Jack London



   The Master of Mystery

    From Children Of the Frost


    There was complaint in the  village.  The  women  chattered  together  with 
shrill, high-pitched voices. The men were glum and doubtful of aspect, and  the 
very dogs wandered dubiously about, alarmed in vague ways by the unrest of  the
camp, and ready to take to the woods on the first outbreak of trouble. The  air
was filled with suspicion. No man was  sure  of  his  neighbor,  and  each  was 
conscious that he stood in like unsureness with his fellows. Even the  children
were oppressed and solemn, and lime Di Ya,  the  cause  of  it  all,  had  been 
soundly thrashed, first by Hooniah, his mother, and then by his  father,  Bawn,
and was now whimpering and looking pessimistically out upon the world from  the
shelter of the big overturned canoe on the beach.
    And to make the matter worse, Scundoo, the shaman, was in disgrace, and his
known magic could not be called upon  to  seek  out  the  evil-doer.  Forsooth, 
a month gone, he had promised a fair south wind so that the tribe might journey
to the potlatch at Tonkin, where Taku Jim was giving away the savings of twenty 
years; and when the day came, lo, a grievous north wind blew, and of the  first 
three canoes to venture forth, one was swamped in the big seas,  and  two  were 
pounded to pieces on the rocks, and a child was  drowned.  He  had  pulled  the 
string of the wrong bag, he explained, - a mistake. But the people  refused  to 
listen; the offerings of meat and fish and fur ceased to come to his door;  and 
he sulked within - so they thought,  fasting  in  biker  penance;  in  reality, 
eating  generously  from  his  well - stored  cache  and  meditating  upon  the 
fickleness of the mob.
    The blankets of Hooniah were missing. They  were  good  blankets,  of  most
marvellous thickness and warmth, and her pride in them was  greatened  in  that
they had been come by so cheaply. Ty-Kwan, of the next  village  but  one,  was 
a fool to have so easily parted with them. But then, she did not know they were
the blankets of the murdered Englishman, because of whose take-off  the  United
States cutter nosed along the coast for a time, while its launches  puffed  and
snorted among the secret inlets. And not knowing that Ty-Kwan had  disposed  of
them in haste so that his own people might not have to render  account  to  the
Government, Hooniah's pride was unshaken. And because the women envied her, her 
pride was without end and boundless, till it filled  the  village  and  spilled 
over along the Alaskan shore from Dutch Harbor to  St. Mary's.  Her  totem  had 
become justly celebrated, and her name known on the lips of  men  wherever  men 
fished and feasted, what of the blankets and  their  marvellous  thickness  and 
warmth. It was a most mysterious happening, the manner of their going.
    "I but stretched them up in the sun by the sidewall of the house,"  Hooniah
disclaimed for the thousandth time to her Thlinget sisters.  "I  but  stretched
them up and turned my back; for Di Ya, dough-thief and eater of raw flour  that
he is, with head into the big iron pot, overturned and stuck  there,  his  legs
waving like the branches of a forest tree in the wind. And I did but  drag  him
out and twice knock his head against the  door  for  riper  understanding,  and
behold, the blankets were not!"
    "The blankets were not!" the women repeated in awed whispers.
    "A great loss," one added. A second, "Never were there such blankets."  And 
a third, "We be sorry, Hooniah, for thy loss." Yet each woman of them was  glad
in her heart that the odious, dissension - breeding blankets were gone.
    "I but stretched them up in the sun," Hooniah began for  the  thousand  and 
first time.
    "Yea, yea," Bawn spoke up, wearied. "But  there  were  no  gossips  in  the 
village from other  places.  Wherefore  it  be  plain  that  some  of  our  own 
tribespeople have laid unlawful hand upon the blankets."
    "How can that be, O Bawn?" the  women  chorused  indignantly.  "Who  should 
there be?"
    "Then has there been witchcraft," Bawn continued stolidly enough, though he
stole a sly glance at their faces.
