Chapter Twenty One.
Fate of the Lost Ones.
Leo, Anders, and timid little Oblooria, however, were not lost! Their case was bad enough, but it had not quite come to that.
On parting from Benjy, as described in the last chapter, these three went after a walrus, which coquetted with them instead of attacking, and drew them a considerable distance away from the island. This would have been a matter of trifling import if the weather had remained calm, but, as we have seen, a sudden and violent gale arose.
When the coming squall was first observed the boat was far to leeward of Paradise Isle, and as that island happened to be one of the most northerly of the group over which Amalatok ruled, they were thus far to leeward of any land with the exception of a solitary sugar-loaf rock near the horizon. Still Leo and his companions were not impressed with any sense of danger. They had been so long accustomed to calms, and to moving about in the india-rubber boats by means of paddles with perfect ease and security, that they had half forgotten the force of wind. Besides, the walrus was still playing with them provokingly—keeping just out of rifle-shot as if he had studied fire-arms and knew their range exactly.
“The rascal!” exclaimed Leo at last, losing patience, “he will never let us come an inch nearer.”
“Try ’im once more,” said Anders, who was a keen sportsman, “push him, paddle strong. Ho! Oblooria, paddle hard and queek.”
Although the interpreter, being in a facetious mood, addressed Oblooria in English, she quite understood his significant gestures, and bent to her work with a degree of energy and power quite surprising in one apparently so fragile. Leo also used his oars, (for they had both oars and paddles), with such good-will that the boat skimmed over the Arctic sea like a northern diver, and the distance between them and the walrus was perceptibly lessened.
“I don’t like the looks o’ the southern sky,” said Leo, regarding the horizon with knitted brows.
“Hims black ’nough—any’ow,” said Anders.
“Hold. I’ll have a farewell shot at the brute, and give up the chase,” said Leo, laying down the oars and grasping his rifle.
The ball seemed to take effect, for the walrus dived immediately with a violent splutter, and was seen no more.
By this time the squall was hissing towards them so fast that the hunters, giving up all thought of the walrus, turned at once and made for the land, but land by that time lay far off on the southern horizon with a dark foam-flecked sea between it and them.
“There’s no fear of the boat, Oblooria,” said Leo, glancing over his shoulder at the girl, who sat crouching to meet the first burst of the coming storm, “but you must hold on tight to the life-lines.”
There was no need to caution Anders. That worthy was already on his knees embracing a thwart—his teeth clenched as he gazed over the bow.
On it came like a whirlwind of the tropics, and rushed right over the low round gunwale of the boat, sweeping loose articles overboard, and carrying her bodily to leeward. Leo had taken a turn of the life-lines round both thighs, and held manfully to his oars. These, after stooping to the first rush of wind and water, he plied with all his might, and was ably seconded by Oblooria as well as by the interpreter, but a very few minutes of effort sufficed to convince them that they laboured in vain. They did not even “hold their own,” as sailors have it, but drifted slowly, yet steadily, to the north.
“It’s impossible to make head against this,” said Leo, suddenly ceasing his efforts, “and I count it a piece of good fortune, for which we cannot be too thankful, that there is still land to leeward of us.”
He pointed to the sugar-loaf rock before mentioned, towards which they were now rapidly drifting.
“Nothing to eat dere. Nothing to drink,” said Anders, gloomily.
“Oh! that won’t matter much. A squall like this can’t last long. We shall soon be able to start again for home, no doubt. I say, Anders, what are these creatures off the point there? They seem too large and black for sea-birds, and not the shape of seals or walruses.”
The interpreter gazed earnestly at the objects in question for some moments without answering. The rock which they were quickly nearing was rugged, barren, and steep on its southern face, against which the waves were by that time dashing with extreme violence, so that landing there would have been an impossibility. On its lee or northern side, however they might count on quiet water.
“We have nothing to fear,” said Leo, observing that Oblooria was much agitated; “tell her so, Anders; we are sure to find a sheltered creek of some sort on the other side.”
“I fear not the rocks or storm,” replied the Eskimo girl to Anders. “It is Grabantak, the chief of Flatland, that I fear.”
“Grabantak!” exclaimed Anders and Leo in the same breath.
