LEO VISITS FLATLAND AND SEES AS WELL AS HEARS MUCH TO INTEREST HIM
THERE.
The result of Grabantak's meditation was that, considering the nature
and wonderful weapons of the men by whom Amalatok had been reinforced,
he thought it advisable to return to his own land, which was not far
distant, for the purpose of adding to the force with which he meant to
subjugate the men of Poloe.
"We are unconquerable," he said, while conversing on the situation with
Teyma, his first lieutenant, or prime minister; "everybody knows that we
are invincible. It is well-known that neither white men, nor yellow
men,--no, nor black men, nor blue men,--can overcome the Flatlanders.
We must keep up our name. It will not do to let the ancient belief die
down, that one Flatlander is equal to three men of Poloe, or any other
land."
"The Poloe men laugh in their boots when they hear us boast in this
way," said Teyma gently.
We draw attention to the curious resemblance in this phrase to our more
civilised "laughing in the sleeve," while we point out that the prime
minister, although of necessity a man of war, was by nature a man of
peace. Indeed his name, Teyma, which signifies peace, had been given
him because of his pacific tendencies.
"What! would you not have me defend the Flatland name?" demanded
Grabantak, fiercely.
"No, I would have you defend only the Flatland property," replied the
blunt minister.
"And is not Puiroe my property?" growled Grabantak, referring to the
barren rock which was the cause of war.
"So is _that_ your property," said Teyma, picking up a stone, "and yet I
treat it thus!" (He tossed it contemptuously into the sea.) "Is that
worth Flatlander blood? would you kill me for _that_? shall Eskimo wives
and mothers weep, and children mourn and starve for a useless rock in
the sea."
"You always thwart me, Teyma," said Grabantak, trying to suppress a
burst of wrath, which he was well aware his fearless minister did not
mind in the least. "It is true this island is not worth the shake of a
puffin's tail; but if we allow the Poloe men to take it--"
"To keep it," mildly suggested Teyma, "they have long had it."
"Well, to keep it, if you will," continued the chief testily; "will not
other tribes say that the old name of the Flatlanders is dead, that the
war-spirit is gone, that they may come and attack us when they please;
for we cannot defend our property, and they will try to make us slaves?
What! shall Flatlanders become slaves? no never, never, _never_!" cried
Grabantak, furiously, though unconsciously quoting the chorus of a
well-known song.
"No, _never_," re-echoed Teyma with an emphatic nod, "yet there are many
steps between fighting for a useless rock, and being made slaves."
"Well then," cried Grabantak, replying to the first part of his
lieutenant's remark and ignoring the second, "we must fight to prove our
courage. As to losing many of our best men, of course we cannot help
that. Then we must kill, burn, and destroy right and left in Poloeland,
to prove our power. After that we will show the greatness of our
forbearance by letting our enemies alone. Perhaps we may even
condescend to ask them to become our friends. What an honour that would
be to them, and, doubtless, what a joy!"
"Grabantak," said Teyma with a look and tone of solemnity which
invariably overawed his chief, and made him uncomfortable, "you have
lived a good many years now. Did you ever make a friend of an enemy by
beating him?"
"Of course not," said the other with a gesture of impatience.
"Grabantak, you had a father."
"Yes," said the chief, with solemn respect.
"And _he_ had a father."
"True."
"And he, too, had a father."
"Well, I suppose he had."
"Of course he had. All fathers have had fathers back and back into the
mysterious Longtime. If not, where did our tales and stories come from?
There are many stories told by fathers to sons, and fathers to sons,
till they have all come down to us, and what do these stories teach us?
that all fighting is bad, except what _must_ be. Even what _must_ be is
bad--only, it is better than some things that are worse. Loss of life,
loss of country, loss of freedom to hunt, and eat, and sleep, are worse.
