My Strange Rescue and other stories of Sport and Adventure in Canada

"When it came to starting again, Machard vowed he would not get aboard. He pleaded to be allowed to follow us on foot; but I would not listen to him. I needed him for ballast in the first place, and moreover, if we did get through alive, I could not afford to waste half a day waiting for him to overtake us. Drawing my revolver, I ordered him to get on board. He obeyed, trembling, and we started again, Dennazee as imperturbable as ever.

"We had the worst part of the passage still before us. The sides of the cañon drew close together until they became lofty walls, between which the river shot downward like a mill-race. The great black cliffs to right and left frowned upon us as if indignantly, and at every turn in the cañon a whirlpool yawned, ready to engulf us. Again and again I thought we were caught in a whirl, but in some marvellous manner Dennazee extricated us, and we darted on to try our fate with another.

"Extreme as our peril was, it had a wonderful thrill and excitement about it, and in the midst of it I found myself thinking that were I only in a big York boat I would be shouting for joy instead of filled with apprehension.

"The great difficulty was to keep our boat straight with the stream, for, as I have already told you, she was so pliant that she bent and twisted instead of keeping stiff, and more than once I felt sure she would cave in under the tremendous pressure upon her thin sides. To make matters worse she began to leak again, and although I commanded Machard to bail her out with a pannikin, he did it so clumsily in his terror that I was afraid he would upset us, and had to order him to stop.

"We must have had an hour or more of this, when for the first time Dennazee spoke. Turning round just for a moment he pointed ahead, and exclaimed, 'Hell Gate!'

"I knew at once what he meant. We had almost reached the end of the cañon. There remained only Hell Gate, and our perils would be over. Only Hell Gate! I've not been much of a hand at praying, but I'm not ashamed to confess that I imitated poor Machard's example then. As for him, the moment he heard what Dennazee said, he fell on his knees in the bottom, and, clinging to the thwart, set to praying with all his might and main.

"With a thrilling rush we swept around the curve and plunged into Hell Gate. It is an awful place. The walls of the cañon are two hundred feet high, and not more than a hundred feet apart. The deep water spins along at the rate of twenty miles an hour, while at the end is a sort of drop into a black, dreadful pool, where the whirls are the worst of all.

"We got through the narrow passage all right, and then, with a dive that made my heart stand still, entered the whirlpools. There were three of them, and we struck the centre one. In spite of our desperate efforts, it got its grip full upon us, and round and round we went like a teetotum.

"It is not at all likely that I shall ever forget that experience. Our flimsy craft seemed to be trying to collapse every moment. It writhed and squirmed like a living thing, and at every turn of the awful circle we drew nearer to its centre, which yawned to engulf us.

"I had given up all hope, and was about to throw away my paddle and prepare for the last struggle, when suddenly there came a great rush of water down the cañon. The whirlpools all filled up and levelled over; for one brief minute the river was on our side.

"With a whoop of delight Dennazee dug his paddle deep into the water, and put all his strength upon it. I seconded his efforts as well as I could. The boat hesitated, then obeyed, and moved slowly but surely forward; and after some moments of harrowing suspense we found ourselves floating swiftly but safely onward, with no more dangers ahead."

Cameron ceased speaking, and picked up his pipe. There was a moment of silence, and then Fleming, drawing a deep breath, said with a quizzical smile, "Perhaps you do know something about running rapids."

THE CANADIAN CHILDREN OF THE COLD

After centuries of seclusion and neglect, broken only by the infrequent visits of ambitious seekers for the north pole, or mercenary hunters for the right whale, and by the semi-religious, semi-commercial ministrations of the Moravian missionaries, the Eskimos of the Labrador and Hudson Bay region suddenly had the eyes of the world turned inquiringly upon them.

The shocking story was published far and wide that a winter that did not change to spring in the usual way had cut off their supply of food, and that in consequence they were devouring one another with the ghastly relish of a Fiji cannibal. Although this report proved untrue, happily, the Eskimos are sufficiently interesting to attract attention at all times, and are little enough known to furnish an adequate excuse at this time for a brief paper upon them.

