XXCamp and Village

THE CAMP OF THE REINDEER CHUKCHEE. — The camp among the Reindeer Chukchee, and the village among the Maritime Chukchee, form the unit of social life. Though unstable, these exist without interruption. The Chukchee camp is very small. It includes usually two or three families, and the whole number of inhabitants is ten or fifteen. Camps of four, five, or six families form but a slight minority; and a camp with ten houses is almost impossible unless formed for special reasons, like the temporary camps in trading-places. As stated before, the number of tents corresponds to the number of families, since each family has a house of its own. In most cases the camp consists of related families, — for instance, of brothers, cousins, etc., with their wives and children. Especially is this the case among people of moderate circumstances, where the herds are not so large as to make it necessary to keep them apart. When the herd left after the death of the father contains no more than a few hundred heads, there is every reason why the sons should not divide it into small parts, but should keep it together, as before. Among the poorer people, who count their reindeer only by scores, the sons are inclined to separate, and to seek a new fortune, each on his own account. On the other hand, such small reindeer-owners often join for a while with others of similar circumstances, even though not related. “Poor people are careless of ties of relationship,” say the Chukchee. Five, and even eight, of such poor people, may keep together for a while, join the few reindeer they possess in order to form a herd of decent size, spend a couple of months in the common camp, and then disperse just as easily as they had joined. On the other hand, people who are rich in reindeer have a constant tendency to divide the herd and to form two or more separate camps. Moreover, the wealthy reindeer-owners are often unable to keep their reindeer well under the supervision of their own family alone, and have need of assistants. These assistants may be either some distant relatives or poor strangers; so that the camp of a rich man may be formed of a family of owners and of one or two families of assistants dependent on the master.

The Master of the Camp. — The master of the camp, who lives in the chief house, is called aunraˊlɪn, which means here “one of the chief house;”¹ also eˊrmečɪn (“the strongest one”) and aᵋttooraˊlɪn (“one of the front house”). The inhabitants of the other tents are called nɪm-tuˊmg̣ɪt (pl. of nɪm-tuˊmg̣ɪn, “camp-companion,” “camp-neighbor”); also yaarraˊlɪn (“that of the rear house”).

The position of the front house is “on the front of the others;” that is,[613]🗗uncollated first on the right side of the line of houses, which, as stated before, are turned toward the morning-dawn “direction.”¹ Often it stands really somewhat in front of the others. The right and the left side, in this case, are pointed out, according to the Chukchee fashion, with face turned toward the sacrificing-place behind the tent² (poiaˊačên). Thus the place of the front house in the camp is farthest to the northeast. The rear houses are put up southeast of the front house. All houses stand in a single line. It should not be forgotten, however, that the camp-line may be turned also to the east or to the north; also, when the ground is uneven, the camp-line may be broken, and the houses erected out of the strict order. In this case, the entrances of the rear houses are more and more turned toward the south, and the last house may face a direction quite opposite to that of the front house. In most cases the Chukchee take care that the entrance of one house shall not be directed towards the poiaˊačên of the preceding one. Otherwise, in sacrificing, the odor of the hearth of the house standing in a wrong position might reach the sacrificial fire of the preceding house, and taint its fire and fire-tools.³ On the contrary, two houses having a common fire may stand “quite straight to the poiaˊačên” (kɪt-poiaˊačê-g̣g̣êt). The front house is usually the largest of all. Therefore it is called čŭmñaˊ-pêraˊlɪn (i. e., “buck-similar”), meaning that it appears among the other houses like a big reindeer-buck among the other reindeer.

The owner of the herd, or of the larger part of it, occupies this place by right. The eldest of the brothers, or his son, has preference over the others. Thus, sometimes a young boy may have preference over all his uncles. In the camps of the poor people, of which I have spoken before, the one who is richer or stronger than the others will have the front place. In temporary camps, — for instance, in those formed in trading-places by casual comers, — the front place belongs to the first comer. All the others take places according to the order in which they come; so that the last comer occupies the rear place. The occupant of the front house is considered as the chief of the camp. He orders the change of camping-place and of pasture-ground, and designates the days for bringing the herd to the camp, for slaughtering reindeer, for arranging ceremonials and sacrifices. In the every-day life of the people he assigns the working-men to duties with the herd and in the camp. It will thus be seen that his power within the precincts of this small unit of two or three houses is very real. Since the Chukchee are very impatient under other men’s authority, quarrels frequently happen even among brothers. Then separation ensues, though the size of the herd would make it preferable to keep together. When the camp includes families not connected by ties of relationship, and quarrels occur, the separation of the herds leads[614]🗗uncollated to new misunderstandings, since the ownership of certain animals cannot always be established with certainty. Some people of poor standing and of violent temper often purposely seek to drive their few reindeer into the herd of some rich reindeer-breeder. This is more apt to be the case in summer, when the herds are pasturing too near each other. On the Arctic coast, in the Kolyma country, when a rich man comes too near the shore in summer, he always incurs the risk of such unwished-for intermingling of herds. The strip of the shore close to the water, which is cool and rich in vegetation, is occupied by the poor people; and their small herds often mix together, so that this strip of land is a ground of constant strife and quarrel. Still, among themselves the poor are able to separate without much loss. When, however, a rich man arrives with his herd, his position is more difficult. The other party then has an opportunity to slaughter his reindeer, to mark the fawns with the thief’s own ear-mark, and to change the marks of grown animals.

The owner of a large herd does not know all his animals, and some of the less conspicuous may even be abstracted without his being able to detect it. Therefore the owner of a large herd always keeps at a distance from the other camps, and, besides, is on the alert against the approach of another herd. The separation of herds, even when performed without any fraud, is a long and tiresome affair; so that the herdsmen are quite ready to use physical force to prevent encroachers from coming too near. I often witnessed such mingling of herds, which ended in quarrel and squabbling. The Reindeer Tungus, when they live with the Chukchee, have a strong inclination to mix their herds, because they are poor and move with their reindeer and tents even in summer, while the Chukchee stay in the same place during that season. When separation is again accomplished, the Chukchee complain that several of their animals are missing. The Tungus, on the other hand, talk about the loss of some well-broken animal which was of especial value. Since the Tungus reindeer, though less numerous, are of superior quality and of higher price than the Chukchee animals, both contending parties have cause for mutual reproach.

It goes without saying that a man cannot join a camp if he is not allowed to do so by its inhabitants. Even in the very temporary camps at trading-places or in those established at large reindeer-races, where many of the participants come with a travelling-tent and family, no one can pitch his tent near the others without previous permission. After this is given and the reindeer are unharnessed, the herd immediately joins the common herd, because the general rule is, one camp, one herd. Even here separation of the reindeer leads afterwards to quarrels. The reindeer brought to such gatherings are of greater value, well-broken, strong coursers, or fat animals intended for slaughter; and the loss of even one counts.

Assistants. — Camps of rich men, as stated before, have assistants[615]🗗uncollated dependent on the master. The beginning of the relations between master and assistant is well described in the tale of Aiˊg̣ɪnto.¹

“Then they continued their journey with dogs. At last they were without food. All their dogs had perished. They went afoot, drawing their sledges behind them. Almost all their strength was spent. At last they met a large reindeer-herd. One small boy herdsman was with the herd. ‘Oh, oh, guests! And who are you?’ — ‘We are people of Aiˊg̣ɪnto.’ — ‘Aha! at last we have found some companions on this earth. Come to our tent.’ — ‘But who is the oldest of all there?’ — ‘The father, of course.’ — ‘But maybe he will say “I do not want them.” Let us rather stay here in this place.’ — ‘Then I shall go and ask the father.’ “The old man lives in his tent with his wife and family. ‘There,’ says the son, ‘some guests have come, quite unknown before.’ — ‘Where are they? Let them come in.’ — ‘They have remained with the herd, saying, “Maybe thy father will say, ‘I do not want them.’”’ — ‘Oh, you are the cause of the delay,’ says the old man. ‘Our companions-to-be are waiting in the open. Go back, and be quick!’ The boy sped back like an arrow shot from a bow. ‘The father chides me for your error, and says, “Why have you not brought them all at once?”’ — ‘Eh, eh! then let us go there.’ They came to the tent. Aiˊg̣ɪnto refused to enter, and told the children to stay outside. ‘Maybe the old woman will look at us awry.’ Only the young herdsman has entered. ‘Where are the guests?’ — They refuse to enter, saying, ‘Maybe the old woman will look at us awry.’ — ‘Oh, oh! You old one, now you are the cause of the delay. Go out and make them enter.’ The old woman went out. ‘Ah, ah! a woman guest has come. Quick, enter the sleeping-room!’ She took the snow-beater and dusted their clothes, shaking off the snow. ‘Go in.’ — ‘Let the father enter first,’ says the master from within. Aiˊg̣ɪnto entered. ‘You came?’ — ‘Yes, I came!’² He showed him to the place of honor, opposite himself, by the other side of the lamp. ‘Then let the sons of the guest enter.’ The boys entered. He made them sit down by his own side. ‘These shall be my own dear sons.’ — ‘And what shall I do (without sons),’ said Aiˊg̣ɪnto. ‘Wait a little! Let my own son enter here.’ The boy entered. ‘This shall be thy son, since he brought thee here.’ — ‘All right,’ said Aiˊg̣ɪnto. ‘Mine are two sons, and thine only one. Let us exchange, if food from thee is included in the bargain.’ “Thus they began to live. All three boys were taking care of the herd. The old men staid at home.”

