My Arctic journal: a year among ice-fields and Eskimos

by Josephine Diebitsch Peary

They brought their dog, a sledge, a tent, a kayak (or canoe), and all their housekeeping utensils and articles of furniture, which consisted of two or three deerskins, on which the family slept; a stove made of soapstone and shaped like our dust-pans, in which they burned seal fat, using dried moss as a wick; and a dish or pot made of the same material, which they hung over their stove, and in which they melted the ice for drinking purposes and also heated their seal and walrus meat (I say heated, for we would hardly call it cooked when they take it out of the water). The skin tent put up, and these articles put in place, the house was considered furnished and ready for occupancy. Wood being almost impossible to procure, the tent was put up with narwhal tusks, which are more plentiful and answer the purpose. The tent itself is made of sealskin tanned and sewed together with narwhal sinews. These people were very curious to see the white woman, who, they were given to understand, was in the American “igloo” (house); and when Mr. Peary and I came out, they looked at both of us, and then Ikwa asked, “Soonah koonah?” Of course we did not know then what he wanted, but he soon made us understand that he wished to know which one of the two was the woman. I delighted him, and won his lasting favor, by making him a present of a knife. His wife, Mané, was almost overwhelmed by a gift of some needles; while Anadore, the elder of the two children, amused herself by making faces at her image in a small mirror that I had presented to her. It was the first time these people had seen themselves, and the parents were as much amused as the children. They asked many questions, but as we could not understand them any more than they knew what we were talking about, the whole conversation was decidedly more amusing than instructive.

A SUMMER DAY.—IKWA AND FAMILY.

Ikwa and his Quarry.

Later in the day the boys launched the whale-boat, and Mr. Peary, Gibson, Verhoeff, Matt, and myself, with our new man Ikwa, went down to Cape Cleveland, two and a half miles from Redcliffe, where the boys had beached a walrus killed by them while crossing Murchison Sound. It was very interesting to watch Ikwa cut up this enormous animal, weighing more than 1500 pounds, with an ordinary six-inch pocket-knife. So precisely did he know just where every joint was, that not once did he strike a bone, but cut the entire animal up into pieces which could be easily handled by one man, as though it had been boneless. This done, the pieces were packed in the boat, preparatory to taking them to Redcliffe. Here at Cape Cleveland we found the grass very green, and in places over two feet high. This unusual growth is explained by the presence of blubber caches, seal caches, and the ruins of an Eskimo village. We gathered many flowers, among which the yellow Arctic poppy was the most prominent, and also shot a number of little auk and a few gulls and eider-ducks. Mr. Peary hobbled along the beach on his crutches, around the cape, and had his first view up Whale Sound and Inglefield Gulf. On our return to Redcliffe, all the meat was hung up back of the house to be used in the winter for dog-food and as an occasional treat for our Eskimo family. It was a little too strong for our taste, and we decided we would resort to it only in case we were unsuccessful in getting deer.

A few days after this, early in the morning, Ikwa came running into our house, apparently much excited, crying, “Awick! Awick!” This we had learned was walrus. The boys tumbled out of their beds, and in a very few moments were in the boat with Ikwa, pulling in the direction of a spouting walrus out in McCormick Bay. In a short time they returned with a large mother walrus and her baby in tow. The mother had been killed, but the baby—a round bundle of fat about four feet long—was alive, and very much so, as we found out a little later. Mr. Peary wanted to get photographs of the little thing before it was shot, and while he was dressing, a task which was of necessity slow, the boys came into the house, leaving the baby walrus about a hundred yards up on the beach. Suddenly we heard cries for help coming from the shore. On stepping to the window, I saw one of the most comical sights I had ever seen. The little walrus was slowly but surely making his way to the waters of the bay. Mané with her baby on her back was sitting in the sand, her heels dug into it as far as she could get them, holding on to the line attached to the walrus, without apparently arresting its progress in the least, for she was being dragged through the gravel and sand quite rapidly. While I looked, Matt came rushing to her assistance, and taking hold of the line just ahead of where Mané held it, he gave it one or two turns about his wrists, and evidently thought all he had to do would be to dig his heels into the sand and hold back; but in an instant he was down in the sand too, and both he and Mané were plowing along, the sand flying, and both shouting lustily for help. So strong was this little creature that had not the other boys rushed out and secured him, he would easily have pulled Matt and Mané to the water’s edge, where, of course, they would have let him go, and he would have been a free walrus once more. I have always regretted that I did not get a “kodak” of the scene.

It was now the end of August, and active preparations were in progress for sending a party with provisions to establish an advance depot on the inland ice for the spring sledge journey across the great ice desert to the northern terminus of Greenland. It was decided that Astrup, Gibson, and Verhoeff should go on this trip, while Dr. Cook and Matt remained with Mr. Peary and myself at Redcliffe.

