The Walrus Hunters: A Romance of the Realms of Ice

Chapter Thirty Two.
An Unexpected Meeting

The brief summer had fled, and autumn, with its bright sunshine and invigorating frosts, had returned to the Far North, when one day, during that short delightful period styled the Indian summer, our friend MacSweenie and his inseparable henchman Mowat sauntered down to the beach in front of the new fort.

“Iss it here the canoe wass lyin’, Tonal’?”

“Ay, yonder it is, just beyond the palin’, bottom up.”

“Man, this iss fine weather—whatever.”

“It is that,” replied Mowat, who could hardly have replied otherwise, for the fact did not admit of a doubt.

There was an intense brilliancy yet a hazy softness in the air, which was particularly exhilarating. Trumpeting wild-geese, piping plover, the whistling wings of wild-ducks, and the notes of other innumerable feathered tribes, large and small, were filling the woods and swamps with the music of autumnal revelry, as they winged their way to southern lands. Every view was beautiful; all the sounds were cheerful. An absolute calm prevailed, so that the lake-like expanse in front of the fort formed a perfect mirror in which the cliffs and brilliant foliage of the opposite banks were clearly reflected.

“We will go down to the bend o’ the ruver,” said MacSweenie, as they launched their canoe, “an’ hide in the bushes there. It iss a grand spote for birds to fly over, an’ there’s plenty o’ ducks an’ geese, so we may count on soon gettin’ enough to fill the larder to overflow.”

“Ay, there’s plenty o’ birds,” remarked Mowat, with the absent air of a man whose mind is running on some other theme.

MacSweenie was a keen sportsman, and dearly loved a day with his gun. As a boy, on his own Highland hills, he had been addicted to sporting a good deal without the formality of a licence, and the absolute freedom from conventional trammels in the wild North was a source of much gratulation to him. Perhaps he enjoyed his outings all the more that he was a stern disciplinarian—so deeply impressed with a sense of duty that he would neither allow himself nor his men to indulge in sport of any kind until business had been thoroughly disposed of.

“It hes often seemed to me,” he said, steering towards the bend of the river above referred to, “that ceevilisation was a sort o’ mistake. Did ye ever think o’ that, Tonal’?”

“I can’t say that I ever did. But if it is a mistake, it’s a very successful one—to judge from the way it has spread.”

“That iss true, Tonal’, an’ more’s the peety. I cannot but think that man was meant to be a huntin’ animal, and to get his victuals in that way. What for wass he gifted wi’ the power to hunt, if it wass not so? An’ think what enjoyment he hes in the chase until ceevilisation takes all the speerit out o’ him. H’m! It never took the speerit out o’ me, whatever.”

“Maybe there wasn’t enough o’ ceevilisation in the place where you was brought up,” suggested the interpreter.

“Ha! ye hev me there, Tonal’,” returned the trader, with a short laugh. “Weel, I must admit that ye’re not far wrong. The muddle o’ the Grampians iss but a wildish place, an’ it wass there my father had his sheep-farm an’ that I first made the acquaintance o’ the muir-cock an’ the grouse. O man! but there’s no place like the Heeland hills after a’, though the wild-woods here iss not that bad. Tonal’, man, catch hold o’ that bush an’ draw close in to the bank. There’s a flock comin’, an’ they’re fleein’ low.”

The last words were spoken in a hoarse whisper, for they had just turned the bend of the river, and MacSweenie had caught sight of a flock of wild-geese, flying low, as he said, and crossing over the land, which at that place jutted out into the stream.

Mowat, though naturally sluggish, was quick in action when circumstances required him to be so. The canoe was drawn close under an overhanging bush, and quite concealed by it. The two men, laying down the paddles, took up their guns and examined the priming to see that it was dry, long before the flock drew near. Then they sat motionless and silent, crouching a little and looking upwards.

The unsuspicious flock of wild-geese came over the point in that curious angular formation in which they usually travel—an old grey gander, as usual, leading. A deep trumpet-note now and then told of their approach. Then the soft stroke of their great wings was heard. Next moment the flock appeared over the edge of the bush that concealed their human foes. At the same instant sportsmen and geese beheld each other. The guns flew to the shoulders of the former; the angle was thrown into dire confusion, and the woods and cliffs reverberated with two shots, which crashed forth at the same moment.

