Part 8

The Eskimos upon the eastern coast of Labrador are, as a rule, small of stature, not much exceeding five feet. Those upon the western shore, however, are taller and more robust; they are quite strongly built, with hair and beard sweeping down over the shoulders and chest. When the good seed sown by the patient missionary finds lodging in a Husky's heart, he usually signalizes his adoption of Christianity by indulging in a clean shave, or at least by cutting his beard short with a pair of scissors, in deference perhaps to the judgment of St. Paul that "if a man have long hair, it is a shame unto him."

They have small, soft hands, broad shoulders, big flat faces, large, round heads, and short, stubby noses,

"Tip-tilted, like the petals of a flower,"

and very generous mouths, which, being nearly always on the broad grin, make free display of fine rows of sharp, white teeth. In complexion they are tawny and ruddy, and the face is of a much darker shade than the body. At spring-time, when the sun's burning rays are reflected from glistening banks of snow, they become almost as black in the face as negroes; but new-born babes may be seen as fair as any English child. Their eyes are small and almost uniformly black, and peep brightly out at you from underneath a perfect forest of brow and lash. Their hair is black, also, and very thick and coarse.

Their ordinary food is the flesh of the seal, with its attendant blubber, and the fish that abound along the shore. They are not particular whether their dinner is cooked or not, and I seriously question whether a professional pugilist in the height of his training could swallow his beef-steak as "rare" as the Eskimos will their seal cutlets. They are also very partial to tallow, soap, fish oil, and such things, which they look upon as great delicacies, a big tallow candle being rather more of a treat to an Eskimo youngster than a stick of candy to a civilized small boy.

That these peculiar and decidedly repulsive tastes are, after all, bottomed on the laws of nature, is clearly shown by the fact that when the natives around a mission station adopt a European diet (and they soon become passionately fond of bread and biscuits) they inevitably grow weak and incapable of standing the intense cold. When Joe, that heroic Eskimo who supported Hall's expedition by his hunting, after Hall himself had died, was transplanted to America and thence to England, he soon languished and grew consumptive, despite every effort to preserve his health. On joining Captain Young in the _Pandora_, his only remark, uttered with a depth of eager, confident hope that was very touching, was, "By-and-by get little seal meat; then all right,"--a prediction that was fulfilled to the very letter when he regained his native ice. As soon as they killed their first seal Joe was given free rein, and he began to revive at once. His hollow cheeks resumed their old-time chubbiness (and smeariness too, no doubt), his languor left him, and he was, in short, another man.

The seal is, in fact, everything to the Eskimo. What the buffalo was to the American Indian, what the reindeer is to the European Laplander, all that, and still more, is the seal to these Children of the Cold. Upon its meat and blubber they feed. With its fur they are clothed. By its oil they are warmed and lighted. Stretched upon appropriate framework, its skin makes them sea-worthy boats and weather-proof tents. While, unkindest use of all, with its bladder they float the fatal harpoon that wrought its own undoing. To sum it all up in one sentence, take away the seal, and the Eskimo could not exist for a month.

There is not much room for fashion's imperious sway in Labrador. Seal-skin from scalp to toe is the invariable rule; and there would be no small difficulty in distinguishing between the sexes, if the women did not indulge in a certain amount of ornamentation, upon their garments, and further indicate their femininity by appending to their sacques a curious tail reaching almost to the ground, which they renew whenever it becomes so dirty as to shock even their sluggish sensibilities. Still another distinguishing mark, permissible, however, only to those who have attained the dignity of motherhood, is the amook, a capacious hood hung between the shoulders, which forms the safest and snuggest of all carrying places for babies that otherwise would be "in arms."

*III.*

In addition to the records of the Moravian missionaries, the reports of the Arctic explorers and the stories brought back by whalers concerning the Eskimos, much information has been gained of late through the measures taken by the Canadian Government to determine the practicability of Hudson Bay as a commercial highway. For three successive years expeditions on an extensive scale have been despatched to that little-known region, and observing stations have been maintained throughout the year at different points along the coast of Labrador and the shores of that great inland sea which has not inappropriately been termed the "Mediterranean" of Canada. As one result of these expeditions, much attention has been drawn to the natives. Lieutenant Gordon, who has commanded all three, has many kind words for them. He finds them docile, amiable, and willing to work, and apparently much pleased with the prospect of increased intercourse with the white man. Occasionally one is met that has been sufficiently enterprising to acquire the English language, while many others understand well enough what is said to them in that language, although they cannot be persuaded to speak it.

They are wildly fond of any article of civilized clothing, and the head-man at one settlement exhibited no little pride in the possession of a stand-up linen collar, almost worthy to be placed beside one of Mr. Gladstone's. Although he displayed it to the utmost advantage, he did not, like the Fiji chieftain, consider all other clothing superfluous.

