Chapter 7

"Yes," said the stranger. And Atungait let him live, because he spoke the truth.

And after that he flew back to the strong woman and made her his wife.

KUMAGDLAK AND THE LIVING ARROWS

Kumagdlak, men say, lived apart from his fellows. He had a wife, and she was the only living being in the place beside himself.

One day his wife was out looking for stones to build a fireplace, and looking out over the sea, she saw many enemies approaching.

"An umiak and kayaks," she cried to her husband. And he was ill at ease on hearing this, for he lay in the house with a bad leg.

"My arrows--bring my arrows!" he cried. And his wife saw that all his arrows lay there trembling. And that was because their points were made of the shinbones of men. And they trembled because their master was ill at ease.

Kumagdlak had made himself arrows, and feathered them with birds' feathers. He was a great wizard, and by breathing with his own breath upon those arrows he could give them life, and cause them to fly towards his enemies and kill them. And when he himself stood unprotected before the weapons of his enemies, he would grasp the thong of the pouch in which his mother had carried him as a child, and strike out with it, and then all arrows aimed at him would fly wide of their mark.

Now all the enemies hauled up on shore, and the eldest among them cried out:

"Kumagdlak! It is time for you to go out and taste the water in the land of the dead under the earth--or perhaps you will go up into the sky?"

"That fate is more likely to be yours," answered Kumagdlak.

And standing at the entrance to his tent, he aimed at them with his bow. If but the first arrow could be sent whirling over the boats, then he knew that none of them would be able to harm him. He shot his arrow, and it flew over the boats. Then he aimed at the old man who had spoken, and that arrow cut through the string of the old man's bow, and pierced the old man himself. Then he began shooting down the others, his wife handing him the arrows as he shot. The men from the boats shot at him, but all their arrows flew wide. And his enemies grew fewer and fewer, and at last they fled.

And now Kumagdlak took all the bodies down by the shore and plundered them, taking their knives, and when the boats had got well out to sea, he called up a great storm, so that all the others perished.

But the waves washed the bodies this way and that along the coast, until the clothes were worn off them.

Here ends this story.

THE GIANT DOG

There was once a man who had a giant dog. It could swim in the sea, and was so big that it could haul whale and narwhal to shore. The narwhal it would hook on to its side teeth, and swim with them hanging there.

The man who owned it had cut holes in its jaws, and let in thongs through those holes, so that he could make it turn to either side by pulling at the thongs.

And when he and his wife desired to go journeying to any place, they had only to mount on its back.

The man had long wished to have a son, but as none was born to him, he gave his great dog the amulet which his son should have had. This amulet was a knot of hard wood, and the dog was thus made hard to resist the coming of death.

Once the dog ate a man, and then the owner of the dog was forced to leave that place and take land elsewhere. And while he was living in this new place, there came one day a kayak rowing in towards the land, and the man hastened to take up his dog, lest it should eat the stranger. He led it away far up into the hills, and gave it a great bone, that it might have something to gnaw at, and thus be kept busy.

But one day the dog smelt out the stranger, and came down from the hills, and then the man was forced to hide away the stranger and his kayak in a far place, lest the dog should tear them in pieces, for it was very fierce.

Now because the dog was so big and fierce, the man had many enemies. And once a stranger came driving in a sledge with three dogs as big as bears, to kill the giant dog. The man went out to meet that sledge, and the dog followed behind him. The dog pretended to be afraid at first, but then, when the stranger's dog set upon it in attack, it turned against them, and crushed the skulls of all three in its teeth.

After a time, the man noticed that his giant dog would go off, now and again, for long journeys in the hills, and would sometimes return with the leg of an inland-dweller. And now he understood that the dog had made it a custom to attack the inland-dwellers and bring back their legs to its master. He could see that the legs were legs of inland-dwellers, for they wore hairy boots.

And it is from this giant dog that the inland-dwellers got their great fear of all dogs. It would always appear suddenly at the window, and drag them out. But it was a good thing that something happened to frighten the inland-dwellers, for they had themselves an evil custom of carrying off lonely folk, especially women, when they had lost their way in the fog.