    "Witchcraft!" And at the dread word their voices  hushed  and  each  looked
fearfully at each.
    "Ay," Hooniah affirmed, the latent malignancy of her nature flashing into a
moment's exultation. "And  word  has  been  sent  to  Klok-No-Ton,  and  strong 
paddles. Truly shall he be here with the afternoon tide."
    The little groups broke up, and fear descended upon  the  village.  Of  all
misfortune, witchcraft was the most appalling. With the intangible  and  unseen
things only the shamans could cope, and neither man,  woman,  nor  child  could
know, until the moment of ordeal, whether devils possessed their souls or  not.
And of all shamans, Klok-No-Ton, who dwelt in the next village,  was  the  most
terrible. None found more evil spirits than he, none visited his  victims  with
more frightful tortures. Even had he found, once, a devil residing  within  the
body of a three-months babe - a most obstinate devil which could only be driven
out when the babe had lain for a week on thorns and Driers. The body was thrown 
into the sea after that, but the waves  tossed  it  back  again  and  again  as 
a curse upon the village, nor did it finally go away till two strong  men  were 
staked out at low tide and drowned.
    And Hooniah had sent for this Klok-No-Ton. Better had it been  if  Scundoo,
their own shaman, were undisgraced. For he had ever a gentler way, and  he  had
been known to drive forth two devils from  a  man  who  afterward  begat  seven
healthy children. But Klok-No-Ton!  They  shuddered  with  dire  foreboding  at
thought of him, and each one felt himself the  centre  of  accusing  eyes,  and
looked accusingly upon his fellows - each one and all, save Sime, and Sime  was 
a scoffer whose evil end was destined with a certitude his successes could  not
shake.
    "Hoh! Hoh!" he laughed. "Devils and  Klok-No-Ton! - than  whom  no  greater 
devil can be found in Thlinket Land."
    "Thou fool! Even now he cometh with witcheries and sorceries; so beware thy
tongue, lest evil befall thee and thy days be short in the land!"
    So spoke La-lah, otherwise the Cheater, and Sime laughed scornfully.
    "I am Sime, unused to fear, unafraid of the dark. I am a strong man, as  my
father before me, and my head is clear. Nor you nor I have seen with  our  eyes
the unseen evil things -"
    "But Scundoo hash," La-lah made answer. "And likewise Klok-No-Ton. This  we
know."
    "How cost thou know, son of a fool?" Sime  thundered,  the  choleric  blood
darkening his thick bull neck.
    "By the word of their mouths - even so."
    Sime snorted. "A shaman is only a man. May not his words be  crooked,  even 
as shine and mine? Bah! Bah! And once more, bah! And this for thy  shamans  and 
thy shamans' devils! and this! and this!"
    And snapping his fingers  to  right  and  left,  Sime  strode  through  the 
on-lookers, who made overzealous and fearsome way for him.
    "A good fisher and strong hunter, but an evil man," said one.
    "Yet does he flourish," speculated another.
    "Wherefore be thou evil and flourish," Sime  retorted  over  his  shoulder. 
"And were all evil, there would be no need  for  shamans.  Bah!  You  children-
afraid-of-the-dark!"
    And when Klok-No-Ton arrived on the afternoon tide,  Sime's  defiant  laugh 
was unabated; nor did he forbear to make a joke when the shaman tripped on  the
sand in the landing. Klok-No-Ton looked at him  sourly,  and  without  greeting
stalked straight through their midst to the house of Scundoo.
    Of the meeting with Scundoo none of the tribespeople might know,  for  they
clustered reverently in the distance and spoke in whispers  while  the  masters
of mystery were together.
    "Greeting, O Scundoo!" Klok-No-Ton rumbled, wavering perceptibly from doubt 
of his reception.
    He was a giant in stature, and  towered  massively  above  little  Scundoo, 
whose thin voice floated upward like the faint far rasping of a cricket.
    "Greeting, Klok-No-Ton," he returned. "The day is fair with thy coming."
