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

by Josephine Diebitsch Peary

Here we found a great many natives, probably sixty, most of whom we had already seen at Redcliffe during the winter. In addition to the regular inhabitants of the place there were a half-dozen families from Cape York and its vicinity, who were stopping in snow-igloos on their way home from Redcliffe. The winter is their visiting time, and only during this season do the inhabitants of one place see those of another; they travel for miles and miles over the ice, some with dogs and some without, but there is invariably at least one sledge with every party. This year the travel has been unusually brisk, owing to the American settlement, which all were anxious to visit. Where a family has a sledge and two or three dogs, they load it with a piece of raw walrus or seal (enough to last them from one village to the next), anything and everything that can be scraped together for trade, one or two deerskins for bedding, and the smallest child that has outgrown the mother’s hood. The rest of the family then take turns in riding, one at a time, while two push the sledge.

On our arrival at the igloos we were immediately surrounded by the natives; two very old women in particular were led to me, and one of them, putting her face close to mine—much closer than I relished—scrutinized me carefully from head to foot, and then said slowly, “Uwanga sukinuts amissuare, koona immartu ibly takoo nahme,” which means, “I have lived a great many suns, but have never seen anything like you.”

We had brought our things up to the igloos and intended to get our supper on the hill, but the native odor, together with that of passé pussy (seal) and awick (walrus) lying about, was too strong, and I suggested that we return to the sledge. The two old women who first greeted us, despite the fact that they could not walk alone, were determined to accompany us, and they were helped down the hill to the sledge. They looked as old and feeble as women at home do between eighty and eighty-five. Never having seen such a sight, they could not let the chance go by, even at the expense of their little strength. Not being able to carry everything in one trip, I went back for the rest, preferring this to staying with the sledge, where the natives were now swarming, and wanting to handle everything they saw. When I came to the igloos again, Annowee, a Cape York woman, who had lately been to Redcliffe, began to beg me not to go down, but to have Mr. Peary come up to her; she had “ah-ah” (pain) in her knees and could not possibly make the descent. She wanted to see us as long as she could, as she would never see our like again. All this time she was not only talking loudly, but clutching at my arm whenever I turned to go, and when I said, “Utchow, utchow, wanga tigalay” (just wait, I am coming back), she said, “Peeuk,” but did not want me to take the things down for fear I should not come back. The other women now closed about me, and all begged me to stay. Mr. Peary, who remained with the sledge, was somewhat disturbed by my position, but it was all done in kindly feeling. In spite of the fact that Annowee “could not come down,” she was at the sledge almost as soon as I was.

We took our supper, after which we bartered for tanned oogzook-sinishaw (seal-thong), sealskins, bearskin trousers, and two dogs. Old Ahnahna gave me a scolding for the benefit of her companions because I would not give her a needle; she said Mr. Peary was “peudiochsoa” (very good) but “Mittie” Peary was “peeuk nahme”—that I used to give her needles, but now I would not do it, etc. While saying this she was laughing all the time, and when I gave her a cup of tea and a cracker she changed her opinion of me at once.

Mr. Peary walked to the Tyndall Glacier and took photos of it, and of the village and the natives. Kyo then hitched up the dogs, we said good-by all around, Ikwa included, and at eight o’clock left for Ittiblu.

To show how sharp these semi-savages are, I may mention the following incident: On the way from Keati to Netchiolumy we dropped at different times three snow-shoes from our sledge, but seeing Ikwa behind us pick them up, we did not stop for them. On reaching Netchiolumy he brought them to us, and said they were fine for us, were they not? We said yes. “Well,” he said, “if I had not picked them up you would not have them, and as my eyes hurt me very much, and I see you have them to spare, you should give me a pair of smoked glasses.” I thought so too, and he got what he asked for.

We had the perfection of traveling. The surface of Whale Sound was just rough enough to prevent it from being slippery, and yet so smooth that the sledge went along as if it were running on a track.

Mr. Peary, Kyo, the driver, and myself were all three seated upon the sledge, which in addition was heavily laden with our sleeping-bags, equipment, provisions, etc., and yet the nine handsome creatures, picked dogs of the tribe, who were pulling us, immediately broke into a run, and, with tails waving like plumes over their backs, kept up a brisk gait until we reached Ittiblu at two o’clock in the morning; the odometer registered 21.94 miles. The night was a beautiful one. The sun shone brightly until near midnight, when it went down like a ball of fire, tinging the sky with crimson, purple, and yellow lights, which gradually faded out and left a dull grayish blue, which in turn changed to a gray just dark enough to show us the numberless stars that studded the firmament. When we reached Ittiblu the sun came up from behind the dark cliffs of the eastern shore of Inglefield Gulf. We had been traveling sixteen hours, and were pretty well tired out. Our dogs, too, were glad to have a meal and rest.

We immediately set to work to build a snow-igloo of our own, on the icy floor of which we placed our sleeping-bags and everything that we did not wish handled by the inhabitants of the settlement. While still at work on this we were visited by two residents, Panikpah, a former visitor at Redcliffe, and Koomenahpik, his father; they showed a true native hospitality by asking us to share the comforts of their igloo—an invitation, however, which we politely declined.