Life with the Esquimaux/Volume 2/Chapter 12
CHAPTER XII.
The Anvil—Preparations for returning Home—Excursion to Bayard Taylor Pass—Hard Climbing—An extensive View—The Ice Pack in Davis's Strait—A Rapid Descent—Return to the Ship—Startling Announcement of Captain B —Another Winter in the Ice—General Gloom—A bitter Disappointment—How to live and keep Warm—Innuit Simplicity regarding Money—Author's Proposition concerning Stores.
The events that followed my return to the ship on Thursday, October 10th, 1861, were similar to those that I have already related. We all naturally wished to get away and proceed on the voyage home; ice had begun to form, and we felt that the time was now come for our departure, if we meant to leave that year. Thus a few days passed on, during which several of our friends, the Innuits, who had been at different places hunting and sealing, returned. Among them were Ugarng, Artarkparu, and Annawa. Each of these, on my questioning them, spoke of the particular relic on Oopungnewing I had been so anxious to obtain from the moment when Artarkparu told me of it, as recorded in the previous chapter; and upon requesting them to do so, they each made from wood a model of the article, working at different times, and without the least consultation among themselves.
I here introduce an extract from my journal as written at the time:—
"Saturday, October 12th, 1861.—At 9 a.m. I had interviews with several Innuits concerning the important relic that must still be on the island Oopungnewing. Ugarng saw this relic (which to me is yet undetermined as to its true character) when a young man. He says that one very strong Innuit, now dead, could lift it, and even did shoulder it. No other Innuit could accomplish the same feat. Another lifted it to the height of his knees, but dropped it quickly. Only very few Innuits were able to raise it from the ground. Suzhi, at my request, has just made a pencil sketch of its shape—at least, as near as she could. She evidently never took a pencil in her hand before. Ugarng, who is quite experienced in map sketching, has marked out its shape on the same leaf as Koo-ou-le-arng's (Suzhi's) sketch. This has some correspondence to the delineation of the one Artarkparu made some days since." Later:—
"This minute, 10.15 a.m. have found out just what this relic is. It is an anvil! such as were made in former times, without a horn.
"To get at this, I got Ugarng to cut out with his knife its representation in wood. When he finished it I held it out, asking 'Kis-su?'—that is, What was the heavy iron at Oopungnewing formerly used for? His answer was an intelligible one, and one that determines the nature of this important relic beyond all question. Before I give it I will say that this Innuit has been to the States (vide page 101, vol. i.). While there he desired to and did visit various manufacturing establishments, being himself naturally of a mechanical turn of mind. I will now give his answer on stating that holding the index finger of his left hand on the little carved
 |
|
| UGARNG'S WOOD MODEL OF THE IRON RELIC. |
ARTARKPARU'S WOOD MODEL OF THE IRON RELIC. |
block as I held it up, with his other hand angled into fist and raised above finger to represent hammer, he said, 'All the same as blacksmith.' This expression, in connexion with his pertinent symbolizing, settles the matter satisfactorily to my mind that this relic of Frobisher on Oopungnewing is an anvil."
Another wood model,[1] of great similarity to the above two, was executed on the 15th of October by Annawa.
When Ugarng saw the relic, or "heavy stone," it was "red with rust;" and Artarkparu informed me that it had been carried to Oopungnewing from Kodlunarn many years ago by Innuits on a sledge. Annawa, in 
KOO-OU-LE-ARNG'S TOODNOO MODEL OF THE IRON RELIC. speaking of it, said "it was something that did not grow there," and each one confirmed the others' testimony, though examined apart and at different times. Suzhi also made a rude model of it by chewing some toodnoo and then fashioning it into the shape opposite. Thus everything seemed to confirm me in the belief that the article probably yet to be found on Oopungnewing was an anvil formerly belonging to Frobisher's expedition; hence my desire was great to induce some of the natives to go for it, hoping they might return before the ship sailed. But I found no one who cared to undertake the task.
It was the intention of Captain B to leave the country on the 20th October, and the minds of all had been made up accordingly. I was anxious to go, before sailing, to a high point near Bayard Taylor Pass, where I could complete my operations pertaining to the trigonometrical survey I had commenced. With this design I set out on the morning of October 17th for an excursion thither, and I now copy from my diary a portion of the record made on the evening of that day and on subsequent days:—
"10 p.m. Shall I put upon paper my feelings of to-night, or shall I leave them to be imagined after stating the bare facts from which they originate?
