Arctic Obsession

by Alexis S. Troubetzkoy

  One animal never killed, barring dire life-and-death circumstances, was the dog. Man and husky lived together, worked together, and hunted together; for many Inuit they were considered family. This remarkable wolf-related breed, one of the world’s oldest, is found in virtually every corner of the Arctic and sub-Arctic. It survives well in the brutal freezes because of its double-layered fur. The soft downy hairs of the inner lining serve to trap body heat while the longer and stiffer outer hairs prevent heat from escaping, at the same time blocking water penetration to the skin. With its remarkable strength, resilience, and energy the husky is ideally suited for Arctic life and for service to the people. Harnessed together, a dog team of eight is capable of pulling a winter sled bearing a 1,200-pound load many miles a day. As a summer pack animal, it is capable of carrying weights of some forty pounds.

  The rich spiritual life of the Inuit was fundamental to their existence. Animals with spirits and the landscape with spirits — the visible intertwined with the invisible. Life was one of constant awareness of the invisible — ghosts, mystical apparitions, and fantastic creatures. Spirits of dancing ancestors were perceived in the aurora; long hours of waiting at a seal’s breathing hole conjured ghostly apparitions; the surrounding waters contained deities, the principle one of which was an old woman residing in the far depths. Inuit spiritual life was focused on harmonization with the unseen; to offend a soul or a spirit was a risk to be avoided at all costs.

  A cross-sectional view and a floor plan of an Inuit igloo, this one accommodating seven people. Heat was generated by the occupants’ bodies and by lamps fuelled by animal fat.

  Until recent times, the Inuit were semi-nomadic, moving from summer camps to winter quarters in the continual pursuit of animals. In Frobisher’s day, in summertime they lived in tents made of animal skins, driftwood, and bones, but in winter “snow houses” were constructed, the iconic igloo. Blocks of snow were cut from the ground and placed to form a domelike structure with an entrance opening at the base. Most often a short tunnel was added leading to the opening for additional protection from the wind. Temporary igloos of varied sizes and shapes met the needs of the travelling hunter, but the more permanent structures were “family size” or greater, capable of accommodating five, ten, or even twenty people. The abundant wind-blown snow provided readily available building material. Because heat gets trapped in the compact air pockets sitting between the snow’s interlocking crystals, the material acquires substantial insulating qualities. The snow construction blocks out the Arctic winds, which can make it feel colder than the actual ambient temperature. Outside the igloo it might be -50°F while the temperature within could reach an overwhelming high of +55°F, with the heat being generated by the occupants’ bodies and lamps fuelled by animal fat.

  The Inuit concept of family was fluid — it might have consisted of a husband and wife plus children, or it might have included more than one wife or adopted children or possibly have incorporated one set of parents-in-law or both. Everything was shared, and the idea of personal wealth was non-existent. Every household had an elder and it was he who oversaw orderliness, made the important decisions of the day, and, in company with other elders, judged those who transgressed the established way. Until recent times, the Inuit knew nothing of laws and government, and the community abided by three governing principles long established by tradition: maligait, what has to be followed; piqujait, what has to be done; and tirigusuusiit, what must not be done. An individual transgressing any of these principles might find himself before the council of elders, whose intervention was deemed appropriate lest the community be harmed. The justice meted out could prove harsh in extreme cases and capital punishment was sometimes practised.

  It is untrue, however, that the Inuit killed their elderly and unproductive people as many Europeans have historically claimed. Indeed, elders were revered as guardians of tradition and valued for their knowledge and memory. Suicide, though, was not unknown and if an elderly person felt him/herself to be an undue burden on the family or community, such a person might well resort to it — in times of extreme famine, for example, when it was clear that the hunter could provide only so much for the family. An open declaration of intention not uncommon, with the family then gathering about the individual to observe him donning his clothes inside-out, then exiting the igloo and disappearing into the barren wilderness, there to await death by freezing.

