the night before by one of the Eskimos, who was considered not only the
best hunter of the band to which he belonged, but one of the best
husbands and fathers. His name was Mangek. He was one of those who had
been well disposed towards the missionary, and in regard to whom much
hope had been entertained. But he had been treated to rum by the
traders, and having conceived an ardent desire for more, had managed to
obtain a keg of the mad water. Although kind and amiable by nature, his
temperament was sanguine and his nerves sensitively strung. A very
little of the rum excited him to extravagant exuberance of spirit, and a
large dose made him temporarily insane.
It was during one of these fits of insanity that Mangek had on the
previous night struck his wife, when she was trying to soothe him. The
blow would not in itself have killed her, but as she fell her head
struck on a stone, her skull was fractured, and she died in a few
minutes.
Indifferent to--indeed, ignorant of--what he had done, the Eskimo sat
beside the corpse all that night drinking. No one dared to go near him,
until he fell back helplessly drunk. Then they removed the body of his
wife.
It was bad enough to see this hitherto respected man mad with drink, but
it was ten times worse to see him next day mad with horror at what he
had done. For it was not merely that his wife was dead, but that,
although he had loved that wife with all his heart and soul, he had
killed her with his own hand. The wretched man had rushed about the
place shrieking all the morning, sometimes with horror and sometimes
with fury, until he was physically exhausted. Every one had kept
carefully out of his way. When our travellers arrived he was lying in
his hut groaning heavily; but no one knew what state he was in, for they
still feared to disturb him.
No such fear affected Hans Egede. Knowing that he could point to the
only remedy for sin and broken hearts, he went straight into the poor
man's hut. Shortly afterwards the groaning ceased, and the natives
listened with awe to what they knew was the voice of prayer. As they
could not, however, distinguish the words, they gradually drew off, and
circled round the strangers who had so unexpectedly arrived.
Great was their surprise when they found that their comrade Kajo had
been brought home as a prisoner; and still greater was their surprise
when they found that a bottle of rum which had been stolen from one of
their hunters, and carried off the day before, was found on the person
of Kajo--for Kajo had been, like Mangek, a respectable man up to that
date, and no one believed it possible that he would condescend to steal.
One of those who was himself under the influence of rum at the time
looked sternly at Kajo, and began to abuse him as a hypocrite and
deceiver.
"Now, look here," cried Red Rooney, stepping forward; "listen to me."
Having regard to his commanding look and tone, the natives considered
him the leader of the party, and listened with respect.
"What right have _you_," he continued, turning sharply on the last
speaker, "to look with contempt on Kajo? You have been drinking mad
water yourself. I smell it in your breath. If you were to take a
little more, you would be quite ready to commit murder."
"No, I would not," replied the Eskimo stoutly.
"Yes, you would," said the sailor, still more stoutly. "Even my
good-natured friend Okiok here would be ready to murder his wife Nuna if
he was full of mad water."
This unexpected statement took our kindly Eskimo so much by surprise
that for a moment or two he could not speak. Then he thundered forth--
"Never! What! kill Nuna? If I was stuffed with mad water from the toes
to the eyelids, I _could_ not kill Nuna."
At that moment an aged Eskimo pressed to the front. Tears were on his
wrinkled cheeks, as he said, in a quavering voice--
"Yes, you _could_, my son. The wife of Mangek was my dear child. No
man ever loved his wife better than Mangek loved my child. He would
have killed himself sooner than he would have killed her. But Mangek
did not kill her. It was the mad water that killed her. He did not
know what the mad water would do when he drank it. How could he? It is
the first time he has drunk it; he will _never_ drink it again. But
that will not bring back my child."
The old man tried to say more, but his lip trembled and his voice
failed. His head drooped, and, turning abruptly round, he mingled with
the crowd.
It was evident that the people were deeply moved by this speech.
Probably they had never before given the mad water much of their
thoughts, but now, after what had been said, and especially after the
awful event of the previous night, opinion on the subject was beginning
to form.
Red Rooney noted the fact, and was quick to take advantage of the
opportunity.
"My friends," he said, and the natives listened all the more eagerly
that he spoke their language so well, "when a cruel enemy comes to your
shore, and begins to kill, how do you act?"
