The People of the Polar North/Chapter 4
One day in the late spring, when the storm, as usual, was lashing our tent, and the snow sweeping in through the chinks, we heard peculiar sounds issuing from the neighbouring tent. A great many people were shouting together, loud remarks were followed by outbursts of laughter, but a monotonous song cut through the midst of the noise, and, quite unaffected by interruptions, went serenely on, a rhythmic, somewhat snuffling music.
There was a concert going on at Sorqaq's. A few little boys were sent across to us with an invitation, and soon we, too, were lying among the half-naked men and women on the bear-skin rug which covered the sleeping-place. Two men, Majaq and Ilanguaq, were singing the usual duet, an Eskimo "song without words." They sang it with knees slightly bent, and body tilted forward, swinging their heads to and fro to the accompaniment of contortions of the trunk and genuflections, and the whole of this extraordinary danse du ventre was accompanied by a little bladder drum, beaten by the one who was leading the singing. The opposite party stood upright, facing him, and sang too, but without movements. When a part was finished, he brought up a stick, which he was holding between his two fingers, to the singer's face, and ended the tune with discordant shrieks.
The melodies themselves are perhaps the most primitive form of song that exists. They range over some five to six notes, yet can be drawn out and varied infinitely. The difference between the melodies is so slight that one needs a keen ear to detect it. Every singer has his own tunes (pisia) which he has composed himself. There are never words to them when they are merely sung for amusement; it is only when the drum singing is associated with spirit incantations that a text is improvised.
Majaq was singing. The light fell strongly in through the tent's thin bladder curtain[1] and its rays broke against his handsome face. He did not resemble in the least the type that is usually regarded as Eskimo. His face was narrow and clear cut, his nose slightly aquiline. His long hair fell down loosely over his shoulders. Buoyant and fiery in his movements, he was much more like a gipsy than an Eskimo.
The singing had gone on for an hour, the same tune all the time. The time had become somewhat quicker, and the contortions of the singer's torso more rapid and pronounced. Curious buzzing sounds issued from his lips, and his body moved in time with them. His tightly closed eyes trembled with excitement, and the perspiration poured down from his naked body. His only garment was a pair of bearskin breeches.
Majaq sang on, far away from everything and everybody. The people on the rug had ceased their chatter, and the women, with their high, piping sopranos, were joining in, singing the same arbitrary, inspired measure. The chorus was increasing steadily in voices and volume.
It was all monotonous and primitive, the notes, the movements, the rapture, and no sudden raising of the pitch in the tune seemed to stimulate the imagination; still it was music to these Polar Eskimos, and music it was to us.
And it was more; it was an experience. Even up here, then, among these people with no conception of civilised culture; even here, in this land of polar bears, walruses, and blue foxes, music, quite different in kind from that to which we are acquainted, it is true, but music nevertheless, was a necessity of life and a passion.
The opposite party brought up his stick with a sudden dash to the other's face, and the song broke off in a long, unmelodious howl.
Our host, old Sorqaq, then invited his guests to partake 
Sorqaq, or, as his name would be in English, "The Whalebone," stood in the middle of the floor, and chopped up a whole side of walrus with an axe; when each had received a fair-sized piece, he sat down and the eating proceeded in, silence. "Conversation and food, each for itself," as the Eskimo says. Only when the needs of the stomach had been satisfied did the tongues have their turn.
"Old Whalebone" was known as the finest bear-hunter in the tribe; but it was difficult to persuade him to tell stories of the chase.
"One must not talk about bear-hunting," he used to say; "if one's thoughts turn upon bears, then drive out and kill some. But sit inside and prate about them? no, leave that to old women; they are never backward when it is a case of chattering. But we men, we drive out one day with our dogs, and if we see a bear, it is not long before its meat is in our cooking-pot. I have nothing else to say!"
Show us thy back, Sorqaq!" one of the young ones ventured to say.
"Thy speech is the speech of a boy," replied the old man loftily. "Hast thou ever seen a rugged ice-covered mountain? Thy back will certainly never look like that; no bear will ever deign to make a scar on thee!" And then he rose and chopped off fresh pieces of meat, which were distributed to the company.
