Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Giant of the North: Pokings Round the Pole
The Captain’s usually hopeful expression forsook him for a little as he commented on his bad fortune.
“The season advances, you see,” he said, “and it’s never very long at the best. I had hoped we were done with this troublesome ‘sea of ancient ice,’ but it seems to turn up everywhere, and from past experience we know that the crossing of it is slow work, as well as hard. However, we mustn’t lose heart. ‘Nebber say die,’ as Butterface is fond of remarking.”
“Yis, Massa, nebber say die, but allers say ‘lib, to de top ob your bent.’ Dems my ’pinions w’en dey’s wanted. Also ‘go a-hid.’ Dat’s a grand sent’ment—was borned ’mong de Yankees, an’ I stoled it w’en I left ole Virginny.”
“What says Chingatok?” asked the Captain of the Eskimo, who was still seated with the sketch on his knees in profound meditation.
“Blackbeard has trouble before him,” answered the uncompromising giant, without removing his eyes from the paper. “There,” he said, pointing to the pack, “you have three days’ hard work. After that three days’ easy and swift work. After that no more go on. Must come back.”
“He speaks in riddles, Anders. What does he mean by the three days of hard work coming to an end?”
“I mean,” said Chingatok, “that the ice was loose when I came to this island. It is now closed. The white men must toil, toil, toil—very slow over the ice for three days, then they will come to smooth ice, where the dogs may run for three days. Then they will come to another island, like this one, on the far-off side of which there is no ice—nothing but sea, sea, sea. Our kayaks are gone,” continued the giant, sadly, “we must come back and travel many days before we find things to make new ones.”
While he was speaking, Captain Vane’s face brightened up.
“Are you sure of what you say, Chingatok?”
“Chingatok is sure,” replied the Eskimo quietly.
“Then we’ll conquer our difficulties after all. Come, boys, let’s waste no more time in idle talk, but harness the dogs, and be off at once.”
Of course the party had to travel round the island, for there was neither ice nor snow on it. When the other side was reached the real difficulties of the journey were fully realised. During the whole of that day and the next they were almost continuously engaged in dragging the sledges over masses of ice, some of which rose to thirty feet above the general level. If the reader will try to imagine a very small ant or beetle dragging its property over a newly macadamised road, he will have a faint conception of the nature of the work. To some extent the dogs were a hindrance rather than a help, especially when passing over broken fragments, for they were always tumbling into holes and cracks, out of which they had to be dragged, and were much given to venting their ill-humour on each other, sometimes going in for a free fight, in the course of which they tied their traces into indescribable knots, and drove their Eskimo masters furious. On such occasions the whips—both lash and handle—were applied with unsparing vigour until the creatures were cowed.
Danger, also, as well as toil, was encountered during the journey. On the evening of the second day the sledge driven by Oolichuk diverged a little from the line of march towards what seemed an easier passage over the hummocks. They had just gained the top of an ice-block, which, unknown to the driver, overhung its base. When the dogs reached the edge of the mass, it suddenly gave way. Down went the team with a united howl of despair. Their weight jerked the sledge forward, another mass of the ice gave way, and over went the whole affair. In the fall the lashings broke, and Oolichuk, with several of his kindred, including poor little Oblooria, went down in a shower of skins, packages, bags, and Eskimo cooking utensils.
Fortunately, they dropped on a slope of ice which broke their fall, and, as it were, shunted them all safely, though violently, to the lower level of the pack.
Beyond a few scratches and bruises, no evil resulted from this accident to these hardy natives of the north.
That night they all encamped, as on the previous night, in the midst of the pack, spreading their skins and furs on the flattest ice they could find, and keeping as far from overhanging lumps as possible.
“What does Blackbeard mean by coming here?” asked Chingatok of Anders, as they lay side by side, gazing up at the blue sky awaiting sleep. “We cannot swim over the sea, and we have no boats.”
“I don’t know,” answered the interpreter. “Our chief is a wonderful man. He does things that seem to be all wrong, but they turn out mostly to be all right.”
“Does he ever speak of a Great Spirit?” asked the giant in a solemn tone.
“Not to me,” replied the other, “but I hear him sometimes speaking to his little boy about his God.”
“Then he must know his God,” returned Chingatok. “Has he seen him—spoken to him?”
