“Some men have occasionally done so with advantage,” answered the Captain.
“Kablunets may do so, Eskimos never!” returned the old man, resuming his hurried walk to and fro, and the grinding of his teeth again.
“If Amalatok were to kill all his enemies—all the men, women and children,” said the Captain, raising a fierce gleam of satisfaction in the old man’s face at the mere suggestion, “and if he were to knock down all their huts, and burn up all their kayaks and oomiaks, the insult would still remain, because an insult can only be wiped out by one’s enemy confessing his sin and repenting.”
For a few seconds Amalatok stood silent; his eyes fixed on the ground as if he were puzzled.
“The white man is right,” he said at length, “but if I killed them all I should be avenged.”
“Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,” leaped naturally to the Captain’s mind; but, reflecting that the man before him was a heathen who would not admit the value of the quotation, he paused a moment or two.
“And what,” he then said, “if Grabantak should kill Amalatok and all his men, and carry away the women and children into slavery, would the insult be wiped out in that case? Would it not rather be deepened?”
“True, it would; but then we should all be dead—we should not care.”
“The men would all be dead, truly,” returned the Captain, “but perhaps the women and children left behind might care. They would also suffer.”
“Go, go,” said the Eskimo chief, losing temper as he lost ground in the argument; “what can Kablunets know about such matters? You tell me you are men of peace; that your religion is a religion of peace. Of course, then, you understand nothing about war. Go, I have been insulted, and I must fight.”