CHAPTER XIII

_ON DOGS AND DIFFICULTIES_

THE Esquimaux dog, unlike his Newfoundland congener, is by no means a fiction, being an ubiquitous feature of Esquimaux life. Indeed, being musical like his master, his propensity for nocturnal chorus keeps him constantly in evidence; and, though he is never heard to bark, he manages often to leave a deep impression on an incautious stranger.

On his dog’s pluck and endurance the master’s safety often depends, and to his marvellous instinct for finding human habitations many a man, hopelessly lost in a snowstorm on the icefield, owes his existence. Yet the Eskimo, finding it ample trouble to satisfy his own needs, never adds to his trouble by feeding his dogs in summer time, with the result that the exigencies of existence have considerably sharpened their faculties.

To look at, they closely resemble the grey wolf of the prairie, and wolves mingling with the team would scarcely be recognised by an untrained eye. Usually the dogs wander in summer around the land-wash, in troops of say fifty, eating the offal below the fish stages; or when caplin schools are close inshore, they wade into the water and swallow the fish alive. Always lean and lank at this time of the year, they never neglect to lay up against an evil day, a fact that becomes most ludicrously apparent on these occasions, for they “swells wisibly.”

Perhaps the most interesting sight is to see them catching flounders. The fish lie buried in the sand in shallow water, and as the dog’s paw comes down on one it struggles to get away. He then literally “puts his foot down,” and after it his head, which disappears under water only to reappear with a struggling victim. This is carried kicking to the land, to be devoured at leisure.

The door of the chapel at the Moravian station of Hopedale was one day accidentally left ajar. Such a golden opportunity for a meal was not to be wasted, and a company of dogs soon found its way in. Some tempting hymn-books and litanies were shortly brought to light, redolent with blubber from the thumbs of the worshippers. Needless to say they were sacrificed at the only shrine dogs recognise.

On another occasion a similar oversight let them into the tenderly-nurtured kitchen garden of the Brethren. The dogs rased the cabbages to the ground, and even carried away with them the few highly-prized wurzels.

Modesty is a virtue of which the Eskimo dog is seldom guilty. I was visiting one day a bedridden patient. As the outer door opened, a fragrant scent as of a dinner preparing was wafted outward. Suddenly an avalanche swept me off my legs, and a pack of dogs, whisking the stew-pot off the fire, began to fight savagely over its contents, the more so as each, having burnt its nose in the boiling liquid, attributed his affliction to his neighbour. Meanwhile the house filling with steam and Eskimo imprecations, the latter rendered forcible by long harpoon handles, made me almost sorry I had called.

An Eskimo’s financial condition may be gauged by the number of his dogs, and no one with less than six would rank as “carriage folk.” Eight to thirteen normally form a team, each being harnessed, by a single walrus hide trace of a different length, to the komatik. The leader will be some twenty-six yards away, which enables the team to clamber over or round hummocky ice. The driver on these occasions jumps off to help the sleigh over, while, to prevent breaking, the komatik is made of numbers of short wide cross boards lashed by strong tendons across two longitudinal pieces, no nails being used. The runners are shod with ribs of whale, with iron, or with mud. A slot is made in the snow and filled with soft mud, which at once freezes. This is next frozen on to the wood, and then planed or chopped smooth with an adze. As there are no reins, the leading dog is trained to obey the voice. At the shout “Auk” he goes to the right, and at “Ra” to the left, and so on, the others all following him. If those behind are not pulling well, the leader will drop back among them and bite at them. They always pull in the same place in a team. Thus three dogs, the whole team of a poor man, were lent to pull with six others. They were first placed in front, but would not pull, being frightened at so many dogs behind them. When, however, the leader was left in front and the other two put last of all, the whole team ran capitally. Mr. Young tells us he once put a young dog in front of his old leader, a magnificent old fellow on whom he always could rely in danger. Before he had, however, mounted the komatik, he found the pup scampering away loose—the leader had bitten through the traces. He refastened it three times, always with the same result. At last he gave his old leader a good whipping. The old dog’s spirit was completely broken by this treatment, and it so felt its double disgrace, it was never, to the day of its death, the same brave, trusty dog.

The dogs greatly enjoy their work, and when harnessed in get tremendously excited, at times even turning on their own drivers. To correct them a short whip, with an enormously long lash, all of walrus hide, is so dexterously used that an expert driver can flick a piece out of any particular dog’s ear.

Occasionally, a refractory dog is pulled in by its trace for punishment. They know the meaning of this, and anticipate the beating by a lively howling; so that merely to shorten a trace, may exert a good moral effect on a team.

