_Kak’s Hunting_
One morning Kak wakened early and lay staring up at the snow ceiling.
It looked mysteriously large and gloomed, for Guninana was saving oil
and only a small light flamed in one corner of the large lamp, instead
of the broad blaze all along its edge. Faint shadows were cast on
the incurved roof by the family clothes hanging about. Kak, watching
them, peopled an imaginary world with grotesque, half-human forms.
The shadows stayed still but his thoughts danced. He was full of big
thoughts these days, and flashing ambitions. The superb elation of
his all-night adventure had died down somewhat; house building was no
longer tirelessly discussed by everybody; the story sank gradually into
neglect, and with it our hero’s importance. This did not suit Kak.
Applause had tickled his vanity. Having once tasted the pleasures of
fame he longed for them always, and burned to distinguish himself anew.
The worst of it was, in order to thrill the family now he would have
to do something grander and nobler and mightier; and after that
excitement wore off--if he did achieve it--another still bigger deed
must follow, and so on and so forth until he would be an old, old man.
Fame and Romance set a terrific pace! Kak felt strangely small and
powerless considering this and watching the shadows. His spirits sank.
It was chilly inside and very quiet; nothing stirred outside. Even the
dogs must be asleep. Such uncommon silence offered a truly wonderful
opportunity for an Eskimo boy to think; but Kak could not stay long on
the job. As soon as he noticed the cold he knew what was making him
downhearted; and so, jumping out of bed, he pulled on his fur shirt and
boots and trousers, and his rough topcoat, and crept into the tunnel.
Contrary to his habit he made no noise. Adventure is ever so much
more fun when it leads through stealth and secrecy, as all boys know.
Besides he did not want to wake Noashak and have her bawling after him.
Once in the open air he commenced swinging his arms vigorously to make
his blood run, for dressing without the lamp was hardly pleasant. But
soon his body began to glow, and then he jumped on the sleigh and took
a look around.
Wow! What a cold gray landscape! The whole world lay flat about him,
empty of forms or motion; while above in the sky dome, which looked
very much like their roof on a huge scale, instead of shadows the gayly
colored northern lights danced and dissolved.
Kak’s spirits shot up like a rocket.
“Hurrah!” he yelled, and instantly stifled the cheer so as not to rouse
their dogs.
The beauty of the Arctic dawn was wonderful and had to be expressed.
Out there in the open he felt he could achieve. And this was going
to be a gorgeous day, a marvelous chance for doing things--but what
things? The boy balanced first on one leg and then on the other,
trying to decide. He took a turn standing on his hands and viewing the
world upside down. This helped, maybe because all the blood rushed
into his brain, I don’t know. You will have to try it for yourselves
sometime--anyway, when he swung on to his feet again, he had a big idea.
Why should he not go a-hunting all day by himself? If he could catch a
seal it would make him a man. How Hitkoak’s eyes would snap with envy,
for he had no sons to help provide. Kak’s last exploit, fine as it was,
had lacked one notable feature--the joy of dragging the evidence home.
A boy cannot carry even a snow house about on his back like a snail,
so not one of the girls actually saw his famous building; and just
yesterday Noashak had been very saucy about it, suggesting the boasted
shelter was only a dug-out in the side of the drift. Now that sort of
sisterly slam must be stopped. Kak felt it was up to him.
Urged by this need to do and to dare the boy stole into their tunnel,
which is also an Eskimo’s storehouse, and took from its place his
father’s harpoon with its stout rope of reindeer sinew, the ivory
bodkin used in sealing, a fox skin to keep his feet warm, and extra
lengths of thong. The last article showed his good sense.
“I’m a small boy, after all,” he reasoned, “and not nearly so strong as
a man; and I’ve seen seals pull pretty hard. I’ll wrap this line around
my middle, tie it to the ice pick, and I don’t care if I catch a whale!”
To kill a seal as Kak proposed doing is no easy matter. It takes
infinite patience and a whole lot of time. The lad expected to be away
hours and hours, so he gathered up some dried meat for his breakfast
and lunch; and gave Sapsuk a good feed before starting. Then, rather
alarmed by his own boldness, balancing the long harpoon firmly in one
hand, and holding the dog leash in the other, he started on his day’s
hunt.
Kak knew the seals’ ways: he had often watched his father and the
neighbors catch them, and sometimes had been called upon to help. The
thrill of his present enterprise lay in doing it all alone. For that he
had started early before the family waked, and kept Sapsuk cowed with
harsh whispers while he was feeding. No one would know where they had
gone or what they were up to, until they came galloping over the ice,
bringing the seal behind them.