I

To aid me in presenting the earliest glimpses of the Eskimos, I am fortunate in having before me a manuscript prepared by the late Robert Morrow of Halifax, Nova Scotia, an accomplished student of the literatures of Iceland and Denmark.

That to the Norsemen and not to the Spaniards rightfully belongs the credit of first discovering America is now settled, and that when the Norsemen first touched American soil they found the Eskimos already in possession is also certain. Yet it was not these bold adventurers that gave these curious people the name by which they are most commonly known. In the expressive Norse tongue they were described as "Skraelings" – that is, the "chips, parings." The intention was not, of course, to convey the idea that they were cordially accepted as "chips of the old block," but, on the contrary, to show that they were regarded by their handsome and stalwart discoverers as little better than mere fragments of humanity – a view which, however unflattering, their squat stature, ugly countenances, and filthy habits went far to justify.

The name "Eskimo" was given to them by the Abenaki, a tribe of Indians in southern Labrador. It is an abbreviation of "Eskimautsik," which means "eating raw fish," in allusion to their repulsive custom of eating both fish and flesh without taking the preliminary trouble of cooking it. The Eskimos themselves assert very emphatically that they are "Innuit" – that is, "the people" – just as though they were the only people in the world (and, by the way, it is worth noticing that each particular tribe of these "Huskies" thinks itself the entire population of the globe until undeceived by the advent of visitors). Their national name, if they have one at all, is "Karalit," the plural of "Karalik," meaning "those that stayed behind."

With reference to this latter title, Mr. Morrow points out a curious fact, which is suggestive. Strahlenburg, in his description of the northern part of Asia, states, on the authority of the Tartar writer Abulgazi Chan, that Og, or Ogus Chan, who reigned in Tartary long before the birth of Christ, made an inroad into the southern Asiatic countries, and as some of his tribes stayed behind, they were called in reproach "Kall-atzi," and also "Karalik." Now this "Karalik," with its plural "Karalit," is the very name that the Eskimos give themselves. So striking a resemblance, amounting in fact to identity, can surely be accounted for in no other way (and for this suggestion I must assume all responsibility) than that those who stayed behind in Tartary subsequently moved over to the American continent.

When Eric the Red sailed across from Iceland to Greenland (somewhere about the year 985), he found many traces of the Eskimos there: and when Thorvald, some twenty years later, ventured as far south as Vinland, identified as the present Martha's Vineyard (with which he was so delighted that he exclaimed, "Here is a beautiful land, and here I wish to raise my dwelling"), the unexpected discovery of three skin boats upon the beach affected him and his followers much as the imprint of a human foot did Robinson Crusoe. They found more than the boats, however, for each boat held three men, all but one of whom they caught and summarily despatched, for reasons that the saga discreetly forbears to state.

But retribution followed fast. No sooner had the invaders returned to their ships than the Skraelings attacked them in great force, and although the Norsemen came out best in the fighting, their leader, Thorvald, received a mortal wound. He charged his men to bury him upon the cape "at which he had thought it best to dwell;" for, as he pathetically added, "it may happen that it was a true word that fell from my mouth that I should dwell here for a time." His men did as they were bid. They set up two crosses over his grave, whose site is now known as Summit Point. They then hastened homeward.

After the lapse of two years, one Thorfinn Karlsifori, fired by what he heard in Iceland of the wonderful discoveries made by the hardy sons of Eric the Red, fitted out an imposing expedition, his boats carrying one hundred and sixty men, besides women, cattle, etc., and set sail for Vinland. He reached his destination in safety, and remaining there for some time, improved upon his predecessor's method of treating the Skraelings. Instead of aimlessly killing them, he cheerfully cheated them, getting huge packs of furs in exchange for bits of red cloth. He has thus described his customers' chief characteristics: "These men were black and ill-favoured, and had straight hair on their heads. They had large eyes and broad cheeks." All of which shows that although the Eskimos have changed their habitat since then, they have not altered much in their appearance.

