“I fear not,” answered the seaman, “for the mere gratification of revenge is not good. But they do not always kill. They sometimes only wound slightly, and then they say that honour is satisfied, and they become friends.”
“But—but,” said the still puzzled Eskimo, “a wound cannot prove which quarreller is right. Is it the one who wounds that is thought right?”
“No.”
“Is it then the wounded one?”
“O no. It is neither. The fact is, the proving of who is right and who is wrong has nothing to do with the matter. All they want is to prove that they are both very brave. Often, when one is slightly wounded—no matter which—they say they are satisfied.”
“With what are they satisfied?”
“That’s more than I can tell, Angut. But it is only a class of men called gentlemen who settle their quarrels thus. Common fellows like me are supposed to have no honour worth fighting about!”
The Eskimo looked at his companion, supposing that he might be jesting, but seeing that he was quite grave and earnest, he rejoined in an undertone—
“Then my thoughts have been wrong.”
“In what respect, Angut?”