The Walrus Hunters: A Romance of the Realms of Ice

Nazinred was so intent on keeping the craft right that he failed to notice it until its ugly head and ponderous tusks rose above the gunwale. But Cowlik proved equal to the occasion. The easy-going look vanished, and the end of her paddle went into the throat of the brute with a thrust so vigorous that the boat was driven to one side and the tusks missed their mark. At the same moment Adolay, who sat close to her, grasped her paddle like a double-handed sword, and brought it down with surprising force on the creature’s left eye. A shot from the fire-spouter followed; the ball entered the same eye, reached the brain, and the young bull sank to rise no more.

The Indian reloaded as fast as he could, but not in time for another charge from the old bull, which Oolalik met with a stab in the side that again turned him off bellowing. A still younger bull, anxious, perchance, to win its spurs, took advantage of the situation, and made a dash at the opposite side, but Nootka sent about two feet of her paddle down its throat, which induced it to reconsider its intentions.

Just then a loud report told that the spouter was again to the front. This time the ball took effect on the old bull’s forehead, and remained there. It neither killed nor stunned, though it probably surprised it, for it sheered off permanently, and all the rest of the herd went away to sea along with it.

After this unexpected and dangerous encounter was over, it was found that several other animals were splashing about in a dying state, or fast to seal-skin buoys which the men in the kayaks had managed to affix to them. One of these was closely followed up by Anteek, who had very cleverly launched his harpoon.

Aglootook was also seen to be struggling with a buoy, which he was trying to haul in.

“Keep off!” he cried in great excitement when old Mangivik paddled to his assistance; “I have lanced it twice. I need no help. See, the water is full of blood!”

“That is my beast you are fighting,” remarked Oolalik, as the oomiak came up. “Look at the float: it is mine.”

The magician looked crestfallen. He had hoped, probably, to kill the wounded animal, secure it to his kayak, and cast loose the buoy, so that no one could claim it. He made the most of the situation, however, by asserting stoutly that if he had not lanced it well it would certainly have broken loose from the buoy.

When the whole party was assembled on a large floe, cutting up and stowing away the meat, some of the younger men began to comment on the success of the hunt, and to congratulate themselves on the large supply of fresh provisions which they had secured.

“Did I not tell you,” said Aglootook, who appeared to be superintending the workers, “that wonders would be done to-day?”

“You did,” replied Cheenbuk gravely, “and one of the greatest wonders was that you managed to lance a walrus!”

“It was indeed a great wonder,” returned the magician, with a smile of supreme satisfaction, “for I was not hunting at all at the time—only looking on by way of encouraging the young men. It just came in my way and I killed it, easily, in passing. If I had been really hunting, then indeed,” he added, with solemn emphasis, “you would have seen something to astonish you.”

“I have no doubt of that!” remarked Cheenbuk. At the same moment Anteek went off into an explosion of laughter, which he accounted for by pointing at a baby-walrus which had just put its head out of the water with an expression of surprise on its innocent face that clearly indicated its inability to understand what was going on.

Chapter Thirty One.

An Expedition and a Disappointment

A few days later the whole tribe arrived at their summer quarters, and no civilised family of boys and girls ever arrived at their seaside home with a more genuine expression of noisy delight than that with which those Eskimos took possession of the turf-mud-and-stone-built huts of Waruskeek.

It was not only the children who thus let loose their glee. The young men and maidens also began to romp round the old dwellings in the pure enjoyment of ancient memories and present sunshine, while the elders expressed their satisfaction by looking on with approving nods and occasional laughter. Even old Mangivik so far forgot the dignity of his advanced age as to extend his right toe, when Anteek was rushing past, and trip up that volatile youth, causing him to plunge headlong into a bush which happened to grow handy for his reception.

Nazinred alone maintained his dignity, but so far condescended to harmonise with the prevailing spirit as to smile now and then. As for Adolay, she utterly ignored the traditions of her people, and romped and laughed with the best of them, to the great delight of Nootka, who sometimes felt inclined to resent her stately ways. Cheenbuk adopted an intermediate course, sometimes playing a practical joke on the young men, at other times entering into grave converse with his Indian guest. Aglootook of course stuck to his own rôle. He stood on a bank of sand which overlooked the whole, and smiled gracious approval, as though he were the benignant father of a large family, whom he was charmed to see in the enjoyment of innocent mirth.

Cheenbuk soon formed his plans for the future, and laid them before the elders of the tribe the same evening after supper—at that period when poor Nazinred would have been enjoying his pipe, if that implement had not been blown with all his tobacco and tinder into the Arctic sky.

