Benjy referred here, not only to the numerous conversations which his father had of late carried on with the giant through the interpreter, but to the fact that, having been a whaler in years past, Captain Vane had previously picked up a smattering of various Eskimo dialects. Up to that day he had conversed entirely through the medium of Anders, but as that useful man was now in Alf’s boat, the Captain was left to his own resources, and got on much better than he had expected.
Chingatok turned his eyes from the horizon on which they had been fixed, and looked dreamily at the Captain when asked what he was thinking about.
“I have been thinking,” said he, “of home, my home over there.” He lifted his huge right arm and pointed to the north. “And I have been thinking,” he continued, “that there must be another home up there.” He raised his hand and pointed to the sky.
“Why do you think so?” asked the Captain in some surprise.
“Because it is so beautiful, so wonderful, so full of light and peace,” replied the Eskimo. “Sometimes the clouds, and the wind, and the rain, come and cover it; but they pass away, and there it is, just the same, always calm, and bright, and beautiful. Could such a place have been made for nothing? Is there no one up there? not even the Maker of it? and if there is, does he stay there alone? Men and women die, but surely there is something in us that does not die. If there is no spirit in us that lives, of what use was it to make us at all? I think we shall have a home up there.”
Chingatok had again turned his eyes to the horizon, and spoke the concluding words as if he were thinking aloud. The Captain looked at him earnestly for some time in silence.
“You are right, Chingatok,” he said at length, or at least attempted to say as best he could—“you are right. My religion teaches me that we have spirits; that God—your God and mine—dwells up there in what we call heaven, and that His people shall dwell with him after death.”
“His people!” repeated the Eskimo with a perplexed look. “Are some men his people and some not?”
“Undoubtedly,” replied the Captain, “men who obey a chief’s commands are his men—his friends. Those who refuse to obey, and do every kind of wickedness, are not his friends, but his enemies. God has given us free-wills, and we may reject him—we may choose to be his enemies.”
It must not be supposed that Captain Vane expressed himself thus clearly, but the above is the substance of what he attempted by many a strange and complicated sentence to convey. That he had made his meaning to some extent plain, was proved by Chingatok’s reply.