North Pole Legacy

by S. Allen Counter

  Kali reiterated what Anaukaq had told me about Ahlikahsingwah’s relationship with Robert Peary. He said that his mother was already married to Peeahwahto when she first became involved with Peary in 1896, and that she worked as Peary’s personal maid or “laundress.” At the same time, Peary hired Peeahwahto as a hunter for his expedition, supplying him with a rifle and sending him away from the camp for extended periods. Peeahwahto and the other Eskimos were apparently aware that Peary was having sexual relations with Ahlikahsingwah. No one knows how Peeahwahto felt about this relationship, but many of the other Eskimos resented it.

  In 1900 Ahlikahsingwah gave birth to Peary’s first son, whom she named Anaukaq. Peary called the child “Sammy.” Little Anaukaq Peary later developed the nickname “Hammy” among the Eskimos, many of whom have difficulty pronouncing the “s” sound. According to Kali, his brother Hammy died at the age of twenty-seven after developing “a hole in his stomach,” most likely a perforated ulcer.

  In 1903 Ahlikahsingwah gave birth to a daughter name Ahveahkotoo, who is believed to have been fathered by Peeahwahto. She, too, died many years ago.

  Peeahwahto adopted Anaukaq-Hammy and Kali Peary and raised them as his own sons. He took them everywhere, especially on his long hunting trips across the great ice to the northern parts of Ellesmere Island, where game was abundant. He taught both boys to hunt and provide for themselves. If he had any ill feelings because they were fathered by another man, Peeahwahto never evinced this to Hammy or Kali. Peeahwahto died when Kali was about twelve years old. Ahlikahsingwah remarried, this time an Eskimo named Ulloriaq. At first Kali got along well with his new stepfather, but as time went on their relationship deteriorated, and, eventually, at age sixteen, Kali left home.

  Kali’s feelings about his real father, Robert Peary, were complicated. “I don’t have much feeling for him,” he told me. “But I have nothing against him. Peeuree did nothing for me when I was growing up. He did not help me or my mother in any way. It was my mother who meant everything to me. She raised me and looked after me like a good mother. Some of the Eskimo people used to call her a cheap woman because of her relationship with Peeuree. This kind of talk caused her great pain and sadness. I never thought anything was wrong with her. I loved my mother. But I was ashamed of the name-calling she had to endure after Peeuree abandoned us. The other children often teased me for being part kadoona (white-skinned). This used to hurt me. [But] my mother was very protective of me.”

  Not surprisingly, Kali never identified with the Danes or other white Europeans with whom he occasionally came in contact. Like Anaukaq, he thought of himself exclusively as an Eskimo. When our discussion turned to the conquest of the North Pole, a subject in which he professed little interest, Kali made it clear that his own hero in that saga was neither Peary nor Henson, but Ootah. “Without Ootah and the other Eskimos,” he said, “they never would have made it to the North Pole.”

  Kali’s regard for Ootah is shared by most Polar Eskimos, including the Hensons. Renown for his dogsled driving and hunting skills as well as for his bravery, Ootah was thirty-one years old when he accompanied Peary and Henson on the 1906 polar expedition that fell short of its goal by some 120 miles. Witnessing the dejection of the Americans, he promised that if they ever made another attempt, they could count on his participation. True to his word, he was there to greet Peary’s ship when it returned to Etah two years later.

  By all accounts Ootah was on particularly friendly terms with Matthew Henson, whom he seems to have genuinely liked and admired. Together the two men prepared for the final assault on the Pole, hunting game and setting up the advance camp that would serve as the launching point. Once the expedition was underway, Ootah joined Henson in breaking the trail. Even when some of the other Eskimos turned back out of fear of the “ice devil,” Ootah stayed

  Henson later reported that on April 3, 1909, three days before they reached the Pole, he was pushing his sled across a lane of moving ice when the ice slipped from beneath his feet, plunging him and his sled into the frigid water. Struggling frantically to pull himself out, but unable to grip the ice with his gloved hand, he had just about given up hope when Ootah grabbed him by the neck of his parka, pulled him to safety with one hand, and with the other hoisted the dogsled out of the water. He had saved Henson’s life as well as the sled carrying the expedition’s vital navigational and scientific equipment.

