“THE FEAST OF THE OLD SEAL’S HEAD”
The igloo in which Joe and Harry were confined was unlighted except by
sundry chinks in the stones through which rays of light pierced the
gloom. These showed, as soon as their eyes had become accustomed to the
semi-darkness, the customary raised bench at one side covered with some
ancient deerskins for a couch, a stone blubber lamp, a stone fireplace in
the centre, where charred willow twigs showed that some one had once used
it, and nothing more. Yet so weary were the boys with their day’s toil
that they threw themselves on this questionable couch and soon slept the
sleep of utter fatigue. Some hours later they roused refreshed, and were
greeted by a cautious “’St! ’st!” from the blocked entrance. Stepping
quickly there, Joe, saw through an opening in the stones a good-natured
Eskimo face that lighted up with a smile at sight of him.
“Here,” it said in Eskimo. “Plenty eat. By and by have trouble.”
A fur-clad arm thrust what looked to be a bundle of grass through the
aperture in the stones, and the Eskimo hurried away. Joe opened this
bundle and found in it several small white fish, just warm from the fire
and cooked without salt, yet appetizing to the hungry boys, who made a
meal of them forthwith. Nevertheless, though it was evident that they had
a friend, his words were far from reassuring, and the boys speculated
much as to what was to happen to them. Through the chinks in their rough
stone prison they managed to see a good deal that was going on in the
little village, and it did not take them long to guess something of
its ways of life. It was evident that it was a highbinder stronghold,
and that a band of a dozen or so of these marauders lorded it over the
rest of the community, which seemed to consist of a dozen more Eskimos,
one or two men, but mainly women and boys and girls. They saw these
latter bring fish from the river and firewood from along its banks,
one or two women cooking, boys and girls doing menial service at the
bidding of the Ankuts, who stalked among them with airs of superiority
that were comical. Not so comical was their brutality to their youthful
slaves, whom they did not hesitate to strike or kick brutally at
little provocation. These seemed to be in a state of abject submission
to their oppressors, and the sight made the blood of the boys hot with
indignation, not unmixed with apprehension as to their own treatment
in the near future. They discussed the situation, and tried to make
plans for an escape, but it did not seem that this could be attempted
immediately. To get out of their stone prison would be an easy matter,
but once free, the chances of further escape from among the band of
well-armed men who surrounded them would be slight, indeed. They must
wait a more favorable opportunity, reserving the chances of a dash for a
last resort.
As they talked and watched, they heard low moans of pain that came from
a near-by igloo, and a wail of “Ah-nu-_nah_! Ah-nu-_nah_!” (Sick! Sick!)
This was repeated at intervals and seemed to grow louder. By and by a boy
issued from this igloo and went with seeming reluctance to another one
some distance away, whence he issued with one of the Ankuts. The two came
back to the first igloo, and the wizard took up his position in the open
space directly in front of it. This was in plain view of the boys, and
they watched further proceedings with much interest.
Soon the Eskimo boy appeared again, bringing a couple of white fox skins.
These he laid at the feet of the wizard, who regarded them contemptuously
for a moment and then spurned them with his foot. The boy retired again,
and after a longer time reappeared with several small ermine pelts. These
he added to the fox skins and waited. The wizard shook his head, but the
boy also shook his despondently, saying “Naume” (No more).
This seemed to satisfy the wizard that he was receiving all that he
could get in payment for his services, and he finally picked up the
pelts and laid them behind him. The boy reentered the igloo and came
out leading an old woman, whose wails of “Ah-nu-_nah_!” were louder as
they reached the spot where stood the wizard. She pressed both hands to
her head, as if that were in great pain, and crouched before the Ankut,
who was immediately transformed from an immobile and haughty personage
into a sort of wild skirt dancer. He whirled about the old woman in a
circle, and from his clothes somewhere appeared a couple of great knives
with which he juggled in an astonishing manner, tossing and catching
them deftly, and surrounding himself with a circle of flashing steel.
Harry gave an exclamation of astonishment at this. It was so little
like the clumsy and awkward manner of the every-day Eskimo. A crowd of
people had surrounded the group, and gazed with wonder and awe on this
performance, scattering like leaves in the wind when the dancing juggler
of knives swung too near them. The wizard soon began to howl and clap
his hands to his own head, still in some mysterious manner keeping the
knives whirling. The sick woman had forgotten her own pain in wonder
at this exhibition, and sat mute and open-mouthed. Suddenly the wizard
shouted, “Come out, spirit! Leave the woman’s head and come out!” He
whirled up to the side of the sick woman before she could recover from
her astonishment, slipped one of the knives out of sight again in his own
clothes and with the other made a slash that cut deep into her temple,
and pretended to draw something from the wound. This he held up in the
sight of the surrounding crowd.