Kak thought it immense fun to be off for a day with Sapsuk. The dog
was a good hunter; just as knowing about seals as Taptuna himself, and
absolutely necessary to the game. For since the seals live in the water
under the ice, and the ice is covered with several inches and sometimes
feet of snow, how could man or boy hope to find their tiny breathing
holes scattered about that vast, white plain? It was easy for Sapsuk.
He ran with his sharp nose close to the snow and sniffed and sniffed;
and as soon as he smelt seal he commenced to run around in circles,
scratching and pawing. Then his owner jerked him off quickly, lest he
scare the game, and having marked the spot, took doggie away to a safe
distance and tethered him on a jag or block of ice.
So that you can thoroughly understand Kak’s horrible predicament
later, I want to explain what was going on below the ice as well as
what happened above. Seals are not like fish which can live in the
sea always. They have to come up into the air every little while to
breathe, just as you do after diving and swimming under water. While it
is summer, with all the ocean lying open, the seals have an easy time.
They can drop down to fish or climb out to sleep in the sun, and enjoy
all the best things of life without any trouble about it. But when
Jack Frost comes along and begins forming his shining roof over their
playgrounds, the poor animals have to look sharp. They _must_ breathe
air, and so they must keep holes open to breathe through. At first it
is simple. They just dash up below the thin ice and bunt a hole in it
with their heads. But Jack keeps on working; the ice grows thicker and
is soon too strong to be broken; and then the seal, instead of crashing
through in a minute, must gnaw and gnaw for hours, and keep on gnawing
to keep his precious hole from freezing over. As the ice thickens it
must gnaw all the quicker and all the harder. Sometimes in the middle
of winter, the ice freezes six or seven feet thick, and the poor seal
is still busy gnawing and gnawing and gnawing.
Though these holes are only the size of a half dollar at the top they
must be large below, big enough for the animal’s entire body, so it can
swim up and poke its nose to the surface of the ice. The moment the
seal sticks his nose up for that long breath is the hunter’s single
chance of spearing him, so he has to look sharp.
When Sapsuk had sniffed around in circles, settled his mind on one
spot, and raised a paw to dig, Kak grabbed the leash and hauled him off.
“Too bad, old chap, to disappoint you,” he apologized, patting his
dog’s thick coat. Sapsuk’s being out of it was the worst part of
sealing.
When he had consoled his favorite, Kak hurried back, dug away some of
the snow, and feeling about very carefully found the small hole. There
he placed his ivory bodkin sticking down through so that the seal would
bump its point as he swam up to breathe. Next he cut himself a block of
snow to sit on, and spread his fox skin under his feet. The boy took
his extra line, wrapped it firmly about his waist, and unfastening the
harpoon line from the ice pick on the upper end of the shaft, tied
these two thongs fast together. He twisted a couple of turns back
around near the pick so that the line would lie smoothly under his
hand, and settled patiently to watch his bodkin, very much as you watch
the float when you go fishing. There was no loafing or larking for Kak;
all the time he held the harpoon in his hand and kept himself alert,
ready if the ivory moved to strike down quickly and pierce the animal’s
snub nose.
It sounds simple since the seal must come up for air. But seals are
clever as well as shy; each animal makes several breathing holes, and
a boy can watch only one; so if Sapsuk happened to find a place which
the seal had just left, Kak would be obliged to watch hours before its
owner returned.
After catching his prize, the hunter holds on to his thong till he cuts
away the ice around the hole with his copper chisel and makes it large
enough to drag his victim out. This is the thrilling part. This is what
Kak counted on. Sitting all day long, watching, proved his mettle. The
boy was no quitter, but he had remained two hours in one place and
one position, and was terribly bored and aching for a run--a bit of a
change--excuse to move about.
“It’s yell or bust!” he muttered.
Feeling hungry he laid the harpoon down for a moment and got out his
package of dried meat. With this open on the ground beside him, he
lunched, snatching one hand away from duty long enough to put a piece
into his mouth, then taking firm hold again. While he ate he planned
deserting for a little game with Sapsuk. The more he thought of it,
the better a game seemed. Unconsciously he glanced toward his dog,
and at that moment the ivory pin began to tremble, its motion caused
by ripples in the water as a seal swam up. This was the hunter’s
warning--but his wits were elsewhere. He had almost decided to quit and
play when the bodkin suddenly jerked. Amid that world of tense inaction
its bob crashed like a trumpet call. Kak’s mind leaped. He dashed down
the spear with all his force. The thrill of it gave him twice his usual
strength and he struck as truly and a good deal harder than his father
or Hitkoak would have done. It is the sure aim and not the muscle which
counts. He knew at once he had hit his seal for he felt the knife sink
into its flesh.
