Kitobni o'qish: «Red Rooney: The Last of the Crew», sahifa 10
Chapter Fourteen.
Solemn and Mysterious Doings are Brought to a Violent Close
Angut was seated at the further end of his abode when his friend entered, apparently absorbed in contemplation of that remarkable specimen of Eskimo longevity, the grandmother of Okiok.
“I have often wondered,” said Angut, as the seaman sat down beside him, “at the contentment and good-humour and cheerfulness, sometimes running into fun, of that poor old woman Kannoa.”
“Speak lower,” said Rooney in a soft voice; “she will hear you.”
“If she does, she will hear no evil. But she is nearly deaf, and takes no notice.”
“It may be so; poor thing!” returned the sailor in a tender tone, as he looked at the shrivelled-up old creature, who was moving actively round the never-idle lamp, and bending with inquiring interest over the earthen pot, which seemed to engross her entire being. “But why do you wonder?”
“I wonder because she has so little to make her contented, and so much to ruin her good-humour and cheerfulness, and to stop her fun. Her life is a hard one. She has few relations to care for her. She is very old, and must soon grow feeble, and then—”
“And then?” said Rooney, as the other paused.
“Then she knows not what follows death—who does know?—and she does not believe in the nonsense that our people invent. It is a great mystery.”
The Eskimo said the last words in a low voice and with a wistful gaze, as if he were rather communing with himself than conversing with his friend. Rooney felt perplexed. The thoughts of Angut were often too profound for him. Not knowing what to say, he changed the subject by mentioning the object of his visit.
At once Angut turned, and gave undivided attention to the subject, while the seaman described his recent conversation with Okiok. As he concluded, a peculiar look flitted across Angut’s countenance.
“I guess his reason,” he said.
“Yes; what may it be, think you?”
“He fears to meet Okiok in a singing duel.”
Rooney laughed. “Well, you know best,” he said; “I daresay you are right. Okiok is a sharp fellow, and Ujarak is but a blundering booby after—”
A low chuckle in the region of the lamp attracted their attention at this point. They looked quickly at Kannoa, but that ancient’s face was absolutely owlish in its gravity, and her little black eyes peered into her pot with a look of intense inquiry that was almost philosophic. Resuming their belief that she was as deaf as a post, or an iceberg, Rooney and Angut proceeded to discuss Ujarak and his probable plans without any regard to her. After having talked the matter over for some time, Angut shook his head, and said that Ujarak must be closely watched.
“More than that,” said Rooney, with decision; “he must be stultified.”
The seaman’s rendering of the word “stultified” into Eskimo was curious, and cannot easily be explained, but it was well understood by Angut, and apparently by Kannoa, for another chuckle came just then from the culinary department. Again the two men glanced at the old woman inquiringly, and again were they baffled by that look of owlish intensity at the stewing meat.
“She hears,” whispered Rooney.
“Impossible,” replied Angut; “a dead seal is not much deafer.”
Continuing the conversation, the seaman explained how he thought it possible to stultify the wizard, by discrediting him in the eyes of his own people—by foiling him with his own weapons,—and himself undertook to accomplish the task of stultification.
He was in the act of concluding his explanation when another chuckle burst upon them from the region of the lamp. This time there was no attempt at concealment, for there stood old Kannoa, partly enveloped in savoury steam, her head thrown back, and her mouth wide-open.
With a laugh Rooney leaped up, and caught her by the arm.
“You’ve heard what I’ve been saying, mother?”
“Ye–yes. I’ve heard,” she replied, trying to smother the laughter.
“Now, look here. You must promise me not to tell anybody,” said the seaman earnestly, almost sternly.
“Oh, I not tell,” returned the old woman; “I love not Ujarak.”
“Ah! just so; then you’re pretty safe not to tell,” said Rooney.
“No fear of Kannoa,” remarked Angut, with a pleasant nod; “she never tells anything to anybody.”
Satisfied, apparently, with this assurance, the seaman took the old woman into his counsels, congratulating himself not a little on having found an ally in the very hut in which it had been arranged that the mysterious performance was to take place. Shortly after that Angut left.
“Now, Kannoa,” said Rooney, after some preliminary talk, “you remember the big white bear that Angut killed two moons ago?”
