The Walrus Hunters: A Romance of the Realms of Ice

Chapter Thirty.
A Declaration, an Interruption, and a Great Fight

The loss which the Eskimos sustained in the destruction of the ship was in one sense considerable, for the woodwork about her would have been of immense value to them; nevertheless their gains in what had already been stored were very great, so that they were able to regard their losses with philosophic composure.

The weeks that followed—weeks of ever increasing light and warmth—were spent in examining and sorting their material into packages suitable for transport on sledges to their summer quarters at Waruskeek.

And here again the knowledge possessed by Nazinred of the habits and implements of the white men was of great service. Adolay also helped to instruct, for when among the sail-maker’s tools they found a number of the finer sort of needles and threads, as well as a few feminine thimbles, so to speak, she was able to show the women at once how to use them, and thus saved them from the trouble of puzzling out the matter for themselves.

“What is this?” asked Anteek of Nazinred one day, presenting a file which he had just picked up.

“That is a thing,” replied the Indian, who, being ignorant of the names of most tools, got over the difficulty by calling all objects “things”—“that is a thing made for cutting iron with; rubbing it down and cutting it short. It cuts things that are too hard for a knife.”

“I think,” returned the boy, regarding it attentively, “we might try it on Aglootook’s nose. That wants cutting short, and rubbing down too, for it seems very hard to look at it.”

Nazinred did not smile. He was slow to understand a joke. Perhaps he thought it a poor one, but Cheenbuk appreciated it, and met it with the suggestion that an axe might be more effective.

They were gravely debating this point in front of the snow stores, when Ondikik came up and asked when it was likely that a start would be made for home, as he styled their old winter village.

“Go and ask Mangivik. When he gives the order I’m ready,” said Cheenbuk.

“Don’t say a word to Aglootook,” said Anteek, as the young man turned to go; “he will be sure to say that something will happen if you do.”

“Yes, and as something always does happen,” remarked Cheenbuk, “he’s sure to be right, the moosquat.”

“Moo-squat” seemed to be used as a term of extreme contempt; it may not therefore be incorrect to translate it—“humbug!”

On being consulted, old Mangivik, who was generally credited with being weather-wise and intelligent, gave it as his opinion that, as the things from the white man’s kayak were all ready packed on the sledges, and the weather was very warm, and the days were growing long, and the ice and snow were melting fast, the sooner they set out the better.

Aglootook coincided with that opinion, because he had been led to the same conclusion some days before, chiefly in consequence of profound thought during the dark hours of night. “And if we don’t start off now,” he added at the end of a portentous oration, “no one can tell what will happen—something fearful, I know, though of course it is not possible to say what.”

As no one felt disposed to object, the preparations were hurried forward, and, soon after, the whole tribe went off on the return journey, leaving behind them a black and yawning gulf in the Arctic solitude where so lately a noble ship had been.

Arrived at the old village, these lively and energetic nomads occupied themselves during the brief remainder of winter and the early spring in securely hiding the goods of which they had become possessed, excepting such light portions as they meant to carry along with them to their summer retreat. Among these were a number of bows, spears, and arrows made from the wood of the burnt vessel, with cleverly adapted iron heads, filed to fine sharp points, and burnished until they glittered in the light. Of knives and axes there were also sufficient to equip most of the young men, and those for whom there were none made to themselves pretty good knives out of pieces of hoop-iron.

When at last the ocean currents and summer heat broke up the solid floes and set the icebergs free to resume their majestic southward course, our Eskimos put their sledges en cache, got out kayaks and oomiaks, and, wielding both the short and the long paddle, started off towards the southwest, in the direction of Waruskeek—some of the tribe, however, with a few of the old people, remaining behind.

“Now, Adolay, we are going to take you home,” said Cheenbuk, the day they started, while walking with her towards the oomiak in which she was to take her seat and a paddle. “Will the Indian girl be glad to leave us?”

The faintest possible tinge of red suffused her cheek, as she dropped her eyes and replied—

“She will be glad to get home.”

“When you have got home, and stayed for a time with your people,” returned Cheenbuk, who was usually blunt and to-the-point in his conversation, “will you come away with me and be my woman—my squaw?” he added, accommodating his words to the Indian vocabulary.