Trumpeting and screaming, the scattered flock passed on, and the hunters pushed out from the bank to pick up two plump birds which lay dead upon the water.

But those two shots did more than carry death and confusion into the ranks of the grey geese. They caused surprise and something like wild excitement in the hearts of a number of Eskimos who, in their kayaks, happened to be at that moment pushing up the Ukon River, pioneered by a birch-bark canoe, which was propelled by an Indian man and woman.

Submitting to authority while among the ice-floes of the polar seas, Nazinred had, as we have seen, consented to take his place humbly among the women and children in one of the oomiaks. Anteek and one of his companions were permitted to paddle the birch-bark canoe, to their very great satisfaction, until Whale River was reached. But the moment the party entered on the lakes and rivers of the land, Nazinred ordered Adolay to take the bow paddle of his native craft, himself took the steering paddle, and from that moment he had quietly assumed the office of guide to the expedition.

“Fire-spouters!” exclaimed Cheenbuk, on hearing the shots of the traders’ guns.

“Yes—my countrymen,” replied Nazinred.

The kayak of Cheenbuk was about half a length behind the canoe, else the Eskimo would have seen that though the Indian’s voice was low and calm, his black eyes glittered with excitement.

“It is not like the gun of the Dogribs,” remarked Adolay, glancing back at her father.

“Why does Adolay think so?”

“Because there is too much noise. You have yourself told me, father, that the Indian uses a smaller charge both of powder and shot than the white trader, as he cannot afford to waste it. I never heard the guns of our men speak so loud. Perhaps we are going to meet white men.”

The chief regarded his daughter with a pleased smile and a look of pride.

“Adolay observes well,” he said; “she is like her mother. The sound was loud because the charges were big—also because two guns were fired at once.”

“I heard only one,” returned the girl.

“That is because you have not heard much firing of guns. Adolay is not yet as old as her father. The traders from the great fresh lake must have come to our land, and that is the reason why our people have forsaken the old home.”

As he spoke the flotilla rounded a point on the river, and came in sight of MacSweenie’s canoe making for the land after having picked up the geese.

An impartial observer would not have found it easy to determine which party expressed more surprise.

“Fire-spouters!” shouted the new arrivals.

“Eskimos!” exclaimed Mowat.

“Savitches—whatever!” said MacSweenie. “Wow! but this iss goot luck! Gif way, my boy, an’ we will meet them more than half-way.”

Suddenly the trader ceased to paddle, and raised a hand to shade his eyes from the sun.

“Tonal’, man!” he growled with a Gaelic expletive which it is impossible to spell, “iss that a birch-bark canoe that I am seein’?”

“It is that,” answered the interpreter, “an’ I do believe that—that—”

“Man! Tonal’,” interrupted the trader, as he dipped his paddle violently into the water. “It’s wishin’ I am that I may never see the Grampians again in this world if yon iss not Nazinred himself wi’ his daater in the bow! It iss my belief there will be rechoicing in the Dogrib camp this night—though wi’ such a band o’ Eskimos there will be no small risk o’ fechtin’ also!”

By this time the canoe and flotilla were so near that Nazinred recognised the trader, and threw up a hand in salutation, whereupon MacSweenie and Mowat, taking off their caps, treated the party to a rousing British cheer, which was so congenial to the lively Eskimos that they burst into a sympathetic howl, mingled with laughter and some fair attempts to imitate the cheer, while they splashed up the water with their paddles, and otherwise conducted themselves jovially.

Of course Nazinred would not condescend to conduct so undignified, but in his way he expressed great satisfaction at the happy meeting.

Then all the paddles were dipped again with vigour and the whole party made for the fort—the two canoes leading.

Chapter Thirty Three.
The Last

“I will be thinkin’,” said MacSweenie to Mowat, “that it will be safer for our two canoes to go first to the fort an’ leave the Eskimos behind the point till we warn the Indians o’ their arrival; for there iss no knowin’ what these fiery savitches may do if their old enemies come on them all of a sudden. Tell Nazinred that.”