Anders was a good deal surprised as well as puzzled by the questions put by his new friend. His extremely commonplace mind had never been exercised by such ideas. “I never asked him about that,” he said, “and he never told me. Perhaps he will tell you if you ask him.”
The interpreter turned on his side with a sigh and went to sleep. The giant lay on his back gazing long and steadily with a wistful look at the unbroken vault of sky, whose vast profundity seemed to thrust him mercilessly back. As he gazed, a little cloud, light as a puff of eider-down, and golden as the sun from which its lustre came, floated into the range of his vision. He smiled, for the thought that light may suddenly arise when all around seems blank gave his inquiring spirit rest, and he soon joined the slumbering band who lay upon the ice around him.
According to Chingatok’s prophecy, on the third day the fagged and weary discoverers surmounted their first difficulty, and came upon comparatively smooth ice, the surface of which resembled hard-trodden snow, and was sufficiently free from obstructing lumps to admit of rapid sledge travelling. It was late when they reached it, but as they could now all sit on the sledges and leave the hard work to the dogs, the leader resolved to continue the advance without resting.
“It’s time enough to stop when we’re stopped,” he remarked to Leo, while making preparations to start. “We will sleep at the first obstruction we meet with, if it’s a sufficiently troublesome one. See that the things are well lashed on all the sledges, Alf. Remember that I hold you responsible for lost articles.”
“And what am I responsible for, father?” asked Benjy with a pert look.
“For keeping out of mischief, Ben. That’s the most I can expect of you.”
“You are only a sort of negative blessing to us, you see, Benjy,” said Alf, as he stooped to tighten a rope. “It’s not so much what you do, as what you don’t do, that rejoices us.”
“I’m glad of that,” retorted the boy, arranging himself comfortably on his father’s sledge, “because I won’t do anything at all for some hours to come, which ought to fill you all with perfect felicity. Awake me, Leo, if we chance to upset.”
“Now then, all ready?” cried the Captain. “Off you go, then—clap on all sail!”
Crack went the mighty whips, howl went the dogs, and the sledges were soon skimming over the sea at the rate of ten miles an hour. Of course they did not keep that pace up very long. It became necessary to rest at times, also, to give the dogs a little food. When this latter process had been completed, the teams became so lively that they tried to runaway.
“Let them run,” said the Captain to Leo.
“And help them on,” added Benjy.
Leo took the advice of both, applied the lash, and increased the speed so much that the sledge swung from side to side on the smooth places, sometimes catching on a lump of ice, and all but throwing out its occupants. The Eskimos entered into the spirit of their leaders. They also plied their lashes, and, being more dexterous than Leo, soon converted the journey into a race, in which Chingatok—his giant arm flourishing an appropriately huge whip—was rapidly coming to the front when a tremendous shout in the rear caused them to pull up. Looking back, Alf’s sledge was seen inverted and mixed, as it were, with the team, while Alf himself and his Eskimo friends were sprawling around on the ice. No damage was done to life or limb, but a sledge-runner had been partially broken, and could not be mended,—so said Oolichuk—in less than an hour.
“This, then,” said the Captain, “is our first obstruction, so here we will make our beds for the night.”
Chapter Eleven.
Another Island discovered—The Englishmen and Eskimos alike are Astonished in more Ways than one
As Chingatok had predicted, on the sixth day from Home-in-sight Island the party came to another island, where the great pack abruptly terminated. It was not large, probably ten or twelve miles in length, from the Eskimo account, but the ends of it could not be seen from the spot where they landed. At that point it was only two miles wide, and on the opposite side its shores were laved by an open sea, which was quite free from ice, with the exception of a few scattered floes and bergs—a sea whose waves fell in slow regular cadence on a pebbly beach, and whose horizon was an unbroken line barely distinguishable from the sky.
Close to it a few black rocks showed above the water, around which great numbers of gulls, puffins, and other sea-birds disported themselves in clamorous joy; sometimes flying to the shore as if to have a look at the newcomers, and then sheering off with a scream—it might be a laugh—to tell their comrades what they had seen.
“Here, then, at last, is the open Polar Sea,” said Captain Vane, after the first long silent gaze of joy and admiration. “I have no doubt of it whatever. And now we shall proceed, I hope without interruption, to the Pole!”
“Of course you do not intend that we should swim there, do you, uncle?” said Leo.