The “trail” is usually over the frozen sea, the land being too uneven. Good dogs will cover from 70 to 100 miles in a day. When starting in the morning the snow is covered with little icicles, formed by the mid-day sun melting the frozen surface. As this is apt to make the feet of the dogs bleed, they are shod with a bag of seal-skin, tied round the ankle. Three small holes are cut for the claws. A pup shod for the first time, holds up his paws in the air alternately; but once he learns to appreciate the fact that shoes save his feet from being cut, though he will always eat any ordinary piece of skin, such as on a kayak or a skin boot, he rarely eats his own shoes. They do, however, bite at, and eat the harness, especially of the dog in front of them. Mr. Young[16] tells of a big dog which, though apparently always hard at work, never seemed to get tired like the rest. It always seemed to strain at its trace, and kept looking round, apparently for the driver’s approval. His suspicions, however, were aroused, and one day, cutting loose the trace, he fastened it by a single thread to the komatik. Sure enough, the dog strained and worked as hard as ever, but it _never broke the single thread_.

[Footnote 16: _Stories from Indian Wigwams_, R.T.S., by Rev. Egerton Young.]

When the ice is good, dogs will maintain eight miles an hour, at other times they can only advance at a walk; while, yet again, when the ice is surging up and down over the sea, and wind and snow are against them, the weight of the sleigh will even drag them backwards. These dogs are exceedingly heavy, and their dragging power is enormous. It takes a full-grown man to hold one in leash. A team of fifteen dogs took six people on the sleigh “like a house on fire.” They are very quick to recognise the danger of being cut off from the land, especially when water comes over the ice, and they will then throw their whole strength into the work. Many times when a driver, overtaken by night, perhaps having missed the trail from heavy snow, and quite exhausted gives up the unequal struggle, the unerring instinct of the dogs finds full play, and they rarely fail to reach shelter of some kind. At night the traces are unhitched and stamped down into the snow, for lack of anything to tie them to. This keeps them from straying. Their dole of food is then given them, probably rotten caplin and seal blubber; after which they sleep out on the snow, even when the temperature is 50° below zero. Yet if other dogs are near, and they can get at them, most of the night will be spent fighting. It is often the capacity for carrying food for the dogs that limits the journey. To prevent this, the Moravians make depôts of dog food along the coast during summer.

One day an old Eskimo arrived at Nachvak from Cape Chidley, a distance of about 100 miles. When asked where his dog food was, he answered, “Me go home to-morrow, then feed them,” showing the power of endurance of these dogs. On one occasion during a long journey a traveller (P. Mackenzie) shot some caribou deer, and taking all the meat he wanted, pursued his journey. While building his snow hut for the night, a fresh herd of deer passed within scent of the dogs. All, with the exception of their leader, a small bitch, managed to free their traces and gave chase. By chance they came on the dead quarry, and, falling to, at once gorged themselves on it. As they, returned to the camp, one large powerful dog was observed carrying a whole haunch in his mouth, and was seen to go and lay it down in reach of the still captive little leader.

These dogs can be dangerous at times. Once the team of a settler living in Seal Islands ran away. They came back savage as wolves, and it transpired that they had killed and eaten a little girl, of seven years old, while away. Of course their owner was forced to shoot them. This tendency to wander was recently put to good use. A solitary settler and his wife were suddenly struck down with influenza. The man developed lung symptoms, and the woman also became too ill to feed either herself or him. She could hardly crawl as far as the cupboard for food; and they both stood in great danger of being starved, though food was in the house. In this extremity the woman, who could write, scribbled on a piece of paper, “Come over quickly,” and tied it round one of the dog’s necks. The dog carried it to the nearest neighbour, a distance of ten miles over the ice, and eventually returned with help. Possibly as the old couple could no longer get about to give the dogs food, that might account for its setting off for another house.

In the water the Eskimo dog is quite at home. I have known them swim home from a desert island a good mile from land, and have watched them playfully chasing one another’s tails as they swam about in that cold water.

Fighting, however, is their chief diversion. Each team always has its king, who maintains his position solely by his might. I have watched from a boat a pack banished to an island in summer to keep them out of mischief. As we rowed round, a fine young dog, with the only female close alongside, moved by curiosity followed us out to the end of every little promontory, but the rest all maintained a respectful distance behind. Next week, when we passed again, we found he had been deposed, and then woe betide him for some time. The entire pack seem to combine to pay off their pent-up grudges against him, and at times he is so harried he takes to the water. I have watched a late leader standing up to his shoulders in water eyeing his tormentors to see if he could escape unobserved; but every attempt he made to come ashore a combined rush was made, and he was forced to retire again.

