the Innuits get confused in mind beyond twenty, because they have only
ten fingers and ten toes to look at."
"Well now," continued Rooney, holding up his left hand, with the fingers
extended, "that's five."
Yes, Angut understood that well.
"Well, then," resumed Rooney, jotting down the figure 5, "there you have
it--five. Any boy at school could tell you what that is."
The Eskimo pondered deeply and stared. The other Eskimos did the same.
"But what," asked Okiok, "if a boy should say that it was six, and not
five?"
"Why, then we'd whack him, and he'd never say that again."
There was an explosion of laughter at this, for Eskimos are tender and
indulgent to their children, and seldom or never whack them.
It would be tedious to go further into this subject, or to describe the
ingenious methods by which the seaman sought to break up the fallow
ground of Angut's eminently receptive mind. Suffice it to say that
Rooney made the discovery that the possession of knowledge is one thing,
and the power to communicate it another and a very different thing.
Angut also came to the conclusion that, ignorant as he had thought
himself to be, his first talk with the Kablunet had proved him to be
immeasurably more ignorant than he had supposed.
The sailor marked the depression which was caused by this piece of
knowledge, and set himself good-naturedly to counteract the evil by
displaying his watch, at sight of which there was a wild exclamation of
surprise and delight from all except Angut, who, however deep his
feelings might be, always kept them bridled. The expansion of his
nostrils and glitter of his eyes, however, told their tale, though no
exclamation passed his lips.
Once or twice, when Rooney attempted to explain the use of the
instrument, the inquisitive man was almost irresistibly led to put some
leading questions as to the nature of Time; but whenever he observed
this tendency, the sailor, thinking that he had given him quite enough
of philosophy for one evening, adroitly turned him off the scent by
drawing particular attention to some other portion of the timepiece.
The watch and the knife, to which they reverted later on, kept the
lecturer and audience going till late in the evening, by which time our
sailor had completely won the hearts of the Eskimos, and they had all
become again so hungry that Okiok gave a hint to his wife to stir up the
lamp and prepare supper. Then, with a sigh of relief, they all allowed
their strained minds to relax, and the conversation took a more general
turn. It is but fair to add that, as the sailor had won the hearts of
the natives, so his heart had been effectually enthralled by them. For
Angut, in particular, Rooney felt that powerful attraction which is the
result of similar tastes, mutual sympathies, and diversity of character.
Rooney had a strong tendency to explain and teach; Angut a stronger
tendency to listen and learn. The former was impulsive and hasty; the
latter meditative and patient. Rooney was humorously disposed and
jovial, while his Eskimo friend, though by no means devoid of humour,
was naturally grave and sedate. Thus their dispositions formed a
pleasing contrast, and their tastes an agreeable harmony.
"What did you say was the name of your country?" asked Angut, during a
brief pause in the consumption of the meal.
"England," said Rooney.
"That was not the name you told me before."
"True; I suppose I said Ireland before, but the fact is, I can scarcely
claim it as my own, for you see my father was Irish and my mother was
Scotch. I was born in Wales, an' I've lived a good bit o' my life in
England. So you see I can't claim to be anything in particular."
As this was utterly incomprehensible to the Eskimo, he resumed his bit
of blubber without saying a word. After a brief silence, he looked at
the Kablunet again, and said--
"Have they houses in your land?"
"Houses? O yes; plenty of 'em--made of stone."
"Like the summer-houses of the Innuit, I suppose?" said Angut. "Are
they as big?"
Rooney laughed at this, and said, Yes; they were much bigger--as big as
the cliffs alongside.
"Huk!" exclaimed the Eskimos in various tones. Okiok's tone, indeed,
was one of doubt; but Angut did not doubt his new friend for a moment,
though his credulity was severely tested when the seaman told him that
one of the villages of his countrymen covered a space as big as they
could see--away to the very horizon, and beyond it.
"But, Angut," said Rooney, growing somewhat weary at last, "you've asked
me many questions; will you answer a few now?"
"I will answer."
"I have heard it said," began the sailor, "that Angut is a wise man--an
angekok--among his people, but that he denies the fact. Why does he
deny it?"
The Eskimo exchanged solemn glances with his host, then looked round the
circle, and said that some things could not be explained easily. He
would think first, and afterwards he would talk.
"That is well said," returned Rooney. "`Think well before you speak' is
a saying among my own people."