Sorqaq was a passionate lover of dogs, and a very clever breeder. He had a special predilection for black animals. He had devoted great care to the breeding of them and had managed to produce a very excellent hunting strain. When Sorqaq was in the vicinity of bears, no sledge could keep pace with his.
"I tell no bear stories," he said, when we had all finished our chewing in silence, "but I will tell you how I once revenged my dog."
And then he gave himself up unreservedly to the relation of his adventure.
"It was just at the season when the dark and the cold grow more intense with each dawn. The sun had disappeared and the ice had just covered the sea. It is a good bearhunting time for the man with fleet dogs. The bears, with their half-grown cubs, are on the look-out for seals on the new ice.
"It was just at this season that I put my dogs one day to a bear's trail. The dark had already commenced to mount the sky. I followed the track till it vanished suddenly in a hollow wall of ice. I cut the traces, and all the dogs rushed baying into the cave. But the bear had squeezed itself into a corner, and was quite unapproachable; they could not get near him. I was thinking of calling them back when I heard my best dog howl. He was the lead-dog in my team, and nothing ever daunted him. A moment later he came out of the cave dragging the hinder part of his body after him, and before my eyes he fell down and died. The bear had hugged him.
"The bear who had killed my lead-dog should die!
"I could not use my long lance inside the hole, and so I had to content myself with my knife; with it in my mouth I crawled inside. I could see nothing, but I could hear the growling of the bear, and that was enough. I felt my way along; when I sniffed his warm breath, I caught hold of something soft and drove the knife in with all my strength. Yah! something heavy fell on the top of me, and I fainted.
"When I became conscious again, my dead lead-dog was my first thought. The bear had gone, and so I groped my way out. Not far from the entrance the dogs had stopped the runaway.
"The bear was sitting on the ice, sneezing incessantly, and was waving his one paw at his pursuers in an oddly gentle manner. His head was bent, and the blood was gushing out of his nose; for see! straight through his snout was my hunting knife.
"When I saw it, I gave a great cry of glee, for I had revenged my dog, and then I ran my lance right through his heart.
"What did it matter after that, that my bleeding back froze fast to my clothes as I drove home through the cold winter night?"
"Old Whalebone" was not only the greatest hunter, but likewise the largest eater in the tribe; but the sight of many people eating was an indispensable adjunct to his enjoyment. For that reason, one of his most striking characteristics was his love of inviting people to a meal. Had he lived under civilised conditions, I think he would have become the landlord of an inn, for he had the qualities of a host very highly developed, and had unfailing good spirits. If he had no meat left himself, he took some from others, and gave banquets with it; and no one ever ventured to protest, for he was as much feared for his sharp tongue as he was beloved for his lighthearted laughter.
When he had finished his story, he settled himself comfortably, face downwards, on the ground, and spoke a few caressing words to his wife. They would not be considered caressing in translation. It was not long before he was fast asleep, overcome by the heavy meal of walrus meat which he had just devoured.
And, when the host began to snore, the guests crept quietly away.
"The man who idles about the house when spring is here is wasting his life!" said Old Bone one morning that I met him.
"See! on the sunny side there is no more snow. Now you can bend down and drink from the ground, and you can lie and rest out on the rocks with the sun for a covering. This is when men start off on their travels. Wilt thou come too?"
Unfortunately I could not, but I promised to follow.
"The seals on the ice are too lazy to flee before the hunters. Come after us quickly; this is the time to secure meat to get high."
Then he called his dogs, harnessed them to his sledge, and bound his old rifle and his spears fast. "It has come to pass that a man starts on his travels!" he called abruptly in at the window: that is the Polar Eskimo's farewell. "Great Sorqaq is going!" echoed from within, and the people rushed to accompany him as far as the ice.
"Without a wife—old man's fashion!" one called jestingly after him.
"Quite right! Old men are always satisfied with the women they happen upon. And where men are gathered together, there is pretty well always a woman as well," retorted old Sorqaq, with a laugh. Then he swung his whip high over his head. The dogs sprang yapping across the ice and tore off in a playful galopade. Soon the sledge was out of sight.
Happy Sorqaq! Thou wast born with an energy that will never let thee rest. Thou must live travelling because 
The world is large, that men may take it in possession. And so, when the travelling fever comes over thee, then do thou fling thyself on thy sledge, lord of thy day, master of thy dogs!