[Illustration: Eskimo Family.]

At night on travel a snow hut is built. Half an hour is long enough for this. The snow is cut in blocks—nowadays usually with an old cavalry sabre—from the inside of the circle chosen for the house. Thus the hut goes down and up at the same time. A hole is left at the top for the air, while a block is cut to fit into the door from the outside, after all are in. If a tent is carried, it is of the usual reindeer skins, sewn together with tendons. The sleeping bag is made of seal-skin with the hair outside, and lined with reindeer skin with the hair inside. Almost any cold can be borne in it; and if your family are travelling with you, and share your bag, they are then said to be positively warm. The skin boots always worn are so exquisitely sewn, that, like the kayaks, they are quite watertight.

However, there is no water in Labrador in winter, for even the perspiration from the men’s bodies, if they do violent work, freezes inside the clothing; and, as in cases of Arctic explorers, it may become necessary to take off one’s clothes at night to hammer out the ice from the inside.

To do this sewing it is necessary to chew the edges of the skins soft. One woman said to me, “Me no good now,” showing me that her teeth were all too far worn down to be of any use in boot-making. The Eskimo’s teeth meet one another, and do not overhang like Europeans’. Soft bread gets so hard frozen that biscuits have to be carried, which, with lumps of meat, are stowed away under their clothes next the skin, in order to keep it soft. Spirits even will freeze in the bottle; but neither whites nor Eskimo carry alcohol, or dare resort to it in cold weather, if they had it. These people form an excellent apology for total abstinence, as do the Laps, who drink only coffee. In England and the United States cold weather is used as an apology for whisky. Drink soon destroys the Eskimo. Yet they, like white men, willingly become its slaves. They have even buried in their oil casks, water, molasses, and old mouldy biscuits, in order to get fermented liquor, when once habituated to it.

The Moravians have, however, kept the traffic in check, partly by not teaching the Eskimo English, and partly by Christian teaching. One dear old fellow—named Zacharias—had in his early days been expelled by the Eskimo from Okkak for drunkenness and being a nuisance to the community. Becoming a Christian under the preaching at Hopedale, he was now seeking to get back to Okkak to show them what the grace of God can do in the dark heart of a drunken Eskimo. Very practical are some of these Eskimo Christians. One Nathaniel last winter, while going to his sealing ground, was carried off to sea by the ice drifting off. When eventually he managed to escape, he told the missionaries: “I felt like Peter. I could not pray, though I thought I must die. I had not lived a good life.” On another occasion a woman actually went and gave back all the property she had won from another by gambling, when told it was displeasing to God.

The following translation of letters from some much respected leaders among them, gives an insight into their feelings and ideas. One wrote to us as follows: “In spirit I am among you, my fellow-servants. Only a little I want to say to you. Because the Lord, He helps us, you as well as us—we in Labrador. In one faith and love in that which Jesus has wrought for us, that we can walk through Him that strengthens us. Once more we have reason to be thankful, because the physician came; we are often reminded that our souls also must have medicine, _i.e._ the Word of God. I salute you all. The Lord may help every one of us. You as well as me. Zacharias. The one that is in Hopedale.”

Another wrote, “My wife and I and all the Eskimo wish very sincerely to thank all the good believers on the other side of the sea, who in their love have thought of us, and sent a doctor to help and assist us in our illness. We do not understand the language of those you have sent here, yet we rejoice that they are preaching the Word of God faithfully to the many fishermen who work along the Labrador. My prayer and wish are that the Lord will protect them on their journey, and bless you and them in the work. My wife and I greet all those who love the Lord Jesus Christ.”

“DANIEL AND JOSEPHINA.”

When the missionaries desire to punish an Eskimo, it is generally done by (1) refusing to allow him personally in the store; (2) ejecting him from the choir or band; (3) cutting him off from communion. An Eskimo, never having severer punishment, feels each of these very acutely.

Cartwright punished them much more summarily. In his dry way, he remarks: “July 1. Having reproved an Eskimo in a very angry tone for stealing a skein of thread, I gave him a few strokes with a stick. He instantly made resistance; when catching him in my arms, I gave him a cross buttock (a method of throwing unknown to them), and pitched him with great force head first out of my tent. The rest applauded my action as just, and had a high opinion of my lenity.”

Conveying Bible ideas to the Eskimo has not been easy. It must be remembered they have never seen sheep or lambs, horse or mule, fruit tree or corn, sowing or harvest. Nor have they much idea of kindness to animals at all. Every animal but a dog is to be killed, and even their dogs are to be kept at a considerable distance. But they are themselves very grateful for kindness, as the above extracts show.