The Indian chief was after this an object of almost veneration to the
Eskimo men, of admiration to the women, and of delight to the boys and
girls, who highly appreciated his kindly disposition as well as his
skill with the spouter.
He was taken out on all their hunting expeditions, and fully initiated
into all the mysteries of seals, walrus, deer, and musk-ox killing. Of
course the wonderful gun was brought into frequent requisition, but its
owner was obliged to have regard to his powder and shot, and had to
explain that without these the spouter would refuse to spout, and all
its powers would vanish. When this was thoroughly understood, his hosts
ceased to persecute him with regard to displays of his skill.
One day, in the dead of the long winter, Cheenbuk proposed to Nazinred
to go on a hunt after bears. The latter declined, on the ground that he
had already arranged to go with Mangivik to watch at a seal-hole.
Cheenbuk therefore resolved to take Anteek with him instead. Gartok was
present when the expedition was projected, and offered to accompany it.
"I fear you are not yet strong enough," said Cheenbuk, whose objection,
however, was delivered in pleasant tones,--for a change for the better
had been gradually taking place in Gartok since the date of his wound,
and his old opponent not only felt nothing of his ancient enmity towards
him, but experienced a growing sensation of pity,--for the once
fire-eating Eskimo did not seem to recover health after the injury he
had received from the Fire-spouter's bullet.
"I am not yet stout enough to fight the bears," he said with a half-sad
look, "but I am stout enough to look on, and perhaps the sight of it
might stir up my blood and make me feel stronger."
Old Mangivik, who was sitting close by, heaved a deep sigh at this
point. Doubtless the poor man was thinking of his own strength in other
days--days of vigour which had departed for ever--at least in this life;
yet the old man's hopes in regard to the life to come were pretty
strong, though not well defined.
"Well, you may come," said Cheenbuk, as he rose and went out with Anteek
to harness the dogs.
In less than half an hour they were careering over the ice in the
direction of a bay in the land where fresh bear-tracks had been seen the
day before.
The bay was a deep one, extending four or five miles up into the
interior of the island.
We have assumed that the land in question was an island because of its
being in the neighbourhood of a large cluster of islands which varied
very considerably in size; but there is no certainty as to this, for the
region was then, and still is, very imperfectly known. Indeed, it is
still a matter of dispute among geographers, we believe, whether
continents or seas lie between that part of the coast of America and the
North Pole.
As far as appearance went the land might have been the edge of a vast
continent, for the valley up which the Eskimos were driving extended
inwards and upwards until it was lost in a region where eternal glaciers
mingled with the clouds, or reared their grey ridges against the dark
winter sky. It was a scene of cold, wild magnificence and desolation,
which might have produced awe in the hearts of civilised men, though of
course it must have seemed commonplace and tame enough to natives who
had never seen anything much softer or less imposing.
The party had travelled about four miles up the valley, and reached a
steep part, which was trying to the mettle of the dogs, when a track was
observed a short distance to their right.
"Bear," said Gartok in a low voice, pointing towards it.
Cheenbuk made no reply, but at once ran the team under the shelter of a
neighbouring cliff and pulled up. The dogs were only too glad to obey
the order to halt, and immediately lay down, panting, with their tongues
out.
Fastening the sledge to a rock, and leaving it in charge of a little boy
who had been brought for the purpose, the other three set off to examine
the track and reconnoitre; intending, if they had reason to believe the
bear was near, to return for the dogs and attack it in force.
The track was found to be quite fresh. It led upwards in the direction
of a neighbouring ridge, and towards this the party hastened. On
reaching the summit they bent low and advanced after the manner of men
who expected to see something on the other side. Then they dropped on
hands and knees, and crawled cautiously, craning their necks every now
and then to see what lay beyond.
Now, the little boy who had been left in charge of the sledge happened
to be a presumptuous little boy. He was not a bad boy, by any means.
He did not refuse to obey father, or mother, or anybody else that
claimed a right to command, and he was not sly or double-tongued, but he
was afflicted with that very evil quality, presumption: he thought that
he knew how to manage things better than anybody else, and, if not
actually ordered to let things remain as they were, he was apt to go in
for experimental changes on his own account.
