Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Walrus Hunters: A Romance of the Realms of Ice by R. M. Ballantyne (best classic books to read txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Walrus Hunters: A Romance of the Realms of Ice by R. M. Ballantyne (best classic books to read txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“So, then, man-of-the-woods,” said Cheenbuk at last, “you are the father who has lost his daughter?”
“I am,” returned the Indian, “and I know not to what tribe the young man belongs with whom she has gone away, but I am glad that I have met with you, because you perhaps may have heard if any strange girl has come to stay with any of the tribes around you, and can tell me how and where to find her. We named her Adolay, because she reminds us of that bright season when the sun is hot and high.”
Cheenbuk was silent for some time, as well he might be, for the sudden revelation that the Indian who had once been his antagonist, and for whom he had taken such a liking, was the father of the very girl who had run away with him against her inclination, quite took his breath away. It was not easy to determine how or when the true facts should be broken to the father, and yet it was evident that something must be said, for Cheenbuk could not make up his mind to lie or to act the part of a hypocrite.
“I have heard of the girl-of-the-woods you speak of,” he said at last; “I have seen her.”
For the first time since they met the characteristic reserve of the Indian broke down, and he became obviously excited, yet even then he curbed his tongue for a few moments, and when he again spoke it was with his habitual calmness.
“Does my son know the tribe to which she has been taken? And is it well with the girl?”
“He does. And it is well with Adolay.”
“Do they dwell far from here?” asked Nazinred, anxiously in spite of himself.
“Not far. I can soon take you to their igloes. But tell me, man-of-the-woods, do you think your child had no reason for leaving home in this way except fondness for the young man?”
“I know not,” returned the Indian, with a doubtful, almost a hopeful look. “What other reason could she have? Her mother and I loved her more than ourselves. All the young men loved her. One of them—a bad one—had sworn to his comrades that he would have her for a wife in spite of her father,”—he smiled very slightly at this point, with a look of ineffable contempt—“but Magadar did not venture to say that in her father’s ears!”
“May it not have been fear of this man, this Magadar, which drove her away?” suggested Cheenbuk. “You were not there to defend her. She may have been afraid of him, although you fear him not.”
“That is true,” returned the Indian, with a brighter look, “though I thought that Adolay feared nothing—but she is not her father.”
This wise and obvious truism, or the words of the Eskimo, seemed to afford some comfort to the poor man, for he became more communicative and confidential after that.
“Do you think,” asked Cheenbuk, “that your daughter has married this young man?”
“I know not.”
“Don’t you think it is likely?”
“I fear it is not unlikely.”
“Why should you fear it? Are not the Eskimos as strong and brave as the men-of-the-woods?”
For a moment the Indian looked at his companion with high disdain, for the boastful question had aroused within him the boastful spirit; but the look quickly disappeared, and was replaced by the habitual air of calm gravity.
“It may be, as you say, that your nation is as brave and strong as ours—”
“I did not say that,” remarked the free-and-easy Eskimo, interrupting his companion in a way that would have been deemed very bad manners in an Indian, “I asked you the question.”
With a look of deeper gravity than usual the Indian replied:
“To your question no true answer can be given till all the men of both nations have tried their courage and their strength. But such matters should only be discussed by foolish boys, not by men. Yet I cannot help confessing that it is a very common thing among our young braves to boast. Is it so among the Eskimos?”
The Eskimo laughed outright at this.
“Yes,” said he, “our young men sometimes do that—some of them; but not all. We have a few young men among us who know how to hold their tongues and when to speak.”
“That is useful knowledge. Will my son speak now, and tell me what he knows about Adolay?”
“He knows that she is well spoken of, and much loved by the tribe with which she lives.”
“That is natural,” said the Indian, with a pleased look. “No one who sees Adolay can help loving her. Does the young man who took her away treat her kindly?”
“No one can tell that but herself. What if he treated her ill?”
“I would hope never to meet with him face to face,” replied Nazinred, with a frown and a nervous clenching of the fist that spoke volumes.
“I have heard,” continued Cheenbuk in a quiet way, “that the girl is very sad. She thinks much of her old home, and blames herself for having left it.”
“Good,” said the Indian emphatically. “That is like the child, to be sorry when she has done wrong.”
“And I have heard that the young man who took her away is very fond of her—so fond that he will do whatever she likes to please her. His name is Cheenbuk. She asked him to take her home again, and he has promised to do so when the hot sun and the open water come back.”
“Good. The young man must be a good man. Will he keep his promise?”
“Yes. I know him well. He loves truth, and he will do what he says.”
“It is a long time till the open water comes. Will the young Eskimo’s mind not change?”
“Cheenbuk’s mind will not change. He loves Adolay better than himself.”
