# Life with the Esquimaux/Volume 2/Chapter 11

CHAPTER XI.
Visit the Friendly Natives—Ebierbing and Tookoolito—A Surprise—Birth of a Son—Artarkparu's Information—More concerning Frobisher's Expedition—A great Number of Innuits around the Ship—They all concur in the Traditionary History given to me—Author's Anxiety to renew his Discoveries—Another Boat-trip—Cross the Bay to Chapell Inlet—Camp for the Night—Continue the Voyage—Encamp once more—Visit an Innuit Dépôt of Food—A severe Hurricane—Boat-voyage abandoned—Return to the Ship—Capture of two Whales—A Man dangerously hurt by a Whale.
On the following morning, Saturday, September 28th, 1861, at an early hour, I was on deck, finding every one astir, getting ready for the customary cruise after whales. The ship's company generally started at daybreak to try their luck, and they were sadly disappointed with the result hitherto. On inquiry, I found that some of my Innuit friends were still in the neighbourhood, and, after breakfast, I went on shore to visit them. I may here state that, on my return, I found the vessel at the same anchorage—in George Henry's Harbour—as it was when I left it on August 9th.
The first call I wished to make was at Ebierbing's tupic, which was pointed out to me at no great distance. I entered without "ringing," and found "Jennie"—Koodloo's wife—there to welcome me, as she did with unmistakable pleasure. On inquiring for Tookoolito and Ebierbing—whom I considered almost as adopted children—I found that I had entered the wrong tent, Ebierbing's tupic being next door, and thither I soon made my way.
As I entered the tupic of Ebierbing I caught a mere glimpse of a woman's face, which I had hardly time to recognise as belonging to Tookoolito. She gave me one look, ​and then the face I beheld was buried in her hands trembling with excitement. It was, indeed, Tookoolito, overwhelmed with tears on seeing me again. The tears sprang to my eyes also as I saw this evidence of strong attachment. It was some time before the silence of the tupic was broken by voices. She and her husband, in common with all the other Innuits and white men, had never expected to see me again. She had often ascended a hill, near by and overlooking the bay, to search the horizon for my returning boat, but had as often come down disappointed.
In the midst of our talk I was startled by the plaintive cry of an infant, and, turning back a corner of the ample tuktoo furs with which Tookoolito was wrapped, I found a boy only twenty-four days of age, her only child!
Tookoolito told me she had been very ill, and had nearly died during her confinement. I was about to leave the tupic, having spent a very pleasant hour with my friend, when she drew toward her a bag, from which she took two pair of nether garments—kod-lings—which she had made for me before her sickness. One pair was made of kus-se-gear (black sealskin and fur), a beautiful mottled material; the other pair was of the common seal, made in the Innuit fashion, the former being made in the style of civilization. She also gave me three specimens of her netting or crochet-work, made especially for me to take home to America. They were table mats, and beautiful specimens of a skilful hand. But I had not yet reached the depths of her generosity; she next presented to me a pair of sealskin socks, and a pair of meituk socks (made of the skins of eider ducks with the feathers on), saying, at the same time, that she had the material at hand, and would soon have ready for me a pair of winter boots—kumings.
I told her she was doing too much for me. "Nay, nay," was her response, "I cannot do half so much as I ought for one who has been so kind to us." As I was leaving the tupic she said, "I was so glad when I heard last night that you had got back in safety that I could not sleep; I lay ​thinking of it all the night. I feel very happy now. My winga thought you lost too; and now he also is happy."
In the afternoon old Artarkparu visited me. He had arrived, with his company, from up Frobisher Bay a little before my return, and I now gladly conversed with him, through Koojesse as interpreter, about the pieces of iron I had obtained at Tikkoon and Kodlunarn. I asked him if he had ever seen them before, and he replied, "No, not those, but one much larger." He then made a circular motion with his hand over and around the piece of iron I had placed on the table, and, according to this, that which he had seen must have been five times as large. He added to his remark that a very strong Innuit could just lift it, and there were very few who were able to do so. This piece of metal was, as he explained, on the southwest side of Oopungnewing Island, just above high-water mark. He had seen it six years before, but not since. The metal was "soft" and "smooth," not "hard," like the pieces I had before me.
