Part 2

Sometimes my father would tell us stories about his parents and grand parents, and then he would tell how they said that their parents told how long, long ago the first people had come from Norway. But no one knew what Norway was like. Some said it was a great house somewhere; some said it was the moon, and some said it was where the Good Spirit lived.

One thing had a great deal of interest for us all. When the sun shone out brightly at the beginning of the daytime it marked the first of the year, just as New Year's Day in this country. Then mother and father would bring out the sacks. Each one was made of a different kind of fur. Father had his, mother had hers, and each of the children one. In each sack was a piece of bone for every first time that person had seen the sun. When ten bones were gathered they would tie them into a bundle, for they had not words to count more than ten.

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In such a land was I born. In such a home was I brought up. In such pleasures I rejoiced, until there were about fourteen bones in my sack. Then something happened which changed my whole life. Six tall men came to our village. Our men were much frightened at first and did not know what to make of the giants. Some thought them bad spirits. But they were peaceable, and went hunting with our people and helped them, so that after a while they came to like one another. The strangers were Iceland fishermen. After they lived with us for more than a year, they were able to explain how they were shipwrecked in a storm, and how they got on the ice and walked on the ice till they came to Greenland. They told how much they wanted to get back to their families, and how much better country Iceland was. At last, three Esquimaux families told the Icelanders they would lend them their dogs and sleds if they would do them any good. And because they wanted their dogs back again they said they would go with them.

So they started out. My father's family was the largest in the party, there being ten of us in all. Most Esquimaux families had only three or four children in them--sometimes only one child, and often none at all. I was a young and giddy thing then, and was glad to go. We traveled a long way down the coast, hunting as we went. Then we turned right out on to the ocean itself. On the way there were three polar bears killed and some seals and other animals, so that we had plenty to eat. I remember we would sometimes take something to eat when the sledges were flying over the ice with the dogs at full gallop. At intervals we fed the dogs, and they gathered closely round the sled and soon all were asleep. When we woke up we went on again. While on the ocean we often heard the sound of the ice breaking up, and would have to hurry away to escape being caught in the upheaval. We finally reached Iceland after being two months and some days on the way, according to the Icelanders' calculation, and having traveled about a thousand miles.

The people in Iceland were astonished to see us little people. They came to see us from a long distance. We were all weighed and measured. My father stood three feet five inches, and weighed 160 pounds. My mother was the same height woman that I am, and weighed 150. None of my brothers was quite so tall as my father, but they came near his weight. One of my sisters was only three feet two inches, and weighed 142. I weighed 136 pounds. Now I am three feet four inches high, and weigh 120.

The missionaries in Iceland took great interest in us, for they knew we were all heathens, and they said they would like to take us into their schools and educate us. So each family was taken into a different school. Our family was placed in the Lutheran school, and there I studied for five years. My teacher was a good and kind man. His name was Ion Thorderson. He was patient with me and helped me to learn; but some of the scholars were jealous of "the little thing" and made fun of me. For this they had to carry notes home to their parents, and this secured to them a good whipping a-piece, so that they were heard to wish "that little thing" had never come into the school.

At first we lived several miles from the school, but we did not know anything about walking, in fact could not walk any distance, so they sent us on horseback. They used to tie me on so that I would not fall off. It was a funny sight to behold us eight little tots going to school.

I never shall forget the time when a kind friend gave me a pony. He was very gentle, and small enough so that by leading him along side a large stone I was able to climb upon his back. He would stand quietly and wait for me. I loved my pony and thought there was nothing in the world like him. But this long ride was very hard on us, and finally the teacher made arrangement so that we could live close to the school.

The school system was very different in some respects from American schools. The teacher was always the minister, and the school was connected with the church. A scholar had first to learn to read, and must keep at it until he could read better than the teacher. Then he was called upon to commit to memory large portions of history and of the Bible; and when he had learned them so well that he could repeat from beginning to end without the book, he was allowed to begin to write. He could not take pen in hand before that. After learning to write, he was taught figures; and after that I do not know what was done.

The teacher never laid a hand on the scholar in punishment. If he did anything wrong, a note was sent to his parents, and they flogged him soundly.

I enjoyed the life in Iceland, for I saw and learned so much that was new.

Some time in the spring there was a holiday, in which the young folks would cut up pranks, something like the tricks of April-fool Day here. The girls would try to fasten a small sack of ashes upon the clothing of the boys, and they, in return, would seek to place a pebble in the pockets of the girls, endeavoring to do it so slyly that the sack or pebble would be carried about all day without the one who bore it knowing anything about it.

