The Giant of the North, Robert Michael Ballantyne [autobiographies to read .TXT] 📗

rushed out. Through the driving drift they could just see that the observatory, which was a flimsy structure, had been swept clean away, and that the more solid hut was following it. Even as they gazed they saw its roof caught up, and whirled off as if it had been a scroll of paper. The walls fell immediately after, and the stones rolled down the rocky cone with a loud rattling, which was partially drowned by the shrieking of the tempest.

For three days the storm lasted. During that time it was almost impossible to show face in the open air. On the night of the third day the fury of the wind abated. Then it suddenly became calm, but when Butterface opened the door, and attempted to go out, he found himself effectually checked by a wall of snow. The interior of the hut was pitch dark, and it was not until a lamp had been lighted that the party found they were buried alive!

To dig themselves out was not, however, a difficult matter. But what a scene presented itself to their view when they regained the upper air! No metamorphosis conceived by Ovid or achieved by the magic lantern; no pantomimic transformation; no eccentricity of dreamland ever equalled it! When last seen, the valley was clothed in all the rich luxuriance of autumnal tints, and alive with the twitter and plaintive cry of bird-life. Now it was draped in the pure winding-sheet of winter, and silent in the repose of Arctic death. Nothing almost was visible but snow. Everything was whelmed in white. Only here and there a few of the sturdier clumps of bushes held up their loads like gigantic wedding-cakes, and broke the universal sameness of the scene. One raven was the only living representative of the birds that had fled. It soared calmly over the waste, as if it were the wizard who had wrought the change, and was admiring its work.

"Winter is upon us fairly now, friends," said Captain Vane as he surveyed the prospect from the Pole, which was itself all but buried in the universal drift, and capped with the hugest wedding-cake of all; "we shall have to accommodate ourselves to circumstances, and prepare for the campaign."

"I suppose the first thing we shall have to do is to build a snow-house," said Benjy, looking ruefully round, for, as usual, he was depressed by first appearances.

"Just so, Benjy; and the sooner we go to work the better."

Now, the reader must not hastily conclude that we are about to inflict on him or her a detailed narrative of a six months' residence at the North Pole. We have no such fell design. Much though there is to tell,--much of suffering, more of enjoyment, many adventures, numerous stirring incidents, and not a few mishaps--we shall pass over the most of it in total silence, and touch only on those points which are worthy of special notice.

Let us leap, then, into the very middle of the Arctic winter. It is continuously dark now. There is no day at all at the Pole; it is night all round. The last glimmer of the departing sun left them months ago; the next glimmer of his return will not reach them for months to come. The northern Eskimos and their English visitors were well aware of that, nevertheless there was nothing of gloom or depressed spirits among them. They were too busy for that. Had not meat to be procured, and then consumed? Did not the procuring involve the harnessing of dogs in sledges, the trapping of foxes and wolves, the fighting of walruses, the chasing of polar bears; and did not the consuming thereof necessitate much culinary work for the women, much and frequent attention and labour on the part of the whole community, not to mention hours, and sometimes days, of calm repose?

Then, as to light, had they not the Aurora Borealis, that mysterious shimmering in the northern sky which has puzzled philosophers from the beginning of time, and is not unlikely to continue puzzling them to the end? Had they not the moon and the stars, which latter shone with a brilliancy almost indescribable, and among them the now doubly interesting Pole star, right overhead, with several new and gorgeous constellations unknown to southern climes?

Besides all this, had not Captain Vane his scientific investigations, his pendulum experiments, his wind-gauging, his ozone testing, his thermometric, barometric, and chronometric observations, besides what Benjy styled his kiteometric pranks? These last consisted in attempts to bring lightning down from the clouds by means of a kite and cord, and in which effort the Captain managed to knock himself down, and well-nigh shattered the North Pole itself in pieces!

Moreover, had not Leo to act the part of physician and surgeon to the community? a duty which he fulfilled so well that there never had been before that time such a demand for physic in Flatland, and, it is probable, there never will be so many sick people there again. In addition to this, Leo had to exercise his marvellous powers as a huntsman. Benjy, of course, played his wonted _role_ of mischief-maker and jack-of-all-trades to the entire satisfaction of everybody, especially on that great occasion when he succeeded in killing a polar bear single-handed, and without the aid of gun or spear or any lethal weapon whatever;--of which great event, more hereafter. Anders, the southern Eskimo, made himself generally agreeable, and Butterface became a prime favourite, chiefly because of his inexhaustible fund of fun and good humour, coupled with his fine musical qualities.