“Grabantak is coming with his men!”
Poor little Oblooria, whose face had paled while her whole frame trembled, pointed towards the dark objects which had already attracted their attention. They were by that time near enough to be distinguished, and as they came, one after another, round the western point of Sugar-loaf rock, it was all too evident that the girl was right, and that the fleet of kayaks was probably bearing the northern savage and his men to attack the inhabitants of Poloe.
Leo’s first impulse was to seize his repeating rifle and fill its cartridge-chamber quite full. It may be well to observe here that the cartridges, being carried in a tight waterproof case, had not been affected by the seas which had so recently overwhelmed them.
“What’s de use?” asked Anders, in an unusually sulky tone, as he watched the youth’s action. “Two men not can fight all de mans of Flatland.”
“No, but I can pick off a dozen of them, one after another, with my good rifle, and then the rest will fly. Grabantak will fall first, and his best men after him.”
This was no idle boast on the part of Leo. He knew that he could accomplish what he threatened long before the Eskimos could get within spear-throwing distance of his boat.
“No use,” repeated Anders, firmly, still shaking his head in a sulky manner. “When you’s bullets be done, more an’ more inimies come on. Then dey kill you, an’ me, an’ Oblooria.”
Leo laid down his weapon. The resolve to die fighting to the last was the result of a mere impulse of animal courage. Second thoughts cooled him, and the reference to Oblooria’s fate decided him.
“You are right, Anders. If by fighting to the death I could save Oblooria, it would be my duty as well as my pleasure to fight; but I see that I haven’t the ghost of a chance against such a host as is approaching, and it would be simply revengeful to send as many as I can into the next world before going there myself. Besides, it would exasperate the savages, and make them harder on the poor girl.”
In saying this Leo was rather arguing out the point with himself than talking to the interpreter, who did not indeed understand much of what he said. Having made up his mind how to act, Leo stowed his precious rifle and ammunition in a small bag placed for that purpose under one of the thwarts, and, resuming the oars, prepared to meet his fate, whatever it should be, peacefully and unarmed.
While thus drifting in silence before the gale, the thought suddenly occurred to Leo, “How strange it is that I, who am a Christian—in name at least—should feel as if it were absurd to pray for God’s help at such a time as this! Surely He who made me and these Eskimos is capable of guarding us? The very least we can do is to ask Him to guide us!”
The youth was surprised at the thought. It had flashed upon him like a ray of light. It was not the first time that he had been in even more imminent danger than the present, yet he had never before thought of the necessity of asking help from God, as if He were really present and able as well as willing to succour. Before the thought had passed he acted on it. He had no time for formal prayer. He looked up! It was prayer without words. In a few minutes more the boat was surrounded by the fleet of kayaks. There were hundreds of these tiny vessels of the north, each with its solitary occupant, using his double-bladed paddle vigorously.
Need we say that the strangers were at first gazed on with speechless wonder? and that the Eskimos kept for some time hovering round them at a respectful distance, as if uncertain how to act, but with their war-spears ready? All the time the whole party drifted before the gale towards the island-rock.
“Anders,” said Leo, while the natives remained in this state of indecision, “my mind is made up as to our course of action. We will offer no resistance whatever to these fellows. We must be absolutely submissive, unless, indeed, they attempt to ill-treat Oblooria, in which case of course we will defend her. Do you hear?”
This was said with such quiet decision, and the concluding question was put in such a tone, that the interpreter replied, “Yis, sar,” promptly.
As Leo made no sign of any kind, but continued to guide the boat steadily with the oars, as if his sole anxiety was to round the western point of the island and get into a place of shelter, the natives turned their kayaks and advanced along with him. Naturally they fell into the position of an escort—a part of the fleet paddling on each side of the captives, (for such they now were), while the rest brought up the rear.
“What ails Oblooria, Anders?” asked Leo in a low tone.
“What is the matter?” asked the interpreter, turning to the girl, who, ever since the approach of the Eskimos, had crouched like a bundle in the bottom of the boat with her face buried in her hands. “There is no fear. Grabantak is a man, not a bear. He will not eat you.”
“Grabantak knows me,” answered the poor girl, without lifting her head; “he came to Poloe once, before the war, and wanted me to be the wife of his son. I want not his son. I want Oolichuk!”
