Unexpected Meetings, Alarms, and Confidences.  
“Mother, I have been thinking,” said Chingatok, as he crept into his hut and sat down on a raised bench of moss.
 
“That is not news, my son; you think much. You are not like other men. They think little and eat much.”
 
The stout little woman looked up through the smoke of her cooking-lamp and smiled, but her big son was too much absorbed in his thoughts to observe her pleasantry, so she continued the cooking of a walrus chop in silence.
 
“The Kablunets are not to be seen, mother,” resumed Chingatok. “I have looked for them every day for a long time, and begin to weary. My thought is now to launch my kayak when we come to open water, load it with meat, take four spears and more lines than a strong hunter needs for a whole season; then paddle away south to discover the land of the Kablunets. They must be poor; they may be starving. I will guide them to our home, and show them this land of plenty.”
 
He paused abruptly, and looked at his mother with solemn anxiety, for he was well aware that he had given her food for profound reflection.
 
We feel tempted here to repeat our remark about the strong resemblance between different members of the human family, but refrain.
 
This untutored woman of the Arctic lands met her son’s proposition with the well-known reply of many civilised persons.
 
“Of what use would it be, my son? No good can come of searching out these poor lands. You cannot benefit the miserable Kablunets. Perhaps they are savage and fierce; and you are sure to meet with dangers by the way. Worse—you may die!”
 
“Mother,” returned Chingatok, “when the white bear stands up with his claws above my head and his mouth a-gape, does my hand tremble or my spear fail?”
 
“No, my son.”
 
“Then why do you speak to me of danger and death?”
 
Toolooha was not gifted with argumentative powers. She relapsed into silence and lamp-smoke.
 
But her son was not to be so easily dissuaded. He adopted a line of reasoning which never failed.
 
“Mother,” he said, sadly, “it may be that you are right, and I am of too fearful a spirit to venture far away from you by myself; I will remain here if you think me a coward.”
 
“Don’t say so, Chingatok. You know what I think. Go, if you must go, but who will hunt for your poor old mother when you are gone?”
 
This was an appeal which the astute little woman knew to be very powerful with her son. She buried her head in the smoke again, and left the question to simmer.
 
Chingatok was tender-hearted. He said nothing, but, as usual, he thought much, as he gazed in a contemplative manner at his oily parent, and there is no saying to what lengths of self-sacrifice he would have gone if he had not been aroused, and his thoughts scattered to the winds, by a yell so tremendous that it might well have petrified him on the spot. But it did nothing of the kind. It only caused him to drop on his knees, dart through the tunnel like an eel, spring into the open air like an electrified rabbit from its burrow, and stand up with a look of blazing interrogation on his huge countenance.
 
The cry had been uttered by his bosom friend and former playmate Oolichuk, who came running towards him with frantic gesticulations.
 
“The Kablunets!” he gasped, “the white-faces have come!—on a floating island!—alive!—smoking!—it is all true!”
 
“Where?” demanded our giant, whose face blazed up at once.
 
“There!” cried Oolichuk, pointing seaward towards the ice-hummocks with both hands, and glaring up at his friend.
 
Without another word Chingatok ran off in the direction pointed out, followed hotly by his friend.
 
Oolichuk was a large and powerful man, but, his legs were remarkably short. His pace, compared with that of Chingatok, was as that of a sparrow to an ostrich. Nevertheless he kept up, for he was agile and vigorous.
 
“Have you seen them—have you spoken?” asked the giant, abruptly.
 
“Yes, all the tribe was there.”
 
“No one killed?”
 
“No, but terribly frightened; they made me run home to fetch you.”
 
Chingatok increased his speed. So did Oolichuk.
 
While they run, let us leap a little ahead of them, reader, and see what had caused all the excitement.
 
The whole party had gone off that morning, with the exception of Chingatok and his mother, to spear seals in a neighbouring bay, where these animals had been discovered in great numbers. Dogs and sledges had been taken, because a successful hunt was expected, and the ice was sufficiently firm.
 
The bay was very large. At its distant southern extremity there rose a great promontory which jutted far out into the sea. While the men were busy there making preparations to begin the hunt, Oblooria, Chingatok’s little sister, amused herself by mounting a hummock of ice about thirty feet high.
 
When there, she chanced to look towards the promontory. Instantly she opened her eyes and mouth and uttered a squeal that brought her friends running to her side.
 
Oolichuk was the first to reach her. He had no need to ask questions. Oblooria’s gaze directed his, and there, coming round the promontory, he beheld an object which had never before filled his wondering eyes. It was, apparently, a monstrous creature with a dark body and towering wings, and a black thing in its middle, from which were vomited volumes of smoke.
 
