How to Steal a Meteorite

When Robert Peary returned to his headquarters at Anniversary Lodge in June of 1894 after "discovering" the meteorites that the Inuit had always known were near Cape York, he told his wife, "This means that if the ship comes I can get one or two of the meteorites aboard her. By their sale or exhibition your brother… can raise enough to send a ship next year."

His ship, the Falcon, did come, but ice prevented her from reaching the site. Peary remained in the Arctic for a second winter, having sent his wife and daughter home on the ship.

The next summer, after the arrival of a steamer, the Kite, Peary reached Cape York in August. With the help of a crew of Inuit, Peary and his men loaded the meteorites known as the "woman" and the "dog," their weights estimated respectively at three tons and 1,000 pounds. They were hauled away to America.

Back in Brooklyn, Peary again took up his job with the United States Navy. But he was also busy planning to return to Greenland to retrieve the largest meteorite, the "tent." Bad weather ensured that the next summer's voyage, on a ship called Hope, was only a partial success.

The "tent" was excavated with great difficulty and moved to the shore before the pack-ice of Melville Bay, the ice that had spelled doom to so many previous ships in these treacherous waters, drove in on the land. The Hope retreated hastily, leaving the exposed "tent" to await another season.

In 1897, Peary returned to northern Greenland, again on the Hope. This time ice conditions were favourable and the little vessel reached Cape York on August 12. The previous year he had told some of his most trusted Inuit hunters and guides, among them Qisuk and Nuktaq, to meet him at the cape the following summer, and they had not failed him. All the able-bodied men waiting at Cape York boarded the Hope and the ship set off for Bushnan Island.

The task there was to load the largest meteorite – the only one remaining – aboard the tiny ship. The task was monumental, as was the object itself. Peary estimated that the "tent" weighed between 90 and 100 tons. He exaggerated, of course, But still, it weighed 37.5 tons.

The captain berthed the Hope alongside a natural rock-pier on Meteorite Island, as Peary called Bushnan Island. Peary described his plans for loading his treasure:

"I proposed to construct a very strong bridge, reaching from the shore across the ship; lay the heaviest steel rails upon this, and then, after depositing the meteorite upon a massive timber car resting upon these rails, slide the huge mass across the bridge until it rested directly over the main hatch; remove the bridge; then lower the meteorite with my hydraulic jacks through the hatchway to the ship's hold."

And that, in a nutshell, is what he did, although the entire operation took six days. Not one to miss a photo op, Peary had the meteorite draped in the Stars and Stripes.

As it started its inch-by-inch ride across the improvised bridge toward the ship, Peary's daughter who, with her mother, was along for the summer cruise, smashed a bottle of wine against it and named it Ahnighito. This was the little girl, Marie Peary's, middle name, rendered in Peary's clumsy spelling.

The Pearys made much of the fact that the name had been given to their daughter by the Inuit at the time of her birth in northern Greenland – it should properly be spelled Arnakittoq in Greenlandic – and that it meant "the snow baby."

In fact it means "small woman" or "small female." This was an unfortunate name with which to christen the meteorite, for there already was a "woman" meteorite which had been resting securely for two years in New York. But the name stuck, and the largest meteorite ever recovered became known, not as the tent, but as Ahnighito.

As the meteorite neared the edge of the vessel, the Inuit left the ship, superstitious perhaps, or simply fearing that the weight of the stone might crush the ship were any accident to happen. But the meteorite was safely loaded.

With the cargo securely aboard, the Hope steamed for Cape York where most of the Inuit were put ashore and paid for their work. "I sent my faithful Eskimos ashore," Peary wrote, "accompanied by several barrels of biscuit, and loaded with guns, knives, ammunition, and numerous other articles which I had brought to reward them for their faithful service."

Six Inuit, though, didn't disembark. They travelled to New York with Peary, with tragic results. Their fate is well-known through my book, Give Me My Father's Body: The Life of Minik, the New York Eskimo.

As for the meteorites, it would take some time for Peary to recoup the money invested in the multi-year project that deprived the Inuit of their source of iron. But ultimately, he found a way.

Next week: Peary, the "philanthropist," gets paid.

Taissumani recounts a specific event of historic interest. Kenn Harper is a historian, writer and linguist who lives in Iqaluit. Feedback? Send your comments and questions to kennharper@hotmail.com.