XXIV. THE TCHUKTCHI
The Land of the Tchuktchi.--Their independent Spirit and commercial Enterprise.--Perpetual Migrations.--The Fair of Ostrownoje.-- Visit in a Tchuktch Polog.--Races.--Tchuktch Bayaderes.--The Tennygk, or Reindeer Tchuktchi.--The Onkilon, or Sedentary Tchuktchi.--Their Mode of Life.
At the extreme north-eastern point of Asia, bounded by the Polar Ocean on one side and the Sea of Bering on the other, lies the land of the Tchuktchi. The few travellers who have ever visited that bleak promontory describe it as one of the dreariest regions of the earth. The climate is dreadfully cold, as may be expected in a country confined between icy seas. Before July 20th there is no appearance of summer, and winter already sets in about August 20th. The lower grounds shelving to the north are intersected with numerous streams, which, however, enjoy their liberty but a short time of the year; the valleys are mostly swampy and filled with small lakes or ponds; while on the bleak hill-slopes the Vaccinium and the dwarf birch or willow sparingly vegetate under a carpet of mosses and lichens. The eastern, north-eastern, and partly also the southern coasts abound with walruses, sea-lions, and seals, while the reindeer, the argali, the wolf, and the Arctic fox occupy the land. During the short summer, geese, swans, ducks, and wading-birds frequent the marshy grounds; but in winter the snow-owl and the raven alone remain, and constantly follow the path of the nomadic inhabitants. In this desolate nook of the Old World lives the only aboriginal people of North Asia which has known how to maintain its liberty to the present day, and which, proud of its independence, looks down with sovereign contempt upon its relations, the Korjaks, who, without offering any resistance, have yielded to the authority of Russia.
The rulers of Siberia have indeed confined the Tchuktchi within narrow limits, but here at least they obey no foreign ruler, and wander, unmolested by the stranger, with their numerous reindeer herds, over the naked tundras. A natural distrust of their powerful neighbors has rendered them long unwilling to enter into any commercial intercourse with the Russians, and to meet them at the fair of Ostrownoje, a small town, situated not far from their frontiers, on a small island of the Aniuj, in 68° N. lat.
This remotest trading-place of the Old World is not so unimportant as might be supposed, from the sterile nature of the country, for the Tchuktchi are not satisfied, like the indolent Lapps or Samoïedes, with the produce of their reindeer herds, but strive to increase their enjoyments or their property by an active trade. From the East Cape of Asia, where, crossing Bering’s Straits in boats covered with skins, they barter furs and walrus-teeth from the natives of America, the Tchuktchi come with their goods and tents drawn on sledges to the fair of Ostrownoje. Other sledges laden with lichens, the food of the reindeer, follow in their train, as in their wanderings, however circuitous, they not seldom pass through regions so stony and desert as not even to afford these frugal animals the slightest repast. Thus regulating their movements by the wants of their herds, they require five or six months for a journey which, in a direct line, would not be much longer than a thousand versts, and are almost constantly wandering from place to place, though, as they always carry their dwellings along with them, they at the same time never leave home. One of these snail-like caravans generally consists of fifty or sixty families, and one fair is scarcely at an end when they set off to make their arrangements for the next.
Tobacco is the primum mobile of the trade which centres in Ostrownoje. Their pipes are of a peculiar character, larger at the stem than the bowl, which holds a very small quantity of tobacco. In smoking, they swallow the fumes of the tobacco, and often, after six or eight whiffs, fall back completely intoxicated for the time. The desire to procure a few of its narcotic leaves induces the American Esquimaux, from the Icy Cape to Bristol Bay, to send their produce from hand to hand as far as the Gwosdew Islands in Bering’s Straits, where it is bartered for the tobacco of the Tchuktchi, and these again principally resort to the fair of Ostrownoje to purchase tobacco from the Russians. Generally the Tchuktchi receive from the Americans as many skins for half a poud, or eighteen pounds, of tobacco-leaves as they afterwards sell to the Russians for two pouds of tobacco of the same quality. These cost the Russian merchant about 160 roubles at the very utmost, while the skins which he obtains in barter are worth at least 260 at Jakutsk, and are more than double that sum at St. Petersburg.
The furs of the Tchuktchi principally consist of black and silver-gray foxes, stone-foxes, gluttons, lynxes, otters, beavers, and a fine species of marten which does not occur in Siberia, and approaches the sable in value. They also bring to the fair bear-skins, walrus-thongs and teeth, sledge-runners of whale-ribs, and ready-made clothes of reindeer skin. The American furs are generally packed in sacks of seal skin, which are made in an ingenious manner by extracting the bones and flesh through a small opening made in the abdomen.
The Russian traders on their part bring to the fair, besides tobacco, ironware--particularly kettles and knives--for the Tchuktchi, and tea, sugar, and various stuffs for their countrymen who have settled along the Kolyma.
But Ostrownoje attracts not only Tchuktchi and Russians; a great number of the Siberian tribes from a vast circuit of 1000 or 1500 versts--Jukahires, Lamutes, Tungusi, Tschuwanzi, Koriaks--also come flocking in their sledges, drawn partly by dogs, partly by horses, for the purpose of bartering their commodities against the goods of the Tchuktchi. Fancy this barbarous assembly meeting every year during the intense cold and short days of the beginning of March. Picture to yourself the fantastic illumination of their red watch-fires blazing under the starry firmament, or mingling their ruddy glare with the Aurora flickering through the skies, and add to the strange sight the hollow sound of the Shaman’s drum, and the howling of several hundreds of hungry dogs, and you will surely confess that no fair has a more original character than that of Ostrownoje. A government commissary, assisted by some Cossacks, superintends the fair, and receives the inconsiderable market-tax which the Tchuktchi pay to the Emperor.
All preliminaries having been arranged, the orthodox Russians repair to the chapel for the purpose of hearing a solemn mass, after which, the hoisting of a flag on the tower of the ostrog announces the opening of the market. At this welcome sign, the Tchuktchi, completely armed with spears, bows, and arrows, advance with their sledges, and form a wide semicircle round the fort, while the Russians, and the other visitors of the fair, ranged opposite to them, await in breathless silence the tolling of the bell, which is to begin the active business of the day. At the very first sound, each trader, grotesquely laden with packages of tobacco, kettles, knives, or whatever else he supposes best able to supply some want, or to strike some fancy of the Tchuktchi, rushes as fast as he can towards the sledges, and in the jumble not seldom knocks down a competitor, or is himself stretched at full length on the snow. But, unmindful of the loss of cap and gloves, which he does not give himself time to pick up, he starts afresh, to make up for the delay by redoubled activity. Before he reaches the first Tchuktch, his eloquence breaks forth in an interminable flow, and in a strange jargon of Russian, Tchuktch, and Jakute, he praises the excellence of his tobacco or the solidity of his kettles. The imperturbable gravity of the Tchuktch forms a remarkable contrast with the greedy eagerness of the Russian trader; without replying to his harangue, he merely shakes his head if the other offers him too little for his goods, and never for an instant loses his self-possession: while the Russian, in his hurry, not seldom hands over two pouds of tobacco for one, or pockets a red fox instead of a black one. Although the Tchuktch have no scales with them, it is not easy to deceive them in the weight, for they know exactly by the feeling of the hand whether a quarter of a pound is wanting to the poud. The whole fair seldom lasts longer than three days, and Ostrownoje, which must have but very few stationary inhabitants indeed (as it is not even mentioned in statistical accounts, which cite towns of seventeen souls), is soon after abandoned for many months to its ultra-Siberian solitude.
But before we allow the Tchuktchi to retire to their deserts, we may learn something more of their habits by accompanying Mr. Matiuschkin-- Wrangell’s companion--on a visit to the ladies of one of their first chiefs. “We enter the outer tent, or ‘namet,’ consisting of tanned reindeer skins supported on a slender frame-work. An opening at the top to let out the smoke, and a kettle in the centre, announce that antechamber and kitchen are here harmoniously blended into one. But where are the inmates? Most probably in that large sack made of the finest skins of reindeer calves, which occupies, near the kettle, the centre of the ‘namet.’ To penetrate into this ‘sanctum sanctorum’ of the Tchuktch household, we raise the loose flap which serves as a door, creep on all fours through the opening, cautiously re-fasten the flap by tucking it under the floor-skin, and find ourselves in the reception or withdrawing room--the ‘polog.’ A snug box no doubt for a cold climate, but rather low, as we can not stand upright in it, and not quite so well ventilated as a sanitary commissioner would approve of, as it has positively no opening for light or air. A suffocating smoke meets us on entering, we rub our eyes, and when they have at length got accustomed to the biting atmosphere, we perceive, by the gloomy light of a train-oil lamp, the worthy family squatting on the floor in a state of almost complete nudity. Without being in the least embarrassed, Madame Leütt and her daughter receive us in their primitive costume: but to show us that the Tchuktchi know how to receive company, and to do honor to their guests, they immediately insert strings of glass beads in their greasy hair. Their hospitality equals their politeness; for, instead of a cold reception, a hot dish of boiled reindeer-flesh, copiously irrigated with rancid train-oil by the experienced hand of the mistress of the household, is soon after smoking before us. Unfortunately our effeminate taste is not up to the haut goût of her culinary art, and while Mr. Leütt does ample justice to the artistic talent of his spouse, by rapidly bolting down pieces as large as a fist, we are hardly able to swallow a morsel.”
During his visit at Ostrownoje, Matiuschkin had a favorable opportunity of becoming acquainted with the sports of the Tchuktchi, the chieftain, Makomol, having set out prizes for a race. These consisted of a valuable silver fox, a first-rate beaver skin, and two fine walrus-teeth. Nothing can be more admirable than the fleetness of the reindeer or the dexterity of their drivers; and the agility displayed in the foot-race by the Tchuktchi, running at full speed, in their heavy winter dresses, over a distance of fifteen versts, gives a high idea of their muscular powers. After the races, the spectators are treated to a grand choregraphic display. The Arctic bayaderes, muffled from head to foot in their stiff skin garments, form a narrow circle, slowly moving their feet backward and forward, and fiercely gesticulating with their hands, whilst their faces are distorted into a thousand horrible grimaces. The singing that accompanies the ballet has no doubt its charm for native ears, but to strangers it seems no better than a kind of grunt. The representation is closed by three first-rate artistes executing a particularly favorite dance. The faces of their countrymen express the same intense admiration with which a European dilettante follows the graceful pirouettes of a Taglioni, while the Russian guests see only three greasy monsters alternately rushing towards each other and starting back, until at length they stop from sheer exhaustion. As a token of their satisfaction, the Russians regale the fair performers with a cup of brandy and a roll of tobacco, and both parties take leave of each other with mutual protestations of satisfaction and friendship.
Though most of the Reindeer or nomadic Tchuktchi have been baptized, yet Wrangell supposes the ceremony to have been a mere financial speculation on their part, and is convinced that the power of the Shamans is still as great as ever. An epidemic had carried off a great number of persons, and also whole herds of reindeer. In vain the Shamans had recourse to their usual conjurations, the plague continued. They consulted together, and directed that one of their most respected chiefs, named Kotschen, must be sacrificed, to appease the irritated spirits. Kotschen was willing to submit to the sentence, but none could be found to execute it, until his own son, prevailed on by his father’s exhortations, and terrified by his threatened curse, plunged a knife into his heart, and gave his body to the Shamans.
Polygamy is general among the Tchuktchi, and they change their wives as often as they please. Still, though the women are certainly slaves, they are allowed more influence, and are subjected to less labor than among many savages. Among other heathenish and detestable customs, is that of killing all deformed children, and all old people as soon as they become unfit for the hardships and fatigues of a nomad life. Two years before Wrangell’s arrival at Kolyma there was an instance of this in the case of one of their richest chiefs. Waletka’s father became infirm and tired of life, and was put to death at his own express desire by some of his nearest relations.
Besides the wandering, or Reindeer Tchuktchi, who call themselves Tennygk, there are others, dwelling in fixed habitations along the borders of the sea at Bering’s Straits and the Gulf of Anadyr, who differ considerably from the former in appearance and language. These Onkilon, or stationary Tchuktchi, belong to the wide-spread Esquimaux family, and, like most of their race, subsist by hunting the whale, the walrus, and the seal. They live in a state of abject dependence on the nomad Tchuktchi, and are poor, like all fishermen, while some of the Tennygk chieftains possess several thousands of reindeer, and are continually adding to their wealth by trade. Of course there is an active exchange of commodities between the two; the Onkilon furnishing thongs of walrus hide, walrus-teeth, train-oil, etc., and receiving reindeer skins, or ready-made clothes of the same material, in return.
They live in small settlements or villages spread along the coast; their huts, raised on frame-works of whale-rib and covered with skins, resemble a large irregular cone reposing on its side, with the apex directed to the north, and the base shelving abruptly to the south. Here is the small opening, closed by a flap of loose skin, which serves as a door, while the smoke escapes and the light enters through a round hole in the roof. At the farther or northern end of this structure is a second low square tent, covered with double reindeer skins, the polog, which in winter serves both as the dining and bed room of the family.
The Onkilon catch seals in a kind of net made of leather straps, which they spread out under the ice, and in which the animal entangles itself with the head or flippers. When the walrus, which is particularly abundant about Koliutschin Island, creeps on shore, they steal upon it unawares, cut off its retreat, and kill it with their spears. Like the Esquimaux, they use dogs to drag their sledges.
The number of the Tchuktchi is greater than one might expect to find in so sterile a country. According to the Russian missionaries, there were, some years back, 52 ulusses or villages of the Onkilon, with 1568 tents, and 10,000 inhabitants; and Wrangell tells us that the Tennygk are at least twice as numerous, so that the entire population of the land of the Tchuktchi may possibly amount to 30,000.
XXV. BERING SEA--THE RUSSIAN FUR COMPANY--THE ALEUTS
Bering Sea.--Unalaska.--The Pribilow Islands.--St. Matthew.-- St. Laurence.--Bering’s Straits.--The Russian Fur Company.-- The Aleuts.--Their Character.--Their Skill and Intrepidity in hunting the Sea-otter.--The Sea-bear.--Whale-chasing.-- Walrus-slaughter.--The Sea-lion.
Bering Sea is extremely interesting in a geographical point of view, as the temperature of its coasts and islands exhibits so striking a contrast with that part of the Arctic Ocean which extends between Greenland, Iceland, Norway, and Spitzbergen, and affords us the most convincing proof of the benefits we owe to the Gulf Stream, and to the mild south-westerly winds which sweep across the Atlantic. While through the sea between Iceland and Scotland, a part of the warmth generated in the tropical zone penetrates by means of marine and aërial currents as far as Spitzbergen and the western coast of Nova Zembla, the Sea of Bering is completely deprived of this advantage. The long chain of mountainous islands which bounds it on the south serves as a barrier against the mild influence of the Pacific, and instead of warm streams mixing with its waters, many considerable rivers and deep bays yearly discharge into it enormous masses of ice. Thus as soon as the navigator enters Bering Sea he perceives at once a considerable fall in the temperature, and finds himself suddenly transferred from a temperate oceanic region to one of a decidedly Arctic character. In spite, therefore, of their comparatively southerly position (for the Straits of Bering do not even reach the Arctic Circle, and the Andrianow Islands are ten degrees farther to the south than the Feroës), those frigid waters are, with regard to climate, far less favorably situated than the seas of Spitzbergen.
The same gradual differences of temperature and vegetation which we find in Unalaska, the Pribilow Islands, St. Laurence, and the Straits of Bering, within 10° of latitude, occur in the Shetland Islands, Iceland, Bear Island, and Spitzbergen at distances of almost 20°; so that in the Sea of Bering the increase of cold on advancing to the north is about twice as rapid as in the waters between North Europe and North America.
The long and narrow peninsula of Aliaska, which forms the south-eastern boundary of this inhospitable sea, shows us its influence in a very marked degree, for while the climate of the northern side of that far-projecting land-tongue has a decidedly Arctic character, its southern coasts fronting the Pacific enjoy a temperate climate. The mountain-chain which, rising to a height of five or six thousand feet, forms the backbone of the peninsula, serves as the boundary of two distinct worlds, for while the northern slopes are bleak and treeless like Iceland, the southern shores are covered from the water’s edge with magnificent forests. While on the northern side the walrus extends his excursions down to 56° 30´ N. lat., on the southern exposure the hummingbird is seen to flit from flower to flower as high as 61°, the most northerly point it is known to attain.
The Feroë Islands (64° N. lat.) have undoubtedly a no very agreeable climate to boast of, but they may almost be said to enjoy Italian skies when compared with Unalaska (54° N. lat.), the best known of the Aleutian chain.
The Scandinavian archipelago is frequently obscured with fogs, but here they are perpetual from April to the middle of July. From this time till the end of September the weather improves, as then the southerly winds drive the foggy region more to the north, and enable the sun to shine during a few serene days upon the bleak shores of Unalaska. But soon the Polar air-streams regain the supremacy, and a dismal veil once more shrouds the melancholy island. Of Sitka, the chief town of Aliaska, Mr. Whymper says: “It enjoys the unenviable position of being about the most rainy place in the world. Rain ceases only when there is a good prospect of snow.” Snow generally begins to fall early in October, and snow-storms occur to the very end of May. There are years in which it rains continually during the whole winter. In the Feroës some service-trees are to be seen twelve feet high or more, while nothing like a tree ever grew in Unalaska. The difference between the temperatures of the summer and winter, which in the Feroës is confined to very narrow limits, is much more considerable in Unalaska, though here also the moderating influence of the sea makes itself felt. Thus in summer the thermometer rarely rises above 66°, but on the other hand in winter it still more rarely falls below -2°.
Of course no corn of any kind can possibly ripen in a climate like this, but the damp and cool temperature favors the growth of herbs. In the moist lowlands the stunted willow-bushes are stifled by the luxuriant grasses; and even on the hills, the vegetation, which is of a decidedly Alpine character, covers the earth up to the line of perpetual snow; while several social plants, such as the Lupinus nootkeanus and the Rhododendron kamtschadalicum, decorate these dismal regions with their brilliant color. The lively green of the meadows reminds one of the valley of Urseren, so well known to all Alpine tourists. The mosses and lichens begin already at Unalaska to assume that predominance in the Flora which characterizes the frigid zone.
A few degrees to the north of the Aleutian chain, which extends in a long line from the promontory of Aliaska to Kamchatka, are situated the Pribilow Islands, St. George and St. Paul, which are celebrated in the history of the fur-trade, the former as the chief breeding-place of the sea-bear, the latter as that of the sea-lion. Chamisso was struck with their wintry aspect, for here no sheltered valleys and lowlands promote, as at Unalaska, a more vigorous vegetation. The rounded backs of the hills and the scattered rocks are covered with black and gray lichens; and where the melting snows afford a sufficient moisture, sphagnum, mosses, and a few weeds occupy the marshy ground. The frozen earth has no springs, and yet these desolate islands have a more southerly situation than the Orkneys, where barley grows to ripeness. Before these islands were discovered by the Russians they had been for ages the undisturbed home of the sea-birds and the large cetacean seals. Under Russian superintendence, some Aleuts have now been settled on both of them. The innumerable herds of sea-lions, which cover the naked shores of St. George as far as the eye can reach, present a strange sight. The guillemots have taken possession of the places unoccupied by their families and fly fearlessly among them, or nestle in the crevices of the wave-worn rock-walls, or between the large boulders which form a bank along the strand.
Still farther to the north lies the uninhabited island of St. Matthew (62° N. lat.). A settlement was once attempted; but as the animals which had been reckoned upon for the winter supply of food departed, the unfortunate colonists all died of hunger.
Fogs are so frequent about the island of St. Laurence that navigators have often passed close by it (65° N. lat.) without seeing it. Chamisso was surprised at the beauty and the numbers of its dwarfish flowering herbs, which reminded him of the highlands of Switzerland, while the neighboring St. Laurence Bay, in the land of the Tchuktchi, was the image of wintry desolation. In July the lowlands were covered with snow-fields, and the few plants bore the Alpine character in the most marked degree. Under this inclement sky, the mountains, unprotected by vegetation, rapidly fall into decay. Every winter splits the rocks, and the summer torrents carry the fragments down to their feet. The ground is everywhere covered with blocks of stone, unless where the sphagnum, by the accumulation of its decomposed remains, has formed masses of peat in the swampy lowlands.
On sailing through Bering’s Straits, the traveller may see, in clear weather, both the Old and the New World. On both sides rise high mountains, precipitously from the water’s edge in Asia, but separated from the sea by a broad alluvial belt on the American side. The sea is deepest on the Asiatic border, where the current, flowing from the south with considerable rapidity, has also the greatest force. Here also whales may be often seen, and large herds of walruses.
In former times the baidar of the Esquimaux was the only boat ever seen in the straits, and since Semen Deshnew, who first sailed round the eastern point of Asia, European navigators had but rarely passed them to explore the seas beyond; but recently this remotest part of the world has become the scene of an active whale-fishery.
