Fortune, which had hitherto proved favourable to our brave explorers,
did not desert them at the eleventh hour.
Soon after their arrival at Refuge Island a fair wind sprang up from the
south, and when the _Charity_ had been carefully patched and repaired,
the kites were sent up and the voyage was continued. That day and night
they spent again upon the boundless sea, for the island was soon left
out of sight behind them, though the wind was not very fresh.
Towards morning it fell calm altogether, obliging them to haul down the
kites and take to the oars.
"It can't be far off now, Chingatok," said the Captain, who became
rather impatient as the end drew near.
"Not far," was the brief reply.
"Land ho!" shouted Benjy, about half-an-hour after that.
But Benjy was forced to admit that anxiety had caused him to take an
iceberg on the horizon for land.
"Well, anyhow you must admit," said Benjy, on approaching the berg,
"that it's big enough for a fellow to mistake it for a mountain. I
wonder what it's doing here without any brothers or sisters to keep it
company."
"Under-currents brought it here, lad," said the Captain. "You see, such
a monster as that must go very deep down, and the warm under-current has
not yet melted away enough of his base to permit the surface-current to
carry him south like the smaller members of his family. He is still
travelling north, but that won't last long. He'll soon become small
enough to put about and go the other way. I never saw a bigger fellow
than that, Benjy. Hayes, the American, mentions one which he measured,
about 315 feet high, and nearly a mile long. It had been grounded for
two years. He calculated that there must have been seven times as much
of it below water as there was above, so that it was stranded in nearly
half-a-mile depth of water. This berg cannot be far short of that one
in size."
"Hm! probably then his little brothers and sisters are being now crushed
to bits in Baffin's Bay," said Benjy.
"Not unlikely, Ben, if they've not already been melted in the Atlantic,
which will be this one's fate at last--sooner or later."
From a pool on this berg they obtained a supply of pure fresh water.
When our explorers did at last sight the land it came upon them
unexpectedly, in the form of an island so low that they were quite close
before observing it. The number of gulls hovering above it might have
suggested its presence, but as these birds frequently hover in large
flocks over shoals of small fish, little attention was paid to them.
"Is this your native land, Chingatok?" asked the Captain, quickly.
"No, it is over there," said the Eskimo, pointing to the distant
horizon; "this is the first of the islands."
As they gazed they perceived a mountain-shaped cloud so faint and far
away that it had almost escaped observation. Advancing slowly, this
cloud was seen to take definite form and colour.
"I _knew_ it was!" said Benjy, "but was afraid of making another
mistake."
Had the boy or his father looked attentively at the giant just then,
they would have seen that his colour deepened, his eyes glittered, and
his great chest heaved a little more than was its wont, as he looked
over his shoulder while labouring at the oars. Perhaps we should have
said played with the oars, for they were mere toys in his grasp.
Chingatok's little mother also was evidently affected by the sight of
home. But the Captain and his son saw it not--they were too much
occupied with their own thoughts and feelings. To the Englishmen the
sight of land roused only one great all-engrossing thought--the North
Pole! which, despite the absurdity of the idea, _would_ present itself
in the form of an upright post of terrific magnitude--a worthy
axle-tree, as it were, for the world to revolve upon. To the big Eskimo
land presented itself in the form of a palatial stone edifice measuring
fifteen feet by twelve, with a dear pretty little wife choking herself
in the smoke of a cooking-lamp, and a darling little boy choking himself
with a mass of walrus blubber. Thus the same object, when presented to
different minds, suggested ideas that were:
"Diverse as calm from thunder,
Wide as the poles asunder."