The simplicity and candour of this confession caused Leo to laugh in spite of himself, while poor little Oblooria, who thought it no laughing matter, burst into tears.
Of course the men of Flatland kept their eyes fixed in wide amazement on Leo, as they paddled along, and this sudden laugh of his impressed them deeply, being apparently without a cause, coupled as it was with an air of absolute indifference to his probable fate, and to the presence of so many foes. Even the ruthless land-hungerer, Grabantak, was solemnised.
In a few minutes the whole party swept round the point of rocks, and proceeded towards the land over the comparatively quiet waters of a little bay which lay under the lee of the Sugar-loaf rock.
During the brief period that had been afforded for thought, Leo had been intently making his plans. He now proceeded to carry them out.
“Hand me the trinket-bundle,” he said to Anders.
The interpreter searched in a waterproof pouch in the stern of the boat, and produced a small bundle of such trinkets as are known to be valued by savages. It had been placed and was always kept there by Captain Vane, to be ready for emergencies.
“They will be sure to take everything from us at any rate,” remarked Leo, as he divided the trinkets into two separate bundles, “so I shall take the wind out of their sails by giving everything up at once with a good grace.”
The Grabantaks, if we may so style them, drew near, as the fleet approached the shore, with increasing curiosity. When land was reached they leaped out of their kayaks and crowded round the strangers. It is probable that they would have seized them and their possessions at this point, but the tall strapping figure of Leo, and his quiet manner, overawed them. They held back while the india-rubber boat was being carried by Leo and Anders to a position of safety.
Poor Oblooria walked beside them with her head bowed down, shrinking as much as possible out of sight. Everybody was so taken up with the strange white man that no one took any notice of her.
No sooner was the boat laid down than Leo taking one of the bundles of trinkets stepped up to Grabantak, whom he easily distinguished by his air of superiority and the deference paid him by his followers.
Pulling his own nose by way of a friendly token, Leo smiled benignantly in the chief’s face, and opened the bundle before him.
It is needless to say that delight mingled with the surprise that had hitherto blazed on the visage of Grabantak.
“Come here, Anders, and bring the other bundle with you. Tell this warrior that I am very glad to meet with him.”
“Great and unconquerable warrior,” began the interpreter, in the dialect which he had found was understood, by the men of Poloe, “we have come from far-off lands to bring you gifts—”
“Anders,” said Leo, whose knowledge of the Eskimo tongue was sufficient, by that time, to enable him in a measure to follow the drift of a speech, “Anders, if you don’t tell him exactly what I say I’ll kick you into the sea!”
As Anders stood on a rock close to the water’s edge, and Leo looked unusually stern, he thereafter rendered faithfully what the latter told him to say. The speech was something to the following effect:—
“I am one of a small band of white men who have come here to search out the land. We do not want the land. We only want to see it. We have plenty of land of our own in the far south. We have been staying with the great chief Amalatok in Poloeland.”
At the mention of his enemy’s name the countenance of Grabantak darkened. Without noticing this, Leo went on:—
“When I was out hunting with my man and a woman, the wind arose and blew us hither. We claim your hospitality, and hope you will help us to get back again to Poloeland. If you do so we will reward you well, for white men are powerful and rich. See, here are gifts for Grabantak, and for his wife.”
This latter remark was a sort of inspiration. Leo had observed, while Anders was speaking, that a stout cheerful-faced woman had been pushing aside the men and gradually edging her way toward the Eskimo chief with the air of a privileged person. That he had hit the mark was obvious, for Grabantak turned with a bland smile, and hit his wife a facetious and rather heavy slap on the shoulder. She was evidently accustomed to such treatment, and did not wince.
Taking from his bundle a gorgeous smoking-cap richly ornamented with brilliant beads, Leo coolly crowned the chief with it. Grabantak drew himself up and tried to look majestic, but a certain twitching of his face, and sparkle in his eyes, betrayed a tendency to laugh with delight. Fortunately, there was another cap of exactly the same pattern in the bundle, which Leo instantly placed on the head of the wife—whose name he afterwards learned was Merkut.
