grand explosion, and was unable for more. There was a disposition to
quiet laughter on the part of the audience, but the missionary checked
this by pointing to another man in the crowd and remarking--
"I think, friend, that you have something to say."
Thus invited, the man spoke at once, and with unexpected vigour. He was
a stupid-looking, heavy-faced man, but when roused, as he then was, his
face lighted up amazingly.
"We do not understand you," he said sternly. "Show us the God you
describe; then we will believe in Him and obey Him. You make Him too
high and incomprehensible. How can we know Him? Will He trouble
Himself about the like of us? Some of us have prayed to Him when we
were faint and hungry, but we got no answer. What you say of Him cannot
be true, or, if you know Him better than we do, why don't you pray for
us and procure for us plenty of food, good health, and a dry house?
That is all we want. As for our souls, they are healthy enough already.
You are of a different race from us. People in your country may have
diseased souls. Very likely they have. From the specimens we have seen
of them we are quite ready to believe that. For them a doctor of souls
may be necessary. Your heaven and your spiritual joys may be good
enough for you, but they would be very dull for us. We must have seals,
and fishes, and birds. Our souls can no more live without these than
our bodies. You say we shall not find any of these in your heaven; well
then, we do not want to go there; we will leave it to you and to the
worthless part of our own countrymen, but as for us, we prefer to go to
Torngarsuk, where we shall find more than we require of all things, and
enjoy them without trouble."
[See Note.]
With an energetic "humph!" or some such exclamation, this self-satisfied
philosopher sat down, and many of his countrymen expressed their
sympathy with his views by a decided "Huk!" but others remained silent
and puzzled.
And well they might, for in these few sentences the Eskimo had opened up
a number of the problems on which man, both civilised and savage, has
been exercising his brain unsuccessfully from the days of Adam and Eve
until now. No wonder that poor Hans Egede paused thoughtfully--and no
doubt prayerfully--for a few minutes ere he ventured a reply. He was
about to open his lips, when, to his astonishment, a tall strong man who
had been sitting near the outside circle of the audience close to the
robber chief Grimlek started to his feet, and, in a tone that had in it
more of a demand than a request, asked permission to speak.
It was our friend Angut.
Before listening to his remarks, however, it behoves us to account for
his sudden appearance.
Having been led, as we have said, far out of their way by the detour
they were compelled to take, Red Rooney and his friends did not reach
the camp till some time after the meeting above described had begun. As
it was growing dusk at the time, they easily approached without being
observed--all the more that during the whole time of the meeting men and
women kept coming and going, according as they felt more or less
interested in the proceedings.
Great was the surprise of the three friends on arriving to find the band
of robbers sitting peacefully among the audience; but still greater
would have been their surprise had they known the murderous purpose
these had in view. Rooney, however, having had knowledge of men in many
savage lands, half guessed the true state of matters, and, touching his
two friends on the shoulders, beckoned to them to withdraw.
"Things look peaceful," he whispered when beyond the circle, "but there
is no peace in the hearts of cold-blooded murderers. What they have
done they will do again. `Quick' is the word. Let us gather a dozen
strong young men."
They had no difficulty in doing this. From among the youths who were
indifferent to the proceedings at the meeting they soon gathered twelve
of the strongest.
"Now, lads," said Rooney, after having briefly told them of the recent
massacre, "fifteen of these murderers are seated in that meeting. You
cannot fail to know them from our own people, for they are all
strangers. Let each one here creep into the meeting with a short spear,
choose his man, sit down beside him, and be ready when the signal is
given by Angut or me. But do not kill. You are young and strong.
Throw each man on his back, but do not kill unless he seems likely to
get the better of you. Hold them down, and wait for orders."
No more was said. Rooney felt that delay might be fatal. With the
promptitude of men accustomed to be led, the youths crept into the
circle of listeners, and seated themselves as desired. Rooney and Okiok
selected their men, like the rest. Angut chanced to place himself
beside Grimlek.
The chief cast a quick, suspicious glance on him as he sat down, but as
Angut immediately became intent on the discussion that was going on, and
as the robber himself had become interested in spite of himself, the
suspicion was allayed as quickly as roused.