On one of these days, a girl tied a small sack into the beard of one of the men, while he was asleep, and he wore it all day before anyone told him, and then they had a great laugh at his expense. I thought I would try my hand at this, so I made a little sack and tucked it into the corner of a patch, which a big fellow wore upon his pants, the corner being ripped just enough to let the sack slip inside. I had great fun watching him all day, and when night came, he boasted that none of the girls had fooled him that day. "Oh, yes," said one of his companions, "the smallest girl in the house has fooled you badly." He felt pretty cheap when I pointed to the patch, and he found the sack sticking out so that he might have seen it easily.

Picking up fuel was hard work, and took a great deal of time. They had but little wood, and no coal, so that it was necessary to gather the droppings of animals, and make great piles of this kind of stuff in the summer, so that it would be dry enough to burn in the winter.

If mice came about the houses and buildings in the fall, the Icelanders would fear a hard winter, and much damage to their sheep; for when the winter grew very severe, and the mice could get nothing else to eat, they would climb upon the sheep's backs, while they were lying close together in the sheds, and would burrow into the wool, back of the shoulder-blades, and eat the flesh, very often causing the death of the poor animals.

The Icelanders used sheep's milk a great deal, and I liked it. Sheep's milk is richer and sweeter than cow's milk. They used to put up a lot of milk in barrels, and put in some rennet, which would make it curdle into something like cottage cheese. This they would set aside for winter use, and all were very fond of it. The family would be considered very poor who could not put up from eight to ten barrels of this food.

They sometimes, also, would churn mutton tallow, or whale oil, in the sheep's milk, and make a kind of butter. Whale oil makes a better butter than the tallow, and I think I like would it even yet.

While most people had dishes and knives and forks, it was not customary to set the table, unless there was company present. Each one had a cup for himself, made of wood with staves like a barrel, and curiously bound with whale-bone hoops. They had handles upon them, but I do not know how fastened. A child's cup would hold about a quart, and a man's cup sometimes as much as three quarts. When each one had gotten his cup filled, he would take his place at any convenient spot in the room, on the bed, or anywhere, and proceed to empty the cup with great haste. We all had ravenous appetites, but did not always have enough to eat. In the spring we had a great treat, when the eggs and flesh of wild fowl were to be had. We fared well when fish were plenty, but at other times a porridge made of Iceland moss and the curdled milk made up our fare. Some seasons they can raise a few vegetables in Iceland, but this is not often. Of late years they cannot raise grain, although they used to raise good oats.

One of the books that we had there was a history of America, and in that it said that money could be picked up off the streets, almost. I have since found it quite a difficulty. But that book put me into the notion to come out here. So when a colony of five hundred Icelanders were about to start for Manitoba, I got my father to come with them. He had just money enough to bring himself and one of his children, so he naturally chose his youngest and the one that was most anxious to come.

My mother died with consumption when we had been in Iceland about a year. I shall never forget the circumstances of her illness. I hated her, and turned from her just as we did in Greenland. She thought it was all right, and told me to keep away and to hate her, for fear the bad spirit would get me.

I said to my teacher one day: "I hate my mother."

"Why, my dear child, you should not do that."

"But I do hate her; she has a bad spirit in her, and Esquimaux people always hate their friends when they get bad spirits in them."

Tears ran down the good man's cheeks as he exclaimed, "Why, the dear child, she doesn't know anything!"

Then he took me upon his knee and began to explain that my mother did not have a bad spirit, but was sick. He dropped his school work entirely, and for three days devoted himself to explaining the Christian belief. Then he made me go to my mother and tell her all about it. My mother was glad--oh, so glad; and she died happy.

My four brothers and three sisters are in Iceland, yet. I promised when I left that I would send for them, and I still hope to have them all with me.

We sailed in a ship from Iceland to Scotland. I cannot remember at what city we landed. From there I had my first railway ride, into England, and was much frightened by the noise and motion of the cars. Then we sailed to Quebec, and then came to Winnipeg. It took us five months and five days to come from Iceland to Manitoba.

When I came to Manitoba, I was sick for nearly two years. The Iceland ministers were very kind to me, and took care of me while I was sick. When I got well, I started out to work for my living. I could not speak one word of English, and I was afraid to try.