This description shows well how strong may be the desire of the master to have a new neighbor and assistant for the care of the herd. Of course, it gives the ideal conditions of such relations. It will be noted that the rich reindeer-owner and the poor new-comer meet in this tale on a quite equal footing, and then they live rather as two brothers than as master and dependent.

Another tale concerning Eleˊndi and his sons describes the same relationship entered into between the master and his slave who was taken as a prisoner of war.

The tale describes how Eleˊndi sent his prisoner to the herd, and ordered[616]🗗uncollated him to take care of it, together with his own two boys. The prisoner, however, spent all his time sleeping in the shade, and left the boys alone with the herd. Therefore, when it was time to carry meat to the house, the slaughtered reindeer proved to be quite lean, without any trace of fat. The master was angered at this, and asked the boys the reason of such a bad condition of the herd. “It is because the assistant is very bad,” was the answer. “Why in the world did you bring such a man here? He only sleeps in the shade all the time, and, besides, he keeps thrashing both of us.”

The father came to the herd, caught the assistant sleeping, and gave him a severe lesson with the aid of a heavy lash. Still the assistant continued to do as before. In a few days the master came again and repeated the thrashing, using this time a fragment of an iron chain. Then the assistant changed his behavior. He began to be active with the herd. When the herd ran, he ran still faster than the reindeer. They slaughtered a reindeer. He said to the boys, “Now you may sleep.” He cut the meat and cooked it, put it into a trough, then wakened the children. “Now, sit up and eat.” The youths ate of the meat, put on their boots, and wanted to go to the herd; but he said, “You may sleep again, I shall go to the reindeer.” The boys slept as long as they wanted to; then they awoke and sat in the shelter, singing. He became very careful, and was with the herd all the time. The herd fattened. He became a good herdsman and very skilful in taking care of the reindeer. They slaughtered again. The fawns were fat and round, like a tallow candle. They slaughtered one young doe and two fawns. The boys said, “Now you must go home and carry the meat.” He carried one carcass on his back. When he came to the camp, the master was occupied with some small handwork. “Oh, oh, you have come! There, give him some dry boots to change with.” Thus he said to his wife. The master untied the bundle, and saw the fawn-carcass quite white with fat. The heart of the master felt merry. They ate of the fat meat. The assistant immediately changed his boots again and wanted to go. “Where to?” — “To the herd!” — “No, no, sleep here! Let the boys be alone.” They slept; but early in the morning, when the master awoke, there was no trace of the assistant. He had left for the herd. So the summer passed. They brought the kettles home, and the fall slaughtering was about to begin. The assistant took so much care of the herd, that the boys had no occasion to be with it. He looked after it all by himself. The reindeer were quite fat. Their backs were flat, like boards, and the old bucks were solid with meat.

The master felt thankful to the assistant; but there was treason in the heart of the latter, and at last he succeeded in taking the master to a lonely island far from the shore, and leaving him there. Then he came to the camp and became master of it. For a few weeks he tyrannized over the boys and the wives of the master, slaughtered the reindeer, and ate of the best. Eleˊndi,[617]🗗uncollated however, was saved by birds, who brought him back over the sea. Eleˊndi caught the assistant and punished him with barbarous torture and death.

The man who told me this tale added, by way of explanation, “If the assistant had continued to be good and useful, Eleˊndi, of course, would have treated him with the utmost kindness, and probably would have even given him one of his sisters in marriage, or even one of his own wives. His anger was heightened by his previous disposition to generosity and kindness.”

It may be said that these two very characteristic cases form almost the most divergent examples regarding the position of an assistant in the Chukchee camp, since in the first case the assistant comes of his own free will, and immediately after his coming is treated as an equal and a brother; while in the second case the assistant is brought as a prisoner, is obliged to perform hard work, is severely chastised for carelessness, and only in the end is raised to the position of a member of the family in recompense for his changed behavior and successful work. It may also be said that all the cases of actual life fall under these two examples.

There are masters who are exceedingly kind to their assistants, just as the old man was to Aiˊg̣ɪnto. With them the assistants gradually become like near relatives, and remain for life in the camp. In the end there is no difference between the two families; and sometimes, when the master dies, the assistant may even become the real head of the camp, although the formal right belongs to another.

Other masters, on the contrary, are harsh and stingy. With them the assistants change almost every year. But when a man of meek disposition comes to such a master, he may endure a large amount of ill treatment before he decides to go away. I know cases where the master not only abused his assistant with words, but even chastised him with a stick or a rope, almost in the same way as Eleˊndi did to his slave.

The ideal, however, requires that the family of the master should be mild and generous to their assistant. For instance, in another episode of the last tale, Eleˊndi, when taking his adversary a prisoner, kills his wife with a club before his eyes, saying, “Why have you not fed your neighbors, at least stealthily (unbeknown to your husband)? Why have you not given them some extra food?”

In reality, when a master is too severe, his wife feels herself obliged to give clandestinely to their young assistant some extra piece of dried meat or fat, that he may eke out a sufficient meal, or to make him some slight present to console him for the harsh rebuke and bad treatment of the master.

In another part of the same tale, Eleˊndi, when coming to his adversary, is asked to participate in the meal. When they began to eat, the poor neighbors wanted to eat also; but the master gave them blows instead of food.

“You must be the last. Let these my guests be the first eaters.” His[618]🗗uncollated custom was such that the poor neighbors did not dare to eat with him. Their throats were wishful, but they only looked on wistfully. What else could they do? Then Eleˊndi says, “Well, well, you also partake of the meat.” They slip their hands under the hands of the guests and try to take something; but the master strikes them on the hands. He cuts some whale-meat just for himself, and eats it all alone. The guest says again, “All of you may eat!” The master gave a blow to the guest, saying, “Why are you giving orders here? I am the master.” The guest caught up his strong hide belt and gave the master a blow upon the naked back (since, according to custom, both were naked to the waist). The whole body of the master reddened and swelled from the blow. Then the guest says to his own wife, “Cook some more meat. These poor friends of ours have not yet had their fill.” The master remains on the spot, motionless. The wife of the guest is cooking meat. In the strange house she acts as if it were her own. The master says, “Wait a little. We shall soon know how to act. This is probably the well-known violent Reindeer Chukchee warrior.” Eleˊndi answers, “Not I. You alone are the real violent one, because by violence you have taught your neighbors not to dare to eat in your presence. You would tear the last piece from their very mouths. You are the violent one, I feed all my neighbors, — eat one piece myself, and give another piece to them. You are the only one who is violent. Therefore maybe I shall kill you. Nobody will be sorry for it.”

Thus Eleˊndi expresses his utmost indignation at the unfair behavior of the master of the house. It should be noted that Eleˊndi is a man of Reindeer birth and life, and expresses here the feelings of the Reindeer nomads. His host, however, is of the Maritime tribe, and lives by hunting sea-animals. It should be borne in mind that among the Reindeer Chukchee the assistant is usually a strong young fellow, who is of great help with the herd. Among the Maritime people it is not assistants, but rather “poor neighbors,” as they are called in the tale, who act in this capacity. These poor neighbors have small luck or skill in sea-hunting, and often depend for food on some morsel thrown away by one more successful than they. Therefore it is no wonder that the position of neighbors is quite different among the Reindeer tribe and the Maritime people. The words of Eleˊndi give full expression to the Reindeer point of view as opposed to the greediness and stinginess of the Maritime people.

