unbounded, although, after all, the improvement in their circumstances
did not seem to be great, for the islet was not more than a hundred
yards in diameter, and appeared to be quite barren, with only a clump of
willows in its centre. Still, their recent danger had been so imminent
that the spot seemed quite a secure refuge by contrast.
The men of the party, after landing, were only just beginning to comment
on their prospects, when they saw the willows in the centre of the islet
part asunder, and a man of strange aspect and costume stood before them.
The stranger who had burst thus unexpectedly upon them like a visitant
from another world, bereaving them for a few minutes of speech and
motion, was evidently not a native of the land. His pale and somewhat
melancholy face, as well as parts of his costume, betokened him one who
had come from civilised lands; and Rooney's first thought was that he
must be a shipwrecked sailor like himself; but a second glance caused
him to reject the idea. The calm dignity of his carriage, the
intellectuality of his expression, and, withal, the look of gentle
humility in his manner, were not the usual characteristics of seamen in
those days. He also looked very haggard and worn, as if from severe
fatigue or illness.
A slight smile played for a moment on his lips as he observed the blank
amazement which his appearance had produced. Hastening forward he held
out his hand to Rooney whom he at once recognised as a man of civilised
lands.
"Let me congratulate you, friends, on your escape, for I can see that
you must have been in great jeopardy from which the Lord has delivered
you."
The stranger spoke in the Danish language, which was of course utterly
incomprehensible to the natives. Not so, however, to Red Rooney, who in
his seafaring life had frequently visited Copenhagen, Bergen, and
Christiania, and other Scandinavian ports, and had learned to speak
Danish at least fluently, if not very correctly. He at once replied, at
the same time returning the warm grasp of the stranger's hand--
"We have indeed just escaped from great danger, through the mercy of
God. But who are _you_, and how come you to be in such a lonely place,
and, if I do not greatly mistake, in a starving condition?"
"I am a missionary to the Eskimos," replied the stranger, "and have been
forced to take refuge here by stress of weather. But I am not
absolutely alone, as you seem to think. There are five natives with me,
and we have an oomiak up there in the bushes. They are now asleep under
it. For five days we have been detained here almost without food, by
the recent storm and the pack-ice. Now, thanks to my Father in heaven,
we shall be able to launch our little boat, and get away. In fact,
being the first of my party to awake this morning, I rose very quietly
so as not to disturb the poor people, who stand much in need of rest,
and I had come to look at the state of the ice when I unexpectedly
discovered you on the shore."
"Stay now, sir; not another word till you have broken your fast," said
Rooney, with kindly violence, as he hastily cut a large slice from his
piece of bear's meat. "Sit down on that stone, and eat it at once. A
fasting man should not talk."
"But my companions need food to the full as much as I do," objected the
missionary.
"Do as I bid ye, sir," returned Rooney, with decision. "You say they
are asleep. Well, sleep is as needful as food and sleeping men cannot
eat. When you have eaten we will go up and awake and feed them."
Thus urged, the poor man began to eat the raw meat with as much relish
as if it had been the finest venison cooked to a turn. Before
commencing, however, he clasped his hands, closed his eyes, and audibly
thanked God for the supply.
While he was thus engaged Red Rooney did not speak, but sat looking at
his new friend with profound interest. Perchance his interest would
have deepened had he known that the man was none other than the famous
Norwegian clergyman Hans Egede, the originator of the Danish mission to
Greenland, who founded the colony of Godhaab in the year 1721, about
twelve years before the commencement of the missions of the Moravian
Brethren to that land.
The surprise which our voyagers had received by the unexpected
appearance of the missionary was, however, as nothing, compared with the
surprise that was yet in store for them on that eventful day.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
DESCRIBES A MOST AMAZING SURPRISE, AND TREATS OF HANS EGEDE.
When the starving missionary had taken the edge off his appetite, he
closed the clasp-knife with which he had been eating.
"Now, my friend," he said, looking at Rooney, "I have eaten quite enough
to do me good in my present condition,--perhaps more than enough. You
know it is not safe for starving men to eat heartily. Besides, I am
anxious to give some food to the poor fellows who are with me. One of
them has met with a severe accident and is dying I fear. He does not
belong to my party, I found him on the mainland and brought him here
just before the storm burst on us, intending to take him on to Godhaab.