“Of course not, my boy. In those big cases, which have cost us so much labour to bring here, I have three large and stout india-rubber boats—”
“Ha! I guessed as much,” exclaimed Alf.
“No doubt,” returned the Captain, “but you did not guess all.”
“I hope not,” said Leo, “for to say truth I don’t much relish the idea of rowing over an unknown sea an unknown distance at the rate of three or four miles an hour. I hope you have a patent steam-engine that will drive us along somewhat faster.”
“No, lad, no, I have no such steam-engine or any other miraculous contrivance that sets the laws of nature at defiance, and appears only in nursery tales. This expedition has been undertaken on no haphazard or insane plan. It was all cut and dry before we left Old England, and it is much simpler than you suppose.”
“What, then, is to be your motive power, if not oars or sails—which last would not work well, I fear, in an india-rubber boat?” asked Leo.
“Kites,” replied the Captain.
“Kites!” repeated both Alf and Leo in surprise.
“Not paper ones, surely,” said Benjy, in a tone of disappointment, not unmingled with contempt.
“No, Ben, not paper ones,” said the Captain, “but you shall see. Let the boxes be unlashed and carried into yonder cave. I’ll unpack them presently. Meanwhile, Anders, I want you to interpret for me. Go, tell Chingatok I wish to have a talk with him.”
While the brothers went to obey their leader’s order, and Benjy to superintend the pitching of the camp, Captain Vane walked along the shore with Anders and the giant.
“Are you sure, Chingatok, that there is no more ice in this sea?” asked the Captain.
“No more great packs; only a little here and there, and a few ice-mountains,” answered the Eskimo.
“And no more islands?”
“No more islands till you come to the land where I and my people dwell. There are more islands beyond that with people on them—people who are not friendly to us.”
“How far off, now, is your land from this island?” continued the Captain, with a grave nod to Leo, who joined them at the moment.
“About three days with a kayak.”
The Captain pondered for a few minutes.
“Leo,” he said, “the observation which I took yesterday enables me to place this island in latitude 86 degrees 40 minutes. I judge that a kayak may travel at the rate of three miles an hour, which, making allowance for sleep and rests, gives the distance of this island from Chingatok’s native land approximately at about 100 miles, so that the home of this giant and his tribe is actually in the near neighbourhood of the Pole itself. If this be so, we may consider that our success, wind, weather, etcetera, permitting, is absolutely certain.”
The Captain spoke in the deep earnest tones of one under the influence of powerful but suppressed enthusiasm.
“Now then, Leo,” he continued, “we will go and take formal possession of this new discovery. What shall we call it? Good Hope is too familiar as a cape.”
“Why not Great Hope?” asked Leo.
“Good! That will do well.”
So Captain Vane took possession of Great Hope Island; having fixed its position in latitude 86 degrees 40 minutes north, and longitude 60 degrees west.
After that he proceeded to open the cases which had so long been objects of interest to his own party, and objects of intense curiosity to the Eskimos, who crowded round the entrance of the shallow cavern with eager looks, while their leader went to work with hammer and chisel on the copper fastenings.
“Wugh! Huk! hi! hosh! ho!” were something like the exclamations uttered by the Eskimos when the lid of the first case flew up and revealed only a mass of brown paper wrappings.
It was interesting to observe the utter self-oblivion of these children of nature! Of course the eyes and mouths of all opened wider and wider while the work went on. We can understand this, for it is characteristic of the simple in all nations, but it was not so easy to understand why shoulders should slowly rise and elbows be slightly bent, and the ten fingers gradually expand like claws. Anxiety might account for the way in which some of them softly lifted one foot and then the other; but why did little Oblooria raise her left foot by imperceptible degrees, and remain poised upon the other as if she were a bird, except on the supposition that she was unconsciously imitating Tekkona, who was doing the same thing?
It was interesting, also, to note the slight substratum of consciousness that displayed itself in Oolichuk, who, while regarding the Captain in glaring expectancy, put his arm, inadvertently as it were, round Oblooria’s waist—also the complete absence of consciousness in the latter, who was so engrossed with the Captain, that she did not appear to feel the touch of Oolichuk! These little peculiarities, however, although extremely interesting, were not observed by any of the actors on that occasion—except, perhaps, by Benjy, who, being sharp-witted, had a knack of seeing round a corner at times!
