This story agreed so well with what Petersen and Godfrey saw and suspected that we fully believed it.
Mr. Rock left us in the morning, and that evening eleven natives, one of whom was Kalutunah, called upon us on their way from Akbat to Netlik. The Angekok was full of talk and smiles. He gave us a quarter of a young bear, for which we gave him one of Petersen's hoop-iron knives. He was not pleased with it, for he had learned before the difference between iron and steel. He attempted to cut a piece of frozen liver with it and it bent. He then bent it in the form of a U, and threw it spitefully away, grunting, "No good." We satisfied him with a piece of wood to patch his sledge.
Among our guests were two widows having each a child. One of the little ones was stripped to the skin, and turned loose to root at liberty. It was three years old, and plainly the dirt upon its greasy skin had been accumulating just that length of time.
One of the hunters was attended by his wife and two children—a girl four, and boy seven years old.
The fat fires of the several families were soon in full blaze, which, added to the heat of nineteen persons, warmed our hut as it was never warmed before. The heat set the ceiling and walls dripping with the melted frost-work, and every thing was wet or made damp. Besides, the air became insufferable with bad odors. It was now Fort Misery.
But the frozen meat at which we had been nibbling was soon thrown aside for hot coffee, steaming stew, and thawed blubber. Strips of blubber varying from three inches to a foot in length and an inch thick circulate about the hut. Strips of bear and walrus also go round. These strips are seized with the fingers, the head is thrown back, and the mouth is opened, one end is thrust in a convenient distance, the teeth are closed, it is cut off at the lips, and the piece is swallowed quickly, with the least possible chewing, that dispatch may be made, and the process repeated. The seven-year-old boy stood against a post, astride a big chunk of walrus, naked to the waist, as all the guests were. He was sucking down in good style a strip of blubber, his face and hands besmeared with blood and fat, which ran in a purple stream off his chin, and from thence streamed over the shining skin below. Our disconsolate widow supped apart, as usual, on her supply of sea-fowls. Four, each about the size of a half-grown domestic hen, was all she appeared to be able to eat!
We all ate, and had enough. Then followed freedom of talk such as is wont to follow satisfied appetites, and jokes and songs went round. Godfrey amused the women and children with negro melodies, accompanied by a fancied banjo. Dr. Hayes and Kalutunah try to teach each other their languages. Bonsall looks on and helps. The chief is given "yes" and "no," and taught what Esquimo word they stand for. He tries to pronounce them, says "ee's" and "noe," and inquiringly says, "tyma?" (right?) Dr. Hayes nods, "tyma" with an encouraging smile, at which the chief laughs at the "doctee's" badly pronounced Esquimo.
They try to count, and the Angekok says "une" for one, strains hard at "too" for two, and fails utterly at the "th" in three.
The "doctee" tries the Esquimo one, gets patted on the back with "tyma! tyma!" accompanied with merry laughs. The chief tries again, gets prompted by punches in the ribs, and significant commendation in twitches of his left ear.
Having reached ten, the Esquimo numerals are exhausted. Sontag, with the help of Petersen, questions one of the hunters about his people's astronomy. The result in part is as follows, and is very curious.