    "Yet it would seem..." Klok-No-Ton hesitated.
    "Yea, yea," the little shaman put in impatiently, "that I  have  fallen  on 
ill days, else would I not stand in gratitude to you in that you do my work."
    "It grieves me, friend Scundoo..."
    "Nay, I am made glad, Klok-No-Ton."
    "But will I give thee half of that which be given me."
    "Not so, good Klok-No-Ton," murmured Scundoo, with a  deprecatory  wave  of 
the hand. "It is I who am thy slave, and my days shall be filled with desire to
befriend thee."
    "As I -"
    "As thou now befriendest me."
    "That being so, it is then a bad business,  these  blankets  of  the  woman
Hooniah?"
    The big shaman blundered tentatively  in  his  quest,  and  Scundoo  smiled 
a wan, gray smile, for he was used to reading men,  and  all  men  seemed  very 
small to him.
    "Ever hast thou dealt in strong medicine," he said.  "Doubtless  the  evil-
doer will be briefly known to thee."
    "Ay, briefly known when I set eyes upon him." Again Klok-No-Ton  hesitated.
"Have there been gossips from other places?" he asked.
    Scundoo shook his head. "Behold! Is this not a most excellent mucluc?"
    He held up the foot-covering of sealskin and walrus hide, and  his  visitor
examined it with secret interest.
    "It did come to me by a close-driven bargain."
    Klok-No-Ton nodded attentively.
    "I got it from the man La-lah. He is  a  remarkable  man,  and  often  have 
I thought..."
    "So?" Klok-No-Ton ventured impatiently.
    "Often have I thought," Scundoo concluded, his voice falling as he came  to 
a full pause. "It is a fair day, and thy medicine be strong, Klok-No-Ton."
    Klok-No-Ton's face brightened. "Thou art a great man, Scundoo, a shaman  of
shamans. I go now. I shall remember thee always. And the  man  La-lah,  as  you 
say, is a remarkable man."
    Scundoo smiled yet more wan and gray, closed the door on the heels  of  his
departing visitor, and barred and double-barred it.
    Sime was mending his canoe when Klok-No-Ton came down  the  beach,  and  he 
broke off from his work only long enough to ostentatiously load his  rifle  and 
place it near him.
    The shaman noted the action and  called  out:  "Let  all  the  people  come 
together on this spot! It is the word of Klok-No-Ton, devil- seeker and  driver 
of devils!"
    He had been minded  to  assemble  them  at  Hooniah's  house,  but  it  was 
necessary that all should be present, and he was doubtful of  Sime's  obedience 
and did not wish trouble. Sime was a good man to let alone, his  judgment  ran, 
and withal, a bad one for the health of any shaman.
    "Let  the  woman  Hooniah  be  brought,"  Klok-No-Ton  commanded,   glaring 
ferociously about the circle and sending chills up and down the spines of those 
he looked upon.
    Hooniah waddled forward, head bent and gaze averted.
    "Where be thy blankets?"
    "I but stretched them up in the  sun,  and  behold,  they  were  not!"  she 
whined. 
    "So?"
    "It was because of Di Ya."
    "So?"
    "Him have I beaten sore, and he shall yet be beaten, for  that  he  brought
trouble upon us who be poor people."
    "The blankets!" Klok-No-Ton bellowed hoarsely,  foreseeing  her  desire  to 
lower the price to be paid. "The blankets, woman! Thy wealth is known."
    "I but stretched them up in the sun," she sniffled, "and we be poor  people 
and have nothing."
    He stiffened suddenly, with a hideous distortion of the face,  and  Hooniah
shrank back. But so swiftly did he spring forward, with inturned  eyeballs  and
loosened jaw, that she stumbled and fell down grovelling at his feet. He  waved
his arms about, wildly flagellating the air, his body writhing and twisting  in
torment. An epilepsy seemed to come upon him. A white froth flecked  his  lips,
and his body was convulsed with shiverings and tremblings.