When the contents of the case were turned out, they proved to consist of several coils of rope, and a large square bundle. The uncording of the latter intensified the expectation of the Eskimo to boiling point, and when the brown paper was removed, and a roll of something with a strange, not to say bad, smell was displayed, they boiled over in a series of exclamations to which the former “huks” and “hos” were mere child’s play. But when the roll was unrolled, and assumed a flat shape not unlike the skin of a huge walrus, they gave a shout. Then, when the Captain, opening a smaller package, displayed a pair of bellows like a concertina, they gave a gasp. When he applied these to a hole in the flat object, and caused it slowly to swell, they uttered a roar, and when, finally, they saw the flat thing transformed into a goodly-sized boat, they absolutely squealed with delight, and began to caper about in childlike joy.
In this manner, three cases were opened, and three boats produced. Then the Magician, who went about his work in perfect silence, with a knowing smile on his lips, opened several longish boxes, which Leo had guessed to be filled with fishing-rods or spare rifles, but which, it turned out, contained oars for the india-rubber boats. After that, the Captain opened another large case, which roused the surprise of his white followers as much as that of the natives.
“It looks like one of mother’s silk dresses,” remarked Benjy, as the new wonder was dragged forth.
“Too voluminous for that,” said Alf.
“A balloon!” exclaimed Leo.
“No, boys, it’s only a kite,” said the Captain, unfolding it. “I confess it does not look very like one, but its appearance will change by and by.”
And its appearance did change remarkably as it was opened out and put together.
The construction of this kite was peculiar. In the first place, it was square in form, or, rather, diamond-shaped, and its size, when fully distended, was eighteen feet by fourteen.
“The simplicity of it, you see,” said the Captain, as he put it together, “is its great recommendation.”
He ceased to speak for a few moments, while engaged with a troublesome joint, and Benjy took advantage of the pause to express a hope that simplicity was not its greatest recommendation, because he had never heard of any one attempting to reach the Pole on the strength of simplicity.
Without noticing this remark, the Captain went on—
“You see it would be troublesome to carry distending sticks of great length, because they would be in the way, and apt to get broken. Each stick, therefore, has a joint in the middle like that of a fishing-rod. There are four such sticks, fastened to, or radiating from, a strong steel central hinge, so that they can be folded together, or opened out into the form of a cross. A small but very strong cross of bamboo fits on the machine, behind the central hinge, and locks it in a distended position, after the silk has been placed on it. Strong cords run round the outer edges of the silk, and there are loops at the corners to attach it to the distenders. Thus, you see, the kite can be put up, or folded into a portable form like an umbrella, though not of course as quickly, nor yet as easily, owing to its great size.”
While he was speaking, the Captain was busily putting the several parts of the kite together.
As he concluded, he laid the machine on its face, locked it with the little bamboo cross, and then held it up in triumph, to the delight of his white observers, and the blank astonishment of the Eskimos. We say blank, because, unlike the boat, the nature of which they understood before it had been quite inflated, this machine was to them an absolute mystery, and seemed to be of no use at all.
Their opinion of it was not improved when a sudden puff of wind blew it flat on the ground, causing the Captain to fall on the top of it.
“It’s a little awkward in handling,” he growled, unlocking the centre-cross. “Hold the points down, lads, till I drag it into the umbrella form. There; it’s all safe now. The truth is, unmanageableness when in hand is the only fault of my kite. Once in the air, it’s as tractable as a lamb; getting it up is the chief difficulty, but that is not too great to be overcome.”
“Besides, you know, nothing’s perfect in this world, father,” said Benjy, with a wink at Butterface, who, having acute risible tendencies, exploded. Some of the Eskimos, whose sympathies were strong, joined in the laugh by way of relief to their feelings.
When the Captain had wound a strap round the closed kite, to restrain its volatile nature, he opened another large case which contained several reels of strong cord, somewhat resembling log-lines, but with this peculiarity, that, alongside of each thick cord there ran a thin red line of twine, connected with though not bound to the other by means of little loops or rings of twine fixed about six feet apart throughout its entire length.