The startled animal pulled back, pulling the loose tip off the harpoon.
Instantly Kak reversed the shaft and drove the pick deep into the ice.
As the thong was around this, though not tied, it formed a sort of
anchor; and with it and the loop on his body the boy imagined himself
master of any situation. He seized the braided sinew as he had seen
Taptuna do, but it simply tore through his fingers. He could no more
hold against that terrific pull than turn a blizzard with his breath.
He yelled for help. Sapsuk’s was the only answering voice. Cold
perspiration bathed him. He was in an agony of excitement. The beast
would get away, such force must certainly snap the line. He would
lose his prize and with it his father’s best harpoon head. In a spasm
Kak saw his grand adventure ending in dire disgrace. To return home
empty-handed, having to confess he had been unable to hold his seal--it
was unthinkable! Spurred by the threatened shame he clutched madly, but
the throng whizzed away from him, faster than it takes to tell, and
snapped taut its length to the pick. It is impossible to get a good
grip on a thin tight line; Kak, undefeated, grabbed the harpoon shaft
and held on like fury.
There was an instant’s lull below. The young hunter drew a deep breath
and braced himself.
“Wolloping fishes! Who’d think a seal could pull so hard!”
Our boy’s respect for his father and the men whom he saw landing their
catches right along had grown some.
“Golly!”
The thing came alive again with a twist and a plunge. It yanked like
a hundred dog-team. The sudden pull on the thong acted as a giant
catapult, whirled the pick out of the ice, the shaft from Kak’s hands,
and sent them flying. The hunter fell forward, recovered, surged to his
knees, saw his extra line a writhing serpent slip along the ice and
tried to catch it--vainly. A second later, with a sharp zip the rope
reached its limit and tightened about his waist like a vise, cutting
his flesh through two coats, jerking him violently on to his face.
A wail of pain and dismay rang through the clear air. Sapsuk answered
with howls and barks. Kak felt like howling in chorus as he realized
how he was caught. All his strength on the line failed to ease its
pressure. And when the maddened animal dived the squeezing made him
gasp.
The boy knew now this was no ordinary catch. It must be an ugrug, one
of the huge bearded seals, almost as big and powerful as a bear; the
knowledge gave him alternate thrills of delight and terror. He was torn
between pride over spearing an ugrug, with insane desire to do the
impossible and land the critter; and a mortal fear lest it should cut
him in two. Wildly he tugged at the thong with an idea of loosening
it sufficiently to squirm free. Let the monster take harpoon and all.
Taptuna would forgive the loss when he heard how narrowly his son had
escaped death. So Kak thought while the beast pulled; but when the
pain eased a little, ambition soared. The youthful hunter pictured his
reception if he strode home with the story of killing a bearded seal.
At first they would laugh and cry shame on him for telling whoppers;
then marvel open-mouthed, and finally believe when he proudly led his
father forth and showed the prize.
For such a triumph Kak felt he would willingly give his life. At least
he felt so while the ugrug rested; when the brute plunged again he
bellowed:
“Help! Help!”
Foxes! How the thong cut. Incessantly the ugrug dived back and flung
about, trying to twist that horrible spear out of his nose; and up on
top of the snow each movement sawed and sawed poor Kak’s soft tummy.
The seal had him flat on his face now dragged right across the hole,
powerless, exhausted. He could not even lift his head high enough to
see over the rough ice. So long as that stout leather line held, Kak
was the ugrug’s prisoner; just as much a prisoner as if he had been
shut within four walls.
Our hero was gifted with what we call presence of mind. As his father
had said: “The boy’s got sense.” Even in this dreadful plight he did
not lose his head and cry, or give up hope; but exercised his nimble
wits considering how he could best help himself.
The sun was coming up, struggling against a fog; if it would only shine
out and warm his back Kak reckoned to withstand the cold, in spite of
that horrid thong lashing him to the icy floor under its snow blanket.