It was a curious, brown, many-legged worm, such as are found in rotten
wood, and which no doubt infest the tundra moss, or might have been
obtained from driftwood from the sources of the Kukpowrak, which has its
rise far inland in the timber line. The crowd murmured with astonishment
at this, the wizard retired to his igloo with his fox and ermine pelts,
and only the boy remained, sitting in stolid grief beside the old woman,
who lay where she had dropped at the slash of the knife. It had cut
deeper than the wizard perhaps intended. Certainly he had cured her
headache, for she was dead.
The barbarous cruelties of the Ankuts, in their attempts to deal with
the sick, are beyond description, and the boys had seen only one of the
least, but they turned away, sick at heart, and willing to believe that
the little oasis in the midst of the barren wastes was anything but an
Eden to those who must live there under the cruel rule of the pretended
wizards.
It seemed, however, that they were soon to be released from their
confinement. When they again looked out, they saw that the body of the
old woman had been removed, and there was a considerable stir among the
inhabitants of the little village. In the open within the circle of
igloos sat the Ankuts, cross-legged, each with a rifle in his lap and
a big knife at his hand. About them, at a respectful distance, stood
the others of the community: two men, dejected and spiritless looking
chaps, among whom Joe thought he recognized his friend of the fishes,
three women, and six or seven boys and girls. All had the indifferent
and apathetic air of slaves, which they were. As they looked, the boys
saw two of the Ankuts approaching, and a moment after the stones which
blocked the entrance of their prison were removed and they were bidden to
come out. The two Ankuts marched them to the circle and stood by them.
Harry had a singular feeling of weakness in the knees in this march, a
wild desire to put out across the hills at top speed coupled with this
feeling that his legs might give way under him at any moment. Somehow
he had not feared these men before, but now things looked ominous. He
glanced at Joe, who was watching him narrowly. Joe walked erect and
defiant.
“Whatever you do,” said Joe, “don’t let them see that you are afraid of
them. Put on a bold front; it may help us.”
So Harry braced himself and tried to get the limp feeling out of his
knees, and hoped he succeeded in looking brave and cool. It was evident
that they were before a sort of self-constituted board of judges. The
evil-faced half-breed seemed to be the head of these, at once chief judge
and prosecuting attorney. He spoke somewhat at length, always referring
to Harry and Joe as “our white brothers.” He told of their interference
between the Eskimos at Icy Cape and the “ghost wolves of the Nunatak.”
Such interference with the Nunatak people, who were the fathers of
wizards, he explained, was deserving of punishment. He told how the two
had battled with the Ankuts in the snow igloo and outside, that night.
How they had driven them away with fire spirits, robbed them of their
bearskins, and otherwise ill-treated them. Such actions were deserving
of punishment. He told how one of their comrades had fallen before the
rifle of Harluk when the Ankuts had captured the two. For this also, he
argued, they were deserving of punishment. The slayer of the Ankut was
not there. Then these, his friends, must answer for his misdeed. This is
the barbarous idea of atonement the world over.
To all these statements the other Ankuts solemnly wagged their heads and
chorused: “It is so.” Especially were they vigorous in their wagging when
the half-breed said: “They are deserving of punishment.”
“And yet,” continued the half-breed with a malicious smile, “the white
men are our brothers. They, too, are wizards. They work with spirits of
fire, and they rob the Innuit, the people, even as we do.”
“It is not so,” broke in Joe fiercely. “We do not rob the people.
Instead, we trade with them, and give them good things in exchange. We
are the friends of the people, as you well know. We are truly their
brothers, as you call us in derision. But have a care. The white men are
very many. They are more than the grass in summer in number. They are
very wise, and can see far. Have a care how you punish us. The great
chief of the white men will know of it, and will send his thunder ships
to punish you, if you do us harm. If you do not set us free, there shall
be no more Ankuts among the tribes. The great white chief will see to
that.”
Thus spake Joe, indignantly and fearlessly. Harry thought him very
handsome as he stood erect and thus poured out defiance at his armed
enemies; but he could not help wondering what the effect would be and
whether such talk was wise. He was surprised to see the apparent change
in attitude of the Ankuts after it was made. They looked at one another
in silence. Then the half-breed spoke again.
