A very great majority of the Innuits live in a house that outwardly resembles a circular mound of earth, seven or eight feet high, and thirty or forty feet in circumference. It is overgrown with rank grasses, littered with all sorts of utensils, weapons, sleds, and other Eskimo furniture. A small spiral coil of smoke rises from a hole in its apex, a dog or two are crouching upon it, and children climb up and roll down its sides, scattering bones and fragments of fish and meat as they eat in the irregular fashion of these people. A rude pole scaffolding stands close by, upon which, high above the reach of dogs, is a wooden cache, containing all winter stores of dried provision, “ukali,” and the like. This hut is usually right down upon the sea-beach, just above high tide, or high-water mark, on the river banks, for these savages draw their sustenance largely, even wholly in many instances, from the piscine life of those northern streams.

All these tribes have summer dwellings distinct from those used during the winter. For the winter houses a square excavation of about ten feet or more is made, in the corners of which posts of drift-wood or whale-ribs from eight to ten feet in height are set up; the walls are formed by laying posts of drift-wood one above the other against the corner-posts; outside of this another wall is built, sometimes of stone, sometimes of logs, the intervals being filled with earth or rubble; the whole of the structure, including the roof, is covered with sods, leaving a small opening on top, that can be closed by a frame over which a thin, transparent seal-skin is tightly drawn. The entrance to one of these houses consists of a narrow, low, underground passage from ten to twelve feet in length, through which an entrance can only be accomplished on hands and knees. The interior arrangement of such a winter house is simple, and is nearly the same with all these tribes. A piece of bear- or reindeer-skin is hung before an inner opening of the doorway; in the centre of the enclosure is a fireplace, which is a square excavation directly under that smoke-hole in the roof; the floor is rarely planked, and frequently two low platforms, about four feet in width, extend along the sides of the house from the entrance to the back, and covered with mats and skins which serve as beds at night. In the larger dwellings, occupied by more than one family, the sleeping-places of each are separated from each other by suspended mats, or simply by a piece of wood. All the bladders containing oil, the wooden vessels, kettles, and other domestic utensils, are kept in the front part of the dwelling, and before each sleeping-place there is generally a block of wood upon which is placed the oil-lamp used for heating and cooking.

The only ingress or egress is afforded by a small, low, irregularly shaped aperture (it cannot rightfully be called a door), through which the natives stoop and enter, passing down a foot or two through a short, depressed passage that is created by the thickness of the walls to the hut; the floor is hard-tramped earth, and the ground-plan of it a rude circle, or square, twelve, fifteen, or twenty feet in diameter, as the case may be, and in which the only light of day comes feebly in from a small smoke-opening at the apex of the roof, the ceiling of which rises tent-like from the floor. A faint, smouldering fire is always made directly in the centre, and the atmosphere of the apartment is invariably thick and surcharged with its combustion.

Hard and rude are the beds of the Innuit—a clumsy shelf of poles is slightly elevated above the earth, and placed close against the walls; upon this staging the skins of bears and reindeer, seals, and even walrus-hides, together with mats of plaited sedge and bark, are laid; sometimes these bedsteads are mere platforms of sod and peat. If the hut stands in a situation where it is exposed to the full force of boisterous storms, then the architect builds a rough hallway of earth and sods, with a bulging expansion, whereby room is given in which to shelter his dogs and keep many utensils and traps under cover. He also, in warm weather, lives outside of this winter hut, to a great degree, when at home; and, for that purpose, he builds a summer cook-house, or kitchen, which resembles the igloo itself, only it is not more than five or six feet square, and no higher than a stooping posture within warrants. This is also a great resort for his dogs, which renders the place very offensive to us.

The summer houses are erected above ground, and are generally slight pole frames, roofed with skins and open in front; fire is rarely made in them, and therefore they have no opening in the roof, all cooking being done in the open air during fine weather. They seldom have flooring, but otherwise the interior arrangements resemble those of the winter houses. The store-houses of all our Eskimo tribes are set on posts at a height of from eight to ten feet above the ground, to protect them from foxes, wolves, and dogs. They have generally a small square opening in front that can be closed with a sliding board, and which is reached by means of a notched stick of wood. These boxes are seldom more than eight feet square by three or four feet in height.