Ebierbing, visiting me that day in our little after-cabin, was conversing with me, and speaking of his sickness and recovery—of the critical state in which his nuliana lay for several days succeeding the birth of their child—of the loss of his very valuable seal and sledge dog "Smile," and another of his dogs. He said further, "We thankful that still live and able to work. Lose our dogs; sick and unable to go tuktooing; no tuktoo skins for winter; never mind; we alive and together; got fine boy, and are happy." I thought this was indeed akin to Christian philosophy, deserving respect and admiration.
Annawa and his wife Nood-loo-yong visited me on the morning of September 30th, and I showed them the relics I had obtained. They at once recognised them as coming from the places I had examined. These people had spent most of their days round the waters of Frobisher Bay, and especially on the islands Oopungnewing and Niountelik. The portion of brick which I had found the previous winter, when transferring my things from one sledge to the other, opposite ​Niountelik, was unknown to them in so large a form; but they had often seen smaller pieces, and also coal, in each of the places where I had discovered it. They had likewise found "heavy stone," such as I showed them, at Kus-se-gear-ark-ju-a, a cape half a mile N.N.W. of Kodlunarn.
I asked them where these things came from, and the reply was, "Kodlunas brought them." I immediately said, "Did you see those kodlunas?" Their answer, with eyes wide open and countenances expressing surprise, was, "Ar-gi! ar-gi!" meaning No! no!
"How, then," said I, "do you know that kodlunas brought them?"
Their response was, "All the old Innuits said so. The first Innuits who saw the white men were all dead, many, a great many years ago."
The more I searched into this subject the more I found it to be well known, as a traditionary fact, that white men—kodlunas—once lived on the island then and since called by the Innuits Kodlunarn; that these men had built a ship there; had launched it, and started away for their homes; but that, before they got out of the bay, hands and feet were frozen, and finally the whole of them perished of cold. Ebierbing's statement to me was as follows:—
Recollects hearing his father tell of these white men, and how they built a ship. The kodlunas had brought brick, coal, and "heavy stone," and left them on Niountelik and at other places about there. His father did not see them, but the first Innuits, who saw them, told other Innuits so, and so it continued to his day. Old Innuits tell young Innuits; and when they get to be old, they in turn tell it to the young. "When our baby boy," said he, "gets old enough, we tell him all about you, and about all those kodlunas who brought brick, iron, and coal to where you have been, and of the kodlunas who built a ship on Kodlunarn Island. When boy gets to be an old Innuit he tell it to other Innuits, and so all Innuits will know what we now know."
Thus, by the simple unadorned statement of Ebierbing may ​be known how it is that oral history is preserved among the Innuit people of the North.
On the day following this conversation, several old Innuits arrived from different places; among them were Ugarng, with his two wives and child; "Bob," his wife "Polly," and children; "Johnny Bull" and Kokerzhun, and Blind George, with his darling girl Kookooyer. Ugarng had left his mother, old Ookijoxy Ninoo, at Cornelius Grinnell Bay, so that I was unable to obtain from her any additional information concerning the relics I had found; but the others all confirmed the story already given to me about the white men, and what they had left behind.
The testimony of Blind George was particularly interesting from the circumstances under which he gave it. Being unable to see, he by signs and motions mapped out the position of various places in Countess of Warwick's Sound, where these things had been noticed by him before losing his sight. Placing his hand on his own person, he said, "Oopungnewing;" then placing it on a corner of a sea-chest in the main cabin, where we were, he continued, "Niountelik;" then pointing with his finger to a spot on the table, he said, "Twer-puk-ju-a," to another, " Kodlunarn," to another "Tikkoon." Before he could place all to satisfy him, he went back and repeated his steps frequently, at last accomplishing the geographical feat satisfactorily to himself and quite to my gratification. He also identified the specimen of "heavy stone" I placed in his lap by lifting it up and touching his lips to it; he felt its indentations and roughness, weighed it in his hand, and said "all same" as he once saw at Kodlunarn. He then, without any leading questions, described the trenches made by the white men; and his testimony was confirmed by Tweroong, who also added that old Innuits said the ship was built from wood left on the island for an igloo—a word applied not only to their own snow-houses, but to the dwellings of civilized men generally.
