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
A few seconds later and Cheenbuk drove his team into the village.
He had warned Anteek to say nothing about the finding of the Indian, and the boy had been faithful to his trust, so that the whole population was thrown into a state of wide-eyed amazement, not to mention excitement, when the tall form of the Fire-spouter was seen to rise from the sledge and turn his grave countenance upon them with the calm dignity characteristic of his race. The dogs of the village showed not only surprise, but also their teeth, on observing Attim among the newcomers, and they made for him, but a well-directed and sweeping cut from the whip of the watchful Anteek scattered them right and left, and rebuked their inhospitality.
Thereafter Cheenbuk began to tell how he had discovered the Indian on the ice, and introduced the subject with some prolixity, like not a few white men when they have a good story to tell. Moreover, the wily man had an eye to dramatic effect, and, observing that Adolay was not among the women, he made up his mind to what is called “prolong the agony” as far as possible.
Unfortunately for his purpose, there happened to be blowing at the time a gentle nor’-west breeze, which, in its direct course towards them, had to pass over the igloe that belonged to Mangivik, and the humble-minded Attim, keen of scent, recognised something there that caused him suddenly to cock his ears and tail, open his eyes, and give vent to a sharp interrogative yelp!
Next moment he charged through the canine throng—scattering them in abject terror—dashed into the tunnel of Mangivik’s dwelling, and disappeared from view. Another moment and there issued from the igloe—not a scream: Indian girls seldom or never scream—but a female ebullition of some sort, which was immediately followed by the sudden appearance of Adolay, with the dog waltzing around her, wriggling his tail as if he wished to shake off that member, and otherwise behaving himself like a quadrupedal lunatic.
Eager inquiry was intensified in every line of her expressive face, and, withal, a half-scared look, as if she expected to see a ghost. If she had really seen one the effect could scarcely have been more impressive when her eyes encountered those of her father. She stood for a few moments gazing, and utterly unable to move, then, with a wild cry of joy, she bounded towards him. In like manner the Indian stood at first as if thunderstruck, for Cheenbuk’s information had not led him to expect this. Then his wonted dignity utterly forsook him; for the first time in his life, perhaps, he expressed his feelings of affection with a shout, and, meeting the girl half-way, enfolded her in an embrace that lifted her completely off her legs.
The Eskimos, as may well be imagined, were not only surprised but profoundly interested in the scene, and Cheenbuk was constrained to draw his narrative to an abrupt conclusion by informing them hurriedly that the Fire-spouter was the father of Adolay; that he had left home alone and on foot to search for her; that he was also the very man with whom, on the banks of the Whale River, he had fought and fraternised, and that therefore it behoved them to receive him hospitably as his particular friend.
Cheenbuk spoke the concluding sentence with a look and tone that was meant to convey a warning to any one who should dare to feel or act otherwise; but there was little need of the warning, for, with the exception of Aglootook the medicine-man, the chief leaders of the fire-eating portion of the tribe, Gartok and Ondikik, were at the time helpless.
While this irrepressible display of Dogrib affection was enacting, Attim was performing a special war-dance, or rather love-dance, of his own round the re-united pair. He was an unusually wise dog, and seemed to know that he could expect no attention just then; he therefore contented himself with a variety of hind-legged pirouettes, and a little half-suppressed yelping, knowing that his turn would surely come in time.
Meanwhile an incident occurred which seemed further to enhance the dramatic character of the meeting. There burst suddenly and without warning upon the amazed and horrified multitude a miniature thunder-clap, which, being absolutely new to their experience, shook them to their spinal marrow. Several boys of unusually inquisitive disposition, taking advantage of the pre-occupation of the tribe, ventured to poke about the sledge which had just arrived, and discovered the fire-spouter of the Indian. With awe-stricken countenances they proceeded to examine it. Of course, when they came to the trigger it went off. So did the boys—excepting the one who had touched the trigger. He, having the butt against his chest at the moment, received a lesson which he never forgot, and was laid flat on his back—as much with fright as violence. Fortunately there was nothing in front of the gun at the time save the tip of a dog’s tail. Into this one lead-drop entered. It was enough! The owner of the tail sprang into space, howling. Every one else, including dogs and bairns, with the exception of Mrs Mangivik—who, being as it were petrified with consternation, remained absolutely immovable—fled for shelter behind the igloes, leaving Nazinred, Adolay, Cheenbuk and Anteek in possession of the field.