    The women broke into a wailing  chant,  swaying  backward  and  forward  in
abandonment, while one by one the men succumbed to  the  excitement  till  only
Sime remained. He, perched upon his  canoe,  looked  on  in  mockery;  yet  the
ancestors whose seed he bore  pressed  heavily  upon  him,  and  he  swore  his
strongest oaths that his courage might be cheered. Klok-No-Ton was horrible  to
behold. He had cast off his blanket and torn his clothes from him, so  that  he
was quite naked, save for a girdle of eagle-claws about his  thighs.  Shrieking
and yelling, his long black hair  flying  like  a  blot  of  night,  he  leaped
frantically about the circle. A certain rude rhythm characterized  his  frenzy,
and when all were under its sway, swinging their bodies in accord with his  and
venting their cries in unison, he sat bolt upright, with arm  outstretched  and
long, talon-like finger extended. A low moaning, as of the dead, greeted  this,
and the people cowered with shaking knees  as  the  dread  finger  passed  them 
slowly by. For death went with it, and life remained with those who watched  it
go; and being rejected, they watched with eager intentness.
    Finally, with a tremendous cry, the fateful finger rested upon  La-lah.  He
shook like an aspen, seeing himself already dead, his household goods  divided,
and his widow married to his brother. He strove to  speak,  to  deny,  but  his
tongue clove to his mouth and his throat was sanded with an intolerable thirst. 
Klok-No-Ton seemed to half swoon away, now that  his  work  was  done;  but  he 
waited, with closed eyes, listening for the  great  blood-cry  to  go  up - the 
great blood-cry, familiar to his ear from a  thousand  conjurations,  when  the
tribespeople flung themselves like wolves upon the trembling victim.  But  only
was there silence, then a low tittering,  from  nowhere  in  particular,  which
spread and spread until a vast laughter welled up to the sky.
    "Wherefore?" he cried.
    "Na! Na!" the people laughed. "Thy medicine be ill, O Klok-No- Ton!"
    "It be known to all," La-lah stuttered. "For eight weary months have I been
gone afar with the Siwash sealers, and but this day am I come back to find  the
blankets of Hooniah gone ere I came!"
    "It be true!" they cried with one accord. "The  blankets  of  Hooniah  were 
gone ere he came!"
    "And thou shalt be paid nothing for thy medicine which  is  of  no  avail,"
announced Hooniah, on  her  feet  once  more  and  smarting  from  a  sense  of
ridiculousness.
    But Klok-No-Ton saw only the face of Scundoo and its wan, gray smile, heard
only the faint far cricket's rasping. "I got it from the man La-lah, and  often
have I thought," and, "It is a fair day and thy medicine be strong."
    He brushed by Hooniah, and the circle instinctively gave  way  for  him  to 
pass. Sime flung a jeer from the top of the canoe, the women snickered  in  his 
face, cries of derision rose in his wake,  but  he  took  no  notice,  pressing 
onward to the house of Scundoo. He hammered on  the  door,  beat  it  with  his 
fists, and howled vile imprecations. Yet there was no response,  save  that  in 
the lulls Scundoo's voice rose eerily in incantation. Klok-No-Ton  raged  about 
like a madman, but when he attempted to break in the door with  a  huge  stone, 
murmurs arose from the men and women. And he, Klok-No-Ton, knew that  he  stood 
shorn of his strength and authority before an alien people. He saw a man  stoop 
for a stone, and a second, and a bodily fear ran through him.
    "Harm not Scundoo, who is a master!" a woman cried out.
    "Better you return to your own village," a man advised menacingly.
    Klok-No-Ton turned on his heel and went  down  among  them  to  the  beach, 
a bitter rage at his heart, and  in  his  head  a  just  apprehension  for  his 
defenceless back. But no stones were cast. The children swarmed mockingly about 
his feet, and the air was wild with laughter and derision, but  that  was  all. 
