“But I do not know God’s commands; how then can I obey them?”
“You may not know them by book,” replied the Captain promptly; “for you have no books, but there is such a thing as the commands or law of God written in the heart, and it strikes me, Chingatok, that you both know and obey more of your Maker’s laws than many men who have His word.”
To this the Eskimo made no answer, for he did not rightly understand it, and as the Captain found extreme difficulty in expressing his meaning on such questions, he was quite willing to drop the conversation. Nevertheless his respect for Chingatok was immensely increased from that day forward.
He tried to explain what had been said to Benjy, and as that youth’s mind was of an inquiring turn he listened with great interest, but at last was forced to confess that it was too deep for him. Thereafter he fell into a mood of unusual silence, and pondered the matter for a long time.
Awaking from his reverie at last, he said, abruptly, “How’s her head, father?”
“Due north, Benjy.”
He pulled out a pocket-compass about the size of an ordinary watch, which instrument it was his habit to guard with the most anxious care.
“North!” repeated the boy, glancing at the instrument with a look of surprise, “why, we’re steering almost due east!”
“Ah! Ben, that comes of your judging from appearances without knowledge, not an uncommon state of mind in man and boy, to say nothing of woman. Don’t you know what variation of the compass is?”
“No, father.”