"At present it is thought that we are ice-imprisoned in Field Bay for the winter! Solid 'pack' in Davis's Strait has been seen to-day. How true it is that we know not what a day may bring forth!
"A few hours ago we were anticipating the short time that remained before the George Henry's sails were to be given to the wind, and we to be away to our loved ones at home; but now we are thinking of preparations for sustaining life in these regions of ice and snow. I must make as enduring as ink and paper will allow the incidents of this day. I begin with my trip across to the west side of the bay, to the highest mountain-top between Field Bay and the Bay of Frobisher.
"Early this morning the four boats, with the George Henry's crew, started off to cruise for whales. I set to work engaging a crew of the best Innuits among those who had just come aboard to accompany me across the bay, and a few minutes sufficed for this. Those selected were Ebierbing, Shevikoo, 'Jim Crow,' 'Miner,' Oo-ming-mung, At-tou-se-ark-chune.
"After making up the west side of the island, near which the vessel is anchored, and which forms the north and north-west side of the harbour, I was surprised to find much ice. Indeed, early this morning there was no ice in the harbour, but at the time we left it had formed so thick that it was with great difficulty that the boat could be pulled through it. Finding the ice too heavy to make progress, and apparently much thicker ahead of us, we concluded to turn our course and strike south-west, using the wind, which was favourable to the latter course. Sail being made, away we sped at a capital rate, occasionally plowing through sludge,'[2] that served greatly to deaden our speed.
"At about eleven o'clock we reached the land where the winter passage is made in going to Frobisher Bay. A few minutes were spent here in deciding which of the party should accompany me in my tramp to the mountain-top. All but one seemed reluctant to undertake it; the one I shall always remember, as he seemed rather anxious than otherwise to be my attendant; it was Shevikoo, an Innuit that I like more the more I see of him. The rest of the crew were to remain with the boat, taking it, if they chose, to hunt duck and seal.
"Shevikoo and I started. The first quarter of a mile was over a plain of fresh-water ice that had been formed by springs bubbling up and spreading their waters about. This passed, we commenced our ascent of the rugged hill that lay between us and the mountain proper that I desired to visit. A few minutes' walk up this incline decided what kind of work we had before us for the next two or three hours. I started from the boat with my tuktoo jacket and trousers on. Climbing rough rocks covered with soft, treacherous snow created a boiling heat; I therefore divested myself of the said clothing, reserving only my civilization dress.
"Resuming our walk—or rather our leaping, plunging, and tumbling, for this was the nature of our motions during the five hours we were absent from the boat—our progress up was slow—slow indeed, for the way was really rugged, though not so in appearance. Had there been no snow we could have got along very well, but as it was, the travelling was terrible. This may be believed when I state that nearly the whole distance is covered with sharp and boulder rocks—rocks upon rocks—and over these a covering of snow that made all look fair, but, on attempting to make passage over it, down through soft snow we went till our feet rested on stones, which sometimes proved firm and sometimes proved man-traps. Now and then we sunk thigh deep, our feet dropping into chinks, and becoming quite firmly wedged therein. As we wound our zig-zag way up the steep mountain, I was expecting every moment that my volunteer companion would refuse to go farther, but in this I was happily mistaken. He was a match for me.
"I was rejoiced to find, as we drew near the top, that the snow became sufficiently hard to bear us up, thus enabling us to make better progress. The summit was finally reached, and a moment's look around was sufficient to repay me for all the efforts I had made to gain that point. Field Bay, Davis's Strait, Frobisher Bay, and Kingaite were within sight. I was surprised at the height we had evidently gained. Lady Franklin Island, out in Davis's Strait, Monumental Island, and the islands of the extreme land between Frobisher Bay and Field Bay, which I visited last winter, loomed up as I had never seen them before at so great a distance from them, showing that the high land on which I was was high indeed.
FIELD BAY AND DAVIS'S STRAIT FROM THE HEIGHT OF BAYARD TAYLOR PASS.
"I took the spy-glass, and proceeded to make a prolonged observation. I first directed the glass toward the vessel, which was at a distance of seven miles; I then directed it to Davis's Strait. This I saw was filled with a heavy pack. I swept with the instrument along down said strait to the extremity of Hall's Island. No black water—nought but pack, pack, met my view! I was somewhat surprised at this, but thought that perhaps to Captain B this would be but a familiar, every-year affair. The sequel to this will be soon written.