The shores of Bering Sea are naked and bleak, and the numerous volcanoes of the Aleutian chain pour out their lava-streams over unknown wildernesses. But the waters of the sea are teeming with life. Gigantic algæ, such as are never seen in the torrid zone, form, round the rocky coasts, vast submarine forests. A host of fishes, whales, walruses, and seals, fill the sea and its shores, and innumerable sea-birds occupy the cliffs. But these treasures of the ocean, which for ages furnished the Aleuts and other wild tribes with the means of existence, have also been the cause of their servitude. Had the sea-otter not existed, the wild children of the soil might possibly still be in possession of their ancient freedom; and but for the sea-bear and the walrus, the whale and the seal, the banners of the Czar would scarcely have met the flag of England on the continent of America.
As the whole fur-trade of the Hudson’s Bay Territory is concentrated in the hands of one mighty company, thus also one powerful association enjoys the exclusive commerce of the eastern possession of Russia. The regions under the authority of the Russian Fur Company[14] occupy an immense space, as they comprise not only all the islands of Bering Sea, but also the American coasts down to 55° N. lat. The extreme points of this vast territory are situated at a greater distance from each other than London from Tobolsk, but the importance of its trade bears no proportion to its extent.
The company, which was founded in the year 1799, under the Emperor Paul, had, in 1839, thirty-six hunting settlements on its own territory (the Kurile Islands, the Aleutic chain, Aliaska, Bristol Bay, Cook’s Inlet, Norton Sound, etc.), besides a chain of agencies from Ochotsk to St. Petersburg. Its chief seat is New Archangel, on Sitka, one of the many islands of King George III.’s Archipelago, first accurately explored by Vancouver. The magnificent Bay of Norfolk, at the head of which the small town is situated, greatly resembles a Norwegian fjord, as we here find the same steep rock-walls bathing their precipitous sides in the emerald waters, and clothed with dense pine forests wherever a tree can grow.
A number of islets scattered over the surface of the bay add to the beauty of the scene. The furs collected by the company are chiefly those of sea-bears, sea-otters, foxes, beavers, bears, lynxes, American martens, etc., and are partly furnished by the subjects of its own territory (Aleuts, Kadjacks, Kenaïzes, Tchugatchi, Aliaskans), who are compelled to hunt on its account, and partly obtained by barter from the independent tribes of the mainland, or from the Hudson’s Bay Company. The greater part is sent to Ochotsk or the Amoor, and from thence through Siberia to St. Petersburg; the rest to the Chinese ports, where the skins of the young sea-bear always find a ready market.
Of all the aboriginal tribes which inhabit the vast territory of Russian America, the most worthy of notice is that of the Aleuts. Less fortunate than their independent relatives, the Esquimaux of the north--who in the midst of privations maintain an imperturbable gayety of temper--these islanders have been effectually spirit-broken under a foreign yoke. In 1817 the cruel treatment of their masters had reduced them to about a thousand; since that time their number has somewhat increased, the company having at length discovered that man is, after all, the most valuable production of a land, and that if depopulation increased still further, they would soon have no more hunters to supply them with furs.
Every Aleut is bound, after his eighteenth year, to serve the company three years; and this forced labor-tax does not seem at first sight immoderate, but if we consider that the islanders, to whom every foreign article is supplied from the warehouses of the company, are invariably its debtors, we can not doubt that as long as the Aleut is able to hunt, he is obliged to do so for the wages of a slave. The Bishop Ivan Weniaminow, who resided ten years at Unalaska, draws a picture of this people which exhibits evident marks of a long servitude. They never quarrel among each other, and their patience is exemplary. Nothing can surpass the fortitude with which they endure pain. On the other hand, they never show excessive joy; it seems impossible to raise their feelings to the pitch of delight. Even after a long fast, a child never grasps with eagerness the proffered morsel, nor does it on any occasion exhibit the mirth so natural to its age.
In hunting the marine animals, the Aleuts exhibit a wonderful skill and intrepidity. To catch the sea-otter, they assemble in April or May at an appointed spot, in their light skin boats, or baidars, and choose one of their most respected chiefs for the leader of the expedition, which generally numbers from fifty to a hundred boats. Such hunting-parties are annually organized from the Kurile Islands to Kadjack, and consequently extend their operations over a line of 3000 miles. On the first fine day the expedition sets out and proceeds to a distance of about forty versts from the coast, when the baidars form into a long line, leaving an interval of about 250 fathoms from boat to boat, as far as a sea-otter diving out of the water can be seen, so that a row of thirty baidars occupies a space of from ten to twelve versts. When the number of the boats is greater, the intervals are reduced. Every man now looks upon the sea with great attention. Nothing escapes the eye of the Aleut; in the smallest black spot appearing but one moment over the surface of the waters, he at once recognizes a sea-otter. The baidar which first sees the animal rows rapidly towards the spot where the creature dived, and now the Aleut, holding his oar straight up in the air, remains motionless on the spot. Immediately the whole squadron is on the move, and the long, straight line changes into a wide circle, the centre of which is occupied by the baidar with the raised oar. The otter, not being able to remain long under water, reappears, and the nearest Aleut immediately greets him with an arrow. This first attack is seldom mortal; very often the missile does not even reach its mark, and the sea-otter instantly disappears. Again the oar rises from the next baidar; again the circle forms, but this time narrower than at first; the fatigued otter is obliged to come oftener to the surface, arrows fly from all sides, and finally the animal, killed by a mortal shot, or exhausted by repeated wounds, falls to the share of the archer who has hit it nearest to the head. If several otters appear at the same time, the boats form as many rings, provided their number be sufficiently great.
The boldest of all hunters, the Aleuts of the Fox Islands, pursue the sea-otter also in winter. If, during the summer chase, the rapidity and regularity with which all the movements are performed, and the sure eye and aim of the archers command the spectator’s admiration, this winter chase gives him occasion to wonder at their courage. During the severest winter-storms the otter shelters himself on the shore of some small uninhabited island or on a solitary rock, and after having carefully ascertained that no enemy is near, coils himself up and falls asleep. While the storm still rages, two Aleuts approach the rock in two single baidars from the leeward. The hunter in the foremost baidar stands upright, a gun or a club in his hand, and waits in this position till a wave brings him near to the summit of the rock. He now springs on land, and while his companion takes care of the baidar, approaches the sleeping otter and shoots it or kills it with his club. With the assistance of his companion who has remained on the water, he springs back into his baidar as soon as the crest of a wave brings it within his reach.
The sea-bear is nearly as valuable as the sea-otter to the fur company, as the woolly skin of the young animal is the only one of the whole seal tribe which is reckoned among the finer peltry. The sea-bears are chiefly killed on the Commodore and Pribilow islands, particularly on St. Paul, where they are hunted by a certain number of Aleuts located there under Russian superintendence. The chase begins in the latter part of September, on a cold, foggy day, when the wind blows from the side where the animals are assembled on the rocky shore. The boldest huntsmen open the way, then follow the older people and the children, and the chief personage of the band comes last, to be the better able to direct and survey the movements of his men, who are all armed with clubs. The main object is to cut off the herd as quickly as possible from the sea. All the grown-up males and females are spared and allowed to escape, but most of the young animals are sentenced to death. Those which are only four months old (their furs being most highly prized) are doomed without exception; while of the others that have attained an age of one, two, or three years, only the males are killed. For several days after the massacre, the mothers swim about the island, seeking and loudly wailing for their young.
From October 5 St. Paul is gradually deserted by the sea-bears, who then migrate to the south and re-appear towards the end of April, the males arriving first. Each seeks the same spot on the shore which he occupied during the preceding year, and lies down among the large stone blocks with which the flat beach is covered. About the middle of May the far more numerous females begin to make their appearance, and the sea-bear families take full possession of the strand. Each male is the sultan of a herd of females, varying in number according to his size and strength; the weaker brethren contenting themselves with half a dozen, while some of the sturdier and fiercer fellows preside over harems 200 strong. Jealousy and intrusion frequently give rise to terrible battles. The full-grown male sea-bear, who is about four or five times larger than the female, grows to the length of eight feet, and owes his name to his shaggy blackish fur, and not to his disposition, which is far from being cruel or savage.
Armed with a short spear, a single Aleut does not hesitate to attack the colossal whale. Approaching cautiously from behind in his baidar until he reaches the head, he plunges his weapon into the animal’s flank under the fore fin, and then retreats as fast as his oar can carry him. If the spear has penetrated into the flesh, the whale is doomed; it dies within the next two or three days, and the currents and the waves drift the carcass to the next shore. Each spear has its peculiar mark by which the owner is recognized. Sometimes the baidar does not escape in time, and the whale, maddened by pain, furiously lashes the water with his tail, and throws the baidar high up into the air, or sinks it deep into the sea. The whale-fishers are highly esteemed among the Aleuts, and their intrepidity and skill well deserve the general admiration. Of course many of the whales are lost. In the summer of 1831, 118 whales were wounded near Kadjack, of which only forty-three were found. The others may have been wafted far out into the sea to regale the sharks and sea-birds, or driven to more distant shores, whose inhabitants no doubt gladly welcomed their landing. Wrangell informs us that since 1833 the Russians have introduced the use of the harpoon, and engaged some English harpooners to teach the Aleuts a more profitable method of whale-catching, but we are not told how the experiment has succeeded.
The company, besides purchasing a great quantity of walrus-teeth from the Tchuktchi of the Bering’s Straits and Bristol Bay, send every year a detachment of Aleuts to the north coast of Aliaska, where generally a large number of young walruses, probably driven away by the older ones, who prefer the vicinity of the polar ice, spend the summer months.
The walruses herd on the lowest edge of the coast which is within reach of the spring tides. When the Aleuts prepare to attack the animals, they take leave of each other as if they were going to face death, being no less afraid of the tusks of the walruses than of the awkwardness of their own companions. Armed with lances and heavy axes, they stealthily approach the walruses, and having disposed their ranks, suddenly fall upon them with loud shouts, and endeavor to drive them from the sea, taking care that none of them escape into the water, as in that case the rest would irresistibly follow and precipitate the huntsmen along with them. As soon as the walruses have been driven far enough up the strand, the Aleuts attack them with their lances, striking at them in places where the hide is not so thick, and then pressing with all their might against the spear, to render the wound deep and deadly. The slaughtered animals tumble one over the other and form large heaps, whilst the huntsmen, uttering furious shouts and intoxicated with carnage, wade through the bloody mire. They then cleave the jaws and extract the tusks, which are the chief objects of the slaughter of several thousand walruses, since neither their flesh nor their fat is made use of in the colony. The carcasses are left on the shore to be washed away by the spring tides, which soon efface the mark of the massacre, and in the following year the inexhaustible north sends new victims to the coast.
Sir George Simpson, in his “Overland Journey round the World,” relates that the bales of fur sent to Kiachta are covered with walrus hide; it is then made to protect the tea-chests which find their way to Moscow, and after all these wanderings, the far-travelled skin returns again to New Archangel, where, cut into small pieces and stamped with the company’s mark, it serves as a medium of exchange.
The skin of the sea-lion (Otaria Stelleri) has but little value in the fur-trade, as its hair is short and coarse, but in many other respects the unwieldy animal is of considerable use to the Aleut. Its hide serves to cover his baidar; with the entrails he makes his water-tight kamleika, a wide, long shirt which he puts on over his dress to protect himself against the rain or the spray; the thick webs of its flippers furnish excellent soles for his boots, and the bristles of its lip figure as ornaments in his head-dress.
XXVI. ALASKA
Purchase of Alaska by the United States.--The Russian American Telegraph Scheme.--Whymper’s Trip up the Yukon.--Dogs.--The Start.--Extempore Water-filter.--Snow-shoes.--The Frozen Yukon.--Under-ground Houses.--Life at Nulato.--Cold Weather.-- Auroras.--Approach of Summer.--Breaking-up of the Ice.--Fort Yukon.--Furs.--Descent of the Yukon.--Value of Goods.-- Arctic and Tropical Life.--Moose-hunting.--Deer-corrals.--Lip Ornaments.--Canoes.--Four-post Coffin.--The Kenaian Indians.-- The Aleuts.--Value of Alaska.
In 1867 the Russian Government sold to the United States all of its possessions in America, comprising an area of more than 500,000 square miles, equal in extent to France, Germany, and Great Britain, stretching from 54° 40´ north latitude to the Arctic Ocean. The sum paid was about seven and a quarter millions of dollars. In this purchase is included Mount St. Elias, the highest peak in North America, rising to a height of more than 18,000 feet, and one of the loftiest single peaks on the globe. The real value of this new acquisition was quite unknown to both buyer and seller. In the southern part, and on the islands, there is considerable vegetation and forests of large trees; and it is said that there is some mineral wealth. But the greater part of the territory is essentially Arctic. It now bears the designation of the Territory of Alaska, an abbreviation of Aliaska, the name of the peninsula stretching into the North Pacific Ocean.
Little information has as yet been gained of this region. The most important is the result of a journey up the River Yukon, performed in 1866 by Mr. Frederick Whymper, an artist connected with the Telegraph Expedition. This telegraph enterprise was undertaken in the confident expectation that the cables laid directly across the Atlantic would fail, and that telegraphic communications between London and New York must be mainly by land. The proposed line, starting from the mouth of the Amoor, to which point it was already constructed, should bend around the head of the Sea of Okotsch, thence run eastward and northward through Kamchatka to the 63d degree of north latitude, then cross the narrow Strait of Bering, and run southward through what was then Russian America, British Columbia, Washington Territory, and Oregon, to San Francisco; thence across the American continent to New York. A dispatch from London to New York by this route would travel something more than 25,000 miles, while the distance in a straight line across the Atlantic was about 3000 miles. The company undertaking this enterprise had surveyed a considerable part of the distance, and expended some millions of dollars, when it was announced that the Atlantic cable was a success, and the work was abandoned.
In the mean while Mr. Whymper undertook a trip up the great River Yukon. This is essentially an Arctic river, though its mouth is far southward of the Arctic Circle. It is probably the greatest of the Arctic rivers, and in length and volume of water is exceeded by not more than six rivers of the globe.
The party of which Mr. Whymper was one consisted of six Europeans and three Indians. In October, 1865, they started from Unalachleet, on Norton Sound. A trip of 200 miles would bring them to Nulato, a Russian trading-post 700 miles from the mouth of the river, which here runs almost parallel with the coast.
They were to travel on foot over frozen rivers and through deep snow. To convey their supplies they had four sledges, each drawn by five dogs. Such a team will draw about 350 pounds. The dogs of this region are not of a good class. Mr. Whymper thinks they have in them quite as much of the wolf as of the dog. Their usual food is fish; their regular daily allowance in winter is a dried salmon a day: in summer they are expected to fish for themselves. They will, however, eat almost any thing, and, if they can get enough, will grow fat upon it. They even took kindly to beans, provided they were boiled soft--a thing which Kane could never induce his Esquimaux dogs to undertake.
They set out on the 27th of October at 11 o’clock--that is, just after sunrise--the thermometer standing at 30° below freezing-point. Their trip was begun a little too early, for the deep snow had not become packed hard, and a bit of thaw would transform it into slush; and the streams which they had to cross were not all frozen over. Fortunately, they had a light skin boat, which not only stood them in good stead now, but served them afterwards for more than a thousand miles of winter travel. Whenever they came to a frozen stream, the Indians would break a hole through the ice to get a draught of water. They always filled up the hole with loose snow, through which they sucked the water. This they said was to filter out the little red worms with which they said the water was infested.
The travellers wore snow-shoes; the use of which, although indispensable in going over the soft snow, is very fatiguing, obliging the wearers to lift a dozen pounds of snow at every step. Sometimes they had to break a path for the sledges. The men would go on ahead for a space, then return and start on again, thus traversing the distance three times. Often they could not accomplish more than ten miles a day.
At noon on the 11th of November, a fortnight after starting, they caught in the distance a glimpse of a faint bluish streak, varying the white monotony of the scene. This they knew marked the course of the great river towards which they were tending. Pushing eagerly on, at sunset they broke out of the woods, shot down a steep bank, and stood on an immense plain of snow-covered ice. It was the Yukon, frozen solidly over as far as the eye could reach, except that here and there was a faint streak of open water. From bank to bank the distance was more than a mile, and this they afterwards found was the normal breadth of the river for seven hundred miles below, and a thousand miles above. Not unfrequently it spread out into broad lagoons four or five miles wide. The Yukon is one of the great rivers of the globe. In length and volume of water it is exceeded only by the Amazon, the Mississippi, and perhaps the Plata. It exceeds the Nile, the Ganges, the Volga, the Amoor, and has affluents to which the Rhine and Rhone are but brooks. It rises far within the British Possessions, and its head-waters almost interlock with those of the Mackenzie, which empties into the Arctic Ocean. A portage of only eighty miles intervenes between these rivers at points where each is navigable for boats forty feet long, and drawing two feet of water. Over this portage the Hudson’s Bay Company transport upon men’s backs the goods for trading with the Indians on the Upper Yukon. Mr. Whymper thinks that a flat-bottomed stern-wheel steamer, like those used on the Upper Mississippi, could ascend the Yukon for eighteen hundred miles, and tap the whole fur-bearing region. But as the river is frozen solid for eight months out of the twelve, the steamer could hardly make more than one trip a year.
The travellers stopped two days at the Indian winter village of Coltog. The houses were built mainly under-ground. First, a little shanty is put up, under which a hole like a well is dug; thence a branch like a sewer runs some yards, along which one must crawl on hands and knees to reach the proper dwelling, which is a square hole in the earth, over which is raised a low dome-shaped roof, with a hole in the top to let out the smoke of the fire, which is built directly underneath. When the fire gets low the smoke-hole is covered with a skin, which keeps in not only the heat but the manifold scents engendered by the crowded occupancy. The slight heat from below makes the roof a favorite trysting-place for the dogs, and every now and then one comes tumbling down through the smoke-hole upon the fire below, adding the odor of singed hair to those arising from stale fish, old skin garments, and other unnamable abominations. Coltog is a rather favorable sample of an Indian winter village in Alaska.
From Coltog the travellers proceeded up the river two days’ journey to Nulato, the most northern and most inland of the Russian Company’s fur-posts. It stands in latitude 65°, and longitude 158°, upon a level slip of land bounded on two sides by the great river and one of its main branches. Notwithstanding the high latitude, trees of considerable size grow there, and during the brief summer the grass is luxuriant, and berries abound. The post is a little fortress, surrounded by a picket, which is closed at night to exclude the Indians, who camp around in large numbers. The house appropriated to the travellers was built of logs, forming one side of the little square. The windows were of seal-gut instead of glass; and as there is during the winter only two or three hours of daylight, the light was never any of the best. By caulking the floor with moss, and carpeting it with skins, the main room was kept comfortably warm, except near the floor. If one hung a damp garment from the rafters it would steam at the top, while frozen stiff at the bottom. The temperature at the roof was sometimes 65°, while near the floor it was 4°. Water for daily use was hauled on a sledge from the river. To get at it, they were obliged to break through solid ice four feet thick. Nevertheless, the Indians contrive to catch immense quantities of fish by constructing a weir of wicket-work, and keeping holes open in the ice.
Winter fairly set in soon after the party had taken up their abode at Nulato. On the 2d of November the thermometer indicated the moderate temperature of 2° above zero. It suddenly fell to 20° below zero, and kept on steadily falling until the 5th of December, when it sunk to 58° below zero, that is, ninety degrees below the freezing-point of water. This was the coldest day, but there were during December and January eleven days when the thermometer sunk below the freezing-point of mercury. It is to be noted that after a certain point the human system seems to take little additional note of the temperature as indicated by the thermometer. When the mercury froze, 72° below the freezing-point of water, it did not seem very cold, provided there was no wind; while one day when the thermometer was 44° higher, we find this note: “A north wind blew, and made us feel the cold very decidedly. It is wonderful how searching the wind is in this northern climate; each little seam, slit, or tear in your fur or woollen clothing makes you aware of its existence, and one’s nose, ears, and angles generally are the special sufferers.” One day when the thermometer stood at 10°, an expedition started off for the coast: and once when it was at 32°, a half-clad Indian came to the post with his child, no better clad, bringing some game; he did not seem to think the day remarkably cold. The shortest day of the winter was December 21, when the sun was an hour and fifty minutes above the horizon.
During the winter Mr. Whymper made many capital sketches out-of-doors, while the temperature was sixty degrees below freezing-point. Among these is a remarkable aurora borealis on the 21st of December. It was not the conventional arch, but a graceful, undulating, ever-changing snake of pale electric light; evanescent colors, pale as those of a lunar rainbow, ever and again flitting through it, and long streamers and scintillations moving upward to the bright stars, which shone distinctly through its hazy ethereal form. The night was beautifully calm and clear; cold, but not intensely so, the thermometer standing at +16°.
So passed the long winter months. Early in April there came signs of summer--for in the Arctic regions there is properly no spring or autumn. On the 9th flies made their appearance. Next day the willows were seen budding. But for another fortnight the weather was variable. On the 28th the first goose put in his appearance. But for another fortnight the ice in the river remained unbroken. The first sign of breaking up was on the 12th of May. That day mosquitoes showed themselves. Next day came swallows and wild geese in abundance. Still another fortnight, during which a steady stream of broken ice came down, bearing with it whole trees torn up from the banks. On the 24th of May the river was tolerably clear of ice.