When stores were being landed at the stations, the Eskimos would gather about and offer their services, which were always accepted, and then all day long they would toil cheerfully side by side with their white brethren, requiring no other remuneration than biscuits. When so much has been written by Arctic explorers about the incorrigible kleptomania of the natives, it is no less a matter for surprise than for gratification that Lieutenant Gordon can bear this testimony as to the moral status of the Eskimos at Hudson Bay: "One word may be said in regard to their honesty. Although scraps of iron and wood possess a value to them which we can hardly appreciate, they would take nothing without first asking leave. Not even a chip or broken nail was taken without their first coming to ask permission of the officer who was on duty!"

No doubt the fact that practical prohibition prevails has something to do with this highly commendable showing. The law, aided and abetted by the vigilant missionaries, shuts out everything stronger than lime-juice, and the path of the Eskimo is free from the most seductive and destructive of all temptations, except when some unprincipled whaler offers him a pull out of his flask. This, however, is a rare occurrence, and there is no record of any such disturbance ever having been raised as would in more highly civilized communities call for the interference of the police. Although the simplicity of their life and their freedom from many modern vices conduce to longevity, these advantages are more than counterbalanced by the strain put upon their constitutions by the severity of the climate and the incessant struggle for food. Consequently they soon age, and seldom live beyond sixty years.

The doctrine that cleanliness is next to godliness finds few adherents in Eskimo land. The rule seems to be to eschew washing throughout the year, and many a mighty hunter goes through life innocent of a bath, unless, indeed, he should happen to be tumbled out of his kayak by some irate walrus with other than sanitary designs in mind. Mr. Tuttle, the historian of the first Hudson Bay expedition, is authority for the statement that the children, when very young, are sometimes cleaned by being licked with their mother's tongue before being put into the bag of feathers that serves them as bed, cradle, and blanket; but one cannot help thinking that this particular version of "a lick and a promise" is rather too laborious to have extensive vogue.

So familiar has the world been made through the medium of Arctic exploration literature with the igloos (huts), kayaks and umiaks (boats), sledges, dogs, harpoons, and other possessions of these people, which are precisely the same wherever they may be found, that reference to them seems unnecessary, especially as the Canadian Eskimos offer nothing peculiar. But, before concluding, a few words must be added as to the intellectual and moral characteristics of the race. Their intelligence is considerable. In some instances they display not only a taste but a talent for music, chart-making, and drawing. One case is mentioned where a mere lad drew an excellent outline of the coast for over a hundred miles, indicating its many irregularities with astonishing accuracy. They are capital mimics, and are apt at learning the songs and dances of their white visitors. But they are poor men of business. They generally leave to the purchaser the fixing of the price of anything they have to sell.

It is said that in their private lives their state of morality is low, although they avoid indecency calculated to give public offence. Stealing and lying were unknown among them until these "black arts" were introduced by the whites as products of civilization, and, unhappily, the natives are proving apt pupils. They are also somewhat given to gambling. Although by no means without courage, they seldom quarrel, and never go to war with one another.

As to religion, the Eskimos, before they accepted Christianity, had little or none that was worthy of the name. They believe in the immortality of the soul, but liberally extend this doctrine to the lower animals also, which they endow with souls. They hold, also, that human souls can pass into the bodies of these very animals.

With respect to the higher powers, their creed is that the world is ruled by supernatural beings whom they call "owners;" and as almost every object has its owner, this would seem to be a kind of Pantheism. After death human souls go either up or down; but in curious contrast to the belief of all other races, the good, in their opinion, go to the nether world, where they bask in a land, not of milk and honey, but of inexhaustible seal meat and blubber. The bad, on the other hand, go to the upper world, where they suffer what a fashionable preacher euphemized as "eternal uneasiness," not from excess of heat but from frost and famine. There they are permitted to lighten their misery by playing ball with a walrus head, which diversion, by the way, in some inexplicable fashion, gives rise to the aurora borealis.

Like all aborigines they have their own legend of the deluge, and to this day they proudly point out a large island lying between Okkak and Hebron, rising to the height of nearly seven thousand feet, which they claim was the only spot left uncovered by the flood, and upon which a select party of their antediluvian ancestors survived the otherwise all-embracing catastrophe.

The future destiny of this interesting race may be readily forecast. In common with the Red Indian of the plains, the swarthy Eskimo may adopt with reference to the white man those words of fathomless pathos uttered by John the Baptist in reference to the Messiah, "He must increase, but I must decrease." It is merely a question of time. All over the vast region he inhabits are signs showing that his numbers were far greater once than they are at present. The insatiable greed of his white brothers is rendering his existence increasingly difficult. The seal and the walrus are ever being driven farther north, and that means a sterner and shorter struggle for life. As the Indian will not long survive the buffalo, so the Eskimo will not long survive the seal. There are, perhaps, fifteen thousand of them now scattered far and wide over the tremendous spaces between Labrador and Alaska. Each year their numbers are growing less, and ere long the last remnant of the race will have vanished, and the great lone North will return to the state of appalling solitude and silence that only the Canadian Children of the Cold had the fortitude to alleviate by their presence.