"I asked my Innuit attendant to take the glass and 'tah-koo seko'—look at the sea-ice. When Shevikoo had viewed it carefully, I asked him, 'Seko amasuit?'—Do you see much ice? He replied, 'Noud-loo—noud-loo!'—Yes—yes. From the deep, slow tones of his voice, as he answered me, I understood that he too was surprised at the sight. I wondered how a vessel was to get out of Field Bay; but the next instant I thought, 'Well, now, Captain B will find some way, of course, which my inexperienced self cannot discover, by which the George Henry can be put through that pack.' My thoughts were also of Captain Parker and his son, who had, each with a vessel, left about this time last year and proceeded home.
"I took another prolonged look, before I left, at Davis's Strait. Monumental Island was white, and its sides presented no black rock peering out; and the same was true of Lady Franklin Island. The pack appeared very rough; much pinnacled ice was among it, and it was especially to be seen around the first island of the extreme land next Davis's Strait. As far as the eye could reach by the aid of the most excellent glass, up and down the strait, no open water met my view. I then turned to Kingaite. Miles on miles of mountain there were before me. A long line of black cloud stretched from the extreme south to the extreme north-west, just enveloping the tops of most of the Kingaite ridge. I was disappointed in not getting a sight of Oopungnewing and Niountelik; the ridge of another mountain, distant two miles, ran in such a direction as to hide them, but a small island near Oopungnewing was in sight. The termination of the grass plain, Kus-se-gear-ark-ju-a, opposite and near Niountelik, was within view. The little bay on the Frobisher Bay side, making up to within one mile of Field Bay, was nearly down beneath us.
"On climbing this mountain my clothing became saturated with perspiration. On making the top the wind was blowing cuttingly cold, thus serving to chill me too hastily for comfort or for long endurance. Before I finished the observations I made up there, I came near freezing my fingers, and the time was long, after leaving that exposed position, before I could bring them back to their natural warmth. The stinging pains I endured in those fingers, while the restoration was going on, seemed almost unbearable.
"We remained forty-five minutes on this mountain-top. Had it not been for the lateness of the hour, I should have proceeded two miles farther; this distance would have led me to the ridge which limited my view, shutting out from sight the interesting places named. This ridge is by the entrance to the little bay, or, more properly, the harbour making up nearest Field Bay.
"Taking a last look at the scenery around, we started down the mountain. Our steps were rapid. I had the misfortune to get one severe fall. As we were descending the steepest part, my right foot caught between two stones that were deep beneath a snow covering, and the swift rate at which I was going threw me headlong while I was fast in the rocks. I recovered myself and extricated my foot, though not until the cramp had seized my leg and tied knots in it. I cried lustily to Shevikoo, who was ten rods ahead. He did not hear me at first, but the second call brought him to, I managed to get the knots rubbed out of my leg before he reached me, though it was some time before I could proceed. The time of our descent was not a quarter of that consumed in going up. When within a mile of the boat, I saw the balance of my crew awaiting our return, and we reached the boat at 4 p.m. having been five hours absent from it.
"We started at once for the vessel, making slow progress at first on account of the ice. At length we reached open water, raised sail, and sped along. As we approached the harbour we found that the ice had become so thick that it was only by hard pulling, and hard drives of the oars into it, that we got to the ship. As soon as I was aboard, I asked Captain B if his men had another whale. He replied that as yet he did not know, but the indications were, as his boats were not in, that they had. He was in fine spirits. But, alas! how soon were they changed to the very depth of grief!
"Shevikoo was the first one of the crew up the side of the vessel. As soon as he got aboard he told Captain B we had seen much ice down at the entrance of the bay. When I went down below, Captain B came to me asking if I had seen any heavy ice—pack—in Davis's Strait. I told him that I had, and proceeded to give him as truthful an account of it as I could. I was astonished at the effect it produced upon him. Then it was that I first began to realize, to feel the overwhelming importance, the momentous character of that pack. On getting through my description, telling him that I not only took repeated careful looks of it through his glass, but had required Shevikoo to do the same, Captain B, with fevered brow, responded, 'Our fate is sealed! Another winter here! We are already imprisoned!'
"This was now the theme, the all-important subject of thought of every one who heard Captain B's explanation of how it was that all hope of returning to the States this season was now cut off. Captain B no longer felt able to rejoice at the capture of another whale. To and fro he paced the cabin—now on deck—another moment back again.
