The Giant was an Eskimo of the Arctic regions. At the beginning of his
career he was known among his kindred by the name of Skreekinbroot, or
the howler, because he howled oftener and more furiously than any infant
that had ever been born in Arctic land. His proper name, however, was
Chingatok, though his familiars still ventured occasionally to style him
Skreekinbroot.
Now it must not be supposed that our giant was one of those ridiculous
myths of the nursery, with monstrous heads and savage hearts, who live
on human flesh, and finally receive their deserts at the hands of famous
giant-killing Jacks. No! Chingatok was a real man of moderate size--
not more than seven feet two in his sealskin boots--with a lithe,
handsome figure, immense chest and shoulders, a gentle disposition, and
a fine, though flattish countenance, which was sometimes grave with
thought, at other times rippling with fun.
We mention the howling characteristic of his babyhood because it was, in
early life, the only indication of the grand spirit that dwelt within
him--the solitary evidence of the tremendous energy with which he was
endowed. At first he was no bigger than an ordinary infant. He was,
perhaps, a little fatter, but _not_ larger, and there was not an oily
man or woman of the tribe to which he belonged who would have noticed
anything peculiar about him if he had only kept moderately quiet; but
this he would not or could not do. His mouth was his safety-valve. His
spirit seemed to have been born big at once. It was far too large for
his infant body, and could only find relief from the little plump
dwelling in which it was at first enshrined by rushing out at the mouth.
The shrieks of pigs were trifles to the yelling of that Eskimo child's
impatience. The caterwauling of cats was as nothing to the growls of
his disgust. The angry voice of the Polar bear was a mere chirp
compared with the furious howling of his disappointment, and the barking
of a mad walrus was music to the roaring of his wrath.
Every one, except his mother, wished him dead and buried in the centre
of an iceberg or at the bottom of the Polar Sea. His mother--squat,
solid, pleasant-faced, and mild--alone put up with his ways with that
long-suffering endurance which is characteristic of mothers. Nothing
could disturb the serenity of Toolooha. When the young giant, (that was
to be), roared, she fondled him; if that was ineffectual, she gave him a
walrus tusk or a seal's flipper to play with; if that did not suffice,
she handed him a lump of blubber to suck; if that failed, as was
sometimes the case, she gambolled with him on the floor of her snow-hut,
and rubbed his oily visage lovingly over her not less oleaginous
countenance. Need we enlarge on this point? Have not all mothers acted
thus, or similarly, in all times and climes?
From pole to pole a mother's soul
Is tender, strong, and true;
Whether the loved be good or bad--
White, yellow, black, or blue.
But Toolooha's love was wise as well as strong. If all else failed, she
was wont to apply corporal punishment, and whacked her baby with her
tail. Be not shocked, reader. We refer to the tail of her coat, which
was so long that it trailed on the ground, and had a flap at the end
which produced surprising results when properly applied.
But the howling condition of life did not last long.
At the age of five years little Chingatok began to grow unusually fast,
and when he reached the age of seven, the tribe took note of him as a
more than promising youth. Then the grand spirit, which had hitherto
sought to vent itself in yells and murderous assaults on its doting
mother, spent its energies in more noble action. All the little boys of
his size, although much older than himself, began to look up to him as a
champion. None went so boldly into mimic warfare with the walrus and
the bear as Chingatok. No one could make toy sledges out of inferior
and scanty materials so well as he. If any little one wanted a
succourer in distress, Skreekinbroot was the lad to whom he, or she,
turned. If a broken toy had to be mended, Chingatok could do it better
than any other boy. And so it went on until he became a man and a
giant.
When he was merely a big boy--that is, bigger than the largest man of
his tribe--he went out with the other braves to hunt and fish, and
signalised himself by the reckless manner in which he would attack the
polar bear single-handed; but when he reached his full height and
breadth he gave up reckless acts, restrained his tendency to display his
great strength, and became unusually modest and thoughtful, even
pensive, for an Eskimo.