The Russians had already got ready for a trading-excursion up the Yukon to an Indian trading-place 240 miles above, the farthest point ever visited by them. They had a huge skin boat, fitted with mast and sail, manned by eight men, carrying, besides men and provisions, two tons of goods. The Americans went with them, though meaning to go far beyond. They had their own little boat, laden with six or seven hundred pounds of stores of all kinds. The river was still full of ice and drift-wood. A large tree would sometimes pass under the bow of the Russian boat, and fairly lift it out of the water. These skin boats seem to be the best of all for this kind of navigation. They give way without harm to a blow which would break through a bark canoe.
One can scarcely conceive the rapidity with which summer comes on in these regions. On the 27th of May the river was yet full of ice. Ten days after they had to lie by during the noontide heat, the thermometer standing at 80° in the shade.
The Americans reached Fort Yukon on the 9th of June, having, in twenty-nine days, rowed and tracked six hundred miles. A few weeks later, with the current in their favor, they descended the same space in seven days. Fort Yukon lies a little within what was formerly Russian America, and the Hudson’s Bay Company paid a small sum for the privilege of its occupancy. Here the Americans remained a month, being hospitably entertained. The fort had quite a civilized look. There were freshly-plastered walls, glazed windows, open fireplaces, magazines, store-houses, and a great fur-room. Camped around were Indians of many tribes, locally designated as “Foolish Folks,” “Wood Folks,” “Birch-bark Folks,” “Rat Folks,” “Hill Folks,” and the like. Some wore their native costumes; others were tricked out in the odds and ends of civilized attire. The fur-room was a rare sight. From the beams hung marten-skins by the thousand, while the cheaper sorts were lying in huge heaps on the floor. Skins are here the regular currency. The beaver is the unit, estimated at about half a dollar. Two martens count as one beaver, and so on by a recognized scale. Fox-skins are numerous. The most valuable is that of the black fox, worth twenty times more than any other. There is a story that an unlucky employé of the company once bought the skin of a white fox, which the Indian seller had cunningly dyed black, paying for it more pounds than he should have paid shillings. The overplus was deducted from his salary.
On the 8th of July the travellers started on their return journey, under a salute from their hospitable hosts. They canoed down the river day and night, only stopping two or three times a day to prepare their tea and cook their fish. It was a holiday excursion, the current sweeping them along at the rate of four miles an hour. Once, by aid of rowing, they made forty-five miles in seven hours. They followed the river clear to its mouth. For the seven hundred miles below Nulato, near where they had struck the river on their upward journey, the region is comparatively poor. It lies out of the way of traders; fish are plenty and cheap enough. Five needles were considered a fair price for a thirty-pound salmon; and, says Mr. Whymper, “tobacco went farther than we had ever known it to do before.” On the 23d of July they reached the mouth of the river, whence two days’ sailing up the coast brought them to St. Michael’s. The whole voyage of 1300 miles between Fort Yukon and St. Michael’s had taken fifteen and a half days. At St. Michael’s they were told that the telegraphic enterprise had been abandoned, and that all employed in it were to return to California.
The result of this expedition adds considerably to our knowledge of the Arctic regions. It confirms what has been told us by Richardson, Kane, Hall, and all other Arctic explorers as to the superabundance of animal life existing in certain seasons in the northern regions. Strange as it may seem, tropical and semi-tropical countries are almost bare of living creatures. Strain and his party wandered for weeks through the thick forests of Central America, never seeing an animal, and rarely a bird, and the river appeared to be almost destitute of fish. But life abounds in the Arctic regions. The rivers swarm with fish almost begging to be caught. The Kamchatdales have reindeer by the thousand. Whymper and his friends, during their brief stay at Nulato, bought the skins of eight hundred white hares with which to cover their blankets; the Indians had used the flesh for food. Moose-meat, varied by beaver, is the standing food of those who have got tired of salmon. The delicacies are a moose’s nose and a beaver’s tail. So abundant are the moose on the Yukon that the natives think it hardly worth while to waste powder and shot in killing them. When an Indian in his canoe comes upon a moose swimming in the water, he gives chase until the creature is fatigued, and then stabs it to the heart with his knife. They have also an ingenious way of corralling deer. They build a long elliptical inclosure of stakes upon a trail made by the deer. Between each pair of stakes is a slip-noose. A herd of deer is driven into this inclosure; they try to run out between the stakes, get caught by the nooses, and so fall a ready prey to the guns of the hunters.
The native population of Alaska is estimated at about 60,000. From the southern boundary up to Mount St. Elias and on the islands live the Koloschians, estimated at 20,000. They are of middling stature, of copper-colored complexion, with round faces, thick lips, and black hair. The men wear various ornaments in their ears and noses; the women, when young, insert a piece of ivory in a slit made in the under lip, increasing it in size from year to year, until at last the ornament gets to be four inches wide, projecting six inches from the side of the face. The baidars or canoes of the Koloschians are dug out of a single tree, and will carry from twelve to fifty persons. They are usually propelled by paddles, though upon long voyages they are rigged with two or more masts and sails of matting or canvas. They, and indeed all of the tribes, do not bury their dead, but deposit their remains in an oblong box raised upon posts, with the canoe and other possessions of the deceased over the box.
Next northward of the Koloschians come the Kenaians, who stretch almost across the continent to Hudson’s Bay. Those living upon the Yukon call them Co-yukons, that is, People of the Great River, “Yukon” in their language signifying river. They are much feared by the surrounding tribes, and have often given no little trouble to their Russian masters. Many of these wear a bone ornament stuck through the septum of the nose.
The Aleuts, who inhabit the Aleutian Islands are, to a considerable extent, of mixed blood, Russian and Koloschian. They have advanced in civilization far beyond any other of the Esquimaux race. Not a few of them have received a fair education, and among the priests of the Greek Church there are not a few who go through the service of the church in the Greek language, with a full understanding of the words of the service.
Quite nine-tenths of the whole territory of Alaska is purely Arctic, and is not only uninhabited but uninhabitable. The other tenth is now sparsely inhabited, and there is little reason to suppose that the population will ever be greatly beyond its present number. Except in special cases, the possible population of a country is measured by its agricultural capacity. Leaving out of view the extreme northern parts of Alaska, the best accounts as yet accessible show that at St. Michael’s lettuce, parsnips, and turnips can be raised by sowing them in beds. At Fort Yukon potatoes not much larger than cherries can be raised. At Sitka potatoes will grow a little larger. On some of the islands the inhabitants can even venture upon barley. The forest-trees, which flourish in isolated parts, will soon be exhausted, as far as any profitable use of them is concerned. Fish and furs constitute almost the sole value of Alaska. The fisheries are among the most valuable in the world. The furs will soon be exhausted, unless prompt measures are taken to prevent the capture of fur-bearing animals in the breeding season.
XXVII. THE ESQUIMAUX
Their wide Extension.--Climate of the Regions they inhabit.--Their physical Appearance.--Their Dress.--Snow Huts.--The Kayak, or the Baidar.--Hunting Apparatus and Weapons.--Enmity between the Esquimaux and the Red Indian.--The “Bloody Falls.”--Chase of the Reindeer.--Bird-catching.--Whale-hunting.--Various Stratagems employed to catch the Seal.--The “Keep-kuttuk.”--Bear-hunting.-- Walrus-hunting.--Awaklok and Myouk.--The Esquimaux Dog.--Games and Sports.--Angekoks.--Moral Character.--Self-reliance.-- Intelligence.--Iligliuk.--Commercial Eagerness of the Esquimaux.--Their Voracity.--Seasons of Distress.
Of all the uncivilized nations of the globe none range over a wider space than the Esquimaux, whose various tribes extend from Greenland and Labrador, over all the coasts of Arctic America, to the Aleutic chain and the extreme north-eastern point of Asia. Many are independent, others subject to the Russian, Danish, or British rule. In Baffin’s Bay and Lancaster Sound they accost the whale-fisher; they meet him in the Icy Sea beyond Bering’s Straits; and while their most southerly tribes dwell as low as the latitude of Vienna, others sojourn as high as the 80th degree of northern latitude, and probably roam even still higher on the still undiscovered coasts beyond--a nearness to the pole no other race is known to reach.
The old Scandinavian settlers in Greenland expressed their dislike for them in the contemptuous name of Skraelingers (screamers or wretches); the seamen of the Hudson’s Bay ships, who trade annually with the natives of Northern Labrador and the Savage Islands, have long called them “Seymos” or “Suckemos,” names evidently derived from the cries of “Seymo,” or “Teymo,” with which they greet the arrival of the ships; they speak of themselves simply as “Inuit,” or men.
With few exceptions the whole of the vast region they inhabit lies beyond the extremest limits of forest growth, in the most desolate and inhospitable countries of the globe. The rough winds of the Polar Sea almost perpetually blow over their bleak domains, and thus only a few plants of the hardest nature--lichens and mosses, grasses, saxifragas, and willows--are able to subsist there, and to afford a scanty supply of food to a few land animals and birds. Ill indeed would it fare with the Esquimaux, if they were reduced to live upon the niggardly produce of the soil; but the sea, with its cetaceans and fishes, amply provides for their wants. Thus they are never found at any considerable distance from the ocean, and they line a considerable part of the coasts of the Arctic seas without ever visiting the interior.
It may easily be supposed that a race whose eastern branches have for several centuries been under the influence of the Danes and English, while in the extreme west it has long been forced to submit to Russian tyranny, and whose central and northern tribes rarely come into contact with Europeans, must show some variety in its manners and mode of life, and that the same description is not applicable in all points to the disciples of the Moravian brothers in Labrador or Greenland, to the Greek-Catholic Aleuts, and to the far more numerous heathen Esquimaux of continental America, or of the vast archipelago beyond its northern shores. Upon the whole, however, it is curious to observe how exactly, amidst all diversity of time and place, these people have preserved unaltered their habits and manners. The broad, flat face, widest just below the eyes, the forehead generally narrow and tapering upward; the eyes narrow and more or less oblique; all indicate a Mongol or Tartar type, differing greatly from the features of the conterminous Red Indian tribes. Their complexion, when relieved from smoke and dirt, also approaches more nearly to white than that of their copper-colored neighbors. Most of the men are rather under the medium English size, but they can not be said to be a dwarfish race. Thus Simpson saw in Camden Bay three Esquimaux who measured from five feet ten inches to six feet; and among the natives of Smith Strait, Kane, a rather short man, met with one a foot taller than himself. The females, however, are all comparatively short. The Esquimaux are all remarkably broad-shouldered, and though their muscles are not so firm as those of the European seamen, yet they surpass in bodily strength all the other natives of America. In both sexes the hands and feet are remarkably small and well-formed. From exercise in hunting the seal and walrus, the muscles of the arms and back are much developed in the men, who are moreover powerful wrestlers. When young, the Esquimaux looks cheerful and good-humored, and the females exhibit, when laughing, a set of very white teeth. Could they be induced to wash their faces, many of these savage beauties would be found to possess a complexion scarcely a shade darker than that of a deep brunette; but though disinclined to ablutions, for which the severity of their climate may serve as an excuse, they are far from neglecting the arts of the toilette.
Unlike the Hare Indian and Dog-Rib females, in whom the hard rule of their lords and masters has obliterated every trace of female vanity, the Esquimaux women tastefully plait their straight, black, and glossy hair; and hence we may infer that greater deference is paid to them by the men. They also generally tattoo their chin, forehead, and cheeks, not, however, as in the South Sea Islands, with elaborate patterns, but with a few simple lines, which have a not unpleasing effect.
From Bering’s Straits eastward as far as the Mackenzie, the males pierce the lower lip near each angle of the mouth, and fill the apertures with labrets of blue or green quartz, or of ivory resembling buttons. Many also pierce the septum of the nose, and insert a dentalium shell or ivory needle. Like the Red Indians, they are fond of beads, but their most common ornament consists in strings of teeth of the fox, wolf, or musk-ox--sometimes many hundreds in number--which are either attached to the lower part of the jacket, or fastened as a belt round the waist.
Their dress is admirably adapted to the severity of their climate. With their two pair of breeches made of reindeer or seal skin, the outer one having the hair outside and the inner one next the body, and their two jackets--of which the upper one is provided with a great hood--with their water-tight seal-skin boots, lined with the downy skins of birds, and their enormous gloves, they bid defiance to the severest cold, and even in the hardest weather pursue their occupations in the open air whenever the moon is in the sky, or during the doubtful meridian twilight. The women are perfect in the art of making water-tight shirts, or “kamleikas,” of the entrails of the seal or walrus, which in summer serve to replace their heavy skin jackets. They also sew their boots so tight that not the slightest wet can penetrate, and with a neatness of which the best shoemaker in Europe might be proud. The dress of the two sexes is much alike, the outer jacket having a pointed skirt before and behind, but that of the females is a little longer. The women also wear larger hoods, in which they carry their children; and sometimes (as in Labrador) the inner boot has in front a long, pointed flap, to answer the same purpose.
The Esquimaux are equally expert in the construction of their huts. As soon as the lengthening days induce the tribes about Cape Bathurst and the mouth of the Mackenzie to move seaward on the ice to the seal-hunt, a marvellous system of architecture comes into use, unknown among any other American nations. The fine pure snow has by that time acquired, under the action of the winds and frosts, sufficient coherence to form an admirable light building material, which the Esquimaux skillfully employ for the erection of most comfortable dome-shaped houses. A circle is first traced on the smooth surface of the snow, and slabs for raising the walls cut from within, so as to clear a space down to the ice, which is to form the floor of the dwelling, and whose evenness was previously ascertained by probing. The slabs for the dome are cut from some neighboring spot. The crevices between the slabs are plugged up, and the seams closed, by throwing a few shovelfuls of loose snow over the fabric. Two men generally work together, and when the dome is completed the one within cuts a low door and creeps out. The walls being only three or four inches thick, admit a very agreeable light, which serves for ordinary purposes; if more is required, a window of transparent ice is introduced. The proper thickness of the walls is of some importance; one of a few inches excludes the wind, yet keeps down the damp so as to prevent dripping from the interior. The furniture of this crystal hut is also formed of snow (the seats, the table, the sleeping-places), and, when covered with skins, is very comfortable. By means of antechambers and porches, with the opening turned to leeward, warmth is insured, and social intercourse facilitated by contiguous building, doors of communication, and covered passages. By constant practice the Esquimaux can raise such huts almost as quickly as we could pitch a tent. When M’Clintock for a few nails hired four Esquimaux to build a hut for his party, they completed it in an hour, though it was eight feet in diameter and five and a half feet high.
In spite of its fragile materials, this snow-house is durable, for the wind has little effect on its dome-like form, and it resists the thaw until the sun acquires a very considerable power. Of course a strong fire could not possibly be made within, but such is not needed by the Esquimaux. The train-oil lamp suffices to dry his wet clothes and boots when he returns from hunting; and the crowding of the inmates engenders a sufficiently high temperature to keep him warm. Having also a decided predilection for raw flesh and fat, he requires no great expenditure of fuel to cook his dinner. The lower part of his dwelling being under the surface of the snow, likewise promotes its warmth.
But of whatever materials the hut of the Esquimaux may be constructed-- of snow, as I have just described, or, as is frequently the case, of stones, or earth, or drift-wood--everywhere, from Bering’s Straits to Smith Sound, it is equally well adapted to the climate and to circumstances. Thus when Dr. Scoresby landed in 1822 on the eastern coast of Greenland, he discovered some deserted Esquimaux huts, which gave proof both of the severity of the climate, and of the ingenuity evinced in counteracting its rigors. A horizontal tunnel about fifteen feet long, and so low as to render it necessary to creep through on hands and feet, opens with one end to the south, and leads through the other into the interior of the hut. This rises but little above the surface of the earth, and, as it is generally overgrown with moss or grass, is scarcely to be distinguished from the neighboring soil. The floor of the tunnel is frequently on a level with that of the hut, but often also it is made to slant downward and upward, so that the colder, and consequently heavier, air without is still more effectually kept off from the warmer air within; and thus the Esquimaux, without ever having studied physics, make a practical use of one of its fundamental laws. But their most ingenious invention is unquestionably that of the one-seated boat, the “kayak,” or the “baidar.” A light, long, and narrow frame of wood, or seal or walrus bone, is covered water-tight with seal-skin, leaving but one circular hole in the middle. In this the Esquimaux sits with outstretched legs, and binds a sack (which is formed of the intestines of the whale, or of the skins of young seals, and fits in the opening) so tightly round his middle, that even in a heavy sea not a drop of water can penetrate into the boat. Striking with his light oar (which is paddled at each extremity) alternately to the right and to the left, his spear or harpoon before him, and maintaining his equilibrium with all the dexterity of a rope-dancer, he flies like an arrow over the water; and should a wave upset him, he knows how to right himself by the action of the paddle. The “oomiak,” or women’s boat, likewise consists of a frame-work covered with seal-skins, and is roomy enough to hold ten or twelve people, with benches for the women who row or paddle. The mast supports a triangular sail made of the entrails of seals, and easily distended by the wind. The men would consider it beneath their dignity to row in one of these omnibus boats; they leave this labor entirely to the women, who, to the tact of a monotonous song, slowly propel the oomiak through the water. Judging of foreign customs by their own, the Esquimaux between the Mackenzie and Coppermine rivers made the strange mistake, as Sir John Richardson relates, of supposing that the English sailors whom they saw rowing in company were women. One of them even asked whether all white females had beards.
The weapons of the Esquimaux, and their various fishing and hunting implements, likewise show great ingenuity and skill. Their oars are tastefully inlaid with walrus-teeth; they have several kinds of spears or darts, adapted to the size of the various animals which they hunt; and their elastic bows, strongly bound with strings of seal-gut, drive a six-foot arrow with unerring certainty to a distant mark. To bring down a larger animal, the shaft is armed with a sharp flint or a pointed bone; if intended to strike a bird, it is smaller, and blunted.
The harpoons and lances used in killing whales or seals have long shafts of wood or of the narwhal’s tooth, and the barbed point is so constructed that, when the blow takes effect, it is left sticking in the body of the animal, while the shaft attached to it by a string is disengaged from the socket, and becomes a buoy of wood. Seal-skins, blown up like bladders, are likewise used as buoys for the whale-spears, being adroitly stripped from the animal so that all the natural apertures are easily made air-tight.
With equal industry and skill the Esquimaux put to use almost every part of the land and marine animals which they chase. Knives, spear-points, and fish-hooks are made of the horns and bones of the deer. The ribs of the whale are used in roofing huts or in the construction of sledges, where drift-timber is scarce. Strong cord is made from strips of seal-skin hide, and the sinews of musk-oxen and deer furnish bow-strings, or cord to make nets or snares. In default of drift-wood, the bones of the whale are employed for the construction of their sledges, in pieces fitted to each other with neatness, and firmly sewed together.
During the long confinement to their huts or “igloos” in the dark winter months, the men execute some very fair figures in bone, and in walrus or fossil ivory, besides making fish-hooks, knife-handles, and other instruments neatly of these materials, or of metal or wood.
Thus in all these respects the Esquimaux are as superior to the Red Indians as they are in strength and personal courage; and yet no Norwegian can more utterly despise the filthy Lapp, and no orthodox Mussulman look down with greater contempt upon a “giaour,” than the Loucheux or Cheppewayan upon the Esquimaux, who in his eyes is no better than a brute, and whom he approaches only to kill.
In his “Voyage to the Coppermine River” Hearne relates a dreadful instance of this bloodthirsty hatred. The Indians who accompanied him having heard that some Esquimaux had erected their summer huts near the mouth of that river, were at once seized with a tiger-like fury. Hearne, the only European of the party, had not the power to restrain them, and he might as well have attempted to touch the heart of an ice-bear as to move the murderous band to pity. As craftily and noiselessly as serpents they drew nigh, and, when the midnight sun verged on the horizon, with a dreadful yell they burst on the huts of their unsuspecting victims. Not one of them escaped, and the monsters delighted to prolong the misery of their death-struggle by repeated wounds. An old woman had both her eyes torn out before she received the mortal blow. A young girl fled to Hearne for protection, who used every effort to save her, but in vain. In 1821 some human skulls lying on the spot still bore testimony to this cruel slaughter, and the name of the “Bloody Falls,” given by Hearne to the scene of the massacre, will convey its memory to distant ages. No wonder that the hate of the Esquimaux is no less intense, and that they also pursue the Indians, wherever they can, with their spears and arrows, like wild beasts.
“Year after year,” says Sir John Richardson, “sees the Esquimaux on the Polar coast of America occupied in a uniform circle of pursuits. When the rivers open in spring, they proceed to the rapids and falls to spear the salmon, which at that season come swimming stream upward. At the same time, or earlier in more southern localities, they hunt the reindeer, which drop their young on the coasts and islands while the snow is only partially melted. Where the open country affords the huntsman no opportunity of approaching his game unperceived, deep pits are dug in the snowy ravines, and superficially covered with snow-tablets. The wind soon effaces the traces of the human hand, and thus many reindeer are snared.”
In summer the reindeer are killed partly by driving them from islands or narrow necks of land into the sea, and then spearing them from their kayaks, and partly by shooting them from behind heaps of stones raised for the purpose of watching them, and imitating their peculiar bellow or grunt. Among the various artifices which they employ for this purpose, one of the most ingenious consists in two men walking directly from the deer they wish to kill, when the animal almost always follows them. As soon as they arrive at a large stone, one of the men hides behind it with his bow, while the other, continuing to walk on, soon leads the deer within range of his companion’s arrows.
