through. This brought them to a sudden halt. Next moment the sledge
went down, and Angut found himself struggling with the dogs in the sea.
Fortunately Rooney, being near the back part of the sledge, was able to
roll off in a sort of back-somersault before the vehicle was quite
submerged. Even in the act he did not forget Kannoa. He made a blind
grasp at her in passing, but found her not, for that remarkable woman,
at the first alarm, and being well aware of what was coming, had
sprawled off at the rear, and was already on the ice in safety.
The two now set to work to rescue Angut and the dogs. The former had
cut the latter free from the sledge, so that it was not difficult to
haul them out along with their master. For it must be remembered that,
although the thin ice had failed to bear the sledge, it was sufficiently
strong to support the individuals singly.
To get the sledge out of the water was, however, a matter of much
greater difficulty, but they accomplished it in the course of an hour or
so. The process of doing this helped to dry Angut's garments, which was
fortunate. It was also fortunate that the sharp spring frost, which had
set fast the space of open water, had by that time given way, so that
there was no fear of evil consequences from the ducking either to dogs
or man.
But now came the serious question, What was to be done?
"It is of no use trying it again," said Angut, in a frame of mind
amounting almost to despair.
"Could we not send Kannoa back with the sledge, and you and I make sail
after them on foot?" asked Rooney.
Angut shook his head despondingly.
"Of no use," he said; "they have the best dogs in our village. As well
might a rabbit pursue a deer. No; there is but one course. The
land-ice is impassable, but the floes out on the sea seem still to be
fast. If they break up while we are on them we shall be lost. Will
Ridroonee agree to take old Kannoa back to her friends, and I will go
forward with the sledge alone?"
"What say you, Kannoa?" asked Rooney, turning to the old woman with a
half-humorous look.
"Kannoa says she will live or die with Angut and Ridroonee," she replied
firmly.
"You're a trump!" exclaimed the seaman in English. Then, turning to the
Eskimo--
"You see, Angut, it's impossible to get rid of us, so up anchor, my boy,
and off we go seaward. The truth is, I ought to feel more in my element
when we get out to sea."
Seeing that they were resolved, Angut made no further objection, but,
directing the dogs' heads away from the land, flourished his long whip
over them, and set off at as break-neck a pace as before over the
seaward ice-floes.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
A TERRIBLE ENCOUNTER, DISASTROUS RESULTS, AND SINGULAR TERMINATION.
Let us return now to the wizard and his captives.
After travelling for several days at the utmost possible speed, the
guilty man began to feel at ease as regarded pursuit, and commenced to
advance at a more reasonable rate, giving the poor dogs time for
sufficient rest, and going out once or twice on the floes to procure
fresh supplies of seal-flesh for himself and his party.
The thaw which had by that time set steadily in had not broken up the
old ice to the southward, so that no more thin ice or open water was met
with. But although he had thus begun to take things more easily, Ujarak
did not by any means waste time. The wretched man was very morose, even
savage, insomuch that he would scarcely reply to the questions which
were timidly put to him at times by the women. It was evident that he
repented of his hasty flight, and no doubt was rendered desperate by the
reflection that the matter was by that time past remedy.
One morning, on rounding one of those bluff precipitous capes which jut
out from the western coast of Greenland into Baffin's Bay, they came
unexpectedly in sight of a band of Eskimos who were travelling
northwards.
Ujarak pulled up at once, and for some moments seemed uncertain what to
do. He had not yet been observed, so that there was a possibility of
turning aside, if he were so disposed, and hiding among the rugged
masses of ice which lined the bottom of the cliffs. Before he could
make up his mind, however, on the subject, a loud shout from the Eskimos
showed that he had been observed.
Turning sharply, and with a savage scowl, to the women, he said in a low
voice--
"If you say that I have run away with you, I will kill you and the
children."
A smile of contempt flickered on the face of Kabelaw at the moment.
Observing it, the wizard added--
"There will be no escape for _you_. Your death will be certain, for
even if these people were to kill me, and carry you back to the village,
my torngak would follow you and kill you."
He said no more, for he knew well that he had said enough.
