Again, on the American coast "Am-a-luk-tuk" signifies plenty, while on the Siberian coast it is "Num-kuck-ee." "Tee-tee-tah" means needles in Siberia, in Alaska it is "mitkin." In the latter place when asking for tobacco they say "te-ba-muk," while the Asiatics say "salopa." That a number of dialects exists around Bering straits is apparent to the most superficial observer. The difference in the language becomes apparent after leaving Norton sound. The interpreter we took from Saint Michael's could only with difficulty understand the natives at Point Barrow, while at Saint Lawrence island and on the Asiatic side he could understand nothing at all. At East cape we saw natives who, though apparently alike, did not understand each other's language. I saw the same thing at Cape Prince of Wales, the western extremity of the New World, whither a number of Eskimo from the Wankarem river, Siberia, had come to trade. Doubtless there is a community of origin in the Eskimo tongue, and these verbal divergencies may be owing to the want of written records to give fixity to the language, since languages resemble living organisms by being in a state of continual change. Be that as it may, we know that this people has imported a number of words from coming in contact with another language, just as the French have incorporated into their speech "le steppeur," "l'outsider," "le high life," "le steeple chase," "le jockey club," etc.—words that have no correlatives in French—so the Eskimo has appropriated from the whalers words which, as verbal expressions of his ideation, are undoubtedly better than anything in his own tongue. One of these is "by and by," which he uses with the same frequency that a Spaniard does his favorite mañana por la mañano. In this instance the words express the state of development and habits of thought—one the lazy improvidence of the Eskimo, and the other the "to-morrow" of the Spaniard, who has indulged that propensity so far that his nation has become one of yesterday.
The change of the Eskimo language brought about by its coming in contact with another forms an important element in its history, and has been mentioned by the older writers, also by Gilder, who reports a change in the language of the Iwillik Eskimo to have taken place since the advent among them of the white men. Among other peculiarities of their phraseology occurs the word "tanuk," signifying whiskey, and it is said to have originated with an old Eskimo employed by Moore as a guide and dog-driver when he wintered in Plover bay. Every day about noon that personage was in the habit of taking his appetizer and usually said to the Eskimo, "Come, Joe, let's take our tonic." Like most of his countrymen, Joe was not slow to learn the meaning of the word, and to this day the firm hold "tanuk" has on the language is only equalled by the thirst for the fluid which the name implies. Among the Asiatic Eskimo the word "um-muck" is common for "rum," while "em-mik" means water. Even words brought by whalers from the South Sea islands have obtained a footing, such as "kow-kow" for food, a word in general use, and "pow" for "no," or "not any." They also call their babies "pick-a-nee-nee," which to many persons will suggest the Spanish word or the Southern negro idiom for "baby." The phrase "pick-a-nee-nee kowkow" is the usual formula in begging food for their children. An Eskimo, having sold us a reindeer, said it would be "mazinkah kow-kow" (good eating), and one windy day we were hauling the seine, and an Eskimo seeing its empty condition when pulled on to the beach, said, "'Pow' fish; bimeby 'pow' wind, plenty fish."
The fluency with which some of these fellows speak a mixture of pigeon English and whaleman's jargon is quite astonishing, and suggests the query whether their fluency results from the aggressiveness of the English or is it an evidence of their aptitude? It seems wonderful how a people we are accustomed to look upon as ignorant, benighted and undeveloped, can learn to talk English with a certain degree of fluency and intelligibility from the short intercourse held once a year with a few passing ships. How many "hoodlums" in San Francisco, for instance, learn anything of Norwegian or German from frequenting the wharves? How many "wharf rats" or stevedores in New York learn anything of these languages from similar intercourse? Or, for that matter, we may ask, How many New York pilots have acquired even the smallest modicum of French from boarding the steamers of the Compagnie Générale Transatlantique?
From a few examples it will be seen that the usage followed by the Eskimo in its grammatical variations rests on the fixity of the radical syllable and upon the agglomeration of the different particles intended to modify the primitive sense of this root, that is to say upon the principle of agglutinative languages. One or two instances may suffice to show the agglutinate character of the language. Canoe is "o-me-uk;" ship "o-me-uk-puk;" steamer "o-me-uk-puk-ignelik;" and this composite mechanical structure reaches its climax in steam-launch, which they call "o-me-uk-puk-ignelik-pick-a-nee-nee."