The superiority of Chingatok's mind, as well as his body, soon became
manifest. Even among savages, intellectual power commands respect.
When coupled with physical force it elicits reverence. The young giant
soon became an oracle and a leading man in his tribe. Those who had
wished him dead, and in the centre of an iceberg or at the bottom of the
Polar Sea, came to wish that there were only a few more men like him.
Of course he had one or two enemies. Who has not? There were a few who
envied him his physical powers. There were some who envied him his
moral influence. None envied him his intellectual superiority, for they
did not understand it. There was one who not only envied but hated him.
This was Eemerk, a mean-spirited, narrow-minded fellow, who could not
bear to play what is styled second fiddle.
Eemerk was big enough--over six feet--but he wanted to be bigger. He
was stout enough, but wanted to be stouter. He was influential too, but
wanted to reign supreme. This, of course, was not possible while there
existed a taller, stouter, and cleverer man than himself. Even if
Eemerk had been the equal of Chingatok in all these respects, there
would still have remained one difference of character which would have
rendered equality impossible.
It was this: our young giant was unselfish and modest. Eemerk was
selfish and vain-glorious. When the latter killed a seal he always kept
the tit-bits for himself. Chingatok gave them to his mother, or to any
one else who had a mind to have them. And so in regard to everything.
Chingatok was not a native of the region in which we introduce him to
the reader. He and the tribe, or rather part of the tribe, to which he
belonged, had travelled from the far north; so far north that nobody
knew the name of the land from which they had come. Even Chingatok
himself did not know it. Being unacquainted with geography, he knew no
more about his position on the face of this globe than a field-mouse or
a sparrow.
But the young giant had heard a strange rumour, while in his far-off
country, which had caused his strong intellect to ponder, and his huge
heart to beat high. Tribes who dwelt far to the south of his northern
home had told him that other tribes, still further south, had declared
that the people who dwelt to the south of them had met with a race of
men who came to them over the sea on floating islands; that these
islands had something like trees growing out of them, and wings which
moved about, which folded and expanded somewhat like the wings of the
sea-gull; that these men's faces were whiter than Eskimo faces; that
they wore skins of a much more curious kind than sealskins, and that
they were amazingly clever with their hands, talked a language that no
one could understand, and did many wonderful things that nobody could
comprehend.
A longing, wistful expression used to steal over Chingatok's face as he
gazed at the southern horizon while listening to these strange rumours,
and a very slight smile of incredulity had glimmered on his visage, when
it was told him that one of the floating islands of these Kablunets, or
white men, had been seen with a burning mountain in the middle of it,
which vomited forth smoke and fire, and sometimes uttered a furious
hissing or shrieking sound, not unlike his own voice when he was a
Skreekinbroot.
The giant said little about these and other subjects, but thought
deeply. His mind, as we have said, was far ahead of his time and
condition. Let us listen to some of the disjointed thoughts that
perplexed this man.
"Who made me?" he asked in a low tone, when floating alone one day in
his kayak, or skin canoe, "whence came I? whither go I? What is this
great sea on which I float? that land on which I tread? No sledge, no
spear, no kayak, no snow-hut makes itself! Who made all that which I
behold?"
Chingatok looked around him, but no audible answer came from Nature. He
looked up, but the glorious sun only dazzled his eyes.
"There _must_ be One," he continued in a lower tone, "who made all
things; but who made _Him_? No one? It is impossible! The Maker must
have ever been. _Ever been_!" He repeated this once or twice with a
look of perplexed gravity.
The northern savage had grasped the grand mystery, and, like all true
philosophers savage or civilised who have gone before him, relapsed into
silence.
At last he resolved to travel south, until he should arrive at the
coasts where these strange sights before described were said to have
been seen.
Having made up his mind, Chingatok began his arrangements without delay;
persuaded a few families of his tribe to accompany him, and reached the
north-western shores of Greenland after a long and trying journey by
water and ice.
Here he spent the winter. When spring came, he continued his journey
south, and at last began to look out, with sanguine expectation, for the
floating islands with wings, and the larger island with the burning
mountain on it, about which he had heard.
