The result of Grabantak’s meditation was that, considering the nature and wonderful weapons of the men by whom Amalatok had been reinforced, he thought it advisable to return to his own land, which was not far distant, for the purpose of adding to the force with which he meant to subjugate the men of Poloe.
“We are unconquerable,” he said, while conversing on the situation with Teyma, his first lieutenant, or prime minister; “everybody knows that we are invincible. It is well-known that neither white men, nor yellow men,—no, nor black men, nor blue men,—can overcome the Flatlanders. We must keep up our name. It will not do to let the ancient belief die down, that one Flatlander is equal to three men of Poloe, or any other land.”
“The Poloe men laugh in their boots when they hear us boast in this way,” said Teyma gently.
We draw attention to the curious resemblance in this phrase to our more civilised “laughing in the sleeve,” while we point out that the prime minister, although of necessity a man of war, was by nature a man of peace. Indeed his name, Teyma, which signifies peace, had been given him because of his pacific tendencies.
“What! would you not have me defend the Flatland name?” demanded Grabantak, fiercely.
“No, I would have you defend only the Flatland property,” replied the blunt minister.
“And is not Puir?e my property?” growled Grabantak, referring to the barren rock which was the cause of war.
“So is that your property,” said Teyma, picking up a stone, “and yet I treat it thus!” (He tossed it contemptuously into the sea.) “Is that worth Flatlander blood? would you kill me for that? shall Eskimo wives and mothers weep, and children mourn and starve for a useless rock in the sea.”
“You always thwart me, Teyma,” said Grabantak, trying to suppress a burst of wrath, which he was well aware his fearless minister did not mind in the least. “It is true this island is not worth the shake of a puffin’s tail; but if we allow the Poloe men to take it—”
“To keep it,” mildly suggested Teyma, “they have long had it.”
“Well, to keep it, if you will,” continued the chief testily; “will not other tribes say that the old name of the Flatlanders is dead, that the war-spirit is gone, that they may come and attack us when they please; for we cannot defend our property, and they will try to make us slaves? What! shall Flatlanders become slaves? no never, never, never!” cried Grabantak, furiously, though unconsciously quoting the chorus of a well-known song.
“No, never,” re-echoed Teyma with an emphatic nod, “yet there are many steps between fighting for a useless rock, and being made slaves.”
“Well then,” cried Grabantak, replying to the first part of his lieutenant’s remark and ignoring the second, “we must fight to prove our courage. As to losing many of our best men, of course we cannot help that. Then we must kill, burn, and destroy right and left in Poloeland, to prove our power. After that we will show the greatness of our forbearance by letting our enemies alone. Perhaps we may even condescend to ask them to become our friends. What an honour that would be to them, and, doubtless, what a joy!”
“Grabantak,” said Teyma with a look and tone of solemnity which invariably overawed his chief, and made him uncomfortable, “you have lived a good many years now. Did you ever make a friend of an enemy by beating him?”
“Of course not,” said the other with a gesture of impatience.
“Grabantak, you had a father.”
“Yes,” said the chief, with solemn respect.
“And he had a father.”
“True.”
“And he, too, had a father.”
“Well, I suppose he had.”
“Of course he had. All fathers have had fathers back and back into the mysterious Longtime. If not, where did our tales and stories come from? There are many stories told by fathers to sons, and fathers to sons, till they have all come down to us, and what do these stories teach us? that all fighting is bad, except what must be. Even what must be is bad—only, it is better than some things that are worse. Loss of life, loss of country, loss of freedom to hunt, and eat, and sleep, are worse. We must fight for these—but to fight for a bare rock, for a name, for a coast, for a fancy, it is foolish! and when you have got your rock, and recovered your name, and pleased your fancy, do the brave young men that are dead return? Do the maidens that weep rejoice? Do the mothers that pine revive? Of what use have been all the wars of Flatland from Longtime till now? Can you restore the mountain-heaps of kayaks, and oomiaks, and spears, and walrus-lines, from the smoke into which they vanished! Can you recall the great rivers of whale-oil from the sea into which they have been poured, or the blood of men from the earth that swallowed it? Is not war always loss, loss, loss, and never gain? Why cannot we live at peace with those who will, and fight only with those who insist on war.”
“Go, Teyma, stop your mouth with blubber,” said the chief, rising; “I am weary of you. I tell you, Amalatok shall die; Puir?e shall be mine. The tribes shall all learn to tremble at the name of Grabantak and to respect the men of Flatland.”
“Ay, and to love them too, I suppose,” added Teyma with a facetious sneer.
“Boo!” replied his chief, bringing the conversation to an abrupt close by walking away.