And that is all I know about the Giant Dog.

THE INLAND-DWELLERS OF ETAH

There came a sledge driving round to the east of Etah, up into the land, near the great lake. Suddenly the dogs scented something, and dashed off inland over a great plain. Then they checked, and sniffed at the ground. And now it was revealed that they were at the entrance to an inland-dweller's house.

The inland-dwellers screamed aloud with fear when they saw the dogs, and thrust out an old woman, but hurried in themselves to hide. The old woman died of fright when she saw the dogs.

Now the man went in, very ill at ease because he had caused the death of the old woman.

"It is a sad thing," he said, "that I should have caused you to lose that old one."

"It is nothing," answered the inland-dwellers; "her skin was already wrinkled; it does not matter at all."

Then the sledges drove home again, but the inland-dwellers were so terrified that they fled far up into the country.

Since then they have never been seen. The remains of their houses were all that could be found, and when men dug to see if anything else might be there, they found nothing but a single narwhal tusk.

The inland-dwellers are not really dangerous, they are only shy, and very greatly afraid of dogs. There was a woman of the coast-folk, Suagaq, who took a husband from among the inland folk, and when that husband came to visit her brothers, the blood sprang from his eyes at sight of their dogs.

And they train themselves to become swift runners, that they may catch foxes. When an inland-dweller is to become a swift runner, they stuff him into the skin of a ribbon seal, which is filled with worms, leaving only his head free. Then the worms suck all his blood, and this, they say, makes him very light on his feet.

There are still some inland-dwellers left, but they are now gone very far up inland.

THE MAN WHO STABBED HIS WIFE IN THE LEG

There was once a man whose name was Neruvkâq, and his wife was named Navaránâ, and she was of the tunerssuit, the inland-dwellers. She had many brothers, and was herself their only sister. And they lived at Natsivilik, the place where there is a great stone on which men lay out meat.

But Neruvkâq was cruel to his wife; he would stab her in the leg with an awl, and when the point reached her shinbone, she would snivel with pain.

"Do not touch me; I have many brothers," she said to her husband.

And as he did not cease from ill-treating her, she ran away to those brothers at last. And they were of the tunerssuit, the inland-dwellers.

Now all these many brothers moved down to Natsivilik, and when they reached the place, they sprang upon the roof of Neruvkâq's house and began to trample on it. One of them thrust his foot through the roof, and Neruvkâq's brother cut it off at the joint.

"He has cut off my leg," they heard him say. And then he hopped about on one leg until all the blood was gone from him and he died.

But Neruvkâq hastened to put on his tunic, and this was a tunic he had worn as a little child, and it had been made larger from time to time. Also it was covered with pieces of walrus tusk, sewn all about. None could kill him as long as he wore that.

And now he wanted to get out of the house. He put the sealskin coat on his dog, and thrust it out. Those outside thought it was Neruvkâq himself, and stabbed the dog to death.

Neruvkâq came close on the heels of the dog, and jumped up to the great stone that is used to set out meat on. So strongly did he jump that his footmarks are seen on the stone to this day. Then he took his arrows all barbed with walrus tusk, and began shooting his enemies down.

His mother gave him strength by magic means.

Soon there were but few of his enemies left, and these fled away. They fled away to the southward, and fled and fled without stopping until they had gone a great way.

But Navaránâ, who was now afraid of her husband, crept in under the bench and hid herself there. And as she would not come out again, her husband thrust in a great piece of walrus meat, and she chewed and gnawed at it to her heart's content.

"Come out, come out, for I will never hurt you any more," he said. But she had grown so afraid of him that she never came out any more, and so she died where she was at last--the old sneak!

THE SOUL THAT LIVED IN THE BODIES OF ALL BEASTS

There was a man whose name was Avôvang. And of him it is said that nothing could wound him. And he lived at Kangerdlugssuaq.

