Olof Krarer, The Esquimaux Lady.

by Olof Krarer.

INTRODUCTION.

In writing this little book, it has been our constant aim to make it, as nearly as possible, an autobiography, giving Miss KRARER'S own thoughts and words, avoiding some of the little errors, caused by her imperfect knowledge of English, which are thought by some to add a certain charm to her conversation. If, near the conclusion, I may seem to have departed from this plan, it is only because she desired me to attempt the expression of her thought in more elaborate language than she can herself, at present, make use of.

She is authority for the facts, from beginning to end.

Hoping that the story of her eventful life may be as interesting to those who read, as it has already been to thousands who have heard it from her own lips; and with the heartfelt wish that it may be the means of enabling her to accomplish her cherished purpose, I am glad to have this opportunity of a.s.sisting in her work.

ALBERT S. POST.

OLOF KRARER.

I was born in Greenland, on the east coast. I am the youngest of eight children. My three sisters and four brothers are all living in Iceland.

My father is living in Manitoba. My mother died in Iceland when I was sixteen years old.

We lived near the sea-sh.o.r.e in Greenland. Our house was built of snow.

It was round, perhaps sixteen feet across, and coming to a point at the top. It was lined with fur on all sides, and was carpeted with a double thickness of fur.

The way they lined the house was to take a skin of some animal, and hold it near a fire, which was in the centre of the room. When the skin was heated through, they took it and pressed it against the wall. In a short time, it stuck to the wall so tightly that it could not be pulled off without tearing the skin.

The door was a thick curtain of fur, hung over the doorway, by heating the upper part, and letting it stick fast to the wall. Outside of the door was a long, narrow pa.s.sageway, just high enough for one of us little Esquimaux people to stand up straight in. That would be about high enough for a child six years old, in this country; and it was only wide enough for one person to go through at a time. If one wanted to go out, and another wanted to go in, at the same time, one would have to back out and let the other go first. This pa.s.sageway was not straight; but turned to one side, so as not to let the wind blow in.

Our fireplace was in the centre of the house. The bottom was a large, flat stone, with other stones and whalebone put about the edge to keep the fire from getting out into the room. When we wanted to build a fire, we would put some whalebone and lean meat on the stone; then a little dry moss was put in, and then my father would take a flint and a whale's tooth, or some other hard bone, and strike fire upon the moss. Sometimes he could do it easily, but sometimes it took a long while. After the fire started he would put some blubber upon it.

Although it was so very cold, we would often be without a fire, for what we made the fire of was what we had to live on, and we could not always afford to burn it. Our fire did not warm the room very much. It was mostly to give light, so that it might be a little more cheerful in the room. When we had no fire it was very dark.

There was no chance to play round and romp inside the snow-house. We just had to sit with our arms folded and keep still. It was in this way that my arms came to have such a different shape from people's arms in this country. Where their muscle is large and strong, I have but very little; and instead of that, I have a large bunch of muscle on the upper side of my arms, and they are crooked, so that I can never straighten them. A doctor in Iceland once tried to straighten one arm by pulling, but he could not change it one bit; and it was very sore for a long time afterward and the muscles were much swollen. But it was not so with my father and brothers. They went out to hunt and had more exercise and more pulling to do, and so their arms were straight.

It was a great thing when the men would come home from a hunt, for then we would have a great deal to talk about:--how far they went, how cold it was, how they found the bear, or walrus, or seal, and who was most active and brave in killing it. Father would often say to mother, "Oh, how I wish you had been along, for we had such a nice drink of warm blood." The warm blood of a dying animal was considered the greatest luxury we could get, because we had not any cooked food at all. We ate it all frozen and raw, except when fresh from the animal. It was a great thing to strike the animal first with a spear, for the one who drew first blood was owner of the skin and was the boss of the whole job.

They just had to cut it to suit him. The flesh was divided equally between all the hunters.

Sometimes we used to get very tired in the dark snow-house, and then we would try a little amus.e.m.e.nt. Two of us would sit down on the fur carpet and look into one another's faces and _guess who was the prettiest_. We had to guess, for we had no looking-gla.s.s in which to see our own faces.

