Hunters Of The Great North E-Book

Vilhjalmur Stefansson

• Herausgeber: Youcanprint
• Kategorie: Lebensstil
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

When first you leave home to travel in a foreign land you receive impressions more vivid than those of any later journey to the same country. If you at once rush your views and observations into print you are likely to have an interesting book but not so likely an accurate one. You will probably regret some parts of that book on grounds of mere regard for truth, for you will see later that you erred both in observations and conclusions. When first I went to the polar regions I came back at the end of a year and a half full of enthusiasm for the Arctic and for the Eskimos. Luckily that enthusiasm was translated into the organization of a second expedition that left for the North in seven months, and not into a book to be published then. As I look over my diaries of that time I shudder to think how vastly I might have augmented the already great misknowledge of the Arctic had I published everything I imagined I had seen and everything I thought I knew. CONTENTS PREFACE CHAPTER I - Preparations For A Lifework Of Exploration CHAPTER II - Down The Mackenzie River Through 2,000 Miles Of Indian Country CHAPTER III - First Impressions Of The Eskimos CHAPTER IV - Captain Klinkenberg-Sea Wolf And Discoverer CHAPTER V - The Whaling Fleet Sails Away CHAPTER VI - Learning To Live As An Eskimo-On A Diet Of Fish Without Salt CHAPTER VII - How An Eskimo Sailed Through The Storm CHAPTER VIII - An Autumn Journey Through Arctic Mountains CHAPTER IX - The Sun Goes Away For The Winter CHAPTER X - Lost In The Mackenzie Delta CHAPTER XI - An Arctic Christmas With An English Country Gentleman CHAPTER XII - The Life At Tuktuyaktok CHAPTER XIII - Learning To Build A Snowhouse And To Be Comfortable In One CHAPTER XIV - Travels After The Sun Came Back CHAPTER XV - We Go In Search Of Our Own Expedition CHAPTER XVI - A Spring Journey In An Eskimo Skin Boat CHAPTER XVII - A Race Over The Arctic Mountains In Summer CHAPTER XVIII - On A Raft Down The Porcupine River SHORT STORIES OF ADVENTURE CHAPTER I - How I Learned To Hunt Caribou CHAPTER II - How I Learned To Hunt Seals CHAPTER III - How We Hunt Polar Bears

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

PREFACE

CHAPTER I - Preparations For A Lifework Of Exploration

CHAPTER II - Down The Mackenzie River Through 2,000 Miles Of Indian Country

CHAPTER III - First Impressions Of The Eskimos

CHAPTER IV - Captain Klinkenberg-Sea Wolf And Discoverer

CHAPTER V - The Whaling Fleet Sails Away

CHAPTER VI - Learning To Live As An Eskimo-On A Diet Of Fish Without Salt

CHAPTER VII - How An Eskimo Sailed Through The Storm

CHAPTER VIII - An Autumn Journey Through Arctic Mountains

CHAPTER IX - The Sun Goes Away For The Winter

CHAPTER X - Lost In The Mackenzie Delta

CHAPTER XI - An Arctic Christmas With An English Country Gentleman

CHAPTER XII - The Life At Tuktuyaktok

CHAPTER XIII - Learning To Build A Snowhouse And To Be Comfortable In One

CHAPTER XIV - Travels After The Sun Came Back

CHAPTER XV - We Go In Search Of Our Own Expedition

CHAPTER XVI - A Spring Journey In An Eskimo Skin Boat

CHAPTER XVII - A Race Over The Arctic Mountains In Summer

CHAPTER XVIII - On A Raft Down The Porcupine River

SHORT STORIES OF ADVENTURE

CHAPTER I - How I Learned To Hunt Caribou

CHAPTER II - How I Learned To Hunt Seals

CHAPTER III - How We Hunt Polar Bears

Hunters Of The Great North

Vilhjalmur Stefansson

First digital edition 2017 by David De Angelis

PREFACE

When first you leave home to travel in a foreign land you receive impressions more vivid than those of any later journey to the same country. If you at once rush your views and observations into print you are likely to have an interesting book but not so likely an accurate one. You will probably regret some parts of that book on grounds of mere regard for truth, for you will see later that you erred both in observations and conclusions.

