The Walrus Hunters: A Romance of the Realms of Ice

by R. M. Ballantyne

We will not follow him thither: there are some home-comings which are better left undescribed.

But next day Nazinred relaunched his canoe, and, with a small quantity of provisions and a large supply of ammunition, set off alone for the shores of the Arctic Sea. What he told his wife is not known, but he gave no explanation whatever to any of his comrades as to his intentions.

Arrived at the coast, however, his further advance was rendered impossible by a sharp frost which created the first thin crust that was ultimately destined to turn the sea into thick ice. As even the thinnest coat of ice would be certain destruction to birch-bark, the canoe, he was well aware, was now useless. He therefore returned home, and quietly engaged in the ordinary hunting and fishing occupation of his tribe, but from that date he sank into a state of silent despair, from which his most intimate companions failed to rouse him. Not that he gave expression to his feelings by word or look. It was long-continued silence and want of interest in anything that told of the sorrow that crushed him. It is probable that the fact of Adolay being capable of forsaking her parents in such a way tended to increase the grief occasioned by her loss. But he spoke of his feelings to no one—not even to his wife.

Mozwa, who was very fond of his friend, and pitied him sincerely, made no attempt to comfort him, for he knew the nature of the man too well to think that by any words he could assuage his sorrow.

All the fine things that Nazinred had brought home, and with which he had hoped to rejoice the hearts of his wife and child, were utterly neglected. He let Isquay do what she pleased with them. The only thing that seemed to comfort him was the tobacco, for that, he found, when smoked to excess, blunted the edge of his feelings.

He therefore gave himself up to the unlimited use of this sedative, and would no doubt have become, like many others, a willing slave to the pipe, but for the fortunate circumstance that the supply of tobacco was limited. As the autumn advanced, the diminishing quantity warned him to restrain himself. He eked it out by mixing with it a kind of leaf much used by Indians for this purpose, but which, by itself, was not considered worth smoking. Even with this aid, however, he was compelled to curtail the indulgence; then the weed failed altogether, and he was finally induced to engage in philosophical meditations as to the folly of creating a needless desire which could not be gratified. The unsatisfied craving, coupled with the injury to his health, added considerably to the grief with which he was already oppressed. He had a powerful constitution, however. The enforced abstinence soon began to tell in his favour, and he actually had the courage, not to say wisdom, to refuse occasional pipes offered him by Mozwa when he chanced to visit his friend.

As that friend had not the loss of an only child to mourn, but, on the contrary, was called upon to rejoice in the addition of a new baby, the fine things that he had brought home were the cause of great satisfaction to his family. But alas! Mozwa, although almost perfect, for a savage, had one fault—one besetting sin and moral disease—he gambled!

We almost hear the exclamation of surprise, if not doubt, with which our reader receives this information. Yes; North American Indians are gamblers; many of them are confirmed gamblers. They do not indeed affect anything so intellectual as chess or so skilful as billiards, but they have a game to the full as intellectual and scientific as that rouge et noir of Monaco with which highly cultivated people contrive to rob each other by mutual consent, and without being ashamed! Their game is not unknown to the juveniles of our own land. It goes by the name “odd-or-even.”

The manner of conducting the game varies a little here and there in its details, but its principle is the same everywhere: “I want your possessions, and get them I will, by hook or crook! I couldn’t think of robbing you—O no; there might be jail or penal servitude on the back of that; and I won’t accept your gifts—good gracious, no! that would involve the loss of self-respect. No, no. Let us humbug each other. I will rob you if I can, and you will rob me if you can, and we’ll mutually agree to throw dust in each other’s eyes and call it ‘play’! Nothing, surely, could be fairer than that!”

Of course poor Mozwa did not reason thus. He was not cultured enough for that. In fact, he did not reason at all about the matter, as far as we know, but there can be no question that the poor fellow was smitten with the disease of covetousness, and instead of seeking for a cure, like a manly savage, he adopted the too civilised plan of encouraging and excusing it.