These quiet proceedings took place just before the heavy-faced Eskimo
began the speech which we have detailed. Notwithstanding the serious--
it might be bloody--work which was presently to engage all his physical
energies, the spirit of Angut was deeply stirred by the string of
objections which the man had flung out so easily. Most of the points
touched on had often engaged his thoughtful mind, and he felt--as many
reasoning men have felt before and since--how easy it is for a fool to
state a string of objections in a few minutes, which it might take a
learned man several hours fully to answer and refute.
Oppressed, and, as it were, boiling over, with this feeling, Angut, as
we have said, started to his feet, to the no small alarm of the guilty
man at his side. But the chief's fears were dissipated when Angut
spoke.
"Foolish fellow!" he said, turning with a blazing gaze to the
heavy-faced man. "You talk like a child of what you do not understand.
You ask to see God, else you won't believe. You believe in your life,
don't you? Yet you have never seen it. You stab a bear, and let its
life out. You know when the life is there. You have let it out. You
know when it is gone. But you have not _seen_ it. Then why do you
believe in it? You do not see a sound, yet you believe in it. Do not
lift your stupid face; I know what you would say: you _hear_ the sound,
therefore it exists. A deaf man does not hear the sound. Does it
therefore not exist? That which produces the sound is there, though the
deaf man neither sees nor hears, nor feels nor tastes, nor smells it.
My friend, the man of God, says he thinks the cause of sound is motion
in the air passing from particle to particle, till the last particle
next my ear is moved, and then--I hear. Is there, then, no motion in
the air to cause sound because the deaf man does not hear?
"O stupid-face! You say that God does not answer prayer, because you
have asked and have not received. What would you think of your little
boy if he should say, `I asked a dead poisonous fish from my father the
other day, and he did not give it to me; therefore my father _never_
gives me what I want.' Would that be true? Every morning you awake
hungry, and you _wish_ for food; then you get up, and you find it. Is
not your wish a silent prayer? And is it not answered every day? Who
sends the seals, and fishes, and birds, even when we do _not_ ask with
our lips? Did these animals make themselves? Stupid-face! you say your
soul is healthy. Sometimes you are angry, sometimes discontented,
sometimes jealous, sometimes greedy. Is an angry, discontented,
jealous, greedy soul healthy? You know it is not. It is diseased, and
the disease of the soul is _sin_. This disease takes the bad forms I
have mentioned, and many other bad forms--one of which is _murder_."
Angut emphasised the last word and paused, but did not look at the
robber beside him, for he knew that the arrow would reach its mark.
Then he resumed--
"The Kablunet has brought to us the better knowledge of God. He tells
us that God's great purpose from the beginning of time has been to cure
our soul-disease. We deserve punishment for our sins: God sent His Son
and Equal, Jesus Christ, to bear our sins. We need deliverance from the
power of sin: God sent His Equal--the Spirit of Jesus--to cure us. I
believe it. I have felt that Great Spirit in my breast long before I
saw the Kablunets, and have asked the Great Spirit to send more light.
He has answered my prayer. I _have_ more light, and am satisfied."
Again Angut paused, while the Eskimos gazed at him in breathless
interest, and a strange thrill--almost of expectation--passed through
the assembly, while he continued in a low and solemn tone--
"Jesus," he said, "saves _from_ all sin. But,"--he turned his eyes here
full on Grimlek--"He does not save _in_ sin. Murder--foul and wicked
murder--has been done!"
Grimlek grew pale, but did not otherwise betray himself. Reference to
murder was no uncommon thing among his countrymen. He did not yet feel
sure that Angut referred to the deed which he had so recently
perpetrated.
"This day," continued Angut, "I saw a band of Kablunet sailors--"
He got no further than that, for Grimlek attempted to spring up. The
heavy hand of Angut, however, crushed him back instantly, and a
spear-point touched his throat.
"Down with the villains!" shouted Rooney, laying the grasp of a vice on
the neck of the man next to him, and hurling him to the ground.
In the twinkling of an eye the fifteen robbers were lying flat on their
backs, with fingers grasping their throats, knees compressing their
stomachs, and spear-points at their hearts; but no blood was shed. One
or two of the fiercest, indeed, struggled at first, but without avail--
for the intended victim of each robber was handy and ready to lend
assistance at the capture, as if in righteous retribution.