He stands more in need of food than sleep, I think."
"Come, then, we will go to him at once," said Rooney, tying up the
remains of Egede's breakfast. "How did he come by his accident?"
continued the sailor, as the party walked up towards the bushes.
"The girl who takes care of him--his daughter, I think--says he was
injured by a bear."
"If it is a case of broken bones, perhaps I may be of use to him," said
Rooney, "for I've had some experience in that way."
Egede shook his head, "I fear it is too late," he replied. "Besides,
his mind seems to give him more trouble even than his wasted frame. He
has come, he says, from the far north, and would certainly have perished
after his accident if it had not been for the care and kindness of the
women who are with him--especially the younger woman. See, there she
comes. Her father must have awakened, for she rests near him at night
and never leaves him in the morning till he wakes up."
The missionary was startled at that moment by a loud shout from his
companion. Next instant Angut rushed past him, and, catching the girl
in his arms, gave her a most fervent and lover-like embrace, to which
she seemed in no ways averse.
It soon became obvious to the missionary that a most unexpected and
pleasant meeting of friends was taking place; but the surprise expressed
on his grave visage had barely given place to a benignant smile of
sympathy, when a female shriek was heard, and Sigokow was seen running
towards her sister Kabelaw. These two did not leap into each other's
arms. The feelings of Eskimo females do not usually find vent in that
way; but they waltzed round each other, and grinned, and smoothed each
other's hair, and when Kabelaw observed that her sister had a huge black
eye and a yet unhealed cut across the bridge of her rather flat nose,
she clapped her hands, and went into fits of laughter, which helped her
somewhat to relieve her feelings.
The surprise and pleasure of this meeting was still at its height when
two shrill cries were heard. These were instantly followed by the
bursting of Pussi and Tumbler on the scene, the former of whom rushed
into the ready arms of Pussimek, while the latter plunged into the bosom
of Nuna. Ippegoo, unable to contain himself for joy, began an impromptu
and original waltz round his own mother.
Of course it was some time before the party calmed down sufficiently to
give or receive explanations. When this state, however, was arrived at,
a feeling of sadness was cast over, them all by the re-announcement of
the fact that Ujarak was certainly dying. He had been carried out of
the hole in the snow in which Egede and his party had taken refuge from
the storm, and laid on a dry spot among the bushes where he could enjoy
the sunshine, so that he became visible to his former friends the
instant they entered the cleared space where he lay.
Any feelings of revenge that may have lingered in the breast of Angut
were dissipated like a summer cloud when he saw the thin worn frame, and
the pale haggard countenance, of the poor wizard. He went forward at
once, and, kneeling beside him, took hold of one of his hands.
"You--you--forgive me, I _see_?" said Ujarak, anxiously.
"Yes, I forgive you," replied Angut, with fervour, for his heart was
touched at the sight of the once strong and self-reliant man, who in so
short a time had been reduced to such utter helplessness.
"I am glad--glad," continued Ujarak, "that you have come before I die.
I thank God for sending you. I have prayed for this."
"You thank God! you have prayed!" exclaimed Angut in surprise. "Is it
the Kablunets' God you thank and pray to?"
"Yes; Jesus--not only the Kablunets' God, but the God and Saviour of the
Innuit also--the Saviour of the whole world. I have found Him--or
rather, He has found _me_, the wicked angekok, since I came here."
The dying man turned a grateful look on Egede as he spoke.
"It is true," said the missionary, coming forward. "I believe that God,
who brings about all good things, sent me here, and sent this man here,
so that we should meet for the purpose of bringing about his salvation.
The Almighty is confined to no such plans, yet it pleases Him to work by
means, and often with poor tools."
Egede spoke now in the language of the Eskimos, having long before that
time learned to speak it sufficiently well to be understood.
"Angut," said Ujarak, after a few moments, "listen to me. I cannot live
long. Before I go, let me tell you that Nunaga is good--good--good!