“Remember it? Ay,” said Kannoa, licking her lips; “it was the fattest and best bear I ever chewed. Huk! it was good!”
“Well, where is that bear’s skin?”
The old dame pointed to a corner of the hut where the skin lay. Rooney went and picked it up, and laid it at the upper end of the hut farthest from the door.
“Now, mother,” said he; “you’ll not touch that skin. Let it lie there, and let no one touch it till I come again. You understand?”
“Yes,” answered Kannoa, with a look so intensely knowing that it made the seaman laugh.
“But tell me,” said the old woman, becoming suddenly grave, and laying her thin scraggy hand on the man’s arm; “why do you call me mother?”
“Oh, it’s just a way we have in my country when—when we feel kindly to an old woman. And I 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 upon you; that the great sea does not roll its maddest waves over you. Up, all of you—Begone!”
Rooney finished off with a roar so deep and fearsome that the very rafters trembled. A pile of wood, stones, and earthenware, previously prepared for the purpose, was tipped over, and fell with a most awful crash. At the same moment the seaman culminated in a falsetto shriek that might have shamed a steam whistle.
It was enough. Had the tunnel entrance of the hut been long and strong, suffocation to many must have been the result, for they went into it pell-mell, rolling rather than running. Fortunately, it was short and weak. Ujarak and Simek, sticking in it, burst it up, and swept it away, thus clearing the passage for the rest. The last to disappear was Kunelik, whose tail flapped on the door-post like a small pistol-shot as she doubled round it and scrambled out, leaving Rooney, Angut, Kannoa, and Ippegoo to enjoy the situation.
Chapter Fifteen.
A Great Singing Duel interrupted by a Catastrophe
When the lamps were rekindled by Kannoa, it was discovered that the old lady’s nostrils were twitching and her throat contracting in a remarkable manner, with smothered laughter. Very different was the condition of Ippegoo, who still lay bound in the middle of the room. Fear and surprise in equal proportions seemed to have taken possession of him. Rooney, having dropped the bear-skin, approached him, while Angut stood beside the lamp looking on with a sort of serious smile.
“Now, Ippegoo,” said the sailor, stooping and cutting his bonds, “I set you free. It is to be hoped also that I have freed you from superstition.”
“But where is the bear-angekok?” asked the bewildered youth.
“I am the bear-angekok.”
“Impossible!” cried Ippegoo.
To this Rooney replied by going back to his bear-skin, spreading it over himself, getting on a stool so as to tower upwards, spreading out his long arms, and saying in his deepest bass tones—
“Now, Ippegoo, do you believe me?”
A gleam of intelligence flashed on the youth’s countenance, and at that moment he became more of a wise man than he had ever before been in his life, for he not only had his eyes opened as to the ease with which some people can be deceived, but had his confidence in the infallibility of his old tyrant completely shaken. He reasoned somewhat thus—
“If Ujarak’s torngak was good and true, it would have told him of the deceit about to be practised on him, and would not have allowed him to submit to disgrace. If it did not care, it was a bad spirit. If it did not know, it was no better than a man, and not worth having—so I don’t want to have one, and am very glad I have escaped so well.”
The poor fellow shrank from adding, “Ujarak must be a deceiver;” but he began to think that Red Rooney might not have been far wrong after all when he called him a fool.
Ippegoo was now warned that he must keep carefully out of the wizard’s way, and tell no one of the deceit that had been practised. He promised most faithfully to tell no one, and then went straight home and told his mother all about it—for it never for a moment occurred to the poor fellow to imagine that he was meant to conceal it from his mother!
Fortunately Kunelik was a wise little woman. She knew how to keep her own counsel, and did not even by nod or look insinuate to any one that she was in possession of a secret.
“Now, then, Angut, what is the next thing to be done?” asked Rooney, after Ippegoo had left.
“Make Ujarak fight his duel,” said Angut.
“What! the singing duel with Okiok?”
“Yes. The people have set their hearts on the thing, and Ujarak will try to escape. He will perhaps say that his torngak has told him to go hunting to-morrow. But our customs require him to keep his word. My fear is that he will sneak off in the night. He is a sly fox.”
“I will stop that,” said Rooney.
“How?”
