Red Rooney: The Last of the Crew

“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.

VIII

“O set me free! O set me free!”
I cried in my despair,