The interpreter obeyed, and as the chief was of the same opinion, a halt was called; Cheenbuk was consulted, and ultimately the Eskimos in their kayaks were left concealed behind the nearest point below the fort, while the two canoes advanced side by side.

“We will take them by surprise, Tonal’. I’m fond o’ givin’ people a surprise,” said MacSweenie in an undertone as they drew near to the little wharf that had been run out from the land in front of the main building. A few Indians were watching the arrival with some curiosity.

But there was one passenger in Nazinred’s canoe who cared little for interfering with human plans—namely, Attim, whose shaggy head rested on the gunwale as he gazed and snuffed anxiously.

The moment the canoes came within a few yards of the shore, the excited dog plunged over the side with a huge bound. He was a magnificent swimmer, and reached the land in a few seconds. Springing up the bank, he shook a shower from his sides and bounded into the bushes, with the certain knowledge, no doubt, that he had reached home at last, and that his faithful nose would not fail to guide him to the tent of Isquay.

“O ye rascal!” growled MacSweenie, “you’ve let the cat out o’ the bag—for I make no doubt that every man an’ wummin o’ the tribe knows you by sight.”

And the Highlander was right, for in a few minutes the whole camp was roused, and the sight of the dog told them that Nazinred had come back. But had he found his daughter? That was a point which every one who could walk, run, or hobble, hurried to the wharf to ascertain.

But the point was cleared up sooner than they expected, for, before they reached the wharf, a graceful figure was seen to be bounding through the bushes, apparently in hot pursuit of the dog.

Immediately after that a treble scream was heard to issue from a coppice behind the fort. It was followed by an equally treble squeal, with a bass accompaniment of barking. No one took the trouble to inquire the cause of this, for they knew, somehow, intuitively.

As we have said more than once, it is unusual for North American Indians to demonstrate, but Isquay and Adolay were, like Nazinred, in advance of their times, and were in the habit of snapping their fingers in the hideous face of the Red Indian Mrs Grundy!

Meanwhile, MacSweenie and his man were informing the Indians at the wharf that a band of their old foes, the eaters-of-raw-flesh, were at that moment lying on the other side of the point in their kayaks.

The news was received with surprise, not unmingled with frowns. Every one looked at Nazinred inquiringly, but that astute Red man was engaged in profound contemplation of the clouds.

“Moreover,” said the trader, “your old prisoner who gave you the slip and ran away with Adolay is among them.”

“Then,” cried Magadar, starting forward, “we will get our guns and go after them. The young men have long wished for a chance of revenge.”

“The young men hev wished for nothing o’ the sort,” cried MacSweenie, with a fierce expression in his blue eyes that was very impressive. “There iss no wan here wants to fecht but yourself, Magadar; but I will not disappoint ye. If you must fecht wi’ some wan, ye shall fecht wi’ me. But it iss jokin’ ye are.—Come now, men; these Eskimos hev come here on a veesit, an’ full well do I know that there’s not an Indian tribe in all the land equal to the Dogribs for hospitality; so you’ll go and get ready a feast for our veesitors, an’ I’ll gie you some goot things out o’ the store to help it.”

Whatever Magadar thought about this address he shrouded his feelings behind an air of impenetrable and stern reserve; for he saw that the young men sympathised with the trader. Nazinred also, in a few words, helped to confirm their sympathy by telling them that the eaters-of-raw-flesh were not a war-party, but had brought some of their women and old people along with them. The end of it was that a shot was fired as a preconcerted signal for the Eskimos to advance. In a few minutes the kayaks and oomiaks came sweeping round the point and made straight for the landing-place.

The reception of the men-of-the-ice by the traders was of course hearty and sincere, but the hereditary ill-will of the Indians was not quite overcome at the first. It was not until there had been several meetings, and a feast in the fort, and Donald Mowat’s violin had exercised its soothing influence on the savage breasts, that harmony was produced in some degree between the two parties.

At length MacSweenie began to see his way to the establishment of a permanent peace, and he made arrangements to have a great palaver, a solemn treaty, and a grand feast in connection with it.