As to the realization of this ideal in actual life, I may give here a very characteristic story of a certain Chukchee who was left an orphan while still a young boy, and who had to become an assistant from early youth up.

“Then my uncle came to me and said, ‘Oh, you are my nephew, you must live with me. I will feed you. When you grow up and I become an old man, you shall take my house, and my entire herd shall be yours.’ Then I lived with him for five years. All this time I was all alone[619]🗗uncollated with the reindeer. All this time, on coming back home, I ate very little. Still my uncle was not pleased. He said to me, ‘Oh, why do you move so slowly? You are very lazy. You will grow up to be a lazy man. And a little after that he said again, ‘Let me give you a beating.’ Then he began beating me with the end of the lasso, and always on the head. At last, one autumn, when all the people were going over the river, we also went with them. He still used to beat me with a stick. Then I said, ‘Let me be separated from him.’ I went back over the river stealthily, in the night-time. Then I came to Omruˊwg̣ê’s camp on the tundra, — Omruˊwg̣ê, the Snotty-Nosed, so called. He says, ‘Oh, it is you! Stay with me for a while.’ His brother, a very bad man, was all the time abusing people. I spent a part of the summer there. Then I left and went to Wuˊkwuqäi’s. He said, ‘My herd is too small. There is no need of you here.’ I answered, ‘All right, let me go away again.’ From there I went to Eiñeˊwg̣i’s. He said, ‘Your other uncle lives near by. Let us go there!’ We went to this other uncle of mine, ɵtiˊlhɪn by name. He said, ‘Nephew, you have come?’ — ‘Yes, I have come!’ — ‘All right. To-morrow morning go to the herd.’ From that place I went to Peˊñelqut’s. He is also my uncle, once removed, an uncle on my mother’s side, or I do not know what. Still with him I fared very ill. He scolded me, and said, ‘You take little care of the herd. At the same time you eat too greedily. Upon the whole, you are a sorry herdsman, and in the future I shall clip your ears.’ Then he said again, ‘If you are not careful enough with the herd, I shall kill you. Try to be a good herdsman. Make the reindeer graze well. When they become fat, we shall eat of their savory meat. We shall sell them to the merchants. Afterwards, when you become an old man, you shall still live in affluence. Then at last you will die a decent death, and your children will raise for you a good-sized heap of antlers; and every one driving by with reindeer will praise your name.’”¹

It will be noticed that most of the masters of this young herdsman were his relatives, but this does not make much difference. Several times I saw rich reindeer-owners abusing their herdsmen, kinsmen and strangers, in a similar manner.

I remember one old man with whom I was staying over night. The night was dark and windy, and the wolves succeeded in making an assault upon the herd and driving away several animals. The next morning, when the old man left the sleeping-room and came outside, he found two of the herdsmen of the camp, who told him the unpleasant story. Immediately he grew very angry, caught up his lasso, and began chastising them both. They were men of large bulk and tall of stature; and he was a small, half-decrepit fellow, who, to make his blows more effective, skipped around and tried to strike them upon the face with the iron ring of the lasso. They did not show any resistance. From the Chukchee point of view, the old man was in the right, and they in the wrong, especially since, instead of going in search of the lost animals, they came to the camp to talk about the loss. One of the herdsmen was a nephew of the man; the other, an assistant of alien provenience. In this case the difference of age gave to the master an additional right to be severe to his herdsmen.

I remember, however, another case where a young master chastised an assistant of the same age as himself. The master was a strong man of daring temper, and a very good indefatigable herdsman. The assistant, on the contrary, was a rather poor herdsman, “given much to sleeping and eating,” as the[620]🗗uncollated Chukchee say. If the opposite had been the case, perhaps a weak master would not have dared to chastise a strong and active assistant.

The Chukchee language has no special term for assistants. They are called by the common word nɪm-tuˊmg̣ɪt (“camp-companions,” “camp-neighbors”),¹ referring to all the inhabitants of the camp besides the chief. Another word used for the same purpose is g̣ŭpɪˊlɪn, which means simply “working one,” and is applied to all men active around the herd and house, including the members of their own family. A third word in usage is čawčuwaˊ-aᵋmɵˊlɪn. The first part of the word means, as indicated before, “Reindeer Chukchee,” also “rich in reindeer;” the second part means “weak, dependent, subordinate,” and implies a tinge of blame. The word äᵋmuˊlɪn by itself, when applied to a man, is taken almost as an abuse. With another preceding word, čiq, which means “utmost,” čiq-äᵋmuˊlɪn signifies “very weak,” “good for nothing,” and implies an insult, leading to a serious quarrel. Äᵋmuˊlɪn, however, is used also as a proper name, which is sometimes met with among the Chukchee. Probably this term was applied in olden times to slaves and prisoners of war, of which I shall speak later on.

The words vɪˊyolɪn, vinreˊtelɪn, vinreˊt-tuˊmg̣ɪn, all signify “assistant” in the proper sense of that word; but they are applied rather to a man who gives some special help. Therefore these terms are used also for the so-called assistants of supernatural character.²

Material Conditions. — The material conditions of life of assistants in the camp of a master vary according to the quality of their work and the size of the herd in the care of which they help. If the assistant has some reindeer of his own, they are joined to the herd of the camp, and stay there until the separation. In most cases, however, the assistants receive from the herd of the master at least the daily food for their families. Their tents are pitched in the camp among the “rear houses,” and at most slaughterings all the houses of the camp receive one slaughtered reindeer each. Of course, the front house receives one of the best, perhaps some large buck or a fat barren doe; while the last of the rear houses may receive only a lean fawn hardly one year old. This depends also on the position of the assistant in the camp. If the master is contented with the work of the assistant, he would not presume to feed his family with poor meat. In case the number of slaughtered animals does not correspond to the number of houses, each house receives its part of the meat. The question of clothing and of material for the tent-covering is decided by these slaughterings, because the women of each house take the skins of their respective animals, and may use them at will for any wants of their family.

Tea, sugar, tobacco, iron, and other articles bought from traders, are acquired by the assistants, as well as by the masters, quite independently; for instance, in exchange for peltries obtained in hunting-pursuits. Among the[621]🗗uncollated Reindeer Chukchee, however, the chief articles of value used for exchange are fawn-skins gathered in spring and summer. Such skins will, of course, be in the possession of the master only, with the exception of a very few, which the assistant may have from his own reindeer. Therefore the master, after coming from a trading-place, will take some part of the wares brought home, and give to his assistants, especially if they were not successful in the hunt, and thus were short of means for making purchases. In the course of time the master will give to his assistants some of his tea and tobacco, when they have none; at least, a master who is “good” will act thus.

Not rarely is it the case that a family whose prosperity has declined, and whose herd is not large enough to provide for their subsistence, prefers, instead of continuing a half-hungry life, to join the camp of some rich reindeer-breeder short of hands. Of course, rich owners sometimes have misgivings regarding such impoverished neighbors, fearing that the bad luck of their herd may prove detrimental to their own prosperity.¹ Still the need of extra herdsmen is often stronger than such fear; especially when the poorer family, after losing a part of their herds, has succeeded in allaying the misfortune and in remaining for some years in circumstances not utterly hopeless.

In combinations where large and small herds are joined together, the families of new assistants receive only a part of their subsistence from the master, and take another portion from their own herd. At each slaughtering the herdsmen slaughter such animals as the master points out, and carry them to the entrance of such and such a house, according to his order; then, if some house is left without an animal, the people catch one of their own reindeer and slaughter it. In this case, however, the connection between master and assistant is not very strong, and may in a short time be dissolved.