It was not many days before I followed. A young man who had arrived from the north was anxious to have company on his return journey, so we decided to go together. The man's name was Piuaitsoq, which means "The Peaceable One"; and his name suited him, for he was always cheerful and always willing and helpful.
We broke camp in the evening, in brilliant sunlight, and drove off on good, smooth ice. It is usual at this time of the year to drive at night because the heat of the sun in the daytime makes the dogs heavy. We each had a team of eight dogs, and the two teams raced each other. Now we were side by side, going along at a rattling pace, the dogs trying to express their contempt for their opponents; now, again, each drove off in a different direction; then a whispered driving signal made the dogs suspect the vicinity of bears. A few deep-drawn breaths would make the whole team raise their heads, prick up their ears, and skim swiftly across the expanse of white, unending sheets of ice; a tense, long gasp would make them thrust their noses into the snow; but they saw nothing, and scented nothing, for the driver was a deceiver.
The team had been excited by these signals, which usually portend a fight, and were beginning to look doubtfully at their driver, sitting still and silent on his sledge; but let him lift his whip—not to strike, no, only to make the slender lash whistle above their heads—and you see them drop their tails, prick up their ears, and, with a wild yelp, the whole team rush forward, till the snow whirls about their legs in clouds—seeking, scenting the enemy.
Thus we sported with our dogs and smiled happily at each other, for well-trained dogs are the delight of every driver.
We had driven all night, and towards morning had come to a snow-covered glacier some 2500 feet high; this we had to cross. Just at the bottom we came upon a meat deposit at which, for the time being, we pulled up. We were hungry.
When Eskimos, travelling from one fishing-place to another, meet with a quarry, they generally store the greater part of the meat in a deposit, as it is often a matter of difficulty to transport it. These stores of meat are regarded as places of refreshment for any travellers, and there are always enough of them scattered along a day's driving distance, to render it unnecessary for any one to carry provisions for a journey, in the more frequented districts. The meat is stored under formidable piles of stones, to protect it from bears and foxes.
We unmassed the stones, cut off a large piece of walrus beef each, and had our meal.
The sun was already beginning to shine warm; the water was dripping down the sides of the snowfield, and running off in glistening icicles, which fringed every sheer descent. The plains down below us were bare of snow; the blades of grass lifted their timid length under the hot kiss of the sun. In front of the glacier, white bubbles of water floated away beneath a transparent crust of ice, and at the bend of the stream, where they met, you heard the ice crack. As we sat silent on the stones, chewing at our frozen walrus meat, our dogs lay with ears pricked; one of them got on his feet, and looked up to the top of the mountains.
"Do you think he can scent reindeer?" I asked Piuaitsoq.
He shook his head, and answered smilingly, with his mouth full—
"No, he is sniffing the earth, beginning to melt. The dog thinks it is winter still, and does not understand the smell of spring!"
A few snow buntings fly up to us and ensconce themselves under the jutting edge of the snow, to wash in the dripping water. But the great snowfield is groaning in the sunshine, and sighs so profoundly that a chasm breaks in it, furrowing the white forehead of it like a broad wrinkle.
We drive up through a deep gully, between the glacier and the mountain. A stream-bed makes the going easy and pleasant, except where, in places, large stones have forced their way through. About 600 feet aloft, we are able to drive on to the glacier, which rounds itself smoothly upwards like a shining marble back. The sun is scorching our faces, and the sun rays, which are flung back by the endless icefields, force us to close our eyes, so brilliant are they.
The dogs drag us up slowly, with dripping tongues hanging far out of their mouths.
The sun, the heat, and the frozen walrus flesh we have devoured, make us feel heavy and inert. We try to rouse ourselves by walking alongside the sledges, but perspiration drenches our clothes, and finally we both tumble back upon them and drop asleep.
I am awakened by my dogs stopping to look round and see what has become of me. I rub my eyes, and for a moment do not know where I am. Dazzled by the light, I see nothing but the sun; fire flashes in front of my eyes, and the whole of the cold glacier seems transformed into a white-hot mass. I am on the crest of the glacier, which unrolls itself monotonously as far as the eye can reach. But where is Piuaitsoq? The ice-crust is hard and shows no traces. Where am I to begin looking for him?
