E-text prepared by Al Haines
THE ETERNAL MAIDEN
A Novel
by
T. EVERETT HARRÉ
Published by
Mitchell Kennerley
New York
Press of J. J. Little & Ives Company
East Twenty-fourth Street
New York
1913
TO
EDGAR WILSON RIDDELL
JANUARY 31, 1892--JULY 2, 1912
IN MEMORY OF
A LIFE'S SUPREME FRIENDSHIP
THE ETERNAL MAIDEN
PRELUDE
_Long ages ago, darkness brooded over the frozen world and held in its
thrall the unreleased waters of the glacial seas. There was no animal
life upon the land, and in the depth of the waters no living thing
stirred. Kokoyah, the water god, breathed not; Tornahhuchsuah, the
earth spirit, who rules above the spirits of the wind and air, was
veiled in slumber. Men had risen like willows from the frozen earth;
but, although they lived, they were as the dead. They spake not,
neither did they hunt, nor eat, nor did they die. Then the Great
Spirit, whose name is not known, placed upon earth a man, in his arms
the strength to kill, in his heart the primal urge of love. And in
that flowerless arctic Eden, out of its bounteous compassion, the Great
Spirit placed also a maiden, her face beautiful with the young
virginity of the world, in her bosom implanted a yearning, not unmixed
with fear, for love. Gazing upon her, the youth's heart stirred, with
desire, the maiden's with virginal terror. The maiden fled, the youth
followed. Over the desolate icy mountains the fleet feet of the youth
sped with the swiftness of the wind gods, over the silent white seas
the maiden with the elusiveness of the air spirits. In the heart of
the youth throbbed the passion of love, indomitable, eternal, which the
blasting breath of time should never kill. In the maiden's bosom
quaked a reasonless shame, an unconquerable terror. Surrounded by her
whirling cloud of hair, the maiden sprang, untiring, across the wild
white world. His strength failing, the youth pantingly followed.
Thousands of years passed; the breathless pursuit continued; the
maiden's nebulous hair became shot with streaks of golden fire, from
her eyes beams of light streamed across the expanses over which she
exultantly, fearfully bounded; the tremulous faltering youth's face
paled until it shone silvery in the darkness, and the beads of
perspiration on his forehead glowed with a strange lustre. Reaching,
in their mad race, the very edge of the earth, the maiden leaped,
fiery, into space, and her hair becoming suddenly molten, she became
the sun--the eternal maiden Sukh-eh-nukh, the beautiful, the
all-desired. Utterly exhausted, his wan arms yearningly outstretched,
the youth swooned after her into the heavens, and was transformed into
the moon--the ever-desiring, ever-sorrowing moon. In the smile of
Sukh-eh-nukh the seas melted. Walrus and narwhals, seals and whales
came into being on the bosom of Kokoyah; on the earth the snows
disappeared, and the brow of Tornahhuchsuah was crowned with green
grasses and starry flowers. Men hunted game, women laughed for joy;
they beat drums, they danced, they sang. By the eternal, unrequited
passion of the lovers in the skies, happiness and plenty came upon the
earth. But, with Light, came also Death. Jealous of men's happiness,
Perdlugssuaq, the Great Evil, brought sickness; he struck men on the
hunt, on the seas, in the mountains. He was ever feared. He made the
Great Dark terrible. But when the night became bright with the
love-lorn glamour of the moon, Perdlugssuaq was for the time forgotten;
in their hearts men felt a vague, tender, and ineffable stirring--the
lure of a passion stronger and stranger even than death. They gazed
upon the moon with instinctive, undefined pity. So, as the years
passed, and ages melted and remade the snows, the long day was golden
with the Beauty that is ever desired, the Ideal never attained; the
night was softly silver with the melancholy and eternal hope of the
deathless love that eternally desires, eternally pursues, and is
eternally denied._
Thus runs the Eskimo legend.
I
"_Her cheeks were flushed delicately with the soft pink of the lichen
flowers that bloom in the rare days of early summer. Her eyes played
with a light as elusive, as quick as the golden radiance on the seas._"
Great excitement prevailed among the members of the tribe. Along a
mottled green-and-brown stretch of shore, which rolled undulatingly
toward the icy fringe of the polar sea, more than twoscore hunters were
engaged in unusual activity. Some were lacing tight over the framework
the taut skin of their kayaks. Others sharpened harpoon points with
bits of flint. Tateraq busily cut long lashings from tanned walrus
hides. Maisanguaq deftly took these and pieced them together into long
lines, which were rolled in coils lasso-fashion. Arnaluk and a half
dozen others sat on their haunches, between their knees great balls
made of the entire hides of seals. With cheeks extended they blew into
these with gusto. Filled with air, the hides became floats, which were
attached to the leather lasso lines. The lines in turn were fastened
by Attalaq and Papik to harpoons, which were to be driven into the
walrus, the natives' chief prey of the arctic sea.
A babel of conversation swayed to and fro among this northernmost
fringe of the human race. Now and then it was drowned in the raucous,
deafening shriek of auks which swarmed from nearby cliffs and soared in
clouds over the shore.
"_Aveq soah_! Walrus! Walrus!" shouted Papik, tossing up his arms and
dancing, his brown face twisting with grotesque grimaces of joy.
"_Aveq soah! Aveq soah_!" He leaped in frenzy. He seized his harpoon
in mimicry of striking, and darted it up and down in the air. "Walrus!
Walrus!" he cried, and his feverish contagion spread through the crowd.
"_Aveq tedicksoah_! A great many walrus," echoed Arnaluk. "_Aveq
tedicksoah_! Walrus too many to count!"
