A Sledge Drive
September 22nd, 1888.—My good friends are determined that I shall see a real sledge and team of dogs start and travel. So after dinner the sledge is brought to the gate of the mission premises. It consists of a couple of iron-bound wooden runners about fifteen feet long and eight inches high, across which many cross-pieces of wood are secured with thongs. Nails would soon be pulled out or broken off on a journey over hummocky ice or uneven ground. First the sledge is laden with everything necessary for a winter journey. A great white bear skin is folded and laid along the front, making a comfortable seat. That bruin must have been an enormous creature. The box comes about the middle; it contains the traveller’s traps. Behind it some coats, a gun, a harpoon (we may see a seal if we go on the ice), some wood (we shall want a fire for camping out, and I hope matches have not been forgotten), the coats of the men, a sleeping sack and a pair of sealskin trousers. Those two oval frames like a large lawn tennis bat without handle, are a pair of snow-shoes. All these traps are secured by a sealskin thong passing over the ends of the cross-boards, and pulled tight. It would not do to lose anything on the way.
Now seat yourself there in front of the box. But the dogs are not attached to the sledge. Seat yourself; they are all harnessed. Each has a band of sealskin round his neck and another round his body, and to this simple harness is attached the separate trace or thong by which he does his share in pulling the sledge. In one moment the sledge rope will be passed through the loops of all their traces, and they will be off almost before you can say “Hoo-eet,” for they, like the Eskimoes standing round, seem to enjoy the fun. We are supposed to start southward for Okak, and to come home, by way of Ramah. I seat myself and get a good hold, with my back against the box and my feet well off the ground. “Hoo-eet!” The dogs are directed by the voice, and that is the word used to start them. Shout “Owk, Owk,” and they will run to the right, or “Ra, Ra, Ra,” and you will soon find yourself going to the left. Say, “Ah, Ah,” and your dogs will lie down. Now you have all your directions so “Hoo-eet,” we are off, gliding easily over the grass, for snow and ice there is none this warm autumn day after a night when there were two or three degrees of frost. So it is rather hard for the dogs, when we turn the corner of the mission enclosure and are going a bit up-hill through the long grass. Thomas, one of the Eskimoes, is running in front of the dogs in his sealskin boots with the fur outside—a handsome pair. Enoch is minding the sledge, now running beside me, now throwing himself down on it in front of me, or lifting the front end of the runners from right to left, or vice versâ to turn a corner or avoid a stone. “Owk, Owk,” he shouts as we wish to turn the corner to the right. A third Eskimo, who is running between us and the dogs with the whip, takes up the sound and the dogs obey. But as it seems hard for them through the long grass, I get off and run after till we come to the corner by the church. It will go easier along the path to the left. I seat myself again and the driver cries “Ra, Ra, Ra.” Away we go. It is well I was wary of the stones, another inch and that rock just passed would have given me a sore foot or a sprained ankle. “Owk, Owk.” We leave the path on our left and turn away to the right over rocks and moss. The ground is broken but the long runners of the sledge make it go fairly smoothly. “Ah, Ah,” or as Thomas pronounces it long drawn, “Aw, Aw.” At this sound the dogs stop and lie down, with their tails curled over their backs. We are supposed to have arrived at a halting place where we shall camp out for the night. The wood is unloaded; to make the fire would be the first thing and then perhaps a snow-house for a shelter. The sleeping sack is ready to be my night’s couch on the floor. Meanwhile, the dogs lie quite contentedly, and we use the first opportunity to count them. There are fourteen in harness and two are running beside them of their own accord, entering into the spirit of the thing in spite of their fear of that formidable whip. Nine of these useful animals belong to the mission. Their names are Yauerfritze, Purtzelmutter, Purtzel, Caro, Pius, Fanny (an exceptionally friendly Eskimo dog), Ammi, Kakkortak and Takkolik. The others belong to different natives.
Our imaginary night has been short enough, and we are supposed to be preparing for a new start. “Look, see,” says Thomas to me, and pours some water on the iron of the runners, for the sledge has meanwhile been turned upside down. Were it winter, that water would at once freeze on the iron and form a splendid smooth surface for the sledge to run on over ice or snow. “Hoo-eet.” The sledge has been turned right again and repacked, and the dogs get up. No, there is nothing left behind. “Hoo-eet;” away we go. It is astonishing how widely the dogs spread themselves in pulling. However, the course of the sledge, as it follows them, depends more on the nimble drivers. See yonder dog is getting to the wrong side of that post, by way of illustrating the difficulties of travelling through a wood. Hebron is beyond the northern limit of trees, but our missionaries at Hopedale have often great trouble in passing through forests of stunted fir-trees. The front dogs also have got their traces foul of the two other posts in our forest of three trees without any branches. So we are brought to a standstill until, all the harness being cleared, we are ready for a fresh start down that slope to the right. “Owk, Owk,” is the word, but at the brook our wild career is brought to a sudden stop. Our specimen sledge trip would not be complete without an accident. The bed of the little stream proves just too wide for the sledge to clear it, and the points of the runners have bored into the further bank. The thong of the sledge has broken in two places with the jerk, and the dogs who were pulling with might and main are suddenly released. Four or five have been caught by our nimble Eskimoes, but the majority are off home. Were the station three hours or three days distant and we were left in the snow it would be a bit different to the present situation. The station is about three minutes distant, and we have time for a good laugh before our dogs are caught and brought back. What has become of the passenger? Oh, he is unhurt; the shock did not even unseat him. There he sits on the sledge, which stretches like a little bridge from bank to bank. It is freed from the earth, and the dogs are again attached, after a fierce little quarrel between two or three of them, just to keep up their credit as quarrelsome creatures. Order and obedience restored, “Hoo-eet,” away we go homeward, but at a more moderate pace, for it is uphill. By the mission-house the road bends to the left, “Ra, Ra, Ra.” At the corner a number of women are standing and laughing, and as the sledge approaches, they ran, according to their usual custom, and throw themselves on to it, so the poor dogs finish their course with an extra load, and are quite willing to lie down in obedience to the final command, “Ah, Ah.” If you were on a real journey, you would learn by experience to avoid that interjection in your conversation, for the weary animals would at once take the permission to stop and lie down.
Now the dogs are released from their harness and run away to their respective homes with glee. The sledge is unloaded, and its contents carried off by their owners. “When did you leave Ramah?” says the missionary to Thomas. “Yesterday morning,” replies the good fellow, keeping up the joke with thorough appreciation. I give them my hearty thanks, “Nakungmék,” for Thomas and Co. have not only given me a great pleasure, but provided interest for young friends at home, to whom I may detail my winter journey on a sunny autumn afternoon at Hebron. A real midwinter Labrador sledge journey, with the thermometer far below zero of Fahrenheit and the wind blowing hard and cold, is not so pleasant, especially if the dogs be quite invisible because of the driving snow. Should the traveller then be pitched off the sledge, and the drivers not perceive his absence at once, they may lose one another for ever. But God has watched over our travellers by sea and land, by ice and snow on many an errand of spiritual import to the settlers, or journey from station to station.