“You shall see. Come with me to the hut of Ujarak.”
On reaching the hut, they found its owner, as had been expected, sharpening his spears, and making other arrangements for a hunting expedition.
“When do you start?” asked Rooney.
“Immediately,” replied the wizard.
“Of course after the duel,” remarked Angut quietly.
The wizard seemed annoyed.
“It is unfortunate,” he said, with a vexed look. “My torngak has told me of a place where a great number of seals have come. They may leave soon, and it would be such a pity to lose them.”
“That is true,” said Angut; “but of course you cannot break our customs. It would ruin your character.”
“Of course, of course I will not break the custom,” returned Ujarak quickly; “unless, indeed, my torngak orders me to go. But that is not likely.”
“I want to ask you,” said Rooney, sitting down, “about that trip you had last year to the land of the departed. They tell me you had a hard time of it, Ujarak, and barely escaped with your life.”
The sly seaman had spread a net with which the wizard could at all times be easily caught. He had turned him on to a tune at which he was always willing to work with the persistency of an organ-grinder. The wizard went on hour after hour with unwearied zeal in his narrations, being incited thereto by a judicious question now and then from the seaman, when he betrayed any symptom of flagging. At last Angut, who had often heard it before, could stand it no longer, and rose to depart. Having already picked up the Kablunet’s mode of salutation, he held out his hand, and said “Goo’-nite.”
“Good-night, friend,” returned Rooney, grasping the proffered hand. “I can’t leave till I’ve heard the end of this most interesting story, so I’ll just sleep in Ujarak’s hut, if he will allow me, and thus avoid disturbing you by coming in late. Good-night.”
“Goo’-nite,” responded Angut, and vanished from the scene.
The wizard heaved a sigh. He perceived that his little plan of gliding away in the hours of darkness was knocked on the head, so, like a true philosopher, he resigned himself to the inevitable, and consoled himself by plunging into intricacies of fabulous adventure with a fertility of imagination which surprised even himself—so powerful is the influence of a sympathetic listener.
When Ujarak at last discovered that his guest had fallen into a profound slumber, he brought his amazing narrative to an abrupt close, and, wrapping himself in a reindeer-skin, resigned himself to that repose which was so much needed to fit him for the combat of the approaching day.
It was a brilliant sunny morning when Red Rooney awoke from a startling dream, in which he had been wrestling with monstrous creatures in the depths of ocean as well as in the bowels of the earth.
The wizard was still locked in apparently dreamless slumber. Unwilling to disturb him, the seaman glided quietly out, and clambered to the top of a cliff, whence a magnificent sea-view was revealed to his wondering gaze.
There are times when the atmosphere of this earth seems to be rarefied and freshened with celestial zephyrs, which not only half intoxicate the spirit, but intensify the powers of hearing and vision, so that gentle sounds which are very far off come floating to us, and mingle softly with those that are near at hand, while objects are seen at such immense distances that one feels as if the world itself had suddenly grown larger. To these influences were added on this occasion a sea which absolutely glittered with the icy gems that decked her calm and waveless bosom. It was not only that millions of white and glittering peaks, with facets and edges gleaming like diamonds, rose into the blue sky, but here and there open lanes of water, and elsewhere lakes and little ponds upon the melting ice caught the full orb of the rising sun, and sent its reflection into the man’s eyes with dazzling refulgence, while the ripple or rush of ice-born water-falls and the plaintive cries of wild-fowl gave variety and animation to the scene. In a mind less religiously disposed than that of our seaman, the sights and sounds would have irresistibly aroused grateful thoughts to our Creator. On Rooney the effect was almost overpowering, yet, strange to say, it drew no word of thanksgiving from his lips. Clasping his hands and shutting his eyes, he muttered with bowed head the words, “God, be merciful to me a sinner!”
Perhaps the recognition of the Father’s great goodness and condescension, coupled with his own absolute unworthiness, and the impulse which called those words forth, was nearly the highest act of worship which the sailor could have offered.
Far below, under the sheltering cliff, the huts of the Eskimo village could be seen like little black specks dotting the still snow-covered land; and the voices of children could be heard in faint but merry shouts and peals of laughter, as their owners, like still smaller specks, romped about. One of those specks Rooney recognised, from its intense blackness, to be his friend Tumbler, and a smaller and lighter speck he guessed to be Pussi, from the circumstance of its persistently following and keeping close to the raven-clad hero.