The chief’s assumed dignity vanished at this. With that childlike hilarity peculiar to the Eskimo race, he laughed outright, and then, seizing the cap from Merkut’s head, put it above his own to the amusement of his grinning followers.
Leo then selected a glittering clasp-knife with two blades, which the chief seized eagerly. It was evidently a great prize—too serious a gift to be lightly laughed at. Then a comb was presented to the wife, and a string of gay beads, and a pair of scissors. Of course the uses of combs and scissors had he explained, and deep was the interest manifested during the explanation, and utter the forgetfulness of the whole party for the time being in regard to everything else in the world—Oblooria included, who sat unnoticed on the rocks with her face still buried in her hands.
When Grabantak’s possessions were so numerous that the hood of his coat, and the tops of his wife’s boots were nearly filled with them, he became generous, and, prince-like, (having more than he knew what to do with), began to distribute things to his followers.
Among these followers was a tall and stalwart son of his own, to whom he was rather stern, and not very liberal. Perhaps the chief wished to train him with Spartan ideas of self-denial. Perhaps he wanted his followers to note his impartiality. Merkut did not, however, act on the same principles, for she quietly passed a number of valuable articles over to her dear son Koyatuk, unobserved by his stern father.
Things had gone on thus pleasantly for some time; the novelty of the gifts, and the interest in their explanation having apparently rendered these people forgetful of the fact that they might take them all at once; when a sudden change in the state of affairs was wrought by the utterance of one word.
“We must not,” said Leo to Anders, looking at his follower over the heads of the Eskimos, “forget poor little Oblooria.”
“Oblooria!” roared Grabantak with a start, as if he had been electrified.
“Oblooria!” echoed Koyatuk, glaring round.
“Oblooria!” gasped the entire band.
Another moment and Grabantak, bursting through the crowd, leaped towards the crouching girl and raised her face. Recognising her he uttered a yell which probably was meant for a cheer.
Hurrying the frightened girl into the circle through which he had broken, the chief presented her to his son, and, with an air worthy of a civilised courtier, said:—
“Your wife, Koyatuk—your Oblooria!—Looria!”
He went over the last syllables several times, as if he doubted his senses, and feared it was too good news to be true.
This formal introduction was greeted by the chief’s followers with a series of wild shouts and other demonstrations of extreme joy.
Chapter Twenty Two.
A Fight in Defence of Woman, And Rifle-Shooting Extraordinary.
When the excitement had somewhat abated, Leo stepped to the side of Oblooria, and laying his hand on her shoulder said firmly, through Anders:—
“Pardon me, Grabantak, this girl is not the wife of Koyatuk; she is my sister!”
The chief frowned, clenched his teeth, and grasped a spear—
“When did Kablunet men begin to have Eskimo sisters?”
“When they took all distressed women under their protection,” returned Leo promptly. “Every woman who needs my help is my sister,” he added with a look of self-sufficiency which he was far from feeling.
This new doctrine obviously puzzled the chief, who frowned, smiled, and looked at the ground, as if in meditation. It seemed to afford great comfort to Oblooria, who nestled closer to her champion. As for Koyatuk, he treated the matter with an air of mingled surprise and scorn, but dutifully awaited his father’s pleasure.
Koyatuk was physically a fine specimen of a savage, but his spirit was not equal to his body. Like his father he was over six feet high, and firmly knit, being of both larger and stronger build than Leo, whom he now regarded, and of course hated, as his rival—a contemptible one, no doubt; still—a rival.
The warriors watched their chief in breathless suspense. To them it was a thoroughly new and interesting situation. That a white stranger, tall and active, but slender and very young, should dare single-handed to defy not only their chief, but, as it were, the entire tribe, including the royal family, was a state of things in regard to which their previous lives afforded no parallel. They could not understand it at all, and stood, as it were, in eager, open-mouthed, and one-legged expectation.
At last Grabantak looked up, as if smitten by a new idea, and spoke—
“Can Kablunet men fight?” he asked.
“They love peace better than war,” answered Leo, “but when they see cause to fight they can do so.”
Turning immediately to his son, Grabantak said with a grim smile—
“Behold your wife, take her!”