We have not said much on this latter point hitherto, because we have been unwilling to overwhelm the reader with too sudden a disclosure of that marvellous magazine of power which was latent in our band of heroes; but we feel it to be our duty now to state that the negro sang his native melodies with such pathos that he frequently reduced, (perhaps we should say elevated), the unsophisticated Eskimos to floods of tears, and sometimes to convulsions of laughter. As, at Benjy's suggestion, he sometimes changed his moods abruptly, the tears often mingled with the convulsions, so as to produce some vivid illustrations of Eskimo hysteria.

But Butterface's strong point was the flute! No one who had not witnessed it could adequately conceive the poutings of thick red lips and general contortions of black visage that seemed necessary in order to draw the tones out of that simple instrument. The agonies of expression, the hissing of wind, and the turning up of whites of large black eyes,--it is past belief! The fruitless efforts of the Eskimos to imitate him were as nothing to the great original, and their delight at the sound was only equalled by their amazement at the sight.

Alf assisted the Captain scientifically and otherwise. Of course he was compelled, during the long winter, to lay aside his geological hammer and botanical box; but, then, had he not the arrangement and naming of his specimens? His chief work, however, was to act the unwonted, and, we may add, unexpected work of a lawgiver.

This duty devolved on him thus:

When Grabantak recovered health--which he was very long in doing--his spirit was so far subdued that he agreed--somewhat sulkily, it is true-- to all that his prime minister had done while he held the reins of government. Then he was induced to visit Great Isle, where he was introduced to his mortal foe Amalatok, whom he found to be so much a man after his own heart that he no longer sighed for the extraction of his spinal marrow or the excision of his liver, but became a fast friend, and was persuaded by Alf to agree to a perpetual peace. He also took a great fancy to Chingatok, who begged of Alf to read to the chief of Flatland some of the strange and new ideas contained in his little book.

Alf willingly complied, and for hours these northern savages sat in rapt attention listening to the Bible story.

"My son," said Grabantak one evening to Chingatok, "if we are henceforth to live in peace, why not unite and become one nation?"

"Why not?" echoed Chingatok.

When Amalatok and Makitok heard the question propounded, they also said, "Why not?" and, as nobody objected, the thing was settled off-hand then and there.

"But," said the prime minister of Flatland, starting a difficulty, "who is to be _greatest_ chief?"

Amalatok, on whose mind the spirit of Christianity had been gradually making an impression, said promptly, "Let Grabantak be chief. He is wise in council and brave in war."

Grabantak had instantly jumped to the conclusion that _he_ ought to be _greatest_ chief, and was about to say so, when Amalatok's humility struck him dumb. Recovering himself he replied--

"But there is to be no mere war! and I have been a warrior. No, let Amalatok be great chief. He is old, and wisdom lies with age."

"I am not so sure of _that_!" muttered Captain Vane to himself in English; then to the giant in Eskimo, "What says Chingatok?"

"May I speak, my father?" said the giant, dutifully, to Amalatok.

"You may speak, my son."

"Then," continued Chingatok, "I would advise that there should be three chiefs, who shall be equal--my father, Grabantak, and Makitok. Let these consult about our affairs. Let the people appoint twelve men to hold council with them, and what the most of them agree to shall be done."

After some further talk this compromise was agreed to.

"But the laws of Poloeland and those of Flatland are different," said Amalatok, starting another objection. "We must have the same laws."

"My brother chief is wise," said Grabantak. "Let us have new laws, and let that wise young Kablunet, Alf, make them."

"Both my brother chiefs are wise," said Makitok. "Let it be done, and let him take the laws out of the little thing that speaks to him." (Thus they referred to the Bible, having no word in their language by which to name it.)

Great was the surprise of Alf at the honour and labour thus thrust upon him, but he did not shrink from it. On the contrary, he set to work at once with notebook and pencil, and set down the two "Great Commandments:" "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind;" and, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," as the first law in the new code. He set down as the second the golden rule, "Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them."

Proceeding from these as a basis, he worked his way gradually down the code till he had embraced nearly all the possibilities of Eskimo life--a work which kept him busy all the winter, and was not quite finished when "time and tide" obliged him and his companions to quit the land.

Now, not long after this eventful council, Benjy Vane burst rather irreverently into his father's hut with excited looks, holding what looked like an old book in his hand.

"What have you got there, lad?"

"I've got it at last, father! You know I've been trying to wheedle old Makitok into letting me open his mysterious bundle. Well, I prevailed on him to let me do it this afternoon.