On the contrary, typical assistants receive from their masters, besides the food, also a few live fawns, as a yearly present. In the latter part of the summer the fawns are marked on the ear with the mark of the proprietor. When a fawn is caught and handed over to the master, the latter sometimes, instead of biting² into its ear the lines of his own mark, tenders it to one of the assistants, and says briefly, g̣ɪnaˊn (“yourself”). Then the animal is marked by the assistant, and belongs to him. The number of such animals depends on the size of the herd, and still more on the mortality among the fawns during the preceding spring. In a good year an assistant may receive from the master three, five, and even more animals. These grow up in the common herd of the camp, and all the increase belongs also to the assistant. I have mentioned before that under favorable circumstances reindeer multiply very fast, since the doe bears fawns even from the very first year. At the next slaughtering the master will always consent to slaughter a young buck[622]🗗uncollated of the assistant, and give him in exchange a doe of the same age from among his own animals; the more so, as the buck is larger in size and yields more meat. So, after a few good years, an assistant who came to the master’s camp empty-handed, may become the owner of fifty and even a hundred does. It has already been stated that, in speaking of the size of the Chukchee reindeer-herd, only the does are taken into account. I met on the Dry Anui River one Taˊto, who lived as an assistant in the camp of Qeˊñu-kêˊʟaᵋn, a rich reindeer-breeder of that country. Taˊto was with him for fifteen years. When he came to that camp, he had no reindeer at all. At the time of our meeting he had about three hundred does. The herd of the master was about three thousand or more. The family of Taˊto was still feeding from the herd of the master, and his own animals continued to increase. With the number of reindeer he had, he could have left Qeˊnu-kêˊʟaᵋn and formed a separate camp, but he preferred staying with the master. Both were of middle age and had sons and daughters who helped them with the herd. Both were also very alert and experienced herdsmen, with a wide knowledge of all kinds of pasturage, in summer and winter. They lived together very peacefully and friendly, in somewhat the same way as Aiˊg̣ɪnto and his master, in the tale before mentioned.

In other cases, however, an assistant who has succeeded in gathering about a hundred or more does, leaves his master, and forms a camp of his own. Through long years of caring for a large herd, such an assistant grows to be a good herdsman, often better than any of the men of the master’s own family; so that he is also able to take care of his own herd, and to make it increase from year to year. Such new herdsmen are very economical, and take care to slaughter as few animals as possible. I remember one who lived on the Oloi River. He was endeavoring to feed his family with all kinds of substitutes in order to save the reindeer-meat. They were consuming large quantities of leaves, bark, and half-digested moss from the reindeer-paunch. In the summer, when I was travelling on the Oloi River, he left his wife in the summer camp without slaughtering any of the reindeer, and was absent with the herd for almost two months. On his return he nevertheless found courage to reprove the woman for having, in his opinion, consumed too much rancid reindeer-blood from the supply of the family.

No wonder that some of such assistants succeeded, after a number of years, in becoming quite rich reindeer-owners. Thus, from the same country on the Oloi River, I may name Kaˊg̣no, Rɪkoˊq-Aiˊwan, and several others, who in their youth had been assistants, and who later had herds of several thousand animals. In taking care of them, they were in their turn aided by poor assistants.

The richest reindeer-owners, who possess four or five large herds, such as Eiˊheli of the Oloi River, Omrêlqoˊt of the Upper Omolon, Araˊro of the[623]🗗uncollated Indighirka tundra, etc., still take care that each of their camps, corresponding to a separate herd, shall have as front-house master one of their nearest relatives. With Eiˊheli each herd was looked after by an adult son; and the sons were almost the real possessors of the herd, from the very beginning of their independent life. One of them, for instance, in order to avoid being controlled in any way by the father, wandered with the herd into the distant mountains, and did not appear in the father’s vicinity for three consecutive years. When I was with Eiˊheli, the old man sometimes felt angry about it, and grumbled, “I will go there and take away my herd.” We knew, however, that he was of a boastful disposition, and liked to exaggerate the extent of his force and influence. All the people about him were quite sure that, even if he should go and find the reprobate son, he would not think of taking the herd from him, nor would he be able to do so. With Omrêlqoˊt, two herds of his were under the direction of his two wives, and the younger brother of Omrêlqoˊt cared for the third. The same was the case with Araˊro and the others. So, when Maydell mentions, in the words of Amraˊwkurg̣ɪn, that with the rich Chukchee the herds are usually given to the assistants, who live with them quite independent of the master, slaughter and sell animals, and that the only condition of their contract is that the herd must be kept in good health and must multiply in number,¹ I can only attribute it to a complete misunderstanding. The herd cannot exist without the special charms, the ear-mark, anointing-mark, etc., of its owner’s family, all of which are necessary for good-luck. And no family will trust its “reindeer-luck” to a stranger, or, what is still worse, will suffer its sacred belongings to be replaced by those of another family. All the conditions of life of the Reindeer Chukchee are such, that an assistant who would live by himself with a herd, after a few years would become master of this herd no matter to whom it originally belonged.

Still more difficult to understand are the communications of Maydell concerning the aristocracy among the Reindeer Chukchee, founded on the different sizes of their herds.² No trace of such a thing actually exists. Maydell’s opinion may be explained only by his position as a Russian official, who endeavored by every means to create “chiefs” and authority among the savage Chukchee. I will speak of this later in more detail.

Kuvaˊr of Indian Point, being an Eskimo, and therefore having no reindeer-herd of his own, actually bought a quantity of reindeer and gave them all to a Chukchee friend of his. This herd, however, cannot be compared with the usual herds. The animals were all acquired by purchase, and, to speak correctly, this herd formed the product of trade with the Americans. Moreover, Kuvaˊr was content to receive from the herd a certain amount of meat and skins, and did not look too closely into the dealings of his manager.

Assistants of Alien Origin. — In those parts of the Chukchee territory[624]🗗uncollated where the Chukchee live intermixed with the Tungus or the Chuvantzy, both these tribes supply assistants for the Chukchee herds. Thus Araˊro has Tungus assistants in all four herds belonging to him. This became possible, of course, only during the last fifty years, when peace was assured, and the tribes began to intermingle, at least on their common frontiers. The admission of Tungus assistants is quite natural, as the Chukchee herds of those localities are full of Tungus reindeer, which are more valuable, and the care and breaking of which are better known to the Tungus. Especially is this the case in the summer-time and with riding-reindeer, since the Chukchee have no experience in dealing with these. Some young Chukchee breeders take a Tungus assistant, purposely for the summer-time, in order to learn from him the ways of riding reindeer and of wandering in summer. In many cases, however, Tungus assistants do not stay very long in the Chukchee camps, the character of both tribes being so different. The Chukchee does not like much wandering, but he is ever mindful of the increase of his animals. This care requires great alertness and uninterrupted attention to the herd and pasture. The Tungus is indolent, and soon wearies of camp duties. He likes travel and hunting, and is altogether of a roaming disposition. So, after a few months, he often leaves the Chukchee camp, which is heavy and too stationary for his tastes, and wanders far away to hunt wild reindeer or mountain-sheep.

Paupers. — The Chukchee camp knows hardly any other social position than that of the master, his nearest relatives, and his assistants. Later I shall speak of the Maritime village, which is founded on another principle, that of territorial contiguity, and which is much larger than the camp. I shall indicate then the elements of population of different character; for instance, very poor families, consisting mostly of widows and orphans, who have no near relatives, and who depend for their support wholly on their neighbors. The Chukchee camp rarely knows such categories of people. All families of the Reindeer Chukchee are connected among themselves by ties of relationship. Thus a poor family without relatives is almost impossible. Nearly always some relative, however distant, will take them to his camp and give them means for subsistence. Even when an assistant living in the camp of another man suddenly dies, his family, though not at all related to the master, will be kept in the camp and provided for, however sparingly. On the other hand, a family utterly friendless, and strangers to every one, are placed in a very difficult position, since they have no place in which to live. Of course, when a stranger family happens to come to a Chukchee camp, — for instance, during the trade-gatherings, — if they are poor and have no reindeer of their own to slaughter, the master of the camp, when he slaughters for his people, may also slaughter an animal for the poor visitors. In times of ceremonial slaughtering, even Russian and Tungus guests receive slaughtered fawns as a present from the master of the camp.