After two years of prosperous trading, the relations between the Norsemen and the Skraelings became strained from a cause too amusing not to be related. As already stated, the visitors brought a few of their cattle with them, and it happened one day that a huge bull had his feelings excited some way or other, perhaps by a piece of red cloth thoughtlessly paraded in his view; at all events he bellowed very loud, and charging upon the terrified Eskimos, tossed them about in the most lively fashion. They incontinently tumbled into their boats, and, without a word of farewell, rowed off, to the vast amusement of the bull's owners. But the latter's laughter vanished when presently the runaways returned "in whole ranks, like a rushing stream," and began an attack in which the Norsemen were vanquished by sheer force of numbers, and deemed it prudent to make off without standing upon the order of their going.

II

With the departure of the Norsemen, the curtain of obscurity falls upon the Eskimos, and is not lifted again until we find them, not luxuriating amid the vine-entangled forests of Vinland, but scattered far and wide over the hideous desolation of the far north, and engaged in a ceaseless struggle with hunger and cold. Just when they thus moved northward, and why, does not yet appear. If their innate and intense hatred of the Red Indian be of any service as a clue, it is, however, within the bounds of reason to believe that they were driven from their comfortable quarters by their more active and warlike fellow-aborigines, and given no rest until they found it amidst the icebergs and glaciers of Labrador and Hudson Bay, where they may now be met with in bands numbering from a dozen to a hundred or more. Throughout the whole of this Arctic region they fearlessly range in search of food.

The Eskimos are, in fact, the only inhabitants of a vast territory, which includes the shores of Arctic America, the whole of Greenland, and a tract about four hundred miles long on the Asiatic coast beyond Behring Strait, thus extending over a distance of five thousand miles from east to west, and three thousand two hundred miles from north to south. Notwithstanding this wide distribution, there is a remarkable uniformity, not only in the physical features of the Eskimos, but also in their manners, traditions, and language. Consequently very much that may be said of the Canadian Children of the Cold (that is, the Eskimos of Labrador and Hudson Bay) would be equally true of the other branches of the race.

For a great deal of interesting information concerning them we are indebted to the writings of such men as Ribbach and Herzeburg, Moravian missionaries, who, with a heroic zeal that only those familiar with their lot can adequately appreciate, have devoted themselves to "the cure of souls" among the Eskimos. There are six of these Moravian missions scattered along the eastern coast of Labrador. Nain, the chief one, was established as far back as 1771, Okkak in 1776, Hopedale in 1782, and Hebron, Zoar, and Ramah more recently.

The bestowal of so attractive Biblical names helps very little, however, to mitigate the unfavourable impression produced by the forbidding surroundings of these tiny oases almost lost in a seemingly illimitable desert. Sheer from the sea, except where broken by frequent gulf and fiord, the coast line towers up in tremendous and unpitying sternness, and at its base the breakers thunder with a force and fury that knows little pause throughout the year. From end to end the shore is jagged like a gigantic saw with innumerable bays and inlets, sprinkled thick with islands and underlaid with hidden reefs, which makes these waters difficult to find and dangerous to navigate.

The interior of the country is equally repellent. Although toward the west it becomes less mountainous and slightly undulating, like the American prairie, it presents nothing but an inhospitable and savage wilderness, covered with immense forests, broken by numerous swamps and lakes, and untouched by human foot, save when now and then a band of Red Indians venture thither, lured by the hope of food and fur.

The Eskimos upon the eastern coast of Labrador are, as a rule, small of stature, not much exceeding five feet. Those upon the western shore, however, are taller and more robust; they are quite strongly built, with hair and beard sweeping down over the shoulders and chest. When the good seed sown by the patient missionary finds lodging in a Husky's heart, he usually signalizes his adoption of Christianity by indulging in a clean shave, or at least by cutting his beard short with a pair of scissors, in deference perhaps to the judgment of St. Paul that "if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him."

