Red Rooney: The Last of the Crew

“What! the singing duel with Okiok?”

“Yes. The people have set their hearts on the thing, and Ujarak will try to escape. He will perhaps say that his torngak has told him to go hunting to-morrow. But our customs require him to keep his word. My fear is that he will sneak off in the night. He is a sly fox.”

“I will stop that,” said Rooney.

“How?”

“You shall see. Come with me to the hut of Ujarak.”

On reaching the hut, they found its owner, as had been expected, sharpening his spears, and making other arrangements for a hunting expedition.

“When do you start?” asked Rooney.

“Immediately,” replied the wizard.

“Of course after the duel,” remarked Angut quietly.

The wizard seemed annoyed.

“It is unfortunate,” he said, with a vexed look. “My torngak has told me of a place where a great number of seals have come. They may leave soon, and it would be such a pity to lose them.”

“That is true,” said Angut; “but of course you cannot break our customs. It would ruin your character.”

“Of course, of course I will not break the custom,” returned Ujarak quickly; “unless, indeed, my torngak orders me to go. But that is not likely.”

“I want to ask you,” said Rooney, sitting down, “about that trip you had last year to the land of the departed. They tell me you had a hard time of it, Ujarak, and barely escaped with your life.”

The sly seaman had spread a net with which the wizard could at all times be easily caught. He had turned him on to a tune at which he was always willing to work with the persistency of an organ-grinder. The wizard went on hour after hour with unwearied zeal in his narrations, being incited thereto by a judicious question now and then from the seaman, when he betrayed any symptom of flagging. At last Angut, who had often heard it before, could stand it no longer, and rose to depart. Having already picked up the Kablunet’s mode of salutation, he held out his hand, and said “Goo’-nite.”

“Good-night, friend,” returned Rooney, grasping the proffered hand. “I can’t leave till I’ve heard the end of this most interesting story, so I’ll just sleep in Ujarak’s hut, if he will allow me, and thus avoid disturbing you by coming in late. Good-night.”

“Goo’-nite,” responded Angut, and vanished from the scene.

The wizard heaved a sigh. He perceived that his little plan of gliding away in the hours of darkness was knocked on the head, so, like a true philosopher, he resigned himself to the inevitable, and consoled himself by plunging into intricacies of fabulous adventure with a fertility of imagination which surprised even himself—so powerful is the influence of a sympathetic listener.

When Ujarak at last discovered that his guest had fallen into a profound slumber, he brought his amazing narrative to an abrupt close, and, wrapping himself in a reindeer-skin, resigned himself to that repose which was so much needed to fit him for the combat of the approaching day.

It was a brilliant sunny morning when Red Rooney awoke from a startling dream, in which he had been wrestling with monstrous creatures in the depths of ocean as well as in the bowels of the earth.

The wizard was still locked in apparently dreamless slumber. Unwilling to disturb him, the seaman glided quietly out, and clambered to the top of a cliff, whence a magnificent sea-view was revealed to his wondering gaze.

There are times when the atmosphere of this earth seems to be rarefied and freshened with celestial zephyrs, which not only half intoxicate the spirit, but intensify the powers of hearing and vision, so that gentle sounds which are very far off come floating to us, and mingle softly with those that are near at hand, while objects are seen at such immense distances that one feels as if the world itself had suddenly grown larger. To these influences were added on this occasion a sea which absolutely glittered with the icy gems that decked her calm and waveless bosom. It was not only that millions of white and glittering peaks, with facets and edges gleaming like diamonds, rose into the blue sky, but here and there open lanes of water, and elsewhere lakes and little ponds upon the melting ice caught the full orb of the rising sun, and sent its reflection into the man’s eyes with dazzling refulgence, while the ripple or rush of ice-born water-falls and the plaintive cries of wild-fowl gave variety and animation to the scene. In a mind less religiously disposed than that of our seaman, the sights and sounds would have irresistibly aroused grateful thoughts to our Creator. On Rooney the effect was almost overpowering, yet, strange to say, it drew no word of thanksgiving from his lips. Clasping his hands and shutting his eyes, he muttered with bowed head the words, “God, be merciful to me a sinner!”

Perhaps the recognition of the Father’s great goodness and condescension, coupled with his own absolute unworthiness, and the impulse which called those words forth, was nearly the highest act of worship which the sailor could have offered.

