A WALRUS-HUNT IN THE ARCTIC.
By David Gove.
A graphic account, illustrated by some very striking photographs, describing an expedition in quest of walrus amid the ice-packs of the Alaskan coast. "So far as I know," writes the author, "these are the only snap-shots of the walrus in existence."
The scene was the beach at Nome, Alaska, on an unusually warm day towards the close of the winter of 1907. The ice had loosened its grip upon the shore, and was drifting lazily in the roadstead; the sudden spell of warm weather made it appear old, dirty, and rotten. I was looking out over the broken pack, when suddenly I caught sight of a black speck about five miles to the south-west. Noting that the keeper of the life-saving station had his glasses to his eyes observing the object, I inquired: "Is that a boat from the outside?"
"No," he replied; "it is the gasoline schooner Witch. Some people have been out in her for a walrus-hunt."
I made haste to the mouth of the river to meet the party, and see what the fruits of this unique expedition had been. The boat tied up to a large cake of ice that lay aground in the mouth of the river. The first man to come ashore I recognised as Mr. B.B. Dobbs, of the Nome Moving Picture Company, and he appeared to be in a very bad temper.
"Good morning, Dobbs," said I. "Have you seen any walrus?"
"No, we have not seen any walrus," he growled, "although we have been looking for them for twenty-four hours. We got thirty miles beyond the shore-ice when a gale sprang up, and the little boat became so lively that I have had a dickens of a time trying to keep my inside in. Here, take my camera and come with me to get some refreshments."
When he had in a measure recovered himself Dobbs continued the conversation. "Now, listen to me," he said. "I must have a cinematograph picture of the walrus. You are a better sailor than I am, so I want you to take the picture for me."
"Yes," I replied; "but how about finding the walrus?"
"Why, just go and hunt for them; I will pay you well for it. The boat is chartered, and you can sail this evening."
The thirst of the wild was on me, so I determined to add walrus-hunting to my list of Arctic adventures, particularly as I could combine business with pleasure. I thought that if we could locate the animals it would be a sight never to be forgotten, and would also be a splendid ending to the monotony of an Arctic winter.
That evening seven Eskimos piled their guns and spears into the boat, and everything was in readiness to start, but we needed a skipper to command the vessel. Accordingly I hurried up the beach to find some old salt to take charge, but the camp was deserted. Scarcely a man was to be seen in the streets; everybody was busy shovelling gravel into the sluice-boxes, for this was the season of harvesting gold in Alaska. Out on the creeks and along the ancient pay-streaks men were digging for gold; the only males left in the town were a few store-keepers, bar-keepers, and a pack of well-fed lawyers. I had bethought myself of Dick Byers, an old sea-rover in the Arctic, and I found him sitting in a wheelbarrow near the Breakers Saloon, his head pillowed upon his knees, dozing. "Halloa, Dick, do you want work?" I asked. "I want you to go on a walrus-hunt with me, and I will give you twenty-five dollars for twenty-four hours of your service."
THE AUTHOR, MR. D. GOVE, IN ARCTIC COSTUME.
From a Photograph.
He accepted my offer, and I got him aboard the boat dressed in his sealskin breeches and deerskin "parka." The ice had no terrors for this man: he had sailed the Arctic in whale-ships and with exploring expeditions until he believed cruising amongst the floes to be an ideal occupation.
We were soon out over the bar, though some little difficulty was experienced in getting past the large floes of shore ice that were floating in the roadstead. We did not unfurl the sails, for the atmosphere was still, the water being smooth and glassy in appearance; but the little boat was well engined, and cut along swiftly until the shore and the bald mountain-tops sank beyond the range of vision. It was now ten-thirty, and the sun was setting in streaky clouds. I felt restless, and thought a few hours of sleep might refresh me for the morrow. There seemed nothing to keep me on deck; Jim Flynn, the engineer, was gesticulating to one of the Eskimos, discussing the direction in which to look for walrus, while others were cleaning rifles, repairing harpoons, and chattering in their weird jargon. I crawled down into the hold, rolled myself into a piece of canvas, and bade the world good-night.
The next thing I knew was Flynn dragging me out from beneath the canvas. Arrived on deck, I saw some black specks on the ice. "They're walrus, right enough," said Flynn; "I can see their two white teeth hanging down." Closer and closer we got, until the creatures were plainly discernible and their discordant groaning and bellowing filled the air. The noise was like a thousand cattle, but the lowing was deeper and in a lower key.
I stood there spellbound, for such a panorama of uncouth animals, lying in compact masses as far as the eye could see, I had never beheld before. They presented a curious sight, their breath exhausting from their nostrils in clouds of steam, and they appeared to take little or no notice of the approaching boat. It was now the midnight twilight; on the northern horizon the rays from both the setting and the rising sun were strangely intermingled. With the boat still moving gently ahead, the skipper became so enraptured with the sight that he let the Witch bump into a piece of ice with such force that she started a seam in the starboard side and soon began to leak, though not seriously. Meanwhile the old Eskimo leader was strutting along the deck puffing at his big brass pipe as a solace for his growing excitement. Presently he ordered the oomiak (skin boat) to be brought alongside and the hunting paraphernalia to be placed therein.