“Kablunets! white men!” he yelled.
 
“Kablunets!—huk! huk!” echoed the whole tribe, as they scrambled up the ice-hill one after another.
 
And they were right. A vessel of the pale-faces had penetrated these northern solitudes, and was advancing swiftly before a light breeze under sail and steam.
 
Despite the preparation their minds had received, and the fact that they were out in search of these very people, this sudden appearance of them filled most of the Eskimos with alarm—some of them with absolute terror, insomuch that the term “pale-face” became most appropriate to themselves.
 
“What shall we do?” exclaimed Akeetolik, one of the men.
 
“Fly!” cried Ivitchuk, another of the men, whose natural courage was not high.
 
“No; let us stay and behold!” said Oolichuk, with a look of contempt at his timid comrade.
 
“Yes, stay and see,” said Eemerk sternly.
 
“But they will kill us,” faltered the young woman, whom we have already mentioned by the name of Tekkona.
 
“No—no one would kill you,” said Eemerk gallantly; “they would only carry you off and keep you.”
 
While they conversed with eager, anxious looks, the steam yacht—for such she was—advanced rapidly, threading her way among the ice-fields and floes with graceful rapidity and ease, to the unutterable amazement of the natives. Although her sails were spread to catch the light breeze, her chief motive power at the time was a screw-propeller.
 
“Yes, it must be alive,” said Oolichuk to Akeetolik, with a look of solemn awe. “The white men do not paddle. They could not lift paddles big enough to move such a great oomiak,” (see Note 1), “and the wind is not strong; it could not blow them so fast. See, the oomiak has a tail—and wags it!”
 
“Oh! do let us run away!” whispered the trembling Oblooria, as she took shelter behind Tekkona.
 
“No, no,” said the latter, who was brave as well as pretty, “we need not fear. Our men will take care of us.”
 
“I wish that Chingatok was here!” whimpered poor little Oblooria, nestling closer to Tekkona and grasping her tail, “he fears nothing and nobody.”
 
“Ay,” assented Tekkona with a peculiar smile, “and is brave enough to fight everything and everybody.”
 
“Does Oblooria think that no one can fight but the giant?” whispered Oolichuk, who stood nearest to the little maid.
 
He drew a knife made of bone from his boot, where it usually lay concealed, and flourished it, with a broad grin. The girl laughed, blushed slightly, and, looking down, toyed with the sleeve of Tekkona’s fur coat.
 
Meanwhile the yacht drew near to the floe on which our Eskimos were grouped. The ice was cracked right across, leaving a lane of open water about ten feet wide between its inner edge and the shore ice. The Eskimos stood on the land side of this crack, a hundred yards or so from it. On nearing the floe the strange vessel checked her speed.
 
“It moves its wings!” exclaimed Eemerk.
 
“And turns its side to us,” said Akeetolik.
 
“And wags its tail no more,” cried Oolichuk.
 
“Oh! do, do let us run away,” gasped Oblooria.
 
“No, no, we will not run,” said Tekkona.
 
At that moment a white cloud burst from the side of the yacht.
 
“Hi! hee! huk!” shouted the whole tribe in amazement.
 
A crash followed which not only rattled like thunder among the surrounding cliffs, but went like electric fire to the central marrow of each Eskimo. With a united yell of terror, they leaped three feet into the air—more or less—turned about, and fled. Tekkona, who was active as a young deer, herself took the lead; and Oblooria, whose limbs trembled so that she could hardly run, held on to Oolichuk, who gallantly dragged her along. The terror was increased by a prolonged screech from the steam-whistle. It was a wild scramble in sudden panic. The Eskimos reached their sledges, harnessed their teams, left their spears on the ice, cracked their whips, which caused the dogs to join in the yelling chorus, and made for the land at a furious gallop.
 
But their fear began to evaporate in a few minutes, and Oolichuk was the first to check his pace.
 
“Ho! stop,” he cried.
 
Eemerk looked back, saw that they were not pursued, and pulled up. The others followed suit, and soon the fugitives were seen by those on board the yacht grouped together and gazing intently at them from the top of another ice-hummock.
 
The effect of the cannon-shot on board the yacht itself was somewhat startling. The gun had been loaded on the other side of the promontory for the purpose of being fired if Eskimos were not visible on the coast beyond, in order to attract them from the interior, if they should chance to be there. When, however, the natives were discovered on the ice, the gun was, of course, unnecessary, and had been forgotten. It therefore burst upon the crew with a shock of surprise, and caused the Captain, who was in the cabin at the moment, to shoot up from the hatchway like a Jack-in-the-box.
 