*FACE TO FACE WITH AN "INDIAN DEVIL."*

There were three of us, and we were all untiring explorers of the forests and streams within reach of our homes in quest of such possessors of fur, fin, or feather as our guns and rods could overcome.

Plenty of luck did we have too, for we lived in a sparsely-settled part of Nova Scotia, and the trout and partridges and rabbits had not had their ranks thinned by too much hunting. It was no uncommon thing for us to bring back, as the result of an afternoon's whipping of the brooks, two or three dozen speckled trout weighing from half-a-pound to three pounds each, while less than a dozen brace of plump partridges or bob-tailed rabbits was looked on as a very poor bag for a day's shooting.

Adventurous and enterprising as we were, however, one stream of which we had knowledge remained undisturbed by our lines. It was known among the Mic-Macs, a band of whom roamed about the neighbourhood, as Indian Devil Run, being so called because of their belief that the dense dark forest in which it took its rise was the fastness of a family of panthers, of which they stood in great dread.

Nor was the name without good foundation, for one autumn a hunter with gun and trap ventured into this place, and returned with the body of a panther, stating that he believed others still remained.

Indian Devil Run began somewhere in the North Forest, ran through its heavy shadows for several miles, and then appeared to add its contribution to the Digdequash River, at which point we made its acquaintance.

We often talked about following it up into the depths of the forest, but the Indian stories made us pause, until at last one evening in September, Jack Johnston, craving some fresh excitement, dared us to make the attempt, and we rashly accepted the challenge.

The following morning we set off, letting no one know the object of our expedition. We were armed in this fashion: Charlie Peters bore an ancient Dutch musket, warranted when properly loaded to kill at both ends; Johnston had a keen tomahawk, which the Indians had taught him to use like one of themselves; and I carried an old-fashioned smooth-bore shot-gun, dangerous only to small game.

"Now, if we come across an Indian devil, Charlie," said Johnston, "you give him a broadside from 'Dutchie,' and I'll finish him with my tomahawk."

"And where do I come in?" I asked, with a smile.

"You? Oh, you blaze away at him with your pepperpot; you might perhaps put his eyes out, you know," Jack laughingly responded, and so our order of battle was settled upon.

We crossed the Digdequash in a canoe, hid our craft in the underbrush, and in high feather entered upon the exploration of Indian Devil Run.

It proved to be a succession of falls and rapids, overshadowed by huge trees for several miles, and we had hard work making our way up its course. But we toiled steadily on, and just before mid-day were rewarded for our pains by reaching a lovely spot, where the banks of the stream widened to form an enchanting pond encircled by a meadow, and offering every inducement to stay and rest.

Glad were we to do so. The pond evidently swarmed with trout. Quickly adjusting our fishing-tackle, we got to work. Shade of Izaak Walton! what a paradise for anglers! The water fairly boiled as the hungry trout fought for the privilege of being hooked. In one hour we landed as many as we could carry home, and they were fine fellows every one of them.

"The greatest place for trout I ever struck!" exclaimed Charlie Peters, throwing down his rod. "I positively haven't the heart to catch any more. It seems like taking a mean advantage of them."

So we stopped the slaughter--apparently much to the disappointment of our prey, who hung about asking to be made victims--and proceeded to dispose of the ample lunch with which our thoughtful mothers had provided us. Then we had a refreshing plunge in the clear water, scaring the trout nearly out of their skins, and by this time it was necessary that we should retrace our steps.

On our way up I had brought down a fine brace of birds, and to save carrying them to and fro had hung them to a high branch, intending to pick them up on the return journey.

"Don't forget your partridges, Hal," said Jack to me, as we shouldered our bags heavy with trout.

"No fear of that," I replied. "I know exactly where I left them."

Hitherto we had seen and heard nothing to justify the Indians' superstitious dread of the locality. No signs of wild animals were visible, and in high spirits at having discovered so rich a fishing-ground we hastened homeward.

"I guess the Indian devils have got tired of this place and left," remarked Charlie Peters. "But don't let us give it away all the same. We must keep this run all to ourselves as long as we can."

Hardly had he spoken when an appalling shriek pierced the silence of the woods, and brought us to a sudden stop, while we looked into one another's faces with an apprehension we made no attempt to conceal. We were close to the tree where the partridges had been hung.

