A GREAT SINGING DUEL INTERRUPTED BY A CATASTROPHE.

When the lamps were rekindled by Kannoa, it was discovered that the old lady’s nostrils were twitching and her throat contracting in a remarkable manner, with smothered laughter.  Very different was the condition of Ippegoo, who still lay bound in the middle of the room.  Fear and surprise in equal proportions seemed to have taken possession of him.  Rooney, having dropped the bear-skin, approached him, while Angut stood beside the lamp looking on with a sort of serious smile.

“Now, Ippegoo,” said the sailor, stooping and cutting his bonds, “I set you free.  It is to be hoped also that I have freed you from superstition.”

“But where is the bear-angekok?” asked the bewildered youth.

“I am the bear-angekok.”

“Impossible!” cried Ippegoo.

To this Rooney replied by going back to his bear-skin, spreading it over himself, getting on a stool so as to tower upwards, spreading out his long arms, and saying in his deepest bass tones ­

“Now, Ippegoo, do you believe me?”

A gleam of intelligence flashed on the youth’s countenance, and at that moment he became more of a wise man than he had ever before been in his life, for he not only had his eyes opened as to the ease with which some people can be deceived, but had his confidence in the infallibility of his old tyrant completely shaken.  He reasoned somewhat thus ­

“If Ujarak’s torngak was good and true, it would have told him of the deceit about to be practised on him, and would not have allowed him to submit to disgrace.  If it did not care, it was a bad spirit.  If it did not know, it was no better than a man, and not worth having ­so I don’t want to have one, and am very glad I have escaped so well.”

The poor fellow shrank from adding, “Ujarak must be a deceiver;” but he began to think that Red Rooney might not have been far wrong after all when he called him a fool.

Ippegoo was now warned that he must keep carefully out of the wizard’s way, and tell no one of the deceit that had been practised.  He promised most faithfully to tell no one, and then went straight home and told his mother all about it ­for it never for a moment occurred to the poor fellow to imagine that he was meant to conceal it from his mother!

Fortunately Kunelik was a wise little woman.  She knew how to keep her own counsel, and did not even by nod or look insinuate to any one that she was in possession of a secret.

“Now, then, Angut, what is the next thing to be done?” asked Rooney, after Ippegoo had left.

“Make Ujarak fight his duel,” said Angut.

“What! the singing duel with Okiok?”

“Yes.  The people have set their hearts on the thing, and Ujarak will try to escape.  He will perhaps say that his torngak has told him to go hunting to-morrow.  But our customs require him to keep his word.  My fear is that he will sneak off in the night.  He is a sly fox.”

“I will stop that,” said Rooney.

“How?”

“You shall see.  Come with me to the hut of Ujarak.”

On reaching the hut, they found its owner, as had been expected, sharpening his spears, and making other arrangements for a hunting expedition.

“When do you start?” asked Rooney.

“Immediately,” replied the wizard.

“Of course after the duel,” remarked Angut quietly.

The wizard seemed annoyed.

“It is unfortunate,” he said, with a vexed look.  “My torngak has told me of a place where a great number of seals have come.  They may leave soon, and it would be such a pity to lose them.”

“That is true,” said Angut; “but of course you cannot break our customs.  It would ruin your character.”

“Of course, of course I will not break the custom,” returned Ujarak quickly; “unless, indeed, my torngak orders me to go.  But that is not likely.”

“I want to ask you,” said Rooney, sitting down, “about that trip you had last year to the land of the departed.  They tell me you had a hard time of it, Ujarak, and barely escaped with your life.”

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 zéphyrs, 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.  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.