She is true to you, and she has been very, very good to _me_. She
forgives me, though I meant to take her from you and from her home for
ever. But for her, I should have been left to die on the ice. She must
have had the Spirit of Jesus in her before she heard His name. Take
care of her, Angut. She will serve you well. Listen to her, and she
will teach you to be wise--"
He ceased abruptly. The energy with which he spoke proved to be the
last flare of the mysterious lamp of life. Next moment only the
worn-out tenement of the angekok lay before his people, for his spirit
had "returned to God who gave it."
The joy which had been so suddenly created by this unexpected union of
friends and kindred was damped, not only by the sad though happy death
of the wizard, but by the recurrence of the storm which had already
proved almost fatal to them all. The recent clearing up of the weather
was only a lull in the gale. Soon the sky overclouded again, snow began
to fall so thickly that they could not see more than a few yards in any
direction, and the wind drove them back into the hole or cave in the
snow out of which the short-lived sunshine had drawn them.
The body of Ujarak was buried under a heap of stones, for they had no
implements with which to dig a grave. Then Okiok and his party hastily
constructed a rude snow-hut to protect them from the storm. Here for
two more days and nights they were imprisoned, and much of that time
they passed in listening to the pleasant discourse of Hans Egede, as he
told the northern natives the wonderful story of redemption through
Jesus Christ, or recounted some of his own difficulties in getting out
to Greenland.
Few missionaries, we should imagine, have experienced or overcome
greater difficulties in getting to their field of labour than this same
earnest Norwegian, Hans Egede, though doubtless many may have equalled
him in their experience of dangers and difficulties after the fight
began.
Even after having made up his mind to go to Greenland out of pure desire
for the salvation of souls--for his knowledge of that inhospitable land
precluded the possibility of his having been _tempted_ to go to it from
any other motive--he had to spend over ten years of his life in
overcoming objections and obstructions to his starting.
At first his friends gave him credit for being mad, for people are
somewhat slow to believe in disinterested self-sacrifice; and the idea
of a clergyman with a comfortable living in Norway, who had, besides, a
wife and four small children, voluntarily resolving to go to a region in
which men could be barely said to live, merely for the purpose of
preaching Christ to uncivilised savages, seemed to them absurd. They
little knew the power of the missionary spirit, or rather, the power of
the Holy Spirit, by which some great men are actuated! But, after all,
if in the world's experience many men are found ready to take their
lives in their hands, and cheerfully go to the coldest, hottest, and
wildest regions of earth at the call of duty, or "glory," or gold, is it
strange that some men should be found willing to do the same thing for
the love of God and the souls of men?
Be this as it may, it is certain that the soul of good Hans Egede became
inflamed with a burning desire to go as a missionary to Greenland, and
from the time that the desire arose, he never ceased to pray and strive
towards the accomplishment of his purpose. His thoughts were first
turned in that direction by reading of Christian men from his own
country, who, centuries before, had gone to Greenland, established
colonies, been decimated by sickness, and then almost exterminated by
the natives--at least so it was thought, but all knowledge of them had
long been lost. A friend in Bergen who had made several voyages to
Greenland aroused Egede's pity for his lost countrymen, some of whom, it
was supposed, had sunk back into paganism for want of teachers. His
thoughts and his desires grew, and the first difficulty presented itself
in the form of a doubt as to whether it was allowable to forsake his
congregation. Besides, several near relations as well as wife and
children were dependent on him for sustenance, which increased the
initial difficulty.
But "where there's a will there's a way" is a proverb, the truth of
which Hans Egede very soon began to exemplify. Not least among this
good man's difficulties seemed to be his modesty, for he was troubled
with "extreme diffidence and the fear of being charged with
presumption."
At last, in the year 1710, he determined to make a humble proposal to
Bishop Randulph of Bergen, and to Bishop Krog of Drontheim, entreating
them to support at court his plans for the conversion of the
Greenlanders. Both bishops replied favourably; but when his friends saw
that he was in earnest, they set up vehement opposition to what they
styled his preposterous enterprise. Even his wife and family were at
first among his foes, so that the poor man was greatly perplexed, and
well-nigh gave up in despair. Happily, his wife at the time became
involved in a series of troubles and persecutions, which so affected her
that she left the enemy, and ever afterwards supported her husband
loyally, heart and soul.