On September 3, all arrangements having been perfected for the inland ice-party, every one in the settlement, except Matt and Mané with her children, sailed for the head of McCormick Bay, where it had been decided that the boys should ascend the cliffs and attack the ice. Redcliffe House is about fifteen miles from the head of the bay, and this distance had to be rowed, for we got no favoring breeze. It was late in the evening when we rounded a point of land whence we could see the green valley stretching from the water’s edge back to the giant black cliffs, which here form the boundaries of the inland ice. The landscape was a beautiful one. As I looked I beheld moving objects on one of the hillsides, which, seen through the glass, seemed to me to be the size of a cow. We at once knew they were reindeer, and their apparent size was due to mirage. Astrup was landed with a Winchester at a point where he could go round and come upon the grazing herd from behind the hill; it was hoped they would not see him, and that he would bag quite a number. After landing Astrup we kept on until we were opposite the center of the valley; here our boat was run ashore, and we decided to camp.

Mr. Peary told me to take a run over the rocks and down the valley in order to get warm, as I had become chilled from sitting in the boat and not exercising for several hours; so after seeing him safely on the little knoll about twenty feet above the shore-line, where we intended to make camp, I strolled away. Upon climbing the hill, just back of the camping-ground, I came in sight of the herd of deer which we had seen from the boat, and as I watched them I saw the smoke and heard the report of Astrup’s rifle. In an instant they were scampering off in every direction, and although Astrup fired shot upon shot not one dropped. One of the animals, however, after running some distance, stumbled and fell, lay still for an instant, then got up, ran on a few yards, and fell again. As it did not rise I judged it had received one of Astrup’s bullets, and forgetting how deceptive distances are in the pure, clear air, I started on the run toward the prostrate creature, apparently not more than a mile distant. Happening to look back, I saw Dr. Cook and Ikwa coming in my direction, and waited for them. On reaching me the doctor said they were on their way to help Astrup bring in his game. I called his attention to the little white spot on the green grass, and told him it was a deer, and that I had seen it drop. As we could see nothing of Astrup, we decided to take care of the animal. Dr. Cook had his rifle loaded with twelve cartridges, Ikwa had a muzzle-loader charged, and an extra load for it besides, and I had on my cartridge-belt and revolver (a 38–caliber Colt). After walking—or trotting would perhaps express it better—for some distance, we came to a stream that flowed down the center of the valley throughout its length, which we had to cross in order to reach our destination. Fortunately the doctor had on his long-legged rubber boots, for we soon saw that the only way to get on the other side was to wade the stream. We tried it at different places, and finally the doctor found a place where he could cross. First taking his rifle and my revolver and belt of cartridges over, he returned for me and carried me across; then we continued in the direction of the white spot, which all this time had not moved. After traveling for nearly an hour we were near enough to see that beside the prostrate deer stood a tiny black-and-white creature, a fawn. Whether it saw us and whispered to its mother, I do not know; but immediately after we had made out the little one, the mother deer raised her head, looked at us, then rising slowly, started off at a moderate walk. We quickened our steps, and so did she. When within three hundred yards, Dr. Cook discharged his rifle several times, but only succeeded in wounding her in the fore leg, which did not seem to retard her progress in the least. Several times we were near enough to have shot her without any trouble, but we were so excited—a case of buck-fever, I believe the hunters call it—that she escaped every shot. To add to our difficulties the deer made for a neighboring lake, and in the effort to stop her before she reached it, we fired shot after shot until the doctor’s rifle was empty. There was now nothing for us to do but stand around and crouch behind the boulders in the hope that the poor wounded animal would come ashore within pistol-shot range. It was evident that she was too weak to swim across, and it was very touching to see how the little fawn would support its mother in the water. Once or twice she tried to climb out on the ice-foot, but the ice was not strong enough, and broke beneath her weight. We were thoroughly chilled and hungry by this time, but disliked the idea of returning empty-handed to camp after such a long absence. At last, just as we were talking of returning, we saw Astrup in the distance, and called to him to join us. When he came up to us he said he had had no luck. He had a few cartridges left in his rifle, which he expended on our victim without, however, harming her in the least. Astrup then urged us to return, as he, too, was tired out; but we were loath to leave our wounded deer, especially as we now knew it was only a matter of time when we should get her, for she could not hold out much longer. Nearer and nearer she came to the ice, finally leaning against the edge as if to gather strength, when suddenly the doctor darted over the ice-foot into the icy water, and before the startled animal realized his intention, he had her by her short horns, which were still in the velvet, and was pulling her slowly ashore. The little one then left its mother for the first time, ran as fast as it could over the rocks, and disappeared behind the cliffs.