Red Rooney: The Last of the Crew

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 me
For evermore, I’ll stick to thee.
And every single thing I do
I’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 make
So 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-stew
Out 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.”