It was midnight when the boats drew near to land. The island in which
stood the giant's humble home seemed to Captain Vane not more than eight
or ten miles in extent, and rose to a moderate height--apparently about
five or six hundred feet. It was picturesque in form and composed of
rugged rocks, the marks on which, and the innumerable boulders
everywhere, showed that at some remote period of the world's history, it
had been subjected to the influence of glacial action. No glacier was
visible now, however--only, on the rocky summit lay a patch or two of
the last winter's snow-drift, which was too deep for the summer sun to
melt away. From this storehouse of water gushed numerous tiny rivulets
which brawled cheerily rather than noisily among the rocks, watering the
rich green mosses and grasses which abounded in patches everywhere, and
giving life to countless wild-flowers and berries which decked and
enriched the land.
Just off the island--which by a strange coincidence the inhabitants had
named Poloe--there were hundreds of other islets of every shape and
size, but nearly all of them low, and many flat and swampy--the
breeding-grounds of myriads of waterfowl. There were lakelets in many
of these isles, in the midst of which were still more diminutive islets,
whose moss-covered rocks and fringing sedges were reflected in the
crystal water. Under a cliff on the main island stood the Eskimo
village, a collection of stone huts, bathed in the slanting light of the
midnight sun.
But no sound issued from these huts or from the neighbouring islands.
It was the period of rest for man and bird. Air, earth, and water were
locked in profound silence and repose.
"We've got to Paradise at last, father," was the first sound that broke
the silence, if we except the gentle dip of the oars and the rippling
water on the bow.
"Looks like it, Benjy," replied the Captain.
A wakeful dog on shore was the first to scent the coming strangers. He
gave vent to a low growl. It was the keynote to the canine choir, which
immediately sent up a howl of discord. Forthwith from every hut there
leaped armed men, anxious women, and terrified children, which latter
rushed towards the cliffs or took refuge among the rocks.
"Hallo! Chingatok, your relations are not to be taken by surprise,"
said the Captain--or something to that effect--in Eskimo.
The giant shook his head somewhat gravely.
"They must be at war," he said.
"At war! whom with?"
"With the Neerdoowulls," replied Chingatok with a frown. "They are
always giving us trouble."
"Not badly named, father," said Benjy; "one would almost think they must
be of Scotch extraction."
At that moment the natives--who had been gesticulating wildly and
brandishing spears and bone knives with expressions of fury that denoted
a strong desire on their part to carve out the hearts and transfix the
livers of the newcomers--suddenly gave vent to a shout of surprise,
which was succeeded by a scream of joy. Chingatok had stood up in the
boat and been recognised. The giant's dog--an appropriately large one--
had been the first to observe him, and expressed its feelings by wagging
its tail to such an extent that its hind legs had difficulty in keeping
the ground.
Immediately on landing, the party was surrounded by a clamorous crew,
who, to do them justice, took very little notice of the strangers, so
overjoyed were they at the return of their big countryman.
Soon a little pleasant though flattish-faced woman pushed through the
crowd and seized the giant. This was his wife Pingasuk, or Pretty One.
She was _petite_--not much larger than Oblooria the timid. The better
to get at her, Chingatok went down on his knees, seized her by the
shoulders, and rubbed her nose against his so vigorously that the
smaller nose bid fair to come off altogether. He had to stoop still
lower when a stout urchin of about five years of age came up behind him
and tried to reach his face.
"Meltik!" exclaimed the giant, rubbing noses gently for fear of damaging
him, "you are stout and fat, my son, you have been eating much blubber--
good."
At that moment Chingatok's eyes fell on an object which had hitherto
escaped his observation. It was a little round yellow head in his
wife's hood, with a pair of small black eyes which stared at him in
blank surprise. He made a snatch at it and drew forth--a naked baby!
"Our girlie," said the wife, with a pleased but anxious look; "don't
squeeze. She is very young and tender--like a baby seal."
The glad father tried to fold the creature to his bosom; nearly dropped
it in his excess of tender caution; thrust it hastily back into his
wife's hood, and rose to give a respectful greeting to an aged man with
a scrubby white beard, who came forward at the moment.
"Who are these, my son?" asked the old man, pointing to the Englishmen,
who, standing in a group with amused expressions, watched the meeting
above described.
