CHAPTER III.

A HOPEFUL TOWN IN A HOPELESS PLACE.

This “Land of Desolation,” to which we had come, is the Greenland of history and of the present time. All the southern part of it, as far up as the sixty-first degree of latitude, is called the “District of Julianashaab,” and the town of Julianashaab is its capital. This town is one of the most flourishing in the whole country. It is, perhaps, the most pleasantly situated of all of them, and, standing in a region full of historic and legendary interest, it presents a good type of Greenland life, past and present, and it is well worth looking at.

Being the residence of the Governor of the “District,” something of additional importance is attached to it on that account. Country squires who come up to London; backwoodsmen casting their curious eyes about them in Washington; children on a holiday excursion to a neighboring village, are not seized with greater wonder at what they behold, than is the hunter from some remote station of the Julianashaab District, when, after having braved the dangers of flood and field, he finds himself observing the latest fashions, and learning how the world moves generally in the town of Julianashaab. So much, therefore, for its social and political importance.

They call it a colony, and its governor, or director, is the _colonibestyrere_, which is to say, the steerer of it. There are eleven other colonibestyreres in the country, one for each of the other eleven “Districts,” which extend northward one above the other from Julianashaab to the very confines of the habitable globe. The northernmost is Upernavik, beyond which there are no Christian people, or people of any kind living on the earth, except a few skin-clad savages. And, strange enough, this most northern place of Christian occupation bears a name which signifies “the summer place,” derived from _Upernak_, or, as it might be better spelt, _Oo_pernak, the native Esquimaux word for summer.

Julianashaab, on the other hand, expresses a compliment to royalty. It was founded nearly a hundred years ago, at which time a king sat on the Danish throne who had a queen named Juliana. So, in honor of her majesty, they called this hopeful place the _haab_ of Juliana, which is to say, in English, Julia’s Hope. I could but wonder if all the expectations that the name bespeaks were ever realized; for if so, the founders of it must have been extremely modest. I was especially impressed with this feeling when I landed next morning, on a visit to the governor’s house, and was greeted there by the principal part of the population.

Not a soul of them had, I believe, ever gone to bed after our arrival; but, on the contrary, had remained as they began—gazing at the _Panther_ all the morning. When they first saw signs of activity on board, they expressed their delight in a very hilarious fashion; calling to each other, laughing, and running about from place to place, singly and in flocks, in a manner to indicate a very lively state of feeling. The little huts from which they emerged were scarcely distinguishable from the rocks themselves, and the people appeared to be coming out of the earth, and dropping into it again like prairie-dogs. Great was the rush when I got in my boat and started for the landing-place. Here they formed themselves in two lines, a hundred or more of them—men, women, and children—all talking or laughing, and all much delighted. Some pointed with their fingers; others remarked the singular performances of my tailor; others said, properly enough, what an odd-looking thing a round-topped hat was; and they all stood their ground while I marched between the two files, not one of them willing to forego for a moment the gratification of the passion of curiosity, which it is pleasant to know that arctic frosts can no more destroy than civilization unseat from its prying stool.

To see yourself gazed at by so many persons, even although they may be half-savage, is an embarrassing circumstance; and I should no doubt have felt bashful about running the gauntlet of their eyes had not another sense than that of sight claimed its legitimate right of precedence, and with such remarkable energy, too, that all minor emotions were impossible. Accordingly, I made my way through the crowd without any delay whatever, and, in fact, with a speed not at all calculated to give that opportunity for close examination which is always desirable to a traveller. The fact is, like the pilot we had picked up, they smelt fishy, and, had I not been most positively informed otherwise, I should have written the inhabitants of Julianashaab down as amphibious creatures of a fishy nature. And it would have been no very unnatural mistake either—not so bad, at least, as Sir John Mandeville’s imagining boles of cotton to be woolly hens.

To explain all this, it is needful only to observe that, this Hope of Juliana being nothing but a fishing-town, the people are all fishermen, and therefore every thing smells of fish exceedingly. The odor extended everywhere; the wharf and rocks were strewn with fish, and the air seemed charged with fish that had evaporated. I became in a little while saturated thoroughly; so much so, indeed, that I felt myself hardened sufficiently to approach and examine the people more carefully than I had done at first.

They proved to be of many shades of color, from the tawny hue of the native Esquimaux (Greenlanders they call them here), to the almost pure Caucasian complexion, with transparent skin and rosy cheeks. Of this latter class was one girl especially, who stood apart from the rest as if she were superior to them, and yet could not wholly restrain her curiosity. Her hair, which was auburn, was very abundant, and had been arranged with much care. A red silk handkerchief was tied about the forehead, and ribbons without stint fluttered from the knob of hair which stood up on the crown of her head. The labors of her toilet had evidently been performed with the greatest nicety. Her boots were as red as her handkerchief and quite as spotless; her trowsers were of the choicest and most shining seal-skin, neatly ornamented with needle-work and beads. Then her jacket, which was of some bright color to match, looked very jaunty. It met the trowsers at the hips, where it was trimmed with a broad band of eider-down. About the neck there was a collar of the same material, and the beads upon the breast and around the wrists, where there was more eider-down, were quite dazzling.