They have small, soft hands, broad shoulders, big flat faces, large, round heads, and short, stubby noses, and very generous mouths, which, being nearly always on the broad grin, make free display of fine rows of sharp, white teeth. In complexion they are tawny and ruddy, and the face is of a much darker shade than the body. At spring-time, when the sun's burning rays are reflected from glistening banks of snow, they become almost as black in the face as negroes; but new-born babes may be seen as fair as any English child. Their eyes are small and almost uniformly black, and peep brightly out at you from underneath a perfect forest of brow and lash. Their hair is black, also, and very thick and coarse.

"Tip-tilted, like the petals of a flower,"

Their ordinary food is the flesh of the seal, with its attendant blubber, and the fish that abound along the shore. They are not particular whether their dinner is cooked or not, and I seriously question whether a professional pugilist in the height of his training could swallow his beef-steak as "rare" as the Eskimos will their seal cutlets. They are also very partial to tallow, soap, fish oil, and such things, which they look upon as great delicacies, a big tallow candle being rather more of a treat to an Eskimo youngster than a stick of candy to a civilized small boy.

That these peculiar and decidedly repulsive tastes are, after all, bottomed on the laws of nature, is clearly shown by the fact that when the natives around a mission station adopt a European diet (and they soon become passionately fond of bread and biscuits) they inevitably grow weak and incapable of standing the intense cold. When Joe, that heroic Eskimo who supported Hall's expedition by his hunting, after Hall himself had died, was transplanted to America and thence to England, he soon languished and grew consumptive, despite every effort to preserve his health. On joining Captain Young in the Pandora, his only remark, uttered with a depth of eager, confident hope that was very touching, was, "By-and-by get little seal meat; then all right," – a prediction that was fulfilled to the very letter when he regained his native ice. As soon as they killed their first seal Joe was given free rein, and he began to revive at once. His hollow cheeks resumed their old-time chubbiness (and smeariness too, no doubt), his languor left him, and he was, in short, another man.

The seal is, in fact, everything to the Eskimo. What the buffalo was to the American Indian, what the reindeer is to the European Laplander, all that, and still more, is the seal to these Children of the Cold. Upon its meat and blubber they feed. With its fur they are clothed. By its oil they are warmed and lighted. Stretched upon appropriate framework, its skin makes them sea-worthy boats and weather-proof tents. While, unkindest use of all, with its bladder they float the fatal harpoon that wrought its own undoing. To sum it all up in one sentence, take away the seal, and the Eskimo could not exist for a month.

There is not much room for fashion's imperious sway in Labrador. Seal-skin from scalp to toe is the invariable rule; and there would be no small difficulty in distinguishing between the sexes, if the women did not indulge in a certain amount of ornamentation, upon their garments, and further indicate their femininity by appending to their sacques a curious tail reaching almost to the ground, which they renew whenever it becomes so dirty as to shock even their sluggish sensibilities. Still another distinguishing mark, permissible, however, only to those who have attained the dignity of motherhood, is the amook, a capacious hood hung between the shoulders, which forms the safest and snuggest of all carrying places for babies that otherwise would be "in arms."

III

In addition to the records of the Moravian missionaries, the reports of the Arctic explorers and the stories brought back by whalers concerning the Eskimos, much information has been gained of late through the measures taken by the Canadian Government to determine the practicability of Hudson Bay as a commercial highway. For three successive years expeditions on an extensive scale have been despatched to that little-known region, and observing stations have been maintained throughout the year at different points along the coast of Labrador and the shores of that great inland sea which has not inappropriately been termed the "Mediterranean" of Canada. As one result of these expeditions, much attention has been drawn to the natives. Lieutenant Gordon, who has commanded all three, has many kind words for them. He finds them docile, amiable, and willing to work, and apparently much pleased with the prospect of increased intercourse with the white man. Occasionally one is met that has been sufficiently enterprising to acquire the English language, while many others understand well enough what is said to them in that language, although they cannot be persuaded to speak it.

They are wildly fond of any article of civilized clothing, and the head-man at one settlement exhibited no little pride in the possession of a stand-up linen collar, almost worthy to be placed beside one of Mr. Gladstone's. Although he displayed it to the utmost advantage, he did not, like the Fiji chieftain, consider all other clothing superfluous.