  As a tribute to Ootah’s contributions to Arctic exploration, the northernmost point of land in the world, an island just off the coast of northern Greenland, was recently named in his honor.

  Yet if Kali thought of himself first and foremost as an Eskimo, he was still curious about his American relatives. He knew that he had had an older half sister whom the Eskimos called Ahnighito (Snow-baby). The daughter of Robert Peary and his wife, Josephine, who accompanied her husband on one of his early expeditions, she was believed to be the first white child born in the Arctic. But she had been taken back to the United States long before Kali was born. Kali later learned that some of the American Peary family had visited the Cape York region of Greenland in 1932 to dedicate a monument to their father. According to some of the Eskimos who went to meet them, Ahnighito was among those present. Kali hoped that I could tell him more about the American Pearys, but unfortunately I knew little about them. I did tell him, however, of Anaukaq’s interest in meeting his American relatives and of my plans to assist him in achieving that goal.

  “When we were young men,” Kali remembered, “Anaukaq and I talked about going over there to find our fathers, but it was never possible for us to go. If cousin Anaukaq goes over there to visit his relatives and see Mahri-Pahluk’s grave, I would like to join him. I would like to meet my father’s other family.”

  I gave him my word that I would search for his American relatives as well and would see whether I could arrange for him to meet them.

  I stayed with Kali and his family for several weeks. During that time I became convinced that he was indeed “the second son of Ahlikahsingwah and Peeuree.” In part I was persuaded by a physical resemblance to Robert Peary and in part, by his own testimony and that of other older Eskimos in the area. But most of all, it was the way he talked more than the words he spoke that erased any lingering doubts: the sorrow that filled his eyes when he described his mother’s relationship with “Peeuree”; his insistence that he was not a kahdonah but an Eskimo; the longing he expressed to see his father’s grave and meet Peary’s “other” American family. Intuition may be an unreliable guide, but if this man was not the son of Robert Peary, it was clear that he had spent his entire lifetime believing he was.

  Before leaving Qeqertarsaaq, I tested Kali’s hearing as part of my audiological study. Like Anaukaq and other hunters I had examined, he too had a degenerative nerve-hearing loss caused by the repeated use of high-powered rifles. Otherwise, he was in excellent health.

  “Perhaps we could get the Greenlandic government to provide you with a hearing aid,” I suggested.

  “Oh, I hear what I want to hear,” he joked. “I would rather have them give me a good bottle of whiskey.”

  Kali was not a heavy drinker, but he enjoyed a glass of spirits now and then. Active and spry for his age, he was continually joking and telling stories. As I had with Anaukaq, I felt that with Kali I had made a new friend.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “Hallelujah!” / “Not interested”

  Determined to keep my promise to Anaukaq and Kali, I began my search for their American relatives as soon as I returned to the United States. I started by working my way through the telephone directories of New York City, Matthew Henson’s home for more than fifty years, and Charles County, Maryland, his birthplace. My efforts produced no leads, however, until several newspapers printed the story of my journey north.

  “Hallelujah! God bless you, son, for finding our relatives,” shouted Olive Henson Fulton, rushing forward to embrace me. “We never knew Uncle Matt had any children.”

&nb
sp; By now she was squeezing me with excitement. She gave me a big kiss on the cheek, and as she stood back to look at me I could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I can’t believe it,” she said again and again. “Uncle Matt has children in the Arctic.”

  Olive is a brown-skinned woman of sixty years with a round face, wavy white hair, and a warm, sincere demeanor. About five feet four inches tall and full-figured, she is the image of everyone’s favorite aunt. After reading about my discovery of Anaukaq and Kali in the Boston Globe, she had called my Harvard office and excitedly told me that her grandfather, David Henson, was Matthew Henson’s brother, and she, Matthew’s great-niece. She also said that she had photographs of her grandfather and her Uncle Matt, which she would be happy to show me. We arranged to meet at her home in the Roxbury community of Boston.

  Concerned about my ability to locate her house as well as for my safety in her neighborhood, Olive had come out to the corner to meet me. I spotted her from a distance, waving her arms above her head. She then led me to her first-floor apartment in a modest two-family house situated at the edge of a train track. We sat down in a small, quaintly furnished living room, surrounded by shelves of books that extended from floor to ceiling.