“You must know, Tonal’,” he said one evening when in consultation with his interpreter in the privacy of his own room, “I hev got a plan in my head which iss calcoolated to make things go smooth, if anything will.”

He paused rather a long time, and as Mowat looked at him in expectation of hearing more, it struck him that the deepened bronze on his chief’s face, and the slight motion of his shoulders, indicated suppressed laughter. But the Orkney-man was much too sedate a character to express undue curiosity. He waited patiently.

“Yes, Tonal’,” said the trader, taking a few whiffs of the long clay pipe which was his usual evening comforter, “I hev a plan, and, strange as it may seem to an unsentimental man like you, love is at the bottom of it.”

“Well, you might have a worse foundation,” returned Mowat, with something of good-natured cynicism on his rugged face.

“Yes,” continued MacSweenie, “that iss at the bottom of it—at least weemen are, an’ that’s the same thing.”

Mowat shook his head doubtfully. “I’m not so sure o’ that,” he said; “no doubt women have a good deal to do wi’ love—but they’re hardly the same thing.”

“Weel, Tonal’, we will not fall out on that point to-night, for I hev got no leisure to dispute. Another time we may tackle it, but I hev other fish to fry just now, an’ we must begin this very night wi’ a grand palaver.”

After a few more vigorous whiffs, and a frown indicative of intense thought, the trader continued—

“I hev no doubt, Tonal’, that you hev observed the curious and, if I may say so, extensive variety of love-makin’ that has broken out in the camp since the arrival o’ these Eskimos?”

“I can’t say that I have,” returned Mowat, gravely.

“Wow, man! for a fuddler ye exhibit a most extraordinary want o’ perception in the more delicate affairs o’ human life. Well, well, it is strange. But I hev observed it, an’ I’m goin’ to turn it to account, if I can.

“You must know that I hev been troubled in my thoughts about that warlike fellow Magadar, for, as you know, he was sweet upon the girl Adolay before she was carried off by the Eskimo; an’ Cheenbuk is such a strong and bold lad that I felt sure there would be mischief between the two about her; but to my surprise an’ satisfaction Magadar hes gone over head an’ ears wi’ that little Eskimo girl Cowlik, who must, I think, hev been born in an easy-going frame of mind, which seems to hev stuck to her ever since, and to hev gone on increasing with her years. Then, as we all know, our Indian Alizay has for long been efter the girl Idazoo. There’s no accountin’ for taste, Tonal’. I would sooner be married to a ship’s figure-head myself, but that’s his look-out, whatever. I hev also observed—’deed it would be difficult not to observe—that the man Oolalik iss castin’ sheep’s-eyes at that girl Nootka. All this hes impressed me so much that I hev set myself to observe more closely than I’m used to do in such matters, and I hev discovered two more cases—namely, that poor young Eskimo that was wounded in the last fecht, but seems to be slowly recovering. They call him Ondikik, and he would hev kicked altogether if it had not been for the nursin’—so they say—o’ that nice little craitur they call Rinka, or something like that. The other case is that lively stripling Anteek. He’s scarcely more than a boy yet, but young Uleeta, as they call the girl, seems to think that no great objection.

“Now, Tonal’, my plan iss to marry them all off-hand on the same day! You know that by virtue of my poseetion in the Service I am empowered to perform the marriage ceremony. Of course, as a Christian man, I would not fail to impress them with the fact that no real marriage can take place without the blessin’ o’ their Manitou, but I think that the readin’ o’ the marriage service over them may impress them favourably, an’ help in the caause of peace and goot-will. It shall be tried, whatever, so you had better go an’ get your fuddle in order, an’ send the cook to me.”

That night MacSweenie had the central hall of his fort lighted up, and called together a united council of the Indians and Eskimos.

“My friends,” he said, after passing the pipe of peace round among the former, and offering it to the latter, who each took a whiff out of courtesy, “this is a great night, for we hev met to join ourselves together in a bond of friendship which I trust will not soon be broken.—Tell them that, Tonal’.”

When the interpreter had done his duty, Cheenbuk was asked to translate it into the Eskimo tongue. The process was rather slow, but as natives and traders alike had plenty of time on their hands, and the proceedings were a great novelty, no one felt impatient.