When, therefore, he was left in charge of the dogs, with no particular
direction to do or to refrain from doing anything, he found himself in
the condition of being dissatisfied with the position in which the team
was fastened, and at once resolved to change it only a few yards farther
to the right, near to a sheltering cliff.
With this end in view he untied the cord that held the sledge, and made
the usual request, in an authoritative voice, that the team would move
on. The team began to obey, but, on feeling themselves free, and the
sledge light, they proceeded to the left instead of the right, and,
despite the agonising remonstrances of the little boy, began to trot.
Then, appreciating doubtless the Eskimo version of "Home, sweet Home,"
they suddenly went off down-hill at full gallop.
The presumptuous one, puckering his face, was about to vent his dismay
in a lamentable yell, when it suddenly occurred to him that he might
thereby disturb the hunters and earn a severe flogging. He therefore
restrained himself, and sat down to indulge in silent sorrow.
Meanwhile the explorers topped the ridge, and, peeping over, saw a large
white bear not more than a hundred yards off, sitting on its haunches,
engaged, apparently, in contemplation of the scenery.
At this critical moment they heard a noise behind them, and, glancing
back, beheld their dogs careering homeward, with the empty sledge
swinging wildly in the rear. Cheenbuk looked at Gartok, and then both
looked at the bear. Apparently the ridge prevented the distant sound
from reaching it, for it did not move.
"We must go at it alone--without dogs," said Gartok, grasping his spear,
while a flash of the old fire gleamed in his eyes.
"You must not try," said Cheenbuk; "the drive here has already tired you
out. Anteek will do it with me. This is not the first time that we
have hunted together."
The boy said nothing, but regarded his friend with a look of gratified
pride, while he grasped his spear more firmly.
"Good," returned Gartok, in a resigned tone; "I will stand by to help if
there is need."
Nothing more was said, but Cheenbuk looked at Anteek and gave the brief
order--
"Go!"
The boy knew well what to do. Grasping his spear, he ran out alone
towards the bear and flourished it aloft. Turning with apparent
surprise, the animal showed no sign of fear at the challenge of such an
insignificant foe. It faced him, however, and seemed to await his
onset. The boy moved towards the right side of the bear. At the same
time Cheenbuk ran forward towards its left side, while Gartok went
straight towards it at a slow walk, by way of further distracting its
attention.
As the three hunters approached from different directions, their prey
seemed a good deal disconcerted, and looked from one to the other as if
undecided how to act. When they came close up the indecision became
more pronounced, and it rose on its hind-legs ready to defend itself.
Gartok now halted when within five or six yards of the animal, which was
anxiously turning its head from side to side, while the other two ran
close up.
The plan was that usually followed by Eskimos in similar circumstances.
Anteek's duty was to run forward and prick the bear on its right side,
so as to draw its undivided attention on himself, thereby leaving its
left side unguarded for the deadly thrust of Cheenbuk. Of course this
is never attempted by men who are not quite sure of their courage and
powers. But Cheenbuk and Anteek knew each other well. The latter was
not, perhaps, quite strong enough to give the death-dealing thrust, but
he had plenty of courage, and knew well how to administer the deceptive
poke.
As for Gartok, besides being incapable of any great exertion, he would
not on any account have robbed the boy of the honour of doing his work
without help. He merely stood there as a spectator.
With active spring Anteek went close in and delivered his thrust.
The bear uttered a savage roar and at once turned on him. Just at the
moment the boy's foot slipped and he fell close to the animal's feet.
In the same instant the two men sprang forward. Cheenbuk's spear
entered the bear's heart, and that of Gartok struck its breast. But the
thrust of the latter was feeble. In his excitement and weakness Gartok
fell, and the dying bear fell upon him. His action, however, saved
Anteek, who rolled out of the way just as his preserver fell.
Cheenbuk and Anteek did not hesitate, but, regardless of the few
death-struggles that followed, rushed in, and grasping its thick hair
dragged the monster off the fallen man.
Gartok was insensible, and it was a considerable time before he fully
recovered consciousness. Then it was found that he could not rise, and
that the slightest motion gave him intolerable pain.
"He will die!" exclaimed Anteek, with a look of painful anxiety.