The Eskimos, sitting in the boat ready for the fray, whined like so many coyotes, levelling their guns and trying their sights, while they waited in anxious expectancy for the word to start. The sun was rising under a black cloud, and there was not yet enough actinic light for me to take my photographs. While we waited the natives grew angry with me for not commencing the attack, but still I delayed.
Dick put the binocular to his eyes and scanned each herd in turn, the animals lying upon the ice in solid masses.
"There's not a female in the bunch," he announced. "Just a lot of love-sick bulls drifting towards the Arctic."
"Why don't they live with the females and help to look after the young?" asked Flynn.
"They are not like the polygamous seal, with his harem of twelve to fifteen wives," said the skipper, who was a surprisingly well-spoken man. "The walrus has one wife a season, with whom he lives upon the ice-floes. Sometimes they go ashore, climbing up the rocks and rolling in the green grass and fresh water; then they go back to the sea again. The young one is born in the month of May or June, upon the ice. Then the females, with the youngsters, separate from the bulls and migrate north until they reach the great permanent ice-pack. Those bulls that you see form the rear-guard of the annual migration."
THE FIRST HERD OF WALRUS SIGHTED—THE ANIMAL WITH UPRAISED HEAD IS THE SENTRY.
From a Photograph.
"What do they use their tusks for?" I inquired.
"They are used for fighting the Polar bear, but their principal use is when they dive down to the bed of the ocean, where they dig up clams and mussels out of the mud; bivalves and sea-urchins form their chief food. Their numbers have been greatly diminished in late years, for nothing can escape the wasteful slaughter of man with his scientific weapons of destruction. The natives, with their primitive weapons, did not do much damage, but modern rifles may cause their extermination. But for their inaccessibility the walrus would have vanished like the buffalo—only his impenetrable haunts save him from extinction."
Presently Dick and I launched the dory, and paddled close to the nearest herd. This afforded me a splendid opportunity to study those denizens of the ice-pack in their native haunts. We crawled over the ice to within thirty feet of where the huge brutes lay, unconscious of our presence.
"Don't make a noise," said Dick. "The one on this side is the sentry—he is on the qui vive, but I do not think he sees us. If he does, he is careless of our proximity."
At this moment one of the walrus began to perform some acrobatic feats in the water. These concluded, he attempted to get up on the ice. He had only one tusk, and using this like a boat-hook, tried to pull his unsymmetrical bulk up on to the floes. But trouble arose immediately. The sentry challenged his right to advance, raising his ponderous body to prepare for combat. His skin was wrinkled in heavy folds, covered with innumerable wounds, and he looked like the veteran of many battles. Roaring hoarsely, until his fat body swelled with exertion and rage, he plunged his tusks into the interloper's face, and forced him to retire.
The sentinel seemed proud of this victory, for he raised himself up and gave a great roar of satisfaction. Then he threw himself down upon his icy bed, rolled over upon his back, and, using his flippers like a dipper, threw the water over his body, as if attending to his morning toilet.
Presently an ice-raft with about twenty walrus on board went drifting slowly past us. The weight of the animals' bodies was so great that the ice was completely submerged, and the walrus looked as if they were lying upon the surface of the water.
THE ESKIMOS ADVANCING UPON THE WALRUS.
From a photograph.
"Unfortunate brutes," said Dick. "This will be a sorry day for you when the sun gets out! But here, my boy"—he turned quickly to me—"it's time you started your game; the light is here."
A FEW OF THE VICTIMS.
From a photograph.
The Eskimos were now coming towards us in their skin boat, paddling with muffled strokes. I put my Kodak in my pocket, got the cinematograph out, and we crawled to the lee side of fifty walrus, where I stole up to within thirty feet of where they lay, looking for all the world like a herd of great swine. Some of them were fighting; the rest lay still, with their heads pillowed upon one another. I arranged my picture machine and wound up the film, recording every movement they made. The six Eskimos then advanced with stealthy pace between me and the walrus. Simultaneously six rifles cracked, and fifty grizzly faces rose up and glared at the intruders. I kept on winding up the film, recording this extraordinary scene. Six more shots, and four of the huge brutes fell dead. The whole herd was now aroused, and never in my life have I seen such a sight. The clumsy animals made for the water, but the bullets flew fast, and presently three more fell, while with many a flop, hitch, and straddle the others wallowed off the ice—the clumsiest living creatures that ever attempted to walk. In the water, however, they were in their element, swimming with the grace and ease of a porpoise. Six mountains of heaving flesh lay upon the ice. One gave a lurch as though trying to roll into the water, but one of the natives fired a bullet into his brain, and a stream of blood from the wound spouted three feet into the air.
"THE WALRUS CAME BACK SLOWLY, TWISTING THEIR NECKS CURIOUSLY, AS IF TRYING TO COURT OUR ACQUAINTANCE."
From a Photograph.
The Eskimos believe in the effect of the human voice upon their prey, and when the walrus rolled into the sea they started grunting a strange guttural sound, "Huk—huk—huk."
