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Page 27
During a quiet period between storms, Ootah, venturing from his
shelter, heard a shuffling noise near his igloo. In the northern sky a
creamy light palpitated, and in one of the quick flares he saw a bear
nosing about the village. He called his dogs and they soon surrounded
the animal. Fortunately the incandescent light of the aurora
increased--now and then a ribbon of light, palpitant with every color
of the rainbow, was flung across the sky. Ootah lifted his harpoon
lance--the sky was momentarily flooded with light--he struck. In the
next flare he saw the bear lying on the ice--his lance had pierced the
brute's heart. Attracted by the barking of Ootah's dogs, several
tribesmen soon joined him in dressing the animal. During their task,
one suddenly beckoned silence, and whispered softly:
"The Voice . . . the Voice . . ." And they paused.
A weird whistling sound sang eerily through the skies. The air,
electrified, seemed to snap and crackle. It was the voice that comes
with the aurora.
The knives fell from the natives' hands. The howling of the hungry
dogs was stilled. In hushed awe, in reverence, with vague wondering,
they listened. Ootah was on his knees. An inspired light transfigured
his face. His pulses thrilled. For what they heard was, to them all,
the Voice of the Great Unknown, He whose power is greater than that of
_Perdlugssuaq_, He who made the world, created the Eternal Maiden
_Sukh-eh-nukh_, and placed all the stars in the skies, who, never
coming Himself earthward, instead sends in the aurora His spirits with
messages of hope and encouragement to men, and Whose Voice sometimes,
far, far away, itself comes as the faintly remembered music of long
by-gone dreams preceding birth . . . Yea, it was the Voice . . . the
Voice . . .
And now, out of the black-blue sky, as if released from invisible
hands, great globes of swimming liquid fire floated constantly, and
dispersing into millions of feathery flakes of opal light, melted
softly . . . Along the lower heavens there was a fugitive flickering
of a rich creamy light, as of the reflection of celestial fires far
beyond the horizon.
Speechless, Ootah viewed the flameous wonder, and, although he knew no
prayer, he felt in his soul an instinctive love, a profound awe . . .
In the silent sanctity of that auroral-shot and frigidly glorious
region he seemed to feel the pulsing of an Unseen Presence--a presence
of which he was a part, of which, with a glow, he felt the soul of her
he loved was a part, to which all nature, everything that lives and
breathes, was vitally linked . . . He felt the drawing urge, the
thrilling tingling impetus, as it were, of the terrific currents of
vital spirit force that sweep vastly through the universe, keeping the
earth and all the planets in their orbits . . . He felt, what possibly
the primitive and pure of heart feel most keenly . . . the presence of
the Great Unknown, He who is the fountain source of love, and whose
hands on the sable parchment of the northern skies perchance write, in
irid traceries of fire, mystic messages of hope which none, of all
humanity, during all the centuries, has ever learned entirely to
understand.
Not until the wonder lights were fading did the tribesmen take up the
precious bear meat, and according to Ootah's instructions divide
portions among the community. His arm full of meat, Ootah joyously
entered Annadoah's igloo.
Annadoah, sad and lonely, sat by her lamp. Her igloo was like that of
all the others. Inside, so as to retain the heat and carry off the
water which dripped from the melting dome of snow, there was an
interior tent of seal skin. In a great pan of soapstone was a line of
moss, which absorbed the walrus fat, and served as a wick for the lamp.
This emitted a line of thin, reddish blue flame. Over the light, and
supported by a framework, was a large soapstone pot in which bits of
walrus meat were simmering. By the side of the pot a large piece of
walrus blubber hung over a rod. In the heat of the lamp this slowly
exuded a thick oil which, falling into the pan below and saturating the
moss wick, gave a constant and steady supply of fuel.
Like the other women, Annadoah sat by her lamp day after day. When she
could endure hunger no longer she would eat ravenously of the meagre
food in the pot. Regular meals are unknown in the arctic--a native
abstains from food as long as he can in days of famine, but when he
eats he eats unstintedly.
As Ootah entered the low enclosure Annadoah's eyes lighted.
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