Yet he did not breathe freely until the canoe was well out upon the water, when 
he rose up and laid a futile  curse  upon  the  village  and  its  people,  not 
forgetting to particularly specify Scundoo who had made a mock of him.
    Ashore there was a clamor for Scundoo, and the whole population crowded his
door, entreating and imploring in confused babel till he came forth and  raised
his hand.
    "In that ye are my children I pardon freely," he said.  "But  never  again. 
For the last time thy foolishness goes unpunished. That which ye wish shall  be
granted, and it be already known to me. This night,  when  the  moon  has  gone
behind the world to look upon the mighty dead, let all the people gather in the 
blackness before the house of Hooniah. Then shall the evil-doer stand forth and 
take his merited reward. I have spoken."
    "It shall be death!" Bawn vociferated, "for that it hath brought worry upon
us, and shame."
    "So be it," Scundoo replied, and shut his door.
    "Now shall all be made clear and plain,  and  content  rest  upon  us  once 
again," La-lah declaimed oracularly.
    "Because of Scundoo, the little man," Sime sneered.
    "Because of the medicine of Scundoo, the little man," La-lah corrected.
    "Children of foolishness, these Thlinket  people!"  Sime  smote  his  thigh 
a resounding blow. "It passeth understanding that grown women  and  strong  men
should get down in the dirt to dream-things and wonder tales."
    "I am a travelled man," La-lah answered. "I have journeyed on the deep seas
and seen signs and wonders, and I know that these things be so. I am La-lah -"
    "The Cheater -"
    "So called, but the Far-Journeyer right-named."
    "I am not so great a traveller -" Sime began.
    "Then hold thy tongue," Bawn cut in, and they separated in anger.
    When the last silver moonlight had vanished beyond the world, Scundoo  came
among the people huddled about the house of Hooniah. He walked  with  a  quick,
alert step, and those who saw him in the light of Hooniah's slush-lamp  noticed
that he came empty- handed, without rattles, masks, or shaman's  paraphernalia,
save for a great sleepy raven carried under one arm.
    "Is there wood gathered for a fire, so that all may see when  the  work  be
done?" he demanded.
    "Yea," Bawn answered. "There be wood in plenty."
    "Then let all listen, for my words be few. With me have I  brought  Jelchs, 
the Raven, diviner of mystery and seer of things. Him, in his blackness,  shall 
I place under the big black pot of Hooniah,  in  the  blackest  corner  of  her 
house. The slush-lamp shall cease to burn, and all remain in outer darkness. It 
is very simple. One by one shall ye go into the house, lay hand  upon  the  pot 
for the space of one long intake of the breath, and withdraw  again.  Doubtless 
Jelchs will make outcry when the hand of the evil-doer  is  nigh  him.  Or  who 
knows but otherwise he may manifest his wisdom. Are ye ready?"
    "We be ready," came the multi-voiced response.
    "Then will I call the name aloud, each in his turn and hers, till  all  are
called."
    Thereat La-lah was first chosen, and  he  passed  in  at  once.  Every  ear 
strained, and through the silence they could hear his footsteps creaking across 
the rickety floor. But that was all. Jelchs made no outcry, gave no sign.  Bawn 
was next chosen, for it well might be that a man should steal his own  blankets
with intent to cast shame upon his neighbors. Hooniah followed, and other women 
and children, but without result.
    "Sime!" Scundoo called out.
    "Sime!" he repeated.
    But Sime did not stir.
    "Art thou afraid of the dark?" La-lah,  his  own  integrity  being  proved,
demanded fiercely.
    Sime chuckled. "I laugh at it all, for it is a great foolishness. Yet  will 
I go in, not in belief in wonders, but in token that I am unafraid."
    And he passed in boldly, and came out still mocking.
    "Some day  shalt  thou  die  with  great  suddenness,"  La-lah   whispered, 
righteously indignant.
    "I doubt not," the scoffer answered airily. "Few men of us die in our beds,
what of the shamans and the deep sea."
