“How can human beings endure such vile, disgusting smells?” he exclaimed, as the missionary rejoined him.
“They are not vile and disgusting to them,” laughed the other. “If noticed at all, they are extremely agreeable. You must remember that the atmosphere which you find so unendurable is that to which the Eskimo has always been accustomed. As soon as he is born his entire body is liberally smeared with rancid oil, and to the day of his death this coating of grease, frequently renewed, affords his best protection against cold and wet.
“His staples of food are fish and meat often in a state of partial decay, and always odorous. Thus the smells that to your unaccustomed nostrils are so offensive, are to him associated with all that makes life pleasant or even possible. At the same time he exhibits the greatest aversion to those perfumes that you consider most pleasing. A whiff of cologne will make him ill, and flowers that to us are sweet-scented are to him unendurable. Thus you see the sense of smell, like all other senses, can be educated to adapt itself to any conditions, and, happily for the Eskimo, he finds nothing objectionable in the nauseous odors surrounding him.”
“That is so,” reflected Phil, “for now I remember that the Aleuts of the Pribyloff Islands could not understand what I meant when I complained of the awful stench rising from the decomposing bodies of thousands of seals lying at their very doors.”
With the aid of the missionary and Chitsah, Phil traded off the small stock of goods he had brought with him for half a dozen parkas, or outer garments, made from reindeer-skin with the hair still attached, as many pairs of winter boots, and a number of other articles made from seal-skin. Each of the parkas had a hood at the back, which could be drawn up over the head. The edge of this hood was trimmed with wolf-skin taken from the back, where the hair is longest. When the hood is in use these long hairs surround the wearer’s face with a bristling fringe that affords a surprising amount of protection from driving snow and icy winds.
The tarbossa, or Eskimo boots, were made of the skin of reindeer legs on which the hair is short and stiff, and were provided with soles of seal-skin, turned up over toes and heels, where they are gathered in little puckers that the native women chew or shape with their teeth. The upper end of one of these boots is tied about the wearer’s knee, while a second set of thongs at the ankle holds it in place at that point.
Besides these things, Phil purchased a number of Eskimo wolf-traps, the cruel ingenuity and extreme simplicity of which exceeded anything of the kind he had ever seen. They were merely bits of stiff whalebone about one foot long, with sharpened points, folded into the smallest possible compass, and confined in that position by a lashing of sinew. For use this harmless-looking affair is thrust into a piece of meat, which is frozen and thrown down on the snow. Mr. Wolf swallows meat, trap and all, with such relish that he at once searches for another bit just like it. In the meantime the trap has begun its deadly work in his stomach. Its sinew lashing softens, weakens, and finally breaks under the steady strain of the compressed whalebone. Thus released the bone springs into its original shape, thrusts its sharp points into the wolf’s vitals, and often kills him instantly. If not at once, death ensues in a very short time, and when the thrifty Eskimo cuts up his wolf he generally recovers his trap and prepares it to be set again.
The sledge-party from Anvik had started from there before daylight of that morning with a view to returning the same night. So as soon as the missionary had visited every house in Makagamoot and Phil had concluded his trading, the dogs, which Chitsah had been obliged to guard all this time from an overwhelming onslaught by their Eskimo cousins, were headed homeward, and the return journey was begun. Chitsah drove the leading sledge, which was laden with the several hundred pounds of dried fish that the missionary had received as a wedding-fee, the missionary drove the other, which bore Phil’s purchases, and the Yankee lad trudged beside him.
“Are you often called on to marry two people of different races?” asked the latter, who was thinking over the events of their recent visit.
“No, not often; though it is not uncommon for white men, who have become permanent settlers in the country, to marry native women, and I once married a Chinese man to an Eskimo girl. My strangest experience in that line, though, was gained some years ago, when I first came to this country. Wishing to familiarize myself with the entire valley, I took a trip on the company’s steamer to the head of navigation. We stopped to trade at every Indian camp, and at one of these, near Fort Yukon, a couple came on board to get married. The man was a tall, good-looking fellow, but a full-blooded Cree Indian, from the distant interior. His companion was also in Indian costume, but the moment I looked at her face I saw, to my amazement, that she was a white girl. She was quite young, but had the saddest face I think I ever saw. I remonstrated with her against the step she proposed to take, but in a perfectly calm voice, and speaking most excellent English, though with a Scotch accent, she assured me that she was well aware of what she was about to do, and that it was her firm resolve to marry the Indian who stood beside her. Both he and she gave the name of McLeod, and under that name I married them.