They were going straight at the whale. Leo did not dare to think of the result of his intended attack. He could not guess it. He hoped all would be well. He had no time to think of pros and cons. They were close to the victim. On it, now, sliding over its back, while the sharp lance entered its body with the full momentum of the charge,—deep down into its vitals! Blood flew out like a waterspout. The lance was torn from Leo’s grasp as he fell backwards. Oblooria leaped up, in wild excitement, dropped her oar, and clapped her hands. At that instant the stout traction-line snapped, and the boat remained fast, while the kite descended in a series of helpless gyrations into the sea. Next moment the whale went down in a convulsive struggle, and the boat, with its daring occupants, was whelmed in a whirlpool of blood and foam.
No cry proceeded from the Eskimos during this stupendous attack. They seemed bereft alike of voice and volition, but, on beholding the closing catastrophe, they rushed to the rescue with a united roar.
Before they could gain the spot, Leo was seen to emerge from the deep, dripping with pink and white foam like a very water-god. Oblooria followed instantly, like a piebald water-nymph. The boat had not been upset, though overwhelmed, and they had held on to it with the tenacity of a last hope.
Looking sharply round, as he gasped and swept the water from his eyes, Leo seized the oars, which, being attached to the boat, were still available, and rowed with all his might away from the approaching Eskimos as if he were afraid of being caught by them. They followed with, if possible, increased surprise at this inexplicable conduct. They made up to him; some even shot ahead of him. Poor Leo was not a moment too soon in reaching his kite, for these people were about to transfix it with their whale-harpoons, when he dashed up and ordered them to desist.
Having rescued the miserable-looking thing from the sea and hastily folded it, he placed it in the bow. Then breathing freely, he began to look about him just as the whale came again to the surface in a dying flurry. It so chanced that it came up right under Grabantak’s kayak, which it tossed up end over end. This would not have been a serious matter if it had not, the next moment, brought its mighty tail down on the canoe. It then sheered off a hundred yards or so, leaped half its length out of the water, and fell over on its side with a noise like thunder and died.
Every one turned to the place where the chief’s kayak lay a complete wreck on the water. Its owner was seen swimming beside it, and was soon hauled into one of the women’s oomiaks. Evidently he had been severely hurt, but he would not admit the fact. With characteristic dignity he sternly ordered the fleet to lay hold of the whale and make for the shore.
“Tell him his arm is broken,” said Leo that evening to Anders, after examining the chief’s hurts in the privacy of his own hut, “and let him know that I am a medicine-man and will try to cure him.”
Grabantak received the information with a look of anger.
“Then,” said he, “Amalatok must live a little longer, for I cannot fight him with a broken arm. Go,” he added, looking full at Leo with something like admiration, “go, you have done well to-day; my young men want to make your nose blue.”
The peremptory nature of the chief’s command forbade delay. Leo was therefore obliged to creep out of his hut, wondering intensely, and not a little uncomfortably, as to what having his nose made blue could mean.