In accordance with their chief’s resolve, the Grabantak band embarked in their kayaks next morning, the gale having moderated, and with the intention of obtaining reinforcements, paddled back to Flatland, which they reached in a couple of days.
On the voyage Leo confined himself strictly to the oars and paddles, being unwilling to let the Eskimos into the secret of the kite, until he could do so with effect, either in the way of adding to their respect for the white man and his contrivances, or of making his escape.
Now, as has been said or hinted, although Grabantak’s son, Koyatuk, was a stout and tall man, he was not gifted with much brain. He possessed even less of that substance than his father, whose energy and power of muscle, coupled with indomitable obstinacy, enabled him to hold the reins of government which were his by hereditary right. Besides being a fearless man, Grabantak was respected as a good leader in war. But Koyatuk had neither the energy of his father, nor his determination. He was vacillating and lazy, as well as selfish. Hence he was not a favourite, and when, after landing at Flatland, he endeavoured to renew his claim to Oblooria, neither his father nor the people encouraged him. The timid one was therefore left with Leo and Anders, who immediately fitted up for her a separate screened-off apartment in the hut which was assigned to them in the native village.
Even Koyatuk’s mother did not befriend her son on this occasion. Merkut had her own reasons for proving faithless to her spoilt boy, whom on most occasions she favoured. Knowing his character well, the sturdy wife of Grabantak had made up her mind that Koyatuk should wed a young intelligent, and what you may call lumpy girl named Chukkee, who was very fond of the huge and lazy youth, and who, being herself good-natured and unselfish, would be sure to make him a good wife.
After one or two unavailing efforts, therefore, and a few sighs, the heir-apparent to the throne of Flatland ceased to trouble Oblooria, and devoted himself to his three favourite occupations—hunting, eating, and repose.
“Misser Lo,” whispered Anders, on the first night after landing, as they busied themselves with the partition above referred to, “we ’scapes from dis here land very easy.”
“How, Anders?”
“W’y, you’s on’y got wait for nort’ vint, den up kite, launch boat, an’—hup! away.”
“True, lad, but I don’t want to escape just yet.”
“Not want to ’scape?”
“No. You see, Anders, we are now on very friendly terms with this tribe, and it seems to me that if we were to remain for a time and increase our influence, we might induce Grabantak to give up this war on which he seems to have set his heart. I have great hopes of doing something with Teyma. He is evidently a reasonable fellow, and has much power, I think, with the chief—indeed with every one. Pity that he is not to succeed Grabantak instead of that stupid Koyatuk. Besides, now I am here I must explore the land if possible. It is a pity no doubt to leave our friends, even for a short time, in ignorance of our fate, but we can’t help that at present. Light the lamp, Anders, and let’s see what we’re about.”
The summer was by that time so far advanced that the sun descended a considerable way below the horizon each night, leaving behind a sweet mellow twilight which deepened almost into darkness inside the Eskimo huts. These latter, like those already described, were made of stone, and the small openings that served for windows did not let in much light at any time.
The hut which had been assigned by Grabantak to his prisoners—or visitors, for as such he now seemed to regard them—was a large roomy one, made chiefly of clay. It stood on a little mound a hundred yards or so apart from the main village of Flatland, and was probably one of the chief’s private palaces. It was oval in form—like a huge oven—about fifteen feet in diameter, and six feet in height. One-half of the floor was raised about eight inches, thus forming the “breck,” which served for a lounge by day, and a couch by night. Its furniture of skins, cooking-lamp, etcetera, was much the same as that of the Eskimo huts already described, except that the low tunnel-shaped entrance was very long—about twelve feet. Light was admitted by a parchment-covered hole or window, with several rents in it, as well as by various accidental holes in the roof.
When the lamp was lighted, and skins were spread on the breck, and Leo, having finished the partition, was busy making entries in a note-book, and Anders was amusing himself with a tobacco pipe—foolish man! and Oblooria was devoting herself to the lamp, from which various charming sounds and delicious smells emanated—as well as smoke—this northern residence looked far more cheerful and snug than the luxurious dwellers in civilised lands will readily believe.
“I wonder,” said Leo, looking up from his book after a prolonged silence, “I wonder what strange sounds are those I hear.”
“P’r’aps it’s de vint,” said Anders, puffing a cloud from his lips in sleepy contentment, and glancing upwards.
When he and Leo looked at the roof of the hut it shook slightly, as if something had fallen on it.
“Strange,” muttered Leo, reverting to his notebook, “it did not look like wind when the sun went down. It must be going to blow hard.”
After a few minutes of silence Leo again looked up inquiringly.
“Dere’s anoder squall,” said Anders.
“More like a sneeze than a squall. Listen; that is a queer pattering sound.”
They listened, but all was silent. After a minute or so they resumed their occupations.