The general rule is, that whoever lives in the camp must have food from one source or another; but after a couple of days the time arrives when all the guests and the casual comers must leave the camp, and a friendless family often does not know where to go. For instance, the man called Scratching-Woman, whose name has been mentioned before, told me the following about his own infancy. His father was a weak and shiftless little fellow, who had but few reindeer, and even those he lost one winter in a big snow-storm. This happened near the Russian village Markova, on the Anadyr River. Then the parents of Scratching-Woman came to Markova afoot, dragging behind them a sledge, on which lay their only son and their scanty belongings. They staid in Markova about two months, and could get but very little to eat; so that at the end of that time the father died, mainly from hunger, and the mother and son nearly followed his example. Some Reindeer Chukchee, who came to Markova for trading-purposes, however, took them back to the Chukchee camps; and from that time on they scarcely had any place in which to live. Nobody wanted them in his camp; and if they staid too long, nobody cared whether they had anything to eat or not. Thus they lived in constant hunger. They did not have even a single driving-reindeer, and were obliged to wander from place to place on foot. When the boy grew older, he endeavored to get something from his richer neighbors by performing various small services. He carried large bundles of fuel, carried water and ice, unharnessed driving-reindeer, and for all this received a piece of putrid meat, or a reindeer-paunch filled with rancid blood. “My growth was stunted by that hunger,” said Scratching-Woman, “and that is why I am of low stature.”

A woman who was left a widow with a son of five told me nearly the same. “When my husband died,” she said, “his brother came and took the reindeer. He also wanted to take me; but he was so horrid of face, with a broken nose and a hole in his cheek, that I refused, and said, ‘I will go elsewhere.’ Then he grew angry and said, ‘I will give you no reindeer on which to ride.’ Therefore I and my boy left there on foot. Our life from that time on was one of constant hunger and suffering. My boy tried to act as an assistant in the strange herd; but he was too small, and the master too exacting. When my son was no higher than the reindeer’s back, he had to spend sleepless nights, like the grown herdsmen. Very slowly we acquired a few reindeer, and at last succeeded in increasing our stock to a hundred does, which enables us to exist, though in a modest way.”

“Idle Wanderers.” — Despite all that has just been said, there are among the Reindeer Chukchee men who live almost entirely outside of the camp and family connections, and spend their time in aimless wandering from place to place. The people call them “tŭmñeˊ-leiˊwulɪt” (“idle wanderers,” “tramps”). Their position, however, is not an enviable one. They have neither tent nor[626]🗗uncollated herd, and the conditions of life in the arctic tundra make it hard to exist without any home comforts.

I met several such wanderers. Some were still young, others were already old; some had wives who wandered with them, others were all alone in the world; some had at least a reindeer-team of their own, others had but a single reindeer, and a few had none at all, though wandering in the tundra afoot in the winter-time is quite difficult. There were men who had neither reindeer nor rifle, nor even so much as a belt-knife, which to the arctic man is almost as necessary as his right hand.

Wanderers are much neglected. Hunger is their constant companion. I mentioned before that the Chukchee eat only once a day, and even the coming of a guest of honor does not change this established rule. With the “idle wanderer” it is still worse. In the evening, when meal-time at last comes, he may, of course, according to custom, enter any house; but he will be shown a place near the entrance, behind all other guests, and from this place he is not able to reach the trough with his hands. The mistress of the house will slip into his hand a few morsels of meat of the poorer quality, and she will not expect him to ask for more. He will hardly be admitted into the inner room to sleep; his sleeping-place is in the outer tent, under some sledge, where the dogs sleep. The next day, if he stays in the camp, he receives still less food, and is treated with less ceremony. Of course, if he wants to take part in the daily work, — chop wood, carry water, catch reindeer, etc., — his position may be changed; but then he ceases to be an “idle wanderer.” Even old men thus inclined are harshly treated. One of my acquaintances told me the following story: —

“Two years ago I was in the camp of G̣inuˊqäi. His older brother, Tatk-Omruˊwg̣ê, came from Umekeˊt-wuiˊwun (‘Gathering Town,’ the name the Chukchee give to Nishne-Kolymsk, because in the spring the trade-gatherings take place there). He came to his brother’s camp and staid there a few days. Then they formed a corral of sledges to catch the driving-reindeer. At that time there came many guests, — Vaaˊlɪrg̣ɪn, Ruˊltɪ, Êˊɪlhɪn, Rultuˊwg̣i with his wife. They drank brandy. Tatk-Omruˊwg̣ê began to abuse Rultuˊwg̣i, saying, ‘Why have you come hither? You are a poor hungry man. You wander about in your hunger, seeking of food.’ Rultuˊwg̣i answered, ‘There was a time when I assisted men in catching reindeer.’ — ‘Then why are you not doing it now?’ Rultuˊwg̣i said, ‘I am now old. How shall I do it? In times past the old men sat quietly, well treated by the host.’ — ‘No, no, you are the assisting one. Why are you sitting still? Can you give assistance sitting thus?’ Tatk-Omruˊwg̣ê said, ‘There, stop sitting, or I will strike you on the head.’ Rultuˊwg̣i said, ‘Do it, if you have no shame. Do you wish to shamelessly assault a man with an ailing back? My back causes me much suffering.’ Tatk-Omruˊwg̣ê grew angry, and said, ‘Well, well, let us have a match.’ Rultuˊwg̣i took off his belt, also his fur shirt. Then he said, ‘All right! Have a wrestling-match with me.’ Both were tipsy. Tatk-Omruˊwg̣ê also took off his belt with the knife. He said, ‘No’ I will only strike you on your head.’ He struck the old man with the belt upon the head. ‘Make yourself useful, quick, make yourself useful!’, The old man cried, ‘Oh, oh, oh! Stop beating me! I will assist you.’ He put on his shirt, took the lasso and the walking-staff, and ran to the reindeer. A little time after that, Tatk-Omruˊwg̣ê asked us, ‘Where is Rultuˊwg̣i?’ We said, ‘He has gone to herd.’ Tatk-Omruˊwg̣ê roared after him, ‘Rultuˊwg̣i, Rultuˊwg̣i, go away, go away! You will fill the whole camp of my[627]🗗uncollated younger brother with a stench!’ Then the old man and his wife went away. The whole time they were weeping. Such was Tatk-omruˊwg̣ê, the violent, the richest reindeer-breeder on the whole tundra. The Luck-giving Being (Kɪntaˊ-vaˊɪrg̣ɪn¹), in later time, however, made him poor.”²

Such a wandering life is still harder for women than for men; and those of the “idle wanderers” who have wives cannot keep them for a long time, unless the woman is also good for nothing, and undesirable for any other man. Even then, in the middle of winter, the man takes care to leave the woman, at least for a month or two, in the camp of some distant relative or of a man who is of milder disposition and does not begrudge a morsel to a wretched pauper. I remember one pair, — a man Ranaˊwkurg̣ɪn, and his wife Añqaˊñña. Both were quite young. Ranaˊwkurg̣ɪn’s father died, and left him, a young boy, with a large herd of reindeer. Before he was grown up, half of the herd was gone. The other half he squandered away himself, and lost the greater part of it through card-playing. Then he became quite poor. At the time when I saw them they both had only one reindeer and an old sledge. The woman was suffering, probably from syphilis; the man, too, was lean and weak and good for nothing, as was plain at the first glance. They even had no decent winter clothes, which is rarely the case even among the “idle wanderers.” The necessity of warm clothing is so imperious, that even the most careless fellows provide themselves with it in one way or another. The woman tried once or twice to leave her husband for another man, but nobody wanted her in his sleeping-room.

Another “idle-wanderer,” Yaqaˊq, was already an old man. His life was much easier, because he had eight brothers, each with a “front house” in his camp. He refused to have either tent or camp. He spent his time wandering among the camps of his brothers; then he would move on and make visits among the camps of the whole neighborhood. Because of his brothers he was treated with consideration by the neighbors. Still another wanderer, ᴇndiˊw by name, was of a very happy and serene disposition of mind. Even under the most trying circumstances, he would only laugh and remain undisturbed. Another man, Eleˊpqäi by name, wandered afoot among the camps, as much in winter as in summer. His power of endurance was remarkable, even among the Chukchee. In a most severe snow-storm he could sleep without a fire, burrowing into a large bank of drifting snow. He staid without food for two or three days almost as patiently as any wild animal. He spoke little. Upon the whole, he seemed a specimen of some lower type of man.

The Neighboring Camp. — With the Reindeer Chukchee, who live in small camps widely scattered over the tundra, the nearest camp forms the only human group with whom one may have frequent intercourse. It is called nɪm-takaˊčhɪn (“neighboring camp”). Nɪm is the root of the noun nɪˊmnɪm[628]🗗uncollated (“camp”). Takaˊčhɪn is the noun takaˊlhɪn (“mate,” “companion”) with a slight phonetic change. č and l, in Chukchee phonetics, often replace each other.