“Who did that?” he demanded, looking round sternly.
 
The crew, who had been gazing intently at the natives, did not know.
 
“I really cannot tell, sir,” said the chief mate, touching his cap.
 
Two strapping youths—one about sixteen, the other eighteen—leaned over the side and paid no regard to the question; but it was obvious, from the heaving motion of their shoulders, that they were not so much absorbed in contemplation as they pretended to be.
 
“Come, Leo, Alf, you know something about this.”
 
The Captain was a large powerful man of about forty, with bushy iron-grey curls, a huge beard, and an aquiline nose. The two youths turned to him at once, and Leo, the eldest, said respectfully, “We did not see it done, uncle, but—but we think—”
 
“Well, what do you think?”
 
At that moment a delicate-looking, slender lad, about twelve years of age, with fair curly hair, and flashing blue eyes, stepped out from behind the funnel, which had hitherto concealed him, and said boldly, though blushingly—
 
“I did it, father.”
 
“Ha! just like you; why did you do it? eh!”
 
“I can hardly tell, father,” said the boy, endeavouring to choke a laugh, “but the Eskimos looked so funny, and I—I had a box of matches in my pocket, and—and—I thought a shot would make them look so very much funnier, and—and—I was right!”
 
“Well, Benjamin, you may go below, and remain there till further orders.”
 
When Captain Vane called his son “Benjamin,” he was seriously displeased. At other times he called him Benjy.
 
“Yes, father,” replied the boy, with a very bad grace, and down he went in a state of rebellious despair, for he was wildly anxious to witness all that went on.
 
His despair was abated, however, when, in the course of a few minutes, the yacht swung round so as to present her stern to the shore, and remained in that position, enabling him to observe proceedings from the cabin windows almost as well as if he had been on deck. He was not aware that his father, knowing his son’s nature, and wishing to temper discipline with mercy, had placed the vessel in that position for his special benefit!
 
The difficulty now was, how to attract the natives, and inspire them with confidence in the good intentions of their visitors. In any case this would have been a difficult matter, but the firing of that unlucky gun had increased the difficulty tenfold. When, however, Captain Vane saw the natives cease their mad flight, and turn to gaze at the vessel, his hopes revived, and he set about a series of ingenious efforts to attain his end.
 
First of all, he sent a boat in charge of his two nephews, Leonard and Alphonse Vandervell, to set up a small table on the ice, on which were temptingly arranged various presents, consisting of knives, beads, looking-glasses, and articles of clothing. Having done this, they retired, like wary anglers, to watch for a bite. But the fish would not rise, though they observed the proceedings with profound attention from the distant hummock. After waiting a couple of hours, the navigators removed the table and left an Eskimo dog in its place, with a string of blue beads tied round its neck. But this bait also failed.
 
“Try something emblematic, uncle,” suggested Leonard, the elder of the brothers before mentioned.
 
“And get Benjy to manufacture it,” said Alphonse.
 
As Benjy was possessed of the most fertile imagination on board, he was released from punishment and brought on deck. The result of his effort of genius was the creation of a huge white calico flag, on which were painted roughly the figure of a sailor and an Eskimo sitting on an iceberg, with a kettle of soup between them. On one side were a pair of hands clasped together; on the other a sprig of heath, the only shrub that could be seen on the shore.
 
“Splendid!” exclaimed Leo and Alf in the same breath, as they held the flag up to view.
 
“You’ll become a Royal Academician if you cultivate your talents, Benjy,” said the Captain, who was proud, as well as fond, of this his only child.
 
The boy said nothing, but a pleased expression and a twinkle in his eyes proved that he was susceptible to flattery, though not carried off his legs by it.
 
The banner with the strange device was fixed to a pole which was erected on an ice-hummock between the ship and the shore, and a bag containing presents was hung at the foot of it.
 
Still these Eskimo fish would not bite, though they “rose” at the flag.
 
Oolichuk’s curiosity had become so intense that he could not resist it. He advanced alone, very warily, and looked at it, but did not dare to touch it. Soon he was joined by Eemerk and the others. Seeing this, Captain Vane sent to meet them an interpreter whom he had procured at one of the Greenland settlements in passing. Just as this man, whose name was Anders, stepped into the boat alongside, it occurred to the Eskimos that their leader should be sent for. Oolichuk undertook to fetch him; he ran back to the sledges, harnessed a small team, and set off like the wind. Thus it came to pass that Chingatok and his mother were startled by a yell, as before mentioned.
 