That Egede regarded his wife's opposition as more formidable than that
of all the rest of his kith and kin put together, may be gathered from
the fact that he says, on her coming over, that his "joy was complete,"
and that he "believed every obstacle to have been vanquished." In the
strength of these feelings he immediately drew up a memorial to the
worthy College of Missions, and again entreated the help of the bishops
of Bergen and Drontheim. But bishops then, as now, were not to be
unduly hurried. They recommended patience till more favourable and
peaceful times!
Thus Egede's plans were postponed from year to year, for peaceful times
seemed very far off. Moreover, he was assailed with all kinds of
reproaches and misunderstandings as to motives, so that in the year 1715
he thought it necessary to draw up a vindication of his conduct
entitled, "A Scriptural and Rational Solution and Explanation of the
Difficulties and Objections raised against the Design of converting the
Heathen Greenlanders."
Then people tried to divert Egede from his purpose by picturing to him
the dangers of his enterprise; the miseries he must endure; the cruelty
of endangering the lives of his wife and children; and lastly, by
pointing out the madness of relinquishing a certain for an uncertain
livelihood. They even went so far as to insinuate that, under a cloak
of religious motive, he wished to "aggrandise his reputation;" but Egede
was heroically firm--some folk would say obstinate.
Wearied with delays, and having reason to believe that his memorial was
not properly supported, he resolved at last to go himself to the
fountain-head. Resigning his office in 1718, he went to Bergen, from
which port there had been in time past considerable trade with
Greenland. Here he received little or no encouragement, but the sudden
death at this time of King Charles the Twelfth, giving hopes of the
speedy restoration of peace, Egede thought it advisable to go to
Copenhagen and personally present his memorial to the College of
Missions. He did so, and received the encouraging answer that the King
would "consider his matter."
Kings have a wonderful capacity for taking time to "consider matters"--
sometimes to the extent of passing out of time altogether, and leaving
the consideration to successors. But the King on this occasion was true
to his word. He gave Egede a private audience, and in 1719 sent orders
to the magistrates of Bergen to collect all the opinions and information
that could be gathered in regard to the trade with Greenland and the
propriety of establishing a colony there, with a statement of the
privileges that might be desired by adventurers wishing to settle in the
new land. But, alas! no adventurers wished to settle there; the royal
efforts failed, and poor Egede was left to fall back on his own
exertions and private enterprise.
For another year this indefatigable man vainly importuned the King and
the College of Missions. At last he prevailed on a number of
sympathisers to hold a conference. These, under his persuasive powers,
subscribed forty pounds a-piece towards a mission fund. Egede set a
good example by giving sixty pounds. Then, by begging from the bishop
and people of Bergen, he raised the fund to about two thousand pounds.
With this sum he bought a ship, and called it the _Hope_. Two other
vessels were chartered and freighted--one for the whale fishery, the
other to take home news of the colony. The King, although unable to
start the enterprise, appointed Egede missionary to the colony with a
salary of sixty pounds a year, besides a present of a hundred pounds for
immediate expenses, and finally, on the 12th May 1721, the indomitable
Hans, with his heroic wife and four children, set sail for "Greenland's
icy mountains," after an unprecedented ten years' conflict.
Dangers and partial disasters greeted them on their arrival, in July, at
Baal's River, latitude 64 degrees, where they established the colony of
Godhaab.
It would require a volume to tell of Hans Egede's difficulties, doings,
and sufferings in the new land. Suffice it to say that they were
_tremendous_, and that he acted as the pioneer to the interesting
missions of the Moravian Brethren to the same neighbourhood.
Hans Egede had been several years at his post when the meeting already
described took place between him and the northern Eskimos.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
ESCAPE FROM PRESENT DANGER, AND A CURIOUS INSTANCE OF THE EFFECTS OF
GIN.
Although Nunaga, Kabelaw, and the children were now happily re-united to
friends and kindred, their dangers were by no means over, for a wide
space of ice-blocked sea separated the small island from the shores of
Greenland, and their supply of meat was not sufficient, even with
economy, to maintain the whole party for more than a couple of days.
