try to escape. He will perhaps say that his torngak has told him to go
hunting to-morrow. But our customs require him to keep his word. My
fear is that he will sneak off in the night. He is a sly fox."
"I will stop that," said Rooney.
"How?"
"You shall see. Come with me to the hut of Ujarak."
On reaching the hut, they found its owner, as had been expected,
sharpening his spears, and making other arrangements for a hunting
expedition.
"When do you start?" asked Rooney.
"Immediately," replied the wizard.
"Of course _after_ the duel," remarked Angut quietly.
The wizard seemed annoyed.
"It is unfortunate," he said, with a vexed look. "My torngak has told
me of a place where a great number of seals have come. They may leave
soon, and it would be such a pity to lose them."
"That is true," said Angut; "but of course you cannot break our customs.
It would ruin your character."
"Of course, of course I will not break the custom," returned Ujarak
quickly; "unless, indeed, my torngak _orders_ me to go. But that is not
likely."
"I want to ask you," said Rooney, sitting down, "about that trip you had
last year to the land of the departed. They tell me you had a hard time
of it, Ujarak, and barely escaped with your life."
The sly seaman had spread a net with which the wizard could at all times
be easily caught. He had turned him on to a tune at which he was always
willing to work with the persistency of an organ-grinder. The wizard
went on hour after hour with unwearied zeal in his narrations, being
incited thereto by a judicious question now and then from the seaman,
when he betrayed any symptom of flagging. At last Angut, who had often
heard it before, could stand it no longer, and rose to depart. Having
already picked up the Kablunet's mode of salutation, he held out his
hand, and said "Goo'-nite."
"Good-night, friend," returned Rooney, grasping the proffered hand. "I
can't leave till I've heard the end of this most interesting story, so
I'll just sleep in Ujarak's hut, if he will allow me, and thus avoid
disturbing you by coming in late. Good-night."
"Goo'-nite," responded Angut, and vanished from the scene.
The wizard heaved a sigh. He perceived that his little plan of gliding
away in the hours of darkness was knocked on the head, so, like a true
philosopher, he resigned himself to the inevitable, and consoled himself
by plunging into intricacies of fabulous adventure with a fertility of
imagination which surprised even himself--so powerful is the influence
of a sympathetic listener.
When Ujarak at last discovered that his guest had fallen into a profound
slumber, he brought his amazing narrative to an abrupt close, and,
wrapping himself in a reindeer-skin, resigned himself to that repose
which was so much needed to fit him for the combat of the approaching
day.
It was a brilliant sunny morning when Red Rooney awoke from a startling
dream, in which he had been wrestling with monstrous creatures in the
depths of ocean as well as in the bowels of the earth.
The wizard was still locked in apparently dreamless slumber. Unwilling
to disturb him, the seaman glided quietly out, and clambered to the top
of a cliff, whence a magnificent sea-view was revealed to his wondering
gaze.
There are times when the atmosphere of this earth seems to be rarefied
and freshened with celestial zephyrs, which not only half intoxicate the
spirit, but intensify the powers of hearing and vision, so that gentle
sounds which are very far off come floating to us, and mingle softly
with those that are near at hand, while objects are seen at such immense
distances that one feels as if the world itself had suddenly grown
larger. To these influences were added on this occasion a sea which
absolutely glittered with the icy gems that decked her calm and waveless
bosom. It was not only that millions of white and glittering peaks,
with facets and edges gleaming like diamonds, rose into the blue sky,
but here and there open lanes of water, and elsewhere lakes and little
ponds upon the melting ice caught the full orb of the rising sun, and
sent its reflection into the man's eyes with dazzling refulgence, while
the ripple or rush of ice-born water-falls and the plaintive cries of
wild-fowl gave variety and animation to the scene. In a mind less
religiously disposed than that of our seaman, the sights and sounds
would have irresistibly aroused grateful thoughts to our Creator. On
Rooney the effect was almost overpowering, yet, strange to say, it drew
no word of thanksgiving from his lips. Clasping his hands and shutting
his eyes, he muttered with bowed head the words, "God, be merciful to me
a sinner!"
Perhaps the recognition of the Father's great goodness and
condescension, coupled with his own absolute unworthiness, and the
impulse which called those words forth, was nearly the highest act of
worship which the sailor could have offered.