The sounds were, however, no mystery to those who were in the secret of them. Knowing the extreme curiosity of his countrymen, Grabantak had placed a sentinel over his guests’ hut, with orders to let no one go near it. The sentinel entered on his vigil with that stern sense of duty-unto-death that is supposed to animate all sentinels. At first the inhabitants of Flatland kept conscientiously away from the forbidden spot, but as the shades of night toned down the light, some of them could not resist drawing near occasionally and listening with distended eyes, ears, and nostrils, as if they expected to drink in foreign sounds at all these orifices. The sentinel grasped his spear, steeled his heart, and stood in front of the door with a look of grand solemnity worthy of the horse-guards.
At last, however, the sentinel’s own curiosity was roused by the eager looks of those—chiefly big boys—who drew ever nearer and nearer. Occasional sounds from the hut quickened his curiosity, and the strange smell of tobacco-smoke at last rendered it unbearable.
Slowly, sternly, as if it were part of his duty to spy, he moved to the torn window and peeped in. He was fascinated at once of course. After gazing for five minutes in rapt admiration, he chanced to withdraw his face for a moment, and then found that nine Eskimos had discovered nine holes or crevices in the hut walls, against which their fat faces were thrust, while at least half-a-dozen others were vainly searching for other peep-holes.
A scarcely audible hiss caused the rapt nine to look up. A terrible frown and a shake of the official spear caused them to retire down the slope that led to the hut.
This was the unaccountable “squall” that had first perplexed Leo and his comrade.
But like tigers who have tasted blood, the Flatlanders could not now be restrained.
“Go!” said the sentinel in a low stern voice to the retreating trespassers, whom he followed to the foot of the slope. “If you come up again I will tell Grabantak, who will have you all speared and turned into whale-buoys.”
The boys did not appear to care much for the threat. They were obviously buoyed up with hope.
“Oh! do, do let us peep! just once!” entreated several of them in subdued but eager tones.
The sentinel shook his obdurate head and raised his deadly spear.
“We will make no noise,” said a youth who was the exact counterpart of Benjamin Vane in all respects except colour and costume—the first being dirty yellow and the latter hairy.
The sentinel frowned worse than ever.
“The Kablunets,” said another of the band, entreatingly, “shall hear nothing louder than the falling of a snow-flake or a bit of eider-down.”
Still the sentinel was inexorable.
The Eskimos were in despair.
Suddenly Benjy’s counterpart turned and fled to the village on light and noiseless toe. He returned immediately with a rich, odorous, steaming piece of blubber in his hand. It was a wise stroke of policy. The sentinel had been placed there without any reference to the fact that he had not had his supper. He was ravenously hungry. Can you blame him for lowering his spear, untying his eyebrows, and smiling blandly as the held out his hand?
“Just one peep, and it is yours,” said the counterpart, holding the morsel behind him.
“My life is in danger if I do,” remonstrated the sentinel.
“Your supper is in danger if you don’t,” said the counterpart.
It was too much for him. The sentinel accepted the bribe, and, devouring it, returned with the bribers on tiptoe to the hut, where they gazed in silent wonder to their hearts’ content.
“Well, that beats everything,” said Leo, laying down his book and pencil, “but I never did hear a gale that panted and snorted as this one does. I’ll go out and have a look at it.”
He rose and crawled on hands and knees through the tunnel. The spies rolled off the hut with considerable noise and fled, while the sentinel resuming his spear and position, tried to look innocent.
While he was explaining to Anders why he was there, Grabantak himself walked up, accompanied by his lieutenant. They were hospitably entertained, and as Oblooria had by that time prepared a savoury mess, such as she knew the white men loved, the chief and Teyma condescended to sup with their captive-guests.
Leo had not with him the great cooking machine with which his uncle had effected so much in Poloeland, but he had a tin kettle and a couple of pannikins, with some coffee, sugar, and biscuit, which did good service in the way of conciliating, if not surprising, the chief of Flatland.
Both he and his lieutenant, moreover, were deeply interested in Anders’s proceedings with the pipe.
At first they supposed he was conducting some religious ceremony, and looked on with appropriate solemnity, but, on being informed of the mistake, Grabantak smiled graciously and requested a “whiff.” He received one, and immediately made such a hideous face that Anders could not restrain a short laugh, whereupon the chief hit him over the head with his empty pannikin, but, after frowning fiercely, joined in the laugh.
Leo then began to question the chief about the land over which he ruled, and was told that it was a group of islands of various sizes, like the group which belonged to Amalatok, but with more islands in it; that most of these islands were flat, and covered with lakes, large and small, in which were to be found many animals, and birds as numerous almost as the stars.