They stopped their work and gathered in a group, Papik before them, his
arms pointing toward the sea. His eyes glistened.
To the south, _Im-nag-i-na_, the entrance to the polar sea, was hidden
by grayish mists which, as they shifted across the sun, palpitated with
running streaks of gold. From the veiled distance the sound of a
glacier exploding pealed over the waters like the muffled roar of
artillery. The sun, magnified into a great swimming disc by the rising
vapors, poured a rich and colorful light over the sea--it was a light
without warmth. In the turquoise sky overhead, the moving clouds
changed in hue from crimson to silver, and straggling flecks, like
diaphanous ribbons, became stained with mottled dyes. Against the
horizon, the arctic armada of eternally moving icebergs drifted slowly
southward and, like the spectral ships of the long dead Norsemen who
had braved these regions, flaunted the semblance of silver-gleaming
sails. The sea rose in great green emerald swells, the wave crests
broke in seething curls of silver foam, and in the troughs of
descending waters glittered cascades of celestial jewels. It was late
summer--the hour, midnight.
The keen eyes of the natives searched the seas.
To the south of where the watchers were gathered, the glacial heels of
the inland mountains step precipitously into the sea and rise to a
height of several thousand feet. At the base of these iron rocks,
corroded with the rust of interminable ages, the fragments of great
floes, like catapults, are tossed by the inrushing sea. Above, in
summertime, rises and falls constantly a black mist resembling shifting
cloud smoke. Millions of auks swarm from their moss-ensconced grottos;
an oppressive clamor beats the air. Along the ocean, where crevices of
the descending iron-chiselled cliffs are fugitively green with ribbons
of pale grass, downy-winged ducks purr, mating guillemots coo
incessantly, and tremulous oogzooks chirrup joyously to their young.
As the natives listened, a deep nasal bellowing from the far ocean
trembled in the air.
Not a man stirred. The sound vibrated into silence. The auks
screamed. Hawks shrilled. From the far interior valleys came the
echoed wolf-howling of Eskimo dogs. There the mountain tops,
perpetually covered with ice and snow, gleamed through the clouds with
running colors of amaranth, green and mottled gold. The air swam with
frigid fire. As the tribe stood in silence along the shore, a roar as
of gatling guns pealed from the mist-hidden heights. After a taut
moment of silence, a frightened scream rose from every living thing on
land and sea. Yet the group of men only bent their heads. Then, like
an undertone in the chorus of animate life, their quick ears detected
the long-drawn, hoarse call of walrus bulls. The howls of the dogs
from the distant mountain passes came nearer. More distant receded the
stertorous nasal bellow on the sea.
The natives feverishly leaped to their tasks. There was a note of
anxiety in their voices. Onto the forepart of the kayaks they placed
their weapons, leather lines, floats and drags. More than twoscore
boats were drawn over the land-adhering ice to the edge of the sea. A
fierce chatter brought all the women to the doors of their seal-skin
tents. They looked seaward and shook their heads with dismay.
"Many walrus--far away," the men shouted.
"No, no," the timid women returned. "Walrus too far
away--_Perdlugssuaq will strike you there_!"
Against the distant horizon mighty bergs loomed. In swift eddies of
water great floes swirled. The walrus were too far away to be seen.
Yet the opportunity of securing walrus was too rare to be missed; for
unless food and fuel were soon secured, starvation during the coming
winter confronted the tribe. The previous winter had been one of
unprecedented severity and had wiped out bears, and herds of caribou
and musk oxen. The summer season, which was now drawing to a close,
had been destitute of every kind of game. Musk oxen had been seldom
found and then only in the far inland valleys. Some blight of nature
seemed to have exterminated even the animals of the sea. The natives
had lived mainly on the teeming bird life. From the scrawny bodies of
the arctic birds, however, neither food that could be preserved nor
fuel to be burned in the lamps could be secured. On musk oxen the
tribes depend chiefly for hides and meat, and on walrus for both food
and fuel. The ammunition, brought by Danish traders the summer before,
was exhausted, so in the hunt they had for many sleeps to rely solely
upon their skill with their own primitive weapons. For months the
doughty hunters had gathered but few supplies. The prospect of the
coming winter was ominous indeed. Wandering up and down the coast in
their migrating excursions the tribes had scoured land and sea with but
meagre results. At the village from which they now heard the inspiring
walrus calls, a dozen visiting tribesmen--most of them in search for
wives as well as game--had gathered. Joy filled them in the prospect
of securing supplies--and possible success in love--at last.
As they launched their kayaks, in impatient haste lest the walrus drift
too far seaward, some one called:
"Ootah! Ootah!"
They gazed anxiously about. Ootah, the bravest and most distinguished
of the hunters, was missing. All the young men would gladly have
started without Ootah, but the elders, who knew his skill and the might
of his arm, were not willing.
To the younger men there was an added zest in the hunt; each felt in
the other a rival, and Ootah the one most to be feared. A feverish
anxiety, a burning desire to distinguish himself flushed the heart of
each brave hunter. For whoever brought back the most game, so they
believed, stood the best chance of winning the hand of Annadoah. Of
all the unmarried maidens of the tribes, none cooked so well, none
could sew so well as Annadoah, none was so skilled in the art of making
_ahttees_ and _kamiks_ as Annadoah. And, moreover, Annadoah was very
fair.
"Ootah! _aveq soah_! Hasten thou! The walrus are drifting to sea."
Attalaq rushed up to the village and paused at the tent of Annadoah.
"Ootah!" he called.
A voice from within replied.
"We start--the wind drifts--the walrus are carried to sea."
"I come!" replied Ootah.