He remained silent for a few moments after that, and observed that Okiok
made a signal to his two boys. They rose immediately, and left the hut.
"Now," said Okiok, "Angut may speak. There are none but safe tongues
here. My boys are good, but their tongues wag too freely."
"Yes, they wag too freely," echoed Mrs Okiok, with a nod.
Thus freed from the danger of being misreported, Angut turned to the
seaman, and said--
"I deny that I am an angekok, because angekoks are deceivers. They
deceive foolish men and women. Some of them are wicked, and only
people-deceivers. They do not believe what they teach. Some of them
are self-deceivers. They are good enough men, and believe what they
teach, though it is false. These men puzzle me. I cannot understand
them."
The Eskimo became meditative at this point, as if his mind were running
on the abstract idea of self-delusion. Indeed he said as much. Rooney
admitted that it _was_ somewhat puzzling.
"I suppose," resumed the Eskimo, "that Kablunets never deceive
themselves or others; they are too wise. Is it so?"
"Well, now you put the question," said Rooney, "I rather fear that some
of us do, occasionally; an' there's not a few who have a decided
tendency to deceive others. And so that is the reason you won't be an
angekok, is it? Well, it does you credit. But what sort o' things do
they believe, in these northern regions, that you can't go in with?
Much the same, I fancy, that the southern Eskimos believe?"
"I know not what the southern Eskimos believe, for I have met them
seldom. But our angekoks believe in torngaks, familiar spirits, which
they say meet and talk with them. There is no torngak. It is a lie."
"But you believe in one great and good Spirit, don't you?" asked the
seaman, with a serious look.
"Yes; I believe in One," returned the Eskimo in a low voice, "One who
made me, and all things, and who _must_ be good."
"There are people in my land who deny that there is One, because they
never saw, or felt, or heard Him--so they say they cannot know," said
Rooney. Angut looked surprised.
"They must be fools," he said. "I see a sledge, and I know that some
man made it--for who ever heard of a sledge making itself? I see a
world, and I know that the Great Spirit made it, because a world cannot
make itself. The greatest Spirit must be One, because two greatests are
impossible, and He is good--because good is better than evil, and the
Greatest includes the Best."
The seaman stared, as well he might, while the Eskimo spoke these words,
gazing dreamily at the lamp-flame, as if he were communing with his own
spirit rather than with his companion. Evidently Okiok had a glimmering
of what he meant, for he looked pleased as well as solemn.
It might be tedious to continue the conversation. Leaving them
therefore to their profound discussions, we will turn to another and
very different social group.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
TREATS OF CROSS-PURPOSES AND DIFFICULTIES.
Partially concealed in a cavern at the base of a stupendous, almost
perpendicular, cliff, stood the wizard Ujarak and his pupil Ippegoo.
The former silently watched the latter as he fitted a slender spear, or
rather giant arrow, to a short handle, and prepared to discharge it at a
flock of sea-birds which were flying about in front of them within what
we would call easy gunshot.
The handle referred to acted as a short lever, by means of which the
spear could be launched not only with more precision but with much
greater force than if thrown simply by hand like a javelin.
"There, dart it now!" cried Ujarak, as a bird swept close to the cave's
mouth. "Boh! you are too slow. Here is another; quick! dart!"
Ippegoo let fly hastily, and missed.
"Poo! you are of no more use than the rotten ice of spring. There; try
again," said Ujarak, pointing to a flock of birds which came sweeping
towards them.
The crestfallen youth fitted another spear to the handle--for he carried
several--and launched it in desperation into the middle of the flock.
It ruffled the wings of one bird, and sent it screaming up the cliffs,
but brought down none.
"Boo!" exclaimed the wizard, varying the expression of his contempt.
"It is well that your mother has only a small family."
Ippegoo was accustomed to severe backhanders from his patron; he was not
offended, but smiled in a pathetic manner as he went out in silence to
pick up his weapons.
Just as he was returning, Arbalik, nephew to the jovial Simek, appeared
upon the scene, and joined them. The wizard appeared to be slightly
annoyed, but had completely dissembled his feelings when the young man
walked up.
"Have the hunters found no seals?" asked Ujarak.
"Yes, plenty," answered Arbalik cheerily, for he had a good deal of his
old uncle's spirit in him, "but you know variety is agreeable. Birds
are good at a feast. They enable you to go on eating when you can hold
no more seal or walrus blubber."