Nazinred pondered this statement for some time in silence, caressing the sleek head of Attim as he did so.
“Will this young man, this Cheenbuk, be willing, do you think, to leave her in the lodges of her people and give her up altogether?” he asked, with a somewhat doubtful look.
“If Adolay wishes to be given up, he will,” replied the Eskimo confidently.
“And you know him well?”
“Very well. No one knows him better.”
Again the Indian was silent for some time. Then he spoke in a low tone:
“My son has made glad the heart of the man-of-the-woods. When we met by the river and strove together, we were drawn by a cord that anger could not snap. It is strange that you should now be chosen by Manitou to bring me such good news.”
“Manitou can do stranger things than this, my father.”
No more was said at that time, for, as both were thoughtful men, a considerable space of time was allowed to elapse between each question and answer. Before it could be resumed the crack of a whip and loud yelping were heard in the distance, and in a few minutes Anteek and two men drove up to the igloe with the sledge and a fresh team of dogs.
“I sent for them,” explained Cheenbuk. “My father is tired, he will lie down on the sledge with a bearskin round him, while I take him to the igloes of my people. After that I will take him to Adolay.”
“Nazinred will not lie down. He is no longer tired, for his heart is glad.”
We beg the reader now to accompany us to the Eskimo village, where the men and boys are having a game at kick-ball, a favourite game with those men-of-the-ice, which goes far to prove their kinship with ourselves.
But the details of the game are dissimilar in many ways—only the spirit is the same; namely, an effort to rouse the bodily system to as near the bursting-point as possible without an absolute explosion.
It was a lovely northern night. There was a clearness in the still frosty air which gave to the starry host a vivid luminosity, and seemed to reveal an infinite variety of deep distances instead of the usual aspect of bright spots on a black surface. Besides the light they shed, the aurora was shooting up into the zenith with a brilliancy that almost equalled that of moonlight, and with a vigour that made the beholder think there was a rustling sound. Indeed, some of the natives stoutly asserted that these lights did rustle—but among Eskimos, as among ourselves, there are highly imaginative people.
Oolalik was there of course. No game was thought complete without the co-operation of that robust Eskimo. So was Raventik, for the game of kick-ball suited his bold reckless nature to perfection, and there were none of the other players except himself capable of opposing Oolalik with any hope of success. Aglootook the magician also took part. The dignity of his office did not forbid his condescending to the frivolities of recreative amusement. Gartok was also there, but, alas! only as a spectator, for his wound was not sufficiently healed to permit of his engaging in any active or violent work. His fellow-sufferer Ondikik sat beside him. He, poor man, was in a worse case, for the bullet which was in him kept the wound open and drained away his strength. He was wrapped in a white bearskin, being unable to withstand the cold.
The whole male population, except the old men and the wounded, took part in the game, for the ball frequently bounded to the outskirts of the ice-field, where the boys of every shape and size had as good a chance of a kick as the men. As the women stood about in all directions looking on, and sending back the ball when it chanced to be kicked out of bounds, it may be said to have been an exceedingly sociable game.
Old Mangivik took great interest, though no part, in it, and Mrs M was not a whit behind him in enthusiastic applause whenever a good kick was given. Of course the fair Nootka was beside them, for—was not Oolalik one of the players? She would have scorned the insinuation that that was the reason. Nevertheless there is reason to believe that that had something to do with her presence.
Our friend Adolay, however, was not there. The absence of Cheenbuk may have had something to do with her absence, but, as she was seated in Mangivik’s igloe moping over the lamp, it is more charitable to suppose that a longing for home—sweet home—was weighing down her spirits.
Old and young Uleeta were looking on with great delight, so was Cowlik the easy-going, and Rinka the sympathetic; and it was noticeable that, every now and then, the latter distracted her mind from the play in order to see that the bearskin did not slip off the shoulders of Ondikik, and to replace it if it did. Not that Rinka had any special regard for Ondikik, but it afforded her intense pleasure merely to relieve suffering in any way—so strong was the weakness for which she got credit!
The game had lasted for a considerable time, and the players were beginning to blow hard, when the ball, kicked by a surprisingly small boy in disproportionately big seal-skin boots, chanced to fall between Raventik and Oolalik.
“Oh!” exclaimed Nootka to herself, with a gasp of hope.
“Ho!” exclaimed Oolalik, with a shout of determination.
Raventik exclaimed nothing, but both young men rushed at the ball with furious vigour. The active Oolalik reached it first.
“Ah!” sighed Nootka with satisfaction.
“Hoh!” cried Oolalik, with a kick so full of energy that it would have sent the ball far over a neighbouring iceberg, if it had not been stopped dead by the broad face of Raventik, who went flat on his back in consequence—either from the tremendous force of the concussion, or because of a slip of the foot, or both.
This incident
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