"We drive him into the sea; kill--destroy him," shouted the men
promptly.
"Is not mad water a cruel enemy? Has he not already begun his deadly
work? Has he not killed one of your best women, and broken the heart of
one of your best men?"
"Huk! huk! Yes, that is true."
"Then who will fight him?" shouted Rooney.
There was a chorus of "I wills," and many of the men, running up to
their huts, returned, some with bottles, and some with kegs. Foremost
among them was the old father of the murdered woman. He stumbled, fell,
and his keg rolled to Rooney's feet.
Catching it up, the sailor raised it high above his head and dashed it
to splinters on the stones. With a shout of enthusiasm the Eskimos
followed his example with bottle and keg, and in another moment quite a
cataract of the vile spirit was flowing into the sea.
"That is well done," said Hans Egede, coming up at the moment. "You
know how to take the tide at the flood, Rooney."
"Nay, sir," returned the sailor; "God brought about all the
circumstances that raised the tide, and gave me power to see and act
when the tide was up. I claim to be naught but an instrument."
"I will not quarrel with you on that point," rejoined Egede;
"nevertheless, as an instrument, you did it well, and for that I thank
God who has granted to you what I have prayed and toiled for, without
success, for many a day. It is another illustration of prayer being
answered in a different and better way from what I had asked or
expected."
In this strange manner was originated, on the spur of the moment, an
effectual and comprehensive total abstinence movement. We are bound of
course to recognise the fact that it began in impulse, and was continued
from necessity--no more drink being obtainable there at that time.
Still, Egede and Rooney, as well as the better-disposed among the
Eskimos, rejoiced in the event, for it was an unquestionable blessing so
far as it went.
As the Eskimos had settled down on that spot for some weeks for the
purpose of hunting--which was their only method of procuring the
necessaries of life,--and as there was no pressing necessity for the
missionary or his friends proceeding just then to Godhaab, it was
resolved that they should all make a short stay at the place, to assist
the Eskimos in their work, as well as to recruit the health and strength
of those who had been enfeebled by recent hardship and starvation.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.
TELLS OF MEN WHOSE ACTIONS END IN SMOKE, AND OF OTHERS WHOSE PLOTS END
IN DEEDS OF DARKNESS.
This is a world of surprises. However long we may live, and however
much we may learn, the possibility of being surprised remains with us,
and our capacity for blazing astonishment is as great as when first,
with staggering gait, we escaped from the nursery into space and stood
irresolute, with the world before us where to choose.
These thoughts arise from the remembrance of Okiok as he stood one
morning open-mouthed, open-eyed, open-souled, and, figuratively,
petrified, gazing at something over a ledge of rock.
What that something was we must learn from Okiok himself, after he had
cautiously retired from the scene, and run breathlessly back towards the
Eskimo village, where the first man he met was Red Rooney.
"I--I've seen it," gasped the Eskimo, gripping the seaman's arm
convulsively.
"Seen what?"
"Seen a man--on fire; and he seems not to mind it!"
"On fire! A man! Surely not. You must be mistaken."
"No, I am quite sure," returned Okiok, with intense earnestness. "I saw
him with my two eyes, and smoke was coming out of him."
Rooney half-suspected what the Eskimo had seen, but there was just
enough of uncertainty to induce him to say, "Come, take me to him."
"Is the man alone?" he asked, as they hurried along.
"No; Ippegoo is with him, staring at him." They soon reached the ledge
of rock where Okiok had seen the "something," and, looking cautiously
over it, Rooney beheld his friend Kajo smoking a long clay pipe such as
Dutchmen are supposed to love. Ippegoo was watching him in a state of
ecstatic absorption.
Rooney drew back and indulged in a fit of stifled laughter for a minute,
but his companion was too much surprised even to smile.
"Is he doing that curious thing," asked Okiok in a low voice, "which you
once told me about--smookin' tibooko?"
"Yes; that's it," replied Rooney with a broad grin, "only you had better
say `smokin' tobacco' next time."
"`Smokkin' tibucco,'" repeated the Eskimo; "well, that _is_ funny. But
why does he spit it out? Does he not like it?"
"Of course he likes it. At least I suppose he does, by the expression
of his face."