The one whose face shone slickest with the grease was called the prettiest.

If at any time we grew too tired of it all and ventured to romp and play, we were in danger of being punished. As there were no trees from which to cut switches there, they took a different way. When any child was naughty, mother would take a bone and she would put it into the fire and leave it there until it was hot enough for the grease to boil out.

Then she would take it and slap that on her child and burn it. She was not particular where she burned her child, only she was careful not to touch the face.

I can well remember what I got my last punishment for. I had been playing with my little brother inside the snow-house and I got mad at him, and so I threw him down and bit him on the back of the neck. Then mother heated a bone and burned me on the same place where I bit him. I got tired of that and didn't do that kind of a trick afterwards.

But it was not always so that we had to stay in the snow-house. Once in a while father would come in and say it was not so cold as usual, and then we would have a chance to look round outside the snow-house. We never took a long walk. As nearly as I can remember, my father's house was on a low plain near the sea-sh.o.r.e. It sloped gently inland, and we could have seen a great way into the back country if it had not been for the great snowdrifts and ma.s.ses of ice. There were some steep, jagged rocks in sight of our village, and during the long daytime enough of the snow would melt off to leave the rocks bare in a few places. On these bare spots we would find a kind of brown moss, which we gathered and dried to light our fires with.

We never saw anything green in Greenland, and I never could understand why they called it by that name.

When we looked out toward the ocean, we could not see very far, for even in the warmest season there was only a small s.p.a.ce of open water, and beyond that the ice was all piled up in rough, broken ma.s.ses.

The great event in our family life, however, was the dog-sleigh ride.

When father told us we could go, we came as near dancing and clapping our hands for joy as Esquimaux children ever did. But we did not have a fine cutter, with large horses and chiming bells. We did not even have an old-fashioned bobsled, in which young men and young women have such good times in your country.

Sometimes the sleigh would be made of a great wide piece of bone from the jaws of a whale, one end of which turned up like a runner. But more often it would be either a skin of some animal laid flat on the ground, or a great frozen fish cut in two at the back and then turned right over. I never saw such a fish in this country, or in Iceland, so I cannot tell what kind of fish it was.

Our sleigh was drawn by dogs--sometimes six and sometimes ten or twelve.

Each dog had a collar round his neck and a strip of reindeer hide tied into the collar and to the sleigh. When the dogs were well broken, they did not need any lines to guide them; but if they were not well trained, they had to have lines to control them. While we were getting ready to start, the dogs would jump about and whine and be as anxious to go as fiery horses in this country. The trained dogs would run forward and put their noses right into their collars without any trouble. When all was ready, away we went! It was great fun! The dogs could carry the sleigh faster than horses do in this country. Sometimes the sleigh was b.u.mped and tumbled about a good deal on the rough ice, and once in a while it tipped over.

The dogs are about the size of shepherd dogs and have sharp pointed ears. They are very strong, and have heavy coats of long hair, which often drags upon the snow. They are of a dirty gray color.

When my father had as many as ten or twelve dogs, he had a separate snow-house for them and kept them in that; but when he had lost or lent his dogs, so that he had only two or three, he would let them come into the snow-house with us. Our dogs had the same kind of food to live on that we had, and sometimes when food was scarce they had a hard time of it. They were never fed when we were going to start out for a sleigh ride, for then they would lie right down and refuse to move one step.

But whenever we came back from a ride they were well fed.

Our dogs were very useful to us in other ways than drawing our sleighs, for they were very sharp and good to hunt. They helped to kill the polar bear, and to find the seal and walrus.

Now, in order that you may understand our way of living better, I will explain that we have six months' night in Greenland, and during that time nothing is seen of the sun. The moon changes very much as it does here, and we have the light of the stars. Then most of the time the beautiful northern lights may be seen dancing and leaping about, with many colored rainbow beauties. The white snow is always on the ground, so that even when the moon and northern lights did not show, we could see to hunt round. Before and after the night time, there was about a month of twilight, and this was our finest time of the year. We had then the best chance to hunt.

In the long day we had the hardest time, for then the sun shone out so brightly that we would be made snow blind if we ventured far from home.