It is but just to the Indian to add that he took his heavy loss in a philosophical spirit, and had by that time quite got over the craving—insomuch that he began to wonder why he had ever come under the sway of such a taste.

“Now,” said Cheenbuk, with an air of decision, “listen to my plans.”

“Hoi! ho!” exclaimed every one, especially Aglootook, who added “hay!” in a peculiar tone, thus giving him leave, as it were, to talk as much as he pleased.

“You all know that I have promised to take Adolay back to her own home, and you know that I never break my promises. It is therefore my intention to set off to the Whale River after two suns have gone round the sky.”

“Hoi!” exclaimed some of the young men, with looks of surprise at such promptitude.

We may observe here that in those regions the sun in summer describes nearly an unbroken circle in the sky, and that Cheenbuk’s reference was to the next two days.

“I will take with me as many men and women as choose to go, but no children. We will take our spears and bows to procure food, but not to fight, for I go to make friends with the Fire-spouters and the white traders. So, if any one wants to fight,”—he looked at Raventik here, but that fire-eater happened to be absent-minded at the moment, and sat with downcast eyes,—“to fight,” he repeated with emphasis, “he will have to remain at home and fight the walrus—or the women!”

A faint “ho!” here indicated a desire for more.

“Nazinred says he is sure his people will be glad to meet us. I am sure we shall be glad to meet his people. What will happen after that, I cannot tell.”

“Something will certainly happen,” murmured Aglootook, as if holding converse with his own spirit, or with his familiar. “I know it; I am sure of it. I tell you all beforehand.”

“And you will accompany us,” said Cheenbuk, turning to the magician with a nod of approval. “When we go on an errand of peace we need our wisest men with us, men whose knowledge and experience will make the Fire-spouters think much of us, and men who don’t like fighting.”

“Now, then,” continued the Eskimo, turning again to the young men, “who will go? I shall not allow any to go who are not quite willing.”

There was no lack of volunteers. The party was then and there arranged, and two days later they set out on their mission, a goodly band, in kayaks and oomiaks.

The weather continued fine; the days were long; islets for camping-places were numerous, and in process of time the party reached the mouth of the Whale—otherwise Greygoose—River, which they began to ascend.

“Oh!” exclaimed Adolay, with glistening eyes, as she looked from bank to bank; “I know it so well—almost every bush and tree.”

“And you love it?” said Nootka.

“Yes, yes; is it not my own country?”

Nootka sighed. “I wish I could love my country like you; but your country sticks. Mine melts away—most of it—every hot sun-time; and it is not easy to care much for things that melt.”

“But Waruskeek does not melt,” said Adolay sympathetically.

“That is true,” returned Nootka, as if pleased to think of something solid, round which her affections might entwine; “but we stay such a short time there—only while the hot sun-time lasts, and I have not time to get very fond of it—not so as to make my eyes open and my cheeks grow red like yours.”

“Then you must come and live with me and love my country,” said the Indian girl in a patronising tone.

“What! and forsake Oolalik?” exclaimed the Eskimo maiden, with heightened colour and flashing eyes. “No, never. He will not melt, what ever else does.”

“Right, Nootka,” exclaimed Adolay, with a laugh. “It would take a very hot sun indeed to melt Oolalik. But perhaps the whole tribe will stay in my country. I think that Cheenbuk will get us over this difficulty. It is wonderful what can be done by a man with a determined mind like Cheenbuk.”

“Yes, some of us Eskimos have very determined minds,” said Nootka, complacently.

Adolay laughed lightly. “And don’t you think that some of the Fire-spouters have also a good deal of determination—especially one of them who left the lodges of his people and wandered over the great salt lake all alone in search of his child?”

“You speak truth,” returned Nootka, with a pleasant nod. “I’ll tell you what I think: both our nations are very determined—very.”

Having come to this satisfactory conclusion, the maidens relapsed into general conversation.

But a disappointment was in store which none of the party had counted on.

When the village of the Fire-spouters was reached, not a soul was to be seen. The tent-poles remained, and the ashes of the hearths were still there; but the ashes were cold, and not a man, woman, or child remained—not even a dog.

Nazinred and Adolay hurried at once along the well-known foot-path which led to the spot where their own wigwam had stood, but the place was deserted. As in the case of all the other lodges, only the bare poles, according to custom, were left—the coverings having been carried away.

Father and child looked at each other for some time in silent dismay. It was a terrible homecoming—so different from what each had been fondly anticipating!