"That is true," returned the wizard, with a grave nod of appreciation.
"Show Ippegoo how to dart the spear. He is yet a baby!"
Arbalik laughed lightly as he let fly a spear with a jaunty, almost
careless, air, and transfixed a bird on the wing.
"Well done!" cried the wizard, with a burst of genuine admiration; "your
wife will never know hunger."
"Not after I get her," returned the youth, with a laugh, as he flung
another spear, and transfixed a second bird.
Ippegoo looked on with slightly envious but not malevolent feelings, for
he was a harmless lad.
"Try again," cried Arbalik, turning to him with a broad grin, as he
offered him one of his own spears.
Ippegoo took the weapon, launched it, and, to his own great surprise and
delight, sent it straight through the heart of a bird, which fell like a
stone.
A shout of pleasure burst from Arbalik, who was far too good a shot to
entertain mean feelings of jealousy at the success of others.
"It is the luck of the spear," said Ujarak, "not the skill of the
hunter."
This would have been an unkind cut to ordinary mortals, but it fell as
harmless on Ippegoo as water on the back of the eider-duck. A snub from
the wizard he took almost as a compliment, and the mere success of his
shot afforded him unbounded pleasure.
The good-natured Arbalik offered him another spear, but Ujarak
interposed.
"No; Ippegoo must come with me," he said. "I have work for him to do.
One who would be an angekok must leave bird-spearing to boys." Then
turning to Arbalik--"Did you not say that the hunters have found plenty
of game?"
"Yes, plenty."
"I told you so," said the wizard, using a phrase not unfamiliar to
civilised ears. "Remain here, and spear plenty of birds; or go where
you will."
Having thus graciously given the youth free permission to do as he
pleased--which Arbalik received with inward scorn, though outward
respect--he left the cave, followed meekly by his satellite.
After walking in silence till well out of earshot of the expert young
hunter, the wizard said in solemn tones--
"Ippegoo, I have work of more importance for you to do than spearing
birds--work that requires the wisdom of a young angekok."
All Ujarak's backhanders vanished before this confidential remark, and
the poor tool began to feel as if he were growing taller and broader
even as he walked.
"You know the hut of Okiok?" continued the wizard.
"Yes; under the ice-topped cliff."
"Well, Angut is there. I hate Angut!"
"So do I," said Ippegoo, with emphasis quite equal to that of his
master.
"And Nunaga is there," continued Ujarak. "I--I love Nunaga!"
"So do I," exclaimed Ippegoo fervently, but seeing by the wizard's
majestic frown that he had been precipitate, he took refuge in the hasty
explanation--"Of course I mean that--that--I love her because _you_ love
her. I do not love her for herself. If _you_ did not love her, I would
hate her. To me she is not of so much value as the snout of a seal."
The wizard seemed pacified, for his frown relaxed, and after a few
moments' thought he went on savagely--
"Angut also loves Nunaga."
"The madman! the insolent! the fool!" exclaimed Ippegoo; "what can he
expect but death?"
"Nothing else, and nothing less," growled the wizard, clenching his
teeth--"_if_ he gets her! But he shall never get her! I will stop
that; and that is why I ask you to listen--for you must be ready to act,
and in haste."
As Ippegoo began to entertain uncomfortable suspicions that the wizard
was about to use him as an instrument of vengeance, he made no response
whatever to the last remark.
"Now," continued his master, "you will go to the hut of Okiok. Enter it
hurriedly, and say to Nunaga that her father's grandmother, Kannoa, is
ill--ill in her mind--and will not rest till she comes to see her. Take
a small sledge that will only hold her and yourself; and if Okiok or
Angut offer to go with you, say that old Kannoa wants to see the girl
alone, that there is a spell upon her, that she is bewitched, and will
see no one else. They will trust you, for they know that your mind is
weak and your heart good."
"If my mind is weak," said Ippegoo somewhat sadly, "how can I ever
become an angekok?"
With much affectation of confidence, the wizard replied that there were
two kinds of men who were fit to be angekoks--men with weak minds and
warm hearts, or men with strong minds and cold hearts.
"And have you the strong mind?" asked Ippegoo.
"Yes, of course, very strong--and also the cold heart," replied Ujarak.
"But how can that be," returned the pupil, with a puzzled look, "when
your heart is warmed by Nunaga?"
