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 Giant of the North: Pokings Round the Pole by R. M. Ballantyne (ereader android .TXT) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Giant of the North: Pokings Round the Pole by R. M. Ballantyne (ereader android .TXT) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
Suddenly he calmed, stepped up to Leo, and wrenched the rifle from his grasp.
“I will do that!” he cried, and held the weapon out at arms-length in front of his face with both hands; but there was no answering shot.
“Why does it not bark?” he demanded, turning to Leo sternly.
“It will only bark at my bidding,” said Leo, with a significant smile.
“Bid it, then,” said the chief in a peremptory tone, still holding the rifle out.
“You must treat it in the right way, otherwise it will not bark. I will show you.”
Having been shown how to pull the trigger, the chief tried again, but a sharp click was the only reply. Grabantak having expected a shot, he nervously dropped the rifle, but Leo was prepared, and caught it.
“You must not be afraid of it; it cannot work properly if you are afraid. See, look there,” he added, pointing to the conical rock on which another infatuated gull had perched himself.
Grabantak looked earnestly. His timid braves began to creep out of their holes, and directed their eyes to the same spot. While their attention was occupied Leo managed to slip a fresh cartridge into the rifle unobserved.
“Now,” said he, handing the rifle to the chief, “try again.”
Grabantak, who was not quite pleased at the hint about his being afraid, seized the rifle and held it out as before. Resolved to maintain his reputation for coolness, he said to his followers in imitation of Leo:—
“Do you see that gull?”
“Huk!” replied the warriors, with eager looks.
Leo thought of correcting his manner of taking aim, but, reflecting that the result would be a miss in any case, he refrained.
Grabantak raised the rifle slowly, as its owner had done, and frowned along the barrel. In doing so, he drew it back until the butt almost touched his face. Then he fired. There was a repetition of previous results with some differences. The gull flew away from the rock unhurt; one of the braves received the bullet in his thigh and ran off shrieking with agony, while the chief received a blow from the rifle on the nose which all but incorporated that feature with his cheeks, and drew from his eyes the first tears he had ever shed since babyhood.
That night Grabantak sat for hours staring in moody silence at the sea, tenderly caressing his injured nose, and meditating, no doubt, on things past, present, and to come.
The result of Grabantak’s meditation was that, considering the nature and wonderful weapons of the men by whom Amalatok had been reinforced, he thought it advisable to return to his own land, which was not far distant, for the purpose of adding to the force with which he meant to subjugate the men of Poloe.
“We are unconquerable,” he said, while conversing on the situation with Teyma, his first lieutenant, or prime minister; “everybody knows that we are invincible. It is well-known that neither white men, nor yellow men,—no, nor black men, nor blue men,—can overcome the Flatlanders. We must keep up our name. It will not do to let the ancient belief die down, that one Flatlander is equal to three men of Poloe, or any other land.”
“The Poloe men laugh in their boots when they hear us boast in this way,” said Teyma gently.
We draw attention to the curious resemblance in this phrase to our more civilised “laughing in the sleeve,” while we point out that the prime minister, although of necessity a man of war, was by nature a man of peace. Indeed his name, Teyma, which signifies peace, had been given him because of his pacific tendencies.
“What! would you not have me defend the Flatland name?” demanded Grabantak, fiercely.
“No, I would have you defend only the Flatland property,” replied the blunt minister.
“And is not Puiröe my property?” growled Grabantak, referring to the barren rock which was the cause of war.
“So is that your property,” said Teyma, picking up a stone, “and yet I treat it thus!” (He tossed it contemptuously into the sea.) “Is that worth Flatlander blood? would you kill me for that? shall Eskimo wives and mothers weep, and children mourn and starve for a useless rock in the sea.”
“You always thwart me, Teyma,” said Grabantak, trying to suppress a burst of wrath, which he was well aware his fearless minister did not mind in the least. “It is true this island is not worth the shake of a puffin’s tail; but if we allow the Poloe men to take it—”
“To keep it,” mildly suggested Teyma, “they have long had it.”
“Well, to keep it, if you will,” continued the chief testily; “will not other tribes say that the old name of the Flatlanders is dead, that the war-spirit is gone, that they may come and attack us when they please; for we cannot defend our property, and they will try to make us slaves? What! shall Flatlanders become slaves? no never, never, never!” cried Grabantak, furiously, though unconsciously quoting the chorus of a well-known song.
“No, never,” re-echoed Teyma with an emphatic nod, “yet there are many steps between fighting for a useless rock, and being made slaves.”
“Well then,” cried Grabantak, replying to the first part of his lieutenant’s remark and ignoring the second, “we must fight to prove our courage. As to losing many of our best men, of course we cannot help that. Then we must kill, burn, and destroy right and left in Poloeland, to prove our power. After that we will show the greatness of our forbearance by letting our enemies alone. Perhaps we may even condescend to ask them to become our friends. What an honour that would be to them, and, doubtless, what a joy!”
