Red Rooney | Page 7

whole family, except Ermigit, who was
left to unfasten the dogs.
The weather at the time was by no means cold, for spring was rapidly
advancing; nevertheless, to one who had been so reduced in strength,
the warmth of the Eskimo hut was inexpressibly grateful. With a great
sigh of relief the rescued man flung himself on the raised part of the
floor on which Eskimos are wont to sit and sleep.
"Thank God, and again I thank you, my friends!" he said, repeating the
phrase which he had already used, for the sudden change from despair
to hope, from all but death to restored life, had filled his heart with
gratitude.
"You are weary?" said Okiok.
"Ay, ay--very weary; well-nigh to death," he replied.
"Will the Kablunet sleep?" asked Nuna, pointing to a couch of skins
close behind the seaman.
Rooney looked round.
"Thankee; yes, I will."
He crept to the couch, and dropped upon it, with his head resting on an
eider-down pillow. Like a tired infant, his eyes closed, and he was
asleep almost instantaneously.
Seeing this, the Eskimos began to move about with care, and to speak
in whispers, though it was needless caution, for in his condition the
man would probably have continued to sleep through the wildest

thunderstorm. Even when baby, tumbling headlong off the elevated
floor, narrowly missed spiking himself on a walrus spear, and set up a
yell that might have startled the stone deaf, the wearied Kablunet did
not move. Okiok did, however. He moved smartly towards the infant,
caught him by the throat, and almost strangled him in a fierce attempt
to keep him quiet.
"Stupid tumbler!" he growled--referring to the child's general and
awkward habit of falling--"Can't you shut your mouth?"
Curious similarity between the thoughts and words of civilised and
savage man in similar circumstances! And it is interesting to note the
truth of what the song says:--
"We little know what great things from little things may rise."
From that slight incident the Eskimo child derived his future name of
"Tumbler"! We forget what the precise Eskimo term is, but the English
equivalent will do as well.
When supper-time arrived that night, Okiok and Nuna consulted as to
whether they should waken their guest, or let him lie still--for, from the
instant he lay down, he had remained without the slightest motion, save
the slow, regular heaving of his broad chest.
"Let him sleep. He is tired," said Okiok.
"But he must be hungry, and he is weak," said Nuna.
"He can feed when he wakens," returned the man, admiring his guest as
a collector might admire a foreign curiosity which he had just found.
"Kablunets sleep sounder than Eskimos," remarked the woman.
"Stupid one! Your head is thick, like the skull of the walrus," said the
man. "Don't you see that it is because he is worn-out?"
Eskimos are singularly simple and straightforward in their speech.
They express their opinions with the utmost candour, and without the

slightest intention of hurting each other's feelings. Nuna took no
offence at her husband's plain speaking, but continued to gaze with a
gratified expression at the stranger.
And sooth to say Reginald Rooney was a pleasant object for
contemplation, as well as a striking contrast to the men with whom
Nuna had been hitherto associated. His brow was broad; the nose,
which had been compared to the eagle's beak, was in reality a fine
aquiline; the mouth, although partially concealed by a brown drooping
moustache, was well formed, large, and firm; the beard bushy, and the
hair voluminous as well as curly. Altogether, this poor castaway was as
fine a specimen of a British tar as one could wish to see, despite his
wasted condition and his un-British garb.
It was finally decided to leave him undisturbed, and the Eskimo family
took care while supping to eat their food in comparative silence.
Usually the evening meal was a noisy, hilarious festival, at which
Okiok and Norrak and Ermigit were wont to relate the various incidents
of the day's hunt, with more or less of exaggeration, not unmingled
with fun, and only a little of that shameless boasting which is too strong
a characteristic of the North American Indian. The women of the
household were excellent listeners; also splendid laughers, and
Tumbler was unrivalled in the matter of crowing, so that noise as well
as feasting was usually the order of the night. But on this great occasion
that was all changed. The feasting was done in dead silence; and
another very striking peculiarity of the occasion was that, while the six
pairs of jaws kept moving with unflagging pertinacity, the twelve
wide-open eyes kept glaring with unwinking intensity at the sleeping
man.
Indeed this unwavering glare continued long after supper was