The Arctic fox is described by Dr. Hayes as the prettiest and most provoking of living creatures. One which he unsuccessfully chased for fully three hours was about the size of a domestic cat, round and plump, white as the snow, with a long pointed nose, and a trailing bushy tail, which seemed to be its particular pride. It was quite evident that it enjoyed the perplexities of its hunters, as it leaped from rock to rock, or circled round and about them, and showed the utmost indifference to the miseries of their famished condition. It rolled and tossed about among the loose drift, now springing into the air, now bounding away, now stopping short, and now cocking its head to one side and elevating one foot, as if listening, seeming all the time to be intent on exhibiting its “points” to its enemies, for whom it did not care the value of the minutest part of its very pretty tail. Weary and exhausted, Dr. Hayes abandoned the pursuit, and returned to his camp, followed by the fox, though always at a safe distance; and when they last caught sight of it, as they looked back from the rocks above the hut, it was mounted on an elevation, uttering its shrill sharp cry, in apparent mockery of their defeat.
Of the supposed relations between the bear and the fox, Dr. Kane remarks that he once thought his observations had confirmed them. It is certain that they are frequently found together; the bear striding on ahead with his prey, the fox behind gathering in the crumbs as they fall; and Dr. Kane often saw the parasite licking at the traces of a wounded seal which his champion had borne off over the snow. The story is that the two hunt in couples. This may well be doubted, though it is clear that the inferior animal rejoices in his association with the superior, at least for the profits, if not the sympathy it brings to him. “I once wounded a bear,” says Dr. Kane, “when I was out with Morton, and followed him for twelve miles over the ice. A miserable little fox travelled close behind his patron, and licked up the blood wherever he lay down. The bear at last made the water; and as we returned from our fruitless chase, we saw the fox running at full speed along the edge of the thin ice as if to rejoin him.”
A welcome addition to the meagre fare of the Arctic navigator is furnished by the Arctic Hare (Lepus glacialis), which, like the reindeer, collects in herds or troops as winter approaches. As many as two hundred have been seen at a time; and at one of their favourite haunts—Cape Dundas, Melville Island—might be seen a complete highway, three yards broad, which the tread of their numbers had beaten through the snow. In winter they seek their food and burrow for protection under the snow-crust. Captain M’Clintock states that they are ubiquitous in the Polar Regions, but that, of course, they are most numerous where the pasture is most abundant, as on Banks Land and Melville Island. The sportsmen of the two discovery ships, Resolute and Intrepid, shot one hundred and sixty-one hares in a twelvemonth on Melville Island; their average weight, when fit for the table, was seven pounds, and from ten to twelve pounds including skin and offal.
In the warm brief summer the hare takes refuge from the pursuit of beasts of prey under large boulders, or in the steep face of rocky ravines. It is then found in groups of from twelve to twenty. So delicate is their skin, that though the winter fur is of exceeding beauty and brilliant whiteness, it cannot be applied to any purpose of utility. They do not hibernate; and our explorers generally found them amongst the heavy hummocks of the floe-ice, as if they fled to that rugged ground from the wolves or foxes.
In the range of the Altaï, and extending even into Kamtschatka, we meet with the Alpine Hare (Lagomys Alpinus); a small rodent, scarcely exceeding a guinea-pig in size, and measuring in length nine inches only: it has a long head, with short, broad, and rounded ears. Its favourite places of sojourn are among the rocks and cataracts of wild wooded regions, where it forms burrows beneath the rocks, or inhabits their fissures. When the sky is bright, and the sunshine genial, they seldom leave their holes in the daytime; but in dull weather they may be seen bounding among the rocks, and making the echoes resound with their low whistle or bird-like chirp. In the autumn they make ready against winter need by collecting a large assortment of the most nutritious herbs and grasses, which, after drying in the sun, they arrange in heaps of various sizes, according to the number of animals engaged in the task; and as these heaps are often several feet in height and breadth, they may be easily distinguished even through the deep snow, and frequently prove of great service to the Siberian sable-hunters, whose horses would perish but for the supplies thus strangely afforded. Hence, wherever a Siberian or a Tartar tribe is found, the Alpine hare possesses a distinctive name,—and, notwithstanding its diminutiveness, is highly valued.