There could be little doubt that Rooney was right. Kajo had evidently
got over the preliminary stages of incapacity and repugnance long ago,
and had acquired the power of enjoying that mild and partial
stupefaction--sometimes called "soothing influence"--which tobacco smoke
affords. His eyes blinked happily, like those of a cat in the sunshine;
his thickish lips protruded poutingly as they gripped the stem; and the
smoke was expelled slowly at each puff, as if he grudged losing a single
whiff of the full flavour.
Scarcely less interesting was the entranced gaze of Ippegoo.
Self-oblivion had been effectively achieved in that youth. A compound
of feelings--interest, surprise, philosophical inquiry, eager
expectancy, and mild alarm--played hide-and-seek with each other in his
bosom, and kept him observant and still.
"Why," asked Okiok, after gazing in silent admiration for a few minutes
over the ledge, "why does he not swallow it, if he likes it, and keep it
down?"
"It's hard to say," answered Rooney. "Perhaps he'd blow up or catch
fire if he were to try. It might be dangerous!"
"See," exclaimed Okiok, in an eager whisper; "he is going to let Ippegoo
taste it."
Rooney looked on with increased interest, for at that moment Kajo,
having had enough, offered the pipe to his friend, who accepted it with
the air of a man who half expected it to bite and put the end in his
mouth with diffidence. He was not successful with the first draw, for
instead of taking the smoke merely into his mouth he drew it straight
down his throat, and spent nearly five minutes thereafter in violent
coughing with tears running down his cheeks.
Kajo spent the same period in laughing, and then gravely and carefully
explained how the thing should be done.
Ippegoo was an apt scholar. Almost immediately he learned to puff, and
in a very short time was rolling thick white clouds from him like a
turret-gun in action. Evidently he was proud of his rapid attainments.
"Humph! That won't last long," murmured Rooney to his companion.
"Isn't it good?" said Kajo to Ippegoo.
"Ye-es. O yes. It's good; a-at least, I suppose it is," replied the
youth, with modesty.
A peculiar tinge of pallor overspread his face at that moment.
"What's wrong, Ippegoo?"
"I--I--feel f-funny."
"Never mind that," said Kajo. "It's always the way at first. When I
first tried it I--"
He was cut short by Ippegoo suddenly rising, dropping the pipe, clapping
one hand on his breast, the other on his mouth, and rushing into the
bushes where he disappeared like one of his own puffs of smoke. At the
same moment Rooney and Okiok appeared on the scene, laughing heartily.
"You rascal!" said Rooney to Kajo, on recovering his gravity; "you have
learned to drink, and you have learned to smoke, and, not satisfied with
that extent of depravity, you try to teach Ippegoo. You pitiful
creature! Are you not ashamed of yourself?"
Kajo looked sheepish, and admitted that he had some sensations of that
sort, but wasn't sure.
"Tell me," continued the seaman sternly, "before you tasted strong drink
or tobacco, did you want them?"
"No," replied Kajo.
"Are you in better health now that you've got them?"
"I--I _feel_ the better for them," replied Kajo.
"I did not ask what you _feel_," returned Rooney. "_Are_ you better now
than you were before? That's the question."
But Rooney never got a satisfactory answer to that question, and Kajo
continued to drink and smoke until, happily for himself, he had to quit
the settlements and proceed to the lands of thick-ribbed ice, where
nothing stronger than train oil and lamp-smoke were procurable.
As for poor Ippegoo, he did not show himself to his friends during the
remainder of that day. Being half an idiot, no one could prevail on him
thereafter to touch another pipe.
Now, while the Eskimos and our friends were engaged in hunting, and
holding an unwonted amount both of religious and philosophical
intercourse, a band of desperadoes was descending the valleys of the
interior of Greenland, with a view to plunder the Eskimos of the coast.
Hitherto we have written about comparatively well-behaved and genial
natives, but it must not be supposed that there were no villains of an
out-and-out character among those denizens of the north. It is true
there were not many--for the sparseness of the population, the
superabundance of game on land and sea, as well as the wealth of
unoccupied hunting-grounds, and the rigour of the climate, rendered
robbery and war quite unnecessary, as well as disagreeable. Still,
there were a few spirits of evil even there, to whom a quiet life seemed
an abomination, and for whom the violent acquisition of other men's
goods possessed a charm far transcending the practice of the peaceful
industries of life.