The routine of life which these natives of the Nooshagak and Kuskokvim valleys and streams follow is one of much activity—they are on the tramp or are paddling up and down the rivers pretty much all of the time. A year is divided up by them about as follows: In February they prepare to go to the mountains, and go then most of them do, though some will be as late as April in getting away on account of their children, or of sheer laziness. They move with the entire family outfit, bag and baggage, dogs, sleds, and boats. They settle down along by the small mountain streams, trap martens, shoot deer, and dig out beaver. February and March are the best months for marten, April and May for the beaver, bear, and land-otter.

By June 10th they return to their winter villages and visit the trading-posts. They then begin their preparations for salmon-fishing, getting their traps into shape so as to be used effectively when those fish begin to run. They air-dry salmon on frames, and put the heads in holes and allow them to rot slightly before eating; also the spawn, which, however, is preserved in oil, and used as a great delicacy during their own festivals in the midwinter season. The salmon-fishing is all over about July 20th. By August 10th these nomads return to the mountains, leaving the old women and youngest children with their mothers in charge of the caches at the villages. This time they go for reindeer, which have just shed their hair and are in the full beauty of new, fine, sleek coats. They hunt these animals from that time until the middle of September, when the fur of the beaver is again in prime condition; then Castor canadensis receives their undivided attention. They catch these giant rodents in wooden “dead-falls,” and also by breaking open the dams, which causes the water to suddenly leave the beavers fully exposed to the spears of their savage human enemies.

When the first snow flies in October they rig up rude deer-skin boats, like the “bull-boats” on the Missouri, and float all their traps and rude equipage down the river back from whence they started. They all return for the winter by the middle of October; then, without going far from the vicinity of their settlements, they renew and set up fresh dead-fall traps for marten—they never go any distance from home for this little animal, and when ice forms on the rivers, about the end of October or early in November, they put their white-fish traps under it. The marten-trapping is abandoned in December, because the intense, stormy, and cold weather then drives these pine-weasels into winter holes, where they remain semi-dormant until the end or middle of February. During this period of severe wintry weather the Innuit gives himself up to unrestrained loafing and vigorous dancing festivals, which last until the year is again renewed by going out to the mountains in February.

These natives of the Nooshagak and Kuskokvim regions have a large and varied natural food-supply. They have reindeer-meat, the flesh of moose, of bears, and of all the smaller fur-bearing animals found in this territory—the list is a full one, comprising land-otters, cross, red, and black foxes, the mink, the marten, the marmot, and the ground-squirrel, or “yeavrashka,” which last is the most abundant. The bears are all brown in this country—no black ones. They also secure large gray and white wolves, while those who live right on the coast of Bering Sea get walrus, the big “mahklok” seal, and a little harbor phoca, or “nearhpah.”

They have a great abundance of water-fowl, such as geese, ducks, and the small waders, and they occasionally kill a beluga, or white grampus, and at still more rare intervals they find a stranded whale, which is set upon and eaten. They save carefully all the oil which comes from marine mammals; they treasure it up in seal-skin bags that are placed high up above the reach of dogs and foxes on a frame scaffold which adjoins every hut. Fish-oil is also secured in the same manner; it answers a threefold purpose—it serves for food, for fuel, and for light, and it is a luxurious skin and hair dressing for them all, old and young.

Fish they capture in the greatest abundance, and the variety is quite fair. Salmon is the staff, and is found in all of the thousand and one lakes and sluggish or rapid streams that run from them into the greater rivers, where a mighty rush of the same fish is annually made up in June and July from Bering Sea. In all of the deeper lakes, and the big rivers, a variety of large white-fish and trout are found, especially prized and searched for by these people in midwinter, when they are trapped there in wicker-work baskets and pole weirs under ice.