When first I went to the polar regions I came back at the end of a year and a half full of enthusiasm for the Arctic and for the Eskimos. Luckily that enthusiasm was translated into the organization of a second expedition that left for the North in seven months, and not into a book to be published then. As I look over my diaries of that time I shudder to think how vastly I might have augmented the already great misknowledge of the Arctic had I published everything I imagined I had seen and everything I thought I knew.

At the end of my second expedition, after five winters and seven summers in the North, I published "My Life With the Eskimo" (New York and London, 1913). So far I have discovered (with the help of critics and through careful re-reading) a half dozen errors in that volume. Some of these have been eliminated as the book has been reprinted; the rest will be rectified in the next printing.

At the end of my third expedition, with a background of ten northern winters and thirteen summers, I wrote "The Friendly Arctic" (New York and London, 1921). A comparison of that book with the earlier one will bring out few serious contradictions of fact (I hope none), although it will show a changed point of view—but only, I think, in line with a logical development founded on better understanding.

In the present book I have tried by means of diaries and memory to go back to the vivid impressions of my first year among the Eskimos for the story of what I saw and heard. I have tried to tell the story as I would have told it then, except that the mature knowledge of ten succeeding years has been used to eliminate early faults of observation and conclusion. A good many interesting stories found in the diaries of my first arctic voyage do not appear in this book because I now know them to have been based on misapprehensions. In a sense, the book is therefore less interesting than if I had published it fourteen years ago—but less interesting only to the extent in which it is more true.

The scientific collections made on the expedition described in this book are now in the Peabody Museum of Harvard University and in the Royal Ontario Museum of the University of Toronto, for those institutions joined in meeting the expense of my journey down the Mackenzie. The photographs in this volume are used by permission of the Peabody Museum, the American Museum of Natural History of New York, and the Departments of the Naval Service, Mines, and Colonization of Canada. Single pictures were furnished by personal friends of the author—Harry Anthony, Hawthorne Daniel and E. M. Kindle.

CHAPTER I - PREPARATIONS FOR A LIFEWORK OF EXPLORATION

My family were pioneers. In advance of the great railways that eventually came to cross the northwestern prairies, they traveled by primitive contrivance from the west end of Lake Superior across to the Red River of the North and down that river to Lake Winnipeg. Before them had been the trappers, the traders and missionaries; but they were among the earliest of the farmer colonists who in 1876 settled and began the process of transforming the pathless and romantic wilderness into the rich but commonplace agricultural community of to-day.

Those were days of stern trial. The Indians were friendly and to an extent helpful, but the settlers misunderstood and mistrusted them.

After two years of unremitting toil, our family found themselves in possession of a comfortable log cabin and the clearing of the forest had well begun, when there came a flood that drowned some of the cattle, carried away our haystacks and those of our neighbors, and left behind it destitution, which towards spring turned into famine. A brother and sister of my own are said to have died of malnutrition and some of our neighbors died of 'The Friendly Arctic" (New York and London, 1920. A comparison of that book with the earlier one will bring out few serious contradictions of fact (I hope none), although it will show a changed point of view—but only, I think, in line with a logical development founded on better understanding.

In the present book I have tried by means of diaries and memory to go back to the vivid impressions of my first year among the Eskimos for the story of what I saw and heard. I have tried to tell the story as I would have told it then, except that the mature knowledge of ten succeeding years has been used to eliminate early faults of observation and conclusion. A good many interesting stories found in the diaries of my first arctic voyage do not appear in this book because I now know them to have been based on misapprehensions. In a sense, the book is therefore less interesting than if I had published it fourteen years ago—but less interesting only to the extent in which it is more true.

The scientific collections made on the expedition described in this book are now in the Peabody Museum of Harvard University and in the Royal Ontario Museum of the University of Toronto, for those institutions joined in meeting the expense of my journey down the Mackenzie. The photographs in this volume are used by permission of the Peabody Museum, the American Museum of Natural History of New York, and the Departments of the Naval Service, Mines, and Colonization of Canada. Single pictures were furnished by personal friends of the author—Harry Anthony, Hawthorne Daniel and E. M. Kindle.

My family were pioneers. In advance of the great railways that eventually came to cross the northwestern prairies, they traveled by primitive contrivance from the west end of Lake Superior across to the Red River of the North and down that river to Lake Winnipeg. Before them had been the trappers, the traders and missionaries; but they were among the earliest of the farmer colonists who in x876 settled and began the process of transforming the pathless and romantic wilderness into the rich but commonplace agricultural community of to-day.