“What my white brother says may be true. Yet the white chief is a long
way off, and the Ankuts are very near, if they choose to punish. Still, a
feast is better than a fight. What say you?” he said to the other Ankuts,
looking from one to another with his evil smile still on his face. “Shall
our white brothers suffer punishment, or shall we bid them to a feast?”
The same smile seemed to run around the circle of Ankut faces, and they
all wagged their heads vigorously. “It shall be a feast!” they affirmed
in unison, and there was something sinister in their satisfaction in this
change of programme.
Harry poked Joe with his elbow. “Great Scott!” he said in a low tone,
“but we are pulling out of this in great luck.”
His knees ceased to feel weak under him, and he had great admiration for
Joe’s boldness, which had seemingly brought this happy change about. But
Joe did not altogether share his delight.
“I don’t know about this,” he replied in an equal undertone. “They don’t
look very feasty.”
It was a fact that they did not, nor did the listening drudges who stood
outside the circle. A certain wide-eyed horror seemed to pierce their
stolidity and apathy, and their faces, as they looked at the boys, showed
it. The two wizards who had brought them out conducted them back to the
igloo with much ceremony.
“Our brothers will rest here,” they said, “while the feast is prepared
for them. It will be a great feast,—and there will be nothing but the
bones left when it is over.”
Joe and Harry entered the igloo and sat down on the bench. The doorway
was not blocked again, but the two Ankuts stood just outside, rifle in
hand, as if on guard. A little later one of the Eskimo servants appeared
bearing on a flat slate stone the head of an old seal. This he placed on
the floor in the middle of the igloo, looking appealingly at the boys,
but hastening away without a word. Then two Ankuts appeared, each leading
by the leash three heavy-chested, wide-jawed dogs that snarled and fought
one another as they came. These six dogs were hurriedly released at the
igloo door and driven in. Then the Ankuts again blocked the entrance
with the heavy, flat slate stones, making it much more secure than
before; so secure, in fact, that escape from within would be well-nigh
impossible. Then one of them cried out in a loud, jeering voice:—
“This is the feast, O white men, to which you are bidden,—the feast of
the old seal’s head. Eat and be merry,—and there shall be nothing but
bones left.”
The sound of retreating footsteps was drowned in the snarling and
scrambling of the six wolf dogs, already fighting in a blurred mass in
the centre of the igloo over the old seal’s head.
The Eskimo wolf dog that one sees in Arctic Alaska is quite different
from the Eskimo dog of the Yukon and the lower mining camps on the great
northwest possession. The latter are more often mongrels, interbred
with all sorts of dogs from civilization, and lack much of the robust
fierceness of the Arctic type. On the desolate northern shores the pure
type is much like the gray wolf, and is no doubt a descendant from him,
sometimes intermixed with latter-day blood from the same source. Indeed,
it used to be no uncommon thing in the Eskimo villages to see a captured
wolf tied to a stake in the village and used for breeding purposes. The
usual color is a dingy gray black; sometimes almost pure black, as is
the occasional wolf. These dogs are large, very agile, and have a jaw
that is full of great teeth and as strong as iron. Ordinarily, when well
fed, they are not vicious; oftentimes they are even frolicsome, like
the civilized dog; yet such is the strength of their iron jaws that
even a playful nip from them is a serious matter, and hence the Eskimos
never encourage them to sportiveness. Neither do white men who have once
experienced a grip from those jaws. Their wolf blood, while making them
hardy and strong, gives them an understrain of fierceness which is apt
to make them dangerous neighbors, especially when hungry. Their fights
among themselves are tremendous and bloody, and at such times a man who
would separate them must enter the combat armed with a heavy weapon
capable of laying one out at a blow. Otherwise his own life is in danger.
It was six magnificent specimens of this type that were walled into the
igloo with the boys and were already battling fiercely at the feast of
the old seal’s head. Purposely left unfed since the boys arrived, they
were in a ferocious mood. Joe and Harry drew together and tried hard
to make themselves very small against the wall at the farthest corner
of the igloo. As yet the dogs paid no attention to them, and after the
seal skull had been well polished and the battle subsided, they still
were unmolested. Yet the intent of their captors was evident. Such is the
cruel custom that has come down in the traditions of the Ankuts of Eskimo
land from time immemorial. The enemy of the wizards is put to the feast
of the old seal’s head. If he survives, he, too, is a wizard, and wins
the equal respect of the tribe. If he is not a wizard, in very truth,
his polished bones are all that remain when the igloo is opened and the
famished wolf dogs are taken out.