At that time of the year when it is good to be out, and the days do not close with dark night, and all is nearing the great summer, Avôvang's brother stood one day on the ice near the breathing hole of a seal.

And as he stood there, a sledge came dashing up, and as it reached him, the man who was in it said:

"There will come many sledges to kill your brother."

The brother now ran into the house to tell what he had heard. And then he ran up a steep rocky slope and hid away.

The sledges drove up before the house, and Avôvang went out to meet them, but he took with him the skin of a dog's neck, which had been used to wrap him in when he was a child. And when then the men fell upon him, he simply placed that piece of skin on the ground and stood on it, and all his enemies could not wound him with their weapons, though they stabbed again and again.

At last he spoke, and said mockingly:

"All my body is now like a piece of knotty wood, with the scars of the wounds you gave me, and yet you could not bring about my death."

And as they could not wound him with their stabbing, they dragged him up to the top of a high cliff, thinking to cast him down. But each time they caught hold of him to cast him down, he changed himself into another man who was not their enemy. And at last they were forced to drive away, without having done what they wished.

It is also told of Avôvang, that he once desired to travel to the south, and to the people who lived in the south, to buy wood. This men were wont to do in the old days, but now it is no longer so.

And so they set off, many sledges together, going southward to buy wood. And having done what they wished, they set out for home. On the way, they had made a halt to look for the breathing holes of seal, and while the men had been thus employed, the women had gone on. Avôvang had taken a wife on that journey, from among the people of the south.

And while the men stood there looking for seal holes, all of them felt a great desire to possess Avôvang's wife, and therefore they tried to kill him. Qautaq stabbed him in the eyes, and the others caught hold of him and sent him sliding down through a breathing hole into the sea.

When his wife saw this, she was angry, and taking the wood which they had brought from the south, she broke it all into small pieces. So angry was she at thus being made a widow.

Then she went home, after having spoiled the men's wood. But the sledges drove on.

Suddenly a great seal came up ahead of them, right in their way, where the ice was thin and slippery. And the sledges drove straight at it, but many fell through and were drowned at that hunting. And a little after, they again saw something in their way. It was a fox, and they set off in chase, but driving at furious speed up a mountain of screw-ice, they were dashed down and killed. Only two men escaped, and they made their way onward and told what had come to the rest.

And it was the soul of Avôvang, whom nothing could wound, that had changed, first into a seal and then into a fox, and thus brought about the death of his enemies. And afterwards he made up his mind to let himself be born in the shape of every beast on earth, that he might one day tell his fellow-men the manner of their life.

At one time he was a dog, and lived on meat which he stole from the houses. When he was pressed for food, he would carefully watch the men about the houses, and eat anything they threw away.

But Avôvang soon tired of being a dog, on account of the many beatings which fell to his lot in that life. And so he made up his mind to become a reindeer.

At first he found it far from easy, for he could not keep pace with the other reindeer when they ran.

"How do you stretch your hind legs at a gallop?" he asked one day.

"Kick out towards the farthest edge of the sky," they answered. And he did so, and then he was able to keep pace with them.

But at first he did not know what he should eat, and therefore he asked the others.

"Eat moss and lichen," they said.

And he soon grew fat, with thick suet on his back.

But one day the herd was attacked by a wolf, and all the reindeer dashed out into the sea, and there they met some kayaks in their flight, and one of the men killed Avôvang.

He cut him up, and laid the meat in a cairn of stones. And there he lay, and when the winter came, he longed for the men to come and bring him home. And glad was he one day to hear the stones rattling down, and when they commenced to eat him, and cracked the bones with pieces of rock to get at the marrow, Avôvang escaped and changed himself into a wolf.

And now he lived as a wolf, but here as before he found that he could not keep up with his comrades at a run. And they ate all the food, so that he got none.

"Kick up towards the sky," they told him. And then at once he was able to overtake all the reindeer, and thus get food.

And later he became a walrus, but found himself unable to dive down to the bottom; all he could do was to swim straight ahead through the water.

