EDITH WAXES MELANCHOLY, BUT HER SADNESS IS SUDDENLY TURNED INTO JOY; AND
THE ESQUIMAUX RECEIVE A SURPRISE, AND FIND A FRIEND, AND LOSE ONE.
The sea! How many stout hearts thrill and manly bosoms swell at the
sound of that little word, or rather at the thought of all that it
conveys! How many there are that reverence and love thy power and
beauty, thy freedom and majesty, O sea! Wherein consists the potent
charm that draws mankind towards thee with such irresistible affection?
Is it in the calm tranquillity of thy waters, when thou liest like a
sheet of crystal, with a bright refulgent sky reflected in thy soft
bosom, and the white ships resting there as if in empty space, and the
glad sea-mews rippling thy surface for a brief moment and then sailing
from the blue below to the deeper blue above, and the soft song of thy
wavelets as they slide upon the shingly shore or lip among the caves and
hollows of the rocks! Or is it in the loud roar of thy billows, as they
dash and fume and lash in fury on the coasts that dare to curb thy
might?--that might which, commencing, mayhap, in the torrid zone of the
south, has rolled and leaped in majesty across the waste of waters,
tossed leviathans as playthings in its strength, rushed impetuously over
half the globe, and burst at last in helplessness upon a bed of sand!
Or does the charm lie in the yet fiercer strife of the tempest and the
hurricane, when the elements, let loose, sweep round the shrinking world
in fury; or in the ever-changing aspect of thy countenance, now bright
and fair, now ruffled with the rising breeze, or darkened by the
thunder-cloud that bodes the coming storm!
Ah yes! methinks not one but all of these combined do constitute the
charm which draws mankind to thee, bright ocean, and fills his soul with
sympathy and love. For in the changeful aspects of thy visage there are
talismans which touch the varied chords that vibrate in the hearts of
men. Perchance, in the bold whistle of thy winds, and the mad rolling
of thy waves, an emblem of freedom is recognised by crushed and chafing
spirits longing to be free. They cannot wall thee round. They cannot
map thee into acres and hedge thee in, and leave us naught but narrow
roads between. No ploughshare cleaves thee save the passing keel; no
prince or monarch owns thy haughty waves. In thy hidden caverns are
treasures surpassing those of earth; and those who dwell on thee in
ships behold the wonders of the mighty deep. We bow in adoration to thy
great Creator; and we bow to thee in love and reverence and sympathy, O
sea!
Edith sat on the sea-shore. The glassy waves were no longer encumbered
with ice, but shone like burnished gold in the light of the summer sun.
Here and there, however, a large iceberg floated on the deep--a souvenir
of winter past, a guarantee of winter yet to come. At the base of these
blue islands the sea, calm though it was, broke in a continual roar of
surf, and round their pinnacles the circling sea-birds sailed. The
yellow sands on which the child sat, the green willows that fringed the
background of brown rocks, and the warm sun, contrasted powerfully with
the vestiges of winter on the sea, while a bright parhelia in the sky
enriched and strengthened these characteristics of an arctic summer.
There was busy life and commotion in the Esquimau camp, from which Edith
had retired to some distance to indulge in solitude the sad reveries of
home, which weighed more heavily on her mind as the time flew by and the
hope of speedy delivery began to fade.
"O my own dear mother," sighed the child aloud, while a tear trickled
down each cheek, "shall I never see you more? My heart is heavy with
wishing, always wishing. But no one comes. I never see a boat or a
ship on that wide, wide sea. Oh, when, when will it come?"
She paused, and, as she had often done before, laid her face on her
hands and wept. But Edith soon recovered. These bursts of grief never
lasted long, for the child was strong in hope. She never doubted that
deliverance would come at _last_; and she never failed to supplicate at
the throne of mercy, to which her mother had early taught her to fly in
every time of trouble and distress.