The band referred to was not remarkably strong in numbers--about thirty
or so; but these were sturdy and daring villains, led by a chief who
must have had some of the old Norse blood in his veins, he was so tall,
fair of complexion, and strong.
Descending first on the little settlement of Godhaab at night, this
robber band found that a Dutch trading-vessel had just arrived, the crew
of which, added to the settlers attracted from their hunting-grounds to
the village, formed a force which they dared not venture to attack
openly. Grimlek, the robber chief, therefore resolved to wait for a
better opportunity. Meanwhile, passing himself and band off as hunters,
he purchased a few things from the traders and then proceeded along the
coast, intending to hunt, as well as to wait till the vessel should
depart.
While the robbers were thus engaged, they came unexpectedly on another
trading-ship--a Dutchman--part of the crew of which had landed for some
purpose or other in their boat. On seeing the Eskimos, the Dutchmen got
quickly into their boat, and pushed off; but the robbers made signs of
peace to them, and, carrying their bows, arrows, and spears up to the
woods, left them there, returning to the shore as if unarmed, though in
reality they had retained their knives. Again they made signs, as if
they wished to trade with the Dutchmen.
Deceived by appearances, the sailors once more drew in to the shore.
While they were approaching, Grimlek called his men round him and gave a
few hasty directions. When the sailors had landed, the Eskimos mingled
with them, and began to offer sealskins for trade--each selecting a
particular man with whom to transact business. At a given signal they
drew their knives from under their coats, and each robber stabbed his
man to the heart. The men left in the ship, seeing what had occurred,
and that it was too late to attempt rescue, instantly filled her sails,
and went off to sea.
The villains having thus easily slain their victims, carried off the
booty found in the boat, and hid it in the bushes, to be taken away at a
convenient opportunity.
But this deed of darkness was not done unwitnessed. Early in the
morning of that day, various hunting parties had dispersed in different
directions--some to the hills, others to the sea. Among the latter was
an oomiak full of women who went along-shore to fish, and with whom were
old Kannoa, Nunaga, and others. They went in a northerly direction.
Rooney, Angut, and Okiok proceeded along the coast to the southward.
The direction taken by these last brought them near to the spot where
the Dutch sailors had landed, at the critical moment when the robbers
were mingling with their unsuspecting victims.
Although only three to thirty, it is certain that our heroes would have
sprung to the aid of the sailors if they had suspected what was about to
happen, but the deed was done so promptly that there was no time for
action. Fortunately Rooney and his companions had not shown themselves.
They were therefore able to draw back into the shelter of the bushes,
where they held a hasty council of war.
"We must run back to camp," said Rooney, "tell what we have seen, and
return with a band of men to punish the murderers."
"Agreed," said Okiok; "but how are we to do it? The shore is open. We
cannot take a step that way without being seen, and chased. We might
outrun them, though I don't feel quite as supple as I used to; but we
should barely arrive before them in time to warn the camp, and should
then be almost unfit to fight."
To this Angut replied that they could go inland over the hills, and so
come down on the camp in rear. It might not, he thought, add much to
the distance. This plan was quickly adopted and put in practice.
But there are few things more deceptive than formation and distance in
mountain lands. What seemed to the trio easy, proved to be tremendously
difficult; and the distance they had to travel in order to avoid
precipices and surmount ridges, gradually increased to many miles, so
that it was late, and twilight was deepening into night, before they
reached the camp.
Meanwhile the robbers were not idle. Although ignorant of the fact that
their bloody work had been observed, they were not long ignorant of the
near neighbourhood of the Eskimo camp. Early in the morning they had
sent two of their swiftest young men to spy out the land ahead. These
had discovered the camp, entered it, professing to be wandering hunters,
and had then returned to their friends with the news that many of the
men had gone away hunting, and would probably remain out all night; also
that an oomiak full of women had gone off to the southward to fish.