Harry had felt fear and discouragement before in the midst of his strange
adventures in this strange land, yet never had terror possessed him so
completely as now. In the gloom of the igloo he could see the glare of
the eyes of the savage creatures as they crouched on the floor, half
lazily, yet half ready for a spring, and he expected every moment that
one would attack him. This he well knew would be the signal for a rush
from them all, for the instinct of the wolf pack is strong even in the
most docile Eskimo dog, and when one fights they all do. He could feel
the quiver of Joe’s elbow where it touched his as they shrank to the
igloo wall side by side, and knew that his consciousness of the danger
was equal to his own. Yet though filled with a dumb terror of what was to
come, neither lost his self-control. Their hardy, independent life, the
dangers and disasters which they had already faced, had bred in each the
courage of strong men, the self-reliance of pioneers, and, though their
case was desperate, neither was willing to think that it was hopeless.
Quietly Joe was feeling with one hand along the rough stones of their
prison. By and by he found something, and passed it over to Harry without
a word. It was a long, angular piece of the slaty rock, something like a
rude stone hatchet. Such a weapon might save a man’s life. Yet it could
save but one. The man who wielded it might escape in the mêlée which was
liable to come at any moment. It was a slim chance, but it was all there
was. The weaponless man would be torn to pieces. Harry felt the devotion
and courageous self-sacrifice which could make this priceless gift to a
friend at such a moment, and his heart swelled within him as he clasped
Joe’s hand in the dim light. He tried not to take this rude weapon, but
Joe pressed it on him, and after a little he consented, mentally resolved
that he would wield it in Joe’s defense in preference to his own. It is
such deeds and such resolves that try the temper of men’s souls and prove
them truly noble.
Time passed, how slowly only those who have faced similar terrors can
tell. Moments seemed to stretch out into hours that in turn became an
eternity. It seemed to Harry as if he were growing numb with waiting, and
he had wild thoughts of forcing the attack with his primitive weapon.
He even suggested it to Joe, who promptly vetoed the idea. Their low
voices seemed to rouse the dogs and make them more uneasy, and they said
no more. By and by, in the passing of what seemed weeks, they began to
hear sounds from outside. It was a low murmuring, which grew louder into
sounds of hilarity. There seemed to be shouts and laughter and the rude
music of tom-toms. The Ankuts were feasting in celebration of the cruel
death which they thought might be already coming to their enemies. About
this time both pricked up their ears with a vague feeling of hope.
Somebody or something was scratching and working at the wall of the igloo
outside,—the wall directly behind them and toward the low bluffs that
rimmed the little valley. The change from dull expectation of calamity
to a thought of hope sent a thrill of energy through each. Yet there was
renewed danger in it, too, for the sound roused the wolf dogs, and made
them more restless. They began to growl and move uneasily about. It was
an ominous moment. Then there was the scraping of a stone, and a bar of
light shone into the gloom of the igloo, bringing with it a voice,—the
voice of Harluk. It was tremulous with excitement and apprehension.
“Oh, my brothers,” it cried, “are you there?”
“Yes, yes,” answered Joe. “Quick! Something to fight with.”
The need was indeed great, for the six wolf dogs were already crouching
and snarling. Another moment would bring the conflict which they so
feared. Quick as a wink Harluk’s hand was thrust through the aperture
with his sheevee, his long knife, in it. Joe snatched this with a cry of
delight. It was long, heavy, and keen,—an admirable weapon for a fight to
the death at close quarters. The flash of this knife in their faces had
its effect on the pack. They drew back and hesitated. In their lives they
had learned well the prowess of a man with a weapon in his hands; and the
wolf dog of the tribes is as wise as he is fearless.
Joe took a single step, coolly, toward them. “Help Harluk,” he said
briefly to Harry; “I’ll keep these devils at bay. But for God’s sake,
hurry!”
There was no need of this admonition. Harluk and Harry pried and tugged
desperately at the stones. They came slowly, but surely. The pack were
bounding over one another now on the far side of the igloo, lashing
themselves into a fury of onslaught.
“Quick, my brothers!” cried Harluk. “It is big enough.”
Harry looked at Joe. Moments were precious, yet still the pack hesitated,
awed partly by the flash of the big knife, partly by his cool and
constant gaze. “Go!” cried Joe. “I’ll follow you.”