"At eight o'clock the four boats came in announcing the fact that another whale had been secured. At any other time this intelligence would have been received by Captain B with a joyful heart, but now he was occupied in thinking what he was to do under the present dismal circumstances. When the boats came in and were placed in position on their cranes, the captain broke to the officers the subject that now before all others pressed upon him. During the evening he proceeded to state that, from various circumstances during the year, he had been thinking there might be something of the kind, to wit, pack-ice, coming down Davis's Strait. He said, 'Last winter hung on late; there has been no summer; the year has been an unusually cold one; the water of the bay has been almost of sea-ice temperature, while now the first cold snap turns it at once to porridge, and then into solid ice. All these results are from the heavy pack that has probably been coming down Davis's Strait nearly all the season.'
"Captain B said, further, that to take the pack at this season of the year would be the very height of foolhardiness. In the spring the whalers do not hesitate to do it, for then constant daylight and warm, thawing weather are expected. But now everything is freezing up. Long, dark nights are upon us, and the George Henry is not such a vessel as one should think of venturing with her into dangerous places. Captain B is thankful that I made the trip I have to-day. He says, 'What would have been our condition had you not seen and reported this? As soon as possible I should have been on our way; I should have weighed anchors and raised sail at the first fair wind. But in what kind of a situation should we soon have found ourselves? In the pack, without the power to retreat!'
"To-morrow morning Captain B goes out for the object of visiting some point overlooking Davis's Strait, near the entrance to Field Bay, to determine what he must do on seeing how the pack is. It is hoped that he will find the pack I saw ended; but he says he has no doubt, from what I saw, that it will be impossible to get out this season; that we must make up our minds to stop here this winter. He is already planning for the wintering of his men. He says he will have to divide them among the natives, as the ship has neither provision nor fuel sufficient to last till she is again free from ice and can reach home.
| * | * | * | * | * | * | * |
"Friday, October 18th, 1861. This morning, the first and all-important matter of our being obliged to winter here absorbs our attention. It is the general subject of conversation fore and aft. Captain B started off at 7 a.m. taking with him his principal officers, for the purpose of making a survey from Budington Mountain[3] of the pack in Davis's Strait. At 9.15 a.m. he returned, reporting that Rescue Harbour was so solidly frozen that he could not get through it, and was obliged to make for another point this side. At last he made a landing, and proceeded to an eminence this side; but it was not such a view as he desired to make, though he saw enough to satisfy him that it would only be running a terrible risk to attempt getting out this season. Captain B designs crossing the bay to the high land by Parker's Harbour, or near French Head, to-day or to-morrow, if the ice will admit of it.
| * | * | * | * | * | * | * |
"October 20th, 1861.—This morning the ice in the harbour was so firm as to bear me up. As soon as I went on deck, long before the sun was up, I made my way down the ship's side upon it. The pack outside the bay, and the new ice now nearly covering it, have us imprisoned. For nine months to come we are ice-bound! Some of the men still think we shall get out, but I do not think Captain B has now the remotest idea that we can.
"Now (1 p.m.) the thermometer is at 13°, the sun shining brightly, the sky cloudless. For three days now, had there been a clear way before us, we could not have got out, for there has not been wind enough to fill the sails. Surely we are doomed to winter here. Another year of disappointment is mine; my mission to the North yet unaccomplished, I was rejoicing in my heart that the time had nearly arrived when I should be on my way to the States for the purpose of preparing again for the voyage to King William's Land, when a thunderbolt descends from an icy sky and rives my dearest plans! But stop! is not the hand of God in this? is all this luck? The wisdom of Him who sees all, and doth as He willeth, is above all the comprehension of mortals.
" ... Monday, October 21st, 1861.—The ice this morning I find by measurement to be four inches thick. During the night it was nearly calm, and the thermometer ranged from 9° to 10°. Notwithstanding the dubious circumstances by which we have been surrounded for the past few days, we have all had more or less hope of still arriving at our homes this winter; but, dreaded as it is, we have to bring our hearts to submit to this dispensation of Providence. The George Henry is fated to be ice-bound here for full nine months to come. The 20th of October, instead of finding us on our way as purposed, with hearts swelling with joyous anticipations of a quick passage home, and of soon meeting with our loved ones, finds us engaged in planning for subsistence during an imprisonment of nine months in these frozen regions. What a change! what disappointment! and yet who shall say it has not been wisely ordered. 'Man proposes—God disposes;' cheerfully, then, we should submit to our lot.
| * | * | * | * | * | * | * |
"Friday, October 25th, 1861.—This morning, to all appearance, our winter's fate is sealed. The ice is now seven inches thick, and is rapidly increasing. It is now twelve o'clock, noon, the sun shining brightly, the wind blowing strong from the north-west, and the thermometer only one degree above zero.