The multitudes of swans, ducks, and geese resorting to the morasses of the northern coasts to breed, likewise aid in supplying the Esquimaux with food during their short but busy summer of two months. For their destruction a very ingenious instrument has been invented. Six or eight small balls made of walrus-tooth and pierced in the middle are separately attached to as many thongs of animal sinew, which are tied together at the opposite end. When cast into the air the diverging balls describe circles--like the spokes of a wheel--and woe to the unfortunate bird that comes within their reach.
On the coasts frequented by whales, the month of August is devoted to the pursuit of these animals; a successful chase insuring a comfortable winter to a whole community. Their capture requires an association of labor; hence along the coasts of the Polar Sea the Esquimaux unite their huts into villages, for whose site a bold point of coast is generally chosen, where the water is deep enough to float a whale.
When one of these huge creatures is seen lying on the water, a dozen kayaks or more cautiously paddle up astern of him, till a single canoe, preceding the rest, comes close to him on one quarter, so as to enable the men to drive the spear into the animal with all the force of both arms. This spear has a long line of thong and an inflated seal-skin attached to it. The stricken whale immediately dives; but when he re-appears after some time, all the canoes again paddle towards him, some warning being given by the seal-skin buoy floating on the surface. Each man being furnished like the first, they repeat the blow as often as they find an opportunity, till perhaps every line has been thus employed. After chasing him in this manner sometimes for half a day, he is at length so wearied by the resistance of the buoys and exhausted by loss of blood as to be obliged to rise more and more often to the surface, and is finally killed and towed ashore.
Though in many parts seals are caught at every season of the year, yet the great hunt takes place in spring, when they play in the open lanes near the coasts, or come out on the ice to bask in the sun. In spite of their wariness, they are no match for the Esquimaux, who have carefully studied all their habits from infancy. Sometimes the hunter approaches them by imitating their forms and motions so perfectly that the poor animals are not undeceived until one of them is struck with his lance; or else, by means of a white screen pushed forward on a sledge, the hunter comes within range and picks out the best-conditioned of the band. As the season draws near midsummer, the seals are more approachable; their eyes being so congested by the glare of the sun that they are sometimes nearly blind. In winter they are assaulted while working at their breathing-holes or when coming up for respiration.
If an Esquimaux has any reason to suppose that a seal is busy gnawing beneath the ice, he immediately attaches himself to the place, and seldom leaves it, even in the severest frost, till he has succeeded in killing the animal. For this purpose he first builds a snow-wall about four feet in height, to shelter him from the wind, and seating himself under the lee of it, deposits his spears, lines, and other implements upon several little forked sticks inserted into the snow, in order to prevent the smallest noise being made in moving them when wanted. But the most curious precaution consists in tying his own knees together with a thong so securely as to prevent any rustling of his clothes, which might otherwise alarm the animal. In this situation a man will sit quietly sometimes for hours together, attentively listening to any noise made by the seal, and sometimes using the “keep-kuttuk” in order to ascertain whether the animal is still at work below. This simple little instrument--which affords another striking proof of Esquimaux ingenuity--is merely a slender rod of bone (as delicate as a fine wire, that the seal may not see it), nicely rounded, and having a point at one end and a knob at the other. It is inserted into the ice, and the knob remaining above the surface, informs the fisherman by its motion whether the seal is employed in making his hole; if not, it remains undisturbed, and the attempt is given up in that place. When the hunter supposes the hole to be nearly completed, he cautiously lifts his spear (to which the line has been previously attached), and as soon as the blowing of the seal is distinctly heard--and the ice consequently very thin--he drives it into him with the force of both arms, and then cuts away with his “panna,” or well-sharpened knife, the remaining crust of ice, to enable him to repeat the wounds and get him out. The “neituk” (Phoca hispida), being the smallest seal, is held, while struggling, either simply by hand, or by putting the line round a spear with the point stuck into the ice. For the “oguke” (Phoca barbata), the line is passed round the man’s leg or arm; and for a walrus, round his body, his feet being at the same time firmly set against a hummock of ice, in which position these people can, from habit, hold against a very heavy strain. A boy of fifteen is equal to the killing of a “neituk,” but it requires a full-grown person to master either of the larger animals. This sport is not without the danger which adds to the excitement of success, particularly if the creature struck by the hunter be a large seal or walrus; for woe betide him if he does not instantly plant his feet firmly in the ice, and throw himself in such a position that the strain on the line is as nearly as possible brought into the direction of the length of the spine of his back and axis of his lower limbs. A transverse pull from one of these powerful animals would double him up across the air-hole, and perhaps break his back; or if the opening be large, as it often is when the spring is advanced, he would be dragged under water and drowned.
As the Polar bear is as great a seal-hunter as the Esquimaux, one of the usual methods employed by the latter to catch these bears is to imitate the motions of the seal by lying flat on the ice until the bear approaches sufficiently near to insure a good aim; but a gun is necessary to practise this stratagem with success. Seeman (“Voyage of the Herald”) mentions another ingenious mode of capturing the bear by taking advantage of the well-known voracity of the animal, which generally swallows its food without much mastication. A thick and strong piece of whalebone, about four inches broad and two feet long, is rolled up into a small compass, and carefully enveloped in blubber, forming a round ball. It is then placed in the open air at a low temperature, where it soon becomes hard and frozen. The natives, armed with their knives, bows, and arrows, together with this frozen bait, proceed in quest of the bear. As soon as the animal is seen, one of the natives discharges an arrow at it; the monster, smarting from this assault, chases the party, then in full retreat, until, meeting with the frozen blubber dropped in his path, he greedily swallows it, and continues the pursuit--doubtless fancying that there must be more where that came from. The natural heat of the body soon causes the blubber to thaw, when the whalebone, thus freed, springs back, and frightfully lacerates the stomach. The writhing brute falls down in helpless agony, and the Esquimaux, hurrying to the spot, soon put an end to his sufferings.
The Esquimaux of Smith Sound hunt the bear with the assistance of their dogs, which are carefully trained not to engage in contest with the bear, but to retard his flight. While one engrosses his attention ahead, a second attacks him in the rear, always alert, and each protecting the other; and thus it rarely happens that they are seriously injured, or that they fail to delay the animal until their masters come up. If there be two hunters, the bear is killed easily; for one makes a feint of thrusting a spear at the right side, and as the animal turns with his arms towards the threatened attack, the left is unprotected, and receives the death-wound. But if the hunter is alone, he grasps the lance firmly in his hands, and provokes the animal to pursue him by moving rapidly across its path, and then running as if to escape. But hardly is its long, unwieldy body extended for the chase, than, with a rapid jump, the hunter doubles on his track, and runs back towards his first position. The bear is in the act of turning after him again, when the lance is plunged into the left side below the shoulder. So dexterously has this thrust to be made, that an unpractised hunter has often to leave his spear in the side of his prey and run for his life; but even then, if well-aided by the dogs, a cool, skillful man seldom fails to kill his adversary.
While the seal, narwhal, and white whale furnish the staple food of the more southern Greenlander, the walrus is the chief resource of the Smith Sound Esquimaux. The manner of hunting this animal depends much on the season of the year. In spring, or the breeding-season, when the walrus is in his glory, he is taken in two ways. Sometimes he has risen by the side of an iceberg, where the currents have worn away the floe, or through a tide crack, and, enjoying the sunshine too long, finds his retreat cut off by the freezing up of the opening; for like the seal, the walrus can only work from below at his breathing-hole. When thus caught, the Esquimaux, who with keen hunter-craft are scouring the floes, scent him out by their dogs and spear him. Frequently the female and her calf, accompanied by the grim-visaged father, are seen surging, in loving trios, from crack to crack, and sporting in the openings. While thus on their tour, they invite their vigilant enemies to the second method of capture. This also is by the lance and harpoon; but it often becomes a regular battle, the male gallantly fronting the assault, and charging the hunters with furious bravery. In the fall, when the pack is but partially closed, the walrus are found in numbers, hanging around the neutral region of mixed ice and water, and, as this becomes solid with the advance of winter, following it more and more to the south.
The Esquimaux at this season approach them over the young ice, and assail them in cracks and holes with harpoon and line. This fishery, as the season grows colder, darker, and more tempestuous, is fearfully hazardous. Kane relates how, during a time of famine, two of his Esquimaux friends, Awaklok and Myouk, determined to seek the walrus on the open ice. They succeeded in killing a large male, and were returning to their village, when a north wind broke up the ice, and they found themselves afloat. The impulse of a European would have been to seek the land; but they knew that the drift was always most dangerous on the coast, and urged their dogs towards the nearest iceberg. They reached it after a struggle, and, by great efforts, made good their landing, with their dogs and the half-butchered carcass of the walrus. It was at the close of the last moonlight of December, and a complete darkness settled around them. They tied the dogs down to knobs of ice, to prevent their losing their foothold, and prostrated themselves, to escape being blown off by the violence of the wind. At first the sea broke over them, but they gained a higher level, and built a sort of screen of ice. On the fifth night afterwards, so far as they could judge, one of Myouk’s feet was frozen, and Awaklok lost his great toe by frost bite. But they did not lose courage, and ate their walrus-meat as they floated slowly to the south. It was towards the close of the second moonlight, after a month’s imprisonment, such as only these iron men could endure, that they found the berg had grounded. They liberated their dogs as soon as the young ice could bear their weight, and attaching long lines to them, which they cut from the hide of the dead walrus, they succeeded in hauling themselves through the water-space which always surrounds an iceberg, and reaching safe ice. They returned to their village like men raised from the dead, to meet a welcome, but to meet famine along with it.
In the form of their bodies, their short pricked ears, thick furry coat, and bushy tail, the dogs of the Esquimaux so nearly resemble the wolf of these regions, that when of a light or brindled color, they may easily at a little distance be mistaken for that animal; but an eye accustomed to both, perceives that the wolf always keeps his head down and his tail between his legs in running, whereas the dogs almost always carry their tails handsomely curled over the back. Their hair in the winter is from three to four inches long; but besides this nature furnishes them during this rigorous season with a thick under-coating of close, soft wool, which enables them to brave the most inclement weather. They do not bark, but have a long melancholy howl, like that of the wolf. When drawing a sledge, they have a simple harness of deer or seal skin going round the neck by one bight, and another for each of the fore legs, with a single thong leading over the back, and attached to the sledge as a trace. Though they appear at first sight to be huddled together without regard to regularity, considerable attention is really paid to their arrangement, particularly in the selection of a dog of peculiar spirit and sagacity, who is allowed by a longer trace to precede the rest as leader, and to whom, in turning to the right or left, the driver usually addresses himself, using certain words as the carters do with us. To these a good leader attends with admirable precision (especially if his own name be repeated at the same time), looking behind over his shoulder with great earnestness, as if listening to the directions of the driver, who sits quite low on the fore part of the sledge, his whip in hand, and his feet overhanging the snow on one side.
On rough ground, as among hummocks of ice, the sledge would be frequently overturned if the driver did not repeatedly get off, and, by lifting or drawing it to one side, steer it clear of those obstacles. At all times, indeed, except on a smooth and well-made road, he is pretty constantly employed thus with his feet, and this, together with his never-ceasing vociferations and frequent use of the whip, renders the driving of one of these vehicles by no means a pleasant or easy task.
“The whip,” says Kane, who from assiduous practice at length attained a considerable proficiency in its use, “is six yards long, and the handle but sixteen inches--a short lever to throw out such a length of seal-hide. Learn to do it, however, with a masterly sweep, or else make up your mind to forego driving sledges; for the dogs are guided solely by the lash, and you must be able to hit not only any particular dog of a team of twelve, but to accompany the feat also with a resounding crack. After this you find that, to get your lash back, involves another difficulty; for it is apt to entangle itself among the dogs and lines, or to fasten itself cunningly round bits of ice, so as to drag you head over heels into the snow. The secret by which this complicated set of requirements is fulfilled consists in properly describing an arc from the shoulder with a stiff elbow, giving the jerk to the whip-handle from the hand and wrist alone. The lash trails behind as you travel, and when thrown forward is allowed to extend itself without an effort to bring it back. You wait patiently, after giving the projectile impulse, until it unwinds its slow length, reaches the end of its tether, and cracks to tell you that it is at its journey’s end. Such a crack on the ear or fore foot of an unfortunate dog is signalized by a howl quite unmistakable in its import.”
The mere labor of using this whip is such that the Esquimaux travel in couples, one sledge after the other. The hinder dogs follow mechanically, and thus require no whip; and the drivers change about so as to rest each other.
In the summer, when the absence of snow prevents the use of sledges, the dogs are still made useful, on journeys and hunting excursions, by being employed to carry burdens in a kind of saddle-bags laid across their shoulders. A stout dog thus accoutred will accompany his master laden with a weight of about twenty or twenty-five pounds.
The scent of the Esquimaux dog is excellent, and this property is turned to account in finding the seal-holes, which they will discover entirely by the smell at a very great distance. The track of a single deer upon the snow will in like manner set them off at full gallop at least a quarter of a mile before they arrive at it, and with the same alacrity they pursue the bear or the musk-ox. Indeed, the only animal which they are not eager to chase is the wolf, of which they seem to have an instinctive dread, giving notice at night of their approach to the huts by a loud and continued howl.
In spite of their invaluable services, they are treated with great severity by their masters, who never caress them, and, indeed, scarcely ever take any notice of them except to punish them. But notwithstanding this rough treatment, the attachment of the dogs to their masters is very great, and this they display, after a short absence, by jumping up and licking their faces all over with extreme delight.
It may be supposed that among so cheerful a people as the Esquimaux there are many games or sports practised. One of their exhibitions consists in making hideous faces by drawing both lips into the mouth, poking forward the chin, squinting frightfully, occasionally shutting one eye, and moving the head from side to side as if the neck had been dislocated.
Another performance consists in repeating certain words with a guttural tone resembling ventriloquism, staring at the same time in such a manner as to make their eyes appear ready to burst out of their sockets with the exertion. Two or more will sometimes stand up face to face, and, with great quickness and regularity, respond to each other, keeping such exact time that the sound appears to come from one throat instead of several. They are fond of music, both vocal and instrumental, but their singing is not much better than a howl.
The Esquimaux have neither magistrates nor laws, yet they are orderly in their conduct towards each other. The constitution of their society is patriarchal, but there is no recognition of mastership except such as may be claimed by superior prowess. The rule of the head of a family lasts only as long as he has vigor enough to secure success in hunting. When his powers of mind and body are impaired by age, he at once sinks in the social scale, associates with the women, and takes his seat in the oomiak. They rarely quarrel among themselves, and settle their disputes either by boxing, the parties sitting down and striking blows alternately until one of them gives in, or before a court of honor, where, after the accuser and the accused have richly abused and ridiculed each other, the case is decided by the priests or “angekoks.” These wonder-workers, who enjoy a great reputation as sorcerers, soothsayers, or medicine-men, employ ventriloquism, swallow knives, extract stones from various parts of their bodies, and use other deceptions to impress their dupes with a high opinion of their supernatural powers. Like the members of the learned professions elsewhere, they have a certain language or jargon of their own, in which they communicate with each other. The heathen Esquimaux do not appear to have any idea of the existence of one Supreme Being, but believe in a number of spirits, with whom on certain occasions the angekoks pretend to hold mysterious intercourse. Even in Old Greenland the influence and teachings of the missionaries have not entirely obliterated the old superstitions, and the mysteries of the angekok, though not openly recognized near the Danish settlements, still hold their secret power over many a native who is professedly a Christian.
Captain Hall highly praises the good-nature of the Esquimaux; but in their behavior to the old and infirm they betray the insensibility, or rather inhumanity, commonly found among savage nations, frequently abandoning them to their fate on their journeys, and allowing them to perish in the wilderness.
Among themselves “Tiglikpok” (he is a thief) is a term of reproach, but they steal without scruple from strangers, and are not ashamed when detected, nor do they blush when reproved. Parry taxes them with want of gratitude; and though they have no doubt rendered good services to many of our Arctic navigators, yet sometimes, when they fancied themselves the stronger party, they have not hesitated to attack or to murder the strangers, and their good behavior can only be relied upon as long as there is the power of enforcing it.
One of the most amiable traits of their character is the kindness with which they treat their children, whose gentleness and docility are such as to occasion their parents little trouble, and to render severity towards them quite unnecessary. Even from their earliest infancy they possess that quiet disposition, gentleness of demeanor, and uncommon evenness of temper for which, in mature age, they are for the most part distinguished. “They are just as fond of play,” says Parry, “as any other young people, and of the same kind, only that while an English child draws a cart of wood, an Esquimaux of the same age has a sledge of whalebone; and for the superb baby-house of the former, the latter builds a miniature hut of snow, and begs a lighted wick from her mother’s lamp to illuminate the little dwelling.”
When not more than eight years old, the boys are taken by their fathers on their sealing excursions, where they begin to learn their future business; and even at that early age they are occasionally intrusted to bring home a sledge and dogs from a distance of several miles over the ice. At the age of eleven we see a boy with his water-tight boots, a spear in his hand, and a small coil of line at his back, accompanying the men to the fishery under every circumstance; and from this time his services daily increase in value to the whole tribe.
In intelligence and susceptibility of civilization the Esquimaux are far superior to the neighboring Indians. They have such a good idea of the hydrography and bearings of the sea-coasts which they frequent as to draw accurate charts of them. Thus Parry, in his second voyage, was guided in his operations by the sketches of the talented Iligliuk; and while Beechey was at Kotzebue Sound, the natives constructed a chart of the coast upon the sand, first marking out the coast-line with a stick, and regulating the distance by the day’s journey. The hills and ranges of mountains were next shown by elevations of sand or stone, and the islands represented by heaps of pebbles, their proportions being duly attended to. When the mountains and islands were erected, the villages and fishing-stations were marked by a number of sticks placed upright, in imitation of those which are put up on the coast wherever these people fix their abode. In this manner a complete hydrographical plan was drawn from Cape Derby to Cape Krusenstern.
The Esquimaux have a decided predilection for commercial pursuits, and undertake long voyages for the purposes of trade. Thus on the continental line of coast west of the Mackenzie, the Point Barrow Esquimaux proceed every summer, with sledges laden with whale or seal oil, whalebone, walrus-tusks, thongs of walrus hide, and seal-skins, to the Colville River, where they meet the Esquimaux from Kotzebue Sound, who offer them in exchange articles procured from the Tchuktchi in the previous summer, such as iron and copper kettles, knives, tobacco, beads, and tin for making pipes. About ten days are spent in bartering, dancing, and revelry, on the flat ground between the tents of each party, pitched a bow-shot apart. The time is one of pleasant excitement, and is passed nearly without sleep. About July 20 this friendly meeting is at an end: the Kotzebue Sound Esquimaux ascend the Colville on their way homeward, while those from Point Barrow descend to the sea, to pursue their voyage eastward to Barter Reef, where they obtain in traffic from the eastern Esquimaux various skins, stone lamps, English knives, small white beads, and, lately, guns and ammunition, which in the year following they exchange for the Kotzebue Sound articles at the Colville, along with the produce of their own sea-hunts.
In this manner, articles of Russian manufacture, originally purchased at the fair of Ostrownoje by the Tchuktchi, or from the factors of the Russian Fur Company on Sledge Island, in Bering’s Straits, find their way from tribe to tribe along the American coast as far as Repulse Bay, and compete among the tribes of the Mackenzie with articles from Sheffield or Birmingham.
A hunter’s life is always precarious--a constant alternation between abundance and want; and though the Esquimaux strikes many a seal, white-fish, or walrus in the course of the year, yet these animals do not abound at all seasons, and there are other causes, besides improvidence, which soon exhaust the stores laid by in times of abundance. Active exercise and constant exposure to cold are remarkable promoters of atomic change in the human body, and a very large supply of food is absolutely necessary to counterbalance the effects of a rapid organic combustion. As a matter of curiosity, Parry once tried how much an Esquimaux lad would, if freely supplied, consume in the course of a day. The following articles were weighed before being given to him: he was twenty hours in getting through them, and certainly did not consider the quantity extraordinary.
lbs. oz. Sea-horse flesh, hard frozen 4 4 ” ” boiled 4 4 Bread and bread-dust 1 12 ------- Total of solids 10 4
The fluids were in fair proportion, viz., rich gravy soup, 1¼ pint; raw spirits, 3 wine-glasses; strong grog, 1 tumbler; water, 1 gallon 1 pint.[15]
Kane averages the Esquimaux ration in a season of plenty at eight or ten pounds a day, with soup and water to the extent of half a gallon, and finds in this excessive consumption--which is rather a necessity of their peculiar life and organization than the result of gluttony-- the true explanation of the scarcity from which they frequently suffer. In times of abundance they hunt indomitably without the loss of a day, and stow away large quantities of meat. An excavation is made either on the mainland--or, what is preferred, on an island inaccessible to foxes--and the flesh is stacked inside and covered with heavy stones. One such cache which Kane met on a small island contained the flesh of ten walruses, and he knew of others equally large. But by their ancient custom, all share with all; and as they migrate in numbers as their necessities prompt, the tax on each particular settlement is not seldom so excessive that even considerable stores are unable to withstand the drain, and soon make way for pinching hunger, and even famine.
