“Amna ajah ajah hey!” yelled the hunter’s admirers, with enthusiasm.
“But Ujarak’s the man of skill,
To kick or wrestle, sing or kill;
He bids me meet him here to-day.
Poor Okiok! he must obey.
My Torngak, come here, I say!
Thus loud I cried the other day—
‘You always come to Ujarak;
Thou come to me, my Torngak!’
But he was deaf, and would not hear,
Although I roared it in his ear.
At last he said, ‘No, Okiok,
For you are not an angekok!’
Amna ajah ajah hey!”
Here the hunter, after a neat pirouette and tickling of the drum, changed his tone to a soft insinuating whine:
“’Tis true I’m not an angekok;
I’m only hunter Okiok.
But Torngak, dear Torngak,
Don’t go away. O do come back!
If you’ll be mine, and stick to me
For evermore, I’ll stick to thee.
And every single thing I do
I’ll come and ask advice from you;
Consult you morning, noon, and night;
Consult you when I hunt or fight;
Consult you when I sing and roar;
Consult you when I sleep and snore;
Consult you more than Ujarak—
My Tor—Tor—Tor—Tor—Torngak!”
A roar of laughter and a stupendous “Amna ajah ajah hey!” greeted this flight, while Okiok gravely touched his drum, and performed a few more of his graceful evolutions.
“‘No, no,’ he said; ‘I’ll never make
So gross and stupid a mistake.
One man there is who tried to do it—
He thinks the spirits never knew it—
He tried to make an angekok-stew
Out of a lad named Ippegoo!’”
Here another yell of delight was followed by the chorus, and Okiok was about to resume, when a terrific rending sound seemed to paralyse every one. Well did they know that sound. It was the rending of the solid ice on which they stood. The advancing spring had so far weakened it that a huge cake had broken off from the land-ice, and was now detached. A shriek from some of the women drew attention to the fact that the disruption of the mass had so disturbed the equilibrium of the neighbouring berg that it was slowly toppling to its fall. A universal stampede instantly took place, for the danger of being crushed by its falling cliffs and pinnacles was very great. Everything but personal safety was forgotten in the panic that ensued. Red Rooney was almost swept off his legs in the rush. Women and children were overturned, but fortunately not hurt. A very few minutes sufficed to take them all clear of danger; but the succeeding crashes produced such an inconceivable roar that the terrified villagers ran on until close to the place where the ice had cracked off, and where a lane of water about three feet wide presented itself.
Over this went men, women, and children at a flying leap—all except poor little Pussi. That fat little thing would have been left behind had not the mere force of the rush carried her on in a half running, half rolling way. Being unable to manage the jump, she went in with a plunge, and disappeared.
A wild scream from the nearest female caused every one to stop and run back.
“Pussi!” exclaimed Nunaga, pointing wildly to the water.