ESQUIMAUX HUT.
This reverence does not, however, extend to the wolf, for this is an accursed animal. On his snow-shoes, and bearing in one hand a long pole with which to steer himself, the hunter follows swiftly on the wolf’s tracks, and overtaking him beats out his brains with a club, which as a polluted thing he is careful to burn at once. Nor will he demean himself to touch the skin of his victim, but leaves it to be devoured by any animal that may chance to find it. The great occupation of the Laplander is the care of herds of reindeer, and no doubt the great detestation in which the wolf is held is owing to the injury he inflicts upon the herdsman.
The hut of the Lapp is but a poor affair. Its frame is a few poles bent together at the top, its walls skins sewed together. The floor is covered with skins, in its centre flames a smoky fire, and about it sleeps the owner of the house curled up in a heap like one of his dogs.
AN ESQUIMAUX VILLAGE.
Such a hut as this would be of little use to the Esquimau, who lives far to the northward on the American continent amid perpetual snow. His house is most ingeniously formed. With solid blocks of snow about a foot in thickness, he builds its circular wall and dome-like roof. A tunnel-like entrance is made through which he enters on hands and feet, while a block of snow fills the narrow doorway keeping out the cold air. With his skins spread out upon the floor and his oil lamp lighted, he soon has a temperature which is perhaps as much too warm as the outer air is too cold. The arctic explorer sometimes comes upon a village of such huts clustered under some protecting cliff or near some favorite hunting or fishing ground.
The Esquimau is a hearty eater. The intense cold to which he is always exposed gives him a raging appetite. Parry once made trial of the ability of a young man, who was furnished with all the food he wished. In twenty hours he had eaten eight and a half pounds of meat, nearly two pounds of bread, a pint and a quarter of rich soup, a tumbler and three wine glasses of spirits, and over a gallon of water. But the Esquimau is not alone in his appetite. At Jakutsk in Siberia, Sir George Simpson gave two natives each thirty six pounds of boiled beef, while the same amount of melted butter was put before them to drink. They entered upon their undertaking with great zest. One was old, the other young. The younger man at first seemed to make the greater headway. “His teeth are good,” said his older opponent, “but with the help of my saint, (crossing himself) I will soon come up to him.” His was no idle boast, for in an hour all was devoured and the gorged champions, lying upon the floor, respectfully kissed the ground in token of gratitude to their benefactor.