Soon her attention was attracted from the sea, over whose wide expanse
she had been gazing wistfully, by the loud voices of the Esquimaux, as a
number of them prepared to embark in their kayaks. Several small whales
had been descried, and the natives, ever on the alert, were about to
attack them. Presently Edith observed Peetoot running along the beach
towards her with a seal-spear or harpoon in his hand. This youth was a
remarkably intelligent fellow, and had picked up a few words and
sentences of English, of which he made the most.
"Eeduck! Eeduck!" he cried, pointing to one of the oomiaks which the
women were launching, "you go kill whale--funny; yes, Eeduck."
"I don't think it will be very funny," said Edith, laughing; "but I'll
go to please you, Peetoot."
"Goot, Eeduck; you is goot," shouted the boy, while he flourished his
harpoon, and seizing his companion by the hand, dragged her in the
direction of the kayaks.
In a few minutes Edith was ensconced in the centre of the oomiak amid a
pack of noisy Esquimau women, whose tongues were loosed and spirits
raised by the hope of a successful hunt. They went merely for the
purpose of witnessing the sport, which was to be prosecuted by twelve or
thirteen men, each in his arrow-like kayak. The women sat round their
clumsy boat with their faces to the bow, each wielding a short, broad
paddle, with which they propelled their craft at good speed over the
glassy wave; but a few alternate dips of the long double-bladed paddles
of the kayaks quickly sent the men far ahead of them. In the stern of
the oomiak sat an old grey-headed man, who filled the office of
steersman; a duty which usually devolves upon old men after they become
unfit to manage the kayak. Indeed, it requires much vigour as well as
practice to paddle the kayak, for it is so easily upset that a man could
not sit in it for a minute without the long paddle, in the clever use of
which lies the security of the Esquimau.
When the flotilla had paddled out a short distance a whale rose, and lay
as if basking on the surface of the water. Instantly the men in the
kayaks shot towards it, while the oomiak followed as fast as possible.
On drawing near, the first Esquimau prepared his harpoon. To the barb
of this weapon a stout line, from eight to twelve fathoms long, was
attached, having a _dan_, or float, made of a sealskin at the other end
of it. The dan was large enough to hold fifteen gallons or more.
Having paddled close to the whale, the Esquimau fixed the harpoon deep
in its side, and threw the dan overboard. The whale dived in an agony,
carrying the dan down along with it, and the Esquimau, picking up the
liberated handle of the harpoon as he passed, paddled in the direction
he supposed the whale must have taken. In a short time the dan
re-appeared at no great distance. The kayaks, as if shot from a bow,
darted towards the spot, and before the huge fish could dive a second
time, it received two more harpoons and several deep stabs from the
lances of the Esquimaux. Again it dived, carrying two additional dans
down with it. But the dragging tendency of these three large floats,
combined with the deep wounds it had received, brought the fish sooner
than before to the surface, where it was instantly met and assailed by
its relentless pursuers, who, in the course of little more than an hour,
killed it, and dragged it in triumph to the shore.
The natives were still occupied in towing the captured fish, when one of
the men uttered a wild shout, and pointed eagerly out to sea. At first
Edith imagined that they must have seen another whale in the distance;
but this opinion was quickly altered when she observed the eager haste
with which they paddled towards the land, and the looks of surprise with
which, ever and anon, they regarded the object on the horizon. This
object seemed a mere speck to Edith's unaccustomed eyes; but as she
gazed long and earnestly at it, a thought flashed across her mind. She
sprang up; her sparkling eyes seemed as though they would burst from
their sockets in her eager desire to make out this object of so great
interest. At this moment the oomiak touched the land. With a bound
like a gazelle Edith sprang on shore and ran panting with excitement to
the top of a rocky eminence. Here she again directed her earnest gaze
out to sea, while her colour went and came as she pressed her hands upon
her breast in an agony of hope. Slowly but surely the speck came on;
the wind shifted a point, which caused a gleam of sunlight to fall upon
a sail. It was a boat! there could be no doubt of it--and making
directly for the island! Unable to contain herself, Edith, uttering a
piercing cry, sank upon the ground and burst into a passionate flood of
tears. It was the irresistible impulse of hope long deferred at length
realised; for the child did not entertain a doubt that this was at
length the answer to her prayers.