“I cannot leave my mother,” answered the maiden in a low voice.

“That is good,” returned the gallant Eskimo, “but Cheenbuk can leave his mother and his father too. If I go and live with the men-of-the-woods, will you be my squaw?”

Adolay with downcast eyes gave no answer.

It is said that silence gives consent. We are ignorant as to Arctic opinion on this point, but before light could be thrown on the subject, Anteek came rushing round the corner of a stranded berg with the exclamation—

“Hoi! Cheenbuk—here you are! We thought you must have got into the teeth of a walrus or the arms of a bear!”

Cheenbuk frowned savagely, caught Anteek by his nether garments and the nape of his neck, and, lifting him high above his head, seemed about to dash him on the ground. But, instead, he replaced him gently on his feet, and, with a benignant smile, told him to run down to the shore and put his kayak in the water so as to be ready for him.

Anteek, who was obedience personified, hastened away at once, rubbing his nether garments, and sorely perplexed as to the strange spirit which seemed so suddenly to have taken possession of the friend he so ardently idolised.

It was arranged that Nazinred, being unaccustomed to the Eskimo kayak, should voyage with the women in one of the oomiaks. To a younger brave this might have been regarded as an undignified position, but to a man of his years and tried experience it was only a subject for a passing smile. But the Indian did not accept the position of an idle passenger. Although inexpert in the use of the two-bladed paddle and the light kayak, he was thoroughly capable of using the women’s paddle with the single blade, as it bore much resemblance in shape and size to that used in his native canoe. He therefore quietly assumed the post of steersman in the oomiak, which contained Madam Mangivik, Nootka, the easy-going Cowlik, the gentle Rinka, Adolay, and a variety of children and babies. The young man Oolalik, in defiance of immemorial custom, also took a seat and a paddle in that oomiak—out of pure hospitality of course, and for the sole purpose of keeping their guest company. Nootka said nothing, but she seemed amused as well as pleased at the innovation. So were the children, for Oolalik was a prime favourite with young as well as old.

Old Uleeta was the captain of another of the oomiaks, and it was observed that Aglootook cast longing and frequent glances in her direction, believing, no doubt, that a place by her side would be an easier berth than in his own kayak, with nothing but the strength of his own lazy arm to urge it on; but as there was no guest in this case to justify the breach of ancient custom on the ground of hospitality, he felt that manhood required him to stay where he was.

It was a pretty sight the starting of the little flotilla on a brilliant spring morning, with the sea as calm as a millpond, fantastic masses of white ice floating about in all directions, and mountainous bergs here and there giving dignity as well as variety, by their size and light-green sides and deep blue caverns, to a scene which might otherwise have been too suggestive of wedding-cake.

Seals, walruses, sea-birds, and numerous denizens of the deep and air, were sporting about in fearless indifference to the presence of their great enemy, man, but these were unheeded until hunger began to affect the Eskimo. Then the war began, with its usual result—“the survival of the fittest.”

One day, however, there was a battle in which it came about that the tables were almost turned, and the survival, as regards the animals, very nearly reversed.

It happened thus.

We have already referred to the ferocity of the walrus when attacked. As a rule, man is the assailant. Sometimes, however, the monster of the Arctic deep assumes the offensive. On the occasion we are about to describe the attack was made in force.

The day had been brilliantly fine. The bergs had absolutely duplicated and inverted themselves by reflection, so that the sunlit pinnacles became submarine fires, and refraction stepped in to reverse, and as it were shatter, the floes on the horizon, while three mock suns glowed in the heavens at the same time—thus making the beautiful confusion still more exquisitely confounded.

“Walrus!” said Cheenbuk, pointing with the end of his long paddle in the direction of a large berg just ahead of them.

Nazinred, who was close alongside of him, ceased to paddle, and shaded his eyes with his hand. So did his crew. The whole flotilla ceased to paddle, and skimmed slowly along for some moments in dead silence.

Then Aglootook, in virtue of his office and presumption, spoke in a low voice—

“Let us pull softly, and speak not at all. There are plenty of beasts. Wonders shall be done to-day if you attend to what I say.”