Those were days of stern trial. The Indians were friendly and to an extent helpful, but the settlers misunderstood and mistrusted them.

After two years of unremitting toil, our family found themselves in possession of a comfortable log cabin and the clearing of the forest had well begun, when there came a flood that drowned some of the cattle, carried away our haystacks and those of our neighbors, and left behind it destitution, which towards spring turned into famine. A brother and sister of my own are said to have died of malnutrition and some of our neighbors died of actual hunger. The terrors of smallpox epidemic were added, for epidemics and famines commonly go together.

It was partly these difficulties and tragedies and partly the pioneer spirit which leads ever farther and farther afield that took our family from the woods of Manitoba out upon the prairies of Dakota. I had been born in 1879 just before the flood and was less than two years old when we crossed the frontier into the United States.

For some ten years I grew up on a Dakota farm and walked two or three miles in winter to the little country school which in those days was in session only a small part of the year. However, there were several schools in different directions from our farm and it was sometimes possible for me, when one school closed, to get in a few extra weeks at a second school when their terms did not happen to coincide.

After the death of my father we sold the farm and I became for four years a cowboy on the "wild land," as we then called the prairies that had not yet been homesteaded. Our nearest neighbors were ten or fifteen miles away in various directions between northeast and southeast, but to the west I never knew how far our nearest neighbors were. It may have been a hundred or two hundred miles.

In boyhood I read by the dozen stories of cowboys and frontier life, and the open prairie was to me a land of romance. The buffaloes were just disappearing, but their whitening bones lay everywhere and their deep trails wound like endless serpents over hill and valley. Sitting Bull and his Indians were near enough and powerful enough so that the more sober of us feared him and the more romantic hoped that his war parties might some day come over the line of the horizon. In my imagination I could see myself as a brave scout upon whom the lives of the settlement depended, watching from afar the camp fires of the Indians. But one day we heard that Sitting Bull had been shot and that the ghost dances were over.

Although the buffalo was gone, Buffalo Bill was still with us. I never saw him but my elder brother, Joe, wore a sombrero and long hair down his back in the best frontier style and looked much like him. A number of the cowboys I worked with had known him in the early days before he started out with his Wild West show. Most of them let on they could shoot better and ride better than Buffalo Bill. Modesty is not a special virtue of the frontier nor are jealousies unknown.

In another corner of our territory was Roosevelt, gathering on the open prairie through his contact with pioneers some of the breadth and freedom and vision that characterized him later. We did not even know he was there, for in our part of the country telegraphs and telephones were still in the future and the stray copies of newspapers we saw were frequently six months old. His fame did not spread to our section until it began to spread over the whole world. That was after my cowboy days.

My first ambition, so far as I remember, was to be Buffalo Bill and to kill Indians. That was while I was still a small boy on the farm. When I became a cowboy and began to dress like Buffalo Bill and to put on my revolver in the morning as I would an article of clothing, my ambition shifted and my ideal became Robinson Crusoe. That is an ambition that never left me. Twenty years later when I discovered lands and stepped ashore on islands where human foot had never trod, I had in reality very much the thrills of my boyhood imagination when I dreamed of being a castaway on my own island or of visiting Crusoe on his.

At this time there were no indications that I was to be led eventually into the career of polar exploration. But unconsciously I was getting the best preparation for it. On the frontier farm I had hunted rabbits and grouse in the winter, ducks and geese and swans and cranes in the spring and fall. After I became a cowboy I pursued on horseback the white tail antelope. I can scarcely remember the time when I did not hunt with a shotgun, and since the age of ten I have been a fair rifle shot.

But more valuable than anything in fitting me for the life of a hunter in the polar regions was my buffeting by the Dakota climate. Dakota in summer has the same terrific heat that we find in some parts of the arctic prairies. The Dakota winter is not as long as the arctic winter but it is occasionally as cold, and some Dakota blizzards are as bad winter weather as any in the northern hemisphere. I hear the conditions are getting a little different after thirty years of cultivation. Farmhouses now stand half a mile apart where the cattle ranches once were twenty and thirty miles apart, and trees have been planted in many places to break the wind.

Things were different when I was eighteen. Four of us boys, all of about the same age, had started a ranch of our own. We had picked out a conspicuous hill that looked from a distance like the double hump of a camel. Our house stood on one hump and a hundred yards away were our saddle ponies in a barn on the other hump. That year there blew up the day before Thanksgiving a storm which is still called by the pioneers "the Thanksgiving Blizzard." The weather was warm and the sky gradually became overcast. For about six hours the snowflakes fluttered down quietly, getting more numerous hour by hour as the wind gradually increased.