At first sight of the Eskimo band, Kabelaw's heart had leaped for joy,
because she at once made up her mind to explain how matters stood, and
claim protection, which she had no doubt they would grant. But some
Eskimos, not less than many civilised people, are deeply imbued with
superstition, and the bare idea of an invisible torngak pursuing her to
the death--in the possibility of which she and Nunaga more or less
believed--was too much for her. In fear and trembling she made up her
mind to be silent, and submit to her fate. It need scarcely be added,
so did her more timid companion.
"Where do you come from?" asked the leader of the party when they met.
"From the far-away _there_," replied the wily wizard, pointing
northward. "I do not ask where _you_ come from."
"Why not?" demanded the leader, in some surprise.
"Because I know already," answered Ujarak, "that you come from the
far-away _there_," pointing southward; "and I know that, because I am an
angekok. You have come from a spot near to the land where the Kablunets
have settled, and you are bringing iron and other things to exchange
with my kinsmen for horns of the narwhal and tusks of the walrus."
Knowing as he did from rumour that Eskimos from the Moravian settlements
were in the habit of travelling northward for the purposes of barter,
(though they had not up to that time travelled so far north as his own
tribe), and observing bundles of hoop-iron on the sledges, it did not
require much penetration on the part of a quick mind like that of Ujarak
to guess whence the strangers had come, and what their object was.
Nevertheless, the leader and most of the party who had circled round the
wizard and his sledge, opened their eyes in amazement at this smart
statement of their affairs.
"My brother must indeed be a great angekok, for he seems to know all
things. But we did not come from _near_ the land where the Kablunets
have built their huts. We have come _from_ it," said the matter-of-fact
leader.
"Did I not say that?" returned Ujarak promptly.
"No; you said near it--whereas we came from it, from inside of itself."
"Inside of itself must be very near it, surely!" retorted the wizard,
with a grave look of appeal to those around him.
A laugh and nod of approval was the reply, for Eskimos appreciate even
the small end of a joke, however poor, and often allow it to sway their
judgment more powerfully than the best of reasoning--in which
characteristic do they not strongly resemble some people who ought to
know better? The matter-of-fact leader smiled grimly, and made no
further objection to the wizard's claim to correct intelligence.
"Now," continued Ujarak, for he felt the importance of at once taking
and keeping the upper hand, "my tribe is not far from here; but they are
going away on a hunting expedition, so you must lose no time, else they
will be gone before you arrive. They want iron very much. They have
horns and tusks in plenty. They will be glad to see you. My torngak
told me you were coming, so I came out a long way to meet you. I
brought my wives and children with me, because I want to visit the
Kablunets, and inquire about their new religion."
He paused for a moment or two, to let his tissue of lies have full
effect, but the very matter-of-fact leader took advantage of the pause
to ask how it was that if he, Ujarak, had been told by his torngak of
the coming of the trading party, he had failed to tell his tribe _not_
to go on a hunting expedition, but to await their arrival.
"Ha! ho!" exclaimed several of the Eskimos, turning a sharp gaze upon
the wizard, as much as to say, "There's a puzzler for you, angekok!"
But Ujarak, although pulled up for a moment, was not to be overturned
easily. "Torngaks," he said, "do not always reveal all they know at
once. If they did, angekoks would only have to listen to all they had
to tell on every subject, and there would be an end of it; they would
have no occasion to use their judgments at all. No; the torngaks tell
what they choose by degrees. Mine told me to leave my tribe, and visit
the Kablunets. On the way he told me more, but not _all_."
This explanation seemed quite satisfactory to some, but not to all of
them. Seeing this, the wizard hastened to turn their minds from the
subject by asking how far it was to the land of the Kablunets.
"Four suns' journey," replied the leader.
"It is the same to the village of my kindred," exclaimed Ujarak, getting
quickly on his sledge. "I must hasten on, and so must you. Time must
not be wasted."
With a flourish of his whip, he started his team at full speed,
scattering the Eskimos right and left, and scouring over the ice like
the wind.
For a moment or two the leader of the band thought of pursuit, but
seeing at a glance that none of his teams were equal to that of Ujarak,
and feeling, perhaps, that it might be dangerous to pursue an angekok,
he gave up the idea, and resumed his northward route.