For snow and ice in their various forms there are also many words which show further the polysynthetic structure of the language—a fact contrary to that primitive condition of speech where there are no inflections to indicate the relations of the words to each other. It will not do to omit "O-kee-chuck" from this enumeration—a word signifying trade, barter, or sale, and one most commonly heard among these people. When they wish to say a thing is bad they use "A-shu-ruk," and when disapproval is meant they say "pe-chuk." The latter word also expresses general negation. For instance, on looking into several unoccupied houses a native informs us "Innuit pechuk," meaning that the people are away or not at home; "Allopar" is cold, and "allopar pechuk" is hot. Persons fond of tracing resemblances may find in "Ignik" (fire) a similarity to the Latin ignis or the English "ignite," and from "Un-gi doo-ruk" (big, huge) the transition down to "hunky-dory" is easy. Those who see a sort of complemental relation to each other of linguistic affinity and the conformity in physical characters may infer from "Mikey-doo-rook" (a term of endearment equivalent to "Mavourneen" and used in addressing little children) that the inhabitants within the Polar Circle have something of the Emerald Isle about them. But no, they are not Irish, for when they are about to leave the ship or any other place for their houses they say "to hum"; consequently they are Yankees.
I do not wish to be thought frivolous in my notions regarding the noble science of philology; but when one considers the changes that language is constantly undergoing, the inability of the human voice to articulate more than twenty distinct sounds, and the wonderful amount of ingenious learning that has been wasted by philologists on trifling subjects, one is disposed to associate many of their deductions with the savage picture-writing on Dighton Rock, the Cardiff Giant, and the old wind-mill at Newport.
ESKIMO DIETETICS.
Attempts to trace or discover the origin of races through supposed philological analogies do not possess the advantage of certainty afforded by the study of the means by which individuals of the race supply the continuous demands of the body with the nutriment necessary to maintain life and health.
Everybody has heard of the seal, bear, walrus, and whale in connection with Eskimo dietetics, and doubtless the stomachs of most persons would revolt at the idea of eating these animals, the taste for which, by the way, is merely a matter of early education or individual preference, for there is no good reason why they should not be just as palatable to the northern appetite as pig, sheep, and beef are to the inhabitants of temperate latitudes. As food they renew the nitrogenous tissues, reconstruct the parts and restore the functions of the Eskimo frame, prolong his existence, and produce the same animal contentment and joy as the more civilized viands of the white man's table. There are more palatable things than bear or eider duck, yet I know many persons to whom snails, olive oil, and paté de fois gras are more repugnant. A tray full of hot seal entrails, a bowl of coagulated blood, and putrid fish are not very inviting or lickerish to ordinary mortals, yet they have their analogue in the dish of some farmers who eat a preparation of pig's bowels known as "chitterlings," and in the blood-puddings and Limburger cheese of the Germans. Blubber-oil and whale are not very dainty dishes, yet consider how many families subsist on half-baked saleratus biscuits, salted pork, and oleomargarine.
On the mess table of the Fur Company's establishment at St. Paul island, seal meat is a daily article of consumption, and from personal experience I can testify as to its palatability, although it reminded one of indifferent beef rather overdone. Hair seal and bear steaks were on different occasions tried at the mess on board the Corwin, but everybody voted eider duck and reindeer the preference. It is not so very long since that whale was a favorite article of diet in England and Holland, and Arctic whalemen still, to my personal knowledge, use the freshly tried oil in cooking; for instance in frying cakes, for which they say it answers the purpose as well as the finest lard, while others breakfast on whale and potatoes prepared after the manner of codfish balls. The whale I have tasted is rather insipid eating, yet it appears to be highly nutritious, judging from the well-nourished look of natives who have lived on it, and the air of greasy abundance and happy contentment that pervades an Eskimo village just after the capture of a whale. Being ashore one day with our pilot, we met a native woman whom he recognized as a former acquaintance, and on remarking to her that she had picked up in flesh since he last saw her, she replied that she had been living on a whale all the Winter, which explained her plumpness.