If some serious misfortune happens, the people of the nearest camp will always give help; the more so, since they are in most cases relatives, or at least good friends. As an instance may be given the following story, where the sudden death of a Chukchee while hunting wild reindeer is described.

“When he left the camp and followed the reindeer-buck, they both ran to the ice on a large lake. He slipped on the ice and fell down. Here he broke his neck and remained on the ice. Two nights he was absent from his camp. After the second night, his wife went to the neighbors and brought them the news: ‘My husband is absent!’ — ‘Oh, where is he?’ — ‘He was following the wounded reindeer.’ — ‘Oh, oh! let us go and look for him.... Well, do you know what direction we are to take?’ They went together, the woman and one of the neighbors. The woman sought on the land. He took the road across the ice. Then he found him, and gave a signal to the woman, who also came. The dead man was lying on the ice.”¹

Neighboring camps often, in changing the pasture-grounds, follow the same route, in order to keep all the time in the same neighborhood as before. They gather their skins and peltries and give them to one man, who goes to some distant place for trading-purposes. They also assemble for ceremonials and races.

THE VILLAGE OF THE MARITIME CHUKCHEE. — The Maritime village is founded, not on family connection, but on territorial contiguity. Many of the villages also have the front house (aᵋttooraˊn, “front house;” or aˊrmačɪ-raˊn, “the house of the strongest one”). The master of such a house is called aᵋttooraˊlɪn (“that of the front house”) or aˊrmačɪ-raˊlɪn (“that of the house of the strongest”). The front house belongs to the family which has lived at the place longest without interruption. I spoke before of the fluctuation of the population in the maritime villages, according as luck in hunting changed. Now, a family like this remains in its place even under the most trying conditions. Their intimate knowledge of the place makes it possible for them to provide for their subsistence in one way or another. The position of this house will be in front of the others; i. e., on the right side of the line of houses, which are all turned with the entrance towards the sea. I have already mentioned that in several villages the owner of the front house pretends to have the priority of connection with the local gods, and even receives occasionally a kind of tribute from the other families.² Many villages, however, some of them among the largest, have no front house at all. In these, all the inhabitants are on a quite equal footing, and the houses are scattered around without any plan.

The Boat-Crew. — The social unit of the Maritime people who have to do with sea-hunting is the so-called “boatful” (aᵋttwaˊt-yɪrɪn), a boat’s crew associated for hunting-purposes. In olden times, when people used the skin[629]🗗uncollated boat exclusively, a boat’s crew consisted of eight men, — one at the helm, another at the prow with harpoon and lance, and six paddlers. The man at the helm, who is the master of the boat, was sometimes considered as an extra member; and the whole crew, counting the regular number of eight, thus included nine men. The number eight was so firmly established, that even the sea-werwolves (killer-whales), of which I have spoken before, were supposed to course around in the sea in crews of eight.

At present, in many places on the Pacific shore, the American whaling-boat has replaced the skin boat for hunting-purposes. The crew necessary for the whaling-boat is smaller than that for the skin boat, consisting of only five or six men, because the number of oarsmen required is less. The boat’s crew is formed of the nearest relatives of the owner. It is a kind of family co-operative group, the members hunting together and dividing the spoils.

The chief member, or head, of a boat’s crew, is called “boat-master” (äᵋttw-eˊrmečɪn), and is the owner of the boat. He constructs the skin boat through the efforts of his own small family, that living in his house. For this he has to prepare, in the first place, a big walrus-hide and a sufficient quantity of fresh, strong thong. Then he collects the wood necessary for the frame, — a rather difficult task on those treeless shores. — or, if he is unable to find driftwood of the required quality, he may buy a ready-made frame, one of those which are made and sold on the American shore. The wooden boat-frame and also parts of it are highly valued among the Chukchee. They form objects of sale, are left as an inheritance, etc. If some part has deteriorated, it is replaced by a new one, and thus the frame may be kept in use for two generations or more. Walrus skins and thongs, on the contrary, are often changed, since every autumn, after the end of the sea-hunting season, the skin cover is taken off from the frame and kept separately.

When the master of a boat is not rich enough to get all the material necessary for a skin boat, two or three of his nearest relatives, usually brothers or cousins, help him. Then they are all considered “boat’s masters.” The oldest of them sits at the helm and directs the hunting-expedition; but, if his luck in hunting does not seem very great, he may give up his place to one of the others.

Whaling-boats are bought from the Americans or from local traders who deal with American whalers. Whalebone, fawn-skins (black or spotted), ready-made clothes of reindeer-skin, walrus-tusks, etc., are given in exchange for it. Since the value of a whaling-boat is considerably greater than that of a skin boat, being about twenty or thirty large slabs of whalebone, the purchase of such a boat is difficult for one man. Still the question is practically decided by the success in whale-hunting. If at least one good whale has been killed in a village, several families will be able to buy new whaling-boats the next summer. If not, no whaling-boats are bought.

Some boat-masters take whaling-boats on credit from Kuvaˊr of Indian Point, and from other rich native merchants. The whole amount has to be paid in two or three years. Of course, these are only second-hand boats, several years old, generally all patched up, and consequently cheaper in price. Still, without a successful catch of whales, it is quite difficult to pay even for these.

A man who has an extra boat often gives the use of it to some of his neighbors. It is contrary to the sense of justice of the natives to allow a good boat to lie idle on shore, when near by are hunters in need of one. In such a case a boat-crew is also formed, under the direction of one who is considered to be the boat-master, and responsible for the boat. Nothing is paid for the use of the boat, even when the hunt has been exceedingly successful; as, for instance, when a whale has been killed. To pay for such use is believed to endanger the “hunting-luck.” In the case of a very successful hunt, however, the boat-master will immediately buy the boat, and thus have it in his possession.

To cite an example, Kuvaˊr told me that one year he was making a trip to St. Lawrence Island in a boat that belonged to one of his neighbors. On the way they had the very rare chance to kill a polar bear in the water. Polar bears in the Pacific are much rarer than whales, though they bring less. On returning home, Kuvaˊr kept the boat in his possession, and gave its owner another boat of his own, which was much larger and of better construction than the other. Kuvaˊr, it is true, is an Eskimo, but the same rule exists among the Chukchee. On the other hand, when a man has killed a whale for the first time in his life, he must sell his boat and buy another. When I asked for the reason of this custom, the natives explained that it was a kind of sacrifice to the killed whale. The owner gives away the boat that has helped to kill the whale, and takes another, “still innocent.”

The boat-master sits at the helm. This is the place of honor, and his by right. Among the Russians and the Russianized natives of the Kolyma, Indighirka, and other polar rivers, the place of the master is always with the hand on the helm. Even when a local trader travels on the river with hired assistants, he sits at the helm. He who leaves this place to another man, and sits idly in the middle of the boat, is considered effeminate.

The Chukchee families are so small, that the eight or six members of the crew may belong to four or even five families. Moreover, a father and son often count as but one paddler, because they replace each other. The elderly father goes only on the shorter trips; the son, on the long autumn expeditions, when the sea is rough and the cold severe. Among the families that form the boat’s crew, besides the relatives, may also be included the families of friends, of close neighbors. All such families have their houses in the same part of the village. They act in friendly accord in most cases;[631]🗗uncollated for instance, in their trade with whalers, or in winter expeditions with dogs. The boat-crew forms an element of social life more or less lasting. “This village has three boat-crews,” say the natives. I was told, for instance, that in the village of Iñeˊen, in the last epidemic of measles, out of three boat-crews, only one was left. The two others had died out. Membership in a boat’s crew does not establish permanent obligations, however. Occasionally a man may, after the season is spent, leave one boat’s crew, and, when summer comes again, join another; or, more frequently, if he has had good luck, he may construct or buy a boat of his own and form a new boat’s crew from among his relatives and friends.

