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Page 11
As the kayaks approached the village an unexpected sight greeted the
eyes of the hunters.
Along the shore, the women of the tribe and strange men were dancing.
Before the village tents they were gathered in groups. While the elder
women of the tribe beat a savage dance on membrane drums, the
chubby-bodied maidens, dressed in fur trousers, swayed in the arms of
the foreigners.
As the boats approached the shore, the natives recognized the visitors.
They were one of a half dozen parties of Danish traders who came north
yearly from Uppernavik to gather the results of the season's hunt.
Their visit meant an untold distribution of wealth among the tribe, for
they brought needles, knives, axes, guns, ammunition, and in return
secured a fortune in furs and ivory tusks. They also doled out tea,
biscuits, matches, tobacco, thread, and gaudy handkerchiefs beloved by
the women. Their coming had not been expected this season because of
the dearth of game.
The men in the boats shouted to one another joyously. Only Ootah felt
a heavy sinking at his heart. He saw the big blond-bearded men
chucking the little women under their chins. Their method of kissing
was strange and repugnant to him. Accustomed only to the chaste
touching of a maiden's face, the kiss of the white men he instinctively
regarded as unnameably unclean. He resented their freedom with the
women. But, children of the heart and brain, primitive, innocent, the
women did not understand the white men's strange behavior. And the
husbands, not comprehending, did not care. A gun, ammunition, a few
boxes of matches--these constituted wealth in value exceeding a wife.
Now and then Ootah saw some of the visitors raising flasks to their
lips. Then their hilarity rang out more boisterously.
When they saw the kayaks approaching the shore the strangers shouted.
The hunters replied. Only Ootah remained silent. Disapproving of the
spectacle, his thoughts were busier elsewhere; his heart glowed.
"Ho, ho, what there?" some called.
"_Aveq soah_," Maisanguaq replied.
"Jolly for you!" shouted a Newfoundland sailor, whom Ootah recognized
as having been in the region with some sportsmen from far away America
several years before.
As they danced the visitors broke into the fragments of a wild sailor's
chorus.
When they had finished, the Newfoundlander, a tall, tough, red-faced
whaler, drank again from his flask and strode to the shore. His bulky
body reeled unsteadily.
"Come on up--bring 'er in--hurry up! Gawd, but you'r' blazin' slow!"
Ootah and his companions landed. Tugging at the leather lines they
drew the walrus one by one from the water to the ice. In these
monstrous palpitating black bodies were tons of food and fuel. Without
wasting time, they fell to their task and dressed the animals.
Meanwhile sleds were brought from the tents and the masses of steaming
meat and blubber were loaded. While the natives were thus busily
engaged, the half-drunken Newfoundlander strode about uttering great
oaths. The strangers' dogs, attracted by the meat, with shrill howling
descended to the ice and surrounded the sled-loads of blubber. Ootah
seized an oar and beat them away.
"What the hell d'ye mean," the Newfoundlander demanded. "Youh'd beat
our dogs? Eh? Get away, damn youh!" He lifted his fist above Ootah.
His face purpled, Ootah raised his lithe body, his muscles quivered
like drawn rubber. His black eyes flashed proud defiance.
"Youh'd fight me, eh?--youh defy me, youh damn candle-suckin' heathen!"
His hand descended. Beyond, the drum beaters ceased, the dancers
turned--a surprised cry went up.
Ootah drew hack, his face flushed. There was a red spot on his cheek
where the white man's fist had struck. He felt a sense of momentary
terror. The white men's methods of fighting were unfamiliar to the
natives. A blow from the fist is a thing unknown among them. Ootah
drew away--the bullying Newfoundlander followed.
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