Far below, under the sheltering cliff, the huts of the Eskimo village
could be seen like little black specks dotting the still snow-covered
land; and the voices of children could be heard in faint but merry
shouts and peals of laughter, as their owners, like still smaller
specks, romped about. One of those specks Rooney recognised, from its
intense blackness, to be his friend Tumbler, and a smaller and lighter
speck he guessed to be Pussi, from the circumstance of its persistently
following and keeping close to the raven-clad hero.
The pleased look with which Rooney at first regarded the children slowly
passed away, and was replaced by one of profound sadness; for how could
he escape dejection when he thought of a sweet Irish wife and little
ones, with a dear old grandmother, whom he had left in the old country,
and who must long before that time have given him up as dead?
His melancholy thoughts were dissipated by a sudden increase in the
shouting of the little ones. On regarding them attentively, he observed
that they scattered themselves in the direction of the several huts, and
disappeared therein.
Well did Rooney know that the movement meant breakfast, and having a
personal interest in that game, he left his perch and the glorious view,
and hastened down.
After breakfast the entire community went with one consent to witness
the singing combat. It was to take place on the ice near the scene of
the recent kick-ball game, close to the berg of the sea-green cave. The
people were much elated, for these savages were probably as much
influenced by brilliant spring weather as civilised folk are, though not
given to descant so much on their feelings. They were also in that
cheerful frame of mind which results from what they correctly referred
to as being stuffed; besides, much fun was expected from the contest.
Lest our readers should anticipate similar delight, we must repeat that
Eskimos are a simple folk, and easily pleased.
"Won't it be a tussle?" remarked Issek, who marched in the centre of a
group of women.
"It will, for Ujarak is tough. He is like a walrus," responded an
admirer of the wizard.
"Poo!" exclaimed the mother of Ippegoo contemptuously; "he can indeed
roar like the walrus, but he can do nothing else."
"Yes; and his strength goes for nothing," cried a sympathiser, "for it
is his brain, not his body, that has got to work."
"We shall see," said Kabelaw, whose sister remarked--"if we are not
blind."
This mild observation was meant for a touch of pleasantry. Little
touches of pleasantry often passed between these "lying sisters," as
they were called, and they not infrequently culminated in touches of
temper, which must have been the reverse of pleasant to either.
Arrived at the arena, a ring was formed, and the wisdom as well as
amiability of these poor people was shown by their putting the children
in front, the little women in the second row, the tall women in the
third, and the men behind.
In a few minutes Ujarak bounded into the centre of the circle, with a
small drum or tambourine in one hand, which he beat vigorously with the
other. Okiok followed more sedately, armed with a similar musical
instrument, and retired to one side of the arena, for the wizard,
perhaps because he was the challenger, had the right to begin.
A good authority on the Eskimo tongue says: "The language is not easily
translatable, the brevity and force of a single sentence requiring to be
rendered in many words of another tongue." The same authority also
informs us that angekoks "speak in a metaphorical style sometimes, in
order to exhibit their assumed superiority in learning and penetration."
It will not be expected, therefore, that our translation should convey
more than a general idea of the combat.
Ujarak's first act, after bounding into the ring and drumming, was to
glare at his adversary. Okiok returned the glare with interest, and,
being liberal, threw a sneer of contempt into the bargain. Ujarak then
glared round at the audience, and began his song, which consisted merely
of short periods, without rhyme or measure, but with a sort of rhythmic
musical cadence. He commenced with the chorus--"Amna ajah ajah hey!"
which was vociferously repeated by his supporters among the audience.
What these words, mean--whether they represent our "fal lal la" or
"runity iddity"--we have not been able to ascertain, but they came in at
irregular intervals, greatly to the satisfaction of the audience,
thus:--
"Amna ajah ajah hey!
There was once a man--a man
(So it is said, but we are not sure),
A puffin perhaps he was--or a stupid spirit
Made in the likeness of a man;
Amna ajah ajah hey!"
Here the wizard not only accompanied the chorus with the drum, but with
a species of dance, which, being a clumsy man, he performed in an
extremely elephantine manner. After a few moments he went on:--
"This man--this puffin--was a liar:
A liar, because he was a teller of lies.
Did he not one time say that seals had come,
And that birds were in the air?