They all acted on his advice, whether they heard it or not, for Eskimos need no caution to be wary and silent when approaching a herd of walruses.

There appeared to be at least a hundred animals lying sunning themselves on the various ice-lumps into which the floes were broken up. On one mass about half a mile off there were some twenty rolling about and grunting comfortably to each other. Towards these the flotilla slowly drifted, for the dipping of the paddles could scarcely be seen, and was quite noiseless. By slow degrees they drew near, and then the oomiaks hung back, with the exception of that steered by Nazinred, who had got his fire-spouter ready, while Oolalik stood in the bow, harpoon in hand, and lance ready by his side. The women were not expected to take part in the action—only to look on,—but all the men in kayaks advanced. While these last went on towards the main herd, our Indian steered straight for the ice-cake on which the largest number lay, and as they drew near, the extreme ugliness of the creatures’ faces and black heads became very apparent.

There was an old bull with tusks not far short of three feet long among the herd. Beside him was a young bull, which seemed from his wicked expression to be screwing up his courage to assault the old one. The rest were females and young ones of various ages, down to what seemed the very last walrus baby. Those that were grown up had bristling moustaches like porcupine-quills on their flat lips, and the young ones had tusks in different degrees of development—except the baby, whose head resembled an ill-shaped football.

They did not seem in the least afraid of the approaching oomiak. Perhaps they thought it a very dirty piece of ice covered with rather grotesque seals. At all events, although they looked at it, they went on with their mooing and rolling about, quite regardless of it, until Oolalik sent his harpoon deep into the side of one of the cows. Then indeed there was tremendous roaring and confusion, as the whole herd tumbled off the ice raft into the sea. The splash sent a cataract of spray over the Eskimos; and no wonder, for the old bull was full sixteen feet long, with barrel-bulk equal to a hogshead. Some of the others were not much smaller.

The harpoon thrown was attached to a short line, to the end of which an inflated seal-skin was fastened for the purpose of forming a drag on the animal harpooned, and, by coming to the surface, showing its whereabouts. But on this occasion the creatures required no such contrivance to bring them up, for no sooner were the two bulls in their native element than they uttered a horrible succession of roars, and made straight for the oomiak. A rip in the side of the skin boat would have been fatal, or, if one of the animals were to hook on to it with his tusks, an upset would be certain. Oolalik therefore grasped his long lance, while Nazinred steered so as to keep the bow end-on to the assailants. Another moment and Oolalik dealt the oldest bull a thrust in the neck that sent it back roaring. The cry seemed to be a summons, for answering cries were heard all round, and the walruses were seen to be converging towards their savage old chief. Meanwhile the young bull had reached the right side of the oomiak, where Cowlik sat with an easy-going look on her placid face, admiring the scene.

Nazinred was so intent on keeping the craft right that he failed to notice it until its ugly head and ponderous tusks rose above the gunwale. But Cowlik proved equal to the occasion. The easy-going look vanished, and the end of her paddle went into the throat of the brute with a thrust so vigorous that the boat was driven to one side and the tusks missed their mark. At the same moment Adolay, who sat close to her, grasped her paddle like a double-handed sword, and brought it down with surprising force on the creature’s left eye. A shot from the fire-spouter followed; the ball entered the same eye, reached the brain, and the young bull sank to rise no more.

The Indian reloaded as fast as he could, but not in time for another charge from the old bull, which Oolalik met with a stab in the side that again turned him off bellowing. A still younger bull, anxious, perchance, to win its spurs, took advantage of the situation, and made a dash at the opposite side, but Nootka sent about two feet of her paddle down its throat, which induced it to reconsider its intentions.

Just then a loud report told that the spouter was again to the front. This time the ball took effect on the old bull’s forehead, and remained there. It neither killed nor stunned, though it probably surprised it, for it sheered off permanently, and all the rest of the herd went away to sea along with it.

After this unexpected and dangerous encounter was over, it was found that several other animals were splashing about in a dying state, or fast to seal-skin buoys which the men in the kayaks had managed to affix to them. One of these was closely followed up by Anteek, who had very cleverly launched his harpoon.

