Nannook sneaked up, caught hold of the end of the lash, and steadily began to chew. He chewed yard after yard, his stomach feeling better with every foot of the way. He chewed up to the very stock, undetected; and having packed away at least eighteen feet of seasoned whalehide, crept back to the team. Presently the hunter bestirred himself for a start. Picking up his whip—he just gazed round. It was a dog, without a doubt; but which one? Who on earth could tell! All were innocently dozing, every one in his place, the picture of virtuous decorum. No one could tell. No one, therefore, could be punished. The rest of the journey was accomplished perforce of shouting only. For once in a way the dogs had the best of the joke.
It sometimes happens on a long trail with a heavy sled that a blizzard, or some other untoward circumstance, may delay a traveller for a longer or shorter time; sometimes for days. His food supply gives out and the dogs come to an end of their rations. The team gets ever more weary and more weak. The hunter goes on ahead, breaking the trail for them on snowshoes; the dogs stagger along after him, often lying down and refusing to get up. But the trouble has not been unforeseen. The master has prepared [[129]]for this sort of emergency by carefully bringing along some particularly bad bits of refuse seal meat. The stench of them would imbue a skunk with self-respect, in comparison. Taking one of these, he forges ahead, calling the dogs and leaving behind him a lure like poison gas. He drops the meat, and the Leader, picking up the scent, with a new cock in his dispirited ears, bustles round, spurring up the team with the information. “Come on!” he says. “Can’t you see he’s dropped that bit? My, can’t you smell it? Hurry up, and let’s get it!” They do get up, poor dupes; but the Leader, in virtue of his longer trace gets there first, and doesn’t wait to argue. Over and over again this manœuvre is repeated, both on the hunter’s part and on the Leader’s. The rest of the team make all the effort they can to get equal with such duplicity, and sometimes even succeed in snatching first at the bait. Anyway, it is a fine way of getting the sled along and taking their minds off their troubles. A trail of loathsome scraps, each one encouraging a spurt on the part of the dogs, helps over the distance. Often an exhausted team has been enabled to cover the last few miles by this method, when otherwise they must have dropped.
In spite of the rigour of his life and the necessary hardness of his owner, the Eskimo dog is not without that glorious power of faithful canine devotion which is one of the most beautiful forms of love on earth. The writer knows of at least two instances where a dog has wasted away and died of grief in his master’s [[130]]absence or after his death. But such a true canine trait is very rare. For the most part, these animals readily transfer their affections to the hand that feeds them.
They are savage to all strangers. The team guards its master’s tent or igloo because he is the one who provides for it. The dogs sleep in the porch as a rule; and before entering a dwelling the visitor is well advised to call to one of the inmates to quiet them, otherwise he will be severely bitten. In winter, when hungry, the dogs are more dangerous than ever. It happened, once, that two Eskimo had died, and been sewn up in their blankets and buried beneath a cairn of huge stones in a neighbouring valley. One of the bodies was even enclosed in a light barrel. During the night the dogs raided the place, tore down the stones, and ate the dead. In the summer time they forage for themselves on the seashore, picking up small fish left by the tide, and anything edible they can find.
The Eskimo dog has a great deal that is wolfish and dangerous in him. The strain, indeed, is very little differentiated from the wolf. Sometimes a dog will leave camp, go back to the wild, and join a pack of wolves as one of themselves. Those who do this seldom return; but when they do, puppies of the direct resulting strain are greatly valued. It has been remarked that, whereas wolves in the Arctic seldom attack a human being, dogs will not uncommonly do so. The extraordinary thing about this is that hydrophobia [[131]]is practically unknown. It would be difficult to say exactly what may be the natural span of life of the Eskimo dogs, but they seem to be at least as long lived as the larger breeds of European dogs.
The Eskimo names his dog ‘The Lively One,’ the ‘Bear,’ the ‘North Star,’ and in similar fashion. The animals possess much humour of their own; one belonging to the writer, of whom he was extremely fond, certainly enjoyed fun, and could very nearly speak!
Lest, while on the subject of these creatures too much space should be devoted to them, this chapter cannot be concluded without a brief description of the sleds to which their toilsome lives are vowed.
The small, light-going sled used for hunting is only about six feet in length. The cross bars are fastened to the runners by sealskin thongs, to ensure a certain degree of pliability in travelling over rough ice. A pair of reindeer horns with part of the skull attached are fastened by thongs to the back of the sled, forming a sort of erect triangle. This serves as a rack upon which to hang coils of sealing line and various implements, and also as a rest to lean against for anyone sitting on the sled. The runners are shod with strips of bone sawn from the ribs or jaw of the whale, and fastened on either by wooden pegs or by thongs sunk into grooves to prevent them wearing through. These runners are the object of very special care and constant daily attention on the part of the owner. They are covered with a thick coating of seal’s blood, [[132]]for the sake of a fine surface. The craftsman takes a mouthful of this material and squirts it upon the runners, moulding it at the same time with his fingers. It freezes even as he smooths it down, and with a final squirting of water takes a high, hard glaze which ensures smooth and swift running for the sled. If seal’s blood happens to be scarce the maker uses a mixture of moss roots and water, which gives an almost equally good surface when applied in the same way, and looks like nothing so much as a first-class cork lino.
The Kummotik, or long travelling sled, is double the length of the foregoing and heavier in proportion. Otherwise its construction is the same. It requires a team of from twelve to eighteen dogs, whereas five are sufficient for the hunting sled. The loading of a Kummotik is a work of art. There is a place for everything, and everything has to go, just so, into its place. The spears and weapons are stowed in the bottom of the sled in front, by the driver. At the far end, a piece of skin is laid down and upon this slab upon slab of blubber for the lamp is piled up, and the lamp set atop of the lot, bottom up, because of the grease and dirt. Then the meat for the journey is put aboard—frozen deer hams, and frozen seals entire, enough for the whole party until they fetch up at the next tribe’s camping ground. The meat is, of course, uncooked, since a minimum of raw meat gives a maximum of heat and strength. (Hence the Eskimo prefer their rations raw when there is work to be [[133]]done. The cooked stew of an evening is a mere luxury meal.) A skin is thrown over the heap of provisions to prevent the travellers’ clothing being soiled by it. Over it all are piled the rolled-up sleeping blankets and the karsâte or deerskin rugs for mattresses. Knives, axes and lines hang upon the horns behind. The driver’s seat in front is a box containing small tools, flint and steel. The whole load is securely lashed down to the cross bars of the sled. The man’s spear is slipped into the lashings on one side, so as to be handy for use at a moment’s notice. The women and children perch on top of the load, or make their way alongside on foot, as they prefer. The dogs’ lines are all gathered to a point (like the sticks of a fan) just in front of the runners, when they are tied and then divided into the two short traces which, fastened to right and left on the runners, draw the sled.
A still more ancient form of sled was in use among the Eskimo before the advent of the whites, but the elders of the villages remember it well and describe it to-day. In those times wood was very scarce, tools very rude, and whales more abundant than at present. So strips of whalebone taken from the mouth (before this valuable material came into the markets of the world at all) were stitched together by whale or hide thongs, until a sled could be fashioned out of them, something like a huge, long, black shovel, very hard, durable and strong. Dogs harnessed to this contrivance made good speed with it, even with the driver squatting upon it. In one respect it was more serviceable [[134]]than the modern form with runners, since unlike these it did not sink in snow or easily break through a rotten crust. It should be noted that a full-grown whale has about a ton of this black whalebone fringe hanging from his jaw, the longest part of it attaining six or seven feet when the mouth is open; so that a fair sized sled could easily be made out of such a great supply.