XXVIII. THE FUR-TRADE OF THE HUDSON’S BAY TERRITORIES
The Coureur des Bois.--The Voyageur.--The Birch-bark Canoe.-- The Canadian Fur-trade in the last Century.--The Hudson’s Bay Company.--Bloody Feuds between the North-west Company of Canada and the Hudson’s Bay Company.--Their Amalgamation into a new Company in 1821.--Reconstruction of the Hudson’s Bay Company in 1863.--Forts or Houses.--The Attihawmeg.--Influence of the Company on its savage Dependents.--The Black Bear, or Baribal.-- The Brown Bear.--The Grizzly Bear.--The Raccoon.--The American Glutton.--The Pine Marten.--The Pekan, or Woodshock.--The Chinga.--The Mink.--The Canadian Fish-otter.--The Crossed Fox.-- The Black or Silvery Fox.--The Canadian Lynx, or Pishu.--The Ice-hare.--The Beaver.--The Musquash.
As the desire to reach India by the shortest road first made the civilized world acquainted with the eastern coast of North America, so the extension of the fur-trade has been the chief, or rather the only, motive which originally led the footsteps of the white man from the Canadian Lakes and the borders of Hudson’s Bay into the remote interior of that vast continent.
The first European fur-traders in North America were French Canadians-- coureurs des bois--a fitting surname for men habituated to an Indian forest-life. Three or four of these “irregular spirits” agreeing to make an expedition into the backwoods would set out in their birch-bark canoe, laden with goods received on trust from a merchant, for a voyage of great danger and hardship, it might be of several years, into the wilderness.
On their return the merchant who had given them credit of course received the lion’s share of the skins gathered among the Hurons or the Iroquois; the small portion left as a recompense for their own labor was soon spent, as sailors spend their hard-earned wages on their arrival in port; and then they started on some new adventure, until finally old age, infirmities, or death prevented their revisiting the forest.
The modern “voyageur,” who has usurped the place of the old “coureurs,” is so like them in manners and mode of life, that to know the one is to become acquainted with the other. In short, the voyageur is merely a coureur subject to strict law and serving for a fixed pay; while the coureur was a voyageur trading at his own risk and peril, and acknowledging no control when once beyond the pale of European colonization.
The camel is frequently called the “ship of the desert,” and with equal justice the birch-bark canoe might be named the “camel of the North American wilds.” For if we consider the rivers which, covering the land like a net-work, are the only arteries of communication; the frequent rapids and cataracts; the shallow waters flowing over a stony ground whose sharp angles would infallibly cut to pieces any boat made of wood; and finally the surrounding deserts, where, in case of an accident, the traveller is left to his own resources, we must come to the conclusion that in such a country no intercourse could possibly be carried on without a boat made of materials at once flexible and tough, and capable moreover of being easily repaired without the aid of hammer and nails, of saw and plane. This invaluable material is supplied by the rind of the paper-birch, a tree whose uses in the Hudson’s Bay territories are almost as manifold as those of the palm-trees of the tropical zone. Where the skins of animals are rare, the pliant bark, peeled off in large pieces, serves to cover the Indian’s tent. Carefully sewn together, and ornamented with the quills of the porcupine, it is made into baskets, sacks, dishes, plates, and drinking-cups, and in fact is, in one word, the chief material of which the household articles of the Crees are formed. The wood serves for the manufacture of oars, snow-shoes, and sledges; and in spring the sap of the tree furnishes an agreeable beverage, which, by boiling, may be inspissated into a sweet syrup. Beyond the Arctic Circle the paper-birch is a rare and crooked tree, but it is met with as a shrub as far as 69° N. lat. It grows to perfection on the northern shores of Lake Superior, near Fort William, where the canoes of the Hudson’s Bay Company are chiefly manufactured.
A birch-bark canoe is between thirty and forty feet long, and the rinds of which it is built are sewn together with filaments of the root of the Canadian fir. In case of a hole being knocked into it during the journey, it can be patched like an old coat, and is then as good as new. As it has a flat bottom, it does not sink deep into the water; and the river must be almost dried up which could not carry such a boat. The cargo is divided into bales or parcels of from 90 to 100 pounds; and although it frequently amounts to more than four tons, yet the canoe itself is so light that the crew can easily transport it upon their shoulders. This crew generally consists of eight or ten men, two of whom must be experienced boatmen, who receive double pay, and are placed one at the helm, the other at the poop. When the wind is fair, a sail is unfurled, and serves to lighten the toil.
The Canadian voyageur combines the light-heartedness of the Frenchman with the apathy of the Indian, and his dress is also a mixture of that of the Red-skins and of the European colonists. Frequently he is himself a mixture of Gallic and Indian blood--a so-called “bois-brûlé,” and in this case doubly light-hearted and unruly. With his woollen blanket as a surcoat, his shirt of striped cotton, his pantaloons of cloth, or his Indian stockings of leather, his moccasins of deer-skin, and his sash of gaudily-dyed wool, in which his knife, his tobacco-bag, and various other utensils are stuck, he stands high in his own esteem. His language is a French jargon, richly interlarded with Indian and English words--a jumble fit to drive a grammarian mad, but which he thinks so euphonious that his tongue is scarcely ever at rest. His supply of songs and anecdotes is inexhaustible, and he is always ready for a dance. His politeness is exemplary: he never calls his comrades otherwise than “mon frère,” and “mon cousin.” It is hardly necessary to remark that he is able to handle his boat with the same ease as an expert rider manages his horse.
When after a hard day’s work they rest for the night, the axe is immediately at work in the nearest forest, and in less than ten minutes the tent is erected and the kettle simmering on the fire. “While the passengers--perhaps some chief trader on a voyage to some distant fort, or a Back or a Richardson on his way to the Polar Ocean--are warming or drying themselves, the indefatigable “voyageurs” drag the unloaded canoe ashore, turn it over, and examine it carefully, either to fasten again some loose stitches, or to paint over some damaged part with fresh resin. Under the cover of their boat, which they turn against the wind, and with a flaming fire in the foreground, they then bid defiance to the weather. At one o’clock in the morning “Lève! lève! lève!” is called; in half an hour the encampment is broken up, and the boat reladen and launched. At eight in the morning a halt is made for breakfast, for which three-quarters of an hour are allowed. About two in the afternoon half an hour’s rest suffices for a cold dinner. Eighteen hours’ work and six hours’ rest make out the day. The labor is incredible; yet the “voyageur” not only supports it without a murmur, but with the utmost cheerfulness. Such a life requires, of course, an iron constitution. In rowing, the arms and breast of the “voyageur” are exerted to the utmost; and in shallow places he drags the boat after him, wading up to the knees and thighs in the water. Where he is obliged to force his way against a rapid, the drag-rope must be pulled over rocks and stumps of trees, through swamps and thickets; and at the portages the cargo and the boat have to be carried over execrable roads to the next navigable water. Then the “voyageur” takes upon his back two packages, each weighing 90 pounds, and attached by a leathern belt running over the forehead, that his hands may be free to clear the way; and such portages sometimes occur ten or eleven times in one day.
For these toils of his wandering life he has many compensations, in the keen appetite, the genial sensation of muscular strength, and the flow of spirits engendered by labor in the pure and bracing air. Surely many would rather breathe with the “voyageur” the fragrance of the pine forest, or share his rest upon the borders of the stream, than lead the monotonous life of an artisan, pent up in the impure atmosphere of a city.
During the first period of the American fur-trade the “coureurs des bois” used to set out on their adventurous expeditions from the village “La Chine,” one of the oldest and most famous settlements in Canada, whose name points to a time when the St. Lawrence was still supposed to be the nearest way to China. How far some of them may have penetrated into the interior of the continent is unknown; but so much is certain, that their regular expeditions extended as far as the Saskatchewan, 2500 miles beyond the remotest European settlements. Several factories or forts protected their interests on the banks of that noble river; and the French would no doubt have extended their dominion to the Rocky Mountains or to the Pacific if the conquest of Canada by England, in 1761, had not completely revolutionized the fur-trade. The change of dominion laid it prostrate for several years, but our enterprising countrymen soon opened a profitable intercourse with the Indian tribes of the west, as their predecessors had done before them. Now, however, the adventurous “coureur des bois,” who had entered the wilds as a semi-independent trader, was obliged to serve in the pay of the British merchant, and to follow him, as his “voyageur,” deeper and deeper into the wilderness, until finally they reached on the Athabasca and the Churchill River the Indian hunters who used to sell their skins in the settlements of the Hudson’s Bay Company.
This company was founded in the year 1670 by a body of adventurers and merchants under the patronage of Prince Rupert, second cousin of Charles II. The charter obtained from the Crown was wonderfully liberal, comprising not only the grant of the exclusive trade, but also of full territorial possession to all perpetuity of the vast lands within the watershed of Hudson’s Bay. The Company at once established some forts along the shores of the great inland sea from which it derived its name, and opened a very lucrative trade with the Indians, so that it never ceased paying rich dividends to the fortunate shareholders until towards the close of the last century, when, as I have already mentioned, its prosperity began to be seriously affected by the energetic competition of the Canadian fur-traders.
In spite of the flourishing state of its affairs, or rather because the monopoly which it enjoyed allowed it to prosper without exertion, the Company, as long as Canada remained in French hands, had conducted its affairs in a very indolent manner, waiting for the Indians to bring the produce of their chase to the Hudson’s Bay settlements, instead of following them into the interior and stimulating them by offering greater facilities for exchange.
For eighty years after its foundation the Company possessed no more than four small forts on the shores of Hudson’s Bay; and only when the encroachments of the Canadians at length roused it from its torpor, did it resolve likewise to advance into the interior, and to establish a fort on the eastern shore of Sturgeon Lake, in the year 1774. Up to this time, with the exception of the voyage of discovery which Hearne (1770–71) made under its auspices to the mouth of the Coppermine River, it had done but little for the promotion of geographical discovery in its vast territory.
Meanwhile the Canadian fur-traders had become so hateful to the Indians that these savages formed a conspiracy for their total extirpation.
Fortunately for the white men, the small-pox broke out about this time among the Redskins, and swept them away as the fire consumes the parched grass of the prairies. Their unburied corpses were torn by the wolves and wild dogs, and the survivors were too weak and dispirited to be able to undertake any thing against the foreign intruders. The Canadian fur-traders now also saw the necessity of combining their efforts for their mutual benefit, instead of ruining each other by an insane competition; and consequently formed, in 1783, a society which, under the name of the North-west Company of Canada, at first consisted of sixteen, later of twenty partners or shareholders, some of whom lived in Canada, while the others were scattered among the various stations in the interior. The whole Canadian fur-trade was now greatly developed; for while previously each of the associates had blindly striven to do as much harm as possible to his present partners, and thus indirectly damaged his own interests, they now all vigorously united to beat the rival Hudson’s Bay Company out of the field. The agents of this North-west Company, in defiance of their charter, were indefatigable in exploring the lakes and woods, the plains and the mountains, for the purpose of establishing new trading-stations at all convenient points.
The most celebrated of these pioneers of commerce, Alexander Mackenzie, reached, in the year 1789, the mouth of the great river which bears his name, and saw the white dolphins gambol about in the Arctic Sea. In a second voyage he crossed the Rocky Mountains, and followed the course of the Fraser River until it discharges its waters into the Georgian Gulf opposite to Vancouver’s Island. Here he wrote with perishable vermilion the following inscription on a rock-wall fronting the gulf:--
A. Mackenzie arrived from Canada by land, 22 July, 1792.
The words were soon effaced by wind and weather, but the fame of the explorer will last as long as the English language is spoken in America.
The energetic North-west Company thus ruled over the whole continent from the Canadian Lakes to the Rocky Mountains, and in 1806 it even crossed that barrier and established its forts on the northern tributaries of the Columbia River. To the north it likewise extended its operations, encroaching more and more upon the privileges of the Hudson’s Bay Company, which, roused to energy, now also pushed on its posts farther and farther into the interior, and established in 1812 a colony on the Red River to the south of Winipeg Lake, thus driving, as it were, a sharp thorn into the side of its rival. But a power like the North-west Company, which had no less than 50 agents, 70 interpreters, and 1120 voyageurs in its pay, and whose chief managers used to appear at their annual meetings at Fort William, on the banks of Lake Superior, with all the pomp and pride of feudal barons, was not inclined to tolerate this encroachment; and thus, after many quarrels, a regular war broke out between the two parties, which, after two years’ duration, led to the expulsion of the Red River colonists and the murder of their governor, Semple. This event took place in the year 1816, and is but one episode of the bloody feuds which continued to reign between the two rival companies until 1821. At first sight it may seem strange that such acts of violence should take place between British subjects and on British soil, but then we must consider that at that time European law had little power in the American wilderness.
The dissensions of the fur-traders had most deplorable consequences for the Redskins; for both companies, to swell the number of their adherents, lavishly distributed spirituous liquors--a temptation which no Indian can resist.
The whole of the hunting-grounds of the Saskatchewan and Athabasca were but one scene of revelry and bloodshed. Already decimated by the small-pox, the Indians now became the victims of drunkenness and discord, and it was to be feared that if the war and its consequent demoralization continued, the most important tribes would soon be utterly swept away.
The finances of the belligerent companies were in an equally deplorable state; the produce of the chase diminished from year to year with the increase of their expenditure; and thus the Hudson’s Bay Company, which used to gratify its shareholders with dividends of 50 and 25 per cent., was unable, from 1808 to 1814, to distribute a single shilling among them. At length wisdom prevailed over passion, and the enemies came to a resolution which, if taken from the very beginning, would have saved them both a great deal of treasure and many crimes. Instead of continuing to swing the tomahawk, they now smoked the calumet, and amalgamated in 1821, under the name of the “Hudson’s Bay Company,” and under the wing of the charter. The British Government, as a dowry to the impoverished couple, presented them with a license of exclusive trade throughout the whole of that territory which, under the name of the Hudson’s Bay and North-west territories, extends from Labrador to the Pacific, and from the Red River to the Polar Ocean. This license was terminable in 21 years, but in 1838 it was renewed again for the same period. The good effects of peace and union soon became apparent, for after a few years the Company was enabled to pay half-yearly dividends of five per cent., and the Indians, to whom brandy was now no longer supplied unless as a medicine, enjoyed the advantages of a more sober life.
About 1848 the Imperial Government, fearing that Vancouver’s Island might be annexed by the United States, resolved to place it under the management of the Hudson’s Bay Company. This was accordingly done in 1849. A license of exclusive trade and management was granted for ten years, terminable therefore in 1859 (the time of expiration of the similar license over the Indian territory).
These were the palmy days of the Hudson’s Bay Company. They held Rupert’s Land by the royal charter, which was perpetual; they held Vancouver’s Island and the whole Indian territory to the Pacific by exclusive licenses, terminable in 1859; and thus maintained under their sole sway about 4,000,000 square miles--a realm larger than the whole of Europe.
For the ten years ending May 31, 1862, the average net annual profits of the Company amounted to £81,000 on a paid-up capital of £400,000, but a portion only of this income was distributed as dividend.
In 1863 the Company was reconstructed, with a capital of £2,000,000, for the purpose of enlarging its operations--such as opening the southern and more fruitful districts of the Saskatchewan or the Winipeg to European colonization; but the northern, and by far the larger portion of the vast domains over which, after the dismemberment of British Columbia and the Stikine territory, it still holds sway, have too severe a climate ever to be cultivated, and, unless their mineral wealth be made available, must ever be what they are now--a fur-bearing region of gloomy pine-forests, naked barren-grounds, lakes, and morasses.
Over this vast extent of desert the Company has established about 150 trading-posts, called “houses,” or “forts,” which, however, consist merely of a few magazines and dwelling-houses, protected by a simple wall, stockade, or palisade sufficiently strong to resist any sudden attack of the Indians. Among the tribes, with whom a friendly intercourse has long subsisted, and whose fidelity may implicitly be trusted, no guard is ever kept, and it is only in forts more recently built in remote parts that precautions are taken.
These forts are always situated on the borders of a lake or river, both for facility of transport and for the purpose of catching fish, particularly the species of Coregonus, or white-fish, which, from its importance to all the natives of Rupert’s Land between the great Canada lakes and the Arctic Sea, the Crees call Attihawmeg, or the “reindeer of the waters.” In many of the trading-posts it forms the chief food of the white residents; and it is asserted that though deprived of bread and vegetables, a man may live upon it for months or even years without tiring. According to Sir John Richardson, no fish in any country or sea excels the white-fish in flavor and wholesomeness, and it is the most beneficial article of diet to the Red Indians near the Arctic Circle, being obtained with more certainty than the reindeer, and with less change of abode in summer and winter.
Each of the principal forts is the seat of a chief factor, or general administrator of a district, and of a chief trader, who transacts the business with the Indians.
Besides these principal functionaries--out of whom the governor is chosen--the Company employed, in 1860, 5 surgeons, 87 clerks, 67 postmasters, 1200 permanent servants, and 500 voyageurs, besides temporary employés of different ranks, so that the total number of persons in its pay was at least 3000. Besides this little army of immediate dependents, the whole male Indian population of its vast territory, amounting to about 100,000 hunters and trappers, may be considered as actively employed in the service of the Company. Armed vessels, both sailing and steam, are employed on the north-west coast to carry on the fur-trade with the warlike natives of that distant region. More than twenty years ago this trade alone gave employment to about 1000 men, occupying 21 permanent establishments, or engaged in navigating five armed sailing vessels and one armed steamer, varying from 100 to 300 tons in burden.
The influence of the Company over its savage dependents may justly be called beneficial. Both from motives of humanity and self-interest, every effort is made to civilize them. No expense is spared to preserve them from the want into which their improvidence too often plunges them; and the example of an inflexible straightforwardness serves to gain their confidence. This moral preponderance, and the admiration of the Indian for the superior knowledge and arts of the Europeans, explain how a mere handful of white men, scattered over an enormous territory, not only lead a life of perfect security, but exercise an almost absolute power over a native population outnumbering them at least several hundred times. The Indians have in course of time acquired many new wants, and have thus become more and more dependent on the white traders. The savage hunter is no longer the free, self-dependent man, who, without any foreign assistance, was able to make and manufacture, with his own hands, all the weapons and articles needed for his maintenance. Without English firearms and fishing-gear, without iron-ware and woollen blankets, he could no longer exist, and the unfortunate tribe on which the Company should close its stores would soon perish for want. “History,” says Professor Hind, “does not furnish another example of an association of private individuals exerting a powerful influence over so large an extent of the earth’s surface, and administering their affairs with such consummate skill and unwavering devotion to the original objects of their incorporation.”
The standard of exchange in all mercantile transactions with the natives is a beaver skin, the relative value of which, as originally established by the traders, differs considerably from the present worth of the articles represented by it; but the Indians are averse to change. They receive their principal outfit of clothing and ammunition on credit in the autumn, to be repaid by their winter hunts; the amount intrusted to each of the hunters varying with their reputations for industry and skill.
The furs which, in the course of the year, are accumulated in the various forts or trading-stations, are transported in the short time during which the rivers and lakes are navigable, and in the manner described at the beginning of the chapter, to York Factory, or Moose Factory, on Hudson’s Bay, to Montreal or Vancouver, and shipped from thence mostly to London. From the more distant posts in the interior, the transport often requires several seasons; for travelling is necessarily very slow when rapids and portages continually interrupt navigation, and the long winter puts a stop to all intercourse whatever.
The goods from Europe, consisting (besides those mentioned above) of printed cotton or silk handkerchiefs, or neck-cloths, of beads, and the universal favorite tobacco, require at least as much time to find their way into the distant interior; and thus the Company is not seldom obliged to wait for four, five, or six years before it receives its returns for the articles sent from London. It must, however, be confessed, that it amply repays itself for the tediousness of delay, for Dr. Armstrong was told by the Esquimaux of Cape Bathurst--a tribe in the habit of trading with the Indians from the Mackenzie, who are in direct communication with the Hudson’s Bay Company’s agents--that for three silver-fox skins--which sometimes fetch as high a price as twenty-five or thirty guineas apiece at the annual sale of the Company--they had got from the traders cooking utensils which might be worth eight shillings and sixpence!
The value of the skins annually imported into England by the Company amounts to about £150,000 or £200,000. Besides, many of its furs are bartered for Russian-American peltry, and a large quantity is exported direct to China.
After this brief account of one of the most remarkable mercantile associations of any age, some remark on the chief fur-bearing animals of the Hudson’s Bay territory may not be without interest. Among these, the black bear, muskwa, or baribal (Ursus americanus), is one of the most valuable, as his long hair--unlike that of the brown or the white bear--is beautifully smooth and glossy. He inhabits the forest regions of North America, but migrates according to the seasons. In spring he seeks his food in the thickets along the banks of the rivers or lakes; in summer he retreats into the forests; in winter he either wanders farther to the south, or hollows out a kind of lair beneath the root of an overthrown tree, where, as the cold is more or less severe, he either finds a retreat after his excursions, or hibernates buried in the snow. He feeds chiefly on berries, grain, acorns, roots, eggs, and honey; though, when pressed by hunger, he will attack other quadrupeds. He climbs upon trees or rocks with great agility, and, being very watchful, is not easily got at in summer. Sometimes, however, his caution brings about his destruction; for, from fear of some possible danger, or at the slightest noise, he rises on his hind legs to look over the bushes under which he lies concealed, and thus offers a mark to the bullet of the hunter. In the winter, when the snow betrays his traces, he is more easily shot, and his skin and flesh are then also in the best condition. In spite of his apparent clumsiness and stolidity, the muskwa is more alert than the brown bear, whom he nearly approaches in size; he runs so fast that no man can overtake him, and is an excellent swimmer and climber. When attacked, he generally retreats as fast as possible into the forest; but if escape is impossible, he turns furiously upon his pursuers, and becomes exceedingly dangerous. Dogs alone are incapable of mastering him, as he is always ready to receive them with a stroke of his fore paw; but they are very useful in driving him up a tree, and thus giving the hunter an opportunity of hitting him in the right spot. When in a state of captivity, the baribal, in his mild and good-humored disposition, is distinguished, from the brown and white bear. His fur is also much more valuable than that of the brown bear.