There is nothing to be done but to let the dogs scent him out; so I mutter a little word between my teeth: "tyu, tyu, tyu!" The dogs forget the heat, and begin to sniff. And I know, when they spring forward at a gallop, that they have scented either Piuaitsoq, or a reindeer crossing the glacier. It is not long before a sledge comes into sight ahead, and the sleeping Piuaitsoq jumps up with a shout, as the two teams collide, barking.
Later in the afternoon we reached the camp where Sorqaq had put up. The tents lay under a steep, clean-cut mountain ridge, which from its shape bore the name of "The Curved Knife." It was notorious for its sudden squalls of wind when there were storms about. We were still some distance away when everything that could creep or crawl inside the tents seemed to wake up. People shouted, and called out for sledges, and the dogs whined and yelped, not understanding what was going on. Sorqaq came leaping down over the edge of the ice with upturned sleeves and crimson arms. His face was glistening from a recent application of blubber.
"You bring joy!" he called out to us; "the long expected has arrived at last!"
He had just caught a seal, and was in the middle of flensing. On his fishing expedition he had joined his old friend, Qilerneq, and the two were now revelling together in all the delights of hunting and fishing. One must associate with "one's equals," he explained: Qilerneq, it appeared, was the oldest man in the tribe. They were staying in the house of a young woman named Alingnaluk, who was for the time being a lonely wife. Her husband, handsome Pualuna, had gone north to find her a companion wife.
When I drove up to the tents, an old, white-haired man tottered up to my sledge and called out his greeting: "sainaksunai!" It was Qilerneq.
"They all like old man's catch best," said Sorqaq, "and you shall all eat fresh-caught seal to-day. Alingnaluk has the pot over the fire already."
"Old man never boasts of his age!" replied Qilerneq, laughing. "Thou talkest with the tongue of a youth. Thy hair is still black, Sorqaq."
"Thou art right, Qilerneq, my tongue is the tongue of a youth, but were my habits the habits of a young man, I should have shot the seal. Look you, I threw my gun away; for that manner of play is without strength. And then I crept right up to the animal, who thought I was a comrade, and I stabbed it. And my black hair thou only tauntest me with, because thou art envious that it is not faded like thine. He! he! he!"
Wherever Sorqaq was, all who wanted to laugh collected; and laughter followed upon his words now, as always.
"And thy dogs shall sleep heavily!" he went on. "Their full stomachs shall make them heavy to sleep, he, he!" And 
In the spring, there are no regular hours for sleep in an Eskimo camp; life goes on by day and night, if the weather be good. A large open fire, kept burning briskly, assembles the people round the open-air banqueting place, and the constant coming and going of men who are starting out, on fishing intent, and of those who are returning, keeps up life and interest round the fire all the time.
We sat round it, for fire and food, till far into the morning, and we were fortunate enough to taste of the fresh produce of the pot several times.
Old Sorqaq, in the course of the night, evoked a general expression of opinion that I ought to take a wife among the girls of the village.
"See, there is Isigaitsoq, and there is Amimik," he urged. "Isigaitsoq has the longest hair, if you care for such vanities, and a perfectly new fox-skin robe. But you should understand that it is not the right thing for a man to travel all over the country, as you are doing, young and unmarried. You will get a bad reputation, and expose yourself to be made game of. Seest thou, a bachelor is a man who is rejected because he is a poor provider. For a woman is one of the things that a man should have. Here, a woman is the first thing he takes; after that come dogs, kayak, and last and most difficult of all, a gun. All this thou hast already. But who is to look after thy things, who will warm thy bed, and caress thee? Up here a young man always travels with a wife; sometimes, if necessary, with a borrowed one."
He proposed next that the following day all the sledges in the encampment should race to the bird rock at Kiatak; we were to go bird-catching; the sea-king[2] had arrived. You hide yourself in the stones, armed with a bird-net, and when the birds whizz past by the thousand over your head, you stretch out the net and draw them in, just as in Europe we catch butterflies, or, in the Faroe Islands, puffins. The sea-king is twice as large as a sparrow, and is caught in such large numbers that the supply lasts nearly all through the winter. "But," added Sorqaq, after his proposal, "the catching shall be done in couples, and," turning to me, "thou wilt take Isigaitsoq!"