The day was four months long, and if we did not have food enough stored away in an ice cave to last us through, we would be in great danger of starving.

The best time to hunt is when the ice breaks up. My people know when this is going to happen by the noise. There is a rumbling sound like distant thunder. Whoever hears that sound first goes from house to house and gives warning, so that all may be ready to join in the hunt. Then the hunters get their spears and let out their dogs, and hurry to the place where the sound is heard. The polar bear hears the sound also, and hastens to the place, for it is here that he, too, must make his living.

This is the only time that Esquimaux ever dare to tackle a polar bear, for when he is going about alone and hungry he is very fierce and dangerous; but when the ice breaks up the bear goes straight for the sound. This grows louder and longer, until there is a mighty crash, louder than thunder, and great walls of ice are thrown high in air, and a s.p.a.ce of open water is to be seen. When the commotion has ceased, my people crowd along the edge of the water. They first look out for the bear, for they don't want him to catch any of their seals. They have some of their dogs loose in front of the sleigh, and some of them harnessed to it. When they come to the bear, he is busy watching for seal and pays very little attention to the hunters or their dogs. The loose dogs run up to him and begin to worry him. He chases some of them, and the others bite him behind. If he makes a rush at the hunters in their sleighs, the dog teams draw them swiftly away. The loose dogs keep on worrying the bear until he becomes furious with rage. Every little while a sweep of his huge paw lays one of his enemies on the snow, silent in death. A few minutes later, perhaps, another will be caught up in the powerful embrace of the great brute. The dogs crowd in and take hold wherever they can. The bear grows frantic in his struggles to punish his adversaries. At last he lies at full length panting upon the snow. Then it is that some hunter ventures to leave his dog-sled and try to kill him with a walrus tusk. No sooner is he sure that the animal is dying than he hastens to get a drink of warm blood. Then a long cut is made down the belly of the animal with the points of the walrus tusks and the skin is pulled and pushed off with their hands. All hands feast upon the warm grease that is inside the animal, and after that they divide the meat and take it home.

I will now explain that the breaking up of the ice I have told about is not from thawing. In the warmest time we ever saw in that part of Greenland where I came from, it never thawed enough to make the water run in streams. A few bare spots were melted off on the rocks and high points of land. Once in a while the snow would melt enough to drip a little, and form icicles, but not often. It was cold, cold, bitter cold, all the year round, and the people in this country can hardly have an idea of it, even in the coldest weather here. From this we see that there could be no chance for heat enough to make the thick ice break up by thawing. Have you ever seen a tub which was full of water frozen nearly solid? Then, perhaps you remember that the middle was heaved up and cracked to pieces by the frost. This, I think, is what takes place in the Northern seas, only on a far grander scale. A rumbling sound can be heard for some time before it really breaks up; but when it does come, there is an awful roar like loudest thunder, and great blocks of ice are lifted and piled one above another, until they are higher than the tops of the highest buildings in this country. As it breaks up a good many times in the same place, these ice mountains are piled higher and higher, until they get so large we cannot see over them or round them at all. Each time the ice breaks up, there is an open s.p.a.ce where the water is free from ice, and the walruses and seals come up to breathe. Sometimes a walrus will crawl away from this opening far enough for the hunters to head him off and kill him. The walrus is hard to kill, for he is so watchful, and there is no way to call him as they do the seal. But when killed he is quite a prize.

In hunting the seal, they take a different plan. The seal is very fond of its young. The hunters will take advantage of this by lying flat on the ice and making a sound like the cry of a young seal. In this way they manage to call the old seal out on the ice. But even then it is not always easy to catch the seal, for it has a strong, flexible tail, by means of which it is able to throw itself a good many feet at a time, so that even when on the ice it sometimes gets away with its awkward rolls and flops and jumps. A seal is very active and almost always in motion.

Our greatest prize was the whale. Once in a while one would get entangled in the breaking ice so that it could not get away, and then everybody would be out to help or see the fun. A great many ropes of reindeer hide would be brought out and a great many spears stuck into the animal. Then the men would join together and try to pull the huge creature out of the water. Even with the help of all the dogs that could be used it was hard work, but they would manage it after a while. Then all would give a great shout and have great joy over the whale. One reason for their rejoicing was that the whale had so much blubber.