The first person I worked for was a half-breed woman, who had a rough, quarrelsome lot of children that I had to wait upon. Once in a while I was called into the front room, and would find some strangers there. One day the mistress was called away, when I was sent into the room, and the gentleman and lady who were there gave me a quarter, each. She had been making money out of me in this way all the while, but all the money I received for some months of hard labor was what these people gave me.

Then I was taken sick with the measles. The woman turned me out of doors. I did not know where to go. I just ran round and round the house. A young lady, from one of the best families in Winnipeg, found me in this plight, took me by the hand and led me home. She nursed me till I was well, and then gave me good clothes and found me a place to work. She told me to come back to her if I was in trouble again.

After working for some time in this place, I came to work for Mrs. C., the lady who is with me now. When she first saw me she thought I was a little child, and did not see how I could be of any use to her. But she pitied me because she thought I was cold, and gave me something to do. I lived with her three months. When I first came to her I could not speak enough English to tell her I liked coffee better than tea. My work was washing dishes. They would help me into a chair so that I could reach the table. When at last I was able to explain, with the help of an Iceland girl who lived next door, that I desired to travel as a curiosity, hoping in this way to make money enough to bring my brothers and sisters from Iceland, Mr. and Mrs. C. consented to come with me.

My father agreed to let me go, if I would go with respectable people and remain with them. I had worn my seal skin suit about in Manitoba until it was worn out, but my father had taken care of my polar bear suit, so I had that to bring with me. He let me bring his new flint and walrus tusk, also.

But a few months afterwards he sent for his spear, because he thought he could not get along without it, so I returned it to him. He is still living in Manitoba, and is 65 years old. This is several years older than people live in Greenland. Oldest people we ever knew were 60 years old. This I know from the Icelanders, who went round to all the snow houses and counted the bones in the different sacks.

When I reached Minneapolis I was taken sick, and the doctors did not know what to do for me. They kept me in a warm room, and I grew worse every day. At last Mr. C. heard of a doctor who had been in Greenland, and sent for him. Under his advice I was taken to Minnetonka and kept in a cold room, and I got well.

At first I traveled as a curiosity and charged ten cents. All I could do was to let the people see me, show my costume, flint and tusk, sing a few songs, etc. By degrees I learned to answer questions, and at last came to talk pretty well. While we were at a place in Indiana, called Cloverdale, some professors and a minister urged me to give a lecture. They secured a large hall, and when I peeked through a hole in the curtain I saw about 300 people, and was nearly scared out of my wits. But Mrs. C. got me mad over something about my dress, and the curtain went up while I was standing there, and I spoke to them right along. That was Dec. 30th, 1884. Since then I have been lecturing right along, except in some short times of sickness, and the hottest weather. I have been in Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Ilinois, Michigan, Ohio, Indiana, Missouri, Kansas, and Nebraska, and I hope by next year, to have all my brothers and sisters with me, so that we can travel together and help the missionary teachers in Iceland, where we got our education in the first place.

A great many funny things have been said to me by visitors, and a great many curious questions asked. Generally, people are kind and considerate, but sometimes they are rude and uncivil. I am always glad to satisfy reasonable curiosity to the best of my ability, but I do not like impertinence any better than any body else.

I was somewhat surprised by one old lady, a year or so ago. After she had listened for some time, and become greatly interested, she came up and said, "Where did yeou say yeou kum from?" "From the eastern coast of Greenland." "Greenland! why la, yes. I know that country. My husband's got a farm there." A farm in Greenland! Well, a good many other people have made mistakes fully equal to the old lady's.

Americans, I think you do not realize your blessings in this great land of plenty, where you have so many fine things. Even here, I often see sad faces, and hear words of discontent. Sometimes I am a little discontented myself, when I see something I want, and think I cannot, or ought not to, have it. But I soon get over that feeling when I remember my home in the frozen north, where we sat still through the weary hours, shivering with the cold, choked by the smoke, and often almost perishing with hunger.

If I was to go back to my race of people, I would not be able to tell them about what I see and hear in this country. They have not the language to express the thought. They have seen nothing like a sewing machine, or a piano. They have no materials to enable them to make machines. They never saw a painting or a drawing. Their wild, rude songs is all they have that is anything like music. They have no idea of a book. They eat when they're hungry, and sleep when they're sleepy. They are happy and contented _when they don't know any better_.

