We learn from the voyage of Ohthere, which was undertaken ten centuries ago, that the walrus then abounded even on the very coast of Finmarken. They have abandoned that region, however, for some centuries, though individual stragglers were captured up to within the last forty years. After their desertion of Finmarken, they retreated to Bear Island; thence they were driven to the Thousand Islands, Hope Island, and Ryk-Yse Island; and thence, again, to the banks and skerries to the north of Spitzbergen. It is fortunate for the persecuted walrus that the latter districts are accessible only in open seasons, or perhaps once in every three or four summers; so that they obtain a respite and time to breed and replenish their numbers. Otherwise the end of the present century would mark also the total extinction of the walrus on the island-shores of Northern Europe.
We agree with Dr. Kane that the resemblance of the walrus to man has been absurdly overstated. Yet the notion is put forward in some of our systematic treatises, and accompanied by the suggestion that we are to look for the type of the merman and mermaid in this animal. If we look we shall not find. The walrus has a square-shaped head, with a frontal bone presenting a steep descent to the eyes, and any likeness to humanity must exist in the imagination of the spectator. Some of the seals exhibit a much greater resemblance: the size of the head, the regularity of the facial oval, the drooping shoulders, even the movements of the seal, remind us impressively of man. And certainly, when seen at a distance, with head raised above the waves, it affords some justification for the fanciful conception of the nymphs of ocean, the mermaids who figure so attractively in song and legend.
Dr. Kane remarks that the instinct of attack, which is strong in the walrus, though so feeble in the seal, and is a well-known characteristic of the pachyderms, is interesting to the naturalist, as assisting to establish the affinity of the walrus to the latter. When wounded, it rears its body high out of the water, plunges heavily against the ice, and strives to raise itself upon the surface by means of its fore-flippers. As the ice gives way under its weight, its countenance assumes a truly ferocious expression, its bark changes to a roar, and the foam pours out from its jaws till it froths its beard.
Even when not excited, the walrus manages its tusks bravely. So strong are they that they serve as grappling-irons with which to hold on to the surface of the steep rocks and ice-banks it loves to climb; and thus it can ascend rocky islands that are sixty and a hundred feet above the sea-level. It can deal an opponent a fearful blow, but it prefers to charge, like a veteran warrior; and man, unless well armed, often comes off second best in the contest.
Governor Flaischer told Dr. Kane that, in 1830, a brown walrus—and the Eskimos say that the brown walrus are the fiercest—after being speared and wounded near Upernavik, put to flight its numerous assailants, and drove them in fear to seek help from the Danish settlement. So violent were its movements as to jerk out the harpoons that were launched into its body. The governor slew it with much difficulty after it had received several rifle-shots and lance-wounds from his whale-boat.
FIGHT WITH A WALRUS.
On another occasion, a young and adventurous Innuit plunged his nalegeit into a brown walrus; but, alarmed by the savage demeanour of the beast, called for help before using the lance. In vain the older and more wary hunters advised him to forbear. “It is a brown walrus!” they cried; “Aúvok-Kaiok! Hold back!” Finding the caution disregarded, his only brother rowed forward, and hurled the second harpoon. Almost instantaneously the infuriated beast charged, like the wild boar, on the unfortunate young Innuit, and ripped open his body.
Here is a description of a walrus-hunt:—
On first setting out, the hunters listen eagerly for some sounds by which to discover the habitat of the animal. The walrus, like amateur vocalists, is partial to its own music, and will lie for hours enjoying the monotonous vocalization in which it is accustomed to indulge. This is described as something between the mooing of a cow and the deepest baying of a mastiff; very round and full, with its “barks” or “detached notes” repeated seven to nine times in rather quick succession.