For two days more the wizard continued his journey, encamping each night
at sunset, eating his supper apart, making his bed of bearskins in the
lee of a shrub or under the shelter of an overhanging cliff, and leaving
his captives to make themselves comfortable as best they could on the
sledge. This they did without difficulty, all of them being well
accustomed to rough it, and having plenty of bear and deerskins to keep
them warm. The dogs also contributed to this end by crowding round the
party, with deep humility of expression, as close as they were allowed
to come.
At the end of these two days an incident occurred which totally changed
the aspect of affairs.
On the morning of the third day they started with the dawn, and drove
steadily southward for a couple of hours. They had just traversed a
small bay, and were close to the high cape which formed its southern
extremity, when one of the bars of the sledge broke, rendering a halt
necessary. Breaking the gloomy silence which he had so long maintained,
the wizard spoke:
"Go," he said, "cook some food under the cliffs there. I will mend the
sledge."
The women replied, not by words, but by the more emphatic method of at
once obeying the order. Kabelaw seized and shouldered a large piece of
raw seal's flesh. Nunaga took up little Pussi with one hand, and the
materials for producing fire with the other, and followed her companion.
Tumbler brought up the rear, staggering under the weight of the
cooking-lamp.
They had only a couple of hundred yards to go. In a few minutes Kabelaw
was busy under the cliffs producing fire, in the usual Eskimo fashion
with two pieces of dry wood, while her friend set up the lamp and sliced
the meat. The children, inheriting as they did the sterling helpful
propensities of their parents, went actively about, interfering with
everything, in their earnest endeavours to assist.
"Isn't he strange?" remarked Kabelaw, glancing in the direction of
Ujarak, as she diligently twirled the fire-stick between her palms; "so
different from what he was."
"I think," said Nunaga, pouring oil into the lamp, "that he is sorry for
what he has done."
"No; him not sorry," said Tumbler, as he assisted Pussi to rise, for she
had tripped and fallen; "him not sorry--him sulky."
Kabelaw took no notice of this juvenile observation, but, blowing the
spark which she had at last evoked into a flame, expressed some doubt as
to Ujarak's repentance, and said she had never seen him in a state of
sorry-tude before. Whereupon Tumbler pertly rejoined that _he_ had
often seen him in a state of sulky-tude!
The damage to the sledge was slight. It was soon repaired, and the
wizard brought it round with him to the spot where breakfast was being
got ready.
This was the first time he had eaten with them since the flight began.
His manner, however, was not much changed. He was still silent and
gloomy, though once or twice he condescended to make a remark or two
about the weather.
When a man talks upon the weather, the ice is fairly broken--even in
Arctic regions--and from that well-nigh universal starting-point Ujarak
went on to make a few more remarks. He did so very sternly, however, as
though to protest against the idea that he was softening to the smallest
extent.
"Nunaga," he said, holding up a finger, "in two suns, or less, we shall
arrive at the land where the Kablunets have built houses and settled
down."
We may explain that the wizard here referred to the Moravians, who had
about that time sent out their first mission to Greenland. Of course he
knew nothing of the object those self-sacrificing men had in view in
thus establishing themselves in Greenland, only vague rumours having at
that time reached his distant tribe. All he knew was that they were
Kablunets, or foreigners, and that they had something mysterious to tell
about the God of the Kablunets.
Nunaga received Ujarak's information in silence, and waited for more.
"And now," he continued, "I want you to say when you arrive there that
you are my wife."
"But I am _not_ your wife," returned Nunaga gently, yet firmly.
The wizard frowned, then he glared fiercely, then he looked sad, then
there settled on his visage a sulky look which gradually faded away,
leaving nothing but a simple blank behind. After that he opened his
lips, and was about to speak, when Nunaga opened her pretty eyes to
their widest, also her pretty mouth, and gave vent to a tremendous
shriek, which, reverberating among the cliffs, caused all the creatures
around her, canine and human, to leap electrically to their feet.
To account for this we must take the reader round to the other side of
the cliff, at the foot of which the party sat enjoying their breakfast.
There, all ignorant of the human beings so near at hand, sauntered an
enormous Polar bear. It seated itself presently on its haunches, and
swayed itself gently to and fro, with its head on one side, as if
admiring the Arctic scenery. There was not much more than a space of
five hundred yards between the parties, but owing to the great
promontory which formed an effectual screen between them, and the fact
that the light air blew from the land to the sea, neither bear nor dogs
had scented each other.