It is not yet fully ascertained whether the American brown bear is identical with that of Europe; the resemblance, however, is close. In summer he wanders to the shores of the Polar Sea, and indulges more frequently in animal food than the baribal. He is even said to attack man when pressed by hunger; but all those whom Sir John Richardson met with ran away as soon as they saw him.
As the grizzly bear (Ursus ferox) is found on the Rocky Mountains up to the latitude of 61°, he undoubtedly deserves a place among the sub-arctic animals. The skin of this most formidable of the ursine race, who is about nine feet long, and is said to attain the weight of eight hundred pounds, is but little prized in the fur-trade. He is the undoubted monarch of his native wilds, for even the savage bison flies at his approach.
Although the raccoon (Procyon lotor) is more commonly found in Canada and the United States, yet he is also an inhabitant of the Hudson’s Bay territories, where he is met with up to 56° N. lat. This interesting little animal, which, like the bears, applies the sole of its foot to the ground in walking, has an average length of two feet from the nose to the tail, which is about ten inches long. Its color is grayish-brown, with a dusky line running from the top of the head down the middle of the face, and ending below the eyes. The tail is very thickly covered with hair, and is annulated with several black bars on a yellowish-white ground. Its face is very like that of the fox, whom it equals in cunning, while its active and playful habits resemble those of the monkey. Its favorite haunts are the woods, near streams or lakes, for one of its most marked peculiarities, from which it has received its specific name of lotor, or the washer, is its habit of plunging its dry food into water before eating it. The raccoon devours almost any thing that comes in his way--fruits and grain of all sorts, birds’ nests, mice, grasshoppers, beetles: while the waters yield him fishes, crabs, and oysters, which he is very expert in opening. His fur forms no inconsiderable article of commerce, and is very fashionable in Russia. In 1841, 111,316 raccoon skins were imported into St. Petersburg, and more than half a million were stapled in Leipzig, intended, no doubt, for smuggling across the frontier.
The fur of the American glutton, or wolverine, is much used for muffs and linings; yet, from its being a notorious robber of their traps, the animal is as much hated by the Indian hunters as the dog-fish by the northern fishermen.
The Hudson’s Bay territories can not boast of the sable, but the American pine marten (Martes abietum) is not much inferior in value, as its dark-brown fur is remarkably fine, thick, and glossy. It frequents the woody districts, where it preys on birds, and all the smaller quadrupeds from the hare to the mouse. Even the squirrel is incapable of escaping the pine marten, and after having vaulted and climbed from tree to tree, sinks at last exhausted into its gripe.
The pekan, or woodshock (Martes canadensis), the largest of the marten family, is also the one which most richly supplies the fur-market. It is found over the whole of North America, and generally lives in burrows near the banks of rivers, as it principally feeds on the small quadrupeds that frequent the water.
Several species of ermine inhabit the Hudson’s Bay territories, but their skins are of no great importance in the fur-trade. Like many other species of the marten family, they eject, when irritated or alarmed, a fluid of a fetid odor; but in this respect they are far surpassed by the chinga (Mephitis chinga), whose secretion has so intolerable a smell that the least quantity suffices to produce nausea and a sense of suffocation. This animal is frequently found near Hudson’s Bay, whence it extends farther to the north. In spite of the formidable means of defense with which it has been armed by nature, it is of use to man, for its black and white striped fur (which, as may easily be supposed, never appears in the European market) provides the Indians with coverings or tobacco-pouches. Before seizing the chinga, they irritate it with a long switch until it has repeatedly emptied the glands from which the noxious vapor issues; then suddenly springing upon it, they hold it up by the tail and dispatch it.
The mink (Vison americanus), another member of the weasel family, is one of the most important fur-bearing animals of the Hudson’s Bay territories. It resembles the small European fish-otter (Vison lutreola), but its skin is far more valuable--the brown hair with which it is covered being much softer and thicker. As its toes are connected by a small web, it is an excellent swimmer, and as formidable to the salmon or trout in the water as to the hare on land.
The Canadian fish-otter (Lutra canadensis) far surpasses the European species, both in size and in the beauty of its glossy brown skin. It occurs as far northward as 66° or 67° lat., and is generally taken by sinking a steel trap near the mouth of its burrow. It has the habit of sliding or climbing to the top of a ridge of snow in winter, or of a sloping moist bank in summer, where, lying on the belly, with the fore feet bent backward, it gives itself with the hind legs an impulse which sends it swiftly down the eminence. This schoolboy sport it continues for a long time.
The red fox (Vulpes fulvus), which is found throughout the Hudson’s Bay territories, has likewise a much finer fur than our common fox. It is of a bright ferruginous red on the head, back, and sides; beneath the chin it is white, while the throat and neck are of a dark gray, and the under parts of the body, toward the tail, are of a very pale red. The crossed fox (Canis decussatus), thus named from the black cross on its shoulders, is still more valuable; its skin--the color of which is a sort of gray, resulting from the mixture of black and white hair-- being worth four or five guineas. Peltry still more costly is furnished by the black or silvery fox (Canis argentatus), whose copious and beautiful fur is of a rich and shining black or deep brown color, with the longer or exterior hairs of a silvery white. Unfortunately it is of such rare occurrence that not more than four or five are annually brought to a trading-post.
The Canada lynx, or pishu (Lynx canadensis), is smaller than the European species, but has a finer fur, those skins being most valued which approach to a pale or whitish color, and on which the spots are most distinct. It chiefly feeds on the hare (Lepus americanus), which is not much larger than a rabbit, and is found on the banks of the Mackenzie as far north as 68° or 69°.
Still nearer to the Pole, the ice-hare (Lepus glacialis) ranges as far as the Parry Islands (75° N. lat.), where it feeds on the arctic willow, and other high northern plants. Its favorite resorts are the stony districts, where it easily finds a refuge; in winter it burrows in the snow. In summer its back is grayish white, but as the cold increases, it becomes white, with the exception of the tips of the ears, which remain constantly black.
Formerly the beaver (Castor fiber) was the most important of the fur-bearing animals of the Hudson’s Bay territories. In the year 1743, 127,000 beaver skins were exported from Montreal to La Rochelle, and 26,700 by the Hudson’s Bay Company to London. At present, the exportation hardly amounts to one-third of this quantity. As the beaver chiefly lives on the barks of the willow, the beech, and the poplar, it is not found beyond the forest region; but along the banks of the Mackenzie it reaches a very high latitude.
The musk-rat, ondatra or musquash (Fiber zibethicus)--which is about the size of a small rabbit, and of a reddish-brown color--is called by the Indians the younger brother of the beaver, as it has similar instincts. Essentially a bank-haunting animal, it is never to be seen at any great distance from the water, where it swims and dives with consummate ease, aided greatly by the webs which connect the hinder toes. It drives a large series of tunnels into the bank, branching out in various directions, and having several entrances, all of which open under the surface of the water. If the animal happens to live upon a marshy and uniformly wet soil, it becomes a builder, and lives in curiously-constructed huts, from three to four feet in height, plastered with great neatness in the inside, and strengthened externally with a kind of basket-work of rushes, carefully interlaced together. The judgment of the animal shows itself in the selection of the site, invariably choosing some ground above the reach of inundation, or else raising its hut on an artificial foundation; for, though obliged to reside near flat, submerged banks, where the soft soil is full of nourishing roots, it requires a dry home to rest in.
In winter the musquash villages--for the huts are sometimes built in such numbers together as to deserve that name--are generally covered with thick snow, under which this rodent is able to procure water, or to reach the provisions laid up in its storehouse. Thus it lives in ease and plenty, for the marten is too averse to the water, and the otter too bulky to penetrate into its tunnels. But when the snow melts, and the huts of the musquash appear above the ground, the Indian, taking in his hand a large four-barbed spear, steals up to the house, and driving his weapon through the walls, is sure to pierce the animals inside. Holding the spear firmly with one hand, he takes his tomahawk from his belt, dashes the house to pieces, and secures the inmates. Another method employed by the Indians to capture the musquash is to block up the different entrances to their tunnels, and then to intercept the animals as they try to escape. Sometimes the gun is used, but not very frequently, as the musquash is so wary that it dives at the least alarm, and darts into one of its holes. The trap, however, is the ordinary means of destruction. The soft and glossy fur of the musquash, though worth no more than from 6_d._ to 9_d._, is still a not inconsiderable article of trade, as no less than half a million skins are annually imported into England for hat-making; nor is there any fear of the musquash being extirpated, in spite of its many enemies, as it multiplies very fast, and is found near every swamp or lake with grassy banks as far as the confines of the Polar Sea.
XXIX. THE CREE INDIANS, OR EYTHINYUWUK
The various Tribes of the Crees.--Their Conquests and subsequent Defeat.--Their Wars with the Blackfeet.--Their Character.-- Tattooing.--Their Dress.--Fondness for their Children.--The Cree Cradle.--Vapor Baths.--Games.--Their religious Ideas.--The Cree Tartarus and Elysium.
The various tribes of the Crees, or Eythinyuwuk, range from the Rocky Mountains and the plains of the Saskatchewan to the swampy shores of Hudson’s Bay. Towards the west and north they border on the Tinné, towards the east and south, on the Ojibbeway or Sauteurs, who belong like them to the great family of the Lenni-lenape Indians, and inhabit the lands between Lake Winipeg and Lake Superior.
About sixty years since, at the time when Napoleon was deluging Europe with blood, the Crees likewise played the part of conquerors, and subdued even more extensive, though less valuable domains.
Provided with fire-arms, which at that time were unknown to their northern and western neighbors, they advanced as far as the Arctic Circle, imposing tribute on the various tribes of the Tinné. But their triumphs were not more durable than those of the great European conqueror.
The small-pox broke out among them and swept them away by thousands. Meanwhile the Tinné tribes had remained untouched by this terrible scourge; and as the agents of the Hudson’s Bay Company, advancing farther and farther to the west and north, had likewise made them acquainted with the use of fire-arms, they in their turn became the aggressors, and drove the Crees before them. Their former conquerors now partly migrated to the south, and leaving the forest region, where they had hunted the reindeer and the elk, spread over the prairies of the Saskatchewan, where they now pursued the herds of bison, sometimes driving them over a precipice, or chasing them on foot through the snow. But in their new abodes they became engaged in constant feuds with their new neighbors the Assiniboins and Blackfeet, who of course resented their intrusion.
The romance in which the manners and character of the Indians are portrayed might lead us to attribute to these people a loftiness of soul for which it would be vain to look in the present day, and which without much skepticism we may assert they never really possessed. Actions prompted only by the caprice of a barbarous people have been considered as the results of refined sentiment; and savage cunning, seen through the false medium of prejudice, assumed the nobler proportions of a far-sighted policy. But though the history of the wars of the Indians among themselves and with the Europeans affords but few instances of heroism, it abounds in traits of revolting cruelty, and in pictures of indescribable wretchedness.
A large party of Blackfeet once made a successful foray in the territory of the Crees. But meanwhile the latter surprised the camp where the aggressors had left their wives and children; and thus, when the Blackfeet returned to their tents, they found desolation and death where they looked for a joyful welcome. In their despair they cast away their arms and their booty, and retired to the mountains, where for three days and nights they wailed and mourned.
In the year 1840 a bloody war broke out between the Crees and the Blackfeet, arising as in general from a very trifling cause. Peace was at length concluded, but while the two nations were celebrating this fortunate event with games and races, a Cree stole a ragged blanket, and a new fight immediately began. Returning home, the Blackfeet met a Cree chieftain, with two of his warriors, and killed them after a short altercation. Soon after the Crees surprised and murdered some of the Blackfeet, and thus the war raged more furiously than ever. Sir George Simpson, who was travelling through the country at the time, visited the hut of a Cree who had been wounded in the conflict at the peace meeting. As in his flight he bent over his horse’s neck, a ball had struck him on the right side, and remained sticking near the articulation of the left shoulder. In this condition he had already lain for three-and-thirty days, his left arm frightfully swollen, and the rest of his body emaciated to a skeleton. Near the dying savage, whose glassy eye and contracted features spoke of the dreadful pain of which he disdained to speak, lay his child, reduced to skin and bones, and expressing by a perpetual moaning the pangs of illness and hunger, while most to be pitied perhaps of this wretched family was the wife and mother, who seemed to be sinking under the double load of care and fatigue. During the night the “medicine-man” was busy beating his magic drum and driving away the evil spirits from the hut.
Although the Crees show great fortitude in enduring hunger and the other evils incident to a hunter’s life, yet any unusual accident dispirits them at once, and they seldom venture to meet their enemies in open warfare, or even to surprise them, unless they have a great advantage in point of numbers. Instances of personal bravery like that of the Esquimaux are rare indeed among them. Superior in personal appearance to the Tinné, they are less honest, and though perhaps not so much given to falsehood as the Tinné, are more turbulent and more prompt to invade the rights of their countrymen, as well as of neighboring nations.
Tattooing is almost universal among them. The women are in general content with having one or two lines drawn from the corners of the mouth towards the angles of the lower jaw, but some of the men have their bodies covered with lines and figures. It seems to be considered by most rather as a proof of courage than an ornament, as the operation is both painful and tedious. The lines on the face are formed by dexterously running an awl under the cuticle, and then drawing a cord, dipped in charcoal and water, through the canal thus formed. The punctures on the body are made by needles of various sizes, set in a frame. A number of hawk-bells attached to this frame serve, by their noise, to cover the groans of the sufferer, and probably for the same reason the process is accompanied with singing. An indelible stain is produced by rubbing a little finely-powdered willow-charcoal into the puncture. A half-breed, whose arm was amputated by Sir John Richardson, declared that tatooing was not only the more painful operation of the two, but rendered infinitely more difficult to bear by its tediousness, having lasted, in his case, three days.
The Crees are also fond of painting their faces with vermilion and charcoal. In general the dress of the male consists of a blanket thrown over the shoulders, a leathern shirt or jacket, and a piece of cloth tied round the middle. The women have in addition a long petticoat, and both sexes wear a kind of wide hose, which, reaching from the ankle to the middle of the thigh, are suspended by strings to the girdle. These hose, or “Indian stockings,” are commonly ornamented with beads or ribands, and from their convenience have been universally adopted by the white residents, as an essential part of their winter-clothing. Their shoes, or rather soft boots (for they tie round the ankle), are made of dressed moose-skins; and during the winter they wrap several pieces of blanket round their feet. They are fond of European articles of dress, such as great-coats, shawls, and calicoes, which, however showy they may be at first, are soon reduced to a very filthy condition by their custom of greasing the face and hair with soft fat or marrow. This practice they say preserves the skin soft, and protects it from cold in the winter and the mosquitoes in summer; but it renders their presence disagreeable to Europeans who may chance to be seated near them in a close tent and near a hot fire.
The Cree women are not in general treated harshly by their husbands: a great part of the labor, however, falls to the lot of the wife. She makes the hut, cooks, dresses the skins, and for the most part carries the heaviest load; but when she is unable to perform her task, the husband does not consider it beneath his dignity to assist her.
The Crees are extremely indulgent to their children. The father never chastises them; and the mother, though more hasty in her temper, seldom bestows a blow on a troublesome child.
The cradle in use among them is well adapted to their mode of life, and is one of their neatest articles of furniture, being generally ornamented with beads and bits of scarlet cloth, but it bears a very strong resemblance in its form to a mummy-case. The infant is placed in this bag, having its lower extremities wrapped up in soft sphagnum, or bog-moss, and may be hung up in the tent or to the branch of a tree, without the least danger of tumbling out; or, in a journey may be suspended on the mother’s back by a band which crosses the forehead so as to leave her hands free. The sphagnum forms a soft elastic bed, which absorbs moisture very readily, and affords such a protection from the winter cold that its place would be ill supplied by any other material.
The ordinary wigwams, skin tents, or “lodges” of the Tinné and Crees are exactly alike in form, being extended on poles set up in a conical manner; but as a general rule the tents of the latter are more commodious and more frequently supplied with a fresh lining of the spray of the balsam-fir. They also occasionally erect a larger dwelling of lattice-work, covered with birch-bark, in which forty men or more can assemble for feasting, debating, or performing some of their religious ceremonies. The entire nation of the Eythinyuwuk cultivate oratory more than their northern neighbors, who express themselves more simply and far less fluently.
Vapor baths are in common use with the Crees, and form one of the chief remedies of their medicine-men. The operator shuts himself up with his patient in the small sweating-house--in which red-hot stones besprinkled with water, and having a few leaves of a species of prunus strewed around them, produce a damp atmosphere of a stifling heat--and shampoos him, singing all the time a kind of hymn. As long as the medicine-man can hold out, so long must the patient endure the intense heat of the bath, and then, if the invalid be able to move, they both plunge into the river. If the patient does not recover, he is at least more speedily released from his sufferings by this powerful remedy.
The Crees are a vain, fickle, improvident, indolent, and ludicrously boastful race. They are also great gamblers, but, instead of cards or dice, they play with the stones of a species of prunus. The difficulty lies in guessing the number of stones which are tossed out of a small wooden dish, and the hunters will spend whole nights at this destructive sport, staking their most valuable articles. They have, however, a much more manly amusement, termed the “cross,” although they do not engage even in it without depositing considerable stakes. An extensive meadow is chosen for this sport, and the articles staked are tied to a post, or deposited in the custody of two old men. The combatants being stripped and painted, and each provided with a kind of racket, in shape resembling the letter P, with a handle about two feet long, and a head loosely wrought with net-work, so as to form a shallow bag, range themselves on different sides. A ball being now tossed up in the middle, each party endeavors to drive it to their respective goals, and much dexterity and agility is displayed in the contest. When a nimble runner gets the ball in his cross, he sets off towards the goal with the utmost speed, and is followed by the rest, who endeavor to jostle him and shake it out, but, if hard pressed, he discharges it with a jerk, to be forwarded by his own party or bandied back by their opponents until the victory is decided by its passing the goal.
Neither the Esquimaux nor the Tinné have any visible objects of worship, but the Crees carry with them small wooden figures rudely carved, or merely the tops of a few willow-bushes tied together, as the representatives of a malicious, or at least capricious being, called Kepoochikann. Their most common petition to this being is for plenty of food, but as they do not trust entirely to his favor, they endeavor at the same time to propitiate the animal, an imaginary representative of the whole race of larger quadrupeds that are objects of the chase.
Though often referring to the Kitche-manito, the “Great Spirit,” or “Master of Life,” they do not believe that he cares for his creatures, and consequently never think of praying to him. They have no legend about the creation, but they speak of a deluge caused by an attempt of the fish to drown Woesack-ootchacht, a kind of demi-god, with whom they had quarrelled. Having constructed a raft, this being embarked with his family and all kinds of birds and beasts. After the flood had continued for some time, he ordered several waterfowl to dive to the bottom. They were all drowned; but a musk-rat, dispatched on the same errand, returned with a mouthful of mud, out of which Woesack-ootchacht, imitating the mode in which the rats construct their houses, formed a new earth. First a small conical hill of mud appeared above the water; by-and-by, its base gradually spreading out, it became an extensive bank, which the rays of the sun at length hardened into firm land. Notwithstanding the power that Woesack-ootchacht here displayed, his person is held in very little reverence by the Indians, who do not think it worth while to make any effort to avert his wrath.
Like the Tinné, the Crees also have a Tartarus and an Elysium. The souls of the departed are obliged to scramble with great labor up the sides of a steep mountain, upon attaining the summit of which they are rewarded with the prospect of an extensive plain abounding in all sorts of game, and interspersed here and there with new tents pitched in pleasant situations. While they are absorbed in the contemplation of this delightful scene, they are descried by the inhabitants of the happy land, who, clothed in new skin dresses, approach and welcome, with every demonstration of kindness, those Indians who have led good lives, but the bad Indians are told to return from whence they came, and without more ceremony are hurled down the precipice.
As yet Christianity has made but little progress among the Indians of British North America, its benefits being hitherto confined to the Ojibbeways of Lake Huron, and to a small number of the Crees of the Hudson’s Bay territory. The well-fed Sauteurs of the Winipeg are as disinclined to be converted as the buffalo-hunters of the prairies.
XXX. THE TINNÉ INDIANS
The various Tribes of the Tinné Indians.--The Dog-ribs.-- Clothing.--The Hare Indians.--Degraded State of the Women.-- Practical Socialists.--Character.--Cruelty to the Aged and Infirm.
