We cannot stay long, however, for we are going to visit every house in the place. The first house is Gottlob's. He came hither from Hebron, and has enjoyed a better education than the Ramah people, most of whom grew up in heathenism. His wife's baptismal name is Lydia; as a heathen, she was Auinasuak. This is one of the best huts, but the best are poor inside as well as outside, compared to many log-houses I have seen further south. Through the low porch, without any remonstrance from the dogs, we reach a lower door. It is hot inside. Yes, there is a stove to the left, and it appears to be the only article of furniture in the room entered. Behind the partition is a very different chamber. It is furnished with the usual couches spread with skins, and on the edge of one of these, Lydia is seated. She does not rise to greet her visitors, nor does it occur to her to offer a seat. What shall she offer? A box? As with the rest of those visited, her welcome takes the form of a good-humoured laugh. One or two objects in her room testify to a refinement unusual for this station. A guitar hangs on the wall near a cage with a bird in it, and against the partition stands a piano. Fancy such an instrument in a low turf hut, even though it be but an old square piano! Here, as elsewhere, we speak a few words of kindly greeting and spiritual interest, and then take leave with "Aksunai."
The occupant of the next hut is not at home. This is indicated by two great slabs of slate, one at the entrance to his porch and one over his front (and only) window. These are more for protection against prowling dogs than dishonest men.
Now we come to the dwelling of the oldest couple, William and Hulda, whose heathen names were Nochasak and Aksuana. They are, respectively, fifty-five and fifty, but look older. Two sons live with them, of whom the elder is married. Both parents are at home, and the daughter-in-law with her first baby in her arms. Here first I notice the curious lamp, a sort of dish hollowed out in a soft stone. The wick is a kind of moss which floats in seal-oil, and gives a feeble flame apparently more for warmth than for light, for the houses are not dark.
Next to William's stand the roofless remains of an unoccupied dwelling, which may serve to show how these huts are built. It is a square enclosure three or four feet in height; the back is dug out of the sloping bank, the front wall is built up with turf. Put a roof over this and your house will be made. Two upright posts in the middle, about seven feet in height, will serve as the supports for the frame of your roof, which will also be covered with turf. The low door must be in front, facing the bay, and, both for warmth and as a shelter for the dogs, must invariably be protected by a low covered porch. Whether he be dwelling in his turf hut or sheltering in some snow hut, quickly built for a night away from home, the Eskimo enters his abode by a little tunnel, at the further end of which is the door. Just above this comes the window-frame, sometimes on a slant, better perpendicular. The window of his turf hut is semi-transparent seal bladder unless the owner of the mansion can afford and obtain glass. Now your house is complete, but lacks interior fittings. If you are an Eskimo, you do not want many. Your two poles supporting the roof may help you to partition off the sleeping places, either with boards or with curtains. These are raised about a foot from the ground, and the edge of the bed is the general seat.
Let us continue our visits to the inhabited houses, one next the other, in an irregular row. Outside them the children are playing about and seem to enjoy life. Here and there one may see a sledge, or a kayak, the skin-covered boat such as is used, by the men. The larger umiak, or women's boat, is now scarcely met with in Labrador. There are one or two light wooden skeleton frames of kayaks, but most are tightly covered with white smooth skins, cleverly sewn together by the women. Look at this one lying on the grass; it is about fifteen feet long, but you can lift the end of it quite easily. The owner paddled home in it this morning from his fishing-place at the head of the fjord, and sold fifty-two trout off the top of it to the captain, as he passed the "Harmony." His bone-pointed harpoon and a hook with a long handle are strapped on top of the canoe. Beside it lies his paddle, which the Eskimo wields so deftly and silently that even a seal may fail to detect his swift approach. Its blades at both ends are beautifully finished off with bone. I see his gun is carelessly left in the round man-hole in which he sits when afloat. It may be loaded; I hope the children will let it alone.
Passing Daniel's empty hut, for he and his family are away fishing, we call on Ikkaujak and Sakkearak (now John and Ernestine), and then on Matthew and his wife Verona, who not long ago were known as Swanzi and Akkusane. Matthew is interested to show and explain the weapons of the chase. His racket-shaped snow-shoes are the shortest I ever saw. Longer ones, unless like the Norwegian skydder, would be unpractical among these mountains. His harpoons hang on the wall next his gun. The blunt one, pointed with a walrus tooth, is used in the body of a seal, but the iron-pointed one is needed when the animal's head alone is above the water or the ice. Both are cleverly put together with wood, bone, and thongs, so arranged that when necessary head and haft easily come apart.
Some of these Ramah Eskimoes are perhaps 5 ft. 10 in. in height, and most of them look robust and strong; but little Paul's door is very low, and I must bend double to enter his hut. His heathen name was Simigak and his wife's Ikkinek when they came from Nachvak in 1881. He is not at home, but his Adolfine gives us a welcome in Eskimo fashion. There is a stove in the corner, and on it a pot with some pieces of salmon in it. A few trout are strung up to the roof. I notice a clock in the corner, but am told that it is broken. Perhaps Paul can mend it; at any rate, while I was at Hopedale some Newfoundland fishermen entrusted their ship clock to an Eskimo for repairs.
The last hut in the village is Frederick's. Some of his goods are here, but most are in the tent where we found his wife and family. A few pictures are pasted on his walls. Many houses at other stations are almost papered with pages from the Graphic and Illustrated London News.
What is your impression of Eskimo abodes now you have seen their interiors? Well, they are not prepossessing to a European with the ordinary notions of what belongs to the necessaries of life, yet they are airier and cleaner than I had expected from their exterior aspect. I am assured that there is much Christian life in those queer homes, and that in many a heart there a "candle of the Lord" has been lighted, which shines for the illumination of the dark North. If honoured with an invitation to a meal in some Eskimo hut, I would rather it were not at Ramah. In the southern stations there are some tidy log-houses, where one need not hesitate to sit down to table with Christian Eskimoes, who have learnt cleanly and tidy habits from intercourse with and the example of missionaries. Here there are no tables; the people have scarcely learnt the use of forks, and are apt to handle the knives in eating in a somewhat uncouth fashion. The meat is taken in the teeth and cut off near the mouth, so that the upward motion of the blade seems to endanger the nose at every bite, especially in the case of very small children with a very big knife.
Do my readers want to know about the gardens? There are none. Gardening is no employment for the Eskimoes; the severity of the climate and their migratory habits forbid it. Nor do they seem to have much taste for flowers, though they see them in the missionaries' gardens. They appreciate the vegetables grown there, but they do not care for the trouble of raising them for themselves.