He knew the family had slept till after daylight and when they woke
and saw his place empty they would think he had only gone a short
way and not bother till after breakfast. If his father missed the
harpoon he would guess their plan and be in no hurry to follow, since
squatting by a seal hole is a comparatively safe way to be lost. When
he did start to find them it was going to take him a long time, because
the boy and dog had made play of their hunting and run all around
on the wide field. The snow was exceptionally hard, wind-driven, so
their footprints would only show in drifted patches with gaps some of
them maybe a quarter of a mile wide. You can understand that between
criss-crossed tracks and no tracks and a thickening fog Taptuna’s game
of hare and hound would not be easy.
Lying as he did, flat on his face, the boy could not do much to draw
attention. The idea of his father passing and neither of them knowing
it worried him, till with sudden joy he recollected Sapsuk. The dog
made a bold, dark mark. There was a good chance of Taptuna seeing
Sapsuk if he came near at all. Hitkoak, too, would probably be hunting.
With eyes riveted on his bodkin Kak had not noticed what was happening
behind him. Their neighbor might be sitting close by. At the thought he
tried to shout, but the snow muffled his voice; only his faithful pup
heard and barked reply. That sound filled Kak with hope.
“Good dog! Good dog!” he cried. “Keep it up, old boy!”
“Yap--yap--yap!”
“Come on, old fellow. Come on!”
Thus urged the tethered canine pranced and yelped, straining at his
leash, while Kak’s heart glowed. Barking would carry far through the
still air; and on the hunting ground such a racket could only mean
trouble.
“Go it, old fellow!” he wheezed, almost smothered by snow.
But all at once Sapsuk decided his master was only playing pranks on
him, and lay down sulking.
“Good old doggie, good boy.”
He would not answer even to Kak’s most wheedling tone; perhaps he did
not hear.
The prisoner worked one arm loose and threw chunks of snow blindly in
the dog’s direction. No use! He could not hit him, and it was an old
game anyway. Then Kak had an inspiration. The remains of his lunch lay
open on the ground. He fumbled for a piece of meat, held it up and
waved it as teasingly as he could. Sapsuk understood that--wanted it.
Continuous barking followed.
“Wof--wof--whooooooooof!”
The pup thought his master a pretty mean fellow not to toss him that
one bite, and the boy’s arm ached. Still, their alarm rang out.
The sun was about at its highest Kak judged, but obscured by fog. He
seemed to be growing colder and colder and more and more cramped. The
ugrug had been having the best of it for a long time. Nevertheless
the pain in his nose and the blood he had lost through the wound were
beginning to wear him out. He did not struggle so constantly, nor pull
so hard, nor plunge so deep at the end of the third hour, and often lay
quite still; but by then Kak felt too numb to move. He knew the fog had
lifted and could hear Sapsuk making that dismal noise which eventually
caught Taptuna’s ear and brought him on the run. Once freed the dog
dashed for his young master, while the Eskimo followed, not knowing
what to expect.
It was a shock to see the boy stretched on his face so stiff and
lifeless. Taptuna could only believe Kak had fallen and broken a
leg--and frozen, perhaps, later. Trembling he sighed the boy’s name.
“Dad,” murmured Kak.
“He lives!”
With a great shout the man leaped into the air clapping his hands; Kak
interrupted these transports of joy.
“Dad--he’s got me.”
“Got you? What does this mean--does the boy rave, is he in a trance?”
But there was nothing spooky or unreal about Kak’s pride. “The ugrug,”
he said in an elated whisper, “round my waist.”
Taptuna saw the thong then, thrust his arm under his son’s body and
pulled hard. For a second the huge seal, taken by surprise, allowed
himself to go with the pull. Sharp pain in his nose reminded him of
danger and set him battling again; but that moment’s delay was enough
for Taptuna to slack the noose and free Kak.
The boy rolled over on the snow with a sobbing intake of breath; he
rose to his knees.
“Pull, kid!” yelled his father, who needed no explanation once he had
felt the monster plunge.
His voice squealed with desire to land this great prize, and Kak,
thrilled afresh, sprang into the fight. Of course the ugrug knew he was
beaten with a man’s hand on the line. His wound was very swollen and
sore, and hurt like anything when they twitched it. He gave a wollop or
two toward liberty, and bluffed at being almighty powerful, but little
by little he had to surrender and follow his nose up into the hole.