"Yes, he will die if we do not quickly get him home," said Cheenbuk.
"He cannot walk, and he would freeze long before we could make an igloe.
I must depend on you now, Anteek. Go back as fast as you can run, and
send men with a sledge and skins and something to eat. The boy will
remain with me. Away!"
Without a word Anteek leaped up, and, dropping his spear, ran as if his
own life depended on his speed. The little boy, who had acted so
foolishly, came up with an anxious look on being hailed, but soon forgot
himself in his anxiety to be of use to the injured man.
There was a mound of snow within three yards of the spot where the
combat had taken place. To the lee side of this Cheenbuk carried
Gartok. Being very strong, he was able to lift him tenderly, as if he
had been a child, but, despite all his care, the poor man suffered
terribly when moved.
It was well that this mound happened to be so close, for a dark cloud
which had been overspreading the sky for some time began to send down
snow-flakes, and frequent gusts of wind gave indications of an
approaching storm. Having placed Gartok in such a position that he was
quite sheltered from the wind, Cheenbuk took off his upper seal-skin
coat, laid it on the snow, and lifted the injured man on to it. He then
wrapped it round him and folded the hood under his head for a pillow,
bidding the boy bank up the snow beside him in such a way as to increase
the shelter. While thus engaged he saw with some anxiety that Gartok
had become deadly pale, and his compressed lips gave the impression that
he was suffering much.
"Come here," said Cheenbuk to the boy quickly; "rub his hands and make
them warm."
The boy obeyed with alacrity, while the other, hastening his movements,
began to skin the bear. Being an expert with the knife in such an
operation, he was not long of removing the thick-skinned hairy covering
from the carcass, and in this, while it was still warm, he wrapped his
comrade--not a moment too soon, for, despite the boy's zealous efforts,
the intense cold had taken such hold of the poor man that he was almost
unconscious. The warmth of the bearskin, however, restored him a
little, and Cheenbuk, sitting down beside him, took his head upon his
lap, and tried to shelter him from the storm, which had burst forth and
was raging furiously by that time--fine snow filling the atmosphere,
while the wind drove it in huge volumes up the valley.
Cheenbuk noted this, and congratulated himself on the fact the wind
would favour the progress of the rescue sledge.
Sometimes the whirling snow became so suffocating that the little boy
was compelled to cease his labours on the sheltering wall and crouch
close to it, while Cheenbuk buried his nose and mouth in the white fur
of the bear until the violence of the blasts abated. By keeping the
skin well over the face of the wounded man, he succeeded in guarding him
from them effectually. But his mind misgave him when he tried to look
through the whirling confusion around, and thought of the long tramp
that Anteek would have ere he could commence his return journey with the
sledge.
It turned out, however, that this was one of those short-lived squalls,
not uncommon in the Arctic regions, which burst forthwith unwonted fury,
sweep madly over the plains of the frozen seas, rush up into the valleys
of the land, and then suddenly stop, as though they felt that all this
energy was being spent in vain. In a short time, which however seemed
interminable to the watchers on the hillside, the wind began to abate
and the wild gusts were less frequent. Then it calmed down; finally it
ceased altogether; and the storm-cloud, passing away to the south-east,
left the dark sky studded with the myriad constellations of the starry
host.
Uncovering Gartok's face to see how it fared with him, and hoping that
he slept, Cheenbuk found that he was wide awake, but in a condition that
made him more anxious than ever. He looked up at the face of his
protector with a faint but grateful smile.
"I have always been your enemy," he said, in a low voice, "but you have
been my friend."
"That does not matter now," replied Cheenbuk. "I have never been _your_
enemy. We will be friends from this time on."
Gartok closed his eyes for a few seconds, but did not speak. Then he
looked up again earnestly.
"No," he said, with more of decision in his tone; "we shall neither be
friends nor enemies. I am going to the country where all is dark; from
which no sound has ever come back; where there is nothing."
"Our people do not talk in this way. They think that we shall all meet
again in the spirit-land, to hunt the seal, the walrus, and the bear,"
returned Cheenbuk.
"Our people talk foolishness. They _think_, but they do not _know_,"
rejoined this Hyperborean agnostic, as positively and as ignorantly as
if he had been a scientific Briton.