The runners, happening to descend to the coast on the opposite side of a
ridge from Rooney and his companions, just missed meeting them, and
returned to their comrades shortly after the massacre. Grimlek knew
that whatever course he should pursue must be prompt and decisive. He
at once divided his men into two bands, one of which he sent to pursue
and capture the women who had gone to fish; with the other, which he led
in person, he resolved either to storm the camp or take it by surprise,
as circumstances might point out.
By the straight way of the shore the distance was not great. In fact,
the camp might have been seen from the spot where the massacre had been
perpetrated, but for a high promontory which concealed it. On rounding
this promontory, the party detailed to pursue the women glided into the
bushes and disappeared. Grimlek, with the remaining men, advanced
straight and openly towards the camp. He saw, however, on drawing near,
that the number of men in it were more than a match for his small party,
and therefore approached with friendly demonstrations.
They were hospitably received by Hans Egede.
"My friends," he said, "you have arrived just as we are assembling to
talk about the things that concern our souls, the future life, and the
Good Spirit. Will you and your men sit down and listen?"
For a few moments Grimlek did not reply. Then he said, "You are not an
Eskimo?"
"No, I am a Kablunet," replied Egede; "I have been sent to tell the
Eskimos about the true God."
Again the robber chief was silent. Then he said that he would consult
with his men, and retired with them a short distance to do so.
"Nothing better could have happened," he said in a low tone. "The
Kablunet is going to talk to them about his God. All we have to do is
to mingle with them. Let each of you choose his man and sit down beside
him. When I give the signal, strike at once, and let no second blow be
needed."
A murmur of assent was all that the band returned to this speech, and
Grimlek, returning to the missionary, said that he and his men were
ready to hear.
In a few minutes each of the assassins was seated on the ground beside
his chosen victim.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
A STRANGE MEETING STRANGELY INTERRUPTED.
The meeting which had been thus strangely invaded was no ordinary prayer
or missionary meeting. It had been assembled by Egede for the express
purpose of affording some unbelievers among the Eskimos an opportunity
of stating their difficulties and objections in regard to the new
religion.
Interesting though its proceedings were, as showing the similarity of
the workings of the civilised and savage minds, we cannot afford space
to enter much into detail, yet some account of the matter seems
necessary in order to show what it was that induced the robber chief to
delay, though not to alter, his fell purpose.
After prayer offered by the missionary, that the Holy Spirit might
descend on and bless the discussion, a hymn was sung. It had been
translated into Eskimo, and taught to his converts by Egede. Then the
missionary made a brief but complete statement of the leading facts of
the good news of salvation to sinful man in Jesus Christ,--this, not
only to clear the way for what was to come, but for the purpose of
teaching the newcomers, so as to render them somewhat intelligent
listeners.
Then an old grey-haired man arose.
"I do not object to the new religion," he said, "but I am puzzled. You
tell me that God is everywhere and knows everything; why, then, did he
not go to our first mother, Eve, and warn her of her danger when the
Evil One tempted her in the form of a serpent?"
"My friend, the question you ask cannot be fully answered," said Egede.
"I can explain, however, that our first parents were put into the world
to be tried or tested in that way. To have warned Eve would have
rendered the test useless. Enough for us to know that she was told what
to do. Her duty was to obey. But let me ask _you_ a question: is not
sin--is not murder--hateful?"
Grimlek imagined that Egede looked him straight in the face as he asked
the question, and felt uneasy, but was by no means softened.
"Yes," answered the old man; "murder--sin--is hateful."
"Yet it certainly exists," continued Egede; "you cannot help believing
that?"
"Yes, I must admit that."
"Then why did God permit sin?"
Of course the old man could not reply, and the missionary pointed out
that some things were incomprehensible, and that that was one of them.
"But," he continued, "that is no reason why we should not talk of things
that _are_ comprehensible. Let us turn to these."
At this point a middle-aged man with a burly frame and resolute
expression started up, and said in an excited yet somewhat reckless
manner--
"I don't believe a word that you say. Everything exists as it was from
the beginning until now, and will continue the same to the end."
"Who told you that?" asked Egede, in a prompt yet quiet manner.
The man was silenced. He resumed his seat without answering.
"You have talked of the `end,' my friend," continued the missionary, in
the same quiet tone. "When is the end? and what will come after it? I
wait for enlightenment."