When stores were being landed at the stations, the Eskimos would gather about and offer their services, which were always accepted, and then all day long they would toil cheerfully side by side with their white brethren, requiring no other remuneration than biscuits. When so much has been written by Arctic explorers about the incorrigible kleptomania of the natives, it is no less a matter for surprise than for gratification that Lieutenant Gordon can bear this testimony as to the moral status of the Eskimos at Hudson Bay: "One word may be said in regard to their honesty. Although scraps of iron and wood possess a value to them which we can hardly appreciate, they would take nothing without first asking leave. Not even a chip or broken nail was taken without their first coming to ask permission of the officer who was on duty!"

No doubt the fact that practical prohibition prevails has something to do with this highly commendable showing. The law, aided and abetted by the vigilant missionaries, shuts out everything stronger than lime-juice, and the path of the Eskimo is free from the most seductive and destructive of all temptations, except when some unprincipled whaler offers him a pull out of his flask. This, however, is a rare occurrence, and there is no record of any such disturbance ever having been raised as would in more highly civilized communities call for the interference of the police. Although the simplicity of their life and their freedom from many modern vices conduce to longevity, these advantages are more than counterbalanced by the strain put upon their constitutions by the severity of the climate and the incessant struggle for food. Consequently they soon age, and seldom live beyond sixty years.

The doctrine that cleanliness is next to godliness finds few adherents in Eskimo land. The rule seems to be to eschew washing throughout the year, and many a mighty hunter goes through life innocent of a bath, unless, indeed, he should happen to be tumbled out of his kayak by some irate walrus with other than sanitary designs in mind. Mr. Tuttle, the historian of the first Hudson Bay expedition, is authority for the statement that the children, when very young, are sometimes cleaned by being licked with their mother's tongue before being put into the bag of feathers that serves them as bed, cradle, and blanket; but one cannot help thinking that this particular version of "a lick and a promise" is rather too laborious to have extensive vogue.

So familiar has the world been made through the medium of Arctic exploration literature with the igloos (huts), kayaks and umiaks (boats), sledges, dogs, harpoons, and other possessions of these people, which are precisely the same wherever they may be found, that reference to them seems unnecessary, especially as the Canadian Eskimos offer nothing peculiar. But, before concluding, a few words must be added as to the intellectual and moral characteristics of the race. Their intelligence is considerable. In some instances they display not only a taste but a talent for music, chart-making, and drawing. One case is mentioned where a mere lad drew an excellent outline of the coast for over a hundred miles, indicating its many irregularities with astonishing accuracy. They are capital mimics, and are apt at learning the songs and dances of their white visitors. But they are poor men of business. They generally leave to the purchaser the fixing of the price of anything they have to sell.

It is said that in their private lives their state of morality is low, although they avoid indecency calculated to give public offence. Stealing and lying were unknown among them until these "black arts" were introduced by the whites as products of civilization, and, unhappily, the natives are proving apt pupils. They are also somewhat given to gambling. Although by no means without courage, they seldom quarrel, and never go to war with one another.

As to religion, the Eskimos, before they accepted Christianity, had little or none that was worthy of the name. They believe in the immortality of the soul, but liberally extend this doctrine to the lower animals also, which they endow with souls. They hold, also, that human souls can pass into the bodies of these very animals.

With respect to the higher powers, their creed is that the world is ruled by supernatural beings whom they call "owners;" and as almost every object has its owner, this would seem to be a kind of Pantheism. After death human souls go either up or down; but in curious contrast to the belief of all other races, the good, in their opinion, go to the nether world, where they bask in a land, not of milk and honey, but of inexhaustible seal meat and blubber. The bad, on the other hand, go to the upper world, where they suffer what a fashionable preacher euphemized as "eternal uneasiness," not from excess of heat but from frost and famine. There they are permitted to lighten their misery by playing ball with a walrus head, which diversion, by the way, in some inexplicable fashion, gives rise to the aurora borealis.