In round numbers these Eskimo, or Innuits, of Alaska, number nearly eighteen thousand souls; they inhabit the entire coast-line of Bering Sea and the Arctic Ocean, with an exception of the Aleutian chain and that portion of the peninsula west of Oogashik. The numerous subdivisions of this great family are based wholly upon dialectic differentiation, and as its elaboration would entail a dreary and uninteresting chapter upon any reader save a studious ethnologist, it will not be itemized here. These Eskimo are all hunters and fishermen; those land animals to which we have made allusion are pursued by them at the proper seasons of the year. They do not have much, in the aggregate, of value to a trader; it is chiefly oil and walrus-ivory. Their proximity to a relatively warm coast renders the furs which they get of small value comparatively, since these pelts are paler and lighter-haired than those brought in from the distant interior, where the winters are vastly colder and longer. But an Innuit does not require a great deal from the trader—he is very much more independent than is his semi-civilized Aleutian brother; his wants are only a small supply of lead and powder, of sugar and of tobacco, a little red cloth and a small sack of flour which suffice for a large Innuit family during the year. The flour he makes up into pancakes and fries them in rancid oil; but, as a rule, all cooking is a mere boiling or stewing of fish and meat in sheet-iron or copper kettles. In those huts where they can afford to use tea, a small number of earthenware cups and saucers will be found carefully treasured in a little cupboard; but they never set a table or think of such a thing, except those highly favored individuals who live as servants about the trading-posts and missions, where they do boil a “samovar” (tea-urn) and spread a cloth over the top of a box or rude table upon which to place their teacups.

Down here at Nooshagak these natives have earned a distinction of being the most skilful sculptors of the whole northern range. Their carvings in walrus-ivory are exceedingly curious, and beautifully wrought in many examples. The patience and fidelity with which they cut from walrus-tusks delicate patterns furnished them by the traders are equal in many respects to that remarkable display made in the same line by the Chinese, and so much admired. Time to them, at Nooshagak, is never reckoned, and it does not raise a ripple of concern in the Innuit’s mind when, as he carves upon a tusk of white ivory, he pauses to think whether he shall be six hours or six months engaged upon the task. Shut up as he is from December until the end of February in his dark and smoky hut, he welcomes the task as one which enables him to “kill time” most agreeably, and bring in a trifle, at least, to him from the trader in the way of credit or of direct revenue.

All of these people, when they go hunting, use firearms of modern patterns and many old flint-lock muskets; for fish and bird-capture they never waste any precious ammunition; they employ spears and arrows of most artful construction and effective service. But a large number of those very primitive Eskimo, the Togiaks, just west and north of Nooshagak, use nothing at all in the chase other than the same antique bows and spears of a remote ancestry. The disposition of these people is one of greater bonhomie than that evidenced by the Aleutes or the Koloshians, who are rather taciturn. The Innuit is very independent in his bearing, without being at all vindictive or ugly. He is light-hearted, enjoys conversation with his fellows, tells jokes with great gusto, sings rude songs with much animation, in excellent time but with no music, and dances with exceeding exhilaration during the progress of those savage festivals which he calls in to enliven a long dreary winter solstice.

Such a man is naturally quite sociable. Hence we find in every Innuit settlement, big or little, a town hall, or “kashga.” This is a building put up after the pattern of all winter houses in the village, but of very much larger dimensions; some of the more populous hamlets boast of a kashga which will measure as much as sixty feet square, and be from twenty to thirty feet high under its smoky rafters. A raised platform from the earth, of rough-hewn planks, runs all around the walls of the interior, and in the largest council-houses a series of three tiers of such staging is observed. The fireplace in the centre is large, often three or four feet deep and eight feet square; on ordinary days in the spring, and during the summer and early fall, when no fire is wanted, it is covered with planks. An underground tunnel-entrance to the kashga is made just as it is into some of the family huts, only here it is divided at the end; one branch leads to a fireplace below the flooring, and the other rises to the main apartment. The natives are obliged to crawl on all fours when they enter that underground passage or leave the kashga through its dark opening.

