combines story-telling (in both senses) with fasting, fun, and more serious matters.

the favourite dish having been disposed of, simek continued his story.

“well,” said he, “after my little torngak had been blown away, i waited a short time, hoping that he would come back, but he did not; so i got up, took a spear in my hand, and went off to white-bear bay, determined to see if the little spirit had spoken the truth. sure enough, when i got to the bay, there was the walrus sitting beside its hole, and looking about in all directions as if it were expecting me. it was a giant walrus,” said simek, lowering his remarkably deep voice to a sort of thunderous grumble that filled the hearts of his auditors with awe in spite of themselves, “a—most—awful walrus! it was bigger,”—here he looked pointedly at okiok—“than—than the very biggest walrus i have ever seen! i have not much courage, friends, but i went forward, and threw my spear at it.” (the listeners gasped.) “it missed!” (they groaned.) “then i turned, and, being filled with fear, i ran. did you ever see me run?”

“yes, yes,” from the eager company.

“no, my friends, you never saw me run! anything you ever saw me do was mere walking—creeping—standing still, compared with what i did then on that occasion. you know i run fast?” (“yes, yes.”) “but that big walrus ran faster. it overtook me; it overturned me; it swallowed me!”

here simek paused, as if to observe how many of them swallowed that. and, after all, the appeal to their credulity was not as much overstrained as the civilised reader may fancy, for in their superstitious beliefs eskimos held that there was one point in the training of a superior class of angekoks which necessitated the swallowing of the neophyte by a bear and his returning to his friends alive and well after the operation! besides, simek had such an honest, truthful expression of countenance and tone of voice, that he could almost make people believe anything he chose to assert. some there were among his hearers who understood the man well, and guessed what was coming; others there were who, having begun by thinking him in jest, now grew serious, under the impression that he was in earnest; but by far the greater number believed every word he said. all, however, remained in expectant silence while he gravely went on:—

“my friends, you will not doubt me when i say that it was very hot inside of that walrus. i stripped myself, but was still too hot. then i sat down on one of his ribs to think. suddenly it occurred to me to draw my knife and cut myself out. to my dismay, i found that my knife had been lost in the struggle when i was swallowed. i was in despair, for you all know, my friends, how impossible it is to cut up a walrus, either from out or inside, without a knife. in my agony i seized the monster’s heart, and tried to tear it; but it was too hard-hearted for that. the effort only made the creature tremble and jump, which i found inconvenient. i also knew from the curious muffled sound outside that it was roaring. i sat down again on a rib to consider. if i had been a real angekok, my torngak no doubt would have helped me at that time—but he did not.”

“how could you have a torngak at all if you are not a real angekok?” demanded the wizard, in a tone that savoured of contempt.

“you shall hear. patience!” returned simek quietly, and then went on:—

“i had not sat long when i knew by the motions of the beast that he was travelling over the ice—no doubt making for his water-hole. ‘if he gets into the sea,’ i thought, ‘it will be the end of me.’ i knew, of course, that he could not breathe under water, and that he could hold his breath so long that before he came up again for fresh air i should be suffocated. my feelings became dreadful. i hope, my friends, that you will never be in a situation like it. in my despair i rushed about from the head to the tail. i must have hurt him dreadfully in doing so—at least i thought so, from the way he jumped about. once or twice i was tossed from side to side as if he was rolling over. you know i am a man of tender heart. my wife says that, so it must be true; but my heart was hardened by that time; i cared not. i cared for nothing!

“suddenly i saw a small sinew, in the form of a loop, close to the creature’s tail. as a last hope, without knowing why, i seized it and tugged. the tail, to my surprise, came slightly inwards. i tugged again. it came further in. a new thought came to me suddenly. this was curious, for, you know, that never since i was a little child have my thoughts been quick, and very seldom new. but somehow the thought came—without the aid of my torngak too! i tugged away at that tail with all my might. it came further and further in each tug. at last i got it in as far as the stomach. i was perspiring all over. suddenly i felt a terrific heave. i guessed what that was. the walrus was sick, and was trying to vomit his own tail! it was awful! each heave brought me nearer to the mouth. but now the difficulty of moving the mass that i had managed to get inside had become so great that i felt the thing to be quite beyond my power, and that i must leave the rest to nature. still, however, i continued the tugging, in order to keep up the sickness—also to keep me employed, for whenever i paused to recover breath i was forced to resume work to prevent my fainting away altogether, being so terrified at the mere thought of my situation. to be inside a walrus is bad enough, but to be inside of a sick walrus!—my friends, i cannot describe it.

