Jamie Florence’s Arctic ordeal – Part 2

In 1919, Munn’s little ship the Albert finally reached Pond Inlet with supplies for Jamie Florence.

Munn learned Florence had not been successful in trading. The supply of furs at his post at Sannirut was nowhere near what Munn had expected. The reasons are unclear. Munn noted only, “My man here had done very badly, and his returns were very poor.”

Perhaps the generosity of Robert Janes in his first few years of trading had succeeded in luring the Inuit trade away from Munn’s post.

Perhaps too, Florence, who had been sparsely provisioned for only one year in 1916, had felt compelled to duplicate Janes’s initial generosity in order to secure furs at all.

It is likely too that the third trader in the area, Joseph Bernier’s man, Wilfrid Caron, was a factor.

Caron’s Inuit “wife” Panikpak bore a large share of the responsibility for the French-Canadian trader’s success. She was a woman of influence and authority, closely related to many of the best hunters in the district, and she commanded their respect.

It is natural that they would prefer to trade with Caron. There is no doubt also that the aura of authority which had surrounded the impressive figure of Capt. Bernier had been in some measure transferred to his trader Caron, and that that influenced Inuit to trade at his post. Caron’s trading methods were consistent, and he had been well supplied in 1917.

Panikpak in old age. She was the “wife” of trader Wilfrid Caron. (Photo from Kenn Harper Collection)

The mystery of why Florence did so poorly at trading is heightened by reminiscences of his daughter, based on tales Jamie Florence took back to Peterhead about his extended stay in the Far North.

According to an account that his daughter published in a Peterhead newspaper in the 1960s, about a month after his arrival at Button Point, Jamie Florence went out from his cabin to investigate a noise he had heard.

An Inuk woman had been about to shoot a fox, he claimed. Florence’s sudden exit surprised her and she dropped the gun, which accidentally fired.

The bullet hit Florence in the thigh. His daughter’s account describes the aftermath of this accidental shooting:

“The Eskimos were terrified thinking they had killed a white man; every one of them fled. My father dragged himself indoors and into bed, where he lay for many weeks. The bullet was never taken out of his leg. Gradually he was able to walk about again, but was unable to go hunting as the natives had disappeared, taking all the dogs with them. He was alone, and would have to stay that way until the ship returned in 1917. Time dragged on.

“Every morning, he dragged himself up a hill looking out to sea for the ship that would save him, but the days went on and on and no sign of any ship. When September came he knew no ship could come now. The thought of being left alone was not his only worry. All his food was gone: every tin had been used up, and worst of all, tobacco was finished too, but he gathered some weeds, dried them, and used that for smoking. Another long year with nothing to do.

“Came 1918, months still dragging, but still hope and faith. The ship was sure to come this year…. Summer, 1918, and once again that weary climb to the hills for the look-out for the ship that could not make its way through heavy ice. Weeks dragged on, days grew shorter, and hope died once again — another winter of darkness, cold, and hunger and loneliness. The few books he had with him had been read over many times, his playing cards were worn and could hardly be recognised — the numbers were worn off, he had played patience so often with them.”

In the summer of 1918, Capt. Murray of the Albert had made a valiant attempt to reach Button Point with supplies for the unfortunate Florence, but ice conditions in Davis Strait turned him back.

Fortunately, Murray was able to make contact with some Inuit along the coast and gave them a parcel and letters to deliver to Florence when they had a chance. It was spring of the following year before they made the delivery. Looking out over the ice one day, Florence saw a group of Inuit making toward his hut.

When he was finally back home in Peterhead, he told his daughter about it, and so her account continued:

“The parcels which had been packed with so much care had been opened by the Eskimos and most of the nice things eaten. All the tobacco was gone, but the little that was left was very welcome. Dozens of letters, photos and newspapers gave him something to read for a long time. He was then able to explain to the natives how he came by his accident and the reason for being alone. They soon sent on the glad news to other natives that the white man was still alive. They returned to work for him again.”

This was what Jamie Florence’s daughter believed. But the truth was somewhat different.

Florence’s story was a ruse. He had certainly spent three miserable years at Button Point, and the gunshot wound to the thigh is verified by Inuit accounts.

But the Inuit never abandoned him. They continued to trade sporadically at his post, and some lived there. Robert Janes, who was about his own age, even visited him occasionally when the two were on good terms, as did the much younger Wilfrid Caron.

But Jamie Florence had a secret, one he desperately wanted to keep from his wife and family back home in Peterhead. He had taken an Inuit mistress. She was Niqquq, a favourite of traders both before and after Florence’s time.

She was barren, and so Florence left no children behind in the Arctic. Inuit remember, however, that he liked children, and he and Niqquq temporarily adopted a young Inuit girl to live with them at Button Point. He treated the child just as if she were his own daughter.

The Albert finally reached Florence’s post in 1919, and he left the North for good.

Niqquq remained behind in northern Baffin Island. After the Hudson’s Bay Company opened a trading post in Pond Inlet in 1921, she found employment and companionship at the post.

She eventually married a trader and left with him for Labrador, and never returned.

Taissumani is an occasional column that recalls events of historical interest. Kenn Harper is a historian and writer who lived in the Arctic for more than 50 years. He is the author of “Minik: The New York Eskimo” and “Thou Shalt Do No Murder,” among other books. Feedback? Send your comments and questions to kennharper@hotmail.com.