686 THE POPULAR SCIENCE MONTHLY. 



When the time comes for hurry, out is drawn from under the 

 deck the double-bladed paddle, such as we are all familiar with 

 from the writings of Captain Ross and Captain Parry, Dr. Kane, 

 and all the explorers who have visited the Eskimos of the eastern 

 regions. This is about six feet long and has at each end a broad, 

 oval blade, far more serviceable than the narrow oar-blades of the 

 eastern kayak paddles. The man grasps this by the middle and 

 dips each blade alternately, regulating the force of his strokes so 

 that the canoe goes straight through the water without veering 

 to right or left. With the double paddle the kayak can be made 

 to fairly fly through the water. 



A reindeer caught swimming in a lake (the deer often take to 

 the water in summer to escape the plague of gnats and gadflies) 

 has little chance of escaping. The swift kayak soon overtakes 

 him. The hunter has already pulled from its loop on the forward 

 deck one of his pair of light lances and has it lying loose on deck, 

 the butt resting on the loop in easy reach. As he ranges along- 

 side his victim he catches it up a quick downward thrust, and 

 the deer floats a lifeless carcass. 



It requires no small skill to manage one of these little craft 

 without upsetting, but the boys begin to learn at an early age, so 

 that balancing grows to be a second nature, and the kayak man 

 is as much a part of his boat as a good rider is of his horse. Get- 

 ting into a kayak, even, is an art in itself. I once watched a 

 couple of young fellows launching their boats in the lagoon close 

 to our station. A place was selected where the bank was steep, 

 but not high, say about a foot above the water, while the water 

 was just about deep enough to float the kayaks. Then the boats 

 were carefully laid in the water alongside of the bank it would 

 not do to shove them in over the gravel or allow them to scrape 

 on the bottom, they are so delicate and held in place by sticking 

 down the blade of the paddle into the gravelly bottom on the 

 outer side of the canoe. Balancing himself by holding on to the 

 handle of the paddle with his left hand, each man cautiously 

 lifted his left foot, and wiping it perfectly clean of sand and 

 gravel with his disengaged right hand, carefully stepped into the 

 canoe. The right foot was then raised with equal care, wiped, and 

 inserted into the hole. 



Still balancing himself with the paddle, each man adjusted his 

 clothing, carefully sat down, thrusting his legs under the forward 

 deck, and settled himself in position. A gentle shove-off from 

 the shore, a stroke or two of the paddles, and they were off. 



The Eskimos are always very careful to avoid getting any sand 

 into either kind of boat, for it works down among the timbers 

 where it can not be cleaned out, and, gradually getting between 

 the skin and the framework, soon cuts through the former. 



