The Land of Desolation: Being a Personal Narrative of Observation and Adventure in Greenland

by I. I. Hayes

The civil organization of Greenland is very simple. The six northern districts constitute the Northern Inspectorate, the inspector’s residence being at Godhavn; the six southern constitute the Southern Inspectorate, with the inspector’s residence at Godthaab. Each inspector’s authority is absolute throughout his jurisdiction, and there is no appeal, except to the home government, against his decisions and decrees; but each district within the Inspectorate has certain privileges of its own, granted by the royal will. These privileges are exercised by the Parliament, which is based upon the principle that every native is a subject of Denmark, and amenable to Danish law. Happily, in the administration of that law the people themselves are not denied a voice.

The idea of a Greenland Parliament struck me as something ludicrous when I first heard of it; but upon gaining an intimate acquaintance with its workings, I changed my mind, and became convinced that if all Parliaments did their work only half as well, the world would be better governed.

The population of Greenland at the present time equals about 7000 souls—an average to each of the twelve districts of near 600. In the district of Julianashaab there are about 800 people, distributed, along the line of its extended coast of a hundred and fifty miles, in a number of small settlements, all pitched either upon the shore of the main-land or some outlying island (it must be borne in mind that the interior is nowhere inhabitable), at some point where there is a convenient harbor. These are all outposts of the capital town of Julianashaab, and their affairs are regulated according to orders received from the governor, or bestyrere, of Julianashaab. Each one is presided over by a Dane or half-breed, whose principal business is to keep the Company’s accounts, dispose of the Company’s stores, and to gather products for the Company’s profit. The stores are brought annually by ship to Julianashaab, and thence they are distributed to the various outposts, and, in like manner, the products are gathered at Julianashaab by the time the ship arrives. These products consist of stock fish (the cod, dried without salt), eider-down, furs, seal-skins, and blubber, of which the latter furnishes the chief profit.

The Greenlanders, and not the Danes, do the principal hunting and fishing. The store-house of the station is the place of trade, and at certain hours of the day the bestyrere is obliged to have his place of business open.

Now these Greenlanders, or Esquimaux, are not prone to be governed; yet the Danish rule is satisfactory to them, and they submit to it without a murmur, and none the less readily that they have a voice in their own affairs. Each little town or hunting-station is at liberty to send up a representative to sit in the Parliament of Julianashaab. The number of representatives is twelve. The names of the most important towns besides the capital are Nenortalik, Fredericksdal, Lichtenau (these two latter are missions of the Moravian Brethren), Igalliko, and Kraksimeut.

The Parliament-house is not an imposing edifice. I should say its dimensions are about sixteen by twenty feet. It is one story high, is built of boards, lined on the inside, and painted blue, and on the outside is plastered over with pitch. It has no lobby for the accommodation of people who come to the capital with axes for the public grindstone, nor committee-rooms for the better confusion of the public business.

In the centre of the one room there stands a long table of plain pine boards, and along either side there is one long bench of the same material; and on each bench sit six Parliamentarians, dressed in seal-skin pantaloons and boots, and Guernsey frocks, with broad suspenders across their shoulders. The faces of these Parliamentarians are all of a very dusky hue, the color of their hair is very black, and it does not seem to have any greater familiarity with combs and brushes than their faces with soap and towels. However, they are an amiable-looking party—at least they grin and show their fine white teeth when I enter, and are altogether, perhaps, quite clean enough for ordinary Parliamentary work. Every man of them has a pencil in his hand and a piece of paper on the table before him, and each one is as busy taking notes thereon as some of our own honorable members are said to be in taking “notes” of another description.

A GREENLAND PARLIAMENT IN SESSION.

But I must not neglect to mention one article of the Parliamentary costume, for it shines out so conspicuously that it must be noticed—I mean the official cap (always worn when the House is in session), which is supplied to each member by royal bounty. This cap is of the brightest kind of scarlet cloth, with a broad gilt band around it; the royal emblems are emblazoned in front, and above these there is a golden polar bear, with a crown on his head, standing uncomfortably on his hind legs, to typify Greenland. There is a thirteenth cap at the head of the table, and this thirteenth cap covers the head of the genial Mr. Anthon, pastor of Julianashaab, and president of the Julianashaab Parliament, ex officio.