A boat’s crew, and a boat’s master at the head of it, exist also among the Asiatic Eskimo. The master of the boat is called umiaˊlik (from uˊmiak, “boat”). The same institution seems to exist everywhere among the American Eskimo. The term umiaˊlik for the master of the boat is used on the whole Arctic coast of America, from Point Barrow¹ to Greenland.² Murdoch calls the umiaˊlik a regular and wealthy aristocratic class. Rink says only that the owner of a boat is considered as chief of the family. The masters of the boats of the Maritime Chukchee and Asiatic Eskimo, notwithstanding their rights of ownership in the boats, cannot be called an aristocratic class and their influence in social affairs is very limited. I shall speak of this in more detail when treating of the Asiatic Eskimo.

Distribution of Products of the Hunt. — The spoils of the hunt are divided as follows. Small seals are taken by those who have killed them. The Chukchee say that these seals do not form an important object of the hunt, because they may be killed singly, even directly from the shore: therefore they are not included in the common products. The master of the boat, however, is given a seal or two, even when he has killed none himself.

The meat and the blubber of thong-seals and walrus are divided in equal portions among all the members of the crew. The heads are taken by the master, and the tusks of the walrus go with the head. In due time these heads figure at the ceremonial of heads. Then the walrus-tusks are divided among those families of the crew that consist of brothers and cousins of the master. The other members of the crew receive only a part of the blubber from “under the whiskers” of the walrus; i. e., from the fore-part of the muzzle. In dividing the hides of the walrus, the master takes that of the first one caught; the man at the prow takes the second; and the following hides are taken by the paddlers, one after another. If the number of walrus killed is too small, the distribution may be continued in order the next year. Often, however, walrus-hides are split on shore, and the number of the shares is thus doubled. With thong-seals, whose hides are used for thongs and boot-soles, and also form one of the principal articles of value in trade or exchange[632]🗗uncollated with the Reindeer people, the rule of distribution is somewhat more complicated. When thong-seals are abundant, each man takes a hide, beginning with the master. When they are scarce, the middle part of each hide is cut up and wound into two rolls of thong of medium thickness. The rest of the hide is cut into eight parts and distributed among the crew as material for boot-soles. The thongs are given to the men one after another, beginning with the master, as described. In modern times, instead of this rule of distribution, the hides of thong-seals are often taken by those hunters who have killed the respective animals, which are thus excluded from the common stock. This new way is not approved by public opinion; still it is more and more frequently adopted.

With the whale, the meat, as has been mentioned, belongs to the whole village, generally to whoever wants to take part in the carving. The bones of the jaw are taken by the one who first noticed the whale. The whalebone is divided equally among all the participants of the hunt, and is distributed by the master, who reserves the best and longest slabs for himself. The man who dealt the mortal blow, usually the one who sits at the prow, has the right to choose his portion next after the master. When the boat comes ashore, the master will take some of the smaller slabs, which are not used in trade, and distribute them among the onlookers.

I was told that in former times, as many as fifty years ago, after each successful catch, a large part of the best whalebone was distributed among all the inhabitants of the village. The price of the whalebone was lower, and whales more abundant. The rich people had also an old supply not yet sold to the Americans. At present good whalebone is too valuable and rare to be thus distributed. This last information was given me by a native, for my guidance. In most cases, however, the whale is killed, not by a single boat, but by two, three, or several boats. One of the boats, that has acted foremost, is considered as the “principal boat,” the others are only “assistant boats.” Then the whalebone is divided along the middle line into two equal parts, which are called “whalebone-sides” (tiˊnqäl). The principal boat takes one half. The other half is divided among the assistant boats; and each boat distributes its portion among its crew. When a whale has drifted ashore, the meat and blubber are carved and taken by all present; but the whalebone belongs, as a rule, to the one who first noticed the whale. “Be it a small girl five years old, she must take all the whalebone,” thus say the Chukchee. “To act otherwise is a great wrong: he who takes the bone contrary to rule will surely die.”

The same rule holds for the skin of a polar bear killed on shore. The one who first notices the animal takes the skin. Notwithstanding these rules, in actual life, the distribution of the whalebone of drifting or stranded whales leads to much quarrel and strife. Each one pretends that he noticed the whale first.

In the villages which I visited during the last ten years, no whale had drifted ashore that had whalebone fit for trade. There were some carcasses of animals killed by American whalers, who take only the whalebone, and leave the huge body floating in the ocean. Other stranded whales were of species with short white slabs, which have no trade value, so that the question of distribution of whalebone during all this time did not appear in a practical form.

Dr. Franz Boas says about similar regulations among the Central Eskimo, “A bear or a young seal belongs to the man who first sees it, no matter who kills it. A ground-seal belongs to all men who take part in the hunt, the skin especially being divided among them. A walrus is cut up at once into as many parts as there are hunters, the one who first struck it having the choice of the parts, and receiving the head. A whale belongs to the whole settlement, and its capture is celebrated by a feast.”¹ As to the rights of the first finder, Dr. Rink says about South Greenland, “In South Greenland, where bears are rarely seen, it is said, on a bear being killed, it belongs to whoever first discovered it, setting aside altogether the person who killed it.”² As to the rarity of polar bears, the Pacific villages of the Chukchee and Asiatic Eskimo are exactly in the same condition as South Greenland, for bears do not often stray into these regions.

The winter hunting on the ice is carried on individually. Still, a man who has killed a walrus or a thong-seal takes the whole carcass only in case he is all alone on the ice. If others are present, each onlooker has a right to take a part. Usually, when a man has killed one of these animals, all those who have noticed his good luck start on the run for the place of killing. The rule of distribution is as follows: Of a thong-seal, the hunter takes the hide, the head, and both shoulder-blades; the first-comer takes the pelvis; the second-comer, the right hind-leg; the third-comer, the left hind-leg; the fourth one, the brisket; the fifth, the lower ribs, with a corresponding slice of blubber all around the body; the other ribs are divided among the other claimants. The last-comers receive some piece of fresh meat of the animal. All this, of course, occasions much strife and even scuffling. If only one comes, the animal is simply cut in two, the hunter taking the upper part, and the other man the lower part. Carvings in bone, of the Chukchee and Eskimo, often represent such halves of the thong-seal, accurately cut off and loaded on a sled, ready to be conveyed to the shore. Of walrus, the hunter takes the hide, the head, and the backbone, with all the fat of the back. All other meat and fat are divided among all those present. The choicest morsels are given to the older men.

The principle of competition by running is in vogue also, under similar[634]🗗uncollated circumstances, among the Reindeer Chukchee. For instance, if several men are walking together, and one of them notices from afar a mammoth tusk protruding from the ground, as sometimes happens on the tundra, they all start running towards it. He who arrives first may take the find. This, too, leads to a scuffle, and even to murder. The same principle of rushing and grabbing whatever comes first to hand, is applied in the ceremonial of wild-reindeer heads.¹

Paupers. — Families of paupers without friends or relatives are met with in the Maritime villages much more frequently than in the Reindeer camps. Maritime life is much harder, more subject to the danger of death when the hunt is going on, and to the fear of hunger when it has ceased, or has been stopped by storm. The village is more thickly populated, and the family-connection of the Maritime people is closer than among the Reindeer men. Still the charity shown by the Maritime people to their neighbors is much greater than is the case among the Reindeer men; so that poor families may support themselves through gifts received from other, better situated families of the village. A successful hunter, on coming ashore, is met by widows and orphans, to whom he throws down some morsels of the meat he has brought. Then perhaps he will even send a piece or two to those of his near neighbors who for some reason were absent from the shore. Even in times of hunger, the poorest family will receive at least a little, until death by starvation threatens the whole community. Then the last morsel is kept by everybody for his own housemates. In this of course there is much difference, according to the temper of the giver. “Bad men give nothing,” say the Chukchee. “Give at least to the nearest door.”

The tales, however, are full of descriptions of poor families that could get nothing from their bad neighbors, and nearly died from hunger. I will only mention the very popular tale about the orphan, which is known also among the Eskimo, Asiatic and American.