Meanwhile the Esquimaux ran about in a state of extraordinary
excitement. These people had very probably heard of the ships which
once a year pass through Hudson's Straits on their way to the depots on
the shores of Hudson's Bay; but they had never met with them, or seen a
Kublunat (white face) before that great day in their annals of discovery
when they found little Edith fainting in the snow. Their sharp eyes had
at once detected that the approaching boat was utterly different from
their own kayaks or oomiaks. And truly it was; for as she drew near
with her white sails bending before the evening breeze that had recently
sprung up, and the Union Jack flying from her peak, and the foam curling
before her sharp prow, she seemed a very model of grace and symmetry.
There were only three figures in the boat, one of whom, by the violent
gesticulations that he made as they approached, bespoke himself an
Esquimau; the other two stood erect and motionless, the one by the
tiller, the other by the sheet.
"Let go," said a deep soft voice, when the boat was within a
stone's-cast of the shore.
The sheet flapped in the wind as the peak fell, and in another instant
the keel grated on the sand.
For one moment a feeling of intense disappointment filled Edith's heart
as she sought in vain for the face of her father or Frank; then with a
cry of joy she sprang forward and flung herself into the arms of her old
enemy, Gaspard!
"Thank God!" said Dick Prince, with a tremulous voice, as he leaped
lightly from the boat and clasped the child in his arms; "thank God we
have found you, Miss Edith! This will put new life into your poor
mother's heart."
"Oh! how is she? Why did she not come with you?" sobbed Edith; while
Dick Prince, seating himself on a rock, drew her on his knee and stroked
her fair head as she wept upon his shoulder.
Meanwhile Annatock was being nearly devoured by his wife and child and
countrymen, as they crowded round him to obtain information, and to heap
upon him congratulations; and Gaspard, in order to restrain, and at the
same time relieve his feelings, essayed to drag the boat out of the
water, in which attempt, giant though he was, being single-handed, he
utterly failed.
After the first eager questions were answered on both sides, the natives
were informed by their comrade of the nature and objects of the
establishment at Ungava, and they exhibited the most extravagant signs
of joy on hearing the news. When their excitement was calmed down a
little, they conducted the party to their principal tent, and set before
them the choicest viands they possessed, talking vehemently all the
while, and indulging in a few antics occasionally, expressive of
uncontrollable delight.
"Ye see, Miss Edith," began Prince, when he and Gaspard were seated
before a round of walrus-beef, "the way we came to know your whereabouts
was this: Gaspard and me was sent down to the coast to hunt seals, for
we were getting short o' blubber, and did not like to be obleeged to
give deer's-meat to the dogs. Your father gave us the boat; `for,' says
he, `Prince, it'll take ye down faster than the canoe with this wind;
and if ye see any o' the natives, be sure ye don't forget to ask about
_her_, Prince.' Ye see, Miss Edith, ever since ye was lost we never
liked to mention your name, although we often spoke of you, for we felt
that we might be speakin' o' the dead. Hows'ever, away we went for the
shores o' the bay, and coasted along to the westward a bit. Then we
landed at a place where there was a good lot o' field-ice floatin', with
seals lyin' on it, and we began to catch them. One day, when we was
goin' down to the ice as usual, we saw a black object sittin' on a floe
that had drifted in the night before with a stiff breeze.
"`That's a queer-lookin' seal,' says Gaspard.
"`So 'tis,' said I. `If there was ever black bears up hereabouts, I
would say it was one o' them.'
"`Put a ball in yer gun,' says Gaspard; for ye see, as we had been
blazin' at small birds the day before, there was nothing but shot in it.