  Europeans coming in early contact with the Inuit viewed the people as primitive savages in need of civilization. In time, however, it was they who took from the indigenous for it was the ingenuity of the native that permitted an adaptation to the singular environment of the Arctic. Native clothing, tools and diet, native habitat, transport, and social structures were all logical responses to those daunting conditions, a response that had been developed over the centuries and that worked well. Over the centuries, more than one European succumbed to the Arctic by failing to acknowledge the wisdom and inventiveness of “the primitive savage,” the same people Frobisher encountered on his journeys into the Arctic.

  The three Frobisher expeditions continued to generate interest among the merchants of London and Devon. A certain William Saunderson of the Fishmongers’ Guild of London proved to be a particularly enthusiastic advocate for continued search of the Northwest Passage, and through his efforts a substantial sum was raised by the business community to launch yet another voyage of exploration in northern America. John Davis was selected to lead the fresh initiative, “a man very well grounded in the principles of navigation.”

  Davis was a childhood friend of Humphrey Gilbert and the half brother to Sir Walter Raleigh. Born on the seacoast of Devon and brought up amid sailing ships and fishermen, it was natural for the young man to take to the ocean. By the time he died in 1605 at age fifty-five, he had sailed the waters of Greenland, Canada, the Pacific, and the South Atlantic, where he discovered and laid claim to the Falkland Islands. In addition to being a brilliant navigator and expert seaman, he had a scholarly bent; in 1599 he authored Seaman’s Secrets, a mariner’s handbook of navigation that became an instant success.

  The three successive expeditions undertaken by Davis into Arctic waters were inconclusive, with the elusive passage remaining uncovered. The significance of his work, however, lay in the meticulous records and detailed charts he offered the world of science, and to future explorers. Coastline details of Greenland, Baffin, and Labrador were faithfully documented, as well as observations on ice conditions, weather, terrain, rock formations, vegetation, and animal life. The Inuit especially intrigued Davis and he provided the earliest and most accurate observations of them and on their way of life — their dress, religion, customs, and their physiognomy. One curious detail he noted was, “[T]hese people are much given to bleed, and therefore stop their noses with deeres hair.” The relationship he and his crew developed with the natives was conflicting — one day, all smiles and friendly trade; on another, antagonism and bellicose exchanges.

  On Davis’s second voyage to Greenland, a happy reunion took place with “the people of the countrey.” The Inuit, having spotted the ships from afar, were at first reluctant to approach closely, but when they recognized some familiar faces among the crew of the earlier expedition, they happily brought their kayaks alongside the ship. Davis proceeded ashore accompanied by a small crew and eighteen natives “came running to mee and the rest and embraced us with many signes of heartie welcome.” Each of the natives was given a gift of a knife. On the following day the “gentle and loving Savages” returned with the obvious purpose of trading. They brought with them sealskins and caribou skins, rabbit and seal meat, plus salmon, cod, and “other fish and byrdes such as the country did yielde.” In return, knives, mirrors, bells, and glass beads were offered and enthusiastically accepted. Englishman and Inuk traded happily — the natives shed their surplus skins and stores of food, and the visitors surrendered a few modest trinkets, each no doubt pleased that the other was the lesser for the dea
l.

  The pleasing relationship blossomed. On one occasion in the tiny Inuit settlement, Davis’s men engaged their hosts in sport. Englishmen won the jumping contests — “our men over-leaped them” — but Inuit beat them at wrestling. “We found them very strong and nimble, and to have skill in wrestling; for they cast some of our men that were good wrestlers.” A misunderstanding took place when one Inuk demonstrated the making of fire by rapidly twirling a “round stick like unto a bedstaffe” within a hole drilled in a piece of board, and “by his violent motion doeth very speedily produced fire.” So shocked was Davis by this phenomenon that he ordered the fire immediately stamped out and the ashes thrown into the sea, “which was done to shew them that we did condemne their sorcery.” (In this instance, one might ask, who was the primitive?)