“In a maritime village were many houses. A scabby orphan lived in the last rear house all alone by himself. He found a lone old woman, always hungry, and said to her, ‘Be at least my grandmother.’ Then they lived together, all the time without food. Then the people killed a whale. The old woman said to the orphan, ‘Go and ask them for some meat “from under the flipper.” (The meat from under the flipper is considered to be of poor quality, tough to eat.) The people are coming back, all of them are carrying meat.’ He went to meet them. ‘What do you want?’ — ‘Grandmother says, “Ask them for some flipper.”’ — ‘Nay, ask from those who are behind.’ He went on farther. ‘What do you want?’ — ‘Grandmother says, “Ask for some flipper.”’ Every one repulsed him. Instead of giving him anything, they beat him. Then the Merciful Being took mercy on him, and the hindmost one gave him three small pieces of meat as large as a finger. These he put into three blubber-holes, and all were miraculously filled with meat. Then they felt happy, and hurried to cook some meat in a kettle. The neighbors noticed the smoke. ‘Oh, what are the Scabby-Ones doing, cooking meat?’ They rushed into their house, took the meat out of the kettle, and carried it out.”

The tale proceeds to describe how the scabby orphan, under the protection of the Merciful Being, became a very strong, good-looking young man. He found much wealth, and at last married a young, pretty girl.

Then those who had but recently practised violence on him, came and said, each of them, “You are my nephew, you are my cousin.” But he pushed them away and answered, “I am not yours, I am a stranger. I am an orphan. You have beaten me all the time.”

Then he and his wife left the village altogether, and went to another place. The people of the village, however, were unsuccessful in hunting, and could find no food. The marrow of their bones was all dried up; and soon they died, every one of them. The orphan founded a living-place, and his family increased in number and became a village.¹

In another tale it is said, that an old woman lives with her little son at the end of a village. She has nothing to eat, and asks the neighbors for some liver of the sea-animals they kill on the hunt. At last they are weary of the old woman. They kill her boy, take his liver, and give it to her in place of the liver of the seal. She does not recognize it, and roasts a portion of it over her lamp.²

Though both tales decribe hard life and cruel doings, still they show that the existence of poor old women and orphans, strange and friendless, is possible in the Maritime village.

The tales of the Reindeer Chukchee, when describing an orphan, represent him as persecuted by a step-mother in his own family. He leaves his camp and wanders among the neighboring camps as an “idle wanderer,” or goes away to a distant country in search of a fortune. The social life of the Reindeer people evidently has no place for him in his native land.

Various authors, when describing the social life of the American Eskimo, mention with praise their friendliness to those not able to provide for themselves. Hans Egede says, “They do not let those people starve, but admit them freely to their table.”³ Dr. Franz Boas says of the Central Eskimo that poor men are adopted by strange families. Particularly bachelors without any relatives, cripples who are not able to provide for themselves, or men who have lost their sledges and dogs, are found in this position. Nor are these men less esteemed than the self-dependent providers.⁴ All this presents great similarity to the customs of the Maritime Chukchee. Still it would seem that the consideration of the Maritime Chukchee for their poor does not extend so far as it does among the American Eskimo.

Wanderers. — The wandering type among the Maritime Chukchee is different from the “idle wanderer” of the Reindeer people. The Reindeer[636]🗗uncollated Chukchee move about the country with their houses and herds. This slow wandering is their normal state of life, but its range is not very wide, — from forest-border in the winter, to the tundra in the summer, then back to the same places. Longer journeys are undertaken with a travelling-tent, a set of pack-sledges, and a small herd, which, after all, is but little faster than the usual way of travelling. A single man, with a couple of driving-reindeer and no luggage at all, may make a very fast trip of a hundred miles or more. Then he must stop in the house of some reindeer-breeder and put his coursers into the herd of his host, in order to give them a good rest. Thus the Reindeer Chukchee, in all his movements, is closely attached to house and herd. Therefore a man who has none, and tries to wander about with no particular aim, is an “idle wanderer,” a kind of social outcast and pariah.

Maritime people are settled in permanent villages; and for this very reason — that the villages are never moved — they have to leave them frequently, and make long journeys in various directions. Moreover, they live on the seacoast, and the sea induces the people to travel, and at the same time makes travel easier. Many of them are given to trade, which makes constant wandering necessary throughout their lives. Therefore wanderers without any special purpose in life are more frequent, and are treated with no such harshness as among the reindeer-breeders. Chukchee tales of Maritime provenience often describe a man who, from a mere desire to see distant and unknown lands, has left his native place, and has gone far away. He travels in summer with a boat, and in winter afoot. Perhaps this last is due to Eskimo influence, because the Eskimo of America really travel afoot. The Maritime Chukchee, in actual life, travel in winter by means of dog-sledges. A man of a restless nature takes some five or six dogs, attaches them to a small sledge that has been broken and mended in several places, and leaves his village, sometimes all alone. With this sledge he goes from one village to another, passes from the Arctic shore to the Pacific, and vice versa. In the summer time he joins some large skin boat, going a hundred miles or more for trading-purposes. Trading-boats, in summer, are often short of hands, and an extra paddler is very welcome. While staying in villages, in the middle of the journey, the wanderer may take part in some hunting-expedition, and get his share of the booty. Some enlist on American whaling-ships, go with them northwards as far as Point Barrow, and farther on, roam to San Francisco, visit southern islands, then come back to their village, bringing no property, and having no care of the future.

HOSPITALITY. — The Maritime people are also much more hospitable than the Reindeer men. Each traveller passing through a Maritime village will receive food for himself and his dogs for one or several days. No pay is requested. Of course the traveller is supposed to have some wares or provisions brought from foreign countries and thus welcome to the people[637]🗗uncollated of the village. He may have tea and tobacco, reindeer-tallow, or American brandy. He is expected to give some of these to be added to the daily fare of the house he stops in. Still usually he gives but very sparingly, often only “just enough to smell,” as the Chukchee say. The same rule exists among all the peoples of northeastern Asia that travel with dogs: in Kamchatka and on the Anadyr, on the Lena, Kolyma, and Indighirka Rivers; on the shore of the Okhotsk Sea, among natives as well, as among the Russian creoles. Without such hospitality, journeying with dogs would be impossible, because the little dried food one can carry on the sledge must be kept for halts in the open country, and for other special occasions. Therefore people who live along some well-visited route have to provide food, not so much for themselves as for possible guests; and the amount required for the latter is more than that required for the people themselves. Thus the inhabitants of the village Mɪˊs˙qän — which lies on the route from Indian Point to the mouth of the Anadyr, and, moreover, represents the last inhabited point before crossing the long and lifeless tundra, — often have to feed some twenty complete dog-teams, with more than two hundred animals. Mɪˊs˙qän has only three houses: so this hospitality becomes a heavy burden. The same may be said of those few Chukchee families who live on the Middle Anadyr, exactly halfway between Markova and the mouth of the river. Each of these families slays every summer about three hundred wild reindeer while they are crossing the river; but the greater part of this large quantity of meat is consumed by the dogs of Russian creoles passing to and fro for trading-purposes. Every time I asked people in Mɪˊs˙qän or in Under-the-Cliffs, on the Middle Anadyr, as to the game obtained during the preceding season, they would invariably answer, “Enough for our wants, but too little for the passers-by.” Then they would undertake some extra hunting in order to increase their supply; but no complaint was ever uttered by any of them.

In other Maritime villages we were occasionally detained by a snow-storm for several days. All fuel had been consumed. We fed on raw walrus-meat. Still some fire was necessary to melt snow and to prepare the tea. In the more southern villages, on the coast of the Pacific Ocean cooking is done mostly, not with blubber, but with twigs from low bushes, small pieces of driftwood, dried grass, etc. Then the house-master would take an axe and break one of his sledges, or cut down one of the wooden house-supports at the risk of its tumbling down on our heads. When we remember how scarce wood is on the Arctic shore, and especially wood that is suitable for poles and house-supports, we can appreciate the real value of such a sacrifice. The few reindeer-breeders who live near the seacoast, scattered here and there among the Maritime villages, have learned some of this hospitality; but those living farther inland are very far from it.

When travelling among the Reindeer Chukchee, I met with many unpleasant[638]🗗uncollated experiences, with much bad language, and with many threats. My property was stolen, and attempts at open robbery were even made by the masters of the camps in which we stopped for the night. Nothing of this sort happened to me among the Maritime Chukchee. Everything was safe; and we lived together peacefully, with one or two exceptions, of which I shall speak later on.

The people are well aware of this difference in temper between the Reindeer and the Maritime people, and the latter are quite proud of their superiority. This seems the more remarkable, since the Maritime people are considered more daring and venturesome than the reindeer-breeders, which must really be the case, as their way of living requires more courage, presence of mind, and a more enterprising spirit.