“And you were ready for us,” said Chingatok, with an approving smile.
“Huk!” returned the chief with a responsive nod. “Go, Chingatok, call a council of my braves for to—night, and see that these miserable starving Kablunets have enough of blubber wherewith to stuff themselves.”
Our giant did not deem it worth while to explain to his rather petulant father that the Englishmen were the reverse of starving, but he felt the importance of raising them in the old chief’s opinion without delay, and took measures accordingly.
“Blackbeard,” he said, entering the Captain’s hut and sitting down with a troubled air, “my father does not think much of you. Tell him that, Unders.”
“I understand you well enough, Chingatok; go on, and let me know why the old man does not think well of me.”
“He thinks you are a fool,” returned the plain spoken Eskimo.
“H’m! I’m not altogether surprised at that, lad. I’ve sometimes thought so myself. Well, I suppose you’ve come to give me some good advice to make me wiser—eh! Chingatok?”
“Yes, that is what I come for. Do what I tell you, and my father will begin to think you wise.”
“Ah, yes, the old story,” remarked Benjy, who was an amused listener—for his father translated in a low tone for the benefit of his companions as the conversation proceeded—“the same here as everywhere—Do as I tell you and all will be well!”
“Hold your tongue, Ben,” whispered Alf.