Red Rooney - Robert Michael Ballantyne (e reader manga .txt) 📗

continued Okiok, "we will be glad to hear what the Kablunet has to tell about his own land."

The approval of this suggestion was so decided and hearty, that Red Rooney felt it to be his duty to gratify his hospitable friends to the utmost of his power. Accordingly he prepared himself while they were engaged with the second edition of supper. The task, however, proved to be surrounded with difficulties much greater than he had expected. Deeming it not only wise, but polite, to begin with something complimentary, he said:--

"My friends, the Innuits are a great people. They work hard; they are strong and brave, and have powerful wills."

As these were facts which every one admitted, and Rooney uttered them with considerable emphasis and animation; the statement of them was received with nods, and huks, and other marks of approval.

"The Innuits are also hospitable," he continued. "A Kablunet came to them starving, dying. The Great Spirit who made us all, and without whose permission nothing at all can happen, sent Okiok to help him. Okiok is kind; so is his wife; also his daughter. They took the poor Kablunet to their house. They fed--they stuffed--him. Now he is getting strong, and will soon be able to join in kick-ball, and pull-over, and he may perhaps, before long, teach your great angekok Ujarak some things that he does not yet know!"

As this was said with a motion in one eye which strongly resembled a wink, the audience burst into mingled applause and laughter. To some, the idea of their wise man being taught anything by a poor benighted Kablunet was ridiculous. To others, the hope of seeing the wizard's pride humbled was what is slangily termed "nuts." Ujarak himself took the remark in good part, in consequence of the word "great" having been prefixed to his title.

"But," continued the seaman, with much earnestness, "having said that I am grateful, I will not say more about the Innuit just now. I will only tell you, in few words, some things about my own country which will interest you. I have been asked if we have big villages. Yes, my friends, we have very big villages--so big that I fear you will find it difficult to understand what I say."

"The Innuit have big understandings," said Simek, with a bland smile, describing a great circle with his outspread arms; "do not fear to try them."

"Well, one village we have," resumed Rooney, "is as broad as from here to the house of Okiok under the great cliff, and it is equally long."

The "huks" and "hois!" with which this was received proved that, big as their understandings were, the Eskimos were not prepared to take in so vast an idea.

"Moreover," said the seaman, "because there is not enough of space, the houses are built on the top of each other--one--two--three--four--even five and six--one standing on the other."

As each number was named, the eyes of the assembly opened wider with surprise, until they could open no further.

"Men, women, and children live in these houses; and if you were to spread them all over the ice here, away as far as you can see in every direction, you would not be able to see the ice at all for the houses."

"_What_ a liar!" murmured the mother of Arbalik to the mother of Ippegoo.

"Dreadful!" responded the latter.

"Moreover," continued Rooney, "these people can put their words and thoughts down on a substance called paper and send them to each other, so that men and women who may be hundreds of miles away can talk with each other and understand what they say and think, though they cannot hear or see each other, and though their words and thoughts take days and moons to travel."

The breathless Eskimos glanced at each other, and tried to open their eyes wider, but, having already reached the utmost limit, they failed. Unfortunately at that moment our hero was so tickled by the appearance of the faces around him, that he smiled. In a moment the eyes collapsed and the mouths opened.

"Ha! ha-a-a!" roared Simek, rubbing his hands; "the Kablunet is trying to beat my walrus."

"And he has succeeded," cried Angut, who felt it his duty to stand up for the credit of his guest, though he greatly wished that he had on this occasion confined himself to sober truth.

A beaming expression forthwith took the place of surprise on every face, as it suddenly dawned upon the company that Ridroonee was to be classed with the funny dogs whose chief delight it is to recount fairy tales and other exaggerated stories, with a view to make the men shout, the women laugh, and the children squeak with amusement.

"Go on," they cried; "tell us more."

Rooney at once perceived his mistake, and the misfortune that had befallen him. His character for veracity was shaken. He felt that it would be better to say no more, to leave what he had said to be regarded as a fairy tale, and to confine himself entirely to simple matters, such as an Eskimo might credit. He looked at his friend Angut. Angut returned the look with profound gravity, almost sorrow. Evidently his faith in the Kablunet was severely shaken. "I'll try them once more," thought Rooney. "It won't do to have a vast range of subjects tabooed just because they won't believe. Come, I'll try again."