Harry plunged through the narrow opening with a great thrill of delight
as he felt himself in the outer air. As he disappeared from the igloo,
the pack surged forward, but Joe had been waiting for this. He met the
foremost with a reach of the long knife full in the breast. With a howl
of pain that was his death cry, the brute turned, biting the animal next
to him in his agony, and starting a fight among themselves, which took
their attention from Joe for a moment. Deftly and quickly he backed
through the opening, keeping his eye upon the whirling pack, and holding
the bloody knife still in readiness for instant use. A moment and he was
safe outside, where he found Harluk and Harry, each with a rifle cocked
and ready in his defense.
Without a word Harluk passed his rifle to Joe and hurriedly thrust the
stones back into the wall of the igloo, shutting in the struggling and
bloody pack. They were safe from this danger, but outside a new one
menaced them. The hilarity among the dozen well-armed Ankuts was rapidly
approaching a state of frenzy. A chief item of their feast was a peculiar
liquor made by steeping toadstools in water, which produces what is
known to the whalers as a “toadstool drunk.” This potion first induces
an ordinary sort of intoxication, but this soon passes into a sort of
fury, in which its victims seem possessed with a demoniacal strength and
ferocity. Under its influence the Ankuts were far more to be feared than
before. Hiding behind the igloo, the three watched them carefully. As yet
they had no suspicion that their prisoners were escaping, and after a
little Harluk touched each of his friends. “Come,” he said quietly, and
they followed where he led.
To make the situation clear, we must go back to Harluk’s previous
movements. He had followed the band of Ankuts warily on their way to the
stronghold with their prisoners. Not once had he lost sight of them, not
once had they suspected that he followed. He had not been sure, however,
in which igloo the boys were confined until he had seen them taken out
for the trial and then escorted again to the prison. He had seen the
wolf dogs shut in with them, and knew that he must act at once if he
would rescue them. The beginning of the Ankut feast had favored this,
as well as the lay of the land. From the low bluffs a narrow ridge ran
down nearly to the igloo. This gave him shelter in his approach, and it
was behind this that he led the boys away from the igloo, but only for
a little way. Then, still sheltered by the intervening rise of ground,
he turned and led them down to the bank of the stream of warm water,
just where it emptied into the larger river. Here was an umiak, turned
bottom side up on the bank, with a couple of paddles beside it. As they
stooped to lift this umiak into the water, there was a wild howl from the
direction of the village.
“Hurry, my brothers!” cried Harluk; “they are coming.”
There was now a tremendous uproar, and the Ankuts were seen tearing down
the slope toward them at full speed. They hurriedly pushed off, and Joe
and Harluk seized paddles and sent the light boat spinning out into the
stream. There was the sound of shots and the spattering of bullets around
them as they did so. The Ankuts had opened fire. Harry reached for a
rifle and Joe nodded to him.
“See if you can’t stop some of that,” he said. “Plug that white-faced
one, if you can.”
Harry hesitated a second. He had never before attempted the life of a
fellow creature. Then something stung his left arm. One of the Eskimo
shots had grazed him. His hesitation vanished in a second, and he fired
coolly at the foremost Ankut. The man stumbled and fell headlong.
“Good!” cried Joe. “You poked him. Give ’em another.”
Again Harry fired, and another Ankut spun round like a top and rolled in
a heap. Had not the toadstool poison been working in the Ankut veins,
they would have been more cautious, and it would no doubt have gone hard
with the three, but in their drunken frenzy the wizards came right on,
firing a wild fusillade and yelling at the top of their lungs. They ran
faster than Joe and Harluk could paddle, and drew steadily nearer. Two
shots pierced the skin boat, and the water began to come into it. Joe
laid down his paddle and took up the other rifle.
“We’ll fight it out right here,” he said.
The interchange of shots grew more rapid. Two more Ankuts fell, and even
their crazy ferocity began to waver before so well-directed a fire. The
umiak was a third full of water now, and Harluk turned its prow back
toward the shore. There was an ugly gleam in Harluk’s eye, and he gritted
his strong white teeth together, and now and then snapped them as a
dog might. The Ankuts hesitated and stopped. Then an unexpected thing
happened. Two shots came from behind them, and a fifth wizard sank to the
ground.
“Nagouruk!” yelled Harluk, in his own language. “Kill some more; I come!”
The two Eskimo men whom Harry and Joe had seen treated as slaves had
slipped up to the dead Ankuts, taken their rifles, and joined the fray.