So I put in a ball, and took aim at the beast, intendin' to give it a
long shot. But I was mercifully prevented from firin'. Jist as I
squinted along the barrel, the beast rose straight up, and held up both
its fore paws. `Stop!' roars Gaspard, in an awful fright; and sure
enough I lowered my gun, and the beast hailed us in the voice of a man,
and began to walk to the shore. He seemed quite worn out when he
landed, and I could understand enough of his jargon to make out that he
had been blown out to sea on the floe, and that his name was Annatock.
"While we were talkin' to the Esquimau, Gaspard cries out, `I say,
Prince, look here! There's a sort o' medal on this chap's neck with
somethin' written on it. You're a larned fellow, Prince; see if ye can
make it out.' So I looked at it, and rubbed my eyes once or twice, I
can tell you, for, sure enough, there was EDITH as plain as the nose on
my face."
"Oh," exclaimed Edith, smiling through her tears, "that was the medal I
hung round his neck long, long ago! I hoped that it might be seen some
day by people who knew me."
"I thought so, miss," returned Prince--"I thought as much, for I knew
that the Esquimau could never have invented and writ that out of his own
head, ye see. But Gaspard and me had most awful trouble to get him to
explain how he came by it, and where he came from. Howsoever, we made
out at last that he came from an island in this direction; so we just
made up our minds to take the boat and come straight away for the
island, which we did, takin' Annatock to pilot us."
"Then does my father not know where you are, or anything about your
having heard of me?" inquired Edith, in surprise.
"Why, no, Miss Edith," replied Prince. "You see, it would have lost us
two or three days to have gone back to Fort Chimo; and, after all, we
thought it might turn out a false scent, and only raise your poor
mother's hopes for nothin'. Besides, we were sent away for a week or
two, so we knew they wouldn't wonder at our absence; so we thought, upon
the whole, it would be best to come at once, specially since it was sich
a short distance."
"A short distance!" repeated Edith, starting up. "I thought we must be
miles and miles, oh, ever so far away! Is the distance really short?"
"Ay, that it is, little one," said Prince, patting the child on the
head. "It is not more than three days' rowing from this island, and a
stiff breeze on the quarter would carry us there in less than two."
"And Frank, where is Frank?" said Edith,--with a look of eager inquiry.
"Ah, miss," replied Prince, "he has been away almost as long as
yourself. Soon after you were lost a packet came from the south, and he
was obleeged to give up the sarch after you--though he was loath to do
it--and set out with three o' the men for Moose. From that day to this
we've heerd nothin' of him. But the journey he had to make was a long
one--havin' to go round all the way to York Fort--so we didn't expect to
hear o' him afore now. But I'll tell ye more about all your old friends
when we git--things ready for a start to-morrow."
The remainder of that day was spent in making preparation for setting
sail on the following morning. The first intimation of the existence of
the new trading-fort had thrown the child-like natives into rapturous
delight; but when Prince told them he intended to go off the next day
with the child who had been as a bright spirit in their camp so long,
they fell into the depths of grief. Indeed, there was manifested a
slight desire to offer forcible opposition to this; but when Edith told
them, through the medium of Peetoot, who acted as her interpreter, that
the distance to her father's fort was not great, and that she would
expect them to come often there, and stay long, they became reconciled
to her departure; and when she sought to turn their minds (a work of no
great difficulty at any time) away from that subject by describing to
them the treasures of the trading-store, they danced and laughed and
sang like very children. Even Kaga's baby crowed with a racy richness
of feeling, and smiled with an oily brilliancy of expression, compared
with which all its former exhibitions were mere child's play.
But when the hour of departure really came, and Edith bade farewell to
her kind friends, whose rude but warm hospitality she had enjoyed so
long, they were again plunged into the deepest distress; and when the
little boat finally put to sea, there was not a tearless eye among the
tribe, while Edith was swiftly borne from their island shore before a
strong and favouring breeze.