The flap of the tent opened. The sunlight poured upon the face of the
young hunter. He smiled radiantly, with the self-assertion of youth,
the joy of life.
Ootah was graced with unwonted beauty. He was slight and agile of
limb; his body was supple and lithe; his face was immobile, beardless,
and with curving lips vividly red, a nose, small, with nostrils
dilating sensitively, and eyebrows heavily lashed, it possessed
something of the softness of a woman. His glistening black hair, bound
about his forehead by a narrow fillet of skins, fell riotously over his
shoulders. His eyes were large and dark and swam with an ardent light.
He turned.
"Thou wilt not place thy face to mine, Annadoah? Yet I love thee,
Annadoah. My heart melts as streams in springtime, Annadoah. My arms
grow strong as the wind, and my hand swift as an arrow for love of
thee, Annadoah. The joy the sight of thee gives me is greater than
that of food after starving in the long winter! Yea, thou wilt be
mine? Surely for my heart bursts for love of thee, Annadoah."
He leaned back, stretching his arms, but Annadoah shyly drew further
inside her shelter.
With a sigh he flung his leather line over his shoulder, seized his
harpoons, and stepped from the tent. His step was resilient and
buoyant, his slim body moved with the grace of an arctic deer. He
looked back as he reached the icy shore. Annadoah stood at the door of
her tent. Her parting laughter rang after him with the sweetness of
buntings singing in spring.
Ootah's heart leaped within him. Annadoah possessed a beauty rare
among her people. From her father, one of the brave white men who had
died with the Greely party years before at Cape Sabine, Annadoah had
inherited a delicacy and beauty more common indeed with the unknown
peoples of the south. Her face was fresh and smooth, and of a pale
golden hue. Her cheeks were flushed delicately with the soft pink of
the lichen flowers that bloom in the rare days of early summer. Her
eyes played with a light as elusive, as quick as the golden radiance on
the seas. Her dark silken hair straggled luxuriantly from under the
loose hood of immaculate white fox fur which had fallen back from her
head. The soft skins of blue foxes and of young birds clothed her.
From her sleeves her hands peeped; they were small, dainty, childlike.
Almost childlike, too, was her face, so palely golden, so fresh, so
lovely, so petite. There were mingled in her the coyness of a child
and the irresistible coquetry of a woman.
She waved her hands joyously to the hunters leaving the shore. They
called back to her. Some of the women frowned. One shook her fist at
Annadoah.
Papik, lingering behind, approached Annadoah timidly.
"Thou art beautiful, Annadoah; thou canst sew with great skill. With
the needles the white men brought thee, thou hast made garments such as
no other maiden. Papik would wed thee, Annadoah."
"Thou art a good lad, Papik," Annadoah replied, laughing gaily. "But
thy fingers are very long--and long, indeed, thy nose!"
Papik flushed, for to him this was a tragedy.
"But with my fingers I speed the arrow with skill," he replied.
"True, but the fate of him who shoots with a skill such as thine is
unfortunate indeed; for soon the day will come when thou wilt not speed
the arrow, when thy hands will be robbed of their cunning. When
_ookiah_ (winter) comes with his lashes of frost he will smite thy
fingers--they will fall off. Then how wilt thou get food for thy wife?
_Ookiah_ will twist thy nose, and it will freeze. Poor Papik!"
Annadoah lay her hand gently on his arm, and a brief sorrow clouded her
smiles.
Papik bowed his head. He understood the blight nature had set upon him
and it made his heart cold. Truly his fingers were long and his nose
was long--and either was a misfortune to a tribesman. He knew, as all
the natives knew, that sooner or later during a long winter his fingers
would inevitably freeze, then he would lose his skill with weapons;
consequently he would not be able to provide for a wife. His nose,
too, in all probability would freeze; then he would be disfigured and
the trials of life would be more complicated.
From the inherited experience of ages the natives know that a hunter
with short hands and feet is most likely to live long; a man's length
of life can be pretty accurately gauged by the stubbiness of his nose.
The degree of radiation of the human body is such that it can prevent
freezing in this northern region only when the extremities are short;
thus a man with long feet is almost for a certainty doomed to lose his
toes, and the most fortunate is he whose feet and hands are short,
whose nose is stubby and whose ears are small. The exigencies of life
place an economic value on the structure of a hunter's body, and the
little Eskimo women--endowed with a crude social conscience which
demands that a father shall live and remain efficient so as to care for
his own children--are loath to marry one afflicted as was Papik.
"But I care for thee, Annadoah," Papik protested.
"And well do I know thou art a brave lad, but seek thou another maiden;
thou dost not touch my heart, Papik, and thy fingers are very, very
long."
With native spontaneity, Papik laughed and turned shoreward. As he
passed the assembled maidens he paused momentarily and greeted them.
He made a brief proposal of marriage to Ahningnetty, a fat maiden, and
was met with laughter.
"Go on, Long Fingers," one called. "How wilt thou strike the bear when
thy fingers are gone? How wilt thou seek the musk ox when _ookiah_
hath bitten off thy feet?"
The maiden who spoke was extremely thin.
"Ha, ha!" Papik returned. "How wilt thou warm thy husband when the
winter comes? How wilt thou warm the little baby when thou art like
the bear after a famished winter, thou maid of skin and bones!"
"Long-nose! Long-nose! may thy nose freeze!" she called.
The other maidens laughed and gibed at her. In anger she fled into her
_tupik_, or tent. Being very thin she, too, like Papik, suffered from
the bar sinister of nature. For, in selecting a wife, a native comes
down to the practical consideration of choosing a maid who will likely
grow fat, so that, during the long cold winters, her body will be a
sort of human radiator to keep the husband and children warm. So love,
you see, in this region, is largely influenced by an instinctive
knowledge of natural economies.
