Red Rooney: The Last of the Crew by R. M. Ballantyne (books to read for self improvement txt) đ
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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The fair Nunaga fell into a tremendous giggle at this joke, for although our heroâs Eskimo was not very perfect, he possessed all an Irishmanâs capacity for making his meaning understood, more or less; and truly it was a sight to behold the varied expressions of faceâthe childlike surprise, admiration, curiosity, and something approaching to aweâwith which those unsophisticated natives received the explanation of the different parts of that clasp-knife!
âBut what did we begin our talk about?â he continued, as he tackled the walrus. âO yes; it was about our garments. Well, besides using different kinds of cloths, our coats are of many different shapes: we have short coats called jackets, and long coats, and coats with tails behindââ
âDo your men wear tails behind?â asked Angut, in surprise.
âYes; two tails,â replied Rooney, âand two buttons above them.â
âStrange,â remarked Angut; âit is only our women who have tails; and they have only one tail each, with one button in frontânot behindâto fasten the end of the tail to when on a journey.â
âWomen with tails look very well,â remarked Okiok, âespecially when they swing them about in a neat way that I know well but cannot describe. But men with tails must look very funny.â
Here Mrs Okiok ventured to ask how the Kablunet women dressed.
âWell, itâs not easy to describe that to folk who have never seen them,â said the sailor, with a slight grin. âIn the first place, they donât wear boots the whole length of their legs like you, Nuna.â
âSurely, then,â remarked the hostess, âtheir legs must be cold?â
âBy no means, for they cover âem well up with loose flapping garments, extending from the waist all the way down to the feet. Then they donât wear hoods like you, but stick queer things on their heads, of all shapes and sizesâsometimes of no shape at all and very small sizeâwhich they cover over with feathers, anâ flowers, anâ fluttering things of all colours, besides lots of other gimcracks.â
How Rooney rendered âgimcracksâ into Eskimo we are not prepared to say, but the whole description sent Nunaga and her mother into fits of giggling, for those simple-minded creatures of the icy northâunlike sedate Europeansâare easily made to laugh.
At this point Angut struck in again, for he felt that the conversation was becoming frivolous.
âTell me, Kablunet,â he began; but Rooney interrupted him.
âDonât call me Kablunet. Call me Red Rooney. It will be more friendly-like, and will remind me of my poor shipmates.â
âThen tell me, Ridroonee,â said Angut, âis it true what I have heard, that your countrymen can make marks on flat white stuff, like the thin skin of the duck, which will tell men far away what they are thinking about?â
âAy, thatâs true enough,â replied the sailor, with an easy smile of patronage; âwe call it writing.â
A look of grave perplexity rested on the visage of the Eskimo.
âItâs quite easy when you understand it, and know how to do it,â continued Rooney; ânothing easier.â
A humorous look chased away the Eskimoâs perplexity as he repliedâ
âEverything is easy when you understand it.â
âHa! you have me there, Angut,â laughed the sailor; âyouâre a âcute fellow, as the Yankees say. But come, Iâll try to show you how easy it is. See here.â He pulled a small note-book from his pocket, and drew thereon the picture of a walrus. âNow, you understand that, donât you?â
âYes; we draw like that, and understand each other.â
âWell, then, we put down for that w-a-l-r-u-s; and there you have itâwalrus; nothing simpler!â
The perplexed look returned, and Angut saidâ
âThat is not very easy to understand. Yet I see somethingâalways the same marks for the same beast; other marks for other beasts?â
âJust so. Youâve hit it!â exclaimed Rooney, quite pleased with the intelligence of his pupil.
âBut how if it is not a beast?â asked the Eskimo. âHow if you cannot see him at all, yet want to tell of him inâinâwhat did you sayâwriting? I want to send marks to my mother to say that I have talked with my torngak. How do you mark torngak? I never saw him. No man ever saw a torngak. And how do you make marks for cold, for wind, for all our thoughts, and for the light?â
It was now Red Rooneyâs turn to look perplexed. He knew that writing was easy enough to him who understands it, and he felt that there must be some method of explaining the matter, but how to go about the explanation to one so utterly ignorant did not at once occur to him. We have seen, however, that Rooney was a resolute man, not to be easily baffled. After a few momentsâ thought he saidâ
âLook here now, Angut. Your people can count?â
âYes; they can go up to twenty. I can go a little further, but most of the Innuits get confused in mind beyond twenty, because they have only ten fingers and ten toes to look at.â
âWell now,â continued Rooney, holding up his left hand, with the fingers extended, âthatâs five.â
Yes, Angut understood that well.
âWell, then,â resumed Rooney, jotting down the figure 5, âthere you have itâfive. Any boy at school could tell you what that is.â
The Eskimo pondered deeply and stared. The other Eskimos did the same.
âBut what,â asked Okiok, âif a boy should say that it was six, and not five?â
âWhy, then weâd whack him, and heâd never say that again.â
There was an explosion of laughter at this, for Eskimos are tender and indulgent to their children, and seldom or never whack them.