Far below, under the sheltering cliff, the huts of the Eskimo village could be seen like little black specks dotting the still snow-covered land; and the voices of children could be heard in faint but merry shouts and peals of laughter, as their owners, like still smaller specks, romped about. One of those specks Rooney recognised, from its intense blackness, to be his friend Tumbler, and a smaller and lighter speck he guessed to be Pussi, from the circumstance of its persistently following and keeping close to the raven-clad hero.

The pleased look with which Rooney at first regarded the children slowly passed away, and was replaced by one of profound sadness; for how could he escape dejection when he thought of a sweet Irish wife and little ones, with a dear old grandmother, whom he had left in the old country, and who must long before that time have given him up as dead?

His melancholy thoughts were dissipated by a sudden increase in the shouting of the little ones. On regarding them attentively, he observed that they scattered themselves in the direction of the several huts, and disappeared therein.

Well did Rooney know that the movement meant breakfast, and having a personal interest in that game, he left his perch and the glorious view, and hastened down.

After breakfast the entire community went with one consent to witness the singing combat. It was to take place on the ice near the scene of the recent kick-ball game, close to the berg of the sea-green cave. The people were much elated, for these savages were probably as much influenced by brilliant spring weather as civilised folk are, though not given to descant so much on their feelings. They were also in that cheerful frame of mind which results from what they correctly referred to as being stuffed; besides, much fun was expected from the contest. Lest our readers should anticipate similar delight, we must repeat that Eskimos are a simple folk, and easily pleased.

“Won’t it be a tussle?” remarked Issek, who marched in the centre of a group of women.

“It will, for Ujarak is tough. He is like a walrus,” responded an admirer of the wizard.

“Poo!” exclaimed the mother of Ippegoo contemptuously; “he can indeed roar like the walrus, but he can do nothing else.”

“Yes; and his strength goes for nothing,” cried a sympathiser, “for it is his brain, not his body, that has got to work.”

“We shall see,” said Kabelaw, whose sister remarked—“if we are not blind.”

This mild observation was meant for a touch of pleasantry. Little touches of pleasantry often passed between these “lying sisters,” as they were called, and they not infrequently culminated in touches of temper, which must have been the reverse of pleasant to either.

Arrived at the arena, a ring was formed, and the wisdom as well as amiability of these poor people was shown by their putting the children in front, the little women in the second row, the tall women in the third, and the men behind.

In a few minutes Ujarak bounded into the centre of the circle, with a small drum or tambourine in one hand, which he beat vigorously with the other. Okiok followed more sedately, armed with a similar musical instrument, and retired to one side of the arena, for the wizard, perhaps because he was the challenger, had the right to begin.

A good authority on the Eskimo tongue says: “The language is not easily translatable, the brevity and force of a single sentence requiring to be rendered in many words of another tongue.” The same authority also informs us that angekoks “speak in a metaphorical style sometimes, in order to exhibit their assumed superiority in learning and penetration.” It will not be expected, therefore, that our translation should convey more than a general idea of the combat.

Ujarak’s first act, after bounding into the ring and drumming, was to glare at his adversary. Okiok returned the glare with interest, and, being liberal, threw a sneer of contempt into the bargain. Ujarak then glared round at the audience, and began his song, which consisted merely of short periods, without rhyme or measure, but with a sort of rhythmic musical cadence. He commenced with the chorus—“Amna ajah ajah hey!” which was vociferously repeated by his supporters among the audience.

What these words, mean—whether they represent our “fal lal la” or “runity iddity”—we have not been able to ascertain, but they came in at irregular intervals, greatly to the satisfaction of the audience, thus:—

“Amna ajah ajah hey!There was once a man—a man(So it is said, but we are not sure),A puffin perhaps he was—or a stupid spiritMade in the likeness of a man;Amna ajah ajah hey!”

Here the wizard not only accompanied the chorus with the drum, but with a species of dance, which, being a clumsy man, he performed in an extremely elephantine manner. After a few moments he went on:—

“This man—this puffin—was a liar:A liar, because he was a teller of lies.Did he not one time say that seals had come,And that birds were in the air?And when we went to look, no seals or birds were there.Amna ajah ajah Hey!”