    When half the villagers had safely undergone the  ordeal,  the  excitement,
because of its repression, was painfully  intense.  When  two-thirds  had  gone
through, a young woman, close on her first child-bed, broke down and in nervous 
shrieks and laughter gave form to her terror.
    Finally the turn came for the last  of  all  to  go  in,  and  nothing  had 
happened. And Di Ya was the last of all. It must surely be he. Hooniah let  out 
a lament to the stars, while the rest drew back from the luckless lad.  He  was 
half-dead from fright, and his legs gave under him so that he staggered on  the 
threshold and nearly fell. Scundoo shoved him  in-side  and  closed  the  door. 
A long time went by, during which could be heard only the boy's weeping.  Then, 
very slowly, came the creak of his steps to the far corner, a  pause,  and  the
creaking of his return.  The  door  opened  and  he  came  forth.  Nothing  had 
happened, and he was the last.
    "Let the fire be lighted," Scundoo commanded.
    The bright flames rushed upward, revealing faces yet marked with  vanishing
fear, but also clouded with doubt.
    "Surely the thing has failed," Hooniah whispered hoarsely.
    "Yea," Bawn answered complacently. "Scundoo groweth old, and  we  stand  in 
need of a new shaman."
    "Where now is the wisdom of Jelchs?" Sime snickered in La-lah's ear.
    La-lah brushed his brow in a puzzled manner and said nothing.
    Sime threw his chest out arrogantly and strutted up to the  little  shaman.
"Hoh! Hoh! As I said, nothing has come of it!"
    "So it would seem, so it would seem,"  Scundoo  answered  meekly.  "And  it 
would seem strange to those unskilled in the affairs of mystery."
    "As thou?" Sime queried audaciously.
    "Mayhap even as I." Scundoo  spoke  quite  softly,  his  eyelids  drooping, 
slowly drooping, down, down, till his eyes were all but hidden. "So I am minded 
of another test. Let every man, woman, and child, now and at once,  hold  their
hands well up above their heads!"
    So unexpected was the order, and so imperatively was it given, that it  was
obeyed without question. Every hand was in the air.
    "Let each look on the other's hands, and let all look," Scundoo  commanded,
"so that -"
    But a noise of laughter, which was more of wrath, drowned  his  voice.  All 
eyes had come to rest upon Sime. Every hand but his was black  with  soot,  and 
his was guiltless of the smirch of Hooniah's pot.
    A stone hurtled through the air and struck him on the cheek.
    "It is a lie!" he yelled. "A lie! I know naught of Hooniah's blankets!"
    A second stone gashed his brow, a third whistled past his head,  the  great
blood-cry went up, and  everywhere  were  people  groping  on  the  ground  for 
missiles. He staggered and half sank down.
    "It was a joke! Only a joke!" he shrieked. "I but took them for a joke!"
    "Where hast thou hidden them?" Scundoo's shrill, sharp  voice  cut  through 
the tumult like a knife. "In the large skin-bale in my house, the one slung  by 
the ridge-pole," came the answer. "But it was a joke, I say, only -"
    Scundoo nodded his head, and the air went thick with flying stones.  Sime's
wife was crying silently, her head upon her knees; but  his  little  boy,  with
shrieks and laughter, was flinging stones with the rest.
    Hooniah came waddling back with the precious blankets. Scundoo stopped her.
    "We be poor people and have little," she whimpered. "So be  not  hard  upon 
us, O Scundoo."
    The people ceased from the  quivering  stone-pile  they  had  builded,  and 
looked on.
    "Nay, it was never my way, good Hooniah," Scundoo made answer, reaching for
the blankets. "In token that I am not hard, these only shall I take."
    "Am I not wise, my children?" he demanded.
    "Thou art indeed wise, O Scundoo!" they cried in one voice.
    And he went away into the darkness, the blankets  around  him,  and  Jelchs
nodding sleepily under his arm.

    1902

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