It seemed as if Bruin had only just got out of bed, for his little eyes
blinked sleepily, his motions were exceedingly slow, and his yawns were
frequent as well as remonstrative in tone. Doubtless bears, like men,
dislike early rising!
Having gazed at the scenery long enough, and shaken off its lethargy to
some extent, the bear began probably to think of food. Then it arose,
sauntered round the promontory, and presented itself to the more than
astonished gaze of Nunaga, who was the only one that chanced to sit
facing in its direction.
The resulting shriek and its consequences seemed to have a petrifying
effect on the animal, for it stood stock still for some moments, and
simply gazed. This condition of things was instantly changed by three
of the dogs breaking their traces, and rushing wildly at the animal.
With two nimble pats of its great paws it sent two of the dogs into the
air, almost killing them, while the third it dismissed, yelling
hideously, with a bad tear in its flank.
Quick as thought, Ujarak set the other dogs free, and the whole pack ran
open-mouthed at their natural foe, but another dog being promptly sent
away howling, the rest were cowed, and confined themselves to barking
furiously round their powerful foe.
Apparently this was an old bear, confident perhaps in its strength, and
used, it might be, to dog-assaults, for it paid no further attention to
its canine opponents, but advanced with a very threatening aspect
towards the sledge.
It is pretty well-known that two Eskimo men of average strength and
courage are more than a snatch for the Polar bear, if armed with spears.
The mode of attack is simple. The two men separate. The one who
arranges to be the slayer of the animal advances on its left side; the
other on its right. Thus the victim's attention is distracted; it
becomes undecided which foe to attack first. The hunter on the right
settles the question by running in, and giving him a prick with the
spear. Turning in fury on this man, the bear exposes its left side to
the full force of a deadly thrust of the spear, which usually reaches
the heart, and finishes it. The chances, however, are very much in
favour of the bear when the man is alone. Hence, single hunters are not
fond of attacking a Polar bear, except when unusually strong and
courageous, as well as confident of their dexterity.
Now it happened that Ujarak, although strong and courageous enough, was
not over-confident of his dexterity. With a tried comrade, he would
readily have faced any bear in the Arctic regions, but on this occasion
he felt he had to depend entirely on himself.
Seizing a spear quickly, he looked at the approaching animal, and
glanced uneasily at Nunaga.
"If I am killed," he said, "you will have to defend the children."
There was a tone of pathos in the voice, which showed that no touch of
selfish fear influenced the man.
Hitherto the women and children had stood absolutely horror-struck and
helpless, but the vigorous nature of Kabelaw came to her aid.
"We will help you," she suddenly cried, catching up two spears, and
thrusting one into the hands of Nunaga; "two women may perhaps be equal
to one man."
The wizard smiled grimly in spite of circumstances at this heroic
action, but there was no time for reply, as the bear was already close
to them.
Poor, timid Nunaga, trembling from skin to marrow, had just courage
enough to grasp her spear and follow Kabelaw. The latter understood
well how to act. She had often seen her own kinsmen do the work that
was required of her. As for the two little ones, they continued
throughout to stand limp and motionless, with eyes and mouths wide-open.
Of course Kabelaw ran to the right, and Ujarak to the left of the foe.
Advancing, as in duty bound, a step or two ahead of her male friend, the
former proceeded to prick the bear; but when the monster rose on his
hind legs, and towered to a height of eight feet, if not more, her heart
failed her. Nevertheless, she made a gallant thrust, which might have
at least incommoded the animal had not the spear received a blow which
not only sent it spinning out of the woman's hand, but hurled poor
Kabelaw herself on the ice, a small lump of which cut open her temple,
and rendered her for the moment insensible. At the same instant the
wizard took prompt advantage of his opportunity, and delivered what
should have been the death-wound. But the very energy of the man foiled
him, for the spear entered too near the shoulder, and stuck upon the
bone.