The extreme vigour with which the last word was uttered resulted from the wizard having tripped in his dance, and come down heavily on the ice, to the immense delight of his opponents and the children. But Ujarak rose, and quelling the laugh with a look of dignity, continued:—

“Worse than a liar was this foolish puffin.He hunted badly. When he flung the spearThe seals would laugh before they went away.Sometimes he missed, sometimes he tipped the nose,Sometimes hit the wrong animal,And sometimes touched the tail.Amna ajah ajah hey!”

This verse was a hit, for Okiok was known to be but an indifferent marksman with the throwing-spear; yet such was his industry and his ability to approach very near to his prey, that he was the reverse of a bad hunter. But men in all lands are prone to shut their eyes to the good, and to open them very wide to the evil, that may be said of an adversary. Consequently at this point the chorus was given with great vigour by the wizard faction, and the wizard himself, having worked himself into a breathless condition by the mental effort and the furious dance, deemed it a fitting occasion to take his first rest.

The custom in those duels is for each combatant to devote a quarter of an hour or so to the attack, and then make way for his opponent, who at once steps forward and begins his counter-attack. After a short time he in like manner gives way, and his foe returns. Thus they proceed until one is exhausted or overwhelmed; and he who has the last word gains the victory, after which the dispute is held as settled, and they frequently become better friends than before.

There was something in the expression of Okiok as he stepped sedately into the ring which gladdened his friends and distressed his opponents. Unlike the wizard, he was well formed, and all his movements were comparatively elegant, so that in his case the conventional bit of dance at the end of periods was pleasant to the eye, while his peculiar advantage of rhyming power rendered his performance grateful to the ear. After a little drumming he began:—

“Why must I step within this ring,To jump and dance, and drum and sing?You all know well that OkiokWas never made an angekok.Amna ajah ajah hey!”

“Amna ajah ajah hey!” yelled the hunter’s admirers, with enthusiasm.

“But Ujarak’s the man of skill,To kick or wrestle, sing or kill;He bids me meet him here to-day.Poor Okiok! he must obey.My Torngak, come here, I say!Thus loud I cried the other day—‘You always come to Ujarak;Thou come to me, my Torngak!’But he was deaf, and would not hear,Although I roared it in his ear.At last he said, ‘No, Okiok,For you are not an angekok!’Amna ajah ajah hey!”

Here the hunter, after a neat pirouette and tickling of the drum, changed his tone to a soft insinuating whine:

“’Tis true I’m not an angekok;I’m only hunter Okiok.But Torngak, dear Torngak,Don’t go away. O do come back!If you’ll be mine, and stick to meFor evermore, I’ll stick to thee.And every single thing I doI’ll come and ask advice from you;Consult you morning, noon, and night;Consult you when I hunt or fight;Consult you when I sing and roar;Consult you when I sleep and snore;Consult you more than Ujarak—My Tor—Tor—Tor—Tor—Torngak!”

A roar of laughter and a stupendous “Amna ajah ajah hey!” greeted this flight, while Okiok gravely touched his drum, and performed a few more of his graceful evolutions.

“‘No, no,’ he said; ‘I’ll never makeSo gross and stupid a mistake.One man there is who tried to do it—He thinks the spirits never knew it—He tried to make an angekok-stewOut of a lad named Ippegoo!’”

Here another yell of delight was followed by the chorus, and Okiok was about to resume, when a terrific rending sound seemed to paralyse every one. Well did they know that sound. It was the rending of the solid ice on which they stood. The advancing spring had so far weakened it that a huge cake had broken off from the land-ice, and was now detached. A shriek from some of the women drew attention to the fact that the disruption of the mass had so disturbed the equilibrium of the neighbouring berg that it was slowly toppling to its fall. A universal stampede instantly took place, for the danger of being crushed by its falling cliffs and pinnacles was very great. Everything but personal safety was forgotten in the panic that ensued. Red Rooney was almost swept off his legs in the rush. Women and children were overturned, but fortunately not hurt. A very few minutes sufficed to take them all clear of danger; but the succeeding crashes produced such an inconceivable roar that the terrified villagers ran on until close to the place where the ice had cracked off, and where a lane of water about three feet wide presented itself.