And when we went to look, no seals or birds were there.
Amna ajah ajah Hey!"
The extreme vigour with which the last word was uttered resulted from
the wizard having tripped in his dance, and come down heavily on the
ice, to the immense delight of his opponents and the children. But
Ujarak rose, and quelling the laugh with a look of dignity, continued:--
"Worse than a liar was this foolish puffin.
He hunted badly. When he flung the spear
The seals would laugh before they went away.
Sometimes he missed, sometimes he tipped the nose,
Sometimes hit the wrong animal,
And sometimes touched the tail.
Amna ajah ajah hey!"
This verse was a hit, for Okiok was known to be but an indifferent
marksman with the throwing-spear; yet such was his industry and his
ability to approach very near to his prey, that he was the reverse of a
bad hunter. But men in all lands are prone to shut their eyes to the
good, and to open them very wide to the evil, that may be said of an
adversary. Consequently at this point the chorus was given with great
vigour by the wizard faction, and the wizard himself, having worked
himself into a breathless condition by the mental effort and the furious
dance, deemed it a fitting occasion to take his first rest.
The custom in those duels is for each combatant to devote a quarter of
an hour or so to the attack, and then make way for his opponent, who at
once steps forward and begins his counter-attack. After a short time he
in like manner gives way, and his foe returns. Thus they proceed until
one is exhausted or overwhelmed; and he who has the last word gains the
victory, after which the dispute is held as settled, and they frequently
become better friends than before.
There was something in the expression of Okiok as he stepped sedately
into the ring which gladdened his friends and distressed his opponents.
Unlike the wizard, he was well formed, and all his movements were
comparatively elegant, so that in his case the conventional bit of dance
at the end of periods was pleasant to the eye, while his peculiar
advantage of rhyming power rendered his performance grateful to the ear.
After a little drumming he began:--
"Why must I step within this ring,
To jump and dance, and drum and sing?
You all know well that Okiok
Was never made an angekok.
Amna ajah ajah hey!"
"Amna ajah ajah hey!" yelled the hunter's admirers, with enthusiasm.
"But Ujarak's the man of skill,
To kick or wrestle, sing or kill;
He bids me meet him here to-day.
Poor Okiok! he must obey.
My Torngak, come here, I say!
Thus loud I cried the other day--
`You always come to Ujarak;
Thou come to me, my Torngak!'
But he was deaf, and would not hear,
Although I roared it in his ear.
At last he said, `No, Okiok,
For you are not an angekok!'
Amna ajah ajah hey!"
Here the hunter, after a neat pirouette and tickling of the drum,
changed his tone to a soft insinuating whine:
"'Tis true I'm not an angekok;
I'm only hunter Okiok.
But Torngak, dear Torngak,
Don't go away. O do come back!
If you'll be mine, and stick to me
For evermore, I'll stick to thee.
And every single thing I do
I'll come and ask advice from you;
Consult you morning, noon, and night;
Consult you when I hunt or fight;
Consult you when I sing and roar;
Consult you when I sleep and snore;
Consult you more than Ujarak--
My Tor--Tor--Tor--Tor--Torngak!"
A roar of laughter and a stupendous "Amna ajah ajah hey!" greeted this
flight, while Okiok gravely touched his drum, and performed a few more
of his graceful evolutions.
"`No, no,' he said; `I'll never make
So gross and stupid a mistake.
One man there is who tried to do it--
He thinks the spirits never knew it--
He tried to make an angekok-stew
Out of a lad named Ippegoo!'"
Here another yell of delight was followed by the chorus, and Okiok was
about to resume, when a terrific rending sound seemed to paralyse every
one. Well did they know that sound. It was the rending of the solid
ice on which they stood. The advancing spring had so far weakened it
that a huge cake had broken off from the land-ice, and was now detached.
A shriek from some of the women drew attention to the fact that the
disruption of the mass had so disturbed the equilibrium of the
neighbouring berg that it was slowly toppling to its fall. A universal
stampede instantly took place, for the danger of being crushed by its
falling cliffs and pinnacles was very great. Everything but personal
safety was forgotten in the panic that ensued. Red Rooney was almost
swept off his legs in the rush. Women and children were overturned, but
fortunately not hurt. A very few minutes sufficed to take them all
clear of danger; but the succeeding crashes produced such an
inconceivable roar that the terrified villagers ran on until close to
the place where the ice had cracked off, and where a lane of water about
three feet wide presented itself.