Of course, on his way south, our giant fell in with some members of the
tribes through whom the rumours that puzzled him had been transmitted to
the far north; and, as he advanced, these rumours took a more definite,
also a more correct, form. In time he came to understand that the
floating islands were gigantic kayaks, or canoes, with masts and sails,
instead of trees and wings. The burning mountain, however, remained an
unmodified mystery, which he was still inclined to disbelieve. But
these more correct views did not in the least abate Chingatok's eager
desire to behold, with his own eyes, the strange men from the unknown
south.
Eemerk formed one of the party who had volunteered to join Chingatok on
this journey. Not that Eemerk was influenced by large-minded views or a
thirst for knowledge, but he could not bear the thought that his rival
should have all the honour of going forth on a long journey of
exploration to the mysterious south, a journey which was sure to be full
of adventure, and the successful accomplishment of which would
unquestionably raise him very much in the estimation of his tribe.
Eemerk had volunteered to go, not as second in command, but as an
independent member of the party--a sort of free-lance. Chingatok did
not quite relish having Eemerk for a companion, but, being a
good-humoured, easy-going fellow, he made no objection to his going.
Eemerk took his wife with him. Chingatok took his mother and little
sister; also a young woman named Tekkona, who was his wife's sister.
These were the only females of the exploring party. Chingatok had left
his wife behind him, because she was not robust at that time; besides,
she was very small--as is usually the case with giants' wives--and he
was remarkably fond of her, and feared to expose her to severe fatigue
and danger.
The completed party of explorers numbered twenty souls, with their
respective bodies, some of which latter were large, some small, but all
strong and healthy. Four of the men were friends of Eemerk, whom he had
induced to join because he knew them to be kindred spirits who would
support him.
"I go to the ice-cliff to look upon the sea," said Chingatok one
morning, drawing himself up to his full height, and unconsciously
brushing some of the lamp-black off the roof of his hut with the hood of
his sealskin coat.
At this point it may be well to explain, once for all, that our giant
did not speak English, and as it is highly improbable that the reader
understands the Eskimo tongue, we will translate as literally as
possible--merely remarking that Chingatok's language, like his mind, was
of a superior cast.
"Why goes my son to the ice-cliff?" asked Toolooha in a slightly
reproachful tone. "Are not the floes nearer? Can he not look on the
great salt lake from the hummocks? The sun has been hot a long time
now. The ice-cliffs are dangerous. Their edges split off every day.
If my son goes often to them, he will one day come tumbling down upon
the floes and be crushed flat, and men will carry him to his mother's
feet like a mass of shapeless blubber."
It is interesting to note how strong a resemblance there is in sentiment
and modes of thought between different members of the human family.
This untutored savage, this Polar giant, replied, in the Eskimo tongue,
words which may be freely translated--"Never fear, mother, I know how to
take care of myself."
Had he been an Englishman, he could not have expressed himself more
naturally. He smiled as he looked down at his stout and genial mother,
while she stooped and drew forth a choice morsel of walrus flesh from
one of her boots. Eskimo ladies wear enormous sealskin boots the whole
length of their legs. The tops of these boots are made extremely wide,
for the purpose of stowing away blubber, or babies, or other odd
articles that might encumber their hands.
Chingatok seemed the personification of savage dignity as he stood
there, leaning on a short walrus spear. Evidently his little mother
doted on him. So did Oblooria, a pretty little girl of about sixteen,
who was his only sister, and the counterpart of her mother, hairy coat
and tail included, only a few sizes smaller.
But Chingatok's dignity was marred somewhat when he went down on his
hands and knees, in order to crawl through the low snow-tunnel which was
the only mode of egress from the snow-hut.
Emerging at the outer end of the tunnel, he stood up, drew the hood of
his sealskin coat over his head, shouldered his spear, and went off with
huge and rapid strides over the frozen billows of the Arctic Sea.
