CHAPTER XII
WE BREAK INTO SOCIETY
THE formation of new ice on the surface of Etah Fiord grimly brought home to us the dread reality that the relentless Arctic winter was now all but upon us. To flee before this dire warning was our only recourse, and the Commander ruefully gave the word to pack up and make all speed for home. The elements had barred our way to the great unknown area of the Polar Sea, but we had at least carried the outer ramparts through our new and untried means of attack by air. Now the time for temporizing had passed, and we must fly before young ice, snowstorms and September winds.
Thus it was with regret that we broke out the anchor from the mud of Etah Harbor on the morning of August 21st, and headed out through the channel, and across the walrus grounds towards Cape Alexander. There the usual squall met us, and this time with such force that we were forced to go into McCormick’s Bight, (Pandora Harbor), to await the abatement of the storm.
In a few hours it calmed down sufficiently to permit us to round the Cape, and we set our course for Ig-loo-da-houny. At this place we arrived at about six in the evening, and dropped anchor to await the arrival of the Peary which was still at Etah loading aboard the last of our equipment.
At Ig-loo-da-houny was encamped a considerable number of Eskimos, including several valuable assistants of Peary’s. Among these was Oo-bloo-ya, a very noted aide of Peary’s on nearly all his trips in the eighteen years of his work. Also sojourning at this settlement was Sipsoo of the heroic starvation party of 1906, which broke the world’s record of farthest north. Koo-la-ting-wa of the successful Polar trip also was present. Even Ah-pellah, assistant to the notorious Dr. Frederick Cook, on his now famous Polar hoax of 1907-1909, was eking out his existence at this spot. Indeed a notable group of Eskimos.
That evening in the forecastle we gave a motion picture show for the Eskimos, exhibiting some of the Commander’s Arctic pictures, and several reels of Melkon’s pie-throwing comedy. The only one amused by the comedy was Melkon, since its crass horseplay was too broad for the Eskimo sense of humor. But when there flashed on the screen the pictures of themselves and their environment, they shouted and yelled with the sheerest childlike delight. And when the half-dozen belles saw themselves depicted, their joy was greater than that of any Hollywood Magdalene of seven husbands.
The next day the Commander flew down to Karna to see his old friend and companion of many previous expeditions, E-took-a-shoo. When E-took-a-shoo saw the plane come skimming along the land in front of his tupik he was flabbergasted. But when the Commander invited him to fly back to Ig-loo-da-houny, he simply said, “Wait till I get my mittens.” Then with utter confidence in his own safety while he was at the Commander’s side, he mounted into this strange machine and flew back to Ig-loo-da-houny with as little concern as if he had been on his own sledge.
In the meanwhile the Peary had arrived to load on the remaining plane, and we got under weigh for Karna to return E-took-a-shoo to his home. On the way to Karna we had to sail through a long stretch of uncharted water. The Commander had scrutinized it from the air, and apparently it was safe and free from obstructions.
We were unconcernedly sailing along when suddenly there was a grinding shock, and the vessel trembled from stem to stern. The bow lurched skyward, and we came to an abrupt stop. At the time, the Commander was below donning his oilskins, as a driving sleet was coming on. In two jumps he was on deck, and with one swift glance he took in our predicament. Immediately he reversed the engine, but we were hard and fast aground. The all important question faced us: “Was the tide rising or falling?” In a few moments it was apparent that it was falling. The Commander at once ordered us to throw overboard the thirty barrels of gasolene which constituted our deck load. This was but the work of a few moments. Then a kedge anchor was run astern to see if we might heave her off. But the tide was falling very rapidly and all of our efforts were frustrated. It was now apparent that we should have to wait until the tide rose again,—a matter of twelve hours or so.
The Bowdoin on the rocks in North Greenland.
Head of 2000-pound walrus, killed at Etah, North
Greenland.
Meanwhile the barrels were slowly drifting away down wind, and the Commander perceived that if they were to be saved immediate measures were necessary. Therefore he despatched us in the small boats to recover them. We tumbled over the side into the dories and were soon scudding before the curling seas which lay between us and the barrels. Once among the barrels, we swung our boat’s nose into the wind, and the laborious process of salvaging the barrels was begun. Koelz held us steady with the oars, and I set to work putting lines on the barrels. Leaning over the stern of a pitching dory in a rough chop and striving to maintain a grip on a heavy steel drum which was rising and falling in opposite sequence to the boat, was indeed a task not to be underestimated. It was necessary to lift the barrel partly out of the water with one hand and float a clove hitch under it with the other hand. Every pitch of the boat nearly wrenched my arm from its socket. The icy water almost froze my hands, and soon they were white and numb. We stuck to this work, however, until all barrels had been gathered and tethered into rafts. These were then anchored to prevent further drifting and left to be later picked up by the vessel.
