We ran to shelter in a small cove and under the lee of a ledge pitched our tent, using poles that the Eskimos had thoughtfully provided, and anchoring the tent down with bowlders.
When I say the rocks here are scoured bare, I mean it literally. There was not a stick of wood growing as big as your finger. On the lower George, below the Narrows, and for long distances on the Ungava coast there is absolutely not a tree of any kind to be seen. The only exception is in one or two bays or near the mouth of streams, where a stunted spruce growth is sometimes found in small patches. There are places where you may skirt the coast of Ungava Bay for a hundred miles and not see a shrub worthy the name of tree, even in the bays.
The Koksoak (Big) River, on which Fort Chimo is situated, is the largest river flowing into Ungava Bay. The George is the second in size, and Whale River ranks third. Between the George River and Whale River there are four smaller ones—Tunulik (Back) River, Kuglotook (Overflow) River, Tuktotuk (Reindeer) River and Mukalik (Muddy) River; and between Whale River and the Koksoak the False River. I crossed all of these streams and saw some of them for several miles above the mouth. The Koksoak, Mukalik and Whale Rivers are regularly traversed by the Indians, but the others are too swift and rocky for canoes. There are several streams to the westward of the Koksoak, notably Leaf River, and a very large one that the Eskimos told me of, emptying into Hope’s Advance Bay, but these I did not see and my knowledge of them is limited to hearsay.
The hills in the vicinity of George River are generally high, but to the westward they are much lower and less picturesque.
After our camp was pitched we had an opportunity for the first time to make the acquaintance of our companions. The chief was a man of about forty years of age, Potokomik by name, which, translated, means a hole cut in the edge of a skin for the purpose of stretching it. The next in importance was Kumuk. Kumuk means louse, and it fitted the man’s nature well. The youngest was Iksialook (Big Yolk of an Egg). Potokomik had been rechristened by a Hudson’s Bay Company agent “Kenneth,” and Kumuk, in like manner, had had the name of “George” bestowed upon him, but Iksialook bad been overlooked or neglected in this respect, and his brain was not taxed with trying to remember a Christian cognomen that none of his people would ever call or know him by.
Potokomik was really a remarkable man and proved most faithful to us. It is, in fact, to his faithfulness and control over the others, particularly Kumuk, that Easton and I owe our lives, as will appear later. He was at one time conjurer of the Kangerlualuksoakmiut, or George River Eskimos, and is still their leader, but during a visit to the Atlantic coast, some three or four years ago, he came under the influence of a missionary, embraced Christianity, and abandoned the heathen conjuring swindle by which he was, up to that time, making a good living. Now he lives a life about as clean and free from the heathenism and superstitions of his race as any Eskimo can who adopts a new religion. The missionary whom I have mentioned led Potokomik’s mother to accept Christ and renounce Torngak when she was on her deathbed, and before she died she confessed to many sins, amongst them that of having aided in the killing and eating, when driven to the act by starvation, of her own mother.
After our tent was pitched and the Eskimos had spread the Explorer’s sail as a shelter for themselves, Kumuk and Iksialook left us to look for driftwood and, in half an hour, returned with a few small sticks that they had found on the shore. These sticks were exceedingly scarce and, of course, very precious and with the greatest economy in the use of the wood, a fire was made and the kettle boiled for tea.
At first the Eskimos were always doing unexpected things and springing surprises upon us, but soon we became more or less accustomed to their ways. Not one of them could talk or understand English and my Eskimo vocabulary was limited to the one word “Oksu-nae,” and we therefore had considerable difficulty in making each other understand, and the pantomime and various methods of communication resorted to were often very funny to see. Potokomik and I started in at once to learn what we could of each other’s language, and it is wonderful how much can be accomplished in the ac-quirement of a vocabulary in a short time and how few words are really necessary to convey ideas. I would point at the tent and say, “Tent,” and he would say, “Tupek”; or at my sheath knife and say, “Knife,” and he would say, “Chevik,” and thus each learned the other’s word for nearly everything about us and such words as “good,” “bad,” “wind” and so on; and in a few days we were able to make each other understand in a general way, with our mixed English and Eskimo.
The northeast wind and low-hanging clouds of the morning carried into execution their threat, and all Sunday afternoon and all day Monday the snowstorm raged with fury. I took pity on the Eskimos and on Sunday night invited all of them to sleep in our tent, but only Potokomik came, and on Monday morning, when I went out at break of day, I found the other two sleeping under a snowdrift, for the lean-to made of the boat sail had not protected them much. After that they accepted my invitation and joined us in the tent.
It did not clear until Tuesday morning, and then we hoisted sail and started forward out of the river and into the broad, treacherous waters of Hudson Straits, working with the oars to keep warm and accelerate progress, for the wind was against us at first until we turned out of the river, and we had long tacks to make.