We must fight for these--but to fight for a bare rock, for a name, for
a coast, for a fancy, it is foolish! and when you have got your rock,
and recovered your name, and pleased your fancy, do the brave young men
that are dead return? Do the maidens that weep rejoice? Do the mothers
that pine revive? Of what use have been all the wars of Flatland from
Longtime till now? Can you restore the mountain-heaps of kayaks, and
oomiaks, and spears, and walrus-lines, from the smoke into which they
vanished! Can you recall the great rivers of whale-oil from the sea
into which they have been poured, or the blood of men from the earth
that swallowed it? Is not war _always_ loss, loss, loss, and _never_
gain? Why cannot we live at peace with those who will, and fight only
with those who insist on war."
"Go, Teyma, stop your mouth with blubber," said the chief, rising; "I am
weary of you. I tell you, Amalatok shall die; Puiroe shall be mine.
The tribes shall all learn to tremble at the name of Grabantak and to
respect the men of Flatland."
"Ay, and to love them too, I suppose," added Teyma with a facetious
sneer.
"Boo!" replied his chief, bringing the conversation to an abrupt close
by walking away.
In accordance with their chief's resolve, the Grabantak band embarked in
their kayaks next morning, the gale having moderated, and with the
intention of obtaining reinforcements, paddled back to Flatland, which
they reached in a couple of days.
On the voyage Leo confined himself strictly to the oars and paddles,
being unwilling to let the Eskimos into the secret of the kite, until he
could do so with effect, either in the way of adding to their respect
for the white man and his contrivances, or of making his escape.
Now, as has been said or hinted, although Grabantak's son, Koyatuk, was
a stout and tall man, he was not gifted with much brain. He possessed
even less of that substance than his father, whose energy and power of
muscle, coupled with indomitable obstinacy, enabled him to hold the
reins of government which were his by hereditary right. Besides being a
fearless man, Grabantak was respected as a good leader in war. But
Koyatuk had neither the energy of his father, nor his determination. He
was vacillating and lazy, as well as selfish. Hence he was not a
favourite, and when, after landing at Flatland, he endeavoured to renew
his claim to Oblooria, neither his father nor the people encouraged him.
The timid one was therefore left with Leo and Anders, who immediately
fitted up for her a separate screened-off apartment in the hut which was
assigned to them in the native village.
Even Koyatuk's mother did not befriend her son on this occasion. Merkut
had her own reasons for proving faithless to her spoilt boy, whom on
most occasions she favoured. Knowing his character well, the sturdy
wife of Grabantak had made up her mind that Koyatuk should wed a young
intelligent, and what you may call lumpy girl named Chukkee, who was
very fond of the huge and lazy youth, and who, being herself
good-natured and unselfish, would be sure to make him a good wife.
After one or two unavailing efforts, therefore, and a few sighs, the
heir-apparent to the throne of Flatland ceased to trouble Oblooria, and
devoted himself to his three favourite occupations--hunting, eating, and
repose.
"Misser Lo," whispered Anders, on the first night after landing, as they
busied themselves with the partition above referred to, "we 'scapes from
dis here land very easy."
"How, Anders?"
"W'y, you's on'y got wait for nort' vint, den up kite, launch boat,
an'--hup! away."
"True, lad, but I don't want to escape just yet."
"Not want to 'scape?"
"No. You see, Anders, we are now on very friendly terms with this
tribe, and it seems to me that if we were to remain for a time and
increase our influence, we might induce Grabantak to give up this war on
which he seems to have set his heart. I have great hopes of doing
something with Teyma. He is evidently a reasonable fellow, and has much
power, I think, with the chief--indeed with every one. Pity that he is
not to succeed Grabantak instead of that stupid Koyatuk. Besides, now I
am here I must explore the land if possible. It is a pity no doubt to
leave our friends, even for a short time, in ignorance of our fate, but
we can't help that at present. Light the lamp, Anders, and let's see
what we're about."