Then MacSweenie continued:

“We pale-faces, as you call us, believe that our God, our Manitou, takes a great interest in all our affairs, from the least to the greatest, and in the book in which some of us hev written down our prayers, we ask, among many other things, that ‘there may be peace in our time.’ (For myself, I may give my opeenion that the prayer would hev seemed less selfish if it had run ‘peace in all time’—but that iss by the way, whatever).—Now, Tonal’, go ahead.”

Donald went ahead, but he took the liberty of omitting what he deemed the irrelevant commentary.

“Peace, then, iss the thing that I am drivin’ at,—peace and goot-will between the pale-faces and the men-o’-the-woods and the men-of-the-ice also. There are many things that make for peace. The first an’ most important thing iss goot feelin’. Another thing is trade—commerce, barter, or exchange. (I don’t see how the Eskimo will translate these words, Tonal’, but he will hev to do his best.) Then there iss common sense; and, lastly, there is marriage. Now, I hev said my say, for the time, whatever, and Nazinred will continoo the discourse.”

Thus directly appealed to, our Indian rose, and, looking calmly round on the assembly, said—

“Every word that our white father has said is true; and a great many more words that he has not said are also true.”

“Waugh!” from the Red men, who evidently regarded the last remark as a self-evident proposition.

Dispensing with the services of Mowat, Nazinred turned to the Eskimos and acted the part of his own interpreter. They received his words with an emphatic “Hoh!” as if they were equally clear on the subject of the last words being indisputable.

“Our white father has said,” continued the chief, “that the first and most important thing in producing peace is good-feeling. That is true. It was good-feeling in my child that led her to save the life of Cheenbuk. It was good-feeling in Cheenbuk that made him care for my child, and treat her well, and bring her back here to her mother and her tribe. It was good-feeling in the Eskimos that made them kind to the Indian chief, and receive him hospitably, when they might have taken his scalp and kept his daughter. It is good-feeling, very strong good-feeling, that makes the young Eskimo wish to make Adolay his squaw, and it is the same good-feeling that now makes Nazinred willing that he should have her.”

“Hoh!” exclaimed the Eskimos at this point, with evident satisfaction, and “Ho!” exclaimed the Indians, with equally evident surprise, for it was contrary to all their notions of propriety that an Indian chief’s daughter should wed an eater-of-raw-flesh! However, they said nothing more, and after gazing a few moments at each other in silent solemnity, they turned their eyes again on Nazinred.

Changing his tone somewhat, that wily Red man went on in a persuasive manner to expatiate on the advantages of peace in general, and of peace with the Eskimos in particular. He also enlarged on the great comforts to be derived from trade—which could be carried on with the white traders on the one hand and the Eskimos on the other, so that, between the two, the men-of-the-woods could not fail to obtain a double benefit. As to common sense being favourable to peace, he did not quite understand what his white father meant by that, for there was only one kind of sense among the Dogribs—though perhaps there might be two or three kinds where the traders came from! But in regard to marriage, there could be no doubt of his opinion on that point, seeing that he was going to give his daughter to Cheenbuk. Having finished what he had to say, Nazinred sat down, after expressing a desire to hear the opinions of his people on these matters.

For some time nothing was said, and it seemed as if the Indians were not quite sure of their own minds, when Magadar arose suddenly.

“Braves,” he began, in his brusque manner, “I like fair-play. If Cheenbuk is going to carry off one of our maidens, it seems to me reasonable that an Eskimo maid should be left in her place. There is one of their girls who is named Cowlik. I am willing to take Cowlik and make her my squaw. Waugh!”

Magadar sat down with the prompt air of a man who has conferred a favour at great personal sacrifice.

Then Mozwa rose and delivered himself of an oration full of wise remarks and poetical allusions, in which he backed his friend Nazinred. After him came Cheenbuk, who said that he was much gratified by the speeches of Mozwa and Nazinred; that from the latter he had learned his first lesson of good-feeling towards the men-of-the-woods, on the day when he strove with him on the banks of the Greygoose River; that his second lesson was taught him by Adolay—a lesson that he would never forget and could never repay, for she had not only saved his life but made him happy.