This is the great and sole rendezvous of the men and older boys of most settlements. The bachelors and widowers sleep here and prepare their simple meals; the village guest and visitors of the male sex are all quartered here; the discussion of all the town affairs is conducted here; the tanning of skins, the plaiting and weaving of wicker-work fish-traps, and the manufacture of sleds and dog-harness, spear- and arrow-heads, and carving of wood and ivory—in fact, everything done by these people under shelter, of that kind, is executed on the platforms of a kashga. It is the theatre for the absurd and vigorous masked dances and mummery of their festivals, and above all, it is the spot chosen for that vile ammoniacal bath of the Eskimo, the most popular of all their recreations.

The daily routine of living as practised by an Innuit family is exceedingly simple. The head of the household usually sleeps over night in the kashga, as do all of his peers. His wife in the early morning rolls out of her rude deer-skins, retucks her parka about her hips, and starts up the smouldering fire which she banked with ashes before going to sleep. A little meat or fish is soon half-boiled, and a small kantag of oil is decanted, a handful of dried berries thrown into it, and perhaps she has a modicum of rotten fish-roe to add. This she takes out to her husband in the kashga, rousing him, if he is not awake, with a gentle but firm admonition. A large bowl of fresh water is also brought by her, and then everything is before the husband for his breakfast. She returns to her hut after he has finished, and feeds her children and herself. If she or her husband has a male visitor, he is served in the same way. When the evening meal is ready, sometimes the men go home and dine with their families; but the women and children invariably eat at home, and when they wait upon the males in the town hall they always turn their backs to them while the men are dining, it being considered a gross breach of good manners for a woman to look at a man when he is eating.

After breakfast the male Innuits start out, if the weather permits, to hunt or fish, as the case may be. If a driving storm prevents them, then indoor work is resumed or recourse to sleep again assumed. At some time in the afternoon the fire is usually drawn from the hot stoves on the hearth, the water and a kantag of chamber-lye poured over them, which, arising in dense clouds of vapor, gives notice (by its presence and its horrible ammoniacal odor) to the delighted inmates that the bath is on. The kashga is heated to suffocation, it is full of smoke, and the outside men run in from their huts, with wisps of dry grass for towels, and bunches of alder-twigs to flog their naked bodies. They throw off their garments; they shout and dance and whip themselves into profuse perspiration as they caper in the hot vapor. More of their disgusting substitute for soap is rubbed on, and produces a lather which they rinse off with cold water; and, to cap the full enjoyment of this satanic bath, these naked actors rush out and roll in a snow-bank or plunge into the icy flood of some lake or river adjoining, as the season warrants. This is the most enjoyable occasion of an Innuit’s existence, so he solemnly affirms. Nothing else affords him a tithe of the infinite pleasure which this orgie gives him. To us, however, there is nothing so offensive about him as that stench which such a performance arouses.

When a bath is over, the smoke-hole is reopened (it was closed during the process!), and fresh air descends upon those men who sit around upon the platforms stupefied by that smoke and weak from their profuse perspiration. Slowly these terrible odors leave the kashga, and only the minor ones remain, rendering it quite habitable once more. Night comes on: the huge stone lamps are filled with seal-oil and lighted; the men soon lop down for sleep in their reindeer-skins or parkas, removing their trousers only, which they roll up and use as pillows, tucking the parka snugly over and around their bended knees, which are drawn up tightly to the abdomen. In the morning whoever happens to awake first relights the lamp, if any of the fluid remains over; if not, he goes to his own cache and gets a supply. If he is a bachelor, he attends then to making a fresh fire in the hearth below and prepares his coarse breakfast.

The women assist their husbands in harnessing and unharnessing the dogs; they go out and gather the firewood, and employ themselves in sewing, patching, and making thread from deer-tendons. They plait grass mats and weave grass stockings, because nearly all of the coast Innuits wear socks very skilfully made of dried grass. The boys and girls scatter about the vicinity looking after their snares and traps, or engage, in hilarious groups, playing at ball and leap-frog games, tag, and jumping matches. They harness up the young dogs and the pups, and sport for hours at a time with them.