The next morning it was a howling gale. Wiser men than we would have had a rope or smooth wire running from our house door to the barn door to guide us through the blizzard so we could have fed the stock. After much discussion as to whether it was safe, I decided that, as we knew the exact direction of the wind and as the barn was long and stood broadside to the house, I would probably be able to find it. I backed out of the door into the wind, holding my mittened hands over my face, for otherwise the wind takes your breath away. The protection from my hands kept my eyes from being filled with the snow as I worked my way to the barn. But the barn door was in the lee of the building and a great snowdrift had been piled up against it. Although I knew where the door was I found no sign of it, and I realized that if I dug down towards it with a shovel the drifting snow would fill the hole faster than I could dig it. Furthermore, I could not find the shovel which had been buried by the snow. I considered breaking my way into the barn through the roof, but decided that even if I made the needed aperture, I would not be able to carry hay from the stack to the barn. So I gave up and returned to the house.

We did not think much of this adventure at the time, but I now consider it one of the most foolhardy enterprises of a career that has been in considerable part devoted to similar things. When we got to the settlement months later, we heard of some twenty or thirty tragedies that had resulted from this gale. Some farmers had gone out in search of their barns, had never found them and had been frozen to death. Others found their barns and stayed there until the gale was over, not daring to return to the house. Still others found their barns, fed their stock, and lost their lives on the way back to the house. There were also stories of lightly built farm shanties that had been blown away by the wind, exposing the occupants to the blizzard or killing them in the wreck.

At that time I agreed with all our neighbors (we called each other neighbors though we were fifteen miles apart), that gales such as I have described were exceedingly dangerous to life and limb. That was because we did not know how to deal with them. I have since learned from the Eskimos how to get along in a blizzard and should feel ashamed of myself if I suffered anything as serious as a frost bite from a day out in it.

During my cowboy days our neighbors were of the regular American type, but the farming community in which I passed my earlier years came from countries in Europe where literary ambitions take the place of the money making dreams that are nowadays more common. Fully half our neighbor boys talked of going to college. Their ambitions were to become lawyers and authors and statesmen. For my part, I had decided to become a poet, and for this I considered a college education as the first requirement. Through circumstances into which I cannot go, but which hinged upon the Thanksgiving blizaard I have just described, I failed in my initial business venture (that of establishing a cattle ranch of my own) and so turned to the earlier college dreams. When I left for the State University I boarded a railway train for the first time in my life, although I had seen railway trains perhaps two dozen times before. I had fifty-three dollars, wore a seven-dollar suit of clothes, and felt no doubt of my ability to work my way through college.

This all came to pass. I attended the State University of North Dakota to the junior year, then the State University of Iowa where I got my Bachelor of Arts degree, and eventually Harvard for three years of post-graduate study.

During this college period I had changed my plans many times. My poetic ambitions lasted long enough for me to read nearly all the English poets and those of two or three other languages. I even wrote some poems that were printed in the college magazines. It may seem that this was no suitable preparation for my eventual career of hunting polar bears and exploring polar lands. I am not sure of that. The explorer is the poet of action, and a great poet in proportion as he is a great explorer. He needs a mind to see visions no less than he needs the strength to face a blizzard.

Somewhere near the middle of my college career I began to see that there is not only the poetry of words but a poetry of deeds. Magellan's voyage rounded out a magnificent conception as fully and finally as ever did a play of Shakespeare's. A law of nature is an imperishable poem.

Ideas of that sort decided me to try to win my spurs in science rather than literature.

The sciences I selected for study were those that deal with life on our earth. Darwin and Spencer took the places formerly occupied by Keats and Shelley. I dreamt of discovering some law of life comparable in significance to the doctrine of evolution. Finally I specialized in anthropology—the science that deals with man and his works in general, but pays special attention to what the thoughtless call "primitive people" or "savages."

I went to Harvard first to study comparative religions in the theological school, but I later transferred to the graduate school to study other branches of anthropology. In that connection I became a teaching fellow. Earlier in my career I had been a school master for portions of several years, but I did not like teaching very well so I decided to become a field investigator of anthropology in tropical Africa. For two years I used all my spare time reading books about Africa and everything was ready for me to accompany a British commercial expedition under military escort that was going into East Central Africa.