The Ankuts were bewildered. Drunk as they were, they realized that the
tide was turned against them. Five of their number were already dead, and
shots were coming upon them from seemingly all sides. They wavered. The
bow of the umiak struck the bank and Harluk, with a yell, sprang from it
and ran toward the wizards. His big knife flashed in his hand, and he
yelled in a berserker rage. The stumbling, shambling run of the coast
native was no longer his. He seemed to bound like a panther toward his
prey. The apotheosis of the timid Eskimo had come, and he was a barbaric
war god, glorying in the fray.
Cowards always at heart, the Ankuts turned and fled across the tundra
toward the hills, pursued by shots from Joe’s and Harry’s rifles and
those of the two village Eskimos. All but the white-faced half-breed.
He stood his ground and reserved his fire as Harluk approached. His lip
curled in that evil smile, and he leveled his rifle coolly. Harluk was
face to face with doom.
Yet he never hesitated, but leaped on, shouting his defiance and
swinging the big knife, yet red with the blood of the wolf dog. At ten
feet the half-breed pressed the trigger. Surely Harluk’s amulet was
potent that day, for the cartridge failed to explode. The half-breed
cursed, snatched at the lever, then cursed again, for that, too, failed
to work. The cartridge was jammed. Then he clubbed the rifle and swung it
full at Harluk’s head. The Eskimo yelled derisively, ducked, and sent the
big knife home to the heart of the chief of the Ankuts. His blood mingled
with that of the wolf dog that had been less fierce and vindictive than
he.
A moment Harluk stood over him with the dripping knife in hand, then
turned with Joe and Harry to the pursuit of the other Ankuts; but fear
added to their toadstool frenzy lent them speed, and they disappeared
over the hills, plunging through the soft tundra moss. The battle was
over.
Harry sat down on the battlefield, feeling faint and sick. The horror
of carnage was on him. True, they had fought in self-defense, and the
Ankuts richly deserved death, yet the sight of men slain with his own
hand filled him with remorse, and he felt for a time that his own safety
was dearly bought. The sting in his arm, unnoticed during the excitement
of the battle, came back and turned his thoughts away from this after a
moment. He examined it. The Ankut bullet had cut a slit in the fleshy
part and passed on, doing little damage. He bandaged it as best he could,
and, though Joe was solicitous, declared it was nothing.
The Eskimos came flocking about, and their gratitude at their deliverance
was so great that he felt better. After all, great good had surely come
to these poor people, and he felt that the traditions of his nation
justified a war of emancipation. That was the way Joe put it, and he was
no doubt right. They buried the dead wizards in the unfrozen earth, not
far from the hot spring, and then ate a hearty meal, prepared for them by
the grateful Eskimo women.
Not until then did they remember the wolf dogs shut up in what had been
their prison. Harluk and the two Eskimo men released them from the igloo,
nor did they, at Joe’s orders, attempt to either harm or tie them up.
He said that he had no wish for revenge on them, but he did not care to
have such animals around, and in this Harry agreed with him. Some time
afterward the two Eskimos reported to Joe that the other dogs had also
vanished. No doubt they had joined the fugitives, and the dominant wolf
blood would again make a wild pack of them. It was really a serious
matter, but somehow the boys did not care. They found the presence of an
Eskimo dog of any sort very distasteful to them.
For some days they waited in the Ankut stronghold, keeping watch lest
the enemy return, but seeing no signs of them. Harluk declared that they
probably would not. They had received such a trouncing, and the odds
were so much against them, that they would no doubt go on either to
some other outlaw rendezvous, or else take up peaceful life with some
Eskimo community for a while. This is the way of the defeated Ankut.
And now, rested and recuperated, the problem of further action came up,
and was discussed in a council of the whole. To travel across the fast
softening tundra toward Point Hope, without dogs, was a difficult, if
not impossible, matter, and they decided not to try it. By this time
the ice must be out of the sea, and there was a chance of a ship. Their
wisest course would be to proceed again to the coast. This would not be
difficult. There were two umiaks at the village. They patched the one
riddled by Ankut bullets, and, loading their belongings into the two, the
whole community set gayly forth downstream. To the Eskimos who had been
held in subjection it was a happy deliverance, and their gentle natures
brightened up wonderfully at the thought of escape. They would not allow
either the boys or Harluk to do any work. They paddled, prepared meals,
made camp, and showed their gratitude in a hundred ways, till they bade
fair to spoil their deliverers.