Aglootook was also seen to be struggling with a buoy, which he was trying to haul in.

“Keep off!” he cried in great excitement when old Mangivik paddled to his assistance; “I have lanced it twice. I need no help. See, the water is full of blood!”

“That is my beast you are fighting,” remarked Oolalik, as the oomiak came up. “Look at the float: it is mine.”

The magician looked crestfallen. He had hoped, probably, to kill the wounded animal, secure it to his kayak, and cast loose the buoy, so that no one could claim it. He made the most of the situation, however, by asserting stoutly that if he had not lanced it well it would certainly have broken loose from the buoy.

When the whole party was assembled on a large floe, cutting up and stowing away the meat, some of the younger men began to comment on the success of the hunt, and to congratulate themselves on the large supply of fresh provisions which they had secured.

“Did I not tell you,” said Aglootook, who appeared to be superintending the workers, “that wonders would be done to-day?”

“You did,” replied Cheenbuk gravely, “and one of the greatest wonders was that you managed to lance a walrus!”

“It was indeed a great wonder,” returned the magician, with a smile of supreme satisfaction, “for I was not hunting at all at the time—only looking on by way of encouraging the young men. It just came in my way and I killed it, easily, in passing. If I had been really hunting, then indeed,” he added, with solemn emphasis, “you would have seen something to astonish you.”

“I have no doubt of that!” remarked Cheenbuk. At the same moment Anteek went off into an explosion of laughter, which he accounted for by pointing at a baby-walrus which had just put its head out of the water with an expression of surprise on its innocent face that clearly indicated its inability to understand what was going on.

Chapter Thirty One.
An Expedition and a Disappointment

A few days later the whole tribe arrived at their summer quarters, and no civilised family of boys and girls ever arrived at their seaside home with a more genuine expression of noisy delight than that with which those Eskimos took possession of the turf-mud-and-stone-built huts of Waruskeek.

It was not only the children who thus let loose their glee. The young men and maidens also began to romp round the old dwellings in the pure enjoyment of ancient memories and present sunshine, while the elders expressed their satisfaction by looking on with approving nods and occasional laughter. Even old Mangivik so far forgot the dignity of his advanced age as to extend his right toe, when Anteek was rushing past, and trip up that volatile youth, causing him to plunge headlong into a bush which happened to grow handy for his reception.

Nazinred alone maintained his dignity, but so far condescended to harmonise with the prevailing spirit as to smile now and then. As for Adolay, she utterly ignored the traditions of her people, and romped and laughed with the best of them, to the great delight of Nootka, who sometimes felt inclined to resent her stately ways. Cheenbuk adopted an intermediate course, sometimes playing a practical joke on the young men, at other times entering into grave converse with his Indian guest. Aglootook of course stuck to his own rôle. He stood on a bank of sand which overlooked the whole, and smiled gracious approval, as though he were the benignant father of a large family, whom he was charmed to see in the enjoyment of innocent mirth.

Cheenbuk soon formed his plans for the future, and laid them before the elders of the tribe the same evening after supper—at that period when poor Nazinred would have been enjoying his pipe, if that implement had not been blown with all his tobacco and tinder into the Arctic sky.

It is but just to the Indian to add that he took his heavy loss in a philosophical spirit, and had by that time quite got over the craving—insomuch that he began to wonder why he had ever come under the sway of such a taste.

“Now,” said Cheenbuk, with an air of decision, “listen to my plans.”

“Hoi! ho!” exclaimed every one, especially Aglootook, who added “hay!” in a peculiar tone, thus giving him leave, as it were, to talk as much as he pleased.

“You all know that I have promised to take Adolay back to her own home, and you know that I never break my promises. It is therefore my intention to set off to the Whale River after two suns have gone round the sky.”

“Hoi!” exclaimed some of the young men, with looks of surprise at such promptitude.

We may observe here that in those regions the sun in summer describes nearly an unbroken circle in the sky, and that Cheenbuk’s reference was to the next two days.