“suddenly there was a heave that almost rent the ribs of the creature apart. like an arrow from a bow, i was shot out upon the ice, and with a clap like thunder that walrus turned inside out! and then,” said simek, with glaring solemnity, “i awoke—for it was all a dream!”

there was a gasp and cheer of delight at this, mingled with prolonged laughter, for now the most obtuse even among the children understood that simek had been indulging in a tale of the imagination, while those whose wits were sharper saw and enjoyed the sly hits which had been launched at ujarak throughout. indeed the wizard himself condescended to smile at the conclusion, for the tale being a dream, removed from it the only objectionable part in his estimation, namely, that any torngak, great or small, would condescend to have intercourse with one who was not an angekok.

“now,” cried okiok, starting up, “bring more meat; we are hungry again.”

“huk! huk!” exclaimed the assenting company.

“and when we are stuffed,” continued okiok, “we will be glad to hear what the kablunet has to tell about his own land.”

the approval of this suggestion was so decided and hearty, that red rooney felt it to be his duty to gratify his hospitable friends to the utmost of his power. accordingly he prepared himself while they were engaged with the second edition of supper. the task, however, proved to be surrounded with difficulties much greater than he had expected. deeming it not only wise, but polite, to begin with something complimentary, he said:—

“my friends, the innuits are a great people. they work hard; they are strong and brave, and have powerful wills.”

as these were facts which every one admitted, and rooney uttered them with considerable emphasis and animation; the statement of them was received with nods, and huks, and other marks of approval.

“the innuits are also hospitable,” he continued. “a kablunet came to them starving, dying. the great spirit who made us all, and without whose permission nothing at all can happen, sent okiok to help him. okiok is kind; so is his wife; also his daughter. they took the poor kablunet to their house. they fed—they stuffed—him. now he is getting strong, and will soon be able to join in kick-ball, and pull-over, and he may perhaps, before long, teach your great angekok ujarak some things that he does not yet know!”

as this was said with a motion in one eye which strongly resembled a wink, the audience burst into mingled applause and laughter. to some, the idea of their wise man being taught anything by a poor benighted kablunet was ridiculous. to others, the hope of seeing the wizard’s pride humbled was what is slangily termed “nuts.” ujarak himself took the remark in good part, in consequence of the word “great” having been prefixed to his title.

“but,” continued the seaman, with much earnestness, “having said that i am grateful, i will not say more about the innuit just now. i will only tell you, in few words, some things about my own country which will interest you. i have been asked if we have big villages. yes, my friends, we have very big villages—so big that i fear you will find it difficult to understand what i say.”

“the innuit have big understandings,” said simek, with a bland smile, describing a great circle with his outspread arms; “do not fear to try them.”

“well, one village we have,” resumed rooney, “is as broad as from here to the house of okiok under the great cliff, and it is equally long.”

the “huks” and “hois!” with which this was received proved that, big as their understandings were, the eskimos were not prepared to take in so vast an idea.

“moreover,” said the seaman, “because there is not enough of space, the houses are built on the top of each other—one—two—three—four—even five and six—one standing on the other.”

as each number was named, the eyes of the assembly opened wider with surprise, until they could open no further.

“men, women, and children live in these houses; and if you were to spread them all over the ice here, away as far as you can see in every direction, you would not be able to see the ice at all for the houses.”

“what a liar!” murmured the mother of arbalik to the mother of ippegoo.

“dreadful!” responded the latter.

“moreover,” continued rooney, “these people can put their words and thoughts down on a substance called paper and send them to each other, so that men and women who may be hundreds of miles away can talk with each other and understand what they say and think, though they cannot hear or see each other, and though their words and thoughts take days and moons to travel.”

the breathless eskimos glanced at each other, and tried to open their eyes wider, but, having already reached the utmost limit, they failed. unfortunately at that moment our hero was so tickled by the appearance of the faces around him, that he smiled. in a moment the eyes collapsed and the mouths opened.

“ha! ha–a–a!” roared simek, rubbing his hands; “the kablunet is trying to beat my walrus.”

“and he has succeeded,” cried angut, who felt it his duty to stand up for the credit of his guest, though he greatly wished that he had on this occasion confined himself to sober truth.

a beaming expression forthwith took the place of surprise on every face, as it suddenly dawned upon the company that ridroonee was to be classed with the funny dogs whose chief delight it is to recount fairy tales and other exaggerated stories, with a view to make the men shout, the women laugh, and the children squeak with amusement.