Oomiak: Eskimo women’s boat, made of sealskins.
South Greenland kayak.
After three exhausting hours of this toil, they were all securely bound together and anchored. Then we returned to the ship. By this time the tide had fallen so far that she lay on her side at an acute angle. In fact, the incline was so great that it was impossible to stand on the deck. We had to walk along the bulwarks, and to cross the decks necessitated pulling oneself up by a rope. In the cabin one had to stand on the side walls, and the galley stove was so tilted that to cook on it was impossible. We had to make a meal of cold willy and other preparations which required no cooking. Despite the soggy coldness of it all, food never did taste better!
The hours dragged slowly by as we waited for the tide to rise. The Peary had been summoned to our aid, and she soon came hugging the far side of Herbert Island. Taking soundings as she went, she came nosing up within a few hundred feet of the Bowdoin. By the time she arrived the tide had begun to rise, and the water was slowly creeping up the deck of our ship. We clapped shut the portholes and battened down the hatches, and waited. By inches the tide rose, and the vessel began to show signs of stirring. We began taking up on the kedge anchor. The Peary was ready for immediate action, when a most astounding phenomenon took place. About a half-mile away lay a huge million ton iceberg. Suddenly we heard an ear-rending roar. We looked towards the great berg. Slowly it up-ended with great fragments hurtling in every direction, then rocked from side to side as it regained its balance. In a few seconds a monstrous swell came rolling towards us from this cataclysm, and we were lifted gently from the ledge and swept gracefully into the open water beyond. We stared aghast; could we believe our senses? Yes, there could be no doubt of it, we were free of the ledge. We looked after the great receding wave and felt that at last the baneful spell of Torngak had been shattered!
Quickly we hauled aboard the barrels, set things to rights and made all sail for Cape York. There we arrived early on the morning of August 27th, and we indeed realized that we had left none too soon, for the winds were white with winter snow. The Commander stopped for a brief visit and to present a few gifts to the Eskimos encamped there; then we squared away for South Greenland. Across the now ice-free Melville Bay we flew with a roaring boreal wind, speeding our progress home. For three days we ran dead before it with huge seas coming up from the stern and rolling under our vessel.
After we left Cape York, the midnight sun was with us no longer, and we had darkness for the first time in over a month. It indeed seemed strange to see the icebergs again bathed in a sunset flush, gleaming in the distance like old Greek temples of delicate pink marble. As twilight shaded into darkness and the stars blossomed once more in the heavens, we sat long on the quarter deck drinking in the infinite beauty of the night, silent save for the murmur of the water beneath the prow.
At Sukkertoppen.
At last, late in the evening of August 30th, after a remarkably rapid run from Cape York, we made our way into the harbor of Holsteinborg in Danish Greenland. We had heard much about this port from our companions who had made previous voyages, especially regarding the attractions of its maidens. Our expectations were aroused, and great was our chagrin when the governor refused us permission to land. The Commander came to the rescue, and after he had wirelessed to the Governor-general, he at last obtained consent for the expedition to go ashore. This permission was extended only until nightfall, however. Thus any participation in the much-heralded Greenland dances was frustrated. We went ashore, nevertheless, and were at least permitted to take photographs of the Greenland belles dressed in their barbaric finery. In return for their smiles we presented them with some beads and trinkets. Then we left them and went for a visit to the halibut canning factory which is this hundred-man-town’s only industry. Here are preserved annually several hundred thousand cans of the most delectable fish for shipment to Denmark.
Photo Melkon.
Dick Salmon with large cod jigged while stormbound
in Godthaab Fiord.
Here we waited a brief time for the Peary, and on her arrival we got under weigh for Sukkertoppen, a town of six hundred, and the largest in all Greenland. We were hospitably welcomed by Governor Langskov, who extended us a cordial welcome and the freedom of the city. His welcome was in strong contrast to the chilly reception farther up the coast, and we felt that we had once more arrived among friends. In every way possible, he and his charming family entertained us, and we did our best to return their hospitality. That night we gave the entire population a treat by showing our choicest films at the schoolhouse.
To thread our way through the unlighted town was a hazardous proceeding. Since the way to the schoolhouse was little better than a swampy trail, and ankle deep in mud over a considerable portion of its length, we had our troubles. Once we nearly walked off the sea-wall; again we nearly skidded down an abrupt and rocky hill. But at last we arrived at the schoolhouse which was pitch dark, owing to the fact that the oil lamps had not yet arrived. After considerable trouble, however, with the aid of a feeble flashlight, we managed to set up the projector and the screen. Then the population arrived, and the show began.