These people are savages, and not at all affected by the earnest and persistent attempts of the Russian priests to Christianize them. They are even less influenced by the teachings of missionaries than the Siwashes of the Sitkan archipelago, and that is saying a great deal for their hardness of heart. They are a brave race, and have displayed the utmost physical courage in fighting their way up the great rivers, Yukon, Kuskokvim, and Nooshagak, whereby they displaced and destroyed the Indians who once lived there. The Koltchanes, or Ingaleeks of the interior, who disputed that privilege with them, bear cheerful witness to this fact. But all such strife between the two great families is only known to us by legends which they recite of ancient time. No trace of recent war can be found among them.

They have no ear for music; they are not fond of it like the Aleutes, yet they keep perfect time to cultivated tunes and melodies of our own order. The song of an Innuit is essentially like that of his Sitkan relative: it is usually a weird dirge, monotonous, and long-drawn out, accompanied by a regular and rhythmic beating of a rude drum, or a dry stick, or resonant bag. Some of the native Innuit chantings, when rendered intelligible to us, have a plaintive pathos running through them which is attractive and are simple in composition; but such ballads are very, very rare. The majority are tedious and boastful recitations of a singer’s achievements on land or water when engaged in hunting or fishing. Their mythology is the rudest and the least ornate of all savage races, unless it be that perfect vacuum of the Australasians and Terra del Fuegians.

These savages respect the dead, but they fear the sick. When death invades an Innuit family, taking the husband, or the wife, or a child, the survivors eat nothing, after the decease of the relative, but sour or last year’s food, and refrain from going out or from work of any sort for a period of twenty days. They seat themselves in one corner of the hut, or “kahsime,” with their backs toward the door. Every five days they wash themselves, otherwise death would promptly come to them again. The body of the dead native is composed in a sitting position, with its knees drawn up to the stomach and its arms clasped around them. It is placed in one corner, with its head against the wall. The inhabitants of that village where the dead man has lived voluntarily bring to the hut dresses of reindeer-skin, in one of which the corpse is shrouded. A coffin, or box, is prepared at some selected spot outside of the village, set up a few feet from the ground, on four stoutly driven posts, and in it the body is deposited. Near by is planted a square board or smoothly hewn plank, upon which rude figures are painted of the animals that the deceased was most fond of hunting, such as a beaver, a deer, a fish, or seal. A few of his most cherished belongings are laid in the coffin with him, but the balance of his property is divided among his family.[147]

A festival in honor of the spirits of land and sea, and in memory of deceased kinsmen, is celebrated annually in the month of October or November. Lieutenant Zagoskin,[148] who spent five years among these people exploring the Yukon and Kuskokvim Rivers, has given us full details of that strange mummery and capers which characterize Innuit festivals and dances. What he saw between 1842 and 1845, and so graphically narrated, is to be seen substantially the same now everywhere among these people, who are almost wholly unchanged from their primeval habits as they live to-day.

Of the tribal organization of these people but little is known: yet, there seems to be no recognized chieftainship—each isolated settlement generally contains one man who makes himself prominent by superintending all intercourse and traffic with visitors. The profits accruing to him from this position give him some slight influence among his people; but the oomailik (oomuialik of Zagoskin), as these middlemen or spokesmen are called, possess no authority over the people of their village, who pay far more attention to the advice or threats of sorcerers, shamans, or “medicine men.” In the festivals, consisting of feasting, singing, and dancing, with which these hyperboreans while away the long winter nights, the shamans also play a prominent part, directing the order of the performances and the manufacture of masks, costumes, etc., while the oomailik or spokesman sinks back into insignificance for the time being.