"These are the Kablunets, father. I met them, as I expected, in the
far-off land. The poor creatures were wandering about in a great kayak,
which they have lost, searching for _nothing_!"
"Searching for nothing! my son, that cannot be. It is not possible to
search for nothing--at least it is not possible to find it."
"But that is what they come here for," persisted Chingatok; "they call
it the Nort Pole."
"And what is the Nort Pole, my son?"
"It is nothing, father."
The old man looked at his stately son with something of anxiety mingled
with his surprise.
"Has Chingatok become a fool, like the Kablunets, since he left home?"
he asked in a low voice.
"Chingatok is not sure," replied the giant, gravely. "He has seen so
much to puzzle him since he went away, that he sometimes feels foolish."
The old Eskimo looked steadily at his son for a few moments, and shook
his head.
"I will speak to these men--these foolish men," he said. "Do they
understand our language?"
"Some of them understand and speak a little, father, but they have with
them one named Unders, who interprets. Come here, Unders."
Anders promptly stepped to the front and interpreted, while the old
Eskimo put Captain Vane through an examination of uncommon length and
severity. At the close of it he shook his head with profound gravity,
and turned again to his son.
"You have indeed brought to us a set of fools, Chingatok. Your voyage
to the far-off lands has not been very successful. These men want
something that they do not understand; that they could not see if it was
before them; that they cannot describe when they talk about it, and that
they could not lay hold of if they had it."
"Yes, father," sighed Chingatok, "it is as I told you--nothing; only the
Nort Pole--a mere name."
A new light seemed to break in on Chingatok as he said this, for he
added quickly, "But, father, a name is _something_--my name, Chingatok,
is something, yet it is nothing. You cannot see it, you do not lay hold
of it, yet it is there."
"Toohoo! my son, that is so, no doubt, but your name describes _you_,
and you are something. No one ever goes to a far-off land to search for
a _name_. If this Nort Pole is only a name and not a _thing_, how can
it _be_?" exclaimed the old man, turning on his heel and marching off in
a paroxysm of metaphysical disgust.
He appeared to change his mind, however, for, turning abruptly back, he
said to Anders, "Tell these strangers that I am glad to see them; that a
house and food shall be given to them, and that they are welcome to
Poloe. Perhaps their land--the far-off land--is a poor one; they may
not have enough to eat. If so, they may stay in this rich land of mine
to hunt and fish as long as they please. But tell them that the Eskimos
love wise men, and do not care for foolishness. They must not talk any
more about this search after nothing--this Nort Pole--this nonsense--
huk!"
Having delivered himself of these sentiments with much dignity, the old
man again turned on his heel with a regal wave of the hand, and marched
up to his hut.
"That must be the King of Poloe," whispered Captain Vane to Leo,
endeavouring to suppress a smile at the concluding caution, as they
followed Anders and one of the natives to the hut set apart for them.
The Captain was only half right. Amalatok was indeed the chief of the
island, but the respect and deference shown to him by the tribe were
owing more to the man's age and personal worth, than to his rank. He
had succeeded his father as chief of the tribe, and, during a long life,
had led his people in council, at the hunt, and in war, with consummate
ability and success. Although old, he still held the reins of power,
chiefly because his eldest son and rightful successor--Chingatok's elder
brother--was a weak-minded man of little capacity and somewhat malignant
disposition. If our giant had been his eldest, he would have resigned
cheerfully long ago. As it was, he did not see his way to change the
customs of the land, though he could not tell when, or by whom, or under
what circumstances, the order of succession had been established.
Probably, like many other antiquated customs, it had been originally the
result of despotism on the part of men in power, and of stupid
acquiescence on the part of an unthinking people.
On reaching his hut the old chief sat down, and, leaning carelessly
against the wall, he toyed with a bit of walrus rib, as an Englishman
might with a pair of nut-crackers at dessert.
"Why did you bring these barbarians here?"
"I did not bring them, father, they brought me," said the son with a
deprecating glance.