It was of course a startling incident to those who were not in the
secret. Every man sprang up and drew his knife, not knowing where a foe
might appear, but Rooney's strong voice quieted them.
"We're all safe enough, Mr Egede," he cried, as he bound Grimlek's
hands behind him with a cord. The Eskimos quickly performed the same
office for their respective prisoners, and then, setting them up in a
row, proceeded to talk over the massacre, and to discuss in their
presence the best method of getting rid of the murderers.
"I propose," said Okiok, whose naturally kind heart had been deeply
stirred by the cowardly massacre which he had witnessed, "I propose that
we should drown them."
"No; drowning is far too good. Let us spear them," said Kajo, who had
become sober by that time.
"That would not hurt them," cried a fierce Eskimo, smiting his knee with
his clenched fist. "We must cut off their ears and noses, poke out
their eyes, and then roast them alive--"
"Hush! hush!" cried Egede, stepping forward; "we must do nothing of the
kind. We must not act like devils. Have we not been talking of the
mercy of the Great Spirit? Let us be just, but let us temper justice
with mercy. Angut has not yet spoken; let us hear what he will
propose."
Considering the energy with which he had denounced the murders, and the
vigour with which he had captured Grimlek, Angut's proposal was somewhat
surprising.
"Kablunet," he said, turning to the missionary, "have you not told me
that in your Book of God it is written that men should do to other men
what they wish other men to do to them?"
"Truly, that is so," answered Egede.
"If I were very wicked," continued Angut, "and had done many evil deeds,
I should like to be forgiven and set free; therefore, let us forgive
these men, and set them free."
We know not with what feelings the robbers listened to the inhuman
proposals that were at first made as to their fate, but certain it is
that after Angut had spoken there was a visible improvement in the
expression of their faces.
Considerable astonishment and dissatisfaction were expressed by the
majority of the Eskimos. Even Egede, much though he delighted in the
spirit which dictated it, could not quite see his way to so simple and
direct an application of the golden rule in the case of men who had so
recently been caught red-handed in a cold-blooded murder. While he was
still hesitating as to his reply to this humane proposal, an event
occurred which rendered all their discussion unnecessary.
We have said that fifteen robbers had been captured; but there were
sixteen who had entered the camp and joined the meeting. One of these
had, without particular motive, seated himself on the outskirt of the
circle under the shadow of a bush, which shadow had grown darker as the
twilight deepened. Thus it came to pass that he had been overlooked,
and, when the melee took place, he quietly retreated into the
brush-wood. He was a brave man, however, although a robber, and scorned
to forsake his comrades in their distress. While the discussion above
described was going on, he crept stealthily towards the place where the
captives had been ranged.
This he did the more easily that they sat on the summit of a bank or
mound which sloped behind them into the bushes. Thus he was able to
pass in a serpentine fashion behind them all without being seen, and, as
he did so, to cut the bonds of each. Their knives had been removed,
else, being desperate villains, they might now have attacked their
captors. As it was, when the cords of all had been cut, they rose up
with a mingled yell of laughter and triumph and dashed into the bushes.
The hunters were not slow to follow, with brandished knives and spears,
but their chief called them back with a Stentorian roar, for well he
knew that his men might as well try to follow up a troop of squirrels as
pursue a band of reckless men in the rapidly increasing darkness, and
that there was nearly as much likelihood of their stabbing each other by
mistake in the dark, as of killing or catching their foes.
When the hunters had again re-assembled in front of their chief man's
house, they found new cause of anxiety which effectually put to flight
their annoyance at having been outwitted by the robbers.
This was the fact that, although night was coming on, the oomiak with
the women had not returned.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note. This is no fanciful speech. It is the substance of an actual
speech made by a Greenlander to the Moravian brethren in 1737.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.
A CAPTURE, FLIGHT, SURPRISE, AND RESCUE.
If true love is, according to the proverb, more distinctly proved to be
true by the extreme roughness of its course, then must the truth of the
love of Angut and Nunaga be held as proved beyond all question, for its
course was a very cataract from beginning to end.