It would be tedious to go further into this subject, or to describe the ingenious methods by which the seaman sought to break up the fallow ground of Angutâs eminently receptive mind. Suffice it to say that Rooney made the discovery that the possession of knowledge is one thing, and the power to communicate it another and a very different thing. Angut also came to the conclusion that, ignorant as he had thought himself to be, his first talk with the Kablunet had proved him to be immeasurably more ignorant than he had supposed.
The sailor marked the depression which was caused by this piece of knowledge, and set himself good-naturedly to counteract the evil by displaying his watch, at sight of which there was a wild exclamation of surprise and delight from all except Angut, who, however deep his feelings might be, always kept them bridled. The expansion of his nostrils and glitter of his eyes, however, told their tale, though no exclamation passed his lips.
Once or twice, when Rooney attempted to explain the use of the instrument, the inquisitive man was almost irresistibly led to put some leading questions as to the nature of Time; but whenever he observed this tendency, the sailor, thinking that he had given him quite enough of philosophy for one evening, adroitly turned him off the scent by drawing particular attention to some other portion of the timepiece.
The watch and the knife, to which they reverted later on, kept the lecturer and audience going till late in the evening, by which time our sailor had completely won the hearts of the Eskimos, and they had all become again so hungry that Okiok gave a hint to his wife to stir up the lamp and prepare supper. Then, with a sigh of relief, they all allowed their strained minds to relax, and the conversation took a more general turn. It is but fair to add that, as the sailor had won the hearts of the natives, so his heart had been effectually enthralled by them. For Angut, in particular, Rooney felt that powerful attraction which is the result of similar tastes, mutual sympathies, and diversity of character. Rooney had a strong tendency to explain and teach; Angut a stronger tendency to listen and learn. The former was impulsive and hasty; the latter meditative and patient. Rooney was humorously disposed and jovial, while his Eskimo friend, though by no means devoid of humour, was naturally grave and sedate. Thus their dispositions formed a pleasing contrast, and their tastes an agreeable harmony.
âWhat did you say was the name of your country?â asked Angut, during a brief pause in the consumption of the meal.
âEngland,â said Rooney.
âThat was not the name you told me before.â
âTrue; I suppose I said Ireland before, but the fact is, I can scarcely claim it as my own, for you see my father was Irish and my mother was Scotch. I was born in Wales, anâ Iâve lived a good bit oâ my life in England. So you see I canât claim to be anything in particular.â
As this was utterly incomprehensible to the Eskimo, he resumed his bit of blubber without saying a word. After a brief silence, he looked at the Kablunet again, and saidâ
âHave they houses in your land?â
âHouses? O yes; plenty of âemâmade of stone.â
âLike the summer-houses of the Innuit, I suppose?â said Angut. âAre they as big?â
Rooney laughed at this, and said, Yes; they were much biggerâas big as the cliffs alongside.
âHuk!â exclaimed the Eskimos in various tones. Okiokâs tone, indeed, was one of doubt; but Angut did not doubt his new friend for a moment, though his credulity was severely tested when the seaman told him that one of the villages of his countrymen covered a space as big as they could seeâaway to the very horizon, and beyond it.
âBut, Angut,â said Rooney, growing somewhat weary at last, âyouâve asked me many questions; will you answer a few now?â
âI will answer.â
âI have heard it said,â began the sailor, âthat Angut is a wise manâan angekokâamong his people, but that he denies the fact. Why does he deny it?â
The Eskimo exchanged solemn glances with his host, then looked round the circle, and said that some things could not be explained easily. He would think first, and afterwards he would talk.
âThat is well said,â returned Rooney. ââThink well before you speakâ is a saying among my own people.â
He remained silent for a few moments after that, and observed that Okiok made a signal to his two boys. They rose immediately, and left the hut.
âNow,â said Okiok, âAngut may speak. There are none but safe tongues here. My boys are good, but their tongues wag too freely.â
âYes, they wag too freely,â echoed Mrs Okiok, with a nod.
Thus freed from the danger of being misreported, Angut turned to the seaman, and saidâ
âI deny that I am an angekok, because angekoks are deceivers. They deceive foolish men and women. Some of them are wicked, and only people-deceivers. They do not believe what they teach. Some of them are self-deceivers. They are good enough men, and believe what they teach, though it is false. These men puzzle me. I cannot understand them.â
The Eskimo became meditative at this point, as if his mind were running on the abstract idea of self-delusion. Indeed he said as much. Rooney admitted that it was somewhat puzzling.
âI suppose,â resumed the Eskimo, âthat Kablunets never deceive themselves or others; they are too wise. Is it so?â
âWell, now you put the question,â said Rooney, âI rather fear that some of us do, occasionally; anâ thereâs not a few who have a decided tendency to deceive others. And so that is the reason
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