"Take off as if from the middle of the sky; that is what we do when we dive to the bottom," said the others. And so he swung his hindquarters up to the sky, and down he went to the bottom. And his comrades taught him what to eat; mussels and little white stones.

Once also he was a raven. "The ravens never lack food," he said, "but they often feel cold about the feet."

Thus he lived the life of every beast on earth. And at last he became a seal again. And there he would lie under the ice, watching the men who came to catch him. And being a great wizard, he was able to hide himself away under the nail of a man's big toe.

But one day there came a man out hunting who had cut off the nail of his big toe. And that man harpooned him. Then they hauled him up on the ice and took him home.

Inside the house, they began cutting him up, and when the man cast the mittens to his wife, Avôvang went with them, and crept into the body of the woman. And after a time he was born again, and became once more a man.

PAPIK, WHO KILLED HIS WIFE'S BROTHER

There was once a man whose name was Papik, and it was his custom to go out hunting with his wife's brother, whose name was Ailaq. But whenever those two went out hunting together, it was always Ailaq who came home with seal in tow, while Papik returned empty-handed. And day by day his envy grew.

Then one day it happened that Ailaq did not return at all. And Papik was silent at his home-coming.

At last, late in the evening, that old woman who was Ailaq's mother began to speak.

"You have killed Ailaq."

"No, I did not kill him," answered Papik.

Then the old woman rose up and cried:

"You killed him, and said no word. The day shall yet come when I will eat you alive, for you killed Ailaq, you and no other."

And now the old woman made ready to die, for it was as a ghost she thought to avenge her son. She took her bearskin coverlet over her, and went and sat down on the shore, close to the water, and let the tide come up and cover her.

For a long time after this, Papik did not go out hunting at all, so greatly did he fear the old woman's threat. But at last he ceased to think of the matter, and began to go out hunting as before.

One day two men stood out on the ice by the breathing holes. Papik had chosen his place a little farther off, and stood there alone. And then it came. They heard the snow creaking, with the sound of a cry, and the sound moved towards Papik, and a fog came down over the ice. And soon they heard shouts as of one in a fury, and the screaming of one in fear; the monster had fallen upon Papik, to devour him.

And now they fled in towards land, swerving wide to keep away from what was happening there. On their way, they met sledges with hunters setting out; they threw down their gear, and urged the others to return to their own place at once, lest they also should be slain by fear.

When they reached their village, all gathered together in one house. But soon they heard the monster coming nearer over the ice, and then all hurried to the entrance, and crowding together, grew yet more greatly stricken with fear. And pressing thus against each other, they struggled so hard that one fatherless boy was thrust aside and fell into a tub full of blood. When he got up, the blood poured from his clothes, and wherever they went, the snow was marked with blood.

"Now we are already made food for that monster," they cried, "since that wretched boy marks out the way with a trail of blood."

"Let us kill him, then," said one. But the others took pity on him, and let him live.

And now the evil spirit came in sight out on the ice; they could see the tips of its ears over the hummocks as it crept along. When it came up to the houses, not a dog barked, and none dared try to surround it, for it was not a real bear. But at last an old woman began crying to the dogs:

"See, there is your cousin--bark at him!" And now the dogs were loosed from the magic that bound them, and when the men saw this, they too dashed forward, and harpooned that thing.

But when they came to cut up the bear, they knew its skin for the old woman's coverlet, and its bones were human bones.

And now the sledges drove out to find the gear they had left behind, and they saw that everything was torn to pieces. And when they found Papik, he was cut about in every part. Eyes, nose and mouth and ears were hacked away, and the scalp torn from his head.

Thus that old woman took vengeance for the killing of her son Ailaq.

And so it was our fathers used to tell: when any man killed his fellow without good cause, a monster would come and strike him dead with fear, and leave no part whole in all his body.

The people of old times thought it an ill thing for men to kill each other.

This story I heard from the men who came to us from the far side of the great sea.