"Because--because," rejoined the wizard slowly, with some hesitation and
a look of profound wisdom, "because men of strong mind do not love as
other men. They are quite different--so different that you cannot
understand them."
Ippegoo felt the reproof, and was silent.
"So, when you have got Nunaga on the sledge," resumed Ujarak, "you will
drive her towards the village; but you will turn off at the Cliff of
Seals, and drive at full speed to the spot where I speared the white
bear last moon. You know it?"
"Yes; near Walrus Bay?"
"Just so. There you will find me with two sledges. On one I will drive
Nunaga away to the far-south, where the Innuit who have much iron dwell.
On the other you will follow. We will live there for ever. They will
be glad to receive us."
"But--but--" said Ippegoo hesitatingly, and with some anxiety, for he
did not like to differ on any point from his master--"I cannot leave
my--my mother!"
"Why not?"
"I suppose it is because I love her. You know you told me that the weak
minds have warm hearts--and my mind must be very, very weak indeed, for
my heart is _very_ warm--quite hot--for my mother."
The wizard perceived that incipient rebellion was in the air, so, like a
wise man, a true angekok, he trimmed his sails accordingly.
"Bring your mother with you," he said abruptly.
"But she won't come."
"Command her to come."
"Command my _mother_!" exclaimed Ippegoo, in amazement.
Again the wizard was obliged to have recourse to his wisdom in order to
subdue this weak mind.
"Yes, of course," he replied; "tell your mother that your torngak--no,
you haven't got one yet--that Ujarak's torngak--told him in a vision
that a visit to the lands of the far-south would do her good, would
remove the pains that sometimes stiffen her joints, and the cough that
has troubled her so much. So you will incline her to obey. Go, tell
her to prepare for a journey; but say nothing more, except that I will
call for her soon, and take her on my sledge. Away!"
The peremptory tone of the last word decided the poor youth's wavering
mind. Without a word more he ran to the place where his dogs were
fastened, harnessed them to his sledge, and was soon driving furiously
back to the Eskimo village over the frozen sea, while the wizard
returned to the place where the hunters of his tribe were still busy
hauling in the carcases of seals and other game, which they had
succeeded in killing in considerable numbers.
Approaching one of the band of hunters, which was headed by the jovial
Simek, and had halted for the purpose of refreshment, Ujarak accosted
them with--
"Have the young men become impatient women, that they cannot wait to
have their food cooked?"
"Ha! _ha_!" laughed Simek, holding up a strip of raw and bloody seal's
flesh, with which he had already besmeared the region of his mouth and
nose; "Yes, we have become like women; we know what is good for us, and
take it when we need it, not caring much about the cooking. My young
men are hungry. Must they wait till the lamps are lighted before they
eat? Come, Ujarak, join us. Even an angekok may find a bit of good fat
seal worth swallowing. Did you not set them free? You deserve a bit!"
There was a spice of chaff as well as jollity in the big Eskimo's tone
and manner; but he was such a gushing fellow, and withal so powerful,
that the wizard deemed it wise not to take offence.
"It is not long since I fed," he replied, with a grim smile; "I have
other work on hand just now."
"I also have work--plenty of it; and I work best when stuffed full."
So saying, Simek put a full stop, as it were, to the sentence with a
mass of blubber, while the wizard went off, as he said, to consult his
torngak as to state affairs of importance.
Meanwhile Ippegoo went careering over the ice, plying his long-lashed
whip with the energy of a man who had pressing business on hand.
Arrived at the village, he sought his mother's hut. Kunelik, as his
mother was named, was seated therein, not exactly darning his socks, but
engaged in the Eskimo equivalent--mending his waterproof boots. These
were made of undressed sealskin, with soles of walrus hide; and the
pleasant-faced little woman was stitching together the sides of a rent
in the upper leather, using a fine sharp fish-bone as a needle and a
delicate shred of sinew as a thread, when her son entered.
"Mother," he said in a somewhat excited tone, as he sat down beside his
maternal parent, "I go to the hut of Okiok."
Kunelik bestowed an inquiring glance upon her boy.
"Ippe," she said, (for Eskimos sometimes use endearing abbreviations),
"has Nunaga turned you upside down?"
The lad protested fervently that his head was yet in its proper
position. "But," he added, "the mother of Oki--no, the grandmother of
Okiok--is sick--very sick--and I am to go and fetch the mother of--no, I
mean the daughter of--of Okiok, to see her, because--because--"
"Take time, Ippe," interrupted Kunelik; "I see that your head is down,
and your boots are in the air."