  Helpful and good-natured as the Inuit were, they soon “showed their vile nature” by stealing items from the ships, with objects of iron being of special interest. On one particularly audacious visit the natives were found helping themselves to spears, oars, laundry, a sword, and “diverse other things.” A round of gunfire scared the raiders away, but within hours “in their simplicitie” they were back, grinning, merrily waving hands, and signalling for peace. The fractured relationship healed and before long the two parties were teaching rudiments of their languages, thus further cementing relations. In his diary, Davis offers a list of forty Inuit words, including canyglow, or “kiss me.” On his previous year’s voyage to Greenland’s southern tip, it might be noted, Davis had acquired yet another word — musketa. “We found it very hot, and we were troubled with a flie which is called Musketa, for they did sting grievously.”

  The agreeable relationship that had prevailed to that point soured rapidly. The theft of laundry and oars was one thing, but now it was discovered that a ship’s anchor went missing as well as a length of cable and one of the ship’s boats. All a bit much. And then, quite without provocation, “they began to practice their devilish nature, and with slings threw stones very fiercely.” The boatswain received a particular nasty blow, which so angered the sailors that they gave chase, but to no avail. Shortly thereafter, as with the first altercation, the Inuit indicated that they sought a truce, and one of the representatives waved a pair of gloves as an invitation to trade. Davis reciprocated by holding up a knife. Two natives then came on board the ship, and were immediately seized. One was kept and the other was set free with instructions to arrange for the return of the recently stolen items within an hour or his friend would never again be seen. An hour passed, and then another and another, but no result. Unprepared to linger longer, the ships weighed anchor and sailed away, quitting Greenland and bound for Newfoundland with the hapless Eskimo in tow. Unlike Frobisher’s Inuit, this one acclimatized rapidly to his new situation and prospered — “at length he became a pleasant companion among us.”

  European fishermen and whalers had been harvesting the waters off Greenland and Labrador for generations before the voyages of Frobisher and Davis. It would be incorrect, therefore, to claim that they discovered these places, which they clearly did not. Their passages to Greenland and Baffin Island, however, are legendary and from the viewpoint of Arctic exploration, these two voyagers stand among the foremost. They opened a new world to navigators, cartographers, and historians and thus prepared the way for those who followed in unlocking the Arctic.

  Notes

  1. “The Voyage of John Cabot to America” (www.chroniclesofamerica.com/sea-dogs/voyage_of_john_cabot_to_america.htm).

  2. The continuation of Cabot’s commission is amusing in its language and naïveté: “… and as many mariners or men as they will have with them in the saide shippes, upon their owne proper costs and charges, to seeke out, discover, and finde, whatsoever Iles, Countreyes, Regions, or Provinces, of the Heathennes and Infidelles, whatsoever they bee, and in what part of the worlde soever they bee, which before this time have been unknowen to all Christians.”

  3. In 1583, Gilbert set sail for America in five ships, and, having arrived to Newfoundland, he claimed the land in the name of Her Majesty, thus laying the foundation of the British Empire. Of the voyage’s greater significance is the motivation it gave to Humphrey’s half brother, Sir Walter Raleigh, who commanded one of Gilbert’s ships, to undertake the eventual Roanoke expeditions that led to the founding in Virginia of the first English colony in North America.

  4. John Campbell, The Naval History of Great Britain (London: Baldwin & Co, 1818), 396.

  5. A pinnace is a boat that is usually carried on board a larger ship. In Frobisher’s day they were equipped with full rigging and held ready for inshore work. The one accompanying him, however, sailed “on its own bottom” rather than being carried on the decks of the Gabriel.

  6. John Barrow, A Chronological History of Voyages into the Arctic Regions (1818; reprint, London: John Murray, 1971), 82.

  7. Richard Coelinson, The Three Voyages of Martin Frobisher (London: The Hakluyt Society, 1867), 189.

  4

  The Hudson Tragedy

  WILLOUGHBY, CHANCELLOR, BRUNEL, and Barents — all met failure in uncovering an eastern passage through the Arctic. Cabot, Gilbert, Frobisher, Davis, and others met with equal disappointment in the West. The financial losses of their sponsors were profound; the Muscovy Company, the Dutch government and merchants, British traders and investors suffered severely, and their enthusiasm for a continued pursuit was badly shaken. Yet the challenge endured. An Arctic route to the East was undoubtedly there and only a systematic probe of every likely path could prove otherwise. The reports of Frobisher and Davis were tantalizing; dreams of the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow were slow in dying.