“These are the cords to fly the kites,” said the Captain, taking up one of the reels, which was as large as a man’s hat. “You see I have three sets of silk in that box, and six sets of reels and sticks, besides a few spare pieces of the latter, so that we can afford to suffer a little damage. Now, the use of this peculiar sort of double line will be clear when in action, but I may as well explain it. The end of this stout line is to be made fast to the band which you saw on the kite, and the end of this thin red line to the top of its upright stick. You remember well enough how independent ordinary kites are. You cannot cause them to descend except by hauling them in by main force, and you cannot moderate their pull. This kite of mine is capable of exerting a pull equal to six horses, with a sufficiently strong wind. So, you see, it would be impossible for a dozen men to hold it without some check on its power. This check is supplied by the thin red line, which is made of the strongest silk. By pulling it gently you bend the head of the kite forward, so that it ceases to present a flat surface to the wind, which flies off it more or less at the tail. By pulling still more on the red line, the traction-power is still further reduced, and, with a good pull, the kite can be made to present its head altogether to the wind, and thus to lie flat on it, when, of course, it will descend slowly to the ground, waving from side to side, like a dropped sheet of paper.”
“Are you going to try it, father?” asked Benjy eagerly.
The Captain looked up at the clouds with a critical glance. “There’s hardly enough of wind to-day, boy. Nevertheless we will try.”
In a very short time the kite was again extended, the centre locked, the thick cord fixed to a loop in the band, and the thin cord to the head of the main stick. While this was being done, the corners were held down by Leo, Benjy, Anders, and Butterface.
“How about a tail, father?” asked Benjy, with sudden animation.
“Ha! I forgot the tail. I’ve got several tails. It’s well you reminded me.”
“It is indeed,” responded the boy, “for I remember well that when my kites lost their tails they used to whirl wildly about until they dashed their heads on the ground. This kite would be little better than a mad elephant without its tail!”
A short tail, made of the strongest cat-gut, was now fixed to the lower extremity of the kite. It had a bag at the end, to be weighted with stones as required.
“Now, then, Alf, do you carry the reel away fifty yards or so, and pay out the line as you go. Make a dozen of the Eskimos hold on with you till I come and regulate the pull. I must remain here to set it off.”
Alf did as he was ordered. When he was far enough out, the Captain and Leo raised the aerial monster with caution, grasping it by the shoulders, while Benjy held on to the tail. Their great care was to keep it flat, so that it presented nothing but its thin head to the wind, but this was a difficulty, for it kept fluttering as if anxious to get away, catching a slant of wind underneath now and then, which caused both Leo and the Captain to stagger.
“Don’t hold down the tail, Benjy,” cried the Captain, looking anxiously over his shoulder.
Unfortunately Ben did not hear the “don’t.” Not only did he hold on with increased vigour, but he gave the tail an energetic pull downwards. The result was that the wind got fairly underneath, and the head was jerked upward. Leo, fearing to tear the silk, let go, and the Captain was thrown violently off. Benjy alone stood to his guns—or to his tail—with loyal heroism for a moment, but when he felt himself lifted off the ground a few inches, a feeling of horror seized him. He let go, and came down with a whack.
Free at last, the huge kite shot upwards like a rocket, and a terrible howl from the Eskimo showed that all was not right at their end of the line. The truth was that none of them were impressed with the importance of the duty required of them. The sudden strain jerked the line out of the hands of some, and threw others to the ground, and Alf, who had for greater security taken a turn of the line round his right arm, was dragged forward at full racing speed. Indeed he was beginning to take those tremendous bounds called “giant strides,” which were sure to terminate in his being dragged along the ground.
Captain Vane saw the danger, and was equal to the occasion. There was little time for thought or action. Another moment and Alf would be off the beach into the sea.
“Let go! Alf; let go!” cried Leo, in an agony of alarm.
“No, no! hold on!” shouted the Captain.
Poor Alf could not help holding on. The turns of the line round his arm held him fast.
Another moment, and he was abreast of the Captain who sprang at him as he passed like a leopard on his prey and held on. But the pace was little checked with this additional weight. It was beyond the Captain’s running powers, and both he and Alf would have been thrown violently to the ground had it not happened that they had reached the water, into which they plunged with a tremendous splash. They were dragged through it, however, only for a few seconds, for by that time the Captain had succeeded in getting hold of the red line and pulling it separately. The result was immediate and satisfactory. The head of the kite was thrown forward, acting somewhat as a sail does when a ship is thrown into the wind, and the two unfortunates came to an anchor in four feet of water.
“We must not let it into the water, Alf,” gasped the Captain, clearing the water from his eyes.
