My Eskimo Friends (1924)

FILMS I2I soon aboard. The cook plied them with sea biscuit, lard, and tea, and the gramophone above the rattle and clangour of the engine and the tumult of their and their dogs’ voices, poured out minstrel and Harry Lauder songs as the Laddie^ with as closely packed and happy a throng as any Coney Island boat ever carried, sailed toward the head of Amadjuak Bay. On the northwest corner of the half-round, rugged head of Amadjuak Bay, we located, for here was not only harbourage, but a small river tumbling with much fuss and pother over a half-mile rapid to sea— fresh water for our film-developing the winter through. “There are Hearne salmon here,” said one old Eskimo, “when spawning time begins in spring; and up beyond the rapids lies a little chain of lakes which leads to the great deer country in the interior.” With a will the Eskimos helped us unload. For three days an endless chain of them plied the ship’s dories, and their own kayaks catamaraned between ship and shore; while the women, old men, and children lugged and rolled and shouldered the burdens up over the slopes of rock. Within a week the Laddie s work was done, and out over the harbour’s face she sailed for Newfoundland. There was skin ice over the harbour on several snapping clear days before September closed; then open water again through the bluff and bluster of October, which month ended with such a drifter that our launch, anchored bow and stern just offshore, sank to the bottom under the weight and drive of snow. By mid-November winter had settled down, and the hut, snow-walled, was made snug and warm. I chose the families who were to live the winter through in their igloos