Koyatuk advanced. Leo placed Oblooria behind him, and, being unarmed, threw himself into a pugilistic posture of defence. The young Eskimo laid one of his strong hands on the Englishman’s shoulder, intending to thrust him aside violently. Leo was naturally of a tender disposition. He shrank from dealing a violent blow to one who had not the remotest idea of what was coming, or how to defend himself from the human fist when used as a battering-ram.
But Leo chanced to be, in a sense, doubly armed. During one of his holiday rambles in England he had visited Cornwall, and there had learned that celebrated “throw” which consists in making your haunch a fulcrum, your right arm a lever, and your adversary a shuttlecock. He suddenly grasped his foe round the waist with one arm. Next moment the Grabantaks saw what the most imaginative among them had never till then conceived of—Koyatuk’s soles turned to the sky, and his head pointing to the ground! The moment following, he lay flat on his back looking upwards blankly.
The huk! hi! ho! hooroos! that followed may be conceived, but cannot be described. Some of the men burst into laughter, for anything ludicrous is irresistible to an Eskimo of the very far north. A few were petrified. Others there were who resented this indignity to the heir-apparent, and flourished their spears in a threatening manner. These last Grabantak quieted with a look. The incident undoubtedly surprised that stern parent, but also afforded him some amusement. He said it was an insult that must be avenged. Oddly enough he made use of an expression which sounded curiously familiar to Leo’s ears, as translated by Anders. “The insult,” said Grabantak, “could only be washed out in blood!”
Strange, that simple savages of the far north should hold to that ridiculous doctrine. We had imagined that it was confined entirely to those further south, whose minds have been more or less warped by civilised usage.
A ring was immediately formed, and poor Leo now saw that the matter was becoming serious. He was on the eve of fighting an enforced duel in Oblooria’s service.
While the savages were preparing the lists, and Koyatuk, having recovered, was engaged in converse with his father, Leo whispered to Anders—
“Perhaps Oblooria has no objection to be the wife of this man?”
But the poor girl had very strong objections. She was, moreover, so emphatic in her expressions of horror, and cast on her champion such a look of entreaty, that he would have been more than mortal had he refused her. It was very perplexing. The idea of killing, or being killed, in such a cause was very repulsive. He tried to reason with Grabantak about the sin of injuring a defenceless woman, and the abstract right of females in general to have some say in the selection of their husbands, but Grabantak was inexorable.
“Is the Kablunet afraid?” he asked, with a glance of scornful surprise.
“Does he look afraid?” returned Leo, quietly.
Koyatuk now stepped into the middle of the ring of warriors, with a short spear in his right hand, and half-a-dozen spare ones in his left, whereby Leo perceived that the battle before him was not meant to be a mere “exchange of shots,” for the “satisfaction of honour.” There was evidently no humbug about these Eskimos.
Two men mounted guard over Anders and Oblooria, who, however, were allowed to remain inside the ring to witness the combat. A warrior now advanced to Leo and presented him with a small bundle of spears. He took them almost mechanically, thanked the giver, and laid them down at his feet without selecting one. Then he stood up, and, crossing his arms on his breast, gazed full at his opponent, who made a hideous face at him and flourished his spear.
It was quite evident that the Eskimos were perplexed by the white youth’s conduct, and knew not what to make of it. The truth is that poor Leo was almost beside himself with conflicting emotions and uncertainty as to what he ought to do. Despite all that had taken place, he found it almost impossible to persuade himself that he was actually about to engage in mortal combat. He had not a vestige of angry feeling in his heart against the man whom he was expected to fight with to the death, and the extraordinary nature of the complex faces that Koyatuk was making at him tended to foster the delusion that the whole thing was a farce—or a dream.
Then the knowledge that he could burst through the ring, get hold of his rifle, and sell his life dearly, or, perhaps, cause the whole savage tribe to fly in terror, was a sore temptation to him. All this, coupled with the necessity for taking instant and vigorous action of some sort, was enough to drive an older head distracted. It did drive the blood violently to the youth’s face, but, by a powerful effort of self-restraint, he continued to stand perfectly still, like a living statue, facing the Eskimo.
At last Koyatuk became tired of making useless faces at his rival. Suddenly poising his spear, he launched it.