  After some small talk to get better acquainted, we began to review the history of the American Henson clan. We talked at length—at times laughing together, at times choking with emotion—and the more we talked the more convinced I became that I had indeed found a consanguineous relative of Matthew Henson. Olive showed me photographs of several family members, including her grandfather, David Henson, who bore a clear resemblance to Matthew at the same age. She explained that her grandfather had migrated to Boston from Maryland around the turn of the century. There he had married and raised five children, one of whom was her father, George.

  As a young girl, Olive had traveled with her family to New York on many occasions to visit with her great-uncle Matt. During these visits he would talk with his curious little niece about his trip to the North Pole, showing her photos, maps, and artifacts from the Arctic.

  “I felt so proud when I saw Uncle Matt,” she recalled. “He was always impeccably dressed and dignified, and he spoke so humbly of his achievements. Uncle Matt had a love for children, although he had no children with his wife Lucy. He would always give me a big hug, sit me on his knee, and tell stories about his life with the Eskimos in Greenland.

  “I remember that one time I couldn’t wait to return to my school in Boston to tell the other children about my great-uncle who had gone to the North Pole with Admiral Robert Peary. But when I told my classmates and teachers, no one believed me. In fact, one teacher scolded me and called me a liar in front of the class and sent me home from school. This crushed me. When my father came home I told him what had happened. He held me in his arms and said, ‘Don’t worry, dear. We know the truth. In our hearts, we can keep the truth even if they don’t want to know it.’ This memory has stuck with me throughout my life and made me determined to share with everyone the stories that Uncle Matt told me.”

  A clerk at a nearby Veterans Administration hospital, Olive had volunteered some of her off-duty time to work with youngsters from inner-city neighborhoods. Hoping to instill in them a sense of cultural pride, she taught them about their African-American heritage and the contributions made by black Americans in all walks of life. She taught them about Martin Luther King, Jr., about Malcolm X, and, of course, about her own great-uncle, Matthew Henson.

  Now, with my discovery of the existence of Anaukaq, a new chapter had been added to her great-uncle’s story. When I showed her photographs of Anaukaq and his family, Olive’s eyes welled with tears. “My goodness, Anaukaq looks just like Uncle Matt. Incredible!” she said. “I can still see him in some of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren as well. Are they okay? Do they have enough food and clothes and things?”

  “Well, they do not have many material things,” I replied, “but they are fine. They all have jobs as hunters to provide food for their families, and some have jobs with the Danish government.”

  “Can I do anything for them?” she asked. “I don’t have much but I could send them something, you know, to help them if they need it.”

  I told her I didn’t think that would be necessary, but that I would be returning to Greenland in a few months and would tell Anaukaq about her. I knew Anaukaq would be thrilled to know that I had found his cousin Olive.

  “Is there any way I can go up there with you?” she asked. “I don’t mind the rough travel if you get me there.”

  “That may be possible in the future,” I told her. “But first I would love to bring Anaukaq and Kali here. Both have told me that their lifelong dream has been to visit America to meet their relatives and see their fathers’ graves.”

  “Then please bring them,” Olive said. “They can stay right here with me. I can host a big family reunion with all of our relatives. They all want to meet our Eskimo relatives. There are about thirty-five of us here, and others you might find in other parts of the country. They can all come to Boston. We can invite the Peary family, too. I’ll cook some good American soul food for them: fried chicken, ham, sweet potatoes, cornbread, black-eyed peas, homemade ice cream—everything.”

  I laughed. “Did you know that they eat most of their food raw?”

  Olive paused, then said, “Well, I’ll prepare something raw on the side. But everybody likes soul food.”

  As we bade each other an emotional farewell, Olive began searching among her things for a gift to send Anaukaq. After considering several articles, she settled on a beautiful multicolored wool blanket that she had recently knitted.

  “Please tell Anaukaq that his cousin Olive wants him to have this,” she said.

  We also selected several family photographs for Anaukaq—one of Olive, one of her grandfather David, one of her father, and a few of other members of the American Henson clan. I knew that Anaukaq would love all these presents. I could imagine his reaction and could even hear his infectious laughter ringing out over the tiny village of Moriussaq.