Again Ippegoo protested earnestly that he was in the reverse position,
and that Nunaga was no more to him than the snout of a seal; but he
protested in vain, for his pleasant little mother believed that she
understood the language of symptoms, and nodded her disbelief smilingly.
"But why do you say that Kannoa is very ill, Ippe?" she asked; "I have
just come from her hut where she was seemingly quite well. Moreover,
she has agreed to sup this very night with the mother of Arbalik, and
she could not do that if she was ill, for that means much stuffing,
because the mother of Arbalik has plenty of food and cooks it very
fast."
"Oh, but it is not Kannoa's body that is ill," said Ippegoo quickly; "it
is her mind that is ill--very ill; and nothing will make it better but a
sight of Nunaga. It was Ujarak that told me so; and you know, mother,
that whatever he says _must_ be true somehow, whether it be true or
not."
"Ujarak is a fool," said Kunelik quietly; "and you are another, my son."
We must again remind the reader here that the Eskimos are a simple as
well as straightforward folk. They say what they mean and mean what
they say, without the smallest intention of hurting each other's
feelings.
"And, mother," continued the son, scarce noticing her remark, "I want
you to prepare for a journey."
Kunelik looked surprised.
"Where to, my son?"
"It matters not just now. You shall know in time. Will you get ready?"
"No, my son, I won't."
"But Ujarak says you are to get ready."
"Still, my son, I won't."
"Mother!" exclaimed Ippegoo, with that look and tone which usually
follows the saying of something very wicked; but the pleasant little
woman went on with her work with an air of such calm good-natured
resolution that her son felt helpless.
"Then, mother, I know not what to do."
"What did he tell you to do?" asked Kunelik abruptly.
The youth gave as much of his conversation with the wizard as sufficed
to utterly perplex his mother's mind without enlightening it much. When
he had finished, or rather had come to an abrupt stop, she looked at him
calmly, and said--
"My son, whatever he told you to do, go and do it. Leave the rest to
me."
From infancy Ippegoo had rejoiced in his wise little mother's decisions.
To be saved the trouble of thinking; to have a straight and simple
course clearly pointed out to him, so that he should have nothing to do
but shut his eyes and walk therein--or, if need be, run--was the height
of Ippegoo's ambition--next to solid feeding. But be not hard on him,
good reader. Remember that he was an ignorant savage, and that you
could not expect him to be as absolutely and entirely free from this low
type of spirit as civilised people are!
Without another word, therefore, the youth leaped on to his sledge,
cracked his whip, and set off on his delicate mission. Poor lad!
disappointment was in store for him. But compensation was in store
also.
While he was galloping along under the ice-cliffs on the east side of a
great berg, not far from the end of his journey, Okiok, with his wife
and daughter on a sledge, chanced to be galloping with equal speed in
the opposite direction on the west side of the same berg. It was a
mighty berg--an ice-mountain of nearly half a mile in length--so that no
sound of cracking lash or yelping dogs passed from the one party to the
other. Thus when Ippegoo arrived at his destination he found his fair
bird flown. But he found a much more interesting personage in the
Kablunet, who had been left under the care of Angut and Ermigit. This
great sight effectually banished disappointment and every other feeling
from his breast.
He first caught a glimpse of the wonderful man when half-way through the
tunnel-lobby, and the sight rooted him to the spot, for Red Rooney had
just finished making a full-dress suit of clothes for little Tumbler,
and was in the act of fitting them on when the young Eskimo arrived.
That day Ermigit had managed to spear a huge raven. Rooney, being
something of a naturalist, had skinned it, and it was while little
Tumbler was gazing at him in open-eyed admiration that the thought
struck him--Tumbler being very small and the raven very large.
"Come," said he, seizing the child--with whom he was by that time on the
most intimate terms of affection--"Come, I'll dress you up."
Tumbler was naked at the moment, and willingly consented. A few
stitches with needle and thread, which the sailor always carried in his
pocket, soon converted the wings of the bird into sleeves, a button at
the chest formed the skin into a rude cut-away coat, the head, with the
beak in front, formed a convenient cap, and the tail hung most naturally
down behind. A better full-dress coat was never more quickly
manufactured.
Ermigit went into convulsions of laughter over it, and the sailor,
charmed with his work, kept up a running commentary in mingled English
and Eskimo.