“Ask him from what direction these birds come,” said Leo, pulling out his pocket-compass and expecting that Grabantak would point to the south; but the chief pointed to the north, then to the south, then to the east, and then to the west!
“What does he mean? I don’t understand him,” said Leo.
“The birds come from everywhere—from all round. They come here to breed,” said the chief, spreading his hands round him and pointing in all directions. “Then, when the young are strong and the cold season begins, they spread the wing and go away there—to every place—all round.”
“Anders,” said Leo impressively, “do you know I think we have actually arrived at the immediate region of the North Pole! What the chief says almost settles the question. This, you see, must be the warmest place in the Polar regions; the central spot around the Pole to which migratory birds flock from the south. If voyagers, crossing the Arctic circle at all parts, have observed these birds ever flying north, it follows that they must have some meeting-place near the Pole, where they breed and from which they depart in autumn. Well, according to Grabantak, this is the meeting-place, therefore this must be near the Pole! How I wish uncle were here!”
Leo had been more than half soliloquising; he now looked up and burst into a laugh, for the interpreter was gazing at him with an expression of blank stupidity.
“You’s kite right, Missr Lo,” he said at last, with a meek smile, “kite right, no doubt; only you’s too clibber for me.”
“Well, Anders, I’ll try not to be quite so clibber in future; but ask Grabantak if he will go with me on an expedition among these islands. I want very much to examine them all.”
“Examine them all!” repeated the chief with emphasis when this was translated; “tell the young Kablunet with the hard fist, that the sunless time would come and go, and the sun-season would come again, before he could go over half my lands. Besides, I have more important work to do. I must first go to Poloeland, to kill and burn and destroy. After that I will travel with Hardfist.”
Hardfist, as the chief had styled him in reference to his late pugilistic achievements, felt strongly inclined to use his fists on Grabantak’s skull when he mentioned his sanguinary intentions, but recalling Alf’s oft-quoted words, “Discretion is the better part of valour,” he restrained himself. He also entered into a long argument with the savage, in the hope of converting him to peace principles, but of course in vain. The chief was thoroughly bent on destroying his enemies.
Then, in a state of almost desperate anxiety, Leo sought to turn him from his purpose by telling him about God the Father, and the Prince of Peace, and, pulling out his Bible, began to read and make Anders interpret such passages of the Word as bore most directly on his subject. While acting in this, to him, novel capacity as a teacher of God’s Word, Leo more than once lifted up his heart in brief silent prayer that the Spirit might open the heart of the savage to receive the truth. The chief and his lieutenant listened with interest and surprise. Being savages, they also listened with profound respect to the young enthusiast, but Grabantak would not give up his intention. He explained, however, that he meant first to go to the largest and most central island of his dominions, to make inquiry there of the Man of the Valley what would be the best time to set out for the war.
“The Man of the Valley!” asked Leo, “who is that?”
“He is an Eskimo,” replied Grabantak, with a sudden air of solemnity in his manner, “whose first forefather came in the far past longtime, from nobody knows where; but this first forefather never had any father or mother. He settled among the Eskimos and taught them many things. He married one of their women, and his sons and daughters were many and strong. Their descendants inhabit the Great Isle of Flatland at the present day. They are good and strong; great hunters and warriors. The first forefather lived long, till he became white and blind. His power and wisdom lay in a little strange thing which he called ‘buk.’ How it made him strong or wise no one can tell, but so it was. His name was Makitok. When he died he gave buk to his eldest son. It was wrapped up in a piece of sealskin. The eldest son had much talk with his father about this mystery-thing, and was heard to speak much about the Kablunets, but the son would never tell what he said. Neither would he unwrap the mystery-thing, for fear that its power might escape. So he wrapped it up in another piece of sealskin, and gave it to his eldest son, telling him to hand it down from son to son, along with the name Makitok. So buk has grown to be a large bundle now, and no one understands it, but every one has great reverence for it, and the Makitok now in possession is a great mystery-man, very wise; we always consult him on important matters.”
Here was food for reflection to Leo during the remainder of that night, and for many hours did his sleepless mind puzzle over the mystery of Makitok, the Man of the Valley.
This sleepless condition was, not unpleasantly, prolonged by the sounds of animal life that entered his oven-like dwelling during great part of the night. Evidently great numbers of the feathered tribes were moving about, either because they meant to retire at dissipatedly late, or had risen at unreasonably early, hours. Among them he clearly distinguished the musical note of the long-tailed duck and the harsh scream of the great northern diver, while the profound calmness of the weather enabled him to hear at intervals the soft blow and the lazy plash of a white whale, turning, it might be, on his other side in his water-bed on the Arctic Sea.
Following the whale’s example, Leo turned round at last, buried his face in a reindeer pillow, and took refuge in oblivion.
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