All these games, both private and public, take place in the kashga. At the public performances the dancers and singers, men and women, stand around the fire-hole; and the men, to the time of the drum and the singing, go through various contortions of the body, shifting from one foot to the other without moving from the spot, the skill of the dancer being displayed only in the endurance and flexibility of his muscles. The women, on the other hand, with their eyes cast down, motionless, with the exception of a spasmodic twitching of the hands, stand around in a circle, forming, we may say, a living frame to the animated picture within. The less motion a dancer displays the greater his skill. There is nothing indecent in the dances of our sea-board natives. The dancing dress of the men consists of short tight drawers made of white reindeer-skin and the summer boots of soft moose-hide, while the women on those occasions only add ornaments, such as rings and bracelets and bead-pendants, to their common dress, frequently weighting themselves down with ten or fifteen pounds of these baubles.

An entertainment of the women was described by Zagoskin as follows:

“We entered the kashga by the common passage and found the guests already assembled, but of the landladies nothing was to be seen. On three sides of the apartment stone lamps were lighted; the fire-hole was covered with boards, one of them having a circular opening, through which the women were to make their appearance. Two other burning lamps were placed in front of the fire-hole. The guests then formed a chorus and began to sing to the sound of the drum, two men keeping them in order by beating time with sticks adorned with wolfs’ tails and gulls’ wings. Thus a good half-hour passed by. Of the song my interpreter told me that it consisted of pleasantry directed against the women; that it was evident they had nothing to give, as they had not shown themselves for so long a time. Another song praised the housewifely accomplishments of some woman whose appearance was impatiently expected with a promised trencher of the mixed mess of reindeer-fat and berries. No sooner was this song finished than that woman appeared and was received with the greatest enthusiasm. The dish was set before the men, and she retreated amid vociferous compliments on her culinary skill. She was followed by another woman. The beating of drums increased in violence and the wording of the song was changed. Standing up in the centre of the circle this woman began to relate, in mimicry and gesture, how she obtained the fat, how she stored it in various receptacles, how she cleansed and melted it, and then, placing a kantag upon her head, she invited the spectators with gestures to approach. The song went on, while eagerness to partake of the promised luxury lighted up the faces of the crowd. At last the wooden spoons were distributed, one to each man, and nothing was heard for a time but the guzzling of the luscious fluid. Another woman advanced, followed still by another, and luxuries of all kinds were produced in quick succession and as quickly despatched, while the singers pointedly alluded to the praiseworthy Russian custom of distributing tobacco. When the desired article had been produced, a woman then represented with great skill all the various stages of stupefaction resulting from smoking and snuffing. The women dressed in men’s parkas.”

A man’s entertainment witnessed by Zagoskin took place in the same village. The preparatory arrangements were similar; one of the women, a sorceress, lead the chorus. Her first song on that occasion praised a propensity of the Russian for making presents of tobacco, rings, and other trifles to women, who, in their turn, were always ready to oblige them. This, however, was only introductory, the real entertainment beginning with a chorus of men concealed in the fire-hole. The gist of their chant was that trapping, hunting, and trade were bad, that nothing could be made, and that they could only sing and dance to please their wives. To this the women answered that they had long been aware of the laziness of their husbands, who could do nothing but bathe and smoke, and that they did not expect to see any food produced, such as the women had placed before them, consequently it would be better to go to bed at once. The men answered that they would go and hunt for something, and shortly one of them appeared through the opening. This mimic, who was attired in female apparel, with bead-pendants in his nose, deep fringes of wolverine tails, bracelets, and rings, imitated in a most admirable and humorous manner the motions and gestures of the women in presenting their luxuries, and then gave imitations of the various female pursuits and labor, the guests chuckling with satisfaction. Suddenly the parka was thrown off, and the man began to represent how he hunted the mahklok, seated in his kayak, which performance ended with the production of a whole boiled mahklok, of which Zagoskin received the throat as his portion. Others represented a reindeer-hunt, the spearing of birds, the rendering of beluga-blubber, the preparation of seal-intestines for water-proof garments, the splitting of deer-tendons into thread, and so forth. One young orphan who, possessing nothing wherewith to treat the guests, brought on a kantag filled with water, which was drunk by the women amid much merriment. It sometimes happens on these occasions that lovers of fun sprinkle the women with oil, or with that fluid which they use in place of soap, squirted from small bladders concealed about their persons; and such jokes are never resented.

