The Giant of the North: Pokings Round the Pole by R. M. Ballantyne (ereader android .TXT) 📖

Fortune, which had hitherto proved favourable to our brave explorers, did not desert them at the eleventh hour.

Soon after their arrival at Refuge Island a fair wind sprang up from the south, and when the Charity had been carefully patched and repaired, the kites were sent up and the voyage was continued. That day and night they spent again upon the boundless sea, for the island was soon left out of sight behind them, though the wind was not very fresh.

Towards morning it fell calm altogether, obliging them to haul down the kites and take to the oars.

“It can’t be far off now, Chingatok,” said the Captain, who became rather impatient as the end drew near.

“Not far,” was the brief reply.

“Land ho!” shouted Benjy, about half-an-hour after that.

But Benjy was forced to admit that anxiety had caused him to take an iceberg on the horizon for land.

“Well, anyhow you must admit,” said Benjy, on approaching the berg, “that it’s big enough for a fellow to mistake it for a mountain. I wonder what it’s doing here without any brothers or sisters to keep it company.”

“Under-currents brought it here, lad,” said the Captain. “You see, such a monster as that must go very deep down, and the warm under-current has not yet melted away enough of his base to permit the surface-current to carry him south like the smaller members of his family. He is still travelling north, but that won’t last long. He’ll soon become small enough to put about and go the other way. I never saw a bigger fellow than that, Benjy. Hayes, the American, mentions one which he measured, about 315 feet high, and nearly a mile long. It had been grounded for two years. He calculated that there must have been seven times as much of it below water as there was above, so that it was stranded in nearly half-a-mile depth of water. This berg cannot be far short of that one in size.”

“Hm! probably then his little brothers and sisters are being now crushed to bits in Baffin’s Bay,” said Benjy.

“Not unlikely, Ben, if they’ve not already been melted in the Atlantic, which will be this one’s fate at last—sooner or later.”

From a pool on this berg they obtained a supply of pure fresh water.

When our explorers did at last sight the land it came upon them unexpectedly, in the form of an island so low that they were quite close before observing it. The number of gulls hovering above it might have suggested its presence, but as these birds frequently hover in large flocks over shoals of small fish, little attention was paid to them.

“Is this your native land, Chingatok?” asked the Captain, quickly.

“No, it is over there,” said the Eskimo, pointing to the distant horizon; “this is the first of the islands.”

As they gazed they perceived a mountain-shaped cloud so faint and far away that it had almost escaped observation. Advancing slowly, this cloud was seen to take definite form and colour.

“I knew it was!” said Benjy, “but was afraid of making another mistake.”

Had the boy or his father looked attentively at the giant just then, they would have seen that his colour deepened, his eyes glittered, and his great chest heaved a little more than was its wont, as he looked over his shoulder while labouring at the oars. Perhaps we should have said played with the oars, for they were mere toys in his grasp. Chingatok’s little mother also was evidently affected by the sight of home. But the Captain and his son saw it not—they were too much occupied with their own thoughts and feelings. To the Englishmen the sight of land roused only one great all-engrossing thought—the North Pole! which, despite the absurdity of the idea, would present itself in the form of an upright post of terrific magnitude—a worthy axle-tree, as it were, for the world to revolve upon. To the big Eskimo land presented itself in the form of a palatial stone edifice measuring fifteen feet by twelve, with a dear pretty little wife choking herself in the smoke of a cooking-lamp, and a darling little boy choking himself with a mass of walrus blubber. Thus the same object, when presented to different minds, suggested ideas that were:

“Diverse as calm from thunder,

Wide as the poles asunder.”

It was midnight when the boats drew near to land. The island in which stood the giant’s humble home seemed to Captain Vane not more than eight or ten miles in extent, and rose to a moderate height—apparently about five or six hundred feet. It was picturesque in form and composed of rugged rocks, the marks on which, and the innumerable boulders everywhere, showed that at some remote period of the world’s history, it had been subjected to the influence of glacial action. No glacier was visible now, however—only, on the rocky summit lay a patch or two of the last winter’s snow-drift, which was too deep for the summer sun to melt away. From this storehouse of water gushed numerous tiny rivulets which brawled cheerily rather than noisily among the rocks, watering the rich green mosses and grasses which abounded in patches everywhere, and giving life to countless wild-flowers and berries which decked and enriched the land.

Just off the island—which by a strange coincidence the inhabitants had named Poloe—there were hundreds of other islets of every shape and size, but nearly all of them low, and many flat and swampy—the breeding-grounds of myriads of waterfowl. There were lakelets in many of these isles, in the midst of which were still more diminutive islets, whose moss-covered rocks and fringing sedges were reflected in the crystal water. Under a cliff on the main island stood the Eskimo village, a collection of stone huts, bathed in the slanting light of the midnight sun.

But no sound issued from these huts or from the neighbouring islands. It was the period of rest for man and bird. Air, earth, and water were locked in profound silence and repose.

“We’ve got to Paradise at last, father,” was the first sound that broke the silence, if we except the gentle dip of the oars and the rippling water on the bow.

“Looks like it, Benjy,” replied the Captain.

A wakeful dog on shore was the first to scent the coming strangers. He gave vent to a low growl. It was the keynote to the canine choir, which immediately sent up a howl of discord. Forthwith from every hut there leaped armed men, anxious women, and terrified children, which latter rushed towards the cliffs or took refuge among the rocks.

“Hallo! Chingatok, your relations are not to be taken by surprise,” said the Captain—or something to that effect—in Eskimo.

The giant shook his head somewhat gravely.

“They must be at war,” he said.

“At war! whom with?”

“With the Neerdoowulls,” replied Chingatok with a frown. “They are always giving us trouble.”

“Not badly named, father,” said Benjy; “one would almost think they must be of Scotch extraction.”

At that moment the natives—who had been gesticulating wildly and brandishing spears and bone knives with expressions of fury that denoted a strong desire on their part to carve out the hearts and transfix the livers of the newcomers—suddenly gave vent to a shout of surprise, which was succeeded by a scream of joy. Chingatok had stood up in the boat and been recognised. The giant’s dog—an appropriately large one—had been the first to observe him, and expressed its feelings by wagging its tail to such an extent that its hind legs had difficulty in keeping the ground.

Immediately on landing, the party was surrounded by a clamorous crew, who, to do them justice, took very little notice of the strangers, so overjoyed were they at the return of their big countryman.

Soon a little pleasant though flattish-faced woman pushed through the crowd and seized the giant. This was his wife Pingasuk, or Pretty One. She was petite—not much larger than Oblooria the timid. The better to get at her, Chingatok went down on his knees, seized her by the shoulders, and rubbed her nose against his so vigorously that the smaller nose bid fair to come off altogether. He had to stoop still lower when a stout urchin of about five years of age came up behind him and tried to reach his face.

“Meltik!” exclaimed the giant, rubbing noses gently for fear of damaging him, “you are stout and fat, my son, you have been eating much blubber—good.”

At that moment Chingatok’s eyes fell on an object which had hitherto escaped his observation. It was a little round yellow head in