"Huk!" exclaimed the chief, after which he added, "hum!"
It was evident that he had received new light, and was meditating
thereon.
"My son," continued Amalatok, "these Kablunets seem to be stout-bodied
fellows; can they fight--are they brave?"
"They are brave, father, very brave. Even the little one, whom they
call Bunjay, is brave--also, he is funny. I have never seen the
Kablunets fight with men, but they fight well with the bear and the
walrus and the ice. They are not such fools as you seem to think.
True, about this nothing--this Nort Pole--they are quite mad, but in
other matters they are very wise and knowing, as you shall see before
long."
"Good, good," remarked the old chief, flinging the walrus rib at an
intrusive dog with signal success, "I am glad to hear you say that,
because I may want their help."
Amalatok showed one symptom of true greatness--a readiness to divest
himself of prejudice.
"For what do you require their help, father?" asked Chingatok.
Instead of answering, the old chief wrenched off another walrus rib from
its native backbone, and began to gnaw it growlingly, as if it were his
enemy and he a dog.
"My father is disturbed in his mind," said the giant in a sympathising
tone.
Even a less observant man than Chingatok might have seen that the old
chief was not only disturbed in mind, but also in body, for his features
twitched convulsively, and his face grew red as he thought of his
wrongs.
"Listen," said Amalatok, flinging the rib at another intrusive dog,
again with success, and laying his hand impressively on his son's arm.
"My enemy, Grabantak--that bellowing walrus, that sly seal, that
empty-skulled puffin, that porpoise, cormorant, narwhal--s-s-sus!"
The old man set his teeth and hissed.
"Well, my father?"
"It is not well, my son. It is all ill. That marrowless bear is
stirring up his people, and there is no doubt that we shall soon be
again engaged in a bloody--a _useless_ war."
"What is it all about, father?"
"About!--about nothing."
"Huk! about Nort Pole--nothing," murmured Chingatok--his thoughts
diverted by the word.
"No, it is worse than Nort Pole, worse than nothing," returned the chief
sternly; "it is a small island--very small--so small that a seal would
not have it for a breathing-place. Nothing on it; no moss, no grass.
Birds won't stay there--only fly over it and wink with contempt. Yet
Grabantak says he must have it--it is within the bounds of _his_ land!"
"Well, let him have it, if it be so worthless," said Chingatok, mildly.
"Let him have it!" shouted the chief, starting up with such violence as
to overturn the cooking-lamp--to which he paid no regard whatever--and
striding about the small hut savagely, "no, never! I will fight him to
the last gasp; kill all his men; slay his women; drown his children;
level his huts; burn up his meat--"
Amalatok paused and glared, apparently uncertain about the propriety of
wasting good meat. The pause gave his wrath time to cool.
"At all events," he continued, sitting down again and wrenching off
another rib, "we must call a council and have a talk, for we may expect
him soon. When you arrived we took you for our enemies."
"And you were ready for us," said Chingatok, with an approving smile.
"Huk!" returned the chief with a responsive nod. "Go, Chingatok, call a
council of my braves for to--night, and see that these miserable
starving Kablunets have enough of blubber wherewith to stuff
themselves."
Our giant did not deem it worth while to explain to his rather petulant
father that the Englishmen were the reverse of starving, but he felt the
importance of raising them in the old chief's opinion without delay, and
took measures accordingly.
"Blackbeard," he said, entering the Captain's hut and sitting down with
a troubled air, "my father does not think much of you. Tell him that,
Unders."
"I understand you well enough, Chingatok; go on, and let me know why the
old man does not think well of me."
"He thinks you are a fool," returned the plain spoken Eskimo.
"H'm! I'm not altogether surprised at that, lad. I've sometimes
thought so myself. Well, I suppose you've come to give me some good
advice to make me wiser--eh! Chingatok?"
"Yes, that is what I come for. Do what I tell you, and my father will
begin to think you wise."