Poor Nunaga, in the trusting simplicity of her nature, was strong in the
belief that, having been found and saved by Angut, there was no further
cause for anxiety. With an easy mind, therefore, she set herself to the
present duty of spearing cat fish with a prong.
It was fine healthy work, giving strength to the muscles, grace and
activity to the frame, at the same time that it stimulated the appetite
which the catfish were soon to appease.
"It grows late," said Pussimek, "and will be dark before we get back to
camp."
"Never mind; who cares?" said the independent Sigokow, who was fond of
"sport."
"But the men will be angry," suggested the mother of Ippegoo.
"Let them be angry--bo-o-o!" returned the reckless Kabelaw.
"Nunaga," said Nuna, looking eagerly over the side, "there goes
another--a big one; poke it."
Nunaga poked it, but missed, and only brought up a small flat-fish,
speared by accident.
Old Kannoa, who also gazed into the clear depths, was here observed to
smile benignantly, and wave one of her skinny arms, while with the other
she pointed downwards.
The sisters Kabelaw and Sigokow, each wielding a pronged stick,
responded to the signal, and were gazing down into the sea with uplifted
weapons when Pussimek uttered an exclamation of surprise and pointed to
the shore, where, on a bush, a small piece of what resembled scarlet
ribbon or a strip of cloth was seen waving in the wind.
"A beast!" exclaimed Pussimek, who had never before seen or heard of
scarlet ribbon.
"Saw you ever a beast so _very_ red?" said the wife of Okiok doubtfully.
"It is no beast," remarked the mother of Ippegoo; "it is only a bit of
sealskin dyed red."
"No sealskin ever fluttered like that," said the mother of Arbalik
sternly. "It is something new and beautiful that some one has lost. We
are lucky. Let us go and take it."
No one objecting to this, the oomiak was paddled towards the land.
Nunaga observed that the sisters Kabelaw and Sigokow were each eager to
spring ashore before the other and snatch the prize. Having a spice of
mischievous fun in her she resolved to be beforehand, and, being active
as a kitten, while the sisters were only what we may style lumberingly
vigorous, she succeeded.
Before the boat quite touched the gravel, she had sprung on shore, and
flew towards the coveted streamer. The sisters did not attempt to
follow. Knowing that it would be useless, they sat still and the other
women laughed.
At the success of his little device the robber-lieutenant of Grimlek
chuckled quietly, as he crouched behind that bush. When Nunaga laid her
hand on the gaudy bait he sprang up, grasped her round the waist, and
bore her off into the bushes. At the same moment the rest of the band
made a rush at the oomiak. With a yell in unison, the women shoved
off--only just in time, for the leading robber dashed into the sea
nearly up to the neck, and his outstretched hand was within a foot of
the gunwale when he received a smart rap over the knuckles from Sigokow.
Another moment, and the oomiak was beyond his reach.
Alas for old Kannoa! She had been seated on the gunwale of the craft,
and the vigorous push that set the others free had toppled her over
backwards into the sea. As this happened in shallow water, the poor old
creature had no difficulty in creeping on to the beach. The incident
would have tried the nerves of most old ladies, but Kannoa had no
nerves; and in regard to being wet--well, she was naturally tough and
accustomed to rough it.
The disappointed robber observed her, of course, on wading back to land,
but passed her with contemptuous indifference, as if she had been merely
an over-grown crab or lobster. But Kannoa determined not to be left to
die on the shore. She rose, squeezed the water out of her garments and
followed the robber, whom she soon found in the bushes with his
companions eagerly discussing their future plans. Nunaga was seated on
the ground with her face bowed on her knees. Kannoa went and sat down
beside her, patted her on the shoulder and began to comfort her.
"We must not stay here," said the leader of the band, merely casting a
look of indifference at the old creature. "The women who have escaped
will tell the men, and in a very short time we shall have them howling
on our track."
"Let us wait and fight them," said one of the men, fiercely.
"It would be great glory for a small band to fight a big one, no doubt,"
returned the leader in a sarcastic tone; "but it would be greater glory
for one man to do that alone--so you had better stay here and fight them
yourself."