The fall of Kabelaw had the peculiar effect of producing a gush of
desperation in the tender heart of Nunaga, which amounted, almost, to
courage. With a lively shriek she shut her eyes, rushed in on the bear,
and gave it a dab in the side, which actually sent her weapon into the
flesh about an inch deep, and there it stuck fast.
Feeling this new sting, the bear turned on her with a gasp of rage. She
looked up. The great paws were extended over her head. The dreadful
jaws were open. Letting go her weapon, Nunaga cast up her arms, shut
her eyes again, and sank shuddering on the ice. Down came the bear, but
at that critical moment an irresistible force effected what the united
party had failed to accomplish. The butt of Nunaga's spear chanced to
enter a crack in the ice, where it stuck fast, and the weight of the
descending animal sent the point through flesh, ribs, and heart, and out
at his backbone. The spear broke of course, but in breaking it turned
the monster on one side, and saved the poor girl from being smothered.
At the same moment Ujarak had made another desperate thrust, which,
unlike the former, entered deep, but being misdirected, did not touch a
vital part. In the violence of his effort the man fell, and the dying
bear rolled upon him, rendering him also insensible.
When poor little Nunaga, recovering from her state of
semi-consciousness, opened her eyes, and sat up, her first impression
was that the bear, the wizard, and Kabelaw lay around her dead.
Bad as the state of matters was, however, it was not quite so bad as
that. The poor girl's first act was to burst into a hysterical fit of
laughter--so wonderfully constituted are some female minds--and she
followed that up with an equally hysterical fit of weeping. But to do
her justice, the fits did not last above half a minute. Then she
suddenly stopped, dried her eyes, jumped up, and, pursing her lips and
knitting her brows, ran to her friend, whom she found just returning to
a state of consciousness.
"What has happened?" asked Kabelaw, in a dazed manner, as she looked at
the blood which flowed from her wound.
Nunaga did not answer, but ran to the bear, which was quite dead, and
began to drag it off Ujarak. With great difficulty, and by first
hauling at its neck and then at its tail, she managed to move it just
enough to set the man's head and chest free. The wizard, thus partially
relieved, soon began to show signs of returning life. In a few minutes
he was able to sit up and drag his right leg from under the bear, but he
was much exhausted, and only got it free after great exertion.
"Are you hurt?" asked Nunaga, in a tone of commiseration.
"Not much, I think. I--I am not sure. I feel as if I had been much
shaken, and my leg is painful. I hope," he added, feeling the limb with
both hands, "that it is not--"
He finished the sentence with a deep groan. But it was not a groan of
pain so much as of despair, for his leg, he found, was broken just above
the ankle.
It may perhaps require a little thought on the part of those who dwell
in civilised lands to understand fully all that this implied to the
Eskimo. If it did not absolutely mean death by exposure and starvation,
it at all events meant life under extremely uncomfortable conditions of
helplessness and pain; it meant being completely at the mercy of two
women whom he had grievously wronged; and it meant that, at the best, he
could not avoid ultimately falling into the hands of his angry and
outraged kinsmen. All this the wizard perceived at a glance--hence his
groan.
Now it may not be out of place to remark here that the qualities of
mercy, pity, forgiveness, etcetera, are not by any means confined to the
people of Christian lands. We believe that, as our Saviour "died for
the sins of the whole world," so the Spirit of Jesus is to be found
working righteousness among individuals of even the worst and most
savage nations of the earth. The extreme helplessness and pain to which
her enemy was reduced, instead of gratifying revenge in Nunaga, aroused
in her gentle breast feelings of the tenderest pity; and she not only
showed her sympathy in her looks and tones, but by her actions, for she
at once set to work to bind up the broken limb to the best of her
ability.
In this operation she was gleefully assisted by little Tumbler and
Pussi, who, having recovered from their horror when the bear fell dead,
seemed to think that all succeeding acts were part of a play got up for
their special amusement.
When the surgical work was done, Nunaga again turned her attention to
Kabelaw. She had indeed felt a little surprised that her friend seemed
to take no interest in the work in which she was engaged, and was still
more surprised when, on going up to her, she found her sitting in the
same position in which she had left her, and wearing the same stupid
half-stunned look on her face. A few words sufficed to reveal the
truth, and, to Nunaga's consternation, she found that her friend was
suffering from what is known among the civilised as concussion of the
brain.