“I will take with me as many men and women as choose to go, but no children. We will take our spears and bows to procure food, but not to fight, for I go to make friends with the Fire-spouters and the white traders. So, if any one wants to fight,”—he looked at Raventik here, but that fire-eater happened to be absent-minded at the moment, and sat with downcast eyes,—“to fight,” he repeated with emphasis, “he will have to remain at home and fight the walrus—or the women!”

A faint “ho!” here indicated a desire for more.

“Nazinred says he is sure his people will be glad to meet us. I am sure we shall be glad to meet his people. What will happen after that, I cannot tell.”

“Something will certainly happen,” murmured Aglootook, as if holding converse with his own spirit, or with his familiar. “I know it; I am sure of it. I tell you all beforehand.”

“And you will accompany us,” said Cheenbuk, turning to the magician with a nod of approval. “When we go on an errand of peace we need our wisest men with us, men whose knowledge and experience will make the Fire-spouters think much of us, and men who don’t like fighting.”

“Now, then,” continued the Eskimo, turning again to the young men, “who will go? I shall not allow any to go who are not quite willing.”

There was no lack of volunteers. The party was then and there arranged, and two days later they set out on their mission, a goodly band, in kayaks and oomiaks.

The weather continued fine; the days were long; islets for camping-places were numerous, and in process of time the party reached the mouth of the Whale—otherwise Greygoose—River, which they began to ascend.

“Oh!” exclaimed Adolay, with glistening eyes, as she looked from bank to bank; “I know it so well—almost every bush and tree.”

“And you love it?” said Nootka.

“Yes, yes; is it not my own country?”

Nootka sighed. “I wish I could love my country like you; but your country sticks. Mine melts away—most of it—every hot sun-time; and it is not easy to care much for things that melt.”

“But Waruskeek does not melt,” said Adolay sympathetically.

“That is true,” returned Nootka, as if pleased to think of something solid, round which her affections might entwine; “but we stay such a short time there—only while the hot sun-time lasts, and I have not time to get very fond of it—not so as to make my eyes open and my cheeks grow red like yours.”

“Then you must come and live with me and love my country,” said the Indian girl in a patronising tone.

“What! and forsake Oolalik?” exclaimed the Eskimo maiden, with heightened colour and flashing eyes. “No, never. He will not melt, what ever else does.”

“Right, Nootka,” exclaimed Adolay, with a laugh. “It would take a very hot sun indeed to melt Oolalik. But perhaps the whole tribe will stay in my country. I think that Cheenbuk will get us over this difficulty. It is wonderful what can be done by a man with a determined mind like Cheenbuk.”

“Yes, some of us Eskimos have very determined minds,” said Nootka, complacently.

Adolay laughed lightly. “And don’t you think that some of the Fire-spouters have also a good deal of determination—especially one of them who left the lodges of his people and wandered over the great salt lake all alone in search of his child?”

“You speak truth,” returned Nootka, with a pleasant nod. “I’ll tell you what I think: both our nations are very determined—very.”

Having come to this satisfactory conclusion, the maidens relapsed into general conversation.

But a disappointment was in store which none of the party had counted on.

When the village of the Fire-spouters was reached, not a soul was to be seen. The tent-poles remained, and the ashes of the hearths were still there; but the ashes were cold, and not a man, woman, or child remained—not even a dog.

Nazinred and Adolay hurried at once along the well-known foot-path which led to the spot where their own wigwam had stood, but the place was deserted. As in the case of all the other lodges, only the bare poles, according to custom, were left—the coverings having been carried away.

Father and child looked at each other for some time in silent dismay. It was a terrible homecoming—so different from what each had been fondly anticipating!

The anxious father had strode on in advance of the Eskimo party, but Cheenbuk had followed. He hung back a little from feelings of delicacy as they neared the old home, and was much moved when he saw irrepressible tears flowing from the eyes of Adolay.

“Have enemies been in the camp?” he asked, when they had contemplated the scene for some minutes in silence.

“No; enemies have not been here,” answered the Indian. “There is no blood on the ground; no sign of a struggle. The tent-poles are not thrown down; the ashes of the fires have not been scattered. This would not have been so if there had been a fight. Keep up heart, Adolay!” he added, turning to the weeping girl; “no evil can have come to our people, for they have left of their own will for a new camp; but I am perplexed, for this is the best place in all the Dogrib lands for a village, and we had lived long here in contentment.”

