Though in many parts seals are caught at every season of the year, yet the great hunt takes place in spring, when they play in the open lanes near the coasts, or come out on the ice to bask in the sun. In spite of their wariness, they are no match for the Esquimaux, who have carefully studied all their habits from infancy. Sometimes the hunter approaches them by imitating their forms and motions so perfectly that the poor animals are not undeceived until one of them is struck with his lance; or else, by means of a white screen pushed forward on a sledge, the hunter comes within range and picks out the best-conditioned of the band. As the season draws near midsummer, the seals are more approachable; their eyes being so congested by the glare of the sun that they are sometimes nearly blind. In winter they are assaulted while working at their breathing-holes or when coming up for respiration.
If an Esquimaux has any reason to suppose that a seal is busy gnawing beneath the ice, he immediately attaches himself to the place, and seldom leaves it, even in the severest frost, till he has succeeded in killing the animal. For this purpose he first builds a snow-wall about four feet in height, to shelter him from the wind, and seating himself under the lee of it, deposits his spears, lines, and other implements upon several little forked sticks inserted into the snow, in order to prevent the smallest noise being made in moving them when wanted. But the most curious precaution consists in tying his own knees together with a thong so securely as to prevent any rustling of his clothes, which might otherwise alarm the animal. In this situation a man will sit quietly sometimes for hours together, attentively listening to any noise made by the seal, and sometimes using the “keep-kuttuk” in order to ascertain whether the animal is still at work below. This simple little instrument—which affords another striking proof of Esquimaux ingenuity—is merely a slender rod of bone (as delicate as a fine wire, that the seal may not see it), nicely rounded, and having a point at one end and a knob at the other. It is inserted into the ice, and the knob remaining above the surface, informs the fisherman by its motion whether the seal is employed in making his hole; if not, it remains undisturbed, and the attempt is given up in that place. When the hunter supposes the hole to be nearly completed, he cautiously lifts his spear (to which the line has been previously attached), and as soon as the blowing of the seal is distinctly heard—and the ice consequently very thin—he drives it into him with the force of both arms, and then cuts away with his “panna,” or well-sharpened knife, the remaining crust of ice, to enable him to repeat the wounds and get him out. The “neituk” (Phoca hispida), being the smallest seal, is held, while struggling, either simply by hand, or by putting the line round a spear with the point stuck into the ice. For the “oguke” (Phoca barbata), the line is passed round the man’s leg or arm; and for a walrus, round his body, his feet being at the same time firmly set against a hummock of ice, in which position these people can, from habit, hold against a very heavy strain. A boy of fifteen is equal to the killing of a “neituk,” but it requires a full-grown person to master either of the larger animals. This sport is not without the danger which adds to the excitement of success, particularly if the creature struck by the hunter be a large seal or walrus; for woe betide him if he does not instantly plant his feet firmly in the ice, and throw himself in such a position that the strain on the line is as nearly as possible brought into the direction of the length of the spine of his back and axis of his lower limbs. A transverse pull from one of these powerful animals would double him up across the air-hole, and perhaps break his back; or if the opening be large, as it often is when the spring is advanced, he would be dragged under water and drowned.
As the Polar bear is as great a seal-hunter as the Esquimaux, one of the usual methods employed by the latter to catch these bears is to imitate the motions of the seal by lying flat on the ice until the bear approaches sufficiently near to insure a good aim; but a gun is necessary to practise this stratagem with success. Seeman (“Voyage of the Herald”) mentions another ingenious mode of capturing the bear by taking advantage of the well-known voracity of the animal, which generally swallows its food without much mastication. A thick and strong piece of whalebone, about four inches broad and two feet long, is rolled up into a small compass, and carefully enveloped in blubber, forming a round ball. It is then placed in the open air at a low temperature, where it soon becomes hard and frozen. The natives, armed with their knives, bows, and arrows, together with this frozen bait, proceed in quest of the bear. As soon as the animal is seen, one of the natives discharges an arrow at it; the monster, smarting from this assault, chases the party, then in full retreat, until, meeting with the frozen blubber dropped in his path, he greedily swallows it, and continues the pursuit—doubtless fancying that there must be more where that came from. The natural heat of the body soon causes the blubber to thaw, when the whalebone, thus freed, springs back, and frightfully lacerates the stomach. The writhing brute falls down in helpless agony, and the Esquimaux, hurrying to the spot, soon put an end to his sufferings.
