Perhaps we may take the liberty of quoting, with a tribute of admiration, Mr. F. Marion Crawford’s eloquent description of a wild rush of reindeer from the inland country to the shore. We confess to incredulity in regard to the reindeer’s longing to drink of the Polar Sea, but the splendid vividness of the description may excuse some slight inaccuracy.
“In the distant northern plains, a hundred miles from the sea, in the midst of the Laplander’s village, a young reindeer raises his broad muzzle to the north wind, and stares at the limitless distance while a man may count a hundred. He grows restless from that moment, but he is yet alone. The next day a dozen of the herd look up from the cropping of the moss, sniffing the breeze. Then the Laps nod to one another and the camp grows daily more unquiet. At times the whole herd of young deer stand at gaze, as it were, breathing hard through wide nostrils, then jostling each other and stamping the soft ground. They grow unruly, and it is hard to harness them in the light sledge. As the days pass, the Laps watch them more and more closely, well knowing what will happen sooner or later, and then at last, in the northern twilight, the great herd begins to move. The impulse is simultaneous, irresistible, their heads are all turned in one direction. They move slowly at first, biting still, here and there, at the rich moss. Presently the slow step becomes a trot, they crowd closely together, while the Laps hasten to gather up their last unpacked possessions—their cooking utensils and their wooden gods. The great herd break together from a trot to a gallop, from a gallop to a breakneck race, the distant thunder of their united tread reaches the camp during a few minutes, and they are gone to drink of the Polar Sea. The Laps follow after them, dragging painfully their laden sledges in the broad track left by the thousands of galloping beasts—a day’s journey, and they are yet far from the sea, and the trail is yet broad. On the second day it grows narrower, and there are stains of blood to be seen; far on the distant plain before them their sharp eyes distinguish in the direct line a dark motionless object, another, and another. The race has grown more desperate and more wild as the stampede neared the sea. The weaker reindeer have been thrown down and trampled to death by their stronger fellows. A thousand sharp hoofs have crushed and cut through hide and flesh and bone. Ever swifter and more terrible in their motion, the ruthless herd has raced onward, careless of the slain, careless of food, careless of any drink but the sharp salt water ahead of them. And when at last the Laplanders reach the shore their deer are once more quietly grazing, once more tame and docile, once more ready to drag the sledge whithersoever they are guided. Once in his life the reindeer must taste of the sea in one long, satisfying draught, and if he is hindered he perishes. Neither man nor beast dare stand before him in the hundred miles of his arrow-like path.”—A Cigarette-Maker’s Romance, vol. ii. pp. 23-25.
[Note 58] p. 241.—Migrations of Bisons.
In regard to the migration of the bison or buffalo, Mr. G. B. Grinnell writes:—“It was once thought that the buffalo performed annually extensive migrations, and it was even said that those which spent the summer on the banks of the Saskatchewan wintered in Texas. There is no reason for believing this to have been true. Undoubtedly there were slight general movements north and south, and east and west, at certain seasons of the year; but many of the accounts of these movements are entirely misleading, because grossly exaggerated. In one portion of the northern country I know that there was a decided east-and-west seasonal migration, the herds tending in spring away from the mountains, while in the autumn they worked back again, seeking shelter in the rough, broken country of the foot-hills from the cold west winds of the winter.”—American Big-Game Hunting (Boone and Crockett Club), edited by Theodore Roosevelt and George Bird Grinnell, Edin., 1893.
[Note 59] p. 250.—Migrations of Seals.
Much interesting information as to the migrations and habits of seals will be found in J. A. Allen’s History of North American Pinnipedia. The eared fur-seals (Otaria) and others travel periodically to the breeding-places or “rookeries”, where they spend a considerable time, but it should be noted that our common seal (Phoca vitulina) does not make seasonal migrations.
[Note 60] p. 256.—Instinct of the Lemming.
A discussion of the strange instinct of the lemming, remarkable in its apparent fatality, will be found in Romanes’s Mental Evolution in Animals.
[Note 61] p. 258.—Numbers of Springbok.
“I beheld the plains and even the hillsides which stretched on every side of me thickly covered, not with herds, but with one vast mass of springboks; as far as the eye could strain the landscape was alive with them, until they softened down into a dim red mass of living creatures. To endeavour to form any idea of the number of antelopes which I had that day beheld were vain, but I have no hesitation in saying that some hundreds of thousands were within the compass of my vision.”—Gordon Cumming. With this should be compared what other sportsmen and travellers have in recent years told us of rapidly diminishing numbers.