When his ship had crossed Melville Bay, and lay in the grim shadows of Cape York, Dr. Hayes bethought himself of the Eskimo hunter. He remembered to have heard that Hans had fallen in love, and taken a wife, and repaired, with her at his side, to share the fortunes of the wild Eskimos who inhabit the remote northern shores of Baffin Bay.
But Dr. Hayes felt confident that the hunter, having known something of the superior comfort and happiness of the social life of civilization, would soon weary of his voluntary banishment, and of the penury and hardships of the existence of the Eskimo nomads. He made up his mind that Hans would return to Cape York, and there take up his residence, in the hope of being picked up by some passing ship.
So Dr. Hayes stood close in-shore, to find that his conjectures were completely realized. As he sailed along the coast he discovered a group of human beings eagerly endeavouring by signs and gestures to attract attention. Heaving the schooner to, he and his second in command, Mr. Sountag, went ashore in a boat, and there was Hans! The Eskimo recognized both of them immediately, and called them by name.
DR. HAYES FALLS IN WITH HANS THE HUNTER.
We may adopt the remainder of Dr. Hayes’ interesting little episode, because it illustrates the ingrained selfishness, or self-concentration, of the Eskimo character.
Hans had deteriorated greatly during his residence with the wild Eskimos, and he had sunk to their level of filthy ugliness. He was accompanied by his wife, who carried her first-born in a hood upon her back; his wife’s brother, a quick-eyed boy of twelve years; and his wife’s mother, “an ancient dame with voluble and flippant tongue.” They were all attired in the usual Eskimo dress of skins; objects of interest and curiosity, but not “things of beauty.”
Hans led his visitors, over rough rocks and through deep drifts of snow, to his rude hut, which stood on the cold hill-top, about two hundred feet above the sea-level. An excellent position for a “look-out,” but as inconvenient for a hunter as can well be imagined. Here he had watched and waited for many a dreary month; surveying the sea day after day, in the faint hope of discovering some European vessel. But none came; summer passed into winter, and winter lengthened into summer; and still Hans watched and waited, yearning after his southern home and the friends of his youth.
His tent—for it was rather a tent than a hut—was made of seal-skins, and its capacity was scarcely sufficient to accommodate his little family.