Over this went men, women, and children at a flying leap—all except poor little Pussi. That fat little thing would have been left behind had not the mere force of the rush carried her on in a half running, half rolling way. Being unable to manage the jump, she went in with a plunge, and disappeared.

A wild scream from the nearest female caused every one to stop and run back.

“Pussi!” exclaimed Nunaga, pointing wildly to the water.

“Where—where did she go in?” cried Rooney.

“She must have gone under the ice!” gasped the poor girl.

As she spoke a bubble of air rose to the surface. Next moment the seaman cleft the cold black water and disappeared.

Then with a thrill of alarm the Eskimos observed that the great ice-cake which had broken off was being driven shoreward by the rising tide, and that the lane of water was rapidly closing.

But they were not kept long in suspense. Another moment, and Rooney appeared with little Pussi in his arms. They were instantly seized by Okiok and Angut, and dragged violently out—not much too soon, for only a few seconds after they were rescued the ice closed with a grinding crash, that served to increase the fervency of the “Thank God!” with which the seaman hailed their deliverance.

The child was not quite insensible, though nearly so. Rooney seized her in his arms, and ran as fast as he could towards the village, whither the fleet-footed Ippegoo had already been sent to prepare skins and warm food for the reception of rescued and rescuer.

Chapter Sixteen.

The Rebellion of the Worm and the Fall of the Wizard

The event which had so suddenly interrupted the singing duel was a matter of secret satisfaction to Ujarak, for he felt that he was no match for Okiok, and although he had intended to fight the battle out to the best of his ability, he knew that his ultimate defeat was so probable that its abrupt termination before that event was a piece of great good-fortune.

Still, his position was unsatisfactory, for, in addition to the fact that his credit as a genuine angekok had been sadly shaken because of Ippegoo’s failure, he was well aware that the combat which had been interrupted was only postponed. What was to be done in the circumstances became, therefore, the urgent question of the hour. In great perplexity he sought out his poor victim Ippegoo—with something of the feeling, no doubt, that induces a drowning man to clutch at a straw—and silently walked with him to a secluded spot near the neighbouring cliffs.

“Ippegoo,” he said, turning round abruptly; “it is certain that you will never be an angekok.”

“I don’t want to be one,” returned the simpleton quietly.

The wizard looked at him in surprise.

“What do you mean?” he asked sharply.

“I mean that if the torngak you were going to get for me is no better than your own, he is a fool, and I would rather not have him.”

This unexpected rebellion of the worm which he had so often twisted round his finger was too much for Ujarak in his then irascible condition. He flew into a violent rage, grasped the handle of his knife, and glared fiercely at his pupil.

Ippegoo returned the look with a quiet smile.

This was perplexing. There are few things more trying to passionate men than uncertainty as to how their bursts of anger will be received. As a rule such men are merely actors. No doubt their rage may be genuine, but the manner in which they will display their anger depends very much on who are their witnesses, and what their opponents. Rage which fumes at some trifling insult, and tears off the coat, resolved on fighting, when a timid wife seeks to soothe, is likely to assume a very different appearance and follow some other course of action when a prize-fighter pulls the nose, and invites it to “do its worst.”

If Ippegoo had winced, or stood on the defensive, or stepped back, or shown the slightest sign of fear, it is probable that the strong and lawless man would have stabbed him to the heart in the first impulse of his anger, for the poor youth was well acquainted with all his secrets and most of his bad intentions. But the motionless figure and the smiling face not only surprised—it alarmed—Ujarak. It seemed so unnatural. What powers of sudden onslaught might not lie hidden within that calm exterior? what dynamitic capacities of swift explosion might not underlie that fearless expression?

“Ippegoo,” he said, stifling his anger with a painful effort, “are you going to turn against your best friend?”

“My mother is my best friend,” answered the youth stoutly.

“You are right; I made a mistake.”

“Why does your torngak let you make so many mistakes?”

Again a rush of anger prompted the wizard to sacrifice his quondam pupil, and once more the youth’s imperturbable coolness overawed him. Bad as he was, Ujarak could not kill a smiling victim.

“Ippegoo,” said the wizard, suddenly changing his tone, and becoming intensely earnest, “I see what is the matter. Angut and the Kablunet have bewitched you. But now, I tell my torngak to enter into your heart, and unbewitch you. Now, do you not feel that he has done it?”