As he launched his kayak, Ootah turned toward Annadoah.
"Thou art the sun, Annadoah!" he called.
"And thou the moon, Ootah," she replied. "I shall await thee, Ootah!
Bring thou back fat and blubber, Ootah, to warm thy fires, Ootah." And
she laughed gaily. Then she turned her back to Ootah, bent her head
coyly and did not turn around again. To Ootah this was a good
augury--for when a maiden turns her back upon a suitor she thinks
favorably of him. This is the custom.
Ootah felt a new strength in his veins. He felt himself master of all
the prey in the sea.
At the entrance of the tent of Sipsu, the _angakoq_, or native
magician, stood Maisanguaq, one of the rivals for the hand of Annadoah.
His face twisted with jealous rage as he heard Annadoah calling to the
speeding Ootah. His narrow eyes glittered vindictively. Turning on
his heel he entered Sipsu's dwelling place.
Sipsu sat on the floor near his oil lamp. When Maisanguaq entered he
did not stir. He was as still, as grotesque, as evil-looking as the
tortured idols of the Chinese; like theirs his eyes were beadlike,
expressionless, dull; such are the eyes of dead seal. His face was
brown and cracked like old leather, and was covered with a crust of
dirt; his gray-streaked hair was matted and straggled over his face; it
teemed with lice. He held his knotty hands motionless over the flame
of his lamp. His nails were long and curled like sharp talons. As
Maisanguaq saw him he could not repress a shudder.
Sipsu was feared, and as correspondingly hated, by the tribe. They
brought to him, it is true, offerings of musk ox meat and walrus
blubber when members fell ill. But that was the urge of necessity. Of
late years Sipsu's conjurations for recovery had resulted in few cures;
his heart was not in them; but with greater vehemence did he enter upon
seances of malediction. With almost unerring exactness he prophesied
many deaths. For this the tribe did not love him. Nor did Sipsu love
the tribe; especially did he hate the youthful, and those who courted
and were newly wed. When Maisanguaq touched his shoulder, he turned
with a growl.
"Canst thou invoke the curse of death upon one who goes hunting upon
the seas?"
Through the rheum of years Sipsu's eyes gleamed.
The aged, gnarled thing found voice. It was hollow and thin.
"Ha, thou art Maisanguaq," his toothless jaws chattered. "Thou bearest
no one good will. Seldom dost thou smile. For this I like thee."
He laughed harshly. Maisanguaq impatiently repeated his question:
"Can Sipsu invoke the great curse? Ha, what dost thou mean? Art thou
a fool? Have not many died upon the word of Sipsu, Sipsu whose spirits
never desert him! Harken! Did not Sipsu go unto the mountains in his
youth? Did he not hear the hill spirits speaking? Did he not carry
food to them, and wood and arrow points for weapons? And in _ookiah_
(winter) did they not strike? Did they not kill one Otaq, who hated
Sipsu? Did Sipsu not go unto the lower land of the dead--did he not
speak to those who freeze in the dark? Yea, did Sipsu not learn how
the world is kept up, and the souls of nature are bound together? And
hath he not the power to separate them, yea, as a man from his shadow?"
"Thou evil-tongued wretch, well doth Maisanguaq believe thee! Here--I
promise thee meat. I follow Ootah upon the chase. There are walrus on
the sea. Invoke the curse of destruction upon Ootah--and I will give
thee meat for the long winter."
"Ootah--Ootah--yah--hah! Ootah!" Sipsu snapped the name viciously.
"With joy shall I bring the great evil unto Ootah. For hath he not
despised my art, hath he not scoffed at my spirits! But thou--what
reason hast thou to desire his death?"
"Ootah findeth favor with Annadoah," said Maisanguaq briefly. "I would
she never make his _kamiks_ (boots)."
"Yea, and she shall not. She shall not!" the old man shrieked in a
sudden access of rage. "So saith Sipsu, whose spirits never fail."
Lying on the floor Sipsu closed his eyes and, moving his head up and
down, called repeatedly:
"_Quilaka Nauk_! _Quilaka Nauk_! Where are my spirits? Where are my
spirits?"
Presently he rose, and swaying his body crooned:
"_Tassa quilivagit_! _Tassa quilivagit_! My spirits are here--they
are here! _Tassa quilivagit_!"
Grasping a drum made of animal tissue strung over a rib-bone he began
to dance. He beat a slow, uneasy measure on the drum. His face
grinned hideously. His voice at times rose to a harsh shriek, then
suddenly it trailed away until it seemed like the voice of one speaking
very far off. In a curious sort of intermittent crooning and shrieking
ventriloquism he called down curses upon Ootah. His dance increased;
he beat the drum frenziedly. His legs twisted under him, he described
short running circles and jumped up and down in accesses of hysteria.
His scraggy arms, with their tattered clothes, writhed in the air as he
beat the drum above him. His head began to nod from side to side; his
eyes glowed like coals; his tongue hung from his mouth; foam gathered
at his lips.
"Ootah! Ootah! May his _kaneg_ (head) swell with the great fire! May
he see horrors that do not exist--what the wicked dead dream in their
frigid hell! May the wrath of the spirits descend upon him! May the
wrath of the spirits descend upon him!"
Sipsu uttered short howls. Maisanguaq joined in the incantation, and
re-echoed the blighting curses.
"May he suffer from _kangerdlugpoq_ (terrible body pains). May they
end not! May he lie awake forever! May he never sleep! May his teeth
chatter during the great dark!"