“How can we prevent it?” spluttered Alf, shaking the wet hair off his face.
“Ease your fingers a bit. There; hold on.” As he spoke the Captain gave a slight pull on the regulating line. The kite at once caught the wind and soared, giving the two operators an awful tug, which nearly overturned them again.
“Too much,” growled the Captain. “You see it takes some experience to regulate the excitable thing properly. There, now, haul away for the shore.”
By this time they were joined by Leo and Chingatok, who ran into the water and aided them in dragging the refractory machine ashore.
“That’s a vigorous beginning, father,” remarked Benjy as they came to land.
“It is, my boy. Go and fetch me dry clothes while we haul in the kite and make her snug.”
“When do you mean to start?” asked Leo, as he coiled away the slack of the line on the reel.
“The first steady fair wind that blows from the south,” answered the Captain, “but we must have one or two experimental trials of the kites and boats together, before we set out on the real voyage.”
“It’s a capital idea,” returned Leo enthusiastically. “There’s a sort of neck-or-nothing dash about it that quite suits me. But, uncle, what of the Eskimos? The three boats won’t carry the half of them.”
“I know that, lad, and shall get over the difficulty by leaving some of them behind. Chingatok says they are quite able to take care of themselves; can easily regain the Greenland shore, find their canoes, or make new ones, and return to their own land if they choose.”
“But, uncle,” said Alf, who was by no means as reckless as his brother, “don’t you think it’s rather risky to go off into an unknown sea in open boats, for no one knows how long, to go no one knows exactly where?”
“Why, Alf,” returned the Captain with a laugh, “if you were as stupid about your scientific pursuits as you are about geographical affairs, you would not be worth your salt. A sea’s a sea, isn’t it, whether known or unknown, and the laws that affect all seas are pretty much alike. Of course it is risky. So is going on a forlorn hope. So is shooting with a set of fellows who don’t know how to manage their guns. So is getting on a horse, for it may kick you off or run away. So is eating fish, for you may choke yourself. Everything, almost, is more or less risky. You must risk something if you’d discover the North Pole, which has baffled adventurers from the days of Adam till now. And you are wrong in saying that we shall go off for no one knows how long. The distance from this island to the Pole is pretty nearly 200 miles. If our kites carry us along at the rate of ten miles an hour, we shall cover the distance in 20 hours. If we have calms or contrary winds we may take 20 days. If storms come, we have not much to fear, for the weather is warm,—so, too,—is the water. Then, our boats are lifeboats—they cannot sink. As to not knowing where exactly we are going, why, man, we’re going to the North Pole. Everybody knows where that is, and we are going to the home of Chingatok, which cannot be very far from it.”
“There, Alf, I hope you are sufficiently answered,” said Leo, as he undid the locking-gear of the kite, which by that time lay prone on its face, as peaceful as a lamb.
The next three days were spent in flying the other kites, tying them on the boats, acquiring experience, and making preparations for the voyage. It was found that, with a moderate breeze, the kites towed the boats at the rate of ten miles an hour, which was beyond the most sanguine hopes of the Captain. Of course they could not beat to windward with them, but they could sail with a considerable slant, and they prevented the boats, while thus advancing, from making much leeway by means of deep leeboards, such as are used even at the present day by Dutch ships.
“But I can’t understand,” said Benjy, after several trials had been made, “why you should not have fitted sails to the boats, instead of kites.”
“Because a sail only a quarter the size of a kite would upset the boat,” said the Captain, “and one small enough to suit it would be little better than a pair of oars. This kite system is like fitting a gigantic sail to a lilliputian boat, d’ye see?”
“I see, father. But I wish it had been a balloon. It would have been greater fun to have gone to the Pole in a balloon!”
“A balloon will never go there, nor anywhere else, Benjy, except where the wind carries it, for a balloon cannot be steered. It’s impossible in the nature of things—as much so as that dream of the visionary, perpetual motion.”
On the fourth day after their arrival at Great Hope Island the wind blew strong and steady from the south, and the explorers prepared to start. The Eskimos had been told that they were to remain behind and shift for themselves—a piece of news which did not seem to affect them at all, one way or other. Those who were selected to go with the explorers were perfectly willing to do so. Chingatok, of course, was particularly ready. So were his corpulent mother and Tekkona and Oblooria; so also were Oolichuk, Ivitchuk, and Akeetolik.