Another festival, in honor of the spirits of the sea (ugiak), is celebrated by the coast tribes during a whole month. The preparations for this gathering begin early in the autumn. Every hunter preserves during an entire year the bladders from all such animals as he kills with arrows; the mothers also save with the greatest care the bladders of all rats, mice, ground-squirrels, or other small animals killed by their children. At the beginning of December all these bladders are inflated, painted in various colors, and suspended in the kashga; and among them the men hang up a number of fantastically carved figures of birds and fish. Some of the figures of birds are quite ingeniously contrived, with movable eyes, heads, and legs, and are able to flap their wings. Before the fireplace there is a huge block wrapped up in dry grass. From morning until night these carved figures are kept in motion by means of strings, and during the whole time a chanting of songs continues, while dry grass and weeds are burned to smoke the suspended bladders. This fumigating process ends the day’s performances, which are begun anew in the morning. In the evening of that culminating day of this festival those strings of bladders are taken down and carried by men upon painted sticks prepared for the occasion; the women, with torches in their hands, accompany them to the sea-shore. Arrived there, the bladders are tied to sticks and weighted with stones, and finally thrown into the water, where they are watched with the greatest interest to see how long they float upon the surface. From the time of sinking and the number of rings upon the water where a bladder has disappeared the shamans prophesy success or misfortune in hunting during the coming year.

A final memorial feast in honor of a distinguished ancestor is conducted as follows:

Eight old men clad in parkas enter the kashga, or council-house, each carrying a stone lamp, which they deposit around the fire-hole. They next produce three small mats and spread them upon the floor in three corners of the building, and from the spectators three men are selected who are willing to go to the grave. The three nearest relatives of the deceased then seat themselves on the mats and divest themselves of all their clothing, wash their bodies, and don new clothes, girding themselves with belts manufactured several generations back and preserved as heirlooms in the family. To each of these men a staff is given, and they advance together to the centre of the kashga, when the oldest among the invited guests sends them forth to call the dead. These messengers leave the building, followed by the givers of this feast. After an absence of ten minutes the former return, and through the underground passage the whole population of the village crowds in, from the old and feeble down to children at the breast, and with them come the masters of ceremonies, wearing long seal-skin gloves, and strings of sea-parrot bills hanging about the breast and arms, with elaborate belts nearly a foot in width, consisting of white bellies of unborn fawns trimmed with wolverine tails. All such ornaments are carefully preserved and handed down from generation to generation, some of them being made of white sable—an exceedingly rare skin—for which high prices are paid, as much as twenty or thirty beavers or otters for one small skin. The women hold in their hands one or two eagle-feathers, and tie around the head a narrow strip of white sable. Each family, grouping itself behind its own stone lamp, chants in turn in mournful measure a song composed for the occasion. These songs are almost indefinitely prolonged by inserting the names of all the relatives of the deceased, living and dead. The singers stand motionless in their places, and many of those present are weeping. When a “song of the dead” is concluded the people seat themselves, and their usual feasting and gorging ensues. The next morning, after a bath (indulged in by all the males), the multitude again assembles in this kashga. The chanting around the fire-hole is renewed in the same mournful tone, until one old man seizes a bladder drum and takes the lead, accompanied by a few singers, and followed in procession by all participants in the feast. They walk slowly to every sepulchre in succession, halting before each to chant a mourning song; all visitors not belonging to the bereaved families in the meantime crowd upon the sodded roofs of the houses and watch these proceedings. In the evening all that remains of food in the village is set before the people, and when every kantag is scraped of the last remnant of its contents the feast is ended; then those visitors at once depart for their homes.

Occasionally the giver of such a feast, desiring to do special honor to the object of it, passes three days sitting naked upon a mat in a corner of his kashga, without food or drink, chanting a song in praise of a dead relative. At the end of such a fast any or all visitors present gifts to him; the story of his achievement is carried abroad, and he is made famous for life among his fellows.