The information thus obtained, though satisfactory, still made me desirous for more; and as at that time the number ​of Innuits in the neighbourhood could not have been less than a hundred, I thought it an excellent opportunity for procuring what I sought. Accordingly, I went to some of their tupics, and getting Tookoolito to be my interpreter, asked a number of questions, the answers to which perfectly satisfied me with regard to the main facts concerning Frobisher's expedition and the fate of his men.
The result of all the information thus obtained convinced me, however, of the necessity for another and longer examition of the locality possessing so much interest as regarded this subject. Therefore I again prepared for another trip, and on Monday, October 7th, at 11 a.m. I once more started for the Countess of Warwick's Sound. My boat's crew consisted of Ebierbing, as boat-steerer and interpreter, "Suzhi," "John Bull," Kokerzhun, Annawa, Ou-le-kier, and Shevikoo, thus having only one (Suzhi) of my previous party with me.
As this trip, owing to the very severe weather, was nearly a failure, I need only give such particulars of it as may prove generally interesting to the reader. The wind was strong when we started, and every dash of water upon our boat froze as it touched the side. Sometimes the gusts were so heavy that great care was needed lest we should be capsized; but we managed to cross the bay and reach land on the other side without mishap. Here, for a time, we had better weather, but the wind soon became adverse, and when we got near to French Head it was deemed advisable to encamp for the night.
We stopped at a bight, or indentation of the land, close to the place where we used to cross over to Chapell Inlet, and there, in searching for drift-wood, I came across a piece of my lost expedition boat. The women attended to our encampment, consisting of two tents, one formed of my boat's covering, the other of boats' sails; five persons were in one and three in the other. Thus we passed the first night, and early next morning, October 8th, again started.
The weather was very discouraging; the wind was right against us, and occasionally it snowed heavily. A mile, or ​so after leaving our encampment a perfect storm came upon us, and I saw that Ebierbing and the rest felt most unwilling to go on. Indeed, I myself now feared it would be impossible to prosecute our voyage. The delay had been such that every day now brought the severity of winter fast upon us; still, I determined to persevere as long as we could, feeling that if the ship departed soon for home I should have no opportunity for examining farther into the Frobisher expedition.
The wind soon increased to a gale, bringing the snow furiously into our faces; the waves ran high, every crest leaping the boat's side, and almost burying it in the trough of the sea. Our condition was becoming dangerous, and so thought my Innuit companions, as they frequently glanced at me to learn my intentions. It was soon evident to me that all my hopes of getting forward were likely to be disappointed. The season was too far advanced for boat excursions; snow-storms, cold and windy weather, met me each day. My companions, wiser than myself, plainly intimated that it would not do to persevere: they would go on if I determined to do so, but they knew their own coasts, their native waters, and their seasons better than myself; and I felt that, much as I wished to accomplish another examination of the islands where relics could be obtained before the George Henry sailed, I should be unable to do so without running a risk that would be considered foolhardy.
Our encampment that night was at a place where, as we soon perceived, some Innuits had lately rested. Traces of their abode and deposits of provisions were found, and, upon inquiry, I discovered that one of my crew, Shevikoo, was of the party that had rested here. This explained why he so readily opened the deposits, and took from the store of walrus and other meat what he wanted.
The gale now increased almost to a hurricane. I had encountered nothing so severe since the memorable one of the past year, when my boat was destroyed and the Rescue wrecked. We could only with the greatest difficulty keep ​our tents from blowing away; we frequently had to secure them afresh by additional weights of stones at their base, and my readers may conceive better than I can describe the position I was in during my detention on that desolate coast.