The youth, still smiling, shook his head.

“I knew it,” continued the wizard, purposely misunderstanding the sign. “You are all right again. Once more I lay my commands on you. Listen. I want you to go at once and tell Nunaga that Angut wants to see her alone.”

“Who?” asked Ippegoo in surprise.

“Angut.”

“What! your rival?”

“Yes; my rival. My torngak tells me that Angut wants to meet her—alone, mind—out on the floes at Puffin Island this afternoon.”

“Are—are you sure your torngak has made no mistake?” asked the youth, with something of his old hesitancy.

“Quite sure,” replied Ujarak sternly. “Now, will you give her my message?”

“Angut’s message, you mean.”

“Yes, yes; I mean Angut’s message,” said the wizard impatiently. “You’ll be sure to do what I tell you, won’t you?”

“Quite sure,” replied Ippegoo, the smile again overspreading his visage as he turned and quitted the spot.

Half an hour later he entered Okiok’s hut in quest of Nunaga, but only her mother was there. She told him that the girl had gone off with a sledge along the coast to Moss Bay to fetch a load of moss to stuff between the logs of the hut where they required repairing, and that she had taken Kabelaw as well as Tumbler and Pussi with her.

“That’s good,” said Ippegoo, “then she can’t and won’t go to Puffin Island. I said I would tell her that Angut wants to meet her there alone.”

“Who told you to tell her that?” asked Nuna.

“A fool,” answered Ippegoo, promptly.

“He must indeed have been a fool,” returned Nuna, “for Angut has just been helping Nunaga to harness the dogs, and he is now with my husband in his own hut.”

This information caused the messenger to shut his eyes, open his mouth, and laugh silently, with evident enjoyment.

“I intended to deliver my message,” he said, on recovering composure, “for I promised to do so; and I also meant to tell Nunaga that the message was a big lie.”

At this amazing depth of slyness on his part, Ippegoo fell into another hearty though inaudible laugh, after which he went off to communicate his news to Okiok and Angut, but these worthies having gone out to visit some snares and traps, no one knew whither, he was obliged to seek counsel of Simek.

On hearing of the plot that seemed to be hatching, that jovial hunter at once ordered his sledge to be got ready, and started off, with two stalwart sons and his nephew Arbalik, for Moss Bay, to warn Nunaga of her enemy’s intentions, and to fetch her home. But alas! for even the best laid of human plans.

It so happened that one of the Eskimo youths, who was rather inclined to tease Nunaga, had set a snow-trap for Arctic foxes about two miles from the village. As the spot was not much out of the way, the girl resolved to turn aside and visit the trap, take out the fox, if one chanced to be caught, and in any case set the trap off, or put a bit of stick into it by way of fun. The spot chanced to be only a short distance beyond the place where the wizard had met Ippegoo, but the sea-shore there was so covered with hummocks of ice that Nunaga had approached without being observed by either the wizard or the pupil. It was not more than a few minutes after Ippegoo had left on his errand to herself that she came suddenly in sight of Ujarak. He was seated, as if in contemplation, on a rock at the base of the cliff.

Suspecting no evil, Nunaga stopped her team of dogs. It was her father’s best team, consisting of the swiftest and most enduring animals in the village. The wizard observed this as he rose up and approached, rejoicing to think that Fortune had favoured him. And truly Fortune—or rather, God—was indeed favouring the wicked man at that time, though not in the way that he imagined.

In a few moments Ujarak’s plans were laid. The opportunity was too good to be lost.

“Where goes Nunaga to-day?” he asked quietly, on reaching the sledge.

“To Moss Bay,” answered Nunaga.

“Has Nunaga forgotten the road?” asked Ujarak, with a slight look of surprise. “This is not the way to Moss Bay.”

“It is not far out of the way,” said Kabelaw, who was the more self-assertive of the two lying sisters; “we go to visit a trap, and have no time to waste with you.”

As she spoke she seized the heavy Eskimo whip out of Nunaga’s hand, and brought it smartly down on the backs of the whole team, which started off with a yelp, and also with a bound that well-nigh left Tumbler and Pussi behind. But she was not quick enough for Ujarak, who exclaimed with a laugh, as he leaped on to the sledge and assumed the place of driver—