Being more nearly civilized, these people took far more interest in our regular cinema dramas than did the northern Eskimos, in fact these people are not really Eskimos at all, but three-quarters European.
After the pictures we went up to the Governor’s house for refreshments. There we were delightfully entertained by the Governor, his genial wife and his charming daughter, and there we were served with Danish coffee, which we all agreed was the most aromatic coffee we had ever drunk. Moreover it was enriched with real cow’s cream—the first we had had since leaving Sydney. The cow that gave this cream is probably one of the northernmost cows in the world, but the cream showed no sign of having been affected by the latitude, and it tasted better than it used to at home.
The following morning, Sunday, the Commander announced that we had all been invited to attend the church service. This, we learned, was to be conducted entirely in the Eskimo language, for the people there still speak Eskimo though they have lost nearly all other similarity to the real Eskimos through their having bred with Europeans.
At ten o’clock we heard the church bells ringing, and the Commander called all aboard for those going ashore. A short row put us at the dock, and in a few moments we were at the church. The population was there arranged in respectful lines awaiting our arrival before entering the church—one of many courtesies accorded us in this hospitable settlement.
We entered the church. It was not far different from those at home. An organ at the left, the ornate altar in the center, a pulpit at the right, and behind the altar several oil paintings representing Biblical scenes comprised the main part of the furnishings. Garbed in his ecclesiastical robes, the Lutheran minister intoned the opening chant; then the congregation struck up a hymn, the tune of which I had often heard in the old Hill School chapel. But the words had all been translated into Eskimo, and a bizarre effect was produced through the combination of the familiar music and the outlandish words. We found the service most interesting until the sermon. That lasted for nearly an hour, and to sit on hard board benches and listen to words, the import of which we had no conception, was to say the least trying!
After the service and lunch on the ship, we went to the house of Mr. Neilson, the chief trader. There we shared the hospitality of Mr. Neilson, and his attractive wife and daughter, this being one of many pleasant occasions that we spent in their home.
We had now experienced many of the delightful customs and courtesies which so endear the memory of days spent in Greenland, but one desire that still remained with us was to attend a Greenland dance such as we had seen depicted in the Commander’s films. Great was our delight, therefore, when the village lads and lasses the next day accosted us with the word “danswa.” Through the interpreter we learned that this combination of Eskimo-Danish meant “big dance.”
A good Eskimo puppy.
Typical winter home of South Greenland Eskimo.
Eskimo girls of Holsteinborg, Mixture of Danish, Spanish,
English and Eskimo.
That evening we put on our best clothes and glossiest sealskin boots—the Greenland dancing pump de rigeur. After our toilet was complete, we repaired to the cooper’s shop, then utilized as a dance hall. We made our way through the assembled crowd, and entered the long, low room which was lighted by only three or four smoky candles. All decked in their most elaborate finery, the girls were ranged along the wall, and a short distance removed from them stood the young bucks. Against the white sila-paks of the males, the colorful feminine costumes made a pleasing contrast. This costume consisted first of all of a pair of elaborately dyed and embroidered sealskin boots, with tops of fine linen on which is sewed lace. These reach almost to the hips. Tucked into the top of these are tight-fitting sealskin pants with a broad, colorful strip of leather running down the front. Around the upper part of the body was fitted a bodice lined with eiderdown, and over this was a facing of ornate velvet. Around their necks and reaching half-way to the waist was a wide, artistically beaded collar of which no two were alike in design and workmanship. About their heads each wore a ribbon. A red ribbon was worn by the maidens; a blue ribbon by the married ones, and a black ribbon by the widows. For one who was a mother, but who was not in the last two categories, a green ribbon was worn—a later learned fact which explained why some of us were greeted with smiling refusals to accept green ribbon in exchange for furs and trinkets.
Soon arrived the Governor and his lady and their daughter, as did also Mr. Neilson and his family. This was the signal for the dance to begin, and the orchestra struck up a lively tune. The orchestra, by the way, consisted of a wheezy accordion which seemed reasonably in tune except on the very high C’s. This accordion was manipulated by a relay of players who spelled each other while each took his turn at dancing.
The dancing itself consisted of a series of gyrations and whirls which made the Charleston appear like Walter Camp’s setting up exercises in a home for old ladies. It is made up of measures of everything from the hornpipe to the hula hula—fragments of dances contributed by sailors from the seven seas, and well suited to the cosmopolitan blood of many of these children of mischance.
The fun was fast and furious, and the night merrily tripped along “on light fantastic toe” until at last the candles guttered in their sockets and went out, leaving the party whirling about in the darkness. This incident in no way dimmed the enjoyment of the occasion, and there was many a close shave and tight squeeze before the party broke up.