Altogether she was very pretty. Her complexion was a dark brunette, but very delicate. When I approached to speak to her, she blushed and ran away, which was the only fault I had to find with her. The little, savage, coy coquette would not let me have a word with her, but got behind a house, taking good care, however, to show herself from time to time around the corner, peeping there, after the very simple and artless fashion of coquettes the world over. She was not, however, allowed to remain there undisturbed; for following after me came a young gentleman from the _Panther_, who immediately proceeded to invest the house, stealing around in the rear of it. When he had fairly cornered her she did not seem at all afraid, but spoke to him civilly enough; and then from that time forward, whatever might be my disposition towards a better acquaintance with this lively maiden of Julianashaab, my chances were clearly gone forever; for afterwards she smiled only on this young gentleman. It is said (such was the influence of his engaging manners and the delicacy of his flattery) that she gave him her red boots at the very first interview.

This young gentleman bore among his shipmates the name of Prince; but whether that name was natural to him, or whether it was, as some asserted, on account of a fancied resemblance to the Prince of Wales, or whether on account of his being the prince of good-fellows (which is more likely than all), is not important. But Prince he was, and like a prince he behaved. Concordia was the name, as afterwards appeared, of the coy damsel. I shall hereafter have occasion to relate how the Prince actually (as was said) proposed to abandon the _Panther_ that he might make Concordia as happy a little princess as ever was Cinderella.

Proceeding up the path after leaving the native population, I encountered a man who was a full-blooded Dane in appearance, and I should not have known otherwise had he not told me afterwards that his mother had some native blood in her veins. He had been born here in the infant days of the colony, and when we fell into conversation he expatiated upon its growth, and manifested much pride in its prosperity. For a long while he had been the assistant bestyrere; but now he steers an island of his own, some thirty miles away, and he is at present up on a visit, with his family, to see the metropolitan sights. They had seen the church, the parson, the governor and his wonderful store-rooms, and now, to cap the climax, here had unexpectedly come an _Oomeasoak_ (big boat) that could breathe, and had feet to kick through the water with! What a journey up to town this had been, to be sure! How envious this would make their fellow-villagers, when they got home and told of all the wonders they had seen!

The name of this man was Peter Motzfeldt, and a very field of moss he was, if a ripe and fresh old age can be called so. Seventy bleak arctic winters had passed above his head, but not a single one had apparently gone into his heart, or even scattered frost upon his coal-black hair. He was as lively and elastic as if he were but twenty, which was the time when he first took service with the Royal Greenland Fishing Company, in whose employ he has been ever since. He had never been to Denmark, and he did not wish to go. It was all that he could do (naturally enough) to look after his two-and-twenty children, two boat-loads of which he had brought up with him to town.

This was the fiftieth anniversary of his employment by the Company, and the Company, in recognition of his faithfulness, had sent him a present, which was unfortunately, he said, down at Kraksimeut, where he lived. I thought he might have started with some of it on board the boat, and was the further confirmed in that suspicion when I ascertained that the present was an importation from Santa Cruz, and that there was no such token of civilization anywhere in Julianashaab as a public bar-room.

He promised to call upon me in the _Panther_, and devote himself to my service if I needed him. That I should need him was most evident, for he was perfectly charged with local knowledge, and besides that, had been with Captain Graah in the exploration which the Danish Government had ordered of this region in 1828-30. His name was therefore familiar to me already, from Graah’s narrative. He went with me to the government-house, and there left me to present myself before Colonibestyrere Kursch, who I was glad to find (as I have usually found elsewhere with educated Danes) spoke English fluently, and, gratified with the welcome, I felt quite at home immediately, and began already to entertain a high opinion of Julianashaab. If my first introduction to the Land of Desolation had been somewhat rough, my first intercourse with its people (barring the fishy odor which they carried about with them) was decidedly pleasant.

Mr. Kursch was kind enough to furnish me with some charts of the coast, all drawn with that care and nicety for which the Danish hydrographers are famous. Afterwards we went together over to the house of the missionary, who lived at the opposite end of the town. In going there, we passed two store-houses, the Parliament-house (even here they can not do without a Parliament), the doctor’s house, numerous turf-covered huts of the natives, a few of better construction, where some half-breed families reside (including the catechist, the assistant bestyrere, the blacksmith, and the carpenter); then we crossed a narrow, dashing stream upon a bridge, and were at the church and parsonage.

The church is quite a picturesque little building, constructed of wood (of course brought from Denmark), as are indeed all the buildings put up by the Government. The walls are double, and, the space between being made quite air-tight by calking, the interior is easily warmed. Indeed there is little suffering from cold at any time of year in any of the buildings at Julianashaab. They need no fire during three months of the summer, and for the winter the home government sends them out a liberal supply of coal. As a further protection, the houses (which are but one story high) are all plastered over on the outside with pitch, which closes tightly every crack and cranny, and protects them from the weather.

