The greatest sport was to see the Eskimos attempt to box. The whalemen were always boxing, and after watching the white men for some time, the Eskimos wanted to try their skill. At their antics as they struck blindly at each other, dodged blows, ki-yied and shouted, twisted and turned, and often fell sprawling, the boys and the assembled whalemen roared until they almost choked.
But the Eskimos were apt imitators, they had unlimited perseverance, and gradually several of them began to develop skill in the use of the gloves and before long there were acknowledged champions among them. The sport-loving whalemen matched them up as lightweights, welterweights, and featherweights; for not a native could be found who, by any stretch of imagination, could be classed as a heavyweight. So interested did the crew become that several of the whalemen took to training their favorites; arguments over their respective merits grew heated, and the men bet recklessly on the results of the bouts. They even nicknamed the Eskimos, and Tom and Jim roared until their sides ached as Cap’n Pem would get excited and leaping up would pound his wooden leg on the deck and shout, “Wallop him, Dempsey! That’s a good one!” while Mike, whose favorite was a bull-necked, fat-faced, bow-legged man from Hebron whom he called Sullivan, would shout derogatory remarks about “Dempsey” and would dance wildly about the improvised ring, urging his man to the utmost.
While such things served to pass the time in bad weather and at night, the boys found far more pleasure with their dogs and their Eskimo friends ashore. Day after day they went hunting, always accompanied by Unavik or some other Eskimo. They were woefully disappointed in not finding musk oxen or another bear, but they often secured reindeer; and the pile of fox, wolf and seal skins which they reserved for themselves increased rapidly. The crew, too, went hunting, each man accompanied by an Eskimo, and each week the Narwhal’s cargo increased in value by many hundreds of dollars. Very often also the men had better luck than the boys, and several fine bearskins were brought in which spurred the boys to still greater efforts and longer trips. At last they were rewarded. They had traveled much farther than they had ever been before, following the valley of the river, and had reached a district of low, sharp hills, narrow ravines and small, rock-strewn valleys. Suddenly Unavik, who was with them, halted his dogs, peered intently at the snow, and pointed to a trampled trail leading across the valley.
“Musk ox!” he exclaimed. “Me say him feller near. Mebbe shootum.”
“Gosh, do you think we can?” cried Tom.
“Sure, Mike, mebbe,” replied the Eskimo as he unharnessed his dogs.
Cautioning the boys to be silent, Unavik crept to the top of the nearest ridge and peered about. No living thing was in sight. Then, with eyes on the tracks of the animals, he descended the ridge while the dogs, sniffing and whimpering, strained at their thongs, and the boys, thrilled with excitement, followed at the Eskimo’s heels. Along the little defile the trail led, over another ridge, through another valley, and up a third hill. “Him feller near,” declared Unavik, pointing to bare patches of rock and moss where the animals had scraped away the snow.
Very cautiously the three crawled among the ice-covered bowlders up the hill. The boys could scarcely restrain a cry of delight as they peered between the rocks and saw a dozen big, shaggy beasts pawing in the snow and nuzzling in the moss beneath.
Jim was about to raise his rifle, for the musk oxen were within easy range, when Unavik stopped him with a gesture and rapidly slipped the thongs that bound the dogs together. The next instant the huskies were bounding towards the surprised musk oxen who threw up their heads, armed with huge broad horns, snorted, and with one accord tore off up the valley.