Over this went men, women, and children at a flying leap--all except
poor little Pussi. That fat little thing would have been left behind
had not the mere force of the rush carried her on in a half running,
half rolling way. Being unable to manage the jump, she went in with a
plunge, and disappeared.
A wild scream from the nearest female caused every one to stop and run
back.
"Pussi!" exclaimed Nunaga, pointing wildly to the water.
"Where--where did she go in?" cried Rooney.
"She must have gone under the ice!" gasped the poor girl.
As she spoke a bubble of air rose to the surface. Next moment the
seaman cleft the cold black water and disappeared.
Then with a thrill of alarm the Eskimos observed that the great ice-cake
which had broken off was being driven shoreward by the rising tide, and
that the lane of water was rapidly closing.
But they were not kept long in suspense. Another moment, and Rooney
appeared with little Pussi in his arms. They were instantly seized by
Okiok and Angut, and dragged violently out--not much too soon, for only
a few seconds after they were rescued the ice closed with a grinding
crash, that served to increase the fervency of the "Thank God!" with
which the seaman hailed their deliverance.
The child was not quite insensible, though nearly so. Rooney seized her
in his arms, and ran as fast as he could towards the village, whither
the fleet-footed Ippegoo had already been sent to prepare skins and warm
food for the reception of rescued and rescuer.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
THE REBELLION OF THE WORM AND THE FALL OF THE WIZARD.
The event which had so suddenly interrupted the singing duel was a
matter of secret satisfaction to Ujarak, for he felt that he was no
match for Okiok, and although he had intended to fight the battle out to
the best of his ability, he knew that his ultimate defeat was so
probable that its abrupt termination before that event was a piece of
great good-fortune.
Still, his position was unsatisfactory, for, in addition to the fact
that his credit as a genuine angekok had been sadly shaken because of
Ippegoo's failure, he was well aware that the combat which had been
interrupted was only postponed. What was to be done in the
circumstances became, therefore, the urgent question of the hour. In
great perplexity he sought out his poor victim Ippegoo--with something
of the feeling, no doubt, that induces a drowning man to clutch at a
straw--and silently walked with him to a secluded spot near the
neighbouring cliffs.
"Ippegoo," he said, turning round abruptly; "it is certain that you will
never be an angekok."
"I don't want to be one," returned the simpleton quietly.
The wizard looked at him in surprise.
"What do you mean?" he asked sharply.
"I mean that if the torngak you were going to get for me is no better
than your own, he is a fool, and I would rather not have him."
This unexpected rebellion of the worm which he had so often twisted
round his finger was too much for Ujarak in his then irascible
condition. He flew into a violent rage, grasped the handle of his
knife, and glared fiercely at his pupil.
Ippegoo returned the look with a quiet smile.
This was perplexing. There are few things more trying to passionate men
than uncertainty as to how their bursts of anger will be received. As a
rule such men are merely actors. No doubt their rage may be genuine,
but the manner in which they will display their anger depends very much
on who are their witnesses, and what their opponents. Rage which fumes
at some trifling insult, and tears off the coat, resolved on fighting,
when a timid wife seeks to soothe, is likely to assume a very different
appearance and follow some other course of action when a prize-fighter
pulls the nose, and invites it to "do its worst."
If Ippegoo had winced, or stood on the defensive, or stepped back, or
shown the slightest sign of fear, it is probable that the strong and
lawless man would have stabbed him to the heart in the first impulse of
his anger, for the poor youth was well acquainted with all his secrets
and most of his bad intentions. But the motionless figure and the
smiling face not only surprised--it alarmed--Ujarak. It seemed so
unnatural. What powers of sudden onslaught might not lie hidden within
that calm exterior? what dynamitic capacities of swift explosion might
not underlie that fearless expression?
"Ippegoo," he said, stifling his anger with a painful effort, "are you
going to turn against your best friend?"
"My mother is my best friend," answered the youth stoutly.
"You are right; I made a mistake."
"Why does your torngak let you make so many mistakes?"
Again a rush of anger prompted the wizard to sacrifice his quondam
pupil, and once more the youth's imperturbable coolness overawed him.
