Red Rooney: The Last of the Crew, R. M. Ballantyne [recommended ebook reader .txt] 📗

do feel kindly to you, Kannoa,” he added, with sudden warmth and energy of look and tone, “because you are so like my own grandmother—only she was younger than you, and much better-looking.”

Rooney meant no rudeness by the last remark, but, having observed the straightforward simplicity of his new friends in saying exactly what they meant, he willingly adopted their style.

Kannoa seemed much pleased with the explanation.

“It is strange,” she said pathetically, “that I should find you so very like my husband.”

“Indeed!” returned the seaman, who did not feel flattered by the compliment; “is it long since he died?”

“O yes; long, long—very long,” she answered, with a sigh. “Moons, moons, moons without number have passed since that day. He was as young as you when he was killed, but a far finer man. His face did not look dirty like yours—all over with hair. It was smooth and fat, and round and oily. His cheeks were plump, and they would shine when the sun was up. He was also bigger than you—higher and wider. Huk! he was grand!”

Although Rooney felt inclined to laugh as he listened to this description, he restrained himself when he observed the tears gathering in the old eyes. Observing and appreciating the look of sympathy, she tightened her clutch on the seaman’s arm and said, looking wistfully up in his face—

“Has Ridroonee ever felt something in here,”—she laid a hand on her withered bosom—“as if it broke in two, and then went dead for evermore? That is what I felt the day they brought my man home; he was so kind. Like my son Okiok, and Angut.”

As the seaman looked down at the pitiful old soul that had thus broken the floodgates of a long silence, and was pouring out her confidences to him, he felt an unusual lump in his throat. Under a sudden impulse, he stooped and kissed the wrinkled brow, and then, turning abruptly, left the hut.

It was well he did so, for by that time it was nearly dark, and Kannoa had yet to arrange the place for the expected meeting.

As the time drew near, the night seemed to sympathise with the occasion, for the sky became overcast with clouds, which obliterated the stars, and rendered it intensely dark.

The chief performer in the approaching ceremony was in a fearful state of mind. He would have done or given anything to escape being made a wise man. But Ujarak was inexorable. Poor Ippegoo sought comfort from his mother, and, to say truth, Kunelik did her best for him, but she could not resist the decrees of Fate—i.e. of the wizard.

“Be a man, my son, and all will go well,” she said, as he sat beside her in her hut, with his chin on his breast and his thin hands clasped.

“O mother, I am such a fool! He might let me off. I’ll be disgraced forever.”

“Not you, Ippe; you’re not half such a fool as he is. Just go boldly, and do your best. Look as fierce and wild as you can, and make awful faces. There’s nothing like frightening people! Howl as much as possible, and gasp sometimes. I have seen a good deal done in that way. I only wish they would try to make an angekok of me. I would astonish them.”

The plucky little woman had to stop here for a moment to chuckle at her own conceit, but her poor son did not respond. He had got far beyond the point where a perception of the ludicrous is possible.

“But it is time to go now, my son. Don’t forget your drum and the face-making. You know what you’ve got to do?”

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Ippegoo, looking anxiously over his shoulder, as if he half expected to see a torngak already approaching him; “I know only too well what I’ve got to do. Ujarak has been stuffing it into me the whole day till my brain feels ready to burst.”

The bitter tone in which the poor youth pronounced his master’s name suggested to his mother that it would not require much more to make the worm turn upon its tormentor. But the time had arrived to send him off, so she was obliged to bring her questions and advices to an abrupt close.

As Ippegoo walked towards the dreaded hut, he was conscious of many glaring eyes and whispered words around him. This happily had the effect of stirring up his pride, and made him resolve to strive to do his part creditably.

At the door of the hut two dark figures glided swiftly in before him. One he could perceive was Angut; the other he thought looked very like the Kablunet “Ridroonee.” The thought gave him some comfort—not much, indeed, but anything that distracted his mind for an instant from the business in hand afforded him comfort.

He now braced himself desperately to the work. Seizing the drum which he had been told not to forget, he struck it several times, and began to twist his body about violently. There was just light enough to show to onlookers that the poor youth was whirling himself round in contortions of the most surprising kind. This he did for the purpose of working himself up to the proper pitch of enthusiasm.

There seems little doubt that the mere exertion of great muscular effort, coupled with a resolute wish and intention to succeed in some object, has a powerful tendency to brace the energies of the human mind. Ippegoo had not contorted himself and beaten his drum for many minutes when his feeling of warmth and physical power began to increase. The feeling seemed to break on his mind as a revelation.

“Ho!” he thought, “here it comes; it comes at last! Ujarak told the truth—I am becoming one of the wise men.”