Sipsu groaned. He worked himself into an ecstasy of torture. His form
became a black whirling figure in the dim tent.
"May Ootah's eyes close, may the lids swell; may they burn with fire."
"May he never see the light of day--may he never aim the arrow--may his
harpoons strike forever in the darkness!" Maisanguaq replied
rancorously. "May the wrath of the spirits descend upon him!"
"May Ootah's tongue fasten to his mouth--may it be as the tongues of
dead _ahmingmah_ (musk oxen)," chanted Sipsu. "May he never speak--may
Annadoah never hear his voice," chorused Maisanguaq.
"May Ootah lose his _pungo_ (dogs); may they all die!"
Maisanguaq, caught by the evil contagion, began to sway his body in
rhythm to the weird dance.
"May Ootah become a cripple! May he break his bones! May he lie
helpless for years! May his shadow leave him! May he suffer with the
greatest of all pains!"
As he uttered this terrible curse, desiring that Ootah's shadow,
wherein exists the soul, might depart from his still-living body, and
thus cause the most excruciating bodily anguish, Sipsu sank exhausted
to the ground. He writhed in a paroxysm.
"May Ootah die slowly; may his legs die, may his hands die--yea, may
the spirits of his body be severed from one another as ice fields in
the breaking; may the spirit of his hands, the spirit of his feet, the
spirit of his lungs, the spirit of his head, the spirit of his heart
wander apart--may they be torn asunder as the clouds in a storm! May
they wander apart forever seeking and may they never find themselves!
May Ootah suffer as never suffered the unhappy dead!"
And Maisanguaq's deep voice growled hatefully:
"May Ootah's body lie unburied! May he rot upon the earth! May the
ravens peck out his eyes! May a murderer drink his blood! May the
wolves eat his heart! May the spirit of the fog grow fat upon his
entrails! And may the spirits of his body scatter--as the clouds in
the wild _anore_ (winds) scatter! May his soul forever seek to find
its kindred spirits unavailingly and suffer in _Sila_, (throughout the
universe) forever!"
From under a pile of skins Sipsu, his chant subsiding, brought forth a
bundle. Opening it, he revealed a collection of old bones; there were
the bones of musk oxen, seals, walrus and smaller animals.
"Yah-hah-hah! I shall create a _tupilak_!" he crooned vindictively.
"I shall create a _tupilak_! And from the depths of the waters the
_tupilak_ shall see Ootah. Yah-hah-hah! I shall create a _tupilak_,
and from the hands of Sipsu it shall carry destruction to Ootah on the
sea. Yah-hah-hah!" He laughed crazily. Continuing his chant he
constructed of the bones a crude likeness to an animal skeleton. Over
this he sprinkled a handful of dried turf. Then, from beneath the
cover of his bed he brought a stone pot and from it poured a sluggish
red liquid over the strange object of his creation. This was a mixture
of clotted animal blood and water kept for such purposes of
conjuration. This done, he threw over the bones an aged sealskin.
Then he rose to his feet, and in a low voice uttered the secret
formulas whereby, in the depths of the sea, the result of his labor
should take the form of an artificial walrus.
Maisanguaq stood by, silent, evil exultation shining in his eyes.
While the Sipsu was moaning his spell over the pile of bones,
Maisanguaq turned and left the tent. Out on the sea he saw the kayaks
of his departing companions.
"Good luck, Maisanguaq, have courage in the chase! Remember Annadoah
awaits you all!" Annadoah called blithely and coquettishly after him.
Maisanguaq's lips tightened, his heart leaped, but well he knew that he
meant nothing to the maiden, well he knew what little chance he had,
and envy filled him, and bitter doubt, for he knew Ootah's prowess, his
strength of limb, and braveness of heart. However, he put out with
quick powerful strokes, and with a sense of anticipated triumph, for he
was confident that the magician by his necromancy had created in the
depths of the sea a _tupilak_, or artificial walrus, which should
attack Ootah. He knew it might upset Ootah's kayak and cause him to be
drowned. The probabilities were, however, that it would permit itself
to be harpooned, in which case its blighting curse would fall upon
Ootah, who would lose all power and strength of limb, whose body would
become bent and crippled and racked with the _kangerdlugpoq_, and who
would die slowly, inch by inch. Thus, Ootah would be helpless the rest
of his days and as he died all the dreadful horrors of the curses would
come upon him. Thus would Maisanguaq be revenged.
As the midnight sun dipped below the horizon, the sea became more
deeply golden. To the women watching along the shore, the multitude of
kayaks became mere black specks. They disappeared now and then behind
the crests of leaping waves, and reappearing moved with the swiftness
of birds along the horizon.
At the entrance of her tent Annadoah stood, one hand shading her eyes
as they pierced the radiant distance. From the mountain passes behind
the village echoed the joyous howls of approaching dogs. Something
stirred in the heart of Annadoah--something fluttered there like the
wings of a frightened bird.
Ootah's paddle touched the water with the softness of a feather, yet so
quickly that the double blades emitted constant flashes of light
intermittently on either side. His arms moved with consummate ease.
His kayak made a dark blurred line as it sped forward over the yellow
waters. Soon he had outdistanced the party. Then his speed slackened,
he glanced behind.
The other kayaks darted after him like erratic bugs. The land was a
mere curve on the horizon; all about him the sea rose and fell, and
from the shimmering mirror of every wave the sunlight shot backward in
various directions. A thousand golden searchlights seemed playing over
the sea. Now and then through the coppery mists an emerald green berg
loomed titanically, and as it slowly bore down upon him, Ootah would
gracefully manipulate one end of his paddle and shift his kayak about
while the berg lurched toweringly onward. As he gained distance from
the land the ocean swelled with increasing volume. His frail skin
kayak was lifted high on the oily crests of waves, and as it descended
with swift rushes, Ootah felt exultant thrills in his heart. Far away
he heard the resounding explosion of ice bergs colliding. A low bellow
arose from a floe immediately ahead. Ootah's blood leaped, the spirit
of the hunter throbbed in his veins, his nostrils sensitively quivered.