At Harvard in my day it was usual for a number of friends to form a group and have assigned them in the dining room a special table. At meals we used to discuss all sorts of things, including what we had read in the papers. One day somebody asked me what I thought of the accounts then in the press about a new polar expedition being organized by an American, Leffingwell, and a Dane, Mikkelsen. They thought I might be interested for I had written and published the year before an essay on how the Norsemen discovered Greenland about nine hundred years ago, and how they were the first Europeans who ever saw Eskimos. But I said I had no keen personal interest in the proposed polar expedition because my thoughts for two years had been centered upon Africa.

A day or two after this discussion we were again together at dinner when a messenger boy brought me a telegram. It was signed by Ernest de Koven Leffingwell, and said he would pay my expenses if I would come to Chicago to have a talk about going with his polar expedition to study the Eskimos in Victoria Island who had never seen a white man.

Of all the excited discussion which followed the reading of this telegram I remember only that we guessed Leffingwell or some adviser of his had read my paper on the discovery of Greenland and that this invitation to go north was the result. The guess proved to be correct.

My decision was soon made and I took the first train west. At my talk with Leffingwell it was agreed that I should join his expedition, not at Victoria, British Columbia, where the ship was being outfitted and where all the rest of the staff were to gather, but at the mouth of the Mackenzie River. By the map, these places are far apart. But it was the plan of the expedition to sail north through the Pacific and through Bering Straits and then to follow the north coast of Alaska eastward to the whaling station at Herschel Island at the mouth of the Mackenzie River. Herschel Island was the place I selected for joining the expedition, and for several reasons.

I had already crossed the Atlantic four times and had learnt that one ocean wave looks much like another. From that point of view, at least, there is nothing to be learned from a sea voyage, and I know of nothing more tedious. If I needed a rest I should take a long voyage, but I was not feeling in need of any rest just then. So I proposed to make instead the interesting and instructive overland journey from Boston to the mouth of the Mac, kenzie. The road lies through a country which is even now a wilderness, although in the seventeen years since I made the journey there have been great developments. At that time you might have been a well-informed and well-traveled man without ever having seen or heard of any one who had made this trip. The Indians along the route were "unknown to science," although they had long been in contact with the Hudson's Bay Company fur traders and other wilderness travelers. Mr. Leffingwell was willing I should go by this route and meet the expedition at the mouth of the Mackenzie, providing I would find some way of paying my own expenses that far. I took this up at once with Harvard University and the University of Toronto, and the two universities agreed to share the expense of the overland and river journey. In return they were to receive the information secured, and the scientific collections.

CHAPTER II - DOWN THE MACKENZIE RIVER THROUGH 2000 MILES OF INDIAN COUNTRY

I left New York in April, 1906, and traveled by way of Toronto and the Canadian Pacific Railway to Winnipeg. At that time the Canadian Northern Railway had not been completed to the Pacific Coast but the stretch between Winnipeg and Edmonton had been opened. It lay through virgin country where farms and towns were springing up here and there on the prairies or in the woodland places. I have always had a passion for new countries and so I preferred the as yet crude service and uneven roadbed of the Canadian Northern to the smooth track and perfect system of the Canadian Pacific. It took a day and a half for the nine hundred miles to Edmonton.

From Winnipeg on my journey was under the protecting wing of the Hudson's Bay Company, the oldest and most romantic commercial concern in the world and even to-day one of the greatest in capital and financial power. Lord Strathcona was the world head of the Company with offices in London, but in Canada their wide empire in the North was controlled by the Chief Commissioner, C. C. Chipman, who welcomed me in Winnipeg. With official courtesy and great personal kindness he gave me advice and saw to it that the "servants" (as the employees of this ancient organization are still called) should give me every assistance. Through him I met the distinguished scientist-explorer, Roderick Macfarlane, who had been to the arctic coast as early as 1867 when the Indians still lived in perpetual dread of the warlike and more powerful Eskimos to the north of them who made raids at will as much as four hundred miles into the Indian country, the Indians never thinking to make resistance and vacating large stretches of country whenever the Eskimos approached. Luckily for the Indians, the Eskimos have a prejudice against living in a forest in the winter time, thinking that a tree shade from the sun may be agreeable but having no idea that the shelter of a forest from the wind is anything to be desired. Else they might have despoiled the Indians permanently of their hunting grounds.