The Giant of the North | Page 3

asked in a low tone, when floating alone one day
in his kayak, or skin canoe, "whence came I? whither go I? What is this
great sea on which I float? that land on which I tread? No sledge, no
spear, no kayak, no snow-hut makes itself! Who made all that which I
behold?"
Chingatok looked around him, but no audible answer came from

Nature. He looked up, but the glorious sun only dazzled his eyes.
"There must be One," he continued in a lower tone, "who made all
things; but who made Him? No one? It is impossible! The Maker must
have ever been. Ever been!" He repeated this once or twice with a look
of perplexed gravity.
The northern savage had grasped the grand mystery, and, like all true
philosophers savage or civilised who have gone before him, relapsed
into silence.
At last he resolved to travel south, until he should arrive at the coasts
where these strange sights before described were said to have been
seen.
Having made up his mind, Chingatok began his arrangements without
delay; persuaded a few families of his tribe to accompany him, and
reached the north-western shores of Greenland after a long and trying
journey by water and ice.
Here he spent the winter. When spring came, he continued his journey
south, and at last began to look out, with sanguine expectation, for the
floating islands with wings, and the larger island with the burning
mountain on it, about which he had heard.
Of course, on his way south, our giant fell in with some members of the
tribes through whom the rumours that puzzled him had been
transmitted to the far north; and, as he advanced, these rumours took a
more definite, also a more correct, form. In time he came to understand
that the floating islands were gigantic kayaks, or canoes, with masts
and sails, instead of trees and wings. The burning mountain, however,
remained an unmodified mystery, which he was still inclined to
disbelieve. But these more correct views did not in the least abate
Chingatok's eager desire to behold, with his own eyes, the strange men
from the unknown south.
Eemerk formed one of the party who had volunteered to join Chingatok
on this journey. Not that Eemerk was influenced by large-minded

views or a thirst for knowledge, but he could not bear the thought that
his rival should have all the honour of going forth on a long journey of
exploration to the mysterious south, a journey which was sure to be full
of adventure, and the successful accomplishment of which would
unquestionably raise him very much in the estimation of his tribe.
Eemerk had volunteered to go, not as second in command, but as an
independent member of the party--a sort of free-lance. Chingatok did
not quite relish having Eemerk for a companion, but, being a
good-humoured, easy-going fellow, he made no objection to his going.
Eemerk took his wife with him. Chingatok took his mother and little
sister; also a young woman named Tekkona, who was his wife's sister.
These were the only females of the exploring party. Chingatok had left
his wife behind him, because she was not robust at that time; besides,
she was very small--as is usually the case with giants' wives--and he
was remarkably fond of her, and feared to expose her to severe fatigue
and danger.
The completed party of explorers numbered twenty souls, with their
respective bodies, some of which latter were large, some small, but all
strong and healthy. Four of the men were friends of Eemerk, whom he
had induced to join because he knew them to be kindred spirits who
would support him.
"I go to the ice-cliff to look upon the sea," said Chingatok one morning,
drawing himself up to his full height, and unconsciously brushing some
of the lamp-black off the roof of his hut with the hood of his sealskin
coat.
At this point it may be well to explain, once for all, that our giant did
not speak English, and as it is highly improbable that the reader
understands the Eskimo tongue, we will translate as literally as
possible--merely remarking that Chingatok's language, like his mind,
was of a superior cast.
"Why goes my son to the ice-cliff?" asked Toolooha in a slightly
reproachful tone. "Are not the floes nearer? Can he not look on the
great salt lake from the hummocks? The sun has been hot a long time

now. The ice-cliffs are dangerous. Their edges split off every day. If
my son goes often to them, he will one day come tumbling down upon
the floes and be crushed flat, and men will carry him to his mother's
feet like a mass of shapeless blubber."
It is interesting to note how strong a