“Grabantak,” said Teyma with a look and tone of solemnity which invariably overawed his chief, and made him uncomfortable, “you have lived a good many years now. Did you ever make a friend of an enemy by beating him?”
“Of course not,” said the other with a gesture of impatience.
“Grabantak, you had a father.”
“Yes,” said the chief, with solemn respect.
“And he had a father.”
“True.”
“And he, too, had a father.”
“Well, I suppose he had.”
“Of course he had. All fathers have had fathers back and back into the mysterious Longtime. If not, where did our tales and stories come from? There are many stories told by fathers to sons, and fathers to sons, till they have all come down to us, and what do these stories teach us? that all fighting is bad, except what must be. Even what must be is bad—only, it is better than some things that are worse. Loss of life, loss of country, loss of freedom to hunt, and eat, and sleep, are worse. We must fight for these—but to fight for a bare rock, for a name, for a coast, for a fancy, it is foolish! and when you have got your rock, and recovered your name, and pleased your fancy, do the brave young men that are dead return? Do the maidens that weep rejoice? Do the mothers that pine revive? Of what use have been all the wars of Flatland from Longtime till now? Can you restore the mountain-heaps of kayaks, and oomiaks, and spears, and walrus-lines, from the smoke into which they vanished! Can you recall the great rivers of whale-oil from the sea into which they have been poured, or the blood of men from the earth that swallowed it? Is not war always loss, loss, loss, and never gain? Why cannot we live at peace with those who will, and fight only with those who insist on war.”
“Go, Teyma, stop your mouth with blubber,” said the chief, rising; “I am weary of you. I tell you, Amalatok shall die; Puiröe shall be mine. The tribes shall all learn to tremble at the name of Grabantak and to respect the men of Flatland.”
“Ay, and to love them too, I suppose,” added Teyma with a facetious sneer.
“Boo!” replied his chief, bringing the conversation to an abrupt close by walking away.
In accordance with their chief’s resolve, the Grabantak band embarked in their kayaks next morning, the gale having moderated, and with the intention of obtaining reinforcements, paddled back to Flatland, which they reached in a couple of days.
On the voyage Leo confined himself strictly to the oars and paddles, being unwilling to let the Eskimos into the secret of the kite, until he could do so with effect, either in the way of adding to their respect for the white man and his contrivances, or of making his escape.
Now, as has been said or hinted, although Grabantak’s son, Koyatuk, was a stout and tall man, he was not gifted with much brain. He possessed even less of that substance than his father, whose energy and power of muscle, coupled with indomitable obstinacy, enabled him to hold the reins of government which were his by hereditary right. Besides being a fearless man, Grabantak was respected as a good leader in war. But Koyatuk had neither the energy of his father, nor his determination. He was vacillating and lazy, as well as selfish. Hence he was not a favourite, and when, after landing at Flatland, he endeavoured to renew his claim to Oblooria, neither his father nor the people encouraged him. The timid one was therefore left with Leo and Anders, who immediately fitted up for her a separate screened-off apartment in the hut which was assigned to them in the native village.
Even Koyatuk’s mother did not befriend her son on this occasion. Merkut had her own reasons for proving faithless to her spoilt boy, whom on most occasions she favoured. Knowing his character well, the sturdy wife of Grabantak had made up her mind that Koyatuk should wed a young intelligent, and what you may call lumpy girl named Chukkee, who was very fond of the huge and lazy youth, and who, being herself good-natured and unselfish, would be sure to make him a good wife.
After one or two unavailing efforts, therefore, and a few sighs, the heir-apparent to the throne of Flatland ceased to trouble Oblooria, and devoted himself to his three favourite occupations—hunting, eating, and repose.
“Misser Lo,” whispered Anders, on the first night after landing, as they busied themselves with the partition above referred to, “we ’scapes from dis here land very easy.”
“How, Anders?”
“W’y, you’s on’y got wait for nort’ vint, den up kite, launch boat, an’—hup! away.”
“True, lad, but I don’t want to escape just yet.”
“Not want to ’scape?”
“No. You see, Anders, we are now on very friendly terms with this tribe, and it seems to me that if we were to remain for a time and increase our influence, we might induce Grabantak to give up this war on which he seems to have set his heart. I have great hopes of doing something with Teyma. He is evidently a reasonable fellow, and has much power, I think, with the chief—indeed with every one. Pity that he is not to succeed Grabantak instead of that stupid Koyatuk. Besides, now I am here I must explore the land if possible. It is a pity no doubt to leave our friends, even for a short time, in ignorance of our fate, but we can’t help that at present. Light the lamp,
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