My Eskimo Friends (1924)

I 20 MY ESKIMO FRIENDS only women in the camp. Their men, said they, were inland, deer-hunting among the hills. Trade candy, of colours dazzling to the eye, and black plug tobacco went far to break down their reserve. Whilst we lunched on sea biscuit and tea, waiting for the hunters to return, one comely girl — whaler-trained I could see from the spoons, an alarmclock bell, and big Canadian pennies that dangled on the heel-long tail of her kooletah — brought forth an old accordion, which, bearing the hand-painted label, “Forget-menot,” was evidently the gift of some affectionate whaler lad. She began diffidently enough at first to play. It was not long, however, before she was tearing off “The Campbells are Coming,” hornpipes, and the devil’s reel, and Gushue, the mate, in his Newfoundland knee-boots of cowhide, was “a-shakin’ ’em down” on a granite ledge. In the midst of it the hunters returned. Their eyes sparkled at the prospect of a ship, with its treasure-trove of tobacco, sweets, guns, and tea, come amongst them. “Yes,” said their spokesman, the oldest, “where you are now is the mouth of Amadjuak Bay. At the head of the bay two small rivers flow into the sea, and even now there are Eskimos there, and the camps of half-a-hundred more” — he counted with the fingers of his hand— “are less than a day’s kayaking away.” They smiled from ear to ear when we told them of the big igloo aboard the ship, which we were to put together and live in for a year. They were in their kayaks waiting at noon the following day when the Laddie^ her flags flying, pulled out from the island mask toward them. All of them — their women, babies, and children, their dogs and tents and gear — were