With a slow silent movement of the paddle, he prevented his kayak from
going too great a distance forward in order to await the others.
Judging by the sound of the muffled bellowing, he assumed that the
great animals were sunning themselves on the southern ridge of the
floe. His tactics were to paddle about to the north, land on the floe,
and descend upon the walrus from the protection of the ridges of
crushed ice which always abound on these rafts of the arctic sea.
While he retarded the kayak and played with his paddle, Ootah became
conscious of disquieting things in the world about him.
In the heavens he saw low lying clouds moving slowly southward. Higher
above, clouds moved more swiftly in another direction.
"The _quilanialeqisut_ (air spirits) are not at rest," murmured Ootah.
"O spirits of the air, what disturbs your ease?"
The clouds in the higher ether circled as if in an eddy of wind.
Certainly the spirits were not at peace among themselves.
"Spirits of the air," spake Ootah, "waft your caresses to Annadoah's
cheeks. Tell her Ootah waits to kill the walrus, that Ootah loves her
and would make Annadoah his wife--_neuilacto_ Annadoah; tell Annadoah
Ootah presses his nose to hers and calls her _Mamacadosa_ (of all
things that which tastes the most delightful)."
A gust swept the clouds from the zenith. Still no breath of air
touched the sea.
To the lee a group of small icebergs passed. They rocked and eddied,
and from their glacial sides the light poured in changing colors.
"O spirit of the light, carry thy bright message to the eyes of
Annadoah, tell her Ootah has loved her for many, many moons."
The bergs crashed into one another, and in the impact sank into the sea.
Ootah bit his lips. A vague misgiving was cold within his heart.
A flock of gulls passed low over the waters.
He called to them--that they should take his love to Annadoah. They
were to tell Annadoah that he would soon return, laden with food and
fuel for the winter. Their raucous cries mocked him. He demanded what
they meant. "Ootah--Ootah," they seemed to call, "how foolish art
thou, Ootah, how foolish art thou to love Annadoah. For fickle is
Annadoah--fickle, fickle the heart of the maiden Annadoah!"
Ootah shrieked an enraged defiance. His eyes sought the horizon.
_Kokoyah_, the sea god, was breathing deeply, and in the mists which
rose like fire-shot smoke before the sun, singular forms took shape.
Ootah saw the magnified shadows of great dogs. They seemed to be
dashing along the horizon. Then, with crushing strides, behind the
adumbration a great sled, a titan figure gathered substance in the
clouds. It moved with terrific speed; it dominated the sky. Its dress
was not that of the northern tribes. Ootah felt a resentful stirring,
as, looking upward, in the clouds overhead, a white face, hard, fierce,
scowling, with burning blue eyes, momentarily appeared.
"A white warrior from the south," Ootah murmured. "And he comes with
swift tread. What can it mean?"
In common with many primitive peoples, Ootah possessed the soul of a
poet--nature was vocal with him, and the disembodied beings of other
worlds made themselves manifest and spoke in the light and in the
clouds. To him everything lived; the clouds were the habitation of
spirits, the waves were alive, all the animals and fish possessed
souls; the very winds were endowed with sex functions and loved and
quarreled among themselves. The interrelation of man and the forces of
the universe were inseparably intimate and familiar; integral parts of
one another, their destinies were bound together. And to Ootah nature
found much to gossip about in the affairs of men.
Eagerly Ootah sought the clouds. Along the horizon they resolved
themselves into a phantasmagoria of Eskimo maidens and white men
resembling the Danes who came each summer to gather riches of ivories
and furs. And the Eskimo maidens and white men danced together. As
these mirage-forms melted, Ootah glanced into the water by his side.
Looking up from the ultramarine depths he saw something white. For an
instant it assumed the likeness of the face of Annadoah. He saw her
golden skin, her cheeks flushed with the pink of spring lichen
blossoms, her lips red as the mountain poppies of late summer. He
started back and called aloud:
"Annadoah! Annadoah!" For she had smiled, cruelly and disdainfully.
Hoarse laughter answered him--the laughter of white men from the south.
A flock of hawks passed over the water. He was about to shout when he
heard the sound of kayak paddles behind him. He recalled himself and
beckoned silence.
II
"_The thought of Annadoah in the embrace of the big blond man, of her
face pressed to his in the white men's strange kiss of abomination,
aroused in Ootah a sense of violation. . . . He heard Annadoah murmur
tenderly, 'Thou art a great man, thou art strong; thy arms hurt me, thy
hands make me ache.'_"
Slowly, with silent paddles, the hunters moved over the limpid waters
to the north of the floe. On the far side they saw a horde of walrus
bulls dozing in the sunlight. Behind a ridge of ice they landed,
drawing their kayaks after them. With skin lassos, harpoons and
floats, the party crouched low and crept toward the prey. Thus they
would be mistaken for other walrus by the unsuspecting animals. Ootah
was ahead. Softly they all muttered the magic formulas to prevent
themselves from being seen:
"_Nunavdlo sermitdlo-akorngakut-tamarnuga_!" In the rear, his eyes
evilly alight, Maisanguaq followed.