In these circumstances they were much comforted, after the storm had
blown itself out, to find that the pack had been considerably loosened,
and that several lanes of open water extended through it in the
direction of the shore.
"There is a temporary settlement of natives not far from here, on the
mainland," said Egede, when he and some of the men were assembled on the
beach discussing their plans. "Although not very friendly, they would
nevertheless help us, I think, in this hour of need. They have been
demoralised by traders, and drawn away from the mission at Godhaab. But
how we are to get to the mainland it is difficult to see, unless God
mercifully clears away the ice."
"Why don't you ask your God to clear it away?" demanded Simek. "Have
you not told us that He answers prayer offered in the name of Jesus?"
Egede looked at his questioner in some surprise, mingled with pleasure,
for his experience had taught him that too many of the natives either
assented without thought to whatever he said, or listened with absolute
indifference, if not aversion--especially when he attempted to bring
truth home, or apply it personally.
"I am glad you ask the question, Simek," he replied, "because it gives
me the opportunity of telling you that I _have_ asked God, in the name
of Jesus, to bring us out of our present trouble, and also of explaining
that I never pray without adding the words `if it be Thy will'--for God
does not always answer prayer exactly in accordance with our request,
but according to His own wisdom; so that, if He were hereafter to say,
`Now, is not that better than you asked?' we would be obliged to reply,
`Yes, Lord, it is better.'"
As the expression on Simek's face showed that he was not quite
convinced, Egede added--
"Listen, Simek. I and my people were starving here. I prayed to God,
in Jesus' name, to send us deliverance. Did He not answer my prayer by
sending you and your party with food!"
"True," assented Simek.
"Listen again, Simek. Were you not in great danger when your oomiak and
kayaks were crushed in the ice?"
"Yes."
"Were you not in very great danger when you were imprisoned on the
iceberg--in danger of starvation, in danger of being crushed by its
disruption?"
"Yes."
"Well, now, if you had believed in the great and good Spirit at that
time, what would you have asked Him to do for you?"
"I would have asked Him to clear the sea of ice," replied the Eskimo
promptly, "and send us kayaks and oomiaks to take us on shore."
"And if He had answered you according to your prayer, you would have
said, no doubt, `That is well.'"
"Yes," answered Simek emphatically, and with a smile.
"But suppose," continued Egede, "that God had answered you by delivering
you in _another_ way--by keeping you on the berg; by making that berg,
as it were, into a great oomiak, and causing it to voyage as no oomiak
ever voyaged--causing it to plough through pack-ice as no ship made by
man ever ploughed; to go straight to an island to which no human power
could have brought you; and to have done it all in time to save your own
dear Pussi and all the rest of us from starvation--would you not have
said that God had answered your prayer in a way that was far better?"
While the missionary was speaking, profound gravity took the place of
the puzzled expression on the countenance of Simek and of the others who
were listening, for their intelligence was quite quick enough to
perceive the drift of his argument before it was finished.
"But," said Simek earnestly, "I did _not_ pray for this, yet I got it."
"True, the Good Spirit guided you, even though you did not pray,"
returned Egede. "Is not this a proof of His love? If He is so good to
thankless and careless children, what sure ground have we for trusting
that He will be good to those who love Him! What our Great Father wants
is that we should love and trust Him."
There was one man of the group whose lips were parted, and whose eyes
seemed to glitter as he listened. This was Angut. Much and deeply had
that intelligent Eskimo thought about the Great Spirit and the mysteries
around and within himself, but never till that moment did the curtain
seem to rise so decidedly from before his spiritual vision. Egede
observed the keen gaze, though he judged it wise to take no notice of it
at the time, but he did not fail to pray mentally that the good seed
might take root.
The attention of the party was called off the subject of discourse just
then by a further movement of the pack-ice.
"See, the lanes of open water widen," exclaimed Okiok eagerly, pointing
seaward.
"Perhaps," said Egede, "God intends to deliver us."
"Have you prayed to be delivered?" asked Angut quickly.
"Yes, I have."
"Suppose," continued the inquisitive Eskimo, "that God does _not_
deliver you, but leaves you here to die. Would _that_ be answering your
prayer?"