"It's the Indian devil!" exclaimed Jack Johnston, under his breath. "He's eaten the partridges, and now he wants to eat us."

We fully realized our danger, and after the first shock of fright braced ourselves to meet it with a determined front. Johnston, as the eldest and coolest of the three, took command.

"Charlie," said he, "you must let him have Dutchie full in the face the moment we sight him.--Hal, you blaze away with your shot-gun, and I'll stand by to finish him with my tomahawk."

nodding assent to these directions, we stood side by side, gazing eagerly into the forest gloom.

"There he is!" said Johnston. "See! on that big limb."

We followed the direction of his finger, and saw the brute clearly enough, stretched upon a limb not twelve yards away, his great green eyes glaring horribly at us.

"Quick, Charlie!" cried Jack. "He's going to spring. Rest your gun on my shoulder, and aim for his chest."

Charlie did as he was bid, and pulled the trigger. Bang went the old musket with a tremendous report. Over went Charlie on his back, his shoulder well-nigh dislocated by the kick of his weapon; and down came the panther to the ground, badly wounded in his neck and breast. The instant he touched ground I let him have the contents of my shot-gun. But they only served to bother him for a moment, and looking terrible in his fury, he was just gathering himself for a spring into our midst, when Johnston, stepping forward, sent his tomahawk whizzing through the air with all the force of his strong right arm.

It was a perfect throw. No Mic-Mac could have done it better. Like a flash of lightning the bright steel blade went straight to its mark, and buried itself in the panther's forehead right between those awful eyes, whose malignant gleam it extinguished for ever.

Lifting Charlie to his feet we rushed forward, and stood in triumph over our fallen foe, shaking hands across his mighty body. How our hearts swelled with pride at the thought of the sensation our exploit would make!

With a twisted withe for a rope we laboriously dragged our prize to the canoe, and so got it across the river. Here we met the Indian who had been Johnston's teacher in the art of tomahawk-throwing. He seemed immensely relieved at seeing us.

"Me see you boys go over this morning, then hear devil scream this afternoon, and hear you go bang. Me 'fraid you all deaded this time."

Then as he discovered the fatal gash in the brute's head, his face lit up with pride.

"Johnston, you do that!" he cried. "Ah! smart boy. Me learn you how throw tomahawk like that."

Jack blushingly acknowledged the fact, and gave his Indian instructor due meed of praise for having taught him so well.

It was too big a job to get the heavy carcass of the panther any further, so the Indian took off the head and skin for us, and we presented him with the body, which he said was good to eat, and would "make Indian strong."

Our arrival at home with the trophies of our triumph over the terror of the forest caused great rejoicing. We were the heroes of the hour, and Charlie quite forgot his bruised shoulder in the pleasant excitement of the occasion.

We often revisited Indian Devil Run after that, and took many a fine fare of fish from its well-stocked waters, but we never saw another panther. We had apparently killed the last of the brood.

*IN THE NICK OF TIME.*

"Will you be out to practice this evening, Charlie?" asked Rob M'Kenzie of his friend Kent, as the two, who had been walking home from the high school together, parted at a corner.

"Indeed, that I will," was the reply; "and every evening, too, until the match comes off. It'll take all the practice we can put in to beat those Riverside chaps, I can tell you."

"Pshaw! What makes you think they'll be so hard to beat this time?" returned Rob. "We've always had our fair share of the games so far."

"So we have; but they didn't have Sam Massie playing with them."

"Sam Massie! who's Sam Massie?" exclaimed Rob, in surprise.

"Don't you know who Sam Massie is? Why, he's one of the first twelve of the Torontos," replied Charlie, looking somewhat astonished at his friend's ignorance.

"Then how on earth can he play with the Riversides?" asked Rob. "Can't we protest?"

"Oh, that's all right enough. His uncle lives in Riverside, and he is staying with him for a while, so we can't object to his playing."

"Humph!" growled Rob. "It's a pity we can't. We've got nobody to match him."

"I don't think it's a pity at all," returned Charlie cheerfully. "I'd a good deal rather see a crack player like Sam Massie, and get some points from him, than object to his playing, even if he gains the match for the other fellows. We'll do our best to give him a good day's work, any way. So let's practise hard." And Charlie went off whistling.

There was an intense rivalry between the villages of Riverside and Heatherton in the matter of lacrosse. Each village had a good club, in which not only the players but the people also took a hearty interest, and the matches that were played once a month alternately in each village during the season never failed to draw out to see them everybody in the population that could possibly manage to be present. They were always played on Saturday, because then the farmers from round about came in to the village to do their week's business early in the morning, and by rushing things a little could easily get through by three o'clock, and then they and the shopkeepers and the rest of the village folk would adjourn to the lacrosse-field and have a lively time of it, shouting, and cheering, and laughing as the game went on before them.