The summer was by that time so far advanced that the sun descended a
considerable way below the horizon each night, leaving behind a sweet
mellow twilight which deepened almost into darkness inside the Eskimo
huts. These latter, like those already described, were made of stone,
and the small openings that served for windows did not let in much light
at any time.
The hut which had been assigned by Grabantak to his prisoners--or
visitors, for as such he now seemed to regard them--was a large roomy
one, made chiefly of clay. It stood on a little mound a hundred yards
or so apart from the main village of Flatland, and was probably one of
the chief's private palaces. It was oval in form--like a huge oven--
about fifteen feet in diameter, and six feet in height. One-half of the
floor was raised about eight inches, thus forming the "breck," which
served for a lounge by day, and a couch by night. Its furniture of
skins, cooking-lamp, etcetera, was much the same as that of the Eskimo
huts already described, except that the low tunnel-shaped entrance was
very long--about twelve feet. Light was admitted by a parchment-covered
hole or window, with several rents in it, as well as by various
accidental holes in the roof.
When the lamp was lighted, and skins were spread on the breck, and Leo,
having finished the partition, was busy making entries in a note-book,
and Anders was amusing himself with a tobacco pipe--foolish man! and
Oblooria was devoting herself to the lamp, from which various charming
sounds and delicious smells emanated--as well as smoke--this northern
residence looked far more cheerful and snug than the luxurious dwellers
in civilised lands will readily believe.
"I wonder," said Leo, looking up from his book after a prolonged
silence, "I wonder what strange sounds are those I hear."
"P'r'aps it's de vint," said Anders, puffing a cloud from his lips in
sleepy contentment, and glancing upwards.
When he and Leo looked at the roof of the hut it shook slightly, as if
something had fallen on it.
"Strange," muttered Leo, reverting to his notebook, "it did not look
like wind when the sun went down. It must be going to blow hard."
After a few minutes of silence Leo again looked up inquiringly.
"Dere's anoder squall," said Anders.
"More like a sneeze than a squall. Listen; that is a queer pattering
sound."
They listened, but all was silent. After a minute or so they resumed
their occupations.
The sounds were, however, no mystery to those who were in the secret of
them. Knowing the extreme curiosity of his countrymen, Grabantak had
placed a sentinel over his guests' hut, with orders to let no one go
near it. The sentinel entered on his vigil with that stern sense of
duty-unto-death that is supposed to animate all sentinels. At first the
inhabitants of Flatland kept conscientiously away from the forbidden
spot, but as the shades of night toned down the light, some of them
could not resist drawing near occasionally and listening with distended
eyes, ears, and nostrils, as if they expected to drink in foreign sounds
at all these orifices. The sentinel grasped his spear, steeled his
heart, and stood in front of the door with a look of grand solemnity
worthy of the horse-guards.
At last, however, the sentinel's own curiosity was roused by the eager
looks of those--chiefly big boys--who drew ever nearer and nearer.
Occasional sounds from the hut quickened his curiosity, and the strange
smell of tobacco-smoke at last rendered it unbearable.
Slowly, sternly, as if it were part of his duty to spy, he moved to the
torn window and peeped in. He was fascinated at once of course. After
gazing for five minutes in rapt admiration, he chanced to withdraw his
face for a moment, and then found that nine Eskimos had discovered nine
holes or crevices in the hut walls, against which their fat faces were
thrust, while at least half-a-dozen others were vainly searching for
other peep-holes.
A scarcely audible hiss caused the rapt nine to look up. A terrible
frown and a shake of the official spear caused them to retire down the
slope that led to the hut.
This was the unaccountable "squall" that had first perplexed Leo and his
comrade.
But like tigers who have tasted blood, the Flatlanders could not now be
restrained.
"Go!" said the sentinel in a low stern voice to the retreating
trespassers, whom he followed to the foot of the slope. "If you come up
again I will tell Grabantak, who will have you all speared and turned
into whale-buoys."
The boys did not appear to care much for the threat. They were
obviously buoyed up with hope.