"Ah, yes, the old story," remarked Benjy, who was an amused listener--
for his father translated in a low tone for the benefit of his
companions as the conversation proceeded--"the same here as everywhere--
Do as I tell you and all will be well!"
"Hold your tongue, Ben," whispered Alf.
"Well, what am I to do?" asked the Captain.
"Invite my father to a feast," said Chingatok eagerly, "and me too, and
my mother too; also my wife, and some of the braves with their wives.
And you must give us biskit an'--what do you call that brown stuff?"
"Coffee," suggested the Captain.
"Yes, cuffy, also tee, and shoogre, and seal st- ate--what?"
"Steak--eh?"
"Yes, stik, and cook them all in the strange lamp. You must ask us to
see the feast cooked, and then we will eat it."
It will be observed that when Chingatok interpolated English words in
his discourse his pronunciation was not perfect.
"Well, you are the coolest fellow I've met with for many a day! To
order a feast, invite yourself to it, name the rest of the company, as
well as the victuals, and insist on seeing the cooking of the same,"
said the Captain in English; then, in Eskimo,--"Well, Chingatok, I will
do as you wish. When would you like supper?"
"Now," replied the giant, with decision.
"You hear, Butterface," said the Captain when he had translated, "go to
work and get your pots and pans ready. See that you put your best foot
foremost. It will be a turning-point, this feast, I see."
Need we say that the feast was a great success? The wives, highly
pleased at the attention paid them by the strangers, were won over at
once. The whole party, when assembled in the hut, watched with the most
indescribable astonishment the proceedings of the negro--himself a
living miracle--as he manipulated a machine which, in separate
compartments, cooked steaks and boiled tea, coffee, or anything else, by
means of a spirit lamp in a few minutes. On first tasting the hot
liquids they looked at each other suspiciously; then as the sugar
tickled their palates, they smiled, tilted their pannikins, drained them
to the dregs, and asked for more!
The feast lasted long, and was highly appreciated. When the company
retired--which did not happen until the Captain declared he had nothing
more to give them, and turned the cooking apparatus upside down to prove
what he said--there was not a man or woman among them who did not hold
and even loudly assert that the Kablunets were wise men.
After the feast the council of war was held and the strangers were
allowed to be present. There was a great deal of talk--probably some of
it was not much to the point, but there was no interruption or
undignified confusion. There was a peace-party, of course, and a
war-party, but the latter prevailed. It too often does so in human
affairs. Chingatok was understood to favour the peace-party, but as his
sire was on the other side, respect kept him tongue-tied.
"These Eskimos reverence age and are respectful to women," whispered Leo
to Alf, "so we may not call them savages."
The old chief spoke last, summing up the arguments, as it were, on both
sides, and giving his reasons for favouring war.
"The island is of no use," he said; "it is not worth a seal's nose, yet
Grabantak wishes to tear it from us--us who have possessed it since the
forgotten times. Why is this? because he wishes to insult us," ("huk!"
from the audience). "Shall we submit to insult? shall we sit down like
frightened birds and see the black-livered cormorant steal what is ours?
shall the courage of the Poloes be questioned by all the surrounding
tribes? Never! while we have knives in our boots and spears in our
hands. We will fight till we conquer or till we are all dead--till our
wives are husbandless and our children fatherless, and all our stores of
meat and oil are gone!" ("huk! huk!") "Then shall it be said by
surrounding tribes, `Behold! how brave were the Poloes! they died and
left their wives and little children to perish, or mourn in slavery,
rather than submit to insult!'"
The "huks" that greeted the conclusion of the speech were so loud and
numerous that the unfortunate peace-makers were forced to hide their
diminished heads.
Thus did Amalatok resolve to go to war for "worse than Nort Pole--for
nothing"--rather than submit to insult! (See Note 1.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Note 1. It may not be inappropriate here to point out that Eskimo
savages are sometimes equalled, if not surpassed, in this respect, by
civilised and even Christian nations.