The Tinné Indians, whose various tribes range from the Lower Mackenzie to the Upper Saskatchewan, and from New Caledonia to the head of Chesterfield Inlet, occupy a considerable part of the territories of the Hudson’s Bay Company. To their race belong the Strongbows of the Rocky Mountains; the Beaver Indians, between Peace River and the west branch of the Mackenzie; the Red-knives, thus named from the copper knives of which their native ores furnish the materials, and who roam between the Great Fish River and the Coppermine; the Hare Indians, who inhabit the thickly wooded district of the Mackenzie from Slave Lake downward; the Dog-ribs, who occupy the inland country on the east from Martin Lake to the Coppermine; the Athabascans, who frequent the Elk and Slave Rivers, and many other tribes of inferior note.
The Tinné, in general, have more regular features than the Esquimaux, and, taken on the whole, exhibit all the characteristics of the red races dwelling farther south; but their utter disregard of cleanliness and their abject behavior (for when in the company of white people they exhibit the whine and air of inveterate mendicants) give them a wretched appearance. Mackenzie, the first European who became acquainted with the Dog-ribs, describes them as an ugly emaciated tribe, covered with dirt and besmeared with grease from head to foot. More than sixty years have passed since Mackenzie’s journey, but his account of them is true to the present day. The women are even uglier and more filthy than the men, for the latter at least paint their unwashed faces and wear trinkets on festive occasions, while the females leave even their hair without any other dressing than wiping their greasy hands on the matted locks, when they have been rubbing their bodies with marrow. The clothing of the men in summer consists of reindeer leather dressed like shammy, which, when newly made, is beautifully white and soft. “A shirt of this material,” says Sir John Richardson, to whom we are indebted for the best account of the various nations inhabiting the Hudson’s Bay territory, “cut evenly below, reaches to the middle; the ends of a piece of cloth secured to a waist-band hang down before and behind; the hose, or Indian stockings, descend from the top of the thigh to the ankle, and a pair of moccasins or shoes of the same soft leather with tops which fold round the ankle, complete the costume. When the hunter is equipped for the chase he wears, in addition, a stripe of white hare-skin, or of the belly part of a deer-skin, in a bandana round the head, with his lank, black elf-locks streaming from beneath; a shot-pouch suspended by an embroidered belt, a fire-bag or tobacco-pouch tucked into the girdle, and a long fowling-piece thrown carelessly across the arm, or balanced on the back of the neck. The several articles here enumerated are ornamented at the seams and hems with leather thongs wound round with porcupine quills, or more or less embroidered with bead-work, according to the industry of the wife or wives. One of the young men, even of the slovenly Dog-ribs, when newly equipped, and tripping jauntily over the mossy ground with an elastic step, displays his slim and not ungraceful figure to advantage. But this fine dress once donned is neither laid aside nor cleaned while it lasts, and soon acquires a dingy look, and an odor which betrays its owner at some distance. In the camp a greasy blanket of English manufacture is worn over the shoulders by day, and forms with the clothes the bedding by night.”
In winter they clothe themselves with moose or reindeer skins, retaining the hair, while a large robe of the same material is thrown over the shoulders, and hangs down to the feet in place of the blanket. The women’s dress resembles the men’s, but the skirt is somewhat longer, and generally accompanied by a petticoat which reaches nearly to the knee. The form of dress here described is common to the whole Tinné nation, and also to the Crees, but the material varies with the district. Thus moose-deer, red-deer, and bison leather are in use among the more southern and western tribes, and the Hare Indians make their skirts of the skins of the animal from which they derive their surname. As this, however, is too tender to be used in the ordinary way, it is torn into narrow strips, twisted slightly, and plaited or worked into the required shape. Such is the closeness and fineness of the fur that these hare-skin dresses are exceedingly warm, notwithstanding the closeness of their texture.
The Hare Indian and Dog-rib women are certainly at the bottom of the scale of humanity in North America. Not that they are treated with cruelty, but that they are looked upon as inferior beings, and in this belief they themselves acquiesce. In early infancy the boy discovers that he may show any amount of arrogance towards his sisters, who, as soon as they can walk, are harnessed to a sledge, while the tiny hunter struts in his snow-shoes after the men and apes their contempt of the women. All the work, except hunting and fishing, falls to their share; yet they are in general not discontented with their lot.
It would be vain to look among the Dog-ribs for the stoicism popularly attributed to the Indians, for they shrink from pain, shed tears readily, and are very timorous; but all, young and old, enjoy a joke heartily, and when young are lively and cheerful. When bands of their nation meet each other after a long absence, they perform a kind of dance. A piece of ground is cleared for the purpose, and the dance frequently lasts for two or three days, the parties relieving each other as they get tired. The two bands commence the dance with their backs turned to each other, the individuals following one another in Indian file, and holding the bow in the left hand and an arrow in the right. They approach obliquely after many turns, and when the two bands are closely back to back, they feign to see each other for the first time, and the bow is instantly transferred to the right hand and the arrow to the left, signifying that it is not their intention to use them against their friends. Their dancing, which they accompany by a chorus of groans, compared by Sir John Richardson to the deep sigh of a pavior as he brings his rammer down upon the pavement, has not the least pretensions to grace; their knees and body are half bent, and, from their heavy stamping, they appear as if desirous of sinking into the ground.
The Dog-ribs are practical socialists, and their wretched condition results in a great measure from this cause. All may avail themselves of the produce of a hunter’s energy or skill, and do not even leave him the distribution of his own game. When it becomes known in a camp that deer have been killed, the old men and women of each family sally forth with their sledges and divide the quarry, leaving the owner nothing but the ribs and tongue--all he can claim of right. Unable to restrain their appetite, all the community feast in times of abundance, however little many of the men (and there are not a few idle ones) may have contributed to the common good. Taught by frequent sufferings, the more active hunters frequently withdraw from the worthless drones, leaving them at some fishing-station, where, with proper industry, they may subsist comfortably. Fish-diet is, however, not agreeable to their taste, and as soon as reports of a successful chase arrive, a general movement to the hunting-ground ensues. If on their march the craving multitude discover a hoard of meat, it is devoured on the spot; but they are not always so fortunate. The deer and the hunters may have gone off, and then they are obliged to retrace their steps, many perishing by the way.
The Dog-ribs are not conspicuous for hospitality. When a stranger enters a tent he receives no welcome and proffer of food, though he may help himself from a piece of meat hanging on the wall or join the repast. Though great liars, they do not steal the white man’s property like the Esquimaux and Crees, and when visiting a fort, they may be trusted in any of the rooms. As to their religious belief, the majority of the nation recognize a Great Spirit, while others doubt his existence, assigning as a reason their miserable condition. They are in great fear of evil spirits, which, as they imagine, assume the forms of the bear, wolf, and wolverine, and in the woods, waters, and desert places they fancy they hear them howling in the winds or moaning by the graves of the dead. They never make offerings to the Great Spirit, but deprecate the wrath of an evil being by the promise of a sacrifice, or by scattering a handful of deer-hair or a few feathers. They believe in a state of future happiness or torment. The soul, after death, crosses a broad river in a boat, and thus endeavors to reach the opposite shore, which is adorned with all the beauties of paradise. If laden with crime, the boat sinks under the weight, and the unfortunate soul, immersed in water, strives in vain to reach the blissful abode from which it is forever banished.
Formerly when a Tinné warrior died, it was customary for the family to abandon every article they possessed, and betake themselves, in a perfectly destitute condition, to the nearest body of their own people or trading-post. The advice of traders is gradually breaking down this absurd practice, which would alone suffice to keep this people in a state of perpetual poverty. In other respects also, European influence begins to make itself felt. Since 1846 Roman Catholic missionaries are at work among the Chepewyans, and have taught many of their converts to read and write. The Athabascans had formerly but a small breed of dogs, now a stouter race has, in some respects, ameliorated the condition of the females, and the introduction of the horse, which has more recently taken place, holds out prospects of a still greater improvement. The Tinné are as giddy and thoughtless as children. When accompanied by a white man they will perform a long journey carefully, but can not be depended upon to carry letters, however high the reward may be that has been promised them on reaching their destination, as the least whim suffices to make them forget their commission.
They are generally content with one wife at a time, and none but the chiefs have more than two. The successful wrestler takes the wife of his weaker countryman, who consoles himself for his loss by endeavoring to find one weaker than himself.
Tender and affectionate parents, the Tinné are totally indifferent to the sorrows of helpless age. During the stay of Sir George Back at Fort Reliance, an old woman arrived there on Easter Sunday, clothed in ragged reindeer skins, worn down to a skeleton, and grasping with both her hands a stick to support her body, bent double by age and want. The story of the poor creature was soon told. She had become a burden to her family; her former services had all been forgotten, and she had been told “that though she still seemed to live, she was in reality dead, and must be abandoned to her fate. In the new fort she might find assistance, for the white strangers were powerful medicine-men.” This had happened a month before, and all this time she had slowly crept along, appeasing her hunger with the berries she found here and there on the way. When she reached the fort it was too late; she died a few days after her arrival.
XXXI. THE LOUCHEUX, OR KUTCHIN INDIANS
The Countries they inhabit.--Their Appearance and Dress.--Their Love of Finery.--Condition of the Women.--Strange Customs.-- Character.--Feuds with the Esquimaux.--Their suspicious and timorous Lives.--Pounds for catching Reindeer.--Their Lodges.
On the banks of the Lower Mackenzie, to the west of Great Bear Lake, in the territories drained by the Peel River and by the Upper Yukon, dwell the Loucheux, or Kutchin Indians, whose language is totally different from that of the other North American tribes, and whose customs and manners also vary considerably from those of all their neighbors, both Red-skins and Esquimaux.
They are an athletic and fine-looking people, with regular features and a complexion of a lighter copper color than that of the other Red Indians, so that many of their women would be reckoned handsome in any country. The females tattoo their chins and use a black pigment when they paint their faces, while the men employ both red and black on all occasions of ceremony, and always to be ready, each carries a small bag with red clay and black lead suspended to his neck. Most commonly the eyes are encircled with black, a stripe of the same runs down the middle of the nose, and a blotch is daubed on the upper part of each cheek. The forehead is crossed by many narrow red stripes, and the skin is streaked alternately with red and black.
The outer shirt of the Kutchin is made of the skins of fawn reindeer, dressed with the hair on after the manner of the Hare, Dog-rib, and other Chepewyan tribes, but resembles in form the analogous garment of the Esquimaux, being furnished with peaked skirts, though of smaller size. The men wear these skirts before and behind; the women have larger back skirts, but none in front. In winter shirts of hare-skin are worn, and the pantaloons of deer-skin have the fur next the skin.
None of the neighboring nations pay so much attention to personal cleanliness, or are so studious in adorning their persons. A broad band of beads is worn across the shoulders and breast of the shirt, and the hinder part of the dress is fringed with tassels wound round with dyed porcupine quills and strung with the silvery fruit of the oleaster (Elæagnus argentea); a stripe of beads, strung in alternate red and white squares, ornament the seams of the trowsers, and bands of beads encircle the ankles. The poorer sort, or the less fortunate hunters, who are unable to procure these costly trinkets in the same enviable abundance as the rich, strive to wear at least a string of beads, and look down with contemptuous pity upon the still more needy class, which is reduced to adorn itself with porcupine quills only.
In consequence of this passionate fondness for beads, these ornaments serve as a medium of exchange among the Kutchin, and Sir John Richardson remarks that no such near approach to money has been invented by the nations to the eastward of the Rocky Mountains. The standard bead, and one of the most value, is a large one of white enamel, manufactured in Italy only, and is with difficulty procured in sufficient quantity to satisfy the demand, as beads are more prized than English cloth and blankets.
Another article very much in request among the Kutchin is the large ribbed dentalium shell which is collected in the archipelago between Oregon and Cape Fairweather, and passes by trade from tribe to tribe until it finds its way at length to the Yukon. With this shell they adorn their mittens, and even attach it to their guns, which have been lately introduced, and are in great demand. All men carry powder and ball, whether they own a gun or not, and obtain for it a share of the game.
The tribes on the Yukon tie their hair behind in a cue, or “chignon,” and daub it with grease, and the down of geese and ducks, until, by the repetition of the process continued from infancy, it swells to an enormous thickness, so that the weight of the accumulated load of hair, dirt, and ornaments causes the wearer to stoop forward habitually. The tail-feathers of the eagle and fishing-hawk are stuck into the hair on the back of the head, and are removed only when the owner retires to sleep, or when he wishes to wave them to and fro in a dance.
The principal men have two or three wives each, while the bad hunters are obliged to remain bachelors. A good wrestler, however, even though poor, can always obtain a wife.
The women do all the drudgery in winter except cooking, and do not eat till the husband is satisfied. In summer they labor little, except in drying meat or fish for its preservation. The men alone paddle while the women sit as passengers, and husbands even carry their wives to the shore on their arms, that they may not wet their feet--an instance of gallantry almost unparalleled in savage life. The Esquimaux women row their own “oomiaks,” and the Chepewyan women assist the men in paddling their canoes. On the whole, the social condition of the Kutchin women is far superior to that of the Tinné women, but scarcely equal to that of the Esquimaux dames.
They do not carry their children in their hoods or boots like the Esquimaux, nor do they stuff them into a bag with moss like the Tinné and Crees, but they place them in a seat of birch-bark, with a back and sides like those of an armchair, and a pommel in front resembling the peak of a Spanish saddle, by which they hang it from their back. The child’s feet are bandaged to prevent them growing, small feet being thought handsome, and consequently short unshapely feet are characteristic of the people of both sexes. A more ridiculous or insane custom can hardly be imagined among a nation of hunters.
The Kutchin are a lively, cheerful people, fond of dancing and singing, in which they excel all other Indians; leaping, wrestling, and other athletic exercises are likewise favorite amusements. They are inveterate talkers. Every new-comer arriving at a trading-post makes a long speech, which must not be interrupted. The belief in Shamanism is still in full vigor among them.
Though a treacherous people, they have never yet imbrued their hands in European blood, but there are frequent feuds among their various tribes, by which one-half of the population of the banks of the Yukon has been cut off within the last twenty years. From a constant dread of ambuscade, they do not travel except in large parties; and thus a perpetual feeling of insecurity embitters their lives, which are already rendered sufficiently hard by the severity of an Arctic climate. The agents of the Hudson’s Bay Company have endeavored by good advice, and the distribution of large presents, to establish peace, but have only met with partial success.
Like the Tinné, the Kutchin are in a state of perpetual warfare with the Esquimaux; and though they always charge the latter with treachery, yet there can be no doubt that the accusation might, with full justice, be retorted upon themselves. One of the hostile encounters, mentioned by Sir J. Richardson, deserves notice, on account of its resemblance in some particulars to the meeting of Joab and Abner, recorded in the Second Book of Samuel. A party of each of the two nations having met on the banks of a river, the young men of both parties rose up as if for a friendly dance. The stream glides peacefully along, the setting sun gilds the pine forest and sparkles in the waters; all nature breathes peace. But the Esquimaux having, according to their custom, concealed their long knives in the sleeves of their deer-skin shirts, suddenly draw them in one of the evolutions of the dance and plunge them into their opponents. A general conflict ensues, in which the Kutchin, thanks to their guns, ultimately prove victorious. “Another incident,” says Sir John Richardson, “which occurred on the banks of the Yukon in 1845, gives us a farther insight into the suspicious and timorous lives of these people. One night four strangers from the lower part of the river arrived at the tent of an old man who was sick, and who had with him only two sons, one of them a mere boy. The newcomers entered in a friendly manner, and when the hour of repose came, lay down; but as they did not sleep, the sons, suspecting from their conduct that they meditated evil, feigned a desire of visiting their moose-deer snares. They intimated their purpose aloud to their father and went out, taking with them their bows and arrows. Instead, however, of continuing their way into the wood, they stole back quietly to the tent, and listening on the outside, discovered, as they fancied, from the conversation of the strangers, that their father’s life was in danger. Knowing the exact position of the inmates, they thereupon shot their arrows through the skin covering of the tent and killed two of the strange Indians; and the other two, in endeavoring to make their escape by the door, shared the fate of their companions. This is spoken of in the tribe as an exceedingly brave action.”
During the summer the Yukon Kutchin dry, for their winter use, the white-fish (Coregonus albus), which they catch by planting stakes across the smaller rivers and narrow parts of the lakes and closing the openings with wicker-baskets. They take the moose-deer in snares, and towards spring mostly resort to the mountains to hunt reindeer and lay in a stock of dried venison. On the open pasture-grounds frequented by this animal they construct large pounds. Two rows of posts firmly planted in the ground, and united by the addition of strong horizontal bars into a regular fence, extend their arms for nearly the length of a mile in the form of a Roman V. The extremity of the avenue is closed by stakes with sharp points sloping towards the entrance, on which the reindeer, driven together and hotly pursued by the Indians, may impale themselves in their desperate flight. The structure is erected with great labor, as the timber has to be transported into the open country from a considerable distance. Some of these may be a century old, and they are the hereditary possession of the families or tribes by whom they were originally constructed.
But in spite of all their contrivances and the use of fire-arms, the Kutchin, whose numbers on the banks of the Yukon are estimated at about a thousand men and boys able to hunt, are frequently reduced to great distress. Hence the old and infirm are mercilessly left to their fate when game is scarce, and famine makes itself felt. Attempts have been vainly made to better the condition of the northern Indians by inducing them to tame the reindeer. Their superstition is one of the obstacles against this useful innovation, for they fear that were they to make some of the reindeer their captives, the remainder would immediately leave the country. “And why,” they add, “should we follow like slaves a herd of tame animals, when the forest and the barren ground provide us with the elk, the wild reindeer, and the musk-ox, and our rivers and lakes are filled with fishes that cost us nothing but the trouble of catching them?”
Each family possesses a deer-skin tent or lodge, which in summer, when in quest of game, is rarely erected. The winter encampment is usually in a grove of spruce-firs; the ground being cleared of snow, the skins, which are prepared with the hair, are extended over flexible willow poles which take a semicircular form. This hemispherical shape of lodges is not altogether unknown among the Chepewyans and Crees, being that generally adapted for their vapor baths, framed of willow poles, but their dwelling-places are conical, as stiff poles are used for their construction.
When the tent is erected the snow is packed on outside to half its height, and it is lined equally high within with the young spray of the spruce-fir, that the bodies of the inmates may not rest against the cold wall. The doorway is filled up by a double fold of skin, and the apartment has the closeness and warmth but not the elegance of the Esquimaux snow hut, which it resembles in shape. Though only a very small fire is kept in the centre of the lodge, yet the warmth is as great as in a log-house. The provisions are stored on the outside under fir branches and snow, and further protected from the dogs by sledges being placed on top.
XXXII. ARCTIC VOYAGES OF DISCOVERY, FROM THE CABOTS TO BAFFIN
First Scandinavian Discoverer of America.--The Cabots.--Willoughby and Chancellor (1553–1554).--Stephen Burrough (1556).--Frobisher (1576–1578).--Davis (1585–1587).--Barentz, Cornelis, and Brant (1594).--Wintering of the Dutch Navigators in Nova Zembla (1596–1597).--John Knight (1606).--Murdered by the Esquimaux.-- Henry Hudson (1607–1609).--Baffin (1616).
Long before Columbus sailed from the port of Palos (1492) on that ever-memorable voyage which changed the geography of the world, the Scandinavians had already found the way to North America. From Greenland, which was known to them as early as the ninth century, and which they began to colonize in the year 985, they sailed farther to the west, and gradually extended their discoveries from the coasts of Labrador, Nova Scotia, and Newfoundland, to those of the present State of Rhode Island, which, from the wild vines they there found growing in abundance, they called the “good Vinland.”
But a long series of disasters destroyed their Greenland colonies about the end of the fourteenth century, and as Scandinavia itself had at that time but very little intercourse with the more civilized nations of Southern Europe, it is not to be wondered at that, despite the discoveries of Günnbjorn and Eric the Red, the great western continent remained unknown to the world in general.
One of the first consequences of the achievements of Columbus was the rediscovery of the northern part of America, for the English merchants longed to have a share of the commerce of India; and as the Pope had assigned the eastern route to the Portuguese and the western one to the Spaniards, they resolved to ascertain whether a third and shorter way to the Spice Islands, or to the fabulous golden regions of the east, might not be found by steering to the north-west. In pursuance of these views John and Sebastian Cabot sailed in 1497 from Bristol, at that time our first commercial port, and discovered the whole American coast from Labrador to Virginia. They failed indeed in the object of their mission, but they laid the first foundations of the future colonial greatness of England.
A second voyage, in 1498, by Sebastian Cabot alone, without the companionship of his father, had no important results, but in a third voyage which he undertook in search of a north-west passage, at Henry VIII.’s expense, in 1516 or 1517, it is tolerably certain that that great navigator discovered the two straits which now bear the names of Davis and Hudson.
The French expeditions of Verazzani (1523) and Jacques Cartier (1524), however memorable in other respects, having been as unsuccessful as those of Cortereal (1500) or Gomez (1524) in discovering the desired north-western passage, Sebastian Cabot, who in 1549 was created Grand Pilot of England, started in his old age another idea, which has become almost equally momentous in the history of Arctic discovery--the search for a north-eastern route to China. Accordingly, in the year 1553, a squadron of three small vessels, under the command of Sir Hugh Willoughby, Chancellor, and Durfoorth, set sail from Ratcliffe, with the vain hope of reaching India by sailing round North Asia, the formation and vast extent of which were at that time totally unknown.