At this point MacSweenie broke in with, “Yes, my friends, an’ there iss a goot many more people here besides Cheenbuk that wants to be made happy. For instance, there’s the young brave Alizay an’ that pleasant craitur Idazoo that’s thinkin’ about marriage just now; an’ there’s Magadar and Cowlik, and Oolalik and Nootka, and Ondikik and Rinka, and Anteek and young Uleeta; an’ I’m not sure that there may not be some more of you in the same case. If so, all right; the more the merrier. Ay, ye may look surprised, my friends, but I’ve got a way o’ findin’ out these things that is not known to every wan.—Now, Tonal’, gif them that as best ye can, and look sherp, for there iss more to come.

“Now, my fruends, I want to explain to ye that when white people get married they go through a kind of ceremony, an’ put gold rings on the weemen’s fingers—by way o’ makin’ it all shipshape an’ secure, you know. Now, I understand how to go about this matter, an’ we hev plenty o’ brass curtain-rings in the store that’s as goot as gold any day—in this country, whatever. So if it iss agreeable to the chiefs and the braves around me, I’m quite willin’ to marry ye all off at the same time, and will gif ye as much baccy as ye can smoke in wan night; an’ we’ll hev a glorious feast on the back o’t, an’ a dance that’ll keep my fuddler’s fingers goin’ as long as they can wag.—Now, Tonal’, if ye tell them all that, ye’re a cliverer man than I take ye for.”

Whether Mowat told them all that as faithfully as might be desired we cannot tell, but he addressed himself to the task with a genial fluency that at all events had the desired effect, for after Nazinred had translated it to the Eskimos, it was found that they, as well as the Indians, were quite disposed to fall in with the eccentric trader’s views. Arrangements were accordingly made without delay for carrying them into execution.

Of course the ladies concerned had no objections to offer; and it is generally believed to this day, in those regions, that the interest aroused by the promised ceremonial, not to mention the brass curtain-rings, as well as the tobacco, and the feast and fiddle, had much to do with the ready assent of all parties to this somewhat violent innovation on ancient custom.

Be this as it may, the wholesale wedding eventually took place; the feast came off; Tonal’ Mowat charmed the souls of the Eskimos with his violin, even more powerfully than he had charmed those of the Indians; and Aglootook, almost carried out of himself with delight, volunteered an oration in which he reminded his hearers that he had told them that something would certainly happen.

They all heartily admitted the fact, and solemnly proclaimed him the most wonderful magician in the land.

From that day to this, as far as we know, nothing has occurred to interrupt the flow of kindly intercourse that was at this time established. The Eskimos returned to their icy fastnesses laden with some of the wealth of the white traders.

But every spring they came back to barter for more of it, as well as for the purpose of seeing the friends whom they had left behind them.

For Cheenbuk, being unable to tear himself away from Nazinred, took up his permanent abode at the fort as one of the hunters to the establishment. He did not however forsake his people, but frequently visited old Mangivik and his mother at Waruskeek, and the old folk sometimes returned the visit by spending a few months on the banks of the Ukon River. Anteek also elected to stay with the men-of-the-woods, being unable to forsake Cheenbuk, and of course young Uleeta remained with him. Every year Nootka found it quite impossible to exist without seeing her brother Cheenbuk in his own home, and having a satisfactory gossip with her dear friend Adolay. As Oolalik agreed with Nootka in all things, there was no difficulty in arranging the matter. In the course of time Cheenbuk’s youngsters and Nootka’s progeny insisted on keeping up the intercourse that had been so auspiciously begun, and even the easy-going Cowlik became uneasy unless the fire-eating Magadar went with her occasionally to Waruskeek.

As for the unselfish and tender-hearted Rinka, she of course returned with Ondikik to the realms of ice, and made that fortunate savage happy. Indeed, she made every one happy who came within her benign influence, and if the truth had been spoken out by every one, we suspect it would have been found that to her attractive powers was due much of the enthusiasm for intercommunication that existed between the Red men and the walrus-hunters, for the principle still holds good, in savage not less than in civilised lands, that “love is the fulfilling of the law.”

The End