The only relatives we knew about, were brothers and sisters, father and mother, and our grandparents. As for other relatives, such as uncles, aunts and cousins, we knew nothing about them. We lived in small settlements of thirty or forty families. No one seemed to take any interest in finding out how many settlements there were, or how many people lived in them. We had only one name each, just as you name animals in this country. My father's name was Krauker. My name was Olwar. Before we left Iceland, the whole family were baptized. They named my father Salve Krarer, and they baptized me Olof Krarer, making the Iceland names as near like the Esquimaux names as they could, but giving my father a new name, Salve, which means something like "saved."

THE END.

EPITOME.

On Iceland's damp and stormy shore, Mid Geyser's throe and Ocean's roar, A sturdy race on sterile soil, Pursue their unremitting toil; Struggling against stern poverty, And Denmark's hostile mastery. Farther northward, bleak and cold, Bound by Winter's icy hold, Where eternal snows abound,-- There the Esquimaux is found. House of ice and suit of fur; Food, the flesh of polar bear; Tusks of walrus, the only arm, Ferocious beasts alone alarm; A dog-sleigh ride his only pleasure; A piece of flint his choicest treasure; Ambition's height to steal a wife, For her he dares to risk his life. He tells no lie nor ever swears; For neighbor, as for brother, cares. The golden rule he never heard, But tries to keep its every word. Father to son the story told, How sailors hardy, brave and bold, Far back in bygone centuries, Sought to explore the Northern seas; Storm-bound, shipwrecked and cast-away, By horrid fate compelled to stay, They yielded not to grim despair, But bearded Winter in his lair; Bravely building their snow house domes, They settled into northern homes. Lost to their ken is old Norway, But cherished still in their memory. The rising sun began the year; Four months his rays shone full and clear; A month he gave a milder light, 'Twixt the long day and longer night. For half the year Aurora's beams, The moon's soft ray, and starry gleams, Guided the hunter to his home, Whene'er he chose afar to roam. Foremost among his tribe and clan, There lived a hardy little man; His wife, renowned for spirit high, Rejoiced in her large family;-- Four sturdy sons, four maidens brown, Gathered in harmony around Their fireplace, and together dwelt, And love for one another felt. One fateful day there came along Six Iceland fishers, stern and strong. The Esquimaux in terror fled From spirits evil, so they said; But meeting them with friendly mien, The pigmies soon at ease were seen. The giants more contented grew, And eager searched for knowledge new; But erst they thought of native shore, And longed to view their home once more. At length, in venturous spirit bold, Their purpose to their friends they told, To seek their lov'd land once again, By crossing on the frozen main. The trial made, the deed was done! A victory great, and nobly won! Three families assistance lent. Upon returning they were bent, Till finding this a better land, They settled on the barren strand; In mission schools were kindly taught, And daily grew in word and thought.

Five years rolled by; consumption's claim Was laid upon the mother's frame. The father loved his youngest child, And with her crossed the ocean wild; With many mishaps, much fatigue, They found a home in Winnipeg.

Five years again had claimed their own; The daughter now to woman grown, Though but a little child for size, Assayed a wond'rous enterprise-- To win from gen'rous strangers' hand, By telling of her native land, Her fortune, and to meet once more Her sisters three and brothers four. Pray tell me, friend, didst e'er thou find A braver spirit, nobler mind, A name more worthy to go down On hist'ry's page with bright renown?

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Captain Holm recently returned to Copenhagen, after having spent two years and a half exploring the almost unknown region of the east coast of Greenland. Although ten or twelve expeditions have set out for East Greenland in the past two centuries, almost all of them in search of the lost Norsemen, who were supposed to have settled there, only one ship ever reached the coast.

The great ice masses, sometimes hundreds of miles wide, that are perpetually piled up against the shore, have kept explorers from East Greenland long after all Arctic lands were fairly well known. With three assistants, Captain Holm landed at Cape Farewell, and then went north some four hundred miles. He has returned with large collections, representing the flora, fauna, geology, and anthropology of this hitherto unknown portion of the earth's surface. He found in those cold and dismal regions, isolated from the world, a race of people who had never heard, or known, of the great civilized nations of the earth. They seemed to lead happy lives, and live in a communicative way in hamlets. They differ entirely in language, and physical character, from the Esquimaux of West Greenland.--_Demorest's Monthly_.

End of Project Gutenberg's Olof Krarer, The Esquimaux Lady, by Olof Krarer