So delighted was the poor fellow with the idea, and with the strong hope created thereby, that his blood began to course more rapidly and his heart to beat high. Under the impulse, he gave vent to a yell that drew a nod of gratified approval from his mother, and quite astonished those who knew him best. Redoubling his twistings and drummings, he soon wore himself out, and ere long fell down in a state of temporary exhaustion.

Having thus, according to instruction, worked himself up to the proper pitch of enthusiasm, Ippegoo lay still and panted. Ujarak then, coming forward, led him into Angut’s hut, which was lighted as usual with several cooking-lamps. The people flocked in after them till it was nearly full; but spaces in the centre and upper end were kept comparatively free. Near the lamp the Kablunet was seen seated, observing the proceedings with much gravity; Okiok sat near him.

When all were seated, the wizard led his pupil into the centre space, and, making him sit down, bent him forward until his head was between his legs. He fastened it in that position, and then tied his hands behind his back. All the lights were now extinguished, for no one is allowed to witness the interview of the unfinished angekok with the torngak, nor to move a finger for fear of disturbing him.

The room being now in the state which is described as darkness just visible, Ippegoo began to sing a song, in which all joined. Presently he took to groaning by way of variety; then he puffed and gasped, and in a quavering voice entreated his torngak to come. Spirits, however, like human creatures, are not always open to entreaty. At all events, Ippegoo’s torngak refused to appear.

In such circumstances it is usual for an aspirant to writhe about until he brings on a sort of fit, during the continuance of which his soul goes off to fetch the obstinate torngak. After a short time he returns with him, laughing loudly for joy, while a rustling noise, resembling the wings of birds as they swoop about the roof, is heard.

But Ippegoo was not a sufficiently wise man to get through this part of the programme. True, he wrought himself into a wonderful state of excitement, and then humbly lay down on his side to have a fit. But the fit would not come. He tried his best to have it. He wished with all his heart for it, but all his efforts were vain.

“O why won’t you come to me, torngak?” demanded the poor youth, with a pitiful whine.

“Because you are wise enough already,” said a low voice, which startled the audience very much, and sent a thrill of alarm, not unmingled with surprise, to the hearts of Ippegoo and his master.

The voice seemed to come from the outside of the hut.

“Ask him to come inside and speak to us,” whispered Ujarak, who was a good deal more surprised even than his pupil at this unexpected turn of affairs.

“Won’t you come in, torngak?” said Ippegoo timidly. “It is very cold outside. You will be more comfortable inside, and we shall hear you better. I suppose you can come as easily through the wall as by—”

“Stop your stupid tongue!” growled Ujarak.

At that moment a deep unearthly voice was heard inside the hut. Every one trembled, and there ensued a silence so oppressive as to suggest the idea that all present were holding their breath, and afraid to move even by a hair’s-breadth.

Suddenly there was a faint murmur, for at the upper end of the hut a dark form was seen slowly to arise. It must be remembered that there was barely light enough to render darkness visible. No features could be distinguished on this apparition, but it gradually assumed the form of a gigantic bear, rising nearly to the roof, and with its great forelegs extended, as if it were brooding over the assembly. Every one remained perfectly still, as if spell-bound.

Only one of the audience was sceptical. Being himself a master of deception, Ujarak suspected some trick, and slowly approached the giant bear with the intention of testing its reality—in some trepidation, however, for he was naturally superstitious. When he had drawn near enough to touch it, he received a tremendous blow on the forehead, which laid him flat on his back in a partially stunned condition, with his head in Pussimek’s lap. That amiable woman considerately allowed it to remain there, and as the wizard felt mentally confused he did not care to change his position.

Presently a low musical voice broke upon the assembly. We need scarcely say that it was that of our hero, Red Rooney, but so changed in character and tone as to be quite unrecognisable by the company, most of whom, indeed, were not yet very familiar with it. Even his more intimate friends, Angut and the Okiok family, were startled by it. In fact, the seaman, besides being something of a mimic, possessed a metallic bass voice of profound depth, which, like most bass voices, was capable of mounting into the higher latitudes of tone by means of a falsetto. He utilised his gifts on the present occasion.

“Ippegoo,” he said solemnly and very slowly, “I am not your torngak. I am an angekok, and as I chanced to be passing by your hut in my wanderings, I stopped to hear. I have heard enough to be able to tell you that you shall never be an angekok. Nor shall you ever have a torngak. You do not need one. You are wise enough already, much wiser than your master, who is no better than a miserable puffin. Is it not the duty of one who would be an angekok to go away and live alone for many days fasting, and praying, and meditating? Has not Ujarak advised you to change the ancient customs? Pooh! he is a fool. You cannot succeed now. All the spirits of water, earth, and air have been insulted. This assembly must break up. You must leave off trying. You may all be thankful that the ice does not burst up and crush you; that the sky does not fall