  The East India Company, royally chartered in 1600, now grasped the baton of exploration. At the time the newly founded entity had been focused on trade in cottons, silks, spices, saltpeter (essential for gunpowder), and opium. A more direct and less costly route to suppliers in the East was distinctly advantageous, and the unexplored strait discovered by Davis was intriguing and sufficiently promising to launch a new expedition. To lead this new voyage of exploration, the company appointed Captain George Weymouth from Devonshire, a student of mathematics and shipbuilding, as well as an accomplished seaman, and offered him an inordinately generous reward of £500 if he succeeded.

  On May 2, 1602, two ships sailed out of London, the solidly built fifty-five-ton barque, which within a decade was to become one of the most famous of all Arctic vessels, Henry Hudson’s fatal ship the Discovery, and the smaller Godspeed. Weymouth carried with him a personally signed letter from “Elizabeth, by the Grace of God Queen of England, France and Ireland, Defender of the faith &c.”[1] addressed “To the great, mighty and Invincible Emperour of Cathaia.” In it she advises the invincible one that “we have set fourth two small ships under the direction of our subject and servant George Weymouth, being the principal Pylott of the present voyage a man of his knowledge and experience in navigacon specially chosen by us,” and she requests that every courtesy be extended him.

  Her Majesty’s lengthy missive is perhaps more impressive than the results of Weymouth’s actual voyage. The journal he kept was unfortunately far from fulsome and it is difficult to reconstruct the precise route he took. Suffice to say that having sighted Greenland on June 18, the vessels moved on and touched American shores ten days later. Weymouth entered, but did not explore Kennebec Bay on the coast of Maine and he probably spotted the White Mountains of New Hampshire. He then continued north and eventually came to Labrador where, doubtlessly amid much excitement, he discovered a new and promising channel leading west — without recognizing it as being the already-explored Hudson Strait. Storms, thick fog, and ice now plagued the Discovery. Despite it being mid-summer, the cold was so intense that the men complained they could not cope with the hard-frozen sails, ropes, and tackles. The overwhelmed crew simply refused to sail farther and with the chaplain urging them on, they rebelled and demanded a return home, to which Weymouth reluctan
tly agreed. The two vessels reached Gravesend at the mouth of the Thames on August 5. Disappointed as his London backers were, they were heartened by the report of another open body of water leading west — if not the strait discovered by Davis, then this new one might offer the long-sought passage East.

  * * *

  Undeterred, the East India Company teamed up with the Muscovy Company in partnership to form a new entity, the “Company of English Merchants Trading in the North West,” and the search for the Northwest Passage went on. Captain John Knight, recently returned to England after service with the Danes, was engaged as the leader of a fresh search. In April 1606, four years after Weymouth’s aborted voyage, Knight sailed west on board the fifty-five-ton Hopewell, with the specific intent of passing through the “unknown” strait discovered by his predecessor. Two months after departing from Gravesend, the ship made landfall in Labrador amid heavy ice floes, some of which caused damage to the hull. Repairs were required, and so Knight, accompanied by five others, went ashore to scout out a likely location to carry out the work. Leaving two of the men on the shore with the ship’s boat, he and the other three climbed the nearest elevated point with the intention of viewing the surrounding countryside. The scouting party never returned, and what came of them is a matter of conjecture. A popular theory of the time was that they were attacked by natives, who were said to be “a very little people, tawnie coloured, thin or no beards, flat-nosed, and man-eaters.” After a brief wait for the missing men, the build-up of ice conditions forced the Hopewell to move out to sea. It made its way to Newfoundland, where the necessary repairs were carried out, and then it returned to England, reaching Dartmouth on Christmas Eve. Nothing was again heard of Knight.