  I had no idea which Peary family members were alive or where they lived, although I knew that Peary and his wife, Josephine, had had several children. Marie Ahnighito Peary, their eldest child, had gained early notoriety as the first white person born in northwest Greenland. The story of her birth in 1894 was later recounted in a popular book entitled Snowbaby, written by her mother. A second child, Francine, had died in infancy. Their third child, Robert E. Peary, Jr., was born in 1903.

  My search for Admiral Peary’s descendants began at his alma mater, Bowdoin College in Brunswick, Maine. Bowdoin is the home of the Peary-MacMillan Arctic Museum, which I had visited previously to collect photographs of Peary, Henson, and other members of their expeditionary teams. It was there that I learned that Marie Peary had married Edward Stafford and had two sons, Edward P. Stafford, Jr., and Peary Stafford.

  I decided to try to track down the Staffords, but, as it turned out, they contacted me first.

  “Are you Dr. Allen Counter?” the caller asked, identifying himself as “a member of the Peary-Stafford family.”

  “Yes, I am,” I replied. “I’m so glad you called. I have been trying to locate some of the American Pearys.” There was silence at the other end of the line. “Well, what do you think about the news of Kali?” I continued excitedly.

  “I have read articles about your work in the Arctic and your statements about the so-called offspring of Robert Peary,” he said in a cold, flat voice.

  I assured the caller that I had indeed “found a man and his family in Greenland who say they are the descendants of Admiral Robert E. Peary.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked accusingly.

  “I beg your pardon?” I said.

  “Why are you doing this?” he repeated. “Why are you bringing this out?”

  I explained that I simply wanted to share with members of the Peary and Henson families the fact that I had found two
families in northwest Greenland who had convinced me they are the descendants of Robert Peary in one case and of Matthew Henson in the other.

  “I thought that perhaps you might like to make contact with them,” I said somewhat uncomfortably. “Have I upset your family by revealing information about Kali? I mean, if I have, I have certainly not done so intentionally.”

  “Our family just wondered what your motives are for making this thing public,” he responded. “We are not pleased with all of this.”

  I reassured him that I meant no disrespect or harm to the family. When he indicated his desire to end the conversation, I asked him whether he thought that there were people in the American Peary family who might be willing to meet Kali, and if so, would he give me their names.

  “Not interested,” he said.

  Hoping to elicit some sign of compassion, I offered to send some photographs of Kali and his family and asked whether someone might be willing at least to write to them. “They are a very lovely family,” I said.

  The caller then told me that one member of the Peary-Stafford family had been designated as “our representative” to handle all public information on Robert Peary and his memorabilia. “I’ll give you his telephone number. You should call him,” he said. He gave me the number and said good-bye. Before he could hang up, I quickly asked him if we could discuss the matter again. I emphasized that it had been Kali’s lifelong dream to meet his American relatives.

  “I don’t know,” he said, politely but coolly. “I will call you if I think we should talk.”

  I never heard from him again.

  My first contact with the Peary family left me shaken and depressed. Amid all the excitement of my discovery, I had never considered the possibility that the Pearys might not welcome the news I was bringing them. Upon reflection, however, I came to realize that the Pearys’ mistrust was understandable, if not fully excusable. There was, to begin with, the issue of “legitimacy.” The Pearys were probably embarrassed by the fact that the admiral had fathered a child out of wedlock, perhaps believing that it tarnished his image and compromised his achievements. In addition, they might have suspected financial motives. Both Kali and Anaukaq were, technically speaking, Americans. Both were born on an American ship, the USS Roosevelt, to American fathers undertaking a mission in the service of their country. Robert E. Peary held the rank of commander in the U.S. Navy at the time, while Matthew Henson was officially listed as Peary’s “valet,” which was, in most cases, the highest naval rank then attainable by a black. Maybe, I thought, the Pearys suspected that Kali intended to lay claim to a share of the family inheritance or seek some other form of recompense. Although I couldn’t be certain that such fears underlay their rejection of Kali, I knew that neither Kali nor I had ever considered asking the Pearys for anything but a warm and friendly welcome. I just needed to convince the Peary family that this was the case.