During this trip I had opportunities for much talk with the Innuits concerning the Frobisher expedition, and also concerning some of their own traditions and superstitions. Concerning the "dreaded land," Annawa said:—
"Years ago many Innuits were carried away on the ice and never came back again. Then Innuits would not live there for a long time. Finally they began to go there again in great numbers, when once more they were all lost, but how no Innuit could tell. At last, hearing nothing from the people who had gone there, a boat's crew of Innuits went to ascertain their fate. They arrived in the region they sought, but the very first night they could not sleep, owing to a terrible noise, all the same as if Nu-na—the land—cracked, shook, and broke. There was no sea, no wind, no ice; se-lar—sky—fine, weather good, yet the dreadful noise continued. However, the searching party went on shore to examine; they looked around, and they went all over the land, but not one of their people could be found. All were gone! Some mysterious fate had overtaken them. This frightened the new visitors; they knew not what to make of it. Then, too, the dreadful noises continued; each night their sleep was troubled by a repetition of the direful sounds. The earth cracked and rumbled, and seemed as if breaking up in all directions. It was enough! Without farther delay, the visitors took to their boat and left the dreaded land. Since then no Innuits will live there." Annawa said the last catastrophe happened when he was a boy; the first was a long time before he was born.
On Wednesday, October 9th, though within a mile of Lupton Channel, I determined upon returning to the ship; it was all but impossible to proceed. But here again were other disappointments; the wind changed, a heavy storm set in right against us, and, after accomplishing a short distance, ​we had once more to encamp, this time close to "French Head."
My trip thus far had been anything but pleasant. In the boat I was so cramped, and wet with the spray, that I could hardly move. When I landed my limbs almost refused their several functions, and it was necessary for me to have a good walk before I could restore proper circulation. It was a comfort to have such a walk, a greater comfort to be within the tupic, and a still greater to have, after a time, hot coffee placed before me by the ready hands of Suzhi.
The next morning, October 10th, we renewed our boat-voyage back to the ship. On the way a deer was seen, and my crew immediately landed to secure it. This was done without much difficulty, guns having been brought into good use for the purpose. The animal was a fine one, and very soon made a great feast for all of us. It was quickly skinned, and the raw food greedily eaten. I partook of some of it, and especially of the marrow of the legs, the bones having been broken by pounding them with a stone. "Johnny Bull" took the head, broke open the skull, and feasted on the brains. Suzhi now and then thrust her fingers down into the paunch, drawing forth portions of the contents, and eating them with much relish. While waiting at this place I took a walk along the beach, and found a ship's beam high and dry on the rocks. It was of oak, twenty-seven feet long, and eighteen by twelve inches square. Spikes that had once helped to hold fast the ship's deck, and the bolts running through at each end, were much eaten with rust. It probably belonged to the Traveller.
When we again started it was with difficulty that any progress could be made, owing to the head wind; but at last, toward evening, we neared the locality of the ship. At that time another boat under sail was observed, and we soon found it to be manned wholly by Innuits. It was a pretty sight, that boat, with no load save its light crew, sailing in the strong wind, with a heavy sea prevailing. The masts and sails were bent over, almost touching the waves, and yet she bounded ​forward, beautifully rising over the waters, and dashing along like a white whale in alarm. As soon as the boat neared us, we learned that during my absence the crew of the George Henry had captured two whales, and this news was soon afterward fully confirmed when I saw the huge carcasses alongside of the ship.
On board. Captain B—— and his crew were busy and joyous over the work. A friendly word was hastily given, and I went below. I regretted to learn that a man had been seriously injured, nearly losing his life by a blow from one of the captured whales. The boat in which this man was had run with a six-knot breeze right on the whale in an oblique direction, its bow actually mounting the monster's back near its tail. At that moment the "boat-header"—Morgan—threw, with all the force of a bold, expert man, two harpoons in quick succession. The whale, feeling the concussion of the boat and the sharp wounds of the irons in his back, desperately and fiercely struck his flukes about, right and left, with the force of a thousand-horse engine. The sea became white under its maddened fury. Occasionally the tip of one of his flukes was raised high above the boat's side, as if about to deal instant destruction to all, and once a blow came heavily down. Morgan saved himself by jumping on one side; but the nearest man was struck and knocked down senseless. The boat's mast was lifted from the step, and the sail thrown in the water, but, fortunately, the boat itself escaped destruction. The huge monster expended most of his power in lashing the water, and then "sounded," that is, dived into the depths below. On returning to the surface he was met by lances, which caused the usual spouting of blood, and then followed the death-stroke, which made the whale a prize to the daring seamen who had attacked it.