If the church had not been black, it would have been in all respects neat and tidy. Black though it was, it was a pleasant sight to see this house of God here in the desert, and by its very appearance giving proof unmistakable of good, earnest, Christian work. “Cleanliness before godliness,” was meant for men, but it will do for a church as well.

The same neatness was observable at the pastor’s house. The little building was surrounded with a yard and garden, which was inclosed with a white fence; and in every window of the house plants were growing in brightly-painted pots, filling the rooms with their delicious perfume.

In the pastor I met with a great surprise. I had seen him before in 1860-61 at Upernavik, away up among the polar frosts, almost a thousand miles beyond his present residence. It seemed as if he could not quit Greenland; as if his heart and soul were in his missionary work, and he would not give it up. He had been compelled to ask for change of residence, for the Upernavik winters had been too much for him. I had scarcely crossed the threshold, when I distinguished a pleasant smile and gentle voice that had welcomed me before. “Can this be Mr. Anthon?” I asked.

“Yes;” and the good pastor opened wide his eyes, greatly astonished to see me there; but, recovering himself presently, he addressed me by name, and then called his wife and sister, and I could almost think myself back again in the same neat parsonage where I had first met this interesting family years before. A lovely girl and a bright-eyed boy had been added to the group since then; but now, as then, there was soon a bottle of wine upon the table, fragrant coffee in the urn, some Danish fare soon followed; and there was plenty of Danish heartiness all round. In the afternoon we strolled up the bank of a little stream that runs beside the church and parsonage, and came upon a broad valley, in the centre of which there is a lake. Around the lake there were extensive pasture-grounds, upon which were browsing a herd of cows and a flock of goats. At this I was not a little surprised, for although I knew that in former times cattle had been reared here in great numbers, I had received the impression that at the present time they would not thrive. Mr. Anthon informed me that there was no difficulty in raising them, except the very important one of forage for the winter, for at Julianashaab the grass never grows high enough for hay. Farther up the fiord, however, it is abundant; but since the hay must all be brought in boats, it was both a tedious and expensive operation to gather it. Yet he managed to keep three cows; the governor had an equal number; the doctor had two; others had each one; and, indeed, all the well-to-do people in the village—Danes, half-breeds, and the better class of Greenlanders—had a daily supply of milk the year round.

The lake abounds in trout, a few of which were caught, and, when we returned for dinner, Mrs. Anthon had them for us on the table. She had, besides, some Greenland beef, and Greenland milk and butter; some smoked Greenland salmon too, and some Greenland venison; also some radishes and lettuce from her garden: and now, when these were, after a while, comfortably settled in their proper places with a glass of good old Santa Cruz punch, and an old Dutch pipe was brought to keep it company, and the governor and his assistant, and the doctor and Motzfeldt had come in to join us, we fell into a lively talk of Greenland and its legends; and it was not until a new day was breaking above the solemn hills around that I found my way back to the _Panther_. For fear, however, the reader should think we “made a night of it” at the parsonage, I will remind him that the “break of day” there, in the early part of July, is about two o’clock.

I have rarely passed a more pleasant evening or one more profitable. Our conversation ran mostly upon events of the past rather than of the present; for Julianashaab, although not without interest in itself, is doubly interesting from its locality. It stands on historic ground. Here was the spot that we were seeking when the _Panther_ drove in among the “hills and fields of ice” upon the Land of Desolation; a spot which history had made famous, and legend and tradition had been busy with; where brave old Eric the Red had come nearly nine centuries ago, and, with his followers, founded a sort of independent state.

The fiord on the banks of which stands this modern town of Julianashaab extends some forty miles beyond; but, while the modern town stands alone, in ancient days hamlets were dotted beside it everywhere; thousands of cattle once browsed where there are now but a few cows; and peace and plenty reigned here once among a Christian people, who, after maintaining themselves through nearly five hundred years, undisturbed by the elements of discord that afflicted the world elsewhere, became at length extinct, and, while they passed away, left only a few meagre records of their growth and progress, and ruins of their decay. These ruins, I had learned, were still to be seen at many points of the fiord, the walls of some of the buildings being, even at this late period, in a tolerable state of preservation.

To visit these ruins was, in fact, our principal object in putting into Julianashaab. Around them, indeed, centred the principal interest of the voyage—at least, so far as concerned myself; and I did not quit, therefore, the house of the good pastor until we had planned an expedition to the place where the founder of this ancient people dwelt, and the church wherein he worshipped, in those latter days of his life when he had abandoned his war-god, Odin, for the Prince of Peace.

I had hoped Peter Motzfeldt would offer to accompany us, as he had visited some of the ruins forty years before with Captain Graah; but other engagements preventing him, Mr. Anthon was good enough to undertake to be our guide.