"After breakfast Captain B sent out three Innuits to go to Budington Mountain and see the position of the pack. They returned at half-past four; their report removes the hope of all those who were still looking to get out of our imprisonment this season. The Innuits state that seaward it is all ice; the bay is all ice except the small opening to be seen from the ship's deck. The lower and entrance part of the bay is filled with pack; in Davis's Strait nothing is to be seen but pack—'all white, no black.' The effect produced by this upon some of the George Henry's men was very painful.
"Feelings of disappointment—sad disappointment—steal over me now and then at our not being able to proceed according to our plans; but I confidently believe it is all for the best."
It was upon Captain B that the care and anxiety principally fell. He had to plan and arrange for his ship's company during another nine or ten months, and there was but a scanty supply of provisions and fuel to do it with. As to the latter want, that could be met in various ways. The jawbones of three whales recently captured would serve for a long time; one of these was sawed, chopped, and split for use. The bone is very porous, and filled with oil; the heat from it is great. One cord of bone must be equivalent to four cords of live oak. There was also some timber of the wrecked whaler down the bay.
As it regarded food, we had to husband our stores very carefully. On Sunday, October 27th, a new order of things commenced, and instead of three meals a day we had only two. Bread or flour was the most nourishing food then on board, with the exception of beans, which were to be served out twice a week. There was salt junk and salt pork, but eating either was felt to be almost worse than being without. Thus we soon found it best to fall back upon our Innuit food, and it would have amused many persons at home to have seen our messes at our daily meals. Some, too, would have wondered how we could eat such stuff; but certainly that surprise would cease when they were told we must eat it in order to live. I do not think it can be said that any of us ate "black skin" (whale skin) and other Innuit food because we really liked it. Some wise person has said that man should not live to eat, but eat to live. We were of the latter class, hence the necessity of relishing whatever came in our way.
I may here mention an incident that occurred about this time which shows the simplicity of the Innuit character in matters connected with money. Of course money, as we have it, is to them unknown. One day "John Bull" came to Captain B to buy a new one-dollar shirt, handing him two American cents as payment. Ugarng, in like manner, tried to buy a violin to which he had taken a fancy. The violin belonged to Bailey, one of the steerage hands, and Ugarng, calling him aside, whispered in his ear, "Viddle, viddle—wonga—piletay—money," and then slipped into Bailey's hand what he supposed to be a generous sum, one cent of the latest coinage. But Bailey could not trade for that, and Ugarng went away without his "viddle."
I conclude this chapter with an extract from my diary of October 30th:—
"The George Henry is short of provisions for the time she is now obliged to remain here. I have already signified to Captain B what I know will, under the circumstances, meet the approbation of the contributors to the expenses of my outfit in the way of provision, ammunition, &c. I have told him that whatever I have that will contribute to the sustenance of his ship's company the present winter, the same is at his command. I have nine cans of pemmican, of about one hundred pounds each, remaining of the twelve and a half which I had when I left the States. I have also one and a half casks of Borden's meat-biscuit. The pemmican and meat-biscuit are of the most excellent quality, and equivalent to fully 3,200 pounds of fresh beefsteak. Of these articles, as also of ammunition, I have already spoken to Captain B, saying that they were ready to supply his and the ship's company's necessities."
- ↑ This model I sent to the English government with many of the Frobisher relics which I discovered and obtained in the Countess of Warwick's Sound.
- ↑ Just as the ice begins to break, sometimes the sea-water, to a considerable depth, becomes so cold that it is thick like porridge—so thick, indeed, that a boat might as well be pulled through a lake of tar as through "sludge."
- ↑ Named by me after S. O. Budington, who was master of the George Henry. This mount, 500 feet high, is in lat. 62° 53′ N. long. 64° 42′ W.; is three miles due east of the George Henry Harbour, and a little over one mile north-east of the centre of Rescue Harbour.