Kak and Taptuna were already cautiously chopping the ice away at the
surface. Slowly the bearded monster rose below them. As the ugrug came
into the narrowest part of the hole it had no room to fight and its
struggles ceased. The leather line held. Frantically Kak chopped and
chopped with the stout copper ice chisel. The great bulk of the seal’s
body rose, slithered, rose again; their hands were almost on it. The
boy’s heart fluttered as he saw that gigantic creature which he had
fought and won.
“Alone, my lad--alone! For it was practically over when I came. I have
only helped you land him,” Taptuna generously acknowledged when at
last, with wild heaving and grunting and groaning, the slippery beast
was drawn out and lay an inert mass at their feet.
Kak’s nerves played him false then. He fell down on top of the seal and
cried like Noashak.
“Tut, tut,” said his father, patting him on the back. “You’re cold and
tired and hungry--but you’re a man, Kak. You’ve got grit. Hanging on to
an ugrug!”
“I couldn’t get away. I’d have let him go if he would have let me go. I
was afraid he’d pull me right through the ice,” blubbered Kak.
Taptuna laughed. “He wasn’t strong enough for that, boy. A dozen of him
couldn’t do it--but you might have cut the thong.”
“I--I never thought of it!” confessed the brave hunter, feeling no end
of a billy goat. “We would have lost the harpoon,” he added, as a sort
of excuse for sticking it out.
His father chuckled. He wondered how long the hero would look
shamefaced after he met the girls and Guninana.
But before they turned homeward with the story and its proof Kak was to
experience his crowning moment. When a hunter kills a bearded seal it
is the custom for him to stand up and signal to all the other hunters
within sight that they may come and share his prize. The boy was busy
loosing Sapsuk from the carcass when his father said:
“You have forgotten something.”
Kak had only once seen an ugrug caught. He looked questioningly at
Taptuna.
“There is Hitkoak yonder. He has just settled down to watch his hole.
He has not caught anything to-day.”
The Eskimo pointed southward, and then Kak flushed to his ears. “You,
father,” he stammered.
“Not a bit of it! You got him.”
The seal killer hesitated a moment, stepped on to his ugrug the better
to be seen, and extending his arms at right angles waved the news of
his wonderful catch. Hitkoak, far away, looked, rubbed his eyes, and
looked again. Surely that short figure could be no other than Kak.
What? Kak giving the signal for a bearded seal!
Hitkoak gathered up spear and bodkin and commenced to run.
Oh, the happy thrill of it as their neighbor gazed on the monster and
heard Kak’s tale; and the thrill when they arrived home, men and dogs
dragging the seal. Guninana’s wild laughter, the girls’ bulging eyes,
and Noashak’s awe, were all items to be noted and remembered, and
gloated over, and told and retold all his life long till Kak should be
an old, old man. Hitkoak’s wife, who was fat and lazy, came waddling
over to hear the story. She clapped soft hands, smiling at the big
supply of blubber; and they all took turns patting Kak’s shoulders and
asking him innumerable questions. Then they had a feast. Guninana made
blood soup for a second course at dinner. The boy liked it exceedingly
and drank a great deal, partly to hide his embarrassment, for they all
kept on exclaiming and telling him he was the bravest son imaginable.
Such unstinted praise nearly turned his head.
They all sat in a circle talking, admiring, marveling. The lamp shone
brightly; the house grew hotter and hotter; Kak’s ears burned with
glory and bashfulness. He had pulled off his fur shirt on coming
inside, according to Eskimo custom, and the red mark where that cruel
thong had bound his body stood out like a ribbon of honor.
“It is my son who is the hero,” chuckled Guninana, gently touching the
scar with her plump fingers. “But half grown--and he has already slain
his ugrug. The little man!”
Kak did not care much about that little man business. It made him look
like a baby. Moreover, his mother was shedding tears of pride and
happiness down his back as she gazed at Hitkoak’s wife, who had no son.
Very quietly he moved around beside his father.
He thought they would never have done with their questions. Honor
had thrilled him at first but now he felt sleepy. He was weary of
praise--the worst weariness in the world--and terribly tired. The
sandman and the warm soup worked together, undermining his dignity. The
boyish head nodded. He straightened up blinking fiercely once--twice.
No, it was no use. Kak felt more tired than he had ever felt
before--just exhausted. Suddenly he gave up, and right in the middle of
Hitkoak’s song toppled over fast asleep.
Taptuna made room for him to lie, Guninana drew up a fur blanket, and
the excited company continued praising him far into the night, their
words of wonder and admiration mingling with our hero’s gentle snores.