Meanwhile Anders was put on the ice, and advanced alone and unarmed towards the canal, or chasm, which separated the parties. He carried a small white flag and a bag containing presents. Innocent-looking and defenceless though he was, however, the Eskimos approached him with hesitating and slow steps, regarding every motion of the interpreter with suspicion, and frequently stooping to thrust their hands into their boots, in which they all carried knives.
 
At last, when within hearing, Anders shouted a peaceful message, and there was much hallooing and gesticulation among the natives, but nothing comprehensible came of it. After a time Anders thought he recognised words of a dialect with which he was acquainted, and to his satisfaction found that they understood him.
 
“Kakeite! kakeite!—come on, come on,” he cried, holding up the present.
 
“Nakrie! nakrie!—no, no, go away—you want to kill us,” answered the doubtful natives.
 
Thereupon Anders protested that nothing was further from his thoughts, that he was a man and a friend, and had a mother like themselves, and that he wanted to please them.
 
At this Eemerk approached to the edge of the canal, and, drawing a knife from his boot, said, “Go away! I can kill you.”
 
Nothing daunted, Anders said he was not afraid, and taking a good English knife from his bag threw it across the canal.
 
Eemerk picked it up, and was so pleased that he exclaimed, “Heigh-yaw! heigh-yaw!” joyously, and pulled his nose several times. Anders, understanding this to be a sign of friendship, immediately pulled his own nose, smiled, and threw several trinkets and articles of clothing to the other natives, who had by that time drawn together in a group, and were chattering in great surprise at the things presented. Ivitchuk was perhaps the most excited among them. He chanced to get hold of a round hox, in the lid of which was a mirror. On beholding himself looking at himself, he made such an awful face that he dropt the glass and sprang backward, tripping up poor Oblooria in the act, and tumbling over her.
 
This was greeted with a shout of laughter, and Anders, now believing that friendly relations had been established, went to the boat for a plank to bridge the chasm. As Leo and Alf assisted him to carry the plank, the natives again became grave and anxious.
 
“Stop!” shouted Eemerk, “you want to kill us. What great creature is that? Does it come from the moon or the sun? Does it eat fire and smoke?”
 
“No, it is only a dead thing. It is a wooden house.”
 
“You lie!” cried the polite Eemerk, “it shakes its wings. It vomits fire and smoke. It has a tail, and wags it.”
 
While speaking he slowly retreated, for the plank was being placed in position, and the other natives were showing symptoms of an intention to fly.
 
Just then a shout was heard landwards. Turning round they saw a dog-sledge flying over the ice towards them, with Oolichuk flourishing the long-lashed whip, and the huge form of their leader beside him.
 
In a few seconds they dashed up, and Chingatok sprang upon the ice. Without a moment’s hesitation he strode towards the plank and crossed it. Walking up to Anders he pulled his own nose. The interpreter was not slow to return the salutation, as he looked up at the giant with surprise, not unmingled with awe. In addition, he grasped his huge hand, squeezed, and shook it.
 
Chingatok smiled blandly, and returned the squeeze so as to cause the interpreter to wince. Then, perceiving at once that he had got possession of a key to the affections of the strangers, he offered to shake hands with Leonard and his brother, stooping with regal urbanity to them as he did so. By this time the Captain and first mate, with Benjy and several of the crew, were approaching. Instead of exhibiting fear, Chingatok advanced to meet them, and shook hands all round. He gazed at Captain Vane with a look of admiration which was not at first quite accountable, until he laid his hand gently on the Captain’s magnificent beard, and stroked it.
 
The Captain laughed, and again grasped the hand of the Eskimo. They both squeezed, but neither could make the other wince, for Captain Vane was remarkably powerful, though comparatively short of limb.
 
“Well, you are a good fellow in every way,” exclaimed the Captain.
 
“Heigh, yah!” returned Chingatok, who no doubt meant to be complimentary, though we confess our inability to translate. It was obvious that two sympathetic souls had met.
 
“Come across,” shouted Chingatok, turning abruptly to his companions, who had been gazing at his proceedings in open-mouthed wonder.
 
The whole tribe at once obeyed the order, and in a few minutes they were in the seventh heaven of delight and good-will, receiving gifts and handshakings, each pulling his own nose frequently by way of expressing satisfaction or friendship, and otherwise exchanging compliments with the no less amiable and gratified crew of the steam yacht Whitebear.
 
Note. The oomiak is the open boat of skin used by Eskimo women, and is capable of holding several persons. The kayak, or man’s canoe, holds only one.