A short laugh greeted this remark.
"It will be very dark to-night," said another man.
"Yes; too dark for our foes to follow us, but not too dark for us to
advance steadily, though slowly, into the mountains," returned the
leader. "When there, we shall be safe. Come, we will start at once."
"But what are we to do with the old woman?" asked one. "She cannot
walk."
"Leave her," said another.
"No; she will bring evil on us if we leave her," cried the fierce man.
"I am sure she is a witch. We must carry her with us, and when we come
to a convenient cliff, toss her into the sea."
In pursuance of this plan, the fierce robber tied the old woman up in a
bear-skin--made a bundle of her, in fact--and swung her on his back.
Fortunately, being rather deaf, Kannoa had not heard what was in store
for her; and as the position she occupied on the fierce man's broad back
was not uncomfortable, all things considered, she submitted with
characteristic patience. Poor, horrified Nunaga thought it best to let
her companion remain in ignorance of what was proposed, and cast about
in her mind the possibility of making her escape, and carrying the news
of her danger to the camp. If she could only get there and see Angut,
she was sure that all would go well, for Angut, she felt, could put
everything right--somehow.
In a short time the robbers were far away from the scene of their
consultation; and the darkness of the night, as predicted, became so
intense that it was quite impossible to advance further over the rough
ground without the risk of broken limbs, if not worse. A halt was
therefore called for rest, food, and consultation.
The spot on which they stood was the top of a little mound, with thick
shrubs on the land side, which clothed a steep, almost precipitous
descent. Just within these shrubs, as it were under the brow of the
hill, Nunaga observed a small natural rut or hollow. The other, or sea,
side of the mound, was quite free from underwood, and also very steep.
On the top there was a low ledge of rock, on which the fierce robber
laid his bundle down, while the others stood round and began to discuss
their circumstances. The leader, who had taken charge of Nunaga, and
held one of her hands during the journey, set the girl close in front of
him, to prevent the possibility of her attempting to escape, for he had
noted her activity and strength, and knew how easily she might elude him
if once free in the dark woods.
Although these woods were as black as Erebus, there was light enough to
enable them to distinguish the glimmer of the sea not far off, and a
tremendous cliff rising in solemn grandeur above it.
"Yonder is a good place to throw your witch over," remarked the leader
carelessly.
The fierce robber looked at the place.
"Yes," he said, "that might do; and the way to it is open enough to be
crossed, even at night, without much trouble."
At that moment a bright idea suddenly struck Nunaga.
Have you ever noticed, reader, how invariably "bright ideas" deal sudden
blows? This one struck Nunaga, as the saying goes, "all of a heap."
She happened to observe that the leader of the band was standing with
his heels close against the ledge of rock already mentioned. In an
instant she plunged at the robber's chest like a female thunderbolt.
Having no room to stagger back, of course the man was tripped up by the
ledge, and, tumbling headlong over it, went down the steep slope on the
other side with an indignant roar.
The rest of the robbers were taken by surprise, and so immensely tickled
with the humour of the thing that they burst into hearty laughter as
they watched the frantic efforts of their chief to arrest his career.
All at the same instant, however, seemed to recover their presence of
mind, for they looked round simultaneously with sudden gravity--and
found that Nunaga was gone!
With a wild shout, they sprang after her--down the slope, crashing
through the underwood, scattering right and left, and, in more than one
instance, tumbling head over heels. They were quickly joined by their
now furious leader; but they crashed, and tumbled, and searched in vain.
Nunaga had vanished as completely and almost as mysteriously as if she
had been a spirit.
The explanation is simple. She had merely dropped into the rut or
hollow under the brow of the hill; and there she lay, covered with
grasses and branches, listening to the growlings of indignation and
astonishment expressed by the men when they re-assembled on the top of
the mound to bewail their bad fortune.
"We've got the old witch, anyhow," growled the fierce robber, with a
scowl at the bundle which was lying perfectly still.
"Away, men," cried their leader, "and search the other side of the
mound. The young witch may have doubled on us like a rabbit, while we
were seeking towards the hills."
Obedient to the command, they all dispersed again--this time towards the
sea.