192 A SUMMER SAIL TO THE LABRADOR COAST 



With a terrific yell the Yankee stooped down to examine the extent 

 of the wound, there and then renouncing all claim to the bottle of 

 rum with the remark : ' Wall ! I guess I'd be too leaky to hold 

 liquor after another stroke ! ' 



The sagacity of a team of dogs when travelling on the icefields 

 of the coast is nothing short of marvellous. Sometimes the ice 

 opens in great yawning chasms in a mysterious manner, when the 

 dogs are very quick to perceive their danger of being cut off from 

 the land. On such occasions they instinctively choose a safe course 

 and, needing no guidance, will carry their master swiftly and surely 

 away from the spot where danger threatens. The property of a 

 settler may be measured by the number and quality of his dog team, 

 most of them taking great pride in keeping fine animals, and as 

 many of them as possible. In summer their keep costs nothing ; 

 in winter they get a daily dole from a stack of frozen fish of the 

 otherwise useless sort, such as dog-fish, sharks, and skates. There 

 is said to be a practice of tying out an old bitch in the wilds so 

 that she may be mated by some wandering wolf in order to avoid 

 the danger of deterioration by too close in-breeding. 



As for the Eskimo race, or Innuits (the people), it is sad to 

 relate that they are falling victims to that strange decay with 

 which civilization inevitably curses the savage everywhere. 

 Whether it is owing to a change of diet and clothing, or to the 

 diminished energy with which they follow their natural pursuits, 

 to the introduction of pulmonary and other wasting diseases, or 

 to all these causes combined, certain it is that the Eskimo are 

 becoming swiftly exterminated. A century ago they flourished 

 in their thousands all along the coast ; to-day there are very few 

 within three hundred miles north of the Strait of Belleisle. From 

 this point to the northern extremity of the coast there are now 

 under two thousand all told. 



The art of using the kayak is becoming a thing of the past. 

 This picturesque little craft, into which a man can lace himself 

 so tightly that he can laugh at the crested billows and even upset 

 with impunity, as he is able to right himself at once with the paddle, 

 is now put aside generally for the more clumsy wooden boat, or 

 ' dory '. 



Skin tents for summer use are now often replaced by wooden or 

 else mud huts. The white man's flimsy clothing is donned in 

 exchange for the old-time suit of sealskin. Seal blubber and whale 

 flesh are now replaced in the larder by flour and salt pork, and bad 

 colds are even known to be contracted by the unfamiliar modern 

 practice, introduced by the missionary, of washing the person. 

 Civilization has proved a far worse foe than their old sworn enemies 