Putting on a look of intense earnestness, which was meant to carry irresistible conviction, he continued--

"We have kayaks--oomiaks--in my country, which are big enough to carry three or four times as many people as you have in this village."

Another roar of laughter greeted this statement.

"Isn't he a good liar?" whispered Arbalik's mother.

"And so grave about it too," replied Kunelik.

Red Rooney stopped.

The mother of Ippegoo, fearing he had divined her thoughts, was overwhelmed, and tried to hide her blushing face behind Issek.

"They don't believe me," said the seaman in a low voice to Okiok.

"Of course they don't. You might as well tell us that the world is round, when we _see_ that it is flat!"

Rooney sighed. He felt depressed. The impossibility of his ever getting these people to understand or believe many things was forced upon him. The undisguised assurance that they looked upon him as the best liar they had ever met with was unsatisfactory.

"Besides all this, my friends," he cried, with a feeling and air of reckless gaiety, "we have grand feasts, just as you have, and games too, and dances, and songs--"

"Songs!" shouted Simek, with an excited look; "have you songs? can you sing?"

"Well, after a fashion I can," returned Rooney, with a modest look, "though I don't pretend to be much of a dab at it. Are you fond o' singin'?"

"Fond!" echoed Simek, with a gaze of enthusiasm, "I love it! I love it _nearly_ as much as I love Pussimek; better, far, than I love blubber! Ho! sing to us, Ridroonee."

"With all my heart," said Rooney, starting off with all his lung-power, which was by no means slight.

"Rule Britannia," rendered in good time, with tremendous energy, and all the additional flourishes possible, nearly drove the audience wild with delight. They had never heard anything like it before.

"That beats _you_, Okiok," said Simek.

"That is true," replied Okiok humbly.

"What! does _he_ sing?" asked Rooney.

"Yes; he is our maker of songs, and sings a little."

"Then he must sing to me," cried the sailor. "In my land the man who sings last has the right to say who shall sing next. I demand a song from Okiok."

As the company approved highly of the demand, and Okiok was quite willing, there was neither difficulty nor delay. The good-natured man began at once, with an air of humorous modesty, if we may say so.

Eskimos, as a rule, are not highly poetical in their sentiments, and their versification has not usually the grace of rhyme to render it agreeable, but Okiok was an exception to the rule, in that he could compose verses in rhyme, and was much esteemed because of this power. In a tuneful and moderate voice he sang. Of course, being rendered into English, his song necessarily loses much of its humour, but that, as every linguist knows, is unavoidable. It was Red Rooney who translated it, which will account for the slightly Hibernian tone throughout. I fear also that Rooney must have translated rather freely, but of course at this late period of the world's history it is impossible to ascertain anything certain on the point. We therefore give the song for what it is worth.


OKIOK'S SONG.


I.

A seal once rowled upon the sea
Beneath the shining sun,
Said I, "My friend, this very day
Your rowlin' days are done."
"No, no," said he, "that must not be,"
(And splashed the snowy foam),
"Beneath the wave there wait for me
A wife and six at home."

II.

"A lie!" said I, "so you shall die!"
I launched my whistling spear;
Right up his nose the weapon goes,
And out behind his ear.
He looked reproachful; then he sank;
My heart was very sore,
For down, and down, and down he went.
I never saw him more.

III.

Then straight from out the sea arose
A female seal and six;
"O kill us now, and let our blood
With that of father's mix.
We cannot hunt; we dare not beg;
To steal we will not try;
There's nothing now that we can do
But blubber, burst, and die."

IV.

They seized my kayak by the point,
They pulled me o'er the sea,
They led me to an island lone,
And thus they spoke to me:
"Bad man, are there not bachelors
Both old and young to spare,
Whom you might kill, and eat your fill,
For all the world would care?"

V.

"Why stain your weapon with the blood
Of one whose very life
Was spent in trying to provide
For little ones and wife?"
They paused and wept, and raised a howl.
(The youngest only squealed).
It stirred the marrow in my bones,
My very conscience reeled.

VI.

I fell at once upon my knees,
I begged them to forgive;
I said I'd stay and fish for them
As long as I should live.
"And marry me," the widow cried;
"I'd rather not," said I
"But that's a point we'd better leave
To talk of by and by."

VII.

I dwelt upon that island lone
For many a wretched year,
Serving that mother seal and six
With kayak, line, and spear.
And strange to say,