Red Rooney: The Last of the Crew

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 spirit
Made 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 spear
The 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 Okiok
Was 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.