CHAPTER V.

“THE ARCTIC SIX.”

Eric named his first settlement Brattahlid. The next he called Gardar; another, the Norse name of which has been lost, now bears the Esquimaux name of Krakortok, which means, “the place of the white rocks.” The rocks are of the same metamorphic character as elsewhere in that neighborhood, and only differ from them in having, by one of Nature’s freaks, been made of lighter hue than those of the region round about.

The fiord forks a short distance above Julianashaab, the southern branch leading to Brattahlid and Gardar, the northern, to Krakortok, which place it was our design to visit first.

Mr. Anthon not only offered to be our pilot, as before stated, but he likewise offered us his Greenland boat. We had boats of our own, and good ones too; but then what so appropriate for a Greenland fiord as a Greenland boat? So, at least, said our pastor-pilot, and so we were all willing to confess. But what was a Greenland boat?

A Greenland boat is a curiosity in marine architecture. Mr. Anthon took us down to look at the one he had offered us. It was turned bottom up on a scaffolding, so that we could stand under it and almost see through it, for it was semi-transparent like a bladder. When I thumped it with a stick, it rattled like a drum.

“There it is,” said the pastor; “how do you like the looks of it?”

“What! that thing?” exclaimed the captain, with ill-concealed contempt; “go to sea in a thing like that?”

“Certainly,” said the pastor; “why not?”

Then he called three or four people, who had it off the scaffolding in a twinkling and down into the water, where it floated like a balloon that had been set adrift by mistake upon the sea.

“It’s a woman’s boat,” explained the pastor.

“Oh yes, I see,” answered the professor; “made by women. Quite an interesting object.”

It was certainly made with great cunning. It was about thirty-six feet long, by six feet wide, and two and a half deep. There was not a peg, or nail, or screw in it, so far as we could see; and, judging by the same method of inspection, it was all leather.

The pastor asked again how we liked the looks of it, now that it was in the water.

To confess the truth, it looked a little too balloonish to suit any body’s fancy. The captain broke into a laugh. The professor speculated upon the quantity of stones that would be required to ballast it, measured by the ton; our sagaman began to institute comparisons between it and the ancient Phœnician craft, contending that the latter possessed decided advantages in a sea-way, which nobody doubted for a moment. The photographers came running along after it with their camera; the artists ran after it with their pencils—particularly a young gentleman much given to caricature (who, for short, bore the euphonious name of Blob), and who in a twinkling sketched her launched from an iceberg into an atmosphere of green above a golden sea, sailing away like a kite, with our trader for a bob. The trader was not there at first, but he came up in time to make a liberal offer of pork and beans, or a note of hand, in exchange for it—any thing of that description would be so handy to have on board the _Panther_—a boat thirty-six feet long—handy as the door-plate in the Toodles house.

Some one asked Mr. Anthon if he would not be good enough “to have the thing shoved off, that we might get a touch of its quality.”

“Of course—by all means,” replied the pastor. Then he called the crew together.

“Now, shades of Harvard and Oxford defend us, _what_ a crew! and what a rig!” exclaimed the Prince, breaking into a laugh as the crew appeared.

And he was quite right. It was a strange rig for a boat’s crew, without any sort of doubt. Very long boots that reached above the knees, of divers colors and pretty shape, gave a trim and natty look to the pedal extremities. Then they wore seal-skin pantaloons, very short, beginning where the boots left off and ending midway on the hips, where they met a jacket bright of hue, and lined with fawn-skin. This jacket was trimmed around the neck with black fur, beneath which peeped up a white covering to the throat. The hair was drawn out of the way, and tied with red ribbon on the top of the head; and altogether the costume was calculated to show off the respective figures of the crew to the greatest possible advantage.

Then the Prince laughed again when the pastor called their names. “They’re a jolly lot,” said he.

“Go along,” said Mr. Anthon; “go along, Maria, and take the others with you.”

Maria proved to be stroke-oar, and she called, “Catherina, Christina, Dorothea, Nicholina, Concordia, here, come along.”

And off they all ran, chattering and giggling at an amazing rate; and they tumbled into the boat in a manner that made the captain fairly frown to see such lack of discipline. We were all much amused to see the gay and lively manner in which they skipped over the thwarts to their respective places, brimful of fun and mischief, and altogether making quite a shocking exhibition for a boat’s crew, whose duties we are usually in the habit of seeing performed in a very sober manner. But they quieted down a little when a more sedate individual (who proved to be the coxswain)—dressed in short boots and long seal-skin pantaloons, and a cap instead of ribbons on the head—came along, and, taking the steering-oar, gave the order to “shove off.”

The order was executed in handsome style, and the boat shot out over the little harbor very swiftly, each of the crew rising with the stroke of the oar; and bending to their work with a will, this singular-looking crew made their boat fairly hum again.

“Fine oarsmen!” exclaimed somebody who had just come up, and had not heard the roster called.

“Oars_men_!” replied the pastor, laughing at somebody’s exceeding innocence. “Oarsmen! why, dear me, they are oars_women_!”

“Oars what?”

“Oarswomen, to be sure.”

“Oars_women_! Man alive! and do they always pull the boat?”

“Always,” replied the pastor; “always. A man will never pull an oar in a woman’s boat. He would think it a humiliation and disgrace. The most he will do is to take the steering-oar, which is, indeed, quite legitimate business for him. He has his own small boat, the handling of which requires skill, while the woman’s boat requires none. A man steers the boat now; the other six, who pull the oars, are all of the other sex, and I could not wish for a better crew.”

Upon being asked what duties as a crew they usually performed, he answered:

“They row me about from place to place, as my pastoral duties call me; they gather hay for the cows, and bring home the fish (principally capelin and cod) that the fishermen catch and dry at distant places. Besides this, they do any thing they are told to do, and do not hesitate to expose themselves in any weather, unless it should blow too hard for the safety of the boat.”

“Has such a boat any particular name?” the captain asked.

“We call it an _oomiak_, which signifies, simply, a woman’s boat; while the man’s boat is called a _kayak_.”

Here the Prince, who was growing somewhat impatient over this long catechizing, broke in with a query as to whether they pulled the oomiak to-morrow, in case we should conclude to go in her?

“Certainly,” replied the pastor.

“Just that same precious crew?”

“The same crew exactly.”

“Including the bow-oar you call Concordia?”

“Including her, of course. She is the life of the crew, and I could never get along without Concordia.”

“Nor I,” replied the Prince. “The boat will do for me. Sink or swim, survive or perish, I ship in that craft for one. Pipe the dear creatures back.”

So the pastor called to them to return, which they did in splendid style; and, every body agreeing with the Prince, it was forthwith arranged that we should go in the oomiak upon the morrow.

As the boat came in, the Prince proffered assistance, in a very gallant manner, to the bow-oar, but the girl hurried from the gunwale and ran, laughing, away. Nothing daunted, however, he gave chase; but, fleet as a young deer, she outstripped him and disappeared in the village, where the Prince was observed afterwards to be wandering around looking for her disconsolately.