"Oh! do, _do_ let us peep! just once!" entreated several of them in
subdued but eager tones.
The sentinel shook his obdurate head and raised his deadly spear.
"We will make no noise," said a youth who was the exact counterpart of
Benjamin Vane in all respects except colour and costume--the first being
dirty yellow and the latter hairy.
The sentinel frowned worse than ever.
"The Kablunets," said another of the band, entreatingly, "shall hear
nothing louder than the falling of a snow-flake or a bit of eider-down."
Still the sentinel was inexorable.
The Eskimos were in despair.
Suddenly Benjy's counterpart turned and fled to the village on light and
noiseless toe. He returned immediately with a rich, odorous, steaming
piece of blubber in his hand. It was a wise stroke of policy. The
sentinel had been placed there without any reference to the fact that he
had not had his supper. He was ravenously hungry. Can you blame him
for lowering his spear, untying his eyebrows, and smiling blandly as the
held out his hand?
"Just one peep, and it is yours," said the counterpart, holding the
morsel behind him.
"My life is in danger if I do," remonstrated the sentinel.
"Your supper is in danger if you don't," said the counterpart.
It was too much for him. The sentinel accepted the bribe, and,
devouring it, returned with the bribers on tiptoe to the hut, where they
gazed in silent wonder to their hearts' content.
"Well, that beats everything," said Leo, laying down his book and
pencil, "but I never did hear a gale that panted and snorted as this one
does. I'll go out and have a look at it."
He rose and crawled on hands and knees through the tunnel. The spies
rolled off the hut with considerable noise and fled, while the sentinel
resuming his spear and position, tried to look innocent.
While he was explaining to Anders why he was there, Grabantak himself
walked up, accompanied by his lieutenant. They were hospitably
entertained, and as Oblooria had by that time prepared a savoury mess,
such as she knew the white men loved, the chief and Teyma condescended
to sup with their captive-guests.
Leo had not with him the great cooking machine with which his uncle had
effected so much in Poloeland, but he had a tin kettle and a couple of
pannikins, with some coffee, sugar, and biscuit, which did good service
in the way of conciliating, if not surprising, the chief of Flatland.
Both he and his lieutenant, moreover, were deeply interested in Anders's
proceedings with the pipe.
At first they supposed he was conducting some religious ceremony, and
looked on with appropriate solemnity, but, on being informed of the
mistake, Grabantak smiled graciously and requested a "whiff." He
received one, and immediately made such a hideous face that Anders could
not restrain a short laugh, whereupon the chief hit him over the head
with his empty pannikin, but, after frowning fiercely, joined in the
laugh.
Leo then began to question the chief about the land over which he ruled,
and was told that it was a group of islands of various sizes, like the
group which belonged to Amalatok, but with more islands in it; that most
of these islands were flat, and covered with lakes, large and small, in
which were to be found many animals, and birds as numerous almost as the
stars.
"Ask him from what direction these birds come," said Leo, pulling out
his pocket-compass and expecting that Grabantak would point to the
south; but the chief pointed to the north, then to the south, then to
the east, and then to the west!
"What does he mean? I don't understand him," said Leo.
"The birds come from _everywhere_--from all round. They come here to
breed," said the chief, spreading his hands round him and pointing in
all directions. "Then, when the young are strong and the cold season
begins, they spread the wing and go away there--to _every_ place--all
round."
"Anders," said Leo impressively, "do you know I think we have actually
arrived at the immediate region of the North Pole! What the chief says
almost settles the question. This, you see, must be the warmest place
in the Polar regions; the central spot around the Pole to which
migratory birds flock from the south. If voyagers, crossing the Arctic
circle at _all_ parts, have observed these birds ever flying _north_, it
follows that they _must_ have some meeting-place near the Pole, where
they breed and from which they depart in autumn. Well, according to
Grabantak, _this_ is the meeting-place, therefore _this_ must be near
the Pole! How I wish uncle were here!"