Had Leo’s eye been less quick, or his limbs less active, that spear had laid him low for ever. He had barely time to spring aside, when the weapon passed between his side and his left arm, grazing the latter slightly, and drawing blood which trickled to the ends of his fingers.
There could be no further doubt now about the nature of the fight. Catching up a spear from the bundle at his feet he was just in time to receive the Eskimo, who sprang in on him with the intention of coming at once to close quarters. His rush was very furious; probably with a view to make it decisive. But the agile Leo was equal to the occasion. Bending suddenly so low as to be quite under his opponent’s desperate thrust, he struck out his right leg firmly. Koyatuk tripped over it, and ploughed the land for some yards with his hands, head, and knees.
Considerably staggered in mind and body by the fall, he sprang up with a roar, and turned to renew the attack. Leo was ready. The Eskimo, by that time mad with pain, humiliation, and rage, exercised no caution in his assault. He rushed at his rival like a mad bull. Our Englishman saw his opportunity. Dropping his own spear he guarded the thrust of his adversary’s with his right arm, while, with his left fist, he planted a solid blow on Koyatuk’s forehead. The right fist followed the left like the lightning flash, and alighted on Koyatuk’s nose, which, flat by nature, was rendered flatter still by art. Indeed it would be the weakest flattery to assert that he had any nose at all after receiving that blow. It was reduced to the shape of a small pancake, from the two holes in which there instantly spouted a stream of blood so copious that it drenched alike its owner and his rival.
After giving him this double salute, Leo stepped quickly aside to let him tumble forward, heels over head, which he did with the only half-checked impetuosity of his onset, and lay prone upon the ground.
“There, Anders,” said the victor, turning round as he pointed to his prostrate foe, “surely Grabantak’s son has got enough of blood now to wipe out all the insults he ever received, or is likely to receive, from me.”
Grabantak appeared to agree to this view of the case. That he saw and relished the jest was obvious, for he burst into an uproarious fit of laughter, in which his amiable warriors joined him, and, advancing to Leo, gave him a hearty slap of approval on the shoulder. At the same time he cast a look of amused scorn on his fallen son, who was being attended to by Merkut.
It may be observed here that Merkut was the only woman of the tribe allowed to go on this war-expedition. Being the chief’s wife, she had been allowed to do as she pleased, and it was her pleasure to accompany the party and to travel like the warriors in a kayak, which she managed as well as the best of them.
Grabantak now ordered his men to encamp, and feed till the gale should abate. Then, calling Leo and the interpreter aside, he questioned them closely as to the condition of the Poloese and the numbers of the white men who had recently joined them.
Of course Leo made Anders give him a graphic account of the preparations made by his enemies to receive him, in the hope that he might be induced to give up his intentions, but he had mistaken the spirit of the Eskimo, who merely showed his teeth, frowned, laughed in a diabolic manner, and flourished his spear during the recital of Amalatok’s warlike arrangements. He wound up by saying that he was rejoiced to learn all that, because it would be all the more to his credit to make his enemy go down on his knees, lick the dust, crawl in his presence, and otherwise humble himself.
“But tell him, Anders,” said Leo, earnestly, “that my white brothers, though few in number, are very strong and brave. They have weapons too which kill far off and make a dreadful noise.”
Grabantak laughed contemptuously at this.
“Does the Kablunet,” he asked, “think I am afraid to die—afraid of a noise? does he think that none but white men can kill far off?”
As he spoke he suddenly hurled his spear at a gull, which, with many others, was perched on a cliff about thirty yards off, and transfixed it.
“Go to the boat, Anders, and fetch my rifle,” said Leo in a low tone.
When the rifle was brought a crowd of Eskimos came with it. They had been closely observing their chief and the stranger during the conference, but remained at a respectful distance until they saw something unusual going on.
“Tell the chief,” said Leo, “to look at that peak with the solitary gull standing on it.”
He pointed to a detached cone of rock upwards of two hundred yards distant.
When the attention of the whole party was concentrated on the bird in question, Leo took a steady aim and fired.