“go on,” they cried; “tell us more.”

rooney at once perceived his mistake, and the misfortune that had befallen him. his character for veracity was shaken. he felt that it would be better to say no more, to leave what he had said to be regarded as a fairy tale, and to confine himself entirely to simple matters, such as an eskimo might credit. he looked at his friend angut. angut returned the look with profound gravity, almost sorrow. evidently his faith in the kablunet was severely shaken. “i’ll try them once more,” thought rooney. “it won’t do to have a vast range of subjects tabooed just because they won’t believe. come, i’ll try again.”

putting on a look of intense earnestness, which was meant to carry irresistible conviction, he continued—

“we have kayaks—oomiaks—in my country, which are big enough to carry three or four times as many people as you have in this village.”

another roar of laughter greeted this statement.

“isn’t he a good liar?” whispered arbalik’s mother.

“and so grave about it too,” replied kunelik.

red rooney stopped.

the mother of ippegoo, fearing he had divined her thoughts, was overwhelmed, and tried to hide her blushing face behind issek.

“they don’t believe me,” said the seaman in a low voice to okiok.

“of course they don’t. you might as well tell us that the world is round, when we see that it is flat!”

rooney sighed. he felt depressed. the impossibility of his ever getting these people to understand or believe many things was forced upon him. the undisguised assurance that they looked upon him as the best liar they had ever met with was unsatisfactory.

“besides all this, my friends,” he cried, with a feeling and air of reckless gaiety, “we have grand feasts, just as you have, and games too, and dances, and songs—”

“songs!” shouted simek, with an excited look; “have you songs? can you sing?”

“well, after a fashion i can,” returned rooney, with a modest look, “though i don’t pretend to be much of a dab at it. are you fond o’ singin’?”

“fond!” echoed simek, with a gaze of enthusiasm, “i love it! i love it nearly as much as i love pussimek; better, far, than i love blubber! ho! sing to us, ridroonee.”

“with all my heart,” said rooney, starting off with all his lung-power, which was by no means slight.

“rule britannia,” rendered in good time, with tremendous energy, and all the additional flourishes possible, nearly drove the audience wild with delight. they had never heard anything like it before.

“that beats you, okiok,” said simek.

“that is true,” replied okiok humbly.

“what! does he sing?” asked rooney.

“yes; he is our maker of songs, and sings a little.”

“then he must sing to me,” cried the sailor. “in my land the man who sings last has the right to say who shall sing next. i demand a song from okiok.”

as the company approved highly of the demand, and okiok was quite willing, there was neither difficulty nor delay. the good-natured man began at once, with an air of humorous modesty, if we may say so.

eskimos, as a rule, are not highly poetical in their sentiments, and their versification has not usually the grace of rhyme to render it agreeable, but okiok was an exception to the rule, in that he could compose verses in rhyme, and was much esteemed because of this power. in a tuneful and moderate voice he sang. of course, being rendered into english, his song necessarily loses much of its humour, but that, as every linguist knows, is unavoidable. it was red rooney who translated it, which will account for the slightly hibernian tone throughout. i fear also that rooney must have translated rather freely, but of course at this late period of the world’s history it is impossible to ascertain anything certain on the point. we therefore give the song for what it is worth.

okiok’s song.

i.

a seal once rowled upon the sea

beneath the shining sun,

said i, “my friend, this very day

your rowlin’ days are done.”

“no, no,” said he, “that must not be,”

(and splashed the snowy foam),

“beneath the wave there wait for me

a wife and six at home.”

ii.

“a lie!” said i, “so you shall die!”

i launched my whistling spear;

right up his nose the weapon goes,

and out behind his ear.

he looked reproachful; then he sank;

my heart was very sore,

for down, and down, and down he went.

i never saw him more.

iii.

then straight from out the sea arose

a female seal and six;

“o kill us now, and let our blood

with that of father’s mix.

we cannot hunt; we dare not beg;

to steal we will not try;

there’s nothing now that we can do

but blubber, burst, and die.”

iv.

they seized my kayak by the point,

they pulled me o’er the sea,

they led me to an island lone,

and thus they spoke to me:

“bad man, are there not bachelors

both old and young to spare,

whom you might kill, and eat your fill,

for all the world would care?”

v.

“why stain your weapon with the blood

of one whose very life

was spent in trying to provide

for little ones and wife?”

they paused and wept, and raised a howl.