Leo had been more than half soliloquising; he now looked up and burst
into a laugh, for the interpreter was gazing at him with an expression
of blank stupidity.
"You's kite right, Missr Lo," he said at last, with a meek smile, "kite
right, no doubt; only you's too clibber for _me_."
"Well, Anders, I'll try not to be quite so clibber in future; but ask
Grabantak if he will go with me on an expedition among these islands. I
want very much to examine them all."
"Examine them all!" repeated the chief with emphasis when this was
translated; "tell the young Kablunet with the hard fist, that the
sunless time would come and go, and the sun-season would come again,
before he could go over half my lands. Besides, I have more important
work to do. I must first go to Poloeland, to kill and burn and destroy.
After that I will travel with Hardfist."
Hardfist, as the chief had styled him in reference to his late
pugilistic achievements, felt strongly inclined to use his fists on
Grabantak's skull when he mentioned his sanguinary intentions, but
recalling Alf's oft-quoted words, "Discretion is the better part of
valour," he restrained himself. He also entered into a long argument
with the savage, in the hope of converting him to peace principles, but
of course in vain. The chief was thoroughly bent on destroying his
enemies.
Then, in a state of almost desperate anxiety, Leo sought to turn him
from his purpose by telling him about God the Father, and the Prince of
Peace, and, pulling out his Bible, began to read and make Anders
interpret such passages of the Word as bore most directly on his
subject. While acting in this, to him, novel capacity as a teacher of
God's Word, Leo more than once lifted up his heart in brief silent
prayer that the Spirit might open the heart of the savage to receive the
truth. The chief and his lieutenant listened with interest and
surprise. Being savages, they also listened with profound respect to
the young enthusiast, but Grabantak would not give up his intention. He
explained, however, that he meant first to go to the largest and most
central island of his dominions, to make inquiry there of the Man of the
Valley what would be the best time to set out for the war.
"The Man of the Valley!" asked Leo, "who is that?"
"He is an Eskimo," replied Grabantak, with a sudden air of solemnity in
his manner, "whose first forefather came in the far past longtime, from
nobody knows where; but this first forefather never had any father or
mother. He settled among the Eskimos and taught them many things. He
married one of their women, and his sons and daughters were many and
strong. Their descendants inhabit the Great Isle of Flatland at the
present day. They are good and strong; great hunters and warriors. The
first forefather lived long, till he became white and blind. His power
and wisdom lay in a little strange thing which he called `buk.' How it
made him strong or wise no one can tell, but so it was. His name was
Makitok. When he died he gave _buk_ to his eldest son. It was wrapped
up in a piece of sealskin. The eldest son had much talk with his father
about this mystery-thing, and was heard to speak much about the
Kablunets, but the son would never tell what he said. Neither would he
unwrap the mystery-thing, for fear that its power might escape. So he
wrapped it up in another piece of sealskin, and gave it to his eldest
son, telling him to hand it down from son to son, along with the name
Makitok. So _buk_ has grown to be a large bundle now, and no one
understands it, but every one has great reverence for it, and the
Makitok now in possession is a great mystery-man, very wise; we always
consult him on important matters."
Here was food for reflection to Leo during the remainder of that night,
and for many hours did his sleepless mind puzzle over the mystery of
Makitok, the Man of the Valley.
This sleepless condition was, not unpleasantly, prolonged by the sounds
of animal life that entered his oven-like dwelling during great part of
the night. Evidently great numbers of the feathered tribes were moving
about, either because they meant to retire at dissipatedly late, or had
risen at unreasonably early, hours. Among them he clearly distinguished
the musical note of the long-tailed duck and the harsh scream of the
great northern diver, while the profound calmness of the weather enabled
him to hear at intervals the soft blow and the lazy plash of a white
whale, turning, it might be, on his other side in his water-bed on the
Arctic Sea.
Following the whale's example, Leo turned round at last, buried his face
in a reindeer pillow, and took refuge in oblivion.