Young dogs have to learn that everything on the sled is rigorously taboo—for them. Not to be touched, or so much as sniffed at, on any account whatever. This lesson can only be enforced by many a whipping. For Youngster does so love to stroll past the sled with a preoccupied air, hands in pocket as it were. If he were a human being he would hum a hymn tune. Then, just in that flick of time when no one seems to be looking, he steals a mouthful of seal-meat or blubber. Instantly retribution envelops him. He is severely thrashed. If an experience of this sort repeated once or twice does not cure him his master becomes harsh indeed. The hunter must at all costs gain and keep the ascendancy over his dogs. The thief has his head forced hard back with the mouth wide open, and the man smashes out the two long upper fangs with the back of his hunting knife. That bit of violence completes this part of Youngster’s spartan education.
He graduates by learning how to smell for seal holes in the ice, how to tackle a bear, how to defend himself, how to guard the tent or igloo, how to brave every extreme of bitter weather. When an Eskimo dog knows all this he becomes a valuable asset to his master.
The Eskimo drives his sled team spread out fanwise. In this formation they are less likely to break through the snow crust than if driven Indian fashion, one ahead of the other. The tandem style is suitable for wooded country, where there is no room to expand [[124]]and where it is imperative to keep to a narrow, perhaps ill-defined trail; but in the Arctics one of the greatest dangers of travelling is to fall into deep snow. Men and dogs alike can be smothered if the crust gives way, for their struggles only cause them to sink the deeper. The dogs are driven by word of command only (i.e., orders to get up, start, straight ahead, right or left, lie down), and by the whip, a tremendously long thong of white whale hide attached to a short stock. Half the art of dog driving consists in the right management of this difficult whip. It has to sail out to touch just the right dog in just the right place, and should crack sharply at the tip. The Leader is the most important, reliable and experienced dog in the team. He is attached to the sled by a longer trace than the others, so that he runs ahead of them, and his position is in the centre. It goes without saying that he is very conscious of his eminence, and gives himself insufferable airs.
In camp the team always sleep curled round in the snow, if not in the porch at least near their master’s dwelling, ready for any scraps that may be flung out; and woe betide any other dog who dares to come near, or even essays to pass by! There is a rush and the outsider is severely mauled. Another time, he makes a wide détour. The people never leave the tents without a guard if they can possibly help it. If the man and woman are both away a child is left. The dogs can tell the place is inhabited and refrain from a raid, which would only bring a storm about their ears if [[125]]once the alarm were raised. But should the dwelling be empty even for a short time, the dogs at once get to know it—and they know about the stores of meat and oil and blubber inside! Now, the Leader of the team belonging to the establishment is there also as a “guard,” but his argument seems to be that this obligation applies only to outsiders. Having driven off any strange visitants who may venture around, he has no further scruples about helping himself. Moreover, he has a remarkable business head. He believes, in letting the others down—for his own advantage and prestige.
As soon, then, as he decides the tupik is really empty, he gives one short, deep note, well understood by the others dogs, signifying that the coast is clear. Then he bounces at the tent wall, bursts through it, and snatching the first big mouthful of meat he can get, beats a discreet retreat, leaving the others like thoughtless children to do the work and get themselves into the required mess. They rush in, of course, make hay of the tent, and kick up a tremendous uproar, giving themselves away to the whole village. It does not take long for the natives to cope with the situation. Armed with sticks, they hurry to the spot, and while some penetrate the tent to lay about and drive the dogs outside, others stand ready for the culprits when they come out, to give them such hard blows as will last them well—until next time! Out comes number one, a lump of provender in his teeth. He gets his blows right enough, but sticks to the meat [[126]]… only to be met, further on by the Leader, a surprised and indignant look on his face, as who should say “What! You at it again! Stealing, when you ought to be on guard! And having the effrontery to try to pass Me with your plunder! Put that meat down instantly and I’ll take charge of it! If you want any more, go back and get it.”
There is no getting past this. The delinquent is bowled out, rolled over, bullied until he loses his head and his booty into the bargain. He is glad to escape alive. He breaks away at last, frantically licking his wounds. Whereupon Leader absent-mindedly eats the meat and sits down to await another scrap from the next offender. He calls this keeping his end up with the mob.
On one lurid occasion of this sort, all the canine raiders had escaped from the tent but one, a small fat puppy. He happened to be in the place at the time and quite enjoyed entering into the spirit of the thing—meant to do his best like the others. So he climbed into the lamp, freshly replenished with oil, and fitted it so exactly, lubricating himself from head to foot, that he stuck in situ to be caught, but looking quite proud of his position and feeling altogether grown up. He was soaked in oil and grime; oil dripped from his mouth, and the laugh on his face plainly said, “My! This is good! Why didn’t I think of it before?” He was summarily pulled both out of the lamp and out of his complacency. Infantile yells outside told of early correction being administered and a lesson in honesty [[127]]enforced. After that his mother took him in hand and licked him clean.
It is sometimes asserted that the Eskimo dog does not bark. This is a mistake, as he certainly has a snappy bark of his own, however little it may resemble the recognised barks of all other sorts of dogs. For the most part he howls.
The dogs, one and all, are up to every sort of trick. Moreover, their stomachs are for ever empty and always keen for any sort of food. They are fed at night whilst on the trail, in order that the meal should have time to digest and strengthen them. Incidentally, they sleep soundly buried in the snow, and neither attempt to stray nor to break into the hunter’s sleeping place. In the morning they are nowhere to be seen. The white expanse remains unbroken. They are all under the snow, and in no way inclined to rouse up and be harnessed. Nobody wastes time looking for them. Someone takes a lamp outside the shelter and empties the oil on the ground. Immediately black noses emerge from here and there, tempted by the smell, and the rest is easy.
Once upon a time Nannook (the bear) the Bad Hat of the team, had a brilliant idea. He had often considered the weighty problem of the driving lash it seemed so impossible for his master ever to forget. The point was, how to get rid of it. So long as that whip cracked forever about them there was no chance of making the other dogs do his share of the work, no opportunity to slack off or snatch a rest. The only [[128]]scheme seemed to be to eat it. Nothing loth, Nannook waited for the usual midday halt. The hunter chopped off some frozen pieces of meat, sat down in the lee of the sled and ate and smoked. The whip lay unheeded on the snow behind his shoulder.