“Aglootook is always full of knowledge and wisdom,” remarked Cheenbuk, as he drove his powerful teeth into a tough bear-steak, and struggled with it for some moments before continuing his remarks; “but—but—ha! he does not quite see through an iceberg. I will— (Give me another, Nootka, with more fat on it),—I will go back, as he wisely advises, with as much as the sledge will carry, and will return not only with four or five sledges, but with all the sledges we have got, and all the dogs, and all the men and women and children—even to the smallest babe that wears no clothes and lives in its mother’s hood, and sucks blubber. The whole tribe shall come here and live here, and make use of the good things that have fallen in our way, till the time of open water draws near. Then we will drive to the place where we have left our kayaks and oomiaks, some of us will go to Waruskeek, and some to pay a visit to the Fire-spouters at Whale River.—Give me another lump, Nootka. The last was a little one, and I am hungry.”
The grandeur of Cheenbuk’s plan, as compared with Aglootook’s suggestion, was so great that the poor magician collapsed.
Anteek looked at him. Then he covered his young face with his hands and bent his head forward upon his knees. It was too early for going to rest. The boy might have been sleeping, but there was a slight heaving of the young shoulders which was not suggestive of repose.
Later on in the evening, while Nazinred was enjoying his pipe, and the Eskimos were looking on in unspeakable admiration, Cheenbuk remembered that the last time he quitted the ship he had left his spear behind him.
“I’ll go and fetch it,” said Anteek, who possessed that amiable and utterly delightful nature which offers to oblige, or do a service, without waiting to be asked. In a few minutes he was out upon the ice on his errand. Soon he gained the snow staircase, and, running up, made his way to the cabin where the spear had been left.
Now it chanced that a polar bear, attracted perhaps by the odour of cooked food, had wandered near to the ship and observed the young Eskimo ascend. Polar bears are not timid. On the contrary, they are usually full of courage. They are also full of curiosity. The night was clear, and when that bear saw the youth go up the stair, it immediately went to the place to inspect it. Courage and caution are not necessarily antagonistic. On arriving at the foot of the stair it paused to paw and otherwise examine it. Then it began to ascend slowly, as if doubtful of consequences.
Now, if it were not for coincidences a great many of the extraordinary events of this life would never have happened. For instance—but the instances are so numerous that it may be well not to begin them. It happened that just as the bear began to ascend the snow staircase Anteek with the spear in his hand began to ascend the companion-ladder. But the chief point of the coincidence lay here—that just as the bear reached the top of the stair the boy reached the very same spot, and next moment the two stood face to face within four feet of each other.
We will not go into the irrelevant question which was the more surprised. Anteek at once uttered a yell, compounded of courage, despair, ferocity, horror, and other ingredients, which startled into wild confusion all the echoes of the cliffs. The bear opened its mouth as if to reply, and the boy instantly rammed the spear into it.
He could not have done anything worse, except run away, for a bear’s mouth is tough. Happily, however, the monster was standing in a very upright position, and the violence of the thrust sent him off his balance. He fell backwards down the stair, and came on the ice with an astounding crash that doubled him up and crushed all the wind out of his lungs in a bursting roar.
Fortunately his great weight caused the destruction of five or six of the lower steps, so that when he rose and tried viciously to re-ascend, he was unable to do so.