As they approached the herd they scattered. Along the edge of the floe
lay about twenty monstrous animals, steam rising from their nostrils as
they snorted in their slumber. There were a half dozen mother walrus
with half-grown young about them. Now and then they sleepily opened
their eyes and made low maternal noises.
Before the others realized what had happened, Ootah sprang toward a
bull and delivered his harpoon. It rose in the air and roared
deafeningly. Ootah struck a second time. The animal floundered in a
pool of blood, whipping the floe furiously with its huge tail.
With a thunderous roar all the others leaped with one glide into the
sea. The floe rocked, the water churned like a boiling cauldron. In a
few minutes Ootah had despatched the beast. Standing erect, he gazed
in defiance at the clouds, at the distant gulls. He forgot the omens,
and laughed with joy.
Not a moment was to be lost, however. Springing into their kayaks, the
Eskimos put to sea. Now the battle began in earnest. Attacking
enraged walrus in these frail skin boats is probably the most dangerous
form of hunting in the world. At any moment an infuriated animal is
liable to rise from the sea immediately beneath a kayak and upturn it.
Forming a semi-circle on the water about the swimming herd, the
fearless hunters sat in their tossing boats, each with one arm upraised
ready to strike, and with the other manipulating the paddle. Whenever
a whiskered head rose above the water one of the hunters let a harpoon
descend. After each attack they waited breathlessly.
Tateraq suddenly let his arm descend--his harpoon point struck home.
He shouted with joy--for he, too, sought Annadoah. Roaring with rage
the lanced sea-horse dived into the deep. The foaming water became red
with blood, and a few snorting, bellowing heads appeared. All about
glared enraged, fiery eyes. The animals plunged and tossed furiously
in the water--the savor of blood maddened them. They began a series of
attacks upon the kayaks.
Alive to their danger the men kept an alert watch. As they saw a
seething streak described on the surface of the water, as an animal
raged toward them, they would skillfully shift their positions. The
animal would rush snortingly by.
With dexterous movements of the paddle, Ootah playfully moved his kayak
among the herd, in one hand his harpoon ready to strike. A feverish
desire to make the greatest kill possessed him. Each time a hunter
made an attack he felt a pang of anxiety. Tense rivalry spurred the
young hunters.
In the midst of the battle Arnaluk struck a beast. Ootah summoned all
his skill, and dashed in succession after a number of appearing
heads--he forgot his danger. Before the others realized it, he had
killed two. Maisanguaq's harpoon went wild. He jealously watched
Ootah and struck without skill, carried away by chagrin and rage. Eré
made valiant attacks for he, too, thought of Annadoah, but the walrus
invariably went skimming from under his blows. Papik's harpoon glanced
the backs of half a dozen. Finally it landed. He shouted with glee.
The inflated floats attached to the harpoon lines bobbed crazily on the
surface of the ensanguined waters as the animals tossed in their death
struggles below.
Two white tusks appeared near Ootah's kayak. His arm cut the air--his
harpoon sped into the water--an enraged bellow followed. He withdrew
the handle, free of its line and the attached metal point--the point,
with the sinew, descended into the water. It had struck home.
Suddenly a cry went up. One of the natives waved his arms frantically.
A great monster had risen by his kayak and fastened one of its tusks in
the skin covering the boat from gunwale to gunwale. To strike it with
the harpoon meant that it would plunge and capsize the frail craft.
Crazy with excitement, the native began hissing and spitting in the
beast's face.
"Lift his head!" cried Ootah, paddling near. "Lift--_tugaq_!--lift his
tusk!"
"Lift his head!" echoed the others.
"_Aureti_! _Aureti_! Behave! Behave!" the panic stricken man
ludicrously shrieked at the animal.
Ootah paddled his kayak to the side of his companion's and, leaning
forward, with a quick movement, threw a lasso over the animal's nose
and under one tusk. With a terrific jerk of the body, he gave a
backward pull--the walrus rose on the water, the kayak was freed of the
tusk and slipped away. With a roar the animal sank into the sea. A
number now rose angrily about Ootah's kayak. They were bent upon a
combined assault.
Ootah warded off the attacking bulls on all sides with his harpoon.
The air trembled with infuriated calls, the animals were insane with
brute rage. The other natives, alarmed, paddled to a safe distance and
watched the unequal conflict. While Ootah manipulated his harpoons,
Maisanguaq, in the shelter of the floe, watched him with eager eyes.
He saw Ootah, with almost superhuman dexterity, striking constantly.
Repeatedly he had to renew the metal points on his weapon-handle. One
by one the animals gave up the attack and dispersed, until only an
obdurate bull remained. The battle between man and beast continued,
finally Ootah let the harpoon fly with full strength. It struck the
animal near the heart. Ootah uncoiled the free line attached to the
harpoon point quickly--and the walrus, weighing probably three thousand
pounds, plunged with the impetus of a bulk of iron into the sea. Then
a strange thing happened.
The pan-shaped drag, attached to the extreme end of the long line
securing the harpoon which Ootah had driven into the animal, became
entangled in the lashings on the forepart of Ootah's kayak. Leaning
forward, Ootah tried to disentangle it. He feared that the beast, in
its struggle, might drag all his weapons and paraphernalia into the
sea. He felt it tugging at the line while he unknotted the tangle.
While he was doing this Maisanguaq saw the beast rise to the surface of
the water not far from Ootah and describe a quick circle about his
kayak. Before he realized it, the leather line had wrapped itself
about his chest and under his arms. It took but a minute for the
animal to circle the boat--then it plunged. Maisanguaq saw Ootah
struggle to release himself; then he saw the kayak tilt as the hunter
was drawn, by the mighty impetus of the plunging sea-horse, into the
water. He heard Ootah's cry--saw the blood red waters seethe as they
closed over him. In a brief interval the kayak righted itself--it was
empty.