Off Senjan, an island on the Norwegian coast in lat. 69½°, the ships parted company in a stormy night, never to meet again. Willoughby and Durfoorth reached the coast of Nova Zembla, and ultimately sought a harbor in Lapland on the west side of the entrance into the White Sea, where the captain-general, officers, and crews of both ships were miserably frozen to death, as some Russian fishermen ascertained in the following spring. How long they sustained the severity of the weather is not known, but the journals and a will found on board the “Admiral” proved that Sir Hugh Willoughby and most of that ship’s company were alive in January, 1554. They died the victims of inexperience; for had they, as Sir John Richardson remarks, been skilled in hunting and clothing themselves, and taken the precaution moreover of laying in at the beginning of the winter a stock of mossy turf such as the country produces for fuel, and above all had they secured a few of the very many seals and belugæ which abounded in the sea around them, they might have preserved their lives and passed an endurable winter.
Chancellor was either more fortunate or more skillful, for after having long been buffeted about by stormy weather, he eventually reached St. Nicholas, in the White Sea. From thence he proceeded overland to Moscow, and delivered his credentials to the Czar, Ivan Vasilovitch, from whom he obtained many privileges for the company of merchants who had fitted out the expedition. In 1554 he returned to England, and shortly afterwards was sent back to Russia by Queen Mary for the purpose of negotiating a treaty of commerce between the two nations. Having satisfactorily accomplished his mission, he once more set sail from the White Sea, accompanied by a Muscovite ambassador. But this time the return voyage was extremely unfortunate, for Chancellor, after losing two of his vessels off the coast of Norway, was carried by a violent tempest into the Bay of Pitsligo, in Scotland, where his ship was wrecked. He endeavored to save the ambassador and himself in a boat, but the small pinnace was upset; and although the Russian safely reached the strand, the Englishman, after having escaped so many dangers in the Arctic Ocean, was drowned within sight of his native shores.
In 1556 the Muscovy Company fitted out the Serchthrift pinnace, under the command of Stephen Burrough, for discovery towards the River Obi and farther search for a north-east passage. This small vessel reached the strait between Nova Zembla and Vaigats, called by the Russians the Kara Gate, but the enormous masses of ice that came floating through the channel compelled it to return.
In spite of these repeated disappointments, the desire to discover a northern route to India was too great to allow an enterprising nation like the English to abandon the scheme as hopeless.
Thus in the days of Elizabeth the question of the north-west passage was again revived, and Martin Frobisher, who had solicited merchants and nobles during fifteen years for means to undertake “the only great thing left undone in the world,” sailed in the year 1576 with three small vessels of 35, 30, and 10 tons, on no less an errand than the circumnavigation of Northern America. The reader may smile at the ignorance which encouraged such efforts, but he can not fail to admire the iron-hearted man who ventured in such wretched nutshells to face the Arctic seas. The expedition safely reached the coasts of Greenland and Labrador, and brought home some glittering stones, the lustre of which was erroneously attributed to gold. This belief so inflamed the zeal for new expeditions to “Meta Incognita,” as Frobisher had named the coasts he had discovered, that he found no difficulty in equipping three ships of a much larger size, that they might be able to hold more of the anticipated treasure. At the entrance of the straits which still bear his name, he was prevented by the gales and drift-ice from forcing a passage to the sea beyond, but having secured about 200 tons of the supposed golden ore, the expedition was considered eminently successful. A large squadron of fifteen vessels was consequently fitted out in 1578 for a third voyage, and commissioned not only to bring back an untold amount of treasure, but also to take out materials and men to establish a colony on those desolate shores. But this grand expedition, which sailed with such extravagant hopes, was to end in disappointment. One of the largest vessels was crushed by an iceberg at the entrance of the strait, and the others were so beaten about by storms and obstructed by fogs that they were at length glad to return to England without having done any thing for the advancement of geographical knowledge. The utter worthlessness of the glittering stones having meanwhile been discovered, Frobisher relinquished all further attempts to push his fortunes in the northern regions, and sought new laurels in a sunnier clime. He accompanied Drake to the West Indies, commanded subsequently one of the largest vessels opposed to the Spanish Armada, and ended his heroic life while attacking a small French fort in behalf of Henry IV. during the war with the League.
The discovery of the North-western Passage was, however, still the great enterprise of the day, and thus sundry London merchants again “cast in their adventure,” and sent out John Davis, in 1585, with his two ships, “Sunshine” and “Moonshine,” carrying, besides their more necessary equipments, a band of music “to cheer and recreate the spirits of the natives.” Davis arrived in sight of the south-western coast of Greenland, where he saw a high mountain (Sukkertoppen) towering like a cone of silver over the fog which veiled the dismal shore. The voyagers were glad to turn from the gloomy scene, and to steer through the open water to the north-west, where, on August 6, they discovered land in latitude 66° 40´ altogether free from “the pesters of ice, and ankered in a very fair rode.” A friendly understanding was established with the Esquimaux, and a lively traffic opened, the natives eagerly giving their skins and furs for beads and knives, until a brisk wind separated the strange visitants from their simple-minded friends. The remainder of the season was spent in exploring Cumberland Sound and the entrance to Frobisher’s and Hudson’s Straits.
In the following year Davis undertook a second voyage to the north-west, for which the “Sunshine” and “Moonshine” were again engaged, with two other vessels. On June 29, 1586, he landed on the coast of Greenland, in latitude 64°, and soon after steered to the west. The enormous ice-floes which, as is well known, come drifting from Baffin’s Bay until the season is far advanced, opposed his progress. For some days he coasted these floating islands, when a fog came on, during which ropes, sails, and cordage were alike fast frozen, and the seamen, hopeless of accomplishing the passage, warned their commander that “by his over-boldness he might cause their widows and fatherless children to give him bitter curses.”
Touched by this appeal, Davis ordered two of his ships to return home, and pushing on in the “Moonshine” with the boldest of his followers, he reached the American shore, which he coasted from 67° to 57° of latitude. Off the coast of Labrador two of his sailors were killed by the natives, and September being ushered in by violent gales, he gave up further attempts for the year, and returned to England.
On June 16, 1587, we once more find him on the coast of Greenland, in his old tried bark the “Sunshine,” in company with the “Elizabeth” and a pinnace. The supplies for this third voyage being furnished under the express condition that the expenses should be lightened as much as possible by fishing at all suitable times, the two larger ships were stationed for the purpose near the part of the coast which they had formerly visited, while Davis steered forward in the small and ill-conditioned vessel which alone remained at his disposal. He first sailed along the Greenland coast as far as 72° lat., where, having fairly entered Baffin’s Bay, he named the point at which he touched Sanderson’s Hope, in honor of his chief patron, and then steered to the west, until he once more fell in with the ice-barrier which had prevented his progress the year before. Time and perseverance, however, overcame all obstacles, and by July 19 he had crossed to the opposite side of the strait which bears his name. He then sailed for two days up Cumberland Strait--which, it will be remembered, he discovered on his first expedition--but believing this passage to be an inclosed gulf, he returned, and again passing the entrance to Hudson’s Bay without an effort to investigate it, repaired to the rendezvous appointed for the two whaling-vessels to meet him on their way to England. But who can paint his astonishment and consternation when he found that his companions had sailed away, leaving him to find his way home in his miserable pinnace, which, however, landed him safely on his native shores? This was the last of the Arctic voyages of that great navigator, for the spirit of the nation was chilled by his three successive disappointments; and all the zeal with which he pleaded for a fourth expedition proved fruitless.
He subsequently made five voyages to the East Indies, and was killed on December 27, 1605, on the coast of Malacca, in a fight with the Malays.
Seven years after Davis’s last Arctic voyage the Dutch made their first appearance on the scene of northern discovery. This persevering people had just then succeeded in casting off the Spanish yoke, and was now striving to gain, by the development of his maritime trade, a position among the neighboring states, which the smallness of its territory seemed to deny to it. All the known avenues to the treasures of the south were at that time too well guarded by the fleets of Portugal and Spain to admit of any rivalry; but if fortune favored them in finding the yet unexplored northern passage to India, they might still hope to secure a lion’s share in that most lucrative of trades.
Animated by this laudable spirit of enterprise, the merchants of Amsterdam, Enkhuizen, and Middelburg fitted out in 1594 an expedition in quest of the north-eastern passage, which they intrusted to the command of Cornelius Corneliszoon, Brant Ysbrantzoon, and William Barentz, one of the most experienced seamen of the day. The three vessels sailed from the Texel on June 6, and having reached the coast of Lapland, separated into two divisions; Barentz choosing the bolder course of coasting the west side of Nova Zembla as far as the islands of Orange, the most northerly points of the archipelago; while his less adventurous comrades were contented to sail along the Russian coast until they reached a strait, to which they gave the very appropriate name of Vaigats, or “Wind-hole.” Forcing their way through the ice, which almost constantly blocks up the entrance to the Kara Sea, they saw, on rounding a promontory at the other end of the strait, a clear expanse of blue open sea, stretching onward as far as the eye could reach, while the continent trended away rapidly towards the south-east. They now no longer doubted that they had sailed round the famous Cape Tabin--a fabulous headland, which, according to Pliny (an indisputable authority in those times of geographical ignorance), formed the northern extremity of Asia, from whence the voyage was supposed to be easy to its eastern and southern shores. Little did Brant and Cornelius dream that within the Arctic Circle the Asiatic coast still stretched 120° to the east; and fully trusting their erroneous impressions, they started in full sail for Holland, eager to bring to their countrymen the news of their imaginary success. Off Russian Lapland they fell in with Barentz, who, having arrived at the northern extremity of Nova Zembla--a higher latitude than any navigator is recorded to have reached before--had turned back before strong opposing winds and floating ice, and the three vessels returned together to Texel.
Such were the hopes raised by the discovery of the imaginary Cape Tabin that, losing sight of their habitual caution, the merchants of Middelburg, Enkhuizen, Rotterdam, and Amsterdam immediately fitted out a fleet of six ships, laden with all sorts of merchandise fit for the Indian market. A little yacht was added, which was to accompany the fleet as far as that promontory, and thence to return with the good news that the squadron had been left steering with a favorable wind right off to India. But, as may well be supposed, these sanguine hopes, built on the unsubstantial fabric of a vision, were doomed to a woful disappointment, for the “Wind-hole Strait,” doing full justice to its name, did not allow the vessels to pass; and after fruitless efforts to force their way through the ice-blocks which obstructed that inhospitable channel, they returned crestfallen to the port whence they had sailed a few months before with such brilliant expectations.
Although great disappointment was felt at this failure, the scheme of sailing round Cape Tabin to India was, however, not abandoned by the persevering Amsterdamers; and, on May 16, 1596, Heemskerk, Barentz, and Cornelis Ryp once more started for the north-east. Bear Island and Spitzbergen were discovered, whereupon the ships separated, Cornelis and Heemskerk returning to Holland, while Barentz, slowly making his way through the fog and ice, advanced to the most northern point of Nova Zembla, the crew being encouraged by the tidings that from the high cliffs of Orange Island clear open water had been seen to the south-east. The effort to reach this inviting channel was frustrated by the ice, which gathered about the ship as it lay near shore, and gradually collecting under and around it, raised it far above the level of the sea. All hope of return before the next summer now vanished, but these brave sailors submitted with resignation to their fate, “though much grieved,” says Gerrit de Veer, who was himself an eye-witness of all the incidents he relates, “to live there all that cold winter, which we knew would fall out to be extremely bitter.” Fortunately a quantity of drift-wood was found on the strand, which served the Dutchmen both for the construction of a small hut and for fuel.
As early as September the ground was frozen so hard that they tried in vain to dig a grave for a dead comrade, and their cramped fingers could hardly build the hut, which was the more necessary, as the vessel, cracking under the pressure of the ice, gave signs of speedily breaking up altogether. By the middle of October the rude dwelling was completed, and though its accommodation was scanty, they were glad to take up their abode in it at once. The best place by the central fire was assigned to a sick comrade, while all the rest arranged their beds as best they could on shelves which had been built round the walls. An examination into the state of their provisions showed the necessity of reducing their daily rations of bread, cheese, and wine, but by setting traps they caught a good many Arctic foxes, which gave them an occasional supply of fresh food. The sun had now entirely taken his departure, and the long winter night of the 75° 43´ of latitude set in, during which snowdrifts and impetuous winds confined them to their miserable hut.
“We looked pitifully one upon the other,” says De Veer, “being in great fear that if the extremity of the cold grew to be more and more, we should all die there of cold, for that what fire soever we made would not warm us.”
The ice was now two inches thick upon the walls, and even on the sides of their sleeping cots and the very clothes they wore were whitened with frost. Yet in the midst of all their sufferings these brave men maintained cheerful hearts; and so great was their elasticity of spirit that, remembering January 5 was Twelfth Eve, they resolved to celebrate it as best they might. “And then,” says the old chronicler, “we prayed our Maister that we might be merry that night, and said that we were content to spend some of the wine that night which we had spared, and which was our share (one glass) every second day, and whereof for certaine days we had not dranke, and so that night we made merry and drew for king. And therewith we had two pounds of meal, whereof we made pancakes with oyle, and every man had a white biscuit which we sopt in the wine. And so supposing that we were in our owne country and amongst our friends, it comforted us well as if we had made a great banquet in our owne house. And we also made trinkets, and our gunner was king of Novaya Zemlya, which is at least 800 miles long and lyeth between two seas.”
On January 24 the edge of the sun appeared above the horizon, and the sight was a joyful one indeed. Now also the furious snow-storm ceased, and though the severity of the cold continued unabated, they were better able to brave the outer air and to recruit their strength by exercise. With the return of daylight the bears came again about the house, and some being shot, afforded a very seasonable supply of grease, so that they were able to burn lamps and pass the time in reading.
When summer returned it was found impossible to disengage the ice-bound vessel, and the only hopes of escaping from this dreary prison now rested on two small boats, in which they finally quitted the scene of so much suffering on June 14, 1596. On the fourth day of their voyage their barks became surrounded by enormous masses of floating ice, which so crushed and injured them that the crews, giving up all hope, took a solemn leave of each other. But in this desperate crisis they owed their preservation to the presence of mind and agility of De Veer, who, with a well-secured rope, leaped from one ice-block to another till he reached a larger floe, on which first the sick, then the stores, the crews, and finally the boats themselves were fairly landed. Here they were obliged to remain while the boats underwent the necessary repairs, and during this detention upon a floating ice raft the gallant Barentz closed the eventful voyage of his life. He died as he had lived, calmly and bravely, thinking less of himself than of the welfare of his fellow-sufferers, for his last words were directions as to the course in which they were to steer. His death was bitterly mourned by the rough men under his command, and even the prospect of a return to their homes could not console them for the loss of their beloved leader. After a most tedious passage (for by July 28 they had only reached the southern extremity of Nova Zembla) they at length, at the end of August, arrived at Kola, in Russian Lapland, where, to their glad surprise, they found their old comrade, John Cornelison Ryp, with whom they returned to Amsterdam.
Meanwhile the spirit of discovery had once more recovered in England from the chill thrown upon it by so many previous disappointments. In 1602, Weymouth, while attempting to sail up the promising inlet, now so well-known as the entrance to Hudson’s Bay, was repulsed by a violent storm, and in 1606 a melancholy issue awaited the next expedition to the north-west, which sailed under the command of John Knight, a brave and experienced sailor. Driven by stormy weather among the drift-ice on the coast of Labrador, Knight was fain to take shelter in the first cove that presented itself, and lost no time in ordering his damaged ship of forty tons to be drawn high up on the dry sand beyond the tide mark, where she might undergo the necessary repairs.
This position, however, not proving satisfactory, he manned his boat next day, and while the rest of the crew were busy at work, sailed across to the other side of the inlet to seek for some more convenient anchorage. Leaving two men in charge of the boat, he landed with his mate and three of his men to explore the strange coast. They climbed the steep acclivity of the shore, lingered for a moment on the summit of the cliffs, and before disappearing on the other side exchanged greetings of farewell with their messmates in the boat, who little imagined that it was a parting forever. Evening came on, and then darkened into night; muskets were fired and trumpets sounded, but no answer was made, and eleven o’clock arriving without any sign or signal of the missing party, the men who had tarried on shore mournfully returned to the ship with the dismal tidings of the loss of their brave commander and his comrades.
During this melancholy night, passed in alternate lamentations and plans for search and rescue, the ice had so accumulated in the channel which the unfortunate Knight crossed the day before, that though the boat was speedily rigged for the expedition, and the party who occupied it were one and all uncontrollably eager to start, the morning light convinced the most sanguine of the utter impossibility of forcing their way across the gulf. Thus passed two wretched days of uncertainty, rendered doubly miserable by the inactivity to which they were condemned, when on the night of the second day the little encampment was attacked by a large party of natives, whose hostility left no doubt about the fate which had befallen their missing friends. A volley of musketry soon dispersed the savages, but fearing future attacks, the crew, now only eight in number, at once resolved to put to sea in their crazy bark, which, though deprived of its rudder, and so leaky that the pumps were obliged to be constantly at work, safely carried them to Newfoundland.
In the year 1607 Henry Hudson made the first attempt to sail across the North Pole, a plan started in 1527 by Robert Thorne, but not yet acted upon by any one during the eighty years that had since passed. He reached the east coast of Greenland in 73° of latitude, and then proceeded to the northern extremity of Spitzbergen, but all his efforts to launch forth into the unknown ocean beyond were baffled by the ice-fields that opposed his progress.
In his next voyage (1608) he vainly tried for the north-east passage, but his third voyage (1609), which he performed in the service of the Dutch, led to the discovery of the magnificent river which still bears his name, and at whose mouth the “Empire City” of the great American republic has arisen.
In April, 1610, we find him setting sail on the last and most celebrated of his voyages. In all but its commander, this expedition was miserably inadequate to the object of its mission, for it consisted only of one vessel of fifty-five tons provisioned for six months, and manned by a crew who speedily proved themselves to be utterly unworthy of their leader. On entering Hudson’s Straits, the large masses of ice which encumbered the surface of the water and the thickness of the constant fogs made them lose all courage, and they earnestly begged their commander to return at once to England. But Hudson pressed on until at last his little bark emerged into a vast open water rippling and sparkling in the morning sunshine. Hudson’s Bay expanded before him, and the enraptured discoverer was fully convinced that the north-western route to India now lay open to the mariners of England.
It was the beginning of August, and the dastardly crew considering the passage effected, urged an immediate return; but Hudson was determined on completing the adventure, and wintering, if possible, on the sunny shores of India. For three months he continued tracking the south coasts of that vast northern Mediterranean, but all his hopes of finding a new channel opening to the south proved vain, until at length the ship was frozen in on November 10 in the south-east corner of James’s Bay. A dreary winter awaited the ice-bound seamen, with almost exhausted provisions, and unfortunately without that heroic patience and concord which had sustained the courage of Barentz and his companions under trials far more severe. But spring came at last, and revived the spirits of their leader. His ship was once more afloat, once more his fancy indulged in visions of the sunny East, when, as he stepped on deck on the morning of June 21, his arms were suddenly pinioned, and he found himself in the power of three of his men.
Inquiry, remonstrance, entreaty, command, all failed to draw a word from the stubborn mutineers, and Hudson resigned himself bravely to his fate, and, with the quiet dignity of a noble nature, looked on calmly at the ominous preparations going forward. A small open boat was in waiting, and into this Hudson--his hands being previously tied behind his back--was lowered; some powder and shot and the carpenter’s box came next, followed by the carpenter himself, John King, whose name ought to be held in honorable remembrance, as he alone among the crew remained true to his master. Six invalids were also forced into the boat, which was then cut adrift, and the vessel sailed onward on its homeward course. Nothing more was ever heard of Hudson; but the ringleaders of that dark conspiracy soon paid a terrible penalty. Some fell in a fight with the Esquimaux, and others died on the homeward voyage, during which they suffered from the extremest famine.
The account of the great expanse of sea which had been reached gave new vigor to the spirit of discovery, and new expeditions sallied forth (Sir Thomas Button, 1612, Gibbons, 1614, Bylot, 1615), to seek along the western shores of Hudson’s Bay the passage which was to open the way to India. All efforts in this direction were of course doomed to disappointment, but Baffin, who sailed in 1616, with directions to try his fortune beyond Davis’s Straits, enriched geography with a new and important conquest by sailing round the enormous bay which still bears his name. During this voyage he discovered the entrances of Smith’s, Jones’s, and Lancaster Sounds, without attempting to investigate these broad highways to fields of later exploration. He believed them to be mere inclosed gulfs, and this belief became so firmly grounded in the public mind that two full centuries elapsed before any new attempt was made to seek for a western passage in this direction, while Jens Munk, a Dane, sent out in 1619 with two good vessels, under the patronage of his king, Christian IV.; Fox and James (1631–1632), Knight and Barlow (1719), Middleton (1741), Moor and Smith (1746), confined their efforts to Hudson’s Bay, and, by their repeated disappointments, made all expeditions in quest of a north-western passage appear well-nigh as chimerical as those of the knight-errants of romance.