The Esquimaux of Smith Sound hunt the bear with the assistance of their dogs, which are carefully trained not to engage in contest with the bear, but to retard his flight. While one engrosses his attention ahead, a second attacks him in the rear, always alert, and each protecting the other; and thus it rarely happens that they are seriously injured, or that they fail to delay the animal until their masters come up. If there be two hunters, the bear is killed easily; for one makes a feint of thrusting a spear at the right side, and as the animal turns with his arms towards the threatened attack, the left is unprotected, and receives the death-wound. But if the hunter is alone, he grasps the lance firmly in his hands, and provokes the animal to pursue him by moving rapidly across its path, and then running as if to escape. But hardly is its long, unwieldy body extended for the chase, than, with a rapid jump, the hunter doubles on his track, and runs back towards his first position. The bear is in the act of turning after him again, when the lance is plunged into the left side below the shoulder. So dexterously has this thrust to be made, that an unpractised hunter has often to leave his spear in the side of his prey and run for his life; but even then, if well-aided by the dogs, a cool, skillful man seldom fails to kill his adversary.
While the seal, narwhal, and white whale furnish the staple food of the more southern Greenlander, the walrus is the chief resource of the Smith Sound Esquimaux. The manner of hunting this animal depends much on the season of the year. In spring, or the breeding-season, when the walrus is in his glory, he is taken in two ways. Sometimes he has risen by the side of an iceberg, where the currents have worn away the floe, or through a tide crack, and, enjoying the sunshine too long, finds his retreat cut off by the freezing up of the opening; for like the seal, the walrus can only work from below at his breathing-hole. When thus caught, the Esquimaux, who with keen hunter-craft are scouring the floes, scent him out by their dogs and spear him. Frequently the female and her calf, accompanied by the grim-visaged father, are seen surging, in loving trios, from crack to crack, and sporting in the openings. While thus on their tour, they invite their vigilant enemies to the second method of capture. This also is by the lance and harpoon; but it often becomes a regular battle, the male gallantly fronting the assault, and charging the hunters with furious bravery. In the fall, when the pack is but partially closed, the walrus are found in numbers, hanging around the neutral region of mixed ice and water, and, as this becomes solid with the advance of winter, following it more and more to the south.
The Esquimaux at this season approach them over the young ice, and assail them in cracks and holes with harpoon and line. This fishery, as the season grows colder, darker, and more tempestuous, is fearfully hazardous. Kane relates how, during a time of famine, two of his Esquimaux friends, Awaklok and Myouk, determined to seek the walrus on the open ice. They succeeded in killing a large male, and were returning to their village, when a north wind broke up the ice, and they found themselves afloat. The impulse of a European would have been to seek the land; but they knew that the drift was always most dangerous on the coast, and urged their dogs towards the nearest iceberg. They reached it after a struggle, and, by great efforts, made good their landing, with their dogs and the half-butchered carcass of the walrus. It was at the close of the last moonlight of December, and a complete darkness settled around them. They tied the dogs down to knobs of ice, to prevent their losing their foothold, and prostrated themselves, to escape being blown off by the violence of the wind. At first the sea broke over them, but they gained a higher level, and built a sort of screen of ice. On the fifth night afterwards, so far as they could judge, one of Myouk’s feet was frozen, and Awaklok lost his great toe by frost bite. But they did not lose courage, and ate their walrus-meat as they floated slowly to the south. It was towards the close of the second moonlight, after a month’s imprisonment, such as only these iron men could endure, that they found the berg had grounded. They liberated their dogs as soon as the young ice could bear their weight, and attaching long lines to them, which they cut from the hide of the dead walrus, they succeeded in hauling themselves through the water-space which always surrounds an iceberg, and reaching safe ice. They returned to their village like men raised from the dead, to meet a welcome, but to meet famine along with it.
In the form of their bodies, their short pricked ears, thick furry coat, and bushy tail, the dogs of the Esquimaux so nearly resemble the wolf of these regions, that when of a light or brindled color, they may easily at a little distance be mistaken for that animal; but an eye accustomed to both, perceives that the