While I watched, fascinated, the walrus came back slowly, twisting their rubber-like necks curiously, as if trying to court our acquaintance. Several shots were fired at them, but none hit a vital spot, though the beasts emitted weird sounds as they disappeared beneath the water. They came into view again at the back of the ice-floe, bellowing and roaring; their uncouth noises rang from floe to floe, and from every cake of ice within sight awakened monsters plunged in alarm. The sea became literally alive with them, and we soon became the centre of a herd of at least four hundred walrus, their grizzly heads bobbing up all round us—the long, white tusks gleaming conspicuously against their dark breasts. The ice-world that had been so still was now a roaring commotion of animals, tearing in frenzy through the water, curious and terror-stricken. Their unearthly yells filled the air with trembling echo.
"THE ICE-WORLD THAT HAD BEEN SO STILL WAS NOW A ROARING COMMOTION OF ANIMALS, TEARING IN FRENZY THROUGH THE WATER."
From a Photograph.
When the natives had given thanks to their gods for bringing plenty of walrus, they cut the heads off their prizes (for the ivory) and secured about three tons of the flesh for their families on shore. Then, in the launch, we started for the next herd that lay undisturbed, leaving the first mob to settle down again.
There were twelve walrus lying upon this floe, covering it from rim to rim. My picture-taking and shooting had to be done from the skin boat. I had my Kodak ready, and as the Eskimos leaned over the gunwale of the boat and took aim I "snapped" my pictures just as fast as they could shoot, making my exposures without a moment's hesitation, without the slightest regard for background, foreground, shadows, or anything else. Two of the walrus fell dead upon the ice-floe, and another arose in the water close to the boat, the blood streaming from his head. Two shots were fired, and a spear was launched into his body with a rope attached to keep him from sinking. He was soon pulled alongside, his head cut off, and his body allowed to sink to the bottom of the sea.
A SNAP-SHOT TAKEN FROM THE ESKIMO SKIN-BOAT.
From a Photograph.
Presently the old native leader saw a very large walrus fast asleep; it had wonderfully long tusks, and he set out to dispatch the monster by the primitive method used by his forefathers. He carried a spear about five feet long, with a rope of walrus hide attached to an inflated sealskin. Hanging the rope in a coil around his neck, he crawled upon his stomach with the stealth of a cat, until he got within three feet of where the animal lay. I expected to see him poise and throw the shaft, but instead he rammed it with all his force into the walrus's body. The creature started, turned its head round, and glared at him. Then the enormous mass of flesh arose, and with a few spasmodic jumps made for the water in a hobbling canter. With the spear stuck in his side and his splay feet working like paddles upon the ice, he rolled off the floe like a sack of wool, floundering and plunging wildly. At first he pulled the bladder under the surface of the water, but his great strength soon failed him, and the bladder appeared floating on the water. One of the natives, a boy about fifteen years, was out in the boat watching for him, and when he poked his head above the surface to breathe the lad shot him and hauled him alongside. At this stage of the hunt we all went back to the launch for lunch, and also to give our quarry time to recuperate. The menu consisted of one five-gallon can filled with walrus meat. The natives took large strips of the half-cooked marine beef, and with their hands forced as much of it into their mouths as the opening would contain. Then, with a knife they cut it off close to their lips. Dick was sitting on his haunches picking out the lean pieces and devouring it like a native, and I received a hearty invitation to join them in this Arctic banquet. I did try to eat a morsel, but without success—not only the odour of the meat but the mode of eating was repulsive to my taste. After the meal the slaughter continued until midnight. At dawn the sun arose in a mass of dangerous-looking red clouds; to the south the murky clouds hung low. The ice began to roll uneasily, and was soon pounding against the sides of the vessel. Dick jumped on deck and viewed the angry aspect of the weather.
FIRING AT THE WALRUS ON THE FLOE.
From a Photograph.
SOME OF THE TROPHIES—EIGHTY TUSKS WERE THE RESULT OF THE TRIP.
From a Photograph.
A WALRUS SKULL—THE BRAIN IS LOCATED TWELVE INCHES BACK FROM THE FOREHEAD, AT THE POINT INDICATED BY A CROSS.
From a Photograph.
"We are on the fringe of a south-easter," he exclaimed. "Let's scoot."
He set the course for Nome, all sails were bent to the wind, and the engine throbbed eagerly as the little vessel tore onwards with her port scuppers awash. I looked astern, but the scene of our carnage was already fading in the distance. Faintly I heard the wailing monotones of the walrus leaders calling their scattered herds together, and mourning the loss that had so suddenly befallen them. The wind was moaning through the rigging as we flew before the coming storm, and we left the tenants of the ice-fields slowly flitting north.
Eighty tusks were the result of our trip, together with a splendid moving picture of those strange animals.
We arrived in Snake River just in time to escape the coming storm. Some of the chechacos (newcomers, green-horns) came down to watch us, and gazed in astonishment at the ivory and the few heads which hung over the bow of the boat.
"Are them elephants?" one old gentleman whispered to Dick.
"Yes," said the skipper, gravely—"elephants of the sea." Then he turned and walked back to the Breakers. And so ended our walrus-hunt.