By degrees their fears were calmed, and according to their courage the rest of the population returned to the scene of the explosion, some half ashamed of having run away, others more than half ready to run again.
“Do they sometimes do like that by themselves?” asked Cheenbuk, referring to the gun.
“Never,” said the Indian. “Some one must have touched it.”
“The boys,” remarked Anteek; “I know them!”
Adolay laughed. “Yes,” she said, “I know them too, and they meddle with everything.”
“Come, man-of-the-woods,” said Cheenbuk, “and see my father’s igloe. He is hiding inside of it since the spouter made its noise. This is my sister, Nootka, and that,” he added, pointing to Mrs Mangivik, who was gradually becoming untransfixed, “is my mother.”
“Have you told my father all, Cheenbuk?” asked Adolay as they went towards the hut.
The Indian stopped abruptly and looked with a piercing glance at the Eskimo.
“Cheenbuk!” he exclaimed, in a low voice.
“Yes, that is my name,” said the young man, with a smile, and yet with a something in his face which implied that he was not ashamed to own it.
For a moment the Indian frowned as if he were displeased, at the same time drawing his daughter close to him. The prejudices of race were at work within him then, and that very human weakness which shows itself in esteeming all nations inferior to one’s own strove with his better feelings; but as he looked on the handsome face and brave bearing of the young man-of-the-ice, and remembered his sentiments and sympathy, he suddenly stepped up to him and held out his hand.
“The white trader has taught me,” he said, “that the difference in men is only skin-deep. The same Manitou made us all. Cheenbuk, my son, I am grateful to you for your care of my child.”
“My father,” said the Eskimo, returning his grasp, “your mind is in a good state. So is mine! You must be tired and hungry. Let us go and feed.”
This advent of a male Fire-spouter into the little community was a source of much interest and delight to old and young—all the more that he had brought the mysterious spouter with him.
Not less interesting to Nazinred was the community in the midst of which he found himself, for, as we have more than once indicated, our Indian was intellectually far in advance of his fellows, and the opportunity he now had of observing closely the life of the men-of-the-ice in all its details could not be otherwise than full of interest to an inquiring and large-minded man.
On the day, or rather the night, of his arrival he was allowed quietly to eat his supper in the igloe of Mangivik, and go to sleep in peace, but next morning there was a crowding of relatives and friends into the hut, which rendered the meal of breakfast not quite so pleasant as it might have been, for the Indian, having been accustomed all his life to the comparatively open wigwam, did not relish the stifling atmosphere of the densely crowded snow-hut. However, he belonged to a race of Stoics, and, restraining his feelings, ate his meal with moderate appetite and becoming gravity.
There is reason to believe that he rather liked the earnest attention with which all his movements were closely and openly scrutinised; at all events he proceeded with his meal as calmly as if he had been alone, and in his own wigwam with none but the faithful Isquay and amiable Adolay to observe him.
Staring, as we have already said, is not considered rude among the Eskimos; they therefore sat open-mouthed and eyed, taking mental notes in silence, till breakfast was over, when Nazinred, according to custom, opened his fire-bag, took out his pipe, and began to fill it.
This created a sensation which was expressed by hard breathing and eloquent looks. They had been waiting for this. Of course Cheenbuk had often descanted to them on the subject of smoking, besides showing them how the thing was done, but now they were going to see the amazing thing done, in the right way, by the real Simon Pure—a live Fire-spouter!
“My father,” said Cheenbuk at this point, “the igloe is hot, and there are many more who wish to see you do that thing. Will you come outside?”
With a condescending smile the Indian rose.
It was somewhat destructive of his dignity that he was obliged to go down on hands and knees, and creep out through the short snow tunnel, but as there was no other mode of egress he had to submit, and did it with the best grace possible, making up for the brief humiliation by raising himself when outside with ineffable dignity, and throwing his deerskin robe over one shoulder Ă la Roman toga.
He was greeted with something like a British cheer by the entire community of men, women, children, and even dogs, who were waiting outside for him.
Sitting down on a snow-clad rock he went through the process of filling the pipe, striking a light and beginning to smoke, to the unutterable delight of the natives. This delight became not only utterable but obstreperous when Cheenbuk gravely took out the pipe which Adolay had given him and began to keep him company, at the same time bestowing a look—a wink not yet being known to him—on Anteek, who forthwith went off into uncontrollable laughter and was promptly hustled out of the crowd.
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