(the youngest only squealed).

it stirred the marrow in my bones,

my very conscience reeled.

vi.

i fell at once upon my knees,

i begged them to forgive;

i said i’d stay and fish for them

as long as i should live.

“and marry me,” the widow cried;

“i’d rather not,” said i

“but that’s a point we’d better leave

to talk of by and by.”

vii.

i dwelt upon that island lone

for many a wretched year,

serving that mother seal and six

with kayak, line, and spear.

and strange to say, the little ones

no bigger ever grew;

but, strangest sight of all, they changed

from grey to brilliant blue.

vii.

“o set me free! o set me free!”

i cried in my despair,

for by enchantments unexplained

they held and kept me there.

“i will. but promise first,” she said,

“you’ll never more transfix

the father of a family,

with little children six.”

ix.

“i promise!” scarce the words had fled,

when, far upon the sea,

careering gaily homeward went

my good kayak and me.

a mist rolled off my wond’ring eyes,

i heard my nuna scream—

like simek with his walrus big,

i’d only had a dream!

the reception that this peculiar song met with was compound, though enthusiastic. as we have said, okiok was an original genius among his people, who had never before heard the jingle of rhymes until he invented and introduced them. besides being struck by the novelty of his verses, which greatly charmed them, they seemed to be much impressed with the wickedness of killing the father of a family; and some of the eskimo widows then present experienced, probably for the first time in their lives, a touch of sympathy with widowed seals who happened to have large families to provide for.

but there was one member of the company whose thoughts and feelings were very differently affected by the song of this national poet—this eskimo burns or byron—namely the wizard ujarak. in a moment of reckless anger he had challenged okiok to combat, and, knowing that they would be called on to enter the arena and measure, not swords, but intellects, on the morrow, he felt ill at ease, for he could not hope to come off victorious. if it had been the ordinary battle of wits in blank verse, he might have had some chance he thought, but with this new and telling jingle at the end of alternate lines, he knew that he must of a surety fail. this was extremely galling, because, by the union of smartness, shrewd common sense, and at times judicious silence, he had managed up to that time to maintain his supremacy among his fellows. but on this unlucky day he had been physically overcome by his rival angut, and now there was the prospect of being intellectually beaten by okiok.

“strange!” thought the wizard; “i wonder if it was my intention to run away with nunaga that brought this disgrace upon me.”

“it was,” said a voice very close to him.

the wizard looked round quickly, but no one seemed to be thinking of him.

it was the voice of conscience. ujarak felt uneasy, and stifled it at once. everybody can do that without much difficulty, as the reader knows, though nobody has ever yet succeeded in killing conscience outright. he then set himself to devise some plan for escaping from this duel. his imagination was fertile. while the revellers continued to amuse themselves with food, and song, and story, the wizard took to thinking.

no one thought his conduct strange, or sought to disturb him, for angekoks belong to a privileged class. but think as hard and as profoundly as he could, no way of escape presented itself until the evening was far advanced, and then, without an appreciable effort of thought, a door seemed to fly open, and that door was—ippegoo.

“yes,” thought the wizard; “that will do. nothing could be better. i’ll make him an angekok.”

it may be needful to explain here that the creation of an angekok is a serious matter. it involves much ceremonial action on the part of him who operates, and preparation on the part of him who is operated on. moreover, it is an important matter. when once it has been decided on, nothing can be allowed to interfere with it. all other things—save the unavoidable and urgent—must give way before it.

he would announce it that very night. he would boldly omit some of the preliminary ceremonial. the morrow would be a day of preparation. next day would be the day of the ceremony of induction. after that it would be necessary for him to accompany the new-made wizard on his first journey to the realm of spirits. thus the singing duel would have to be delayed. ultimately he would manage to carry off nunaga to the land of the southern eskimo; thus he would be able to escape the ordeal altogether, and to laugh at okiok and his jingling rhymes.

when he stood up and made the announcement, declaring that his torngak had told him that another angekok must be created, though who that other one was had not yet been revealed to him, there was a slight feeling of disappointment, for eskimos dearly love a musical combat; but when he pointed out that after the ceremonies were over, the singing duel might then come off, the people became reconciled to the delay. being by that time exhausted in body and mind, they soon after retired to rest.

ere long oblivion brooded over the late hilarious crew, who lay down like bundles of hair in their festal garments, and the northern lights threw a flickering radiance over a scene of profound quietude and peace.