Need we say that the effect of the shot was wonderful? not only did the braves utter a united yell and give a simultaneous jump, but several of the less brave among them bolted behind rocks, or tumbled in attempting to do so, while myriads of sea-fowl, which clustered among the cliffs, sprang from their perches and went screaming into the air. At the same time echoes innumerable, which had lain dormant since creation, or at best had given but sleepy response to the bark of walruses and the cry of gulls, took up the shot in lively haste and sent it to and fro from cliff to crag in bewildering continuation.
“Wonderful!” exclaimed Grabantak in open-mouthed amazement, when he beheld the shot gull tumbling from its lofty perch, “Do it again.”
Leo did it again—all the more readily that another gull, unwarned by its predecessor’s fate, flew to the conical rock at the moment, and perched itself on the same peak. It fell, as before, and the echoes were again awakened, while the sea-birds cawed and screamed more violently than ever.
The timid ones among the braves, having recovered from their first shock, stood fast this time, but trembled much and glared horribly. The chief, who was made of sterner stuff than many of his followers; did not move, though his face flushed crimson with suppressed emotion. As to the sea-birds, curiosity seemed to have overcome fear, for they came circling and wheeling overhead in clouds so dense that they almost darkened the sky—many of them swooping close past the Eskimos and then shearing off and up with wild cries.
An idea suddenly flashed into Leo’s head. Pointing his rifle upwards he began and continued a rapid fire until all the bullets in it, (ten or twelve), were expended. The result was as he had expected. Travelling through such a dense mass of birds, each ball pierced we know not how many, until it absolutely rained dead and wounded gulls on the heads of the natives, while the rocks sent forth a roar of echoes equal to a continuous fire of musketry. It was stupendous! Nothing like it had occurred in the Polar regions since the world first became a little flattened at the poles! Nothing like it will happen again until the conjunction of a series of similar circumstances occurs. The timid braves lost heart again and dived like the coneys into holes and corners of the rocks. Others stood still with chattering teeth. Even Grabantak wavered for a moment. But it was only for a moment. Recovering himself he uttered a mighty shout; then he yelled; then he howled; then he slapped his breast and thighs; then he seized a smallish brave near him by the neck and hurled him into the sea. Having relieved his feelings thus he burst into a fit of laughter such as has never been equalled by the wildest maniac either before or since.
Suddenly he calmed, stepped up to Leo, and wrenched the rifle from his grasp.
“I will do that!” he cried, and held the weapon out at arms-length in front of his face with both hands; but there was no answering shot.
“Why does it not bark?” he demanded, turning to Leo sternly.
“It will only bark at my bidding,” said Leo, with a significant smile.
“Bid it, then,” said the chief in a peremptory tone, still holding the rifle out.
“You must treat it in the right way, otherwise it will not bark. I will show you.”
Having been shown how to pull the trigger, the chief tried again, but a sharp click was the only reply. Grabantak having expected a shot, he nervously dropped the rifle, but Leo was prepared, and caught it.
“You must not be afraid of it; it cannot work properly if you are afraid. See, look there,” he added, pointing to the conical rock on which another infatuated gull had perched himself.
Grabantak looked earnestly. His timid braves began to creep out of their holes, and directed their eyes to the same spot. While their attention was occupied Leo managed to slip a fresh cartridge into the rifle unobserved.
“Now,” said he, handing the rifle to the chief, “try again.”
Grabantak, who was not quite pleased at the hint about his being afraid, seized the rifle and held it out as before. Resolved to maintain his reputation for coolness, he said to his followers in imitation of Leo:—
“Do you see that gull?”
“Huk!” replied the warriors, with eager looks.
Leo thought of correcting his manner of taking aim, but, reflecting that the result would be a miss in any case, he refrained.
Grabantak raised the rifle slowly, as its owner had done, and frowned along the barrel. In doing so, he drew it back until the butt almost touched his face. Then he fired. There was a repetition of previous results with some differences. The gull flew away from the rock unhurt; one of the braves received the bullet in his thigh and ran off shrieking with agony, while the chief received a blow from the rifle on the nose which all but incorporated that feature with his cheeks, and drew from his eyes the first tears he had ever shed since babyhood.
That night Grabantak sat for hours staring in moody silence at the sea, tenderly caressing his injured nose, and meditating, no doubt, on things past, present, and to come.
Chapter Twenty Three.
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 Puiröe 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; Puiröe 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.