Bad as he was, Ujarak could not kill a smiling victim.
"Ippegoo," said the wizard, suddenly changing his tone, and becoming
intensely earnest, "I see what is the matter. Angut and the Kablunet
have bewitched you. But now, I tell my torngak to enter into your
heart, and unbewitch you. Now, do you not feel that he has done it?"
The youth, still smiling, shook his head.
"I knew it," continued the wizard, purposely misunderstanding the sign.
"You are all right again. Once more I lay my commands on you. Listen.
I want you to go at once and tell Nunaga that _Angut_ wants to see her
alone."
"Who?" asked Ippegoo in surprise.
"Angut."
"What! your rival?"
"Yes; my rival. My torngak tells me that Angut wants to meet her--
alone, mind--out on the floes at Puffin Island this afternoon."
"Are--are you sure your torngak has made no mistake?" asked the youth,
with something of his old hesitancy.
"Quite sure," replied Ujarak sternly. "Now, will you give her my
message?"
"Angut's message, you mean."
"Yes, yes; I mean Angut's message," said the wizard impatiently.
"You'll be _sure_ to do what I tell you, won't you?"
"Quite sure," replied Ippegoo, the smile again overspreading his visage
as he turned and quitted the spot.
Half an hour later he entered Okiok's hut in quest of Nunaga, but only
her mother was there. She told him that the girl had gone off with a
sledge along the coast to Moss Bay to fetch a load of moss to stuff
between the logs of the hut where they required repairing, and that she
had taken Kabelaw as well as Tumbler and Pussi with her.
"That's good," said Ippegoo, "then she can't and won't go to Puffin
Island. I said I would tell her that Angut wants to meet her there
alone."
"Who told you to tell her that?" asked Nuna.
"A fool," answered Ippegoo, promptly.
"He must indeed have been a fool," returned Nuna, "for Angut has just
been helping Nunaga to harness the dogs, and he is now with my husband
in his own hut."
This information caused the messenger to shut his eyes, open his mouth,
and laugh silently, with evident enjoyment.
"I intended to deliver my message," he said, on recovering composure,
"for I promised to do so; and I also meant to tell Nunaga that the
message was a _big lie_."
At this amazing depth of slyness on his part, Ippegoo fell into another
hearty though inaudible laugh, after which he went off to communicate
his news to Okiok and Angut, but these worthies having gone out to visit
some snares and traps, no one knew whither, he was obliged to seek
counsel of Simek.
On hearing of the plot that seemed to be hatching, that jovial hunter at
once ordered his sledge to be got ready, and started off, with two
stalwart sons and his nephew Arbalik, for Moss Bay, to warn Nunaga of
her enemy's intentions, and to fetch her home. But alas! for even the
best laid of human plans.
It so happened that one of the Eskimo youths, who was rather inclined to
tease Nunaga, had set a snow-trap for Arctic foxes about two miles from
the village. As the spot was not much out of the way, the girl resolved
to turn aside and visit the trap, take out the fox, if one chanced to be
caught, and in any case set the trap off, or put a bit of stick into it
by way of fun. The spot chanced to be only a short distance beyond the
place where the wizard had met Ippegoo, but the sea-shore there was so
covered with hummocks of ice that Nunaga had approached without being
observed by either the wizard or the pupil. It was not more than a few
minutes after Ippegoo had left on his errand to herself that she came
suddenly in sight of Ujarak. He was seated, as if in contemplation, on
a rock at the base of the cliff.
Suspecting no evil, Nunaga stopped her team of dogs. It was her
father's best team, consisting of the swiftest and most enduring animals
in the village. The wizard observed this as he rose up and approached,
rejoicing to think that Fortune had favoured him. And truly Fortune--or
rather, God--was indeed favouring the wicked man at that time, though
not in the way that he imagined.
In a few moments Ujarak's plans were laid. The opportunity was too good
to be lost.
"Where goes Nunaga to-day?" he asked quietly, on reaching the sledge.
"To Moss Bay," answered Nunaga.
"Has Nunaga forgotten the road?" asked Ujarak, with a slight look of
surprise. "This is not the way to Moss Bay."
"It is not far out of the way," said Kabelaw, who was the more
self-assertive of the two lying sisters; "we go to visit a trap, and
have no time to waste with _you_."