The Giant of the North: Pokings Round the Pole

“What made him black?”

“I know not.”

“Was he always black?”

“The Kablunets say he was—from so big.”

Chingatok measured off the half of his left hand by way of explaining how big.

“Is he black under the clothes?”

“Yes; black all over.”

Again the couple paused.

“It is strange,” said the old man, shaking his head. “Perhaps he was made black because his father was wicked.”

“Not so,” returned the young giant. “I have heard him say his father was a very good man.”

“Strange,” repeated the chief, with a solemn look, “he is very ugly—worse than a walrus. Tell me, my son, where do the Kablunets live? Do they hunt the walrus or the seal?”

“Blackbeard has told me much, father, that I do not understand. His people do not hunt much—only a very few of them do.”

“Wah! they are lazy! The few hunt to keep the rest in meat, I suppose.”

“No, father, that is not the way. The few hunt for fun. The great many spend their time in changing one thing for another. They seem to be never satisfied—always changing, changing—every day, and all day. Getting and giving, and never satisfied.”

“Poor things!” said the chief.

“And they have no walruses, no white bears, no whales, nothing!” added the son.

“Miserables! Perhaps that is why they come here to search for nothing!”

“But, father, if they have got nothing at home, why come here to search for it?”

“What do they eat?” asked Amalatok, quickly, as if he were afraid of recurring to the puzzling question that had once already taken him out of his mental depth.

“They eat all sorts of things. Many of them eat things that are nasty—things that grow out of the ground; things that are very hot and burn the tongue; things that are poison and make them ill. They eat fish too, like us, and other people bring them their meat in great oomiaks from far-off lands. They seem to be so poor that they cannot find enough in their own country to feed themselves.”

“Wretched creatures!” said the old man, pitifully. “Yes, and they drink too. Drink waters so hot and so terrible that they burn their mouths and their insides, and so they go mad.”

“Did I not say that they were fools?” said Amalatok, indignantly.

“But the strangest thing of all,” continued Chingatok, lowering his voice, and looking at his sire in a species of wonder, “is that they fill their mouths with smoke!”

“What? Eat smoke?” said Amalatok in amazement.

“No, they spit it out.”

“Did Blackbeard tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“Then Blackbeard is a liar!”

Chingatok did not appear to be shocked by the old man’s plain speaking, but he did not agree with him.

“No, father,” said he, after a pause. “Blackbeard is not a liar. He is good and wise, and speaks the truth. I have seen the Kablunets do it myself. In the big oomiak that they lost, some of the men did it, so—puff, pull, puff, puff—is it not funny?”

Both father and son burst into laughter at this, and then, becoming suddenly grave, remained staring at the smoke of their cooking-lamp, silently meditating on these things.

While thus engaged, a man entered the low doorway in the only possible manner, on hands and knees, and, rising, displayed the face of Anders.

“Blackbeard sends a message to the great old chief,” said the interpreter. “He wishes him to pay the Kablunets a visit. He has something to show to the great old chief.”

“Tell him I come,” said the chief, with a toss of the head which meant, “be off!”

“I wonder,” said Amalatok slowly, as Anders crept out, “whether Blackbeard means to show us some of his wisdom or some of his foolishness. The white men appear to have much of both.”

“Let us go see,” said Chingatok.

They went, and found the Captain seated in front of the door of his hut with his friends round him—all except Benjy, who was absent. They were very grave, as usual, desiring to be impressive.

“Chief,” began the Captain, in that solemn tone in which ghosts are supposed to address mankind, “I wish to show you that I can make the stoutest and most obstinate warrior of Poloeland tremble and jump without touching him.”

“That is not very difficult,” said the old man, who had still a lurking dislike to acknowledge the Englishmen his superiors. “I can make any one of them tremble and jump by throwing a spear at him.”

A slight titter from the assembly testified to the success of this reply.

“But,” rejoined the Captain, with deepening solemnity, “I will do it without throwing a spear.”

“So will I, by suddenly howling at him in the dark,” said Amalatok.

At this his men laughed outright.

“But I will not howl or move,” said the Captain.

“That will be clever,” returned the chief, solemnised in spite of himself. “Let Blackbeard proceed.”

“Order one of your braves to stand before me on that piece of flat skin,” said the Captain.

Amalatok looked round, and, observing a huge ungainly man with a cod-fishy expression of face, who seemed to shrink from notoriety, ordered him to step forward. The man did so with obvious trepidation, but he dared not refuse. The Captain fixed his eyes on him sternly, and, in a low growling voice, muttered in English: “Now, Benjy, give it a good turn.”

Cod-fishiness vanished as if by magic, and, with a look of wild horror, the man sprang into the air, tumbled on his back, rose up, and ran away!

It is difficult to say whether surprise or amusement predominated among the spectators. Many of them laughed heartily, while the Captain, still as grave as a judge, said in a low growling tone as if speaking to himself:—

“Not quite so stiff, Benjy, not quite so stiff. Be more gentle next time. Don’t do it all at once, boy; jerk it, Benjy, a turn or so at a time.”