A murmur of dismay rose from the others. "The _tupilak_! the
_tupilak_!" Maisanguaq exultantly murmured, his eyes alight. "Happy
_angakoq_! Thou shalt have much of Ootah's meat!"
Over the spot where Ootah sank the sun flamed. The water seethed with
the threshing of the animals beneath the sea. Ootah's float finally
rose. The natives watched breathlessly for the reappearance of Ootah.
The float bobbed up and down as the animal's death struggles beneath
the water subsided.
Maisanguaq, looking at the floats which marked the dead animals, called
out:
"Ootah hath won Annadoah--hah-hah-hah! Hah! Ootah hath won Annadoah
only to lose her! We shall take Ootah's catch to Annadoah, but Ootah
sleeps. Ootah hath gone to taste the water in the country of the dead!
Hah-hah!"
At that moment Maisanguaq nearly fell from his kayak.
"Methinks thou wilt perhaps join the fishes first, friend Maisanguaq,"
a familiar voice laughed joyously behind him.
Maisanguaq's face became livid with dismay. Had the _angakoq_ failed?
And why?
Turning, he saw Ootah, not far away, clambering from the water onto the
floe. He was unscathed by the mishap--the water even had not
penetrated his skin garments. A joyous cry arose from the hunters as
they saw him running to and fro, working his arms to get up
circulation. Noting Maisanguaq's scowling face, Ootah twitted him:
"Laugh, friend Maisanguaq," he said, "for winter comes and then thy
teeth will chatter." Maisanguaq scowled deeply--Ootah's blithesome
remarks filled him with rancor.
"Peace, Maisanguaq. Methinks thou, too, lovest Annadoah," continued
Ootah kindly. "Therefor, I hear thee no spite! For who cannot love
Annadoah. _Ka--ka!_ Come--come!" Shaking the water from him, he bade
the others tow his kayak to the floe.
Ootah entered his kayak. The struggles of the walrus had subsided, and
only two skin floats bobbed feebly on top of the waves. The hunters
now strung series of kayaks together with strong leather ropes, three
skin boats being attached in a catamaran. Taking up the leather floats
one by one, to the rear kayak of each series the hunters fastened the
harpoon lines which secured the prey. Thus the animals were to be
towed slowly ashore.
Altogether eight walrus had been secured; four of these had fallen to
the skill of Ootah. Ootah sang for joy. Again he had achieved
distinction on the hunt, and so, with all the better chances of
success, he believed he might pursue his suit for the hand of Annadoah.
With powerful, steady strokes of their paddles the hunters, in their
processions of kayaks, towed the walrus through the sea shoreward.
They joined unrestrainedly in Ootah's hunting chant. Only Maisanguaq
was silent.
Now and then, unable to restrain his exuberant joy, Ootah sang his love
to the clouds, the waves, the winds.
"O winds, O happy winds, speed my message to Annadoah!" he called.
"Tell her that I return with the food of the sea! O spirits of the
air, breathe to her that Ootah's heart hungers for her as starving
_ahmingmah_ desire green grass in winter time. O happy, happy waters,
I return to Annadoah with food and fuel for winter--say Ootah
_meuilacto_--would wed--Annadoah. Tell her Ootah calls her
_Mamacadosa_!"
The others, although disappointed in being outwon, in spontaneous
recognition of his superior feat, chimed a chorus of congratulations.
Suddenly Maisanguaq gleefully pointed a significant finger to the sky.
"Pst!" he said.
A black guillemot, like an omen of evil, passed over Ootah's head.
By all the immemorial customs of their people, because of the
established pre-eminence of his prowess, Ootah should now find favor in
the eyes of Annadoah. Scarce seventeen summers had passed over
Annadoah's head and of wooers she had a score. The young hunters, not
only of her own tribe, but of others far south, sought her hand. The
fame of her beauty and skill had travelled far. None, it was said,
equalled her dexterity in plaiting sinew thread; none cut and sewed
garments as this maid with tender child's hands. She made weapons, she
brewed marvellous broths. Since the death of her mother she had served
the tribe with her skill. Yet, as the summers passed, she remained
carefree and to all suitors shook her head. "Become a great chief,"
she would say. "Win in the games, bring back the musk oxen, then
perhaps Annadoah will listen." Each summer the young men pursued the
hunt with the hope of becoming chief hunter among the tribesmen. But
for three summers Ootah had won signally above them all. To the remote
regions of their world the name of Ootah was whispered with awe. Ootah
carried off honors in the muscle-tapping and finger-pulling matches; he
out-distanced all rivals in kayak races on the sea; he left everyone
behind on perilous journeys to the inland mountains. Of every living
animal on land and sea he had killed, and in quantity of game he
excelled them all. Only of late had Annadoah listened with some degree
of favor to his pleadings. In the days of want he brought blubber to
her for fuel, and provided her with meat. And she was grateful.
Perhaps her heart stirred, but she feared the quiet passion of Ootah,
and by a perverse feminine instinct she resented a tenderness so gentle
that it seemed almost womanly. With winter approaching, and food
scarce, it was inevitable that Annadoah should wed. And now that Ootah
in the quest of the walrus had made the greatest kill, none doubted
that he should be chosen.
As the kayaks approached the village an unexpected sight greeted the
eyes of the hunters.
Along the shore, the women of the tribe and strange men were dancing.
Before the village tents they were gathered in groups. While the elder
women of the tribe beat a savage dance on membrane drums, the
chubby-bodied maidens, dressed in fur trousers, swayed in the arms of
the foreigners.