Laughing, we turned into the tents, to get a little nap before the bird-catching expedition. I was the guest of Tornge. His wife was awaiting us with fresh reindeer meat, so more work lay before us before we could retire to rest; but, as the Eskimos say, soon our well-filled stomachs made us heavy to sleep.
The bird-catching did not come off. Later in the morning a north-west gale broke out, which put an end to the project. The tent in which we were sleeping was slit from top to bottom, and "The Curved Knife Hill" hurled its squalls so violently across the plain that you had to crawl along the ground, if you came out at all. So the Eskimos remained where they were for the whole of the twenty-four hours, to sleep the storm out. Late on in the evening I crept out and made my way through the snowdrift down to the tent where the two old friends were "lodging."
I was not in the least surprised to learn that they had left their warm bear-skins long ago and gone out in the wind. After looking for them for some time I found them in a dilapidated stone hut which was usually occupied by the dogs. They had made a huge open fire inside and were sitting round it, jabbering away and boiling seal-meat. Their faces were black with smoke and soot.
"Hi, come here!" bawled up Sorqaq through a hole in the roof, catching sight of me. "People are so foolish! Snowstorms and sleep make them forget the needs of the stomach. And, as it did not look as though they would ever get up again, we are sitting here cooking for them all," they explained, as I climbed down.
The delight of the two old men in each other's company was 
"The Knot" having found it a difficulty to chew sealmeat, "Whalebone" had hit upon the expedient of frying a few dainty slices for him in blubber, on a hollow stone. And he was sitting devouring this when I joined them. Sorqaq had taken his old gun to pieces and was engaged in giving it a very creditable cleaning. When he had finished, he made arrangements for a grand target-shooting practice. The shoulder-blade of a walrus was set up against an ice-covered cliff, and every shot he fired he sent a boy down to cut out the ball. In the meantime the old man would sit hugging himself with delight at being able to score one bull's eye after another without using up any of his treasured ammunition.
"One must be economical!" explained Sorqaq, and laughed. "I learnt that once when I was driven out to sea by a westward gale. I was far from land when the ice split up and began to drift out. The floes crashed against each other, and were ground up smaller and smaller; at last I was obliged to climb with my dogs on an iceberg, and there play ship's captain for Sve days. But I had only one small seal to live upon, I and my eight dogs. Seest thou! it was then that I learnt economy; for there was no knowing when I should cast anchor in a harbour. On the fifth day I was driven to landward by a southwest wind. But when people saw me come drifting in on the top of an iceberg, they very nearly ran away; they thought I was a sea-monster. Sorqaq, of course they thought, had been seal-catching in the hunting-grounds of the dead long enough—heh! heh! Yes, death follows men about, dogs men's footsteps, and is never farther away from life than his shadow from a man!"
Sorqaq was soon to prove the truth of this last remark. One day that autumn was very nearly his last.
He had gone to a bird rock, auk-shooting, and of course he could not pick up the razorbills from below like other mortals, but must needs go a thousand feet aloft. There he had bound a leather thong about his body, and had hopped about among the shelves of rock. At last, however, he forgot the thong for once, and sprang too far. The line ran out before he had secured a foot-hold; for a moment he hung dangling over the precipice, then the line broke, and Sorqaq fell. Some kayak-men found him lying unconscious on a little reef. He had fallen during the ebb tide, and the rising flood had already reached his body. His shoulder was broken, and he had a bad wound in his head. He was towed home like a dead seal, and laid on a bear-skin, that he might die in peace; and his wife began to mourn the loss of the breadwinner.
But he cheated death that time too. Later in the winter he was once more one of the first sledge-drivers.
"Death shows favour!" said Sorqaq, the first day I met him out after his fall.
Marvellous Sorqaq!
When I came to leave your land, to return to civilisation, you stroked your hand over my breast at parting and said to me: "I am an old man. But all within me with forces that grow old, is strong yet; and now I stroke thee over the breast to make thee strong for a long life!"
And in the crowd of the many people that I have met and known I have not forgotten you.
And I raise this memorial to the old bear-hunter.