“But if that be so, there must be good reason for their having left,” suggested Cheenbuk.

“Good reason—yes, the men-of-the-woods never act without good reason.”

“My father may be perplexed about reasons,” continued the Eskimo, “but surely he will have no difficulty in finding his people, for are not the men-of-the-woods good at following up a trail?”

“Truly you say what is true. It will be easy to find and follow the trail of a whole tribe,” returned Nazinred, with a smile. “But it is disappointing to find that they have forsaken the old place, and it may be many days before we find them.”

“Father!” exclaimed Adolay at this point, a bright look overspreading her features, “mother must have left some sign on a piece of bark, as I did at Waruskeek.”

“I had expected as much,” said the Indian, looking round the camp, “and I had thought to find it here.”

“Not here,” returned the girl, with a soft laugh; “you don’t know mother as well as I do! There is a tree, under the shade of which she and I used to work when the days were long. If there is a message anywhere, it is there.”

She bounded away as she spoke, like a fawn, and in a few minutes returned with a piece of bark in her hand.

“Here it is, father. I knew it would be there. Let us sit down now and make it out.”

Sitting down beside the cold hearth of the old home, father and child began to spell out Isquay’s letter, while Cheenbuk looked on in admiring silence and listened.

The letter bore a strong family likeness to that which had formerly been written—or drawn—by Adolay at Waruskeek, showing clearly whence the girl had derived her talent.

“The hand at the top points the way clear enough,” said the Indian, “but were you careful to observe the direction before you moved it?”

“Of course I was, father. I’m not a baby now,” returned the girl, with a laugh and a glance at Cheenbuk.

“That you certainly are not!” thought the Eskimo, with a look of open admiration.

“It pointed there,” she continued, extending her hand in a north-westerly direction.

“The Ukon River flows there,” returned Nazinred thoughtfully, as he traced the various parts of the letter with his forefinger.

“Is that river better than the Greygoose one?” asked Cheenbuk.

“No. It is as good—not better,” replied the Indian, in an absent mood. “Adolay, this piece of bark carries some strange news. Here we have the whole tribe starting off for the Ukon with all their tents, provisions, and everything in sledges. So they left in the cold season—”

“Yes, father,” interrupted Adolay, knitting her pretty brows as she earnestly scanned the letter, “but don’t you see the line of geese flying over the tree-tops? That shows that it was at the beginning of the warm time.”

“Adolay is the worthy daughter of a Dogrib chief!” said Nazinred, patting the girl’s shoulder.

“I hope she’ll be the worthy wife of an Eskimo youth some day,” thought Cheenbuk, but, as usual, he said nothing.

“And look here, father,” continued Adolay,—“what do they mean by having all their snow-shoes slung on their guns instead of on their feet?”

“It means that the snow was very soft, beginning to melt, and it was easier to tramp through it without snow-shoes than with them. I hope they have been careful, for there is great danger in crossing lakes and rivers at such a time of the year.”

“No fear of danger,” said Adolay, with a laugh, “when Magadar leads the way. Don’t you see him there in front? Mother knows how to draw faces—only his nose is too long.”

“That is to show that he is the guide,” observed Nazinred. “Did you not do the very same thing yourself when you made Cheenbuk’s nose far too long—for the same purpose?”

Adolay laughed heartily at this, and Cheenbuk joined her, feeling his nose at the same time, as if to make sure that its handsome proportions were not changed.

“And look—look, father!” resumed the girl, growing excited over the letter; “that is your friend Mozwa! I feel sure of it by the shape of his legs. Who could mistake his legs? Nobody is like mother. She does legs as well as faces. But what is that on his wife’s back—not a new baby, surely?”

“Why not, my child?”

“Poor man!” sighed Adolay. “He had enough to provide for before.”

“Poor woman!” thought Cheenbuk, but he maintained a discreet silence.

Of course it was decided to follow up the trail of the tribe without delay. As Nazinred had surmised, it was easily found and not difficult to follow. That night, however, the party encamped round the hearths of the deserted village.