forces, gaining strength, compounding material, it continues on its silent workings. At length it begins its trembling throes; beauty anon shoots out here and there, when all at once the aurora flashes into living hosts of powdered coruscating rainbows, belting to the heavenly dome with such gorgeous grandeur that mortals sometimes tremble to behold.”

These wonderful aërial phenomena are characteristic of the Arctic regions. One of the most extraordinary appearances in the sky is called the Parhelion, or Mock Sun. It assumes various and most astounding forms, the sun appearing in the middle, and being surrounded with dimmer imitations of itself, round which run circular bands of light. There seems, indeed, to be no end to the extraordinary modifications of aërial effects which take place in these regions. Captain Hall described many of them, among which may be mentioned a moon distorted beyond all recognition, its lower limb all crushed and shapeless, and the whole appearance of the planet like that of a man under the influence of liquor.

Then the refractive powers of the atmosphere produce most wonderful effects, destroying all perspective, and bringing into sight all kinds of objects which, by the ordinary laws of optics, are far out of sight. All sailors are familiar with the appearance of a vessel high in the air, sailing, as it were, through the sky with her keel in the clouds, and the tops of her masts pointing downward. In these regions the refractive powers are even terrible to accustomed eyes, so wonderful are the sights presented to them.

In one of these strange exhibitions, witnessed by Captain Hall, a vast white inverted pyramid seemed to form in the sky, and at every roll of the vessel to dip into the sea. Presently “some land that was seventy-five miles distant, and the top of it only barely seen in an ordinary way, had its rocky base brought full in view. The whole length of this land in sight was the very symbol of distortion.

“Pendant from an even line that stretched across the heavens was a ridge of mountains. Life hangs upon a little thread, but what think you of mountains hanging upon a thread? In my fancy I said, ‘If Fate had decreed one of the Sisters to cut that thread while I witnessed the singular spectacle, what convulsions upon the land and sea about us might not have followed!’ But Nature had an admirable way of taking down these rock-giants, hanging between the heavens and the earth. Arch after arch was at length made in wondrous grandeur from the rugged and distorted atmospheric land; and, if ever man’s eye rested upon the sublime, in an act of God’s creative power, it was when He arcuated the heavens with such a line of stupendous mountains.

“Between those several mountain arches in the sky were hung icebergs, also inverted, moving silently and majestically about as the sea-currents shifted those along of which they were the images. In addition to all this there was a wall of water, so it appeared, far beyond the apparent horizon. This wall seemed alive with merry dancers of the most fantastic figures that the imagination could conceive, and its perpendicular columns were ever playfully changing. Oh, how exquisitely beautiful was this God-made, living wall! A thousand youthful forms of the fairest outline seemed to be dancing to and fro, their white arms intertwined, bodies incessantly varying, intermixing, falling, rising, jumping, skipping, hopping, whirling, waltzing, resting, and again rushing to the mazy dance—never tired—ever playful—ever light and airy, graceful, and soft to the eye.”