The pleased look with which Rooney at first regarded the children slowly passed away, and was replaced by one of profound sadness; for how could he escape dejection when he thought of a sweet Irish wife and little ones, with a dear old grandmother, whom he had left in the old country, and who must long before that time have given him up as dead?
His melancholy thoughts were dissipated by a sudden increase in the shouting of the little ones. On regarding them attentively, he observed that they scattered themselves in the direction of the several huts, and disappeared therein.
Well did Rooney know that the movement meant breakfast, and having a personal interest in that game, he left his perch and the glorious view, and hastened down.
After breakfast the entire community went with one consent to witness the singing combat. It was to take place on the ice near the scene of the recent kick-ball game, close to the berg of the sea-green cave. The people were much elated, for these savages were probably as much influenced by brilliant spring weather as civilised folk are, though not given to descant so much on their feelings. They were also in that cheerful frame of mind which results from what they correctly referred to as being stuffed; besides, much fun was expected from the contest. Lest our readers should anticipate similar delight, we must repeat that Eskimos are a simple folk, and easily pleased.
“Won’t it be a tussle?” remarked Issek, who marched in the centre of a group of women.
“It will, for Ujarak is tough. He is like a walrus,” responded an admirer of the wizard.
“Poo!” exclaimed the mother of Ippegoo contemptuously; “he can indeed roar like the walrus, but he can do nothing else.”
“Yes; and his strength goes for nothing,” cried a sympathiser, “for it is his brain, not his body, that has got to work.”
“We shall see,” said Kabelaw, whose sister remarked—“if we are not blind.”
This mild observation was meant for a touch of pleasantry. Little touches of pleasantry often passed between these “lying sisters,” as they were called, and they not infrequently culminated in touches of temper, which must have been the reverse of pleasant to either.
Arrived at the arena, a ring was formed, and the wisdom as well as amiability of these poor people was shown by their putting the children in front, the little women in the second row, the tall women in the third, and the men behind.
In a few minutes Ujarak bounded into the centre of the circle, with a small drum or tambourine in one hand, which he beat vigorously with the other. Okiok followed more sedately, armed with a similar musical instrument, and retired to one side of the arena, for the wizard, perhaps because he was the challenger, had the right to begin.
A good authority on the Eskimo tongue says: “The language is not easily translatable, the brevity and force of a single sentence requiring to be rendered in many words of another tongue.” The same authority also informs us that angekoks “speak in a metaphorical style sometimes, in order to exhibit their assumed superiority in learning and penetration.” It will not be expected, therefore, that our translation should convey more than a general idea of the combat.
Ujarak’s first act, after bounding into the ring and drumming, was to glare at his adversary. Okiok returned the glare with interest, and, being liberal, threw a sneer of contempt into the bargain. Ujarak then glared round at the audience, and began his song, which consisted merely of short periods, without rhyme or measure, but with a sort of rhythmic musical cadence. He commenced with the chorus—“Amna ajah ajah hey!” which was vociferously repeated by his supporters among the audience.
What these words, mean—whether they represent our “fal lal la” or “runity iddity”—we have not been able to ascertain, but they came in at irregular intervals, greatly to the satisfaction of the audience, thus:—
“Amna ajah ajah hey!
There was once a man—a man
(So it is said, but we are not sure),
A puffin perhaps he was—or a stupid spirit
Made in the likeness of a man;
Amna ajah ajah hey!”
Here the wizard not only accompanied the chorus with the drum, but with a species of dance, which, being a clumsy man, he performed in an extremely elephantine manner. After a few moments he went on:—
“This man—this puffin—was a liar:
A liar, because he was a teller of lies.
Did he not one time say that seals had come,
And that birds were in the air?
And when we went to look, no seals or birds were there.
Amna ajah ajah Hey!”
The extreme vigour with which the last word was uttered resulted from the wizard having tripped in his dance, and come down heavily on the ice, to the immense delight of his opponents and the children. But Ujarak rose, and quelling the laugh with a look of dignity, continued:—
