A noble creature is the Polar bear, says Sherard Osborn, whether we speak of him by the learned titles of “Ursus maritimus,” “Thalassarctos maritimus,” or the sailors’ more expressive nomenclature of “Jack Rough!” With all her many wonders, continues this lively writer, never did Nature create a creature more admirably adapted to the life it has to lead. Half flesh, half fish, the seaman wandering in the inhospitable regions of the North cannot but be struck with the appearance of latent energy and power its every action attests, as it rolls in a lithe and swaggering way over the rough surface of the frozen sea; or, during the brief Arctic summer, haunts the broken and treacherous “pack” in search of its prey.
When not too loaded with fat—and it seems to fatten readily—the pace of the bear is leisurely and easy, yet at its slowest it is equal to that of a good pedestrian; and when alarmed or irritated, its speed is surprising, though not graceful. On level ice, it flings itself ahead, as it were, by a violent jerking motion of the powerful fore paws, in what has been described as an “ungainly gallop;” but it always makes, when it can, for rough ice, where its strength and agility are best displayed, and where neither man nor dog can overtake it. In the Queen’s Channel, during Captain M’Clure’s expedition, more than one bear was seen making its way over broken-up ice, rugged and precipitous as the mind can picture, with a truly wonderful facility; their powerful fore paws and hind legs enabling them to spring from piece to piece, scaling one fragment and sliding down another with the activity of a huge quadrumane rather than that of a quadruped. Evidently it is conscious of its superiority in such rough and perilous ground, and is generally found at the edge of the belts of hummocks or broken ice which intersect most ice-fields, or else amongst the frozen pack-ice of channels such as Barrow’s and the Queen’s.
There is, however, another reason why bears keep among hummocks and pack-ice—namely, that near such spots water usually first makes its appearance in the summer. Seals, consequently, are most numerous there; while the inequalities of the floe afford shelter to the bears in approaching their prey. During summer the colour of the Polar bear is of a dull yellowish hue, closely resembling that of decaying snow or ice. The fur is then thin, and the hair on the soles of their feet almost wholly rubbed off, as with the other animals of Arctic climes; but in the autumn, when the body has recovered from the privations of the previous winter, and a thick coating of blubber overlays his carcass to meet the exigencies of another season of scanty fare, the feet, as the season advances, are beautifully incased and feathered with hair, and the animal’s colour usually turns to a very pale straw, which, from particular points of view, as the light strikes it, looks white, or nearly so. The nose and lips are of a jetty black; the eyes vary in colour. Brown is common, but some have been seen with eyes of a pale gray. Their sense of smell is peculiarly acute, facilitated no doubt by the peculiar manner in which the pure keen air of the North carries scent to very considerable distances.
Sherard Osborn states that bears have been seen to follow up a scent, exactly as dogs would do; and the floes about Lowther Island, in 1851, looked as if the bears had quartered there in search of seals, after the fashion of a pointer in the green fields of England. The snorting noise which they make as they approach near indicates how much more confidence they place in their scent than in their vision; though both, when the hunter is concerned, are apt to deceive them.
The Polar bear attains to very formidable proportions; but when seamen speak of monsters fifteen feet in length, their auditors may be excused for withholding their belief. Ten feet would seem to be a maximum; and the bear need be large, strong, and muscular to master the large Arctic seal, especially the saddle-back and bladder-nose species. For though it swims well and dives well, it neither swims nor dives as well as the seal, and would therefore have but little chance of obtaining a sufficient livelihood if it could not attack and capture its victim on the ice-floes.
The seal, on the other hand, fully aware of its danger, and of the only means of escaping from it, always keeps close to the water, whether it be the hole it has gnawed and broken through the ice, or the open sea at the floe edge.
And when it lies basking on the floating ice, and apparently apathetic and lethargic, nothing can exceed its vigilance. With its magnificent eyes it is able to sweep a wide range of the horizon, however slightly it turns its head; its keenness of hearing adds to its security. There is something peculiarly striking in its continuous watchfulness. Now it raises its head and looks around; now it is intent on the slightest sound that travels over the crisp surface of the ice; now it gazes and listens down its hole, a needful precaution against so subtle a hunter as old Bruin! It would seem impossible to surprise an animal so vigilant and so wary; and, indeed, in circumventing its prey the bear exhibits an astuteness and a skill which overpass the bounds of instinct, and approach closely to those of reason.
From its scent and by its quick strong vision the bear apprehends the position of the seal. Then it throws itself prone upon the ice, and profiting by inequalities which are invisible to human eyes, gradually steals upon its destined victim by a soft and scarcely perceptible movement of the hind feet. To hide its black muzzle, it constantly uses its fore feet; and thus, only the dingy white of its coat being visible, it is scarcely to be distinguished from the general mass of the floe. Patiently it draws nearer and nearer; the seal, mistaking it for one of its own congeners, or else yielding to a fatal curiosity, delaying until its assailant, with one spring, is upon it.
Yet, as the old adage says, there is many a slip; and even in these circumstances the bear does not always secure its feast. It is disappointed sometimes just as the prey seems within its grasp; and how keen the disappointment is can be appreciated only, we are told, by hapless Arctic travellers, “who have been hours crawling up, dreaming of delicious seal’s fry and overflowing fuel bags, and seen the prey pop down a hole when within a hundred yards of it.” The great muscular power of the seal frequently enables it to fling itself into the water in spite of the bear’s efforts to hold it on the floe; Bruin, however, retains his grip, for his diving powers are not much inferior to those of the seal, and down they go together! Sometimes the bear proves victorious, owing to mortal injuries inflicted upon the seal before it reaches the water; sometimes it may be seen reappearing at another hole in the floe, or clambering up another loose piece of ice, apparently much mortified by its want of success.