PÂTUSSORSSUAQ, WHO KILLED HIS UNCLE

There lived a woman at Kûgkat, and she was very beautiful, and Alátaq was he who had her to wife. And at the same place lived Pâtussorssuaq, and Alátaq was his uncle. He also had a wife, but was yet fonder of his uncle's wife than of his own.

But one day in the spring, Alátaq was going out on a long hunting journey, and made up his mind to take his wife with him. They were standing at the edge of the ice, ready to start, when Pâtussorssuaq came down to them.

"Are you going away?" he asked.

"Yes, both of us," answered Alátaq.

But when Pâtussorssuaq heard thus, he fell upon his uncle and killed him at once, for he could not bear to see the woman go away.

When Pâtussorssuaq's wife saw this, she snatched up her needle and sewing ring, and fled away, following the shadow of the tent, over the hills to the place where her parents lived. She had not even time to put on her skin stockings, and therefore her feet grew sore with treading the hills. On her way up inland she saw people running about with their hoods loose on their heads, as is the manner of the inland folk, but she had no dealings with them, for they fled away.

Then, coming near at last to her own place, she saw an old man, and running up, she found it was her father, who was out in search of birds. And the two went gladly back to his tent.

Now when Pâtussorssuaq had killed his uncle, he at once went up to his own tent, thinking to kill his own wife, for he was already weary of her. But she had fled away.

Inside the tent sat a boy, and Pâtussorssuaq fell upon him, crying:

"Where is she? Where is she gone?"

"I have seen nothing, for I was asleep," cried the boy, speaking falsely because of his great fear. And so Pâtussorssuaq was forced to desist from seeking out his wife.

And now he went down and took Alátaq's wife and lived with her. But after a little time, she died. And thus he had but little joy of the woman he had won by misdeed. And he himself was soon to suffer in another way.

At the beginning of the summer, many people were gathered at Natsivilik, and among them was Pâtussorssuaq. One day a strange thing happened to him, while he was out hunting: a fox snapped at the fringe of his coat, and he, thinking it to be but a common fox, struck out at it, but did not hit. And afterwards it was revealed that this was the soul of dead Alátaq, playing with him a little before killing him outright. For Alátaq's amulet was a fox.

And a little time after, he was bitten to death by the ghost of Alátaq, coming upon him in the shape of a bear. His daughter, who was outside at that time, heard the cries, and went in to tell of what she had heard, but just as she came into the house, behold, she had quite forgotten all that she wished to say. And this was because that vengeful spirit had by magic means called down forgetfulness upon her.

Afterwards she remembered it, but then it was too late. They found Pâtussorssuaq torn to pieces, torn limb from limb; he had tried to defend himself with great pieces of ice, as they could see, but all in vain.

Thus punishment falls upon the man who kills.

THE MEN WHO CHANGED WIVES

There were once two men, Talîlarssuaq and Navssârssuaq, and they changed wives. Talîlarssuaq was a mischievous fellow, who was given to frightening people.

One evening, sitting in the house with the other's wife, whom he had borrowed, he thrust his knife suddenly through the skins of the bench. Then the woman ran away to her husband and said:

"Go in and kill Talîlarssuaq; he is playing very dangerous tricks."

Then Navssârssuaq rose up without a word, and put on his best clothes, and took his knife, and went out. He went straight up to Talîlarssuaq, who was now lying on the bench talking to himself, and pulled him out on the floor and stabbed him.

"You might at least have waited till I had dressed," said Talîlarssuaq. But Navssârssuaq hauled him out through the passage way, cast him on the rubbish heap and went his way, saying nothing.

On the way he met his wife.

"Are you not going to murder me, too?" she asked.

"No," he answered in a deep voice. "For Pualúna is not yet grown big enough to be without you." Pualúna was their youngest son.

But some time after that deed he began to perceive that he was haunted by a spirit.

"There is some invisible thing which now and again catches hold of me," he said to his comrades. And that was the avenging spirit, watching him.