Blubber is the inside fat of the whale. There is a fine skin over it and it looks like tallow or leaf lard. It is quite hard in my country, but would melt down into what you would call whale oil in this country.

After the whale is cut up we would have a great feast and eat all we could. Then, after taking the meat home, we would spend a long time eating and sleeping.

It was only when the ice broke up and the people came together to hunt that they met one another. All the rest of the time the families stay in their own homes, and do not visit back and forth as your people do. The only exceptions are, when a man needs meat, or blubber, or a flint, and goes to borrow, or when a young man goes to steal his girl. There is no buying and selling, and no trading. Any one can get what he needs by asking for it, if it is in the village. The people try to treat each other as brothers and sisters.

I will now explain a strange custom among our people. When a young man gets to be about 25 years old he is full grown and is considered to be of age. He then begins to think of beginning life for himself. It is a risky thing in my country to get a wife. A young man has to steal his girl out of her parents' snow-house and get her away into another. If he is caught trying to do this the girl's parents turn right on him and kill him. If he has not pluck enough to steal a girl for himself, he has to live alone, and when he goes to sleep he crawls head first into a fur sack. When he wants to get up he must crawl out backwards. I suppose he is what you would call an old bachelor.

A young man, who sees a girl he thinks he would like to have for a wife, makes a great many excuses to come to her father's snow-house. Sometimes he wants to borrow a flint, or blubber, or something else. If he comes without any excuse, the girl's parents tell him, "I know very well what you do want; you want my girl, but you never shall get her." Then he gets kind of scared and runs off. But he sneaks round again pretty often. He thinks may be her parents will go out for a dog-sleigh ride, or may be they would lay them down to sleep some time. If he does get her out of the snow-house without being caught, the girl's parents send right back for him and think n.o.body is any smarter than he is, and do all they can for him.

The reason a girl's parents want the young man to steal her is, that they want to find out whether he is willing to risk his life for his own girl or not. They think if he is not smart enough to steal a girl, he would not be smart enough to take care of her--kill a polar bear, so that she would have enough to live on.

There are not many old bachelors in my country, for if a man has not s.p.u.n.k enough to steal a girl he is looked down upon as a sort of soft, good-for-nothing fellow.

Many people are disappointed when they see me, because I am not darker colored, with black hair. More of my people have light hair than dark, and we know that we are naturally a fair-skinned people, because when a baby is born in my country it is just as white as any American baby, and it has light hair and blue eyes. But the mother does not wash it with soft water and soap, as they do in this country, but she goes to work and greases it all over, and the child is never washed from the day he is born till he dies, if he remains in that country. The mother wraps her little one in the skin of a young seal, which has been made very soft by pounding and rubbing it on the ice. If baby cries, the mother will not take it up and care for it, but she puts it in a corner and leaves it there until it stops crying, and then she takes it up and pets it. She can only nurse it about a month. Then the mother will warm some blubber for it; but in a little while it must live just like the rest.

She carries the baby in her hood, and does not expect it to learn to walk until between two and three years old. Then she makes a suit for it of young seal's fur. When the child becomes larger, say six or seven years old, a thicker suit is made of polar bear skin; and then little "Auska" feels as proud of his new clothes as "Our Charlie" does of his new boots, and the chubby "Roegnia" rejoices over her white suit as much as dainty Flora in her arctics and m.u.f.f and fur collar. But Auska and Roegnia are dressed more nearly alike than Charlie and Flora. Men's clothes are just like women's clothes; only a woman's coat comes down to a point and man's coat is cut off square, and that is all the difference. They wear fur mittens and fur shoes.

I think it would be very nice for some ladies in this country, if they were to go to Greenland; for they would have no washing, no ironing, no scrubbing and no cooking to do. They don't even have to wash their faces or comb their hair. Esquimaux people have only the salt ocean water, and if they had soft, fresh water they dare not use it, for it would be like poison to their flesh when the thermometer was 60 or 70 below zero.