"How do you know that there is `_nothing_' in the place where you are
going?" asked Cheenbuk, simply.
Gartok was silent. Probably his logical faculty told him that his own
thinking, and coming to a conclusion without knowing, was as foolish in
himself as in his comrades.
The subject of conversation happened to be very congenial to Cheenbuk's
cast of mind. He remained thinking and gazing upwards for a minute or
two, then he said meditatively, as if he were trying to work out some
mental problem--
"Did you ever make a sledge, or a spear, and then destroy it utterly
while it was yet good and new?"
"Never. I have been bad, it may be, but I am not a fool."
"Is the great Maker of all a fool? He has made _you_, and if He lets
you die now, utterly, He destroys you in your best days. Is it not more
likely that He is calling you to some other land where there is work for
you to do?"
"I don't understand. I do not know," replied Gartok, somewhat doggedly.
"But you do understand, and you do know, that He would be foolish to
kill you now, _unless_ He had some work and some pleasure for you in the
unknown land from which no sound ever comes back. When a father gives
his son a work to do, he does not destroy his son when the work is done.
He gives him another piece of work; perhaps sends him on a long journey
to another place. When the Maker of all sees that we have finished our
work here, I ask again, is it not likely that He will send us to work
elsewhere, or is it more likely that He will utterly destroy us--and so
prove Himself to be more foolish than we are?"
"I do not know," repeated Gartok, "but I do know that if the Maker of
all is good, as I have heard say, then I have not done _His_ work here--
for you know, everybody knows, I have been bad!"
Cheenbuk was much perplexed, for he knew not "how to minister to a mind
diseased."
"I have often wondered," he said at last, "why it is that some things
are wrong and some right. The Maker of all, being good and
all-powerful, could have made things as He pleased--all right, nothing
wrong. Perhaps men, like children, will understand things better when
they are older--when they have reached the land from which no sound
comes back. But I am not much troubled. The Maker of all must be
all-good and all-wise. If He were not, He could not be the Maker of
all. I can _trust_ Him. He will throw light into our minds when the
time comes. He has already thrown some light, for do we not know right
from wrong?"
"True, but although I have known right I have always done wrong,"
returned Gartok moodily. "I am sorry now. If you had not been kind to
me, your enemy, Cheenbuk, I should never have been sorry. Ever since I
was hurt by the Fire-spouters you have been kind to me, and now you
would save my life if you could. But it is too late. You have known
right, and done it."
"You mistake," rejoined Cheenbuk gravely. "Like you, I have known right
but I have not always done it; only sometimes. It is not long since I
began to think, and it is since I have been thinking that my spirit
seems to have changed, so that I now hate wrong, and desire right. I
think that the Maker of all must have caused the change, as He makes the
ice-mountains melt, for it is not possible that I could change myself.
I had no wish to change till I felt the change."
"I wish," said Gartok earnestly, "that--if He exists at all--He would
change me."
At that moment Cheenbuk, who was gazing up into the brilliant sky,
seemed to be moved by a sudden inspiration, for he gave utterance to the
first audible prayer that had ever passed his lips.
"Maker of all," he said, "give to Gartok the spirit that loves right and
hates wrong."
The dying Eskimo raised his eyes to Cheenbuk's face in astonishment;
then he turned them to the starry host, as if he almost expected an
immediate answer.
"Do you think He hears us?" he asked in a faint voice, for the strength
of his feelings and the effort at conversation had exhausted him
greatly.
"I will trust Him," answered Cheenbuk.
"I will trust Him," repeated Gartok.
For some time they sat in profound silence, and Gartok closed his eyes
as if he were falling asleep. The silence was broken by a distant
sound. It was the approach of Anteek with the sledge. He had found the
runaway dogs anchored fast between two masses of ice where the sledge
had got jammed. Turning the team round he plied his whip with vigour,
insomuch that they would have arrived much sooner if the storm had not
caused delay.
Having arranged the sledge and its wraps so as to form a comfortable
couch for the wounded man, they lifted him on to it, but when they
removed the bearskin from his face it was found that he was beyond
earthly care: he had passed over to the land from which no sound has
ever come back.