Spring was far advanced at the time of which we write, and the sun shone
not only with dazzling brilliancy, but with intense power on the fields
of ice which still held the ocean in their cold unyielding embrace. The
previous winter had been unusually severe, and the ice showed little or
no sign of breaking up, except at a great distance from land, where the
heaving of the waves had cracked it up into large fields. These were
gradually parting from the main body, and drifting away with
surface-currents to southern waters, there to be liquefied and re-united
to their parent sea.
The particular part of the Greenland coast to which the giant went in
his ramble is marked by tremendous cliffs descending perpendicularly
into the water. These, at one part, are divided by a valley tilled with
a great glacier, which flows from the mountains of the interior with a
steep declivity to the sea, into which it thrusts its tongue, or extreme
end. This mighty river of ice completely fills the valley from side to
side, being more than two miles in width and many hundred feet thick.
It seems as solid and motionless as the rocks that hem it in,
nevertheless the markings on the surface resemble the currents and
eddies of a stream which has been suddenly frozen in the act of flowing,
and if you were to watch it narrowly, day by day, and week by week, you
would perceive, by the changed position of objects on its surface, that
it does actually advance or flow towards the sea. A further proof of
this advance is, that although the tongue is constantly shedding off
large icebergs, it is never much decreased in extent, being pushed out
continuously by the ice which is behind. In fact, it is this pushing
process which causes the end of the tongue to shed its bergs, because,
when the point is thrust into deep water and floats, the motion of the
sea cracks the floating mass off from that pail which is still aground,
and lets it drift away.
Now it was to these ice-cliffs that the somewhat reckless giant betook
himself. Although not well acquainted with that region, or fully alive
to the extent of the danger incurred, his knowledge was sufficient to
render him cautious in the selection of the position which should form
his outlook.
And a magnificent sight indeed presented itself when he took his stand
among the glittering pinnacles. Far as the eye could reach, the sea lay
stretched in the sunshine, calm as a mill-pond, and sparkling with
ice-jewels of every shape and size. An Arctic haze, dry and sunny,
seemed to float over all like golden gauze. Not only was the sun
encircled by a beautiful halo, but also by those lovely lights of the
Arctic regions known as parhelia, or mock-suns. Four of these made no
mean display in emulation of their great original. On the horizon,
refraction caused the ice-floes and bergs to present endless variety of
fantastic forms, and in the immediate foreground--at the giant's feet--
tremendous precipices of ice went sheer down into the deep water, while,
away to the right, where a bay still retained its winter grasp of an
ice-field, could be seen, like white bee-hives, the temporary snow-huts
of these wandering Eskimos.
Well might the eye, as well as the head, of the so-called savage rise
upwards while he pondered the great mystery of the Maker of all! As he
stood on the giddy ledge, rapt in contemplation, an event occurred which
was fitted to deepen the solemnity of his thoughts. Not twenty yards
from the point on which he stood, a great ice-cliff--the size of an
average house--snapped off with a rending crash, and went thundering
down into the deep, which seemed to boil and heave with sentient emotion
as it received the mass, and swallowed it in a turmoil indescribable.
Chingatok sprang from his post and sought a safer but not less lofty
outlook, while the new-born berg, rising from the sea, swayed
majestically to and fro in its new-found cradle.
"It is not understandable," muttered the giant as he took up his new
position and gazed with feelings of awe upon the grand scene. "I wonder
if the pale-faced men in the floating islands think much about these
things. Perhaps they dwell in a land which is still more wonderful than
this, and hunt the walrus and the seal like us. It is said they come
for nothing else but to see our land and find out what is in it. Why
should I not go to see their land? My kayak is large, though it has no
wings. The land may be far off, but am I not strong? They are
pale-faced; perhaps the reason is that they are starved. That must be
so, else they would not leave their home. I might bring some of the
poor creatures to this happy land of ours, where there is always plenty
to eat. They might send messengers for their relations to come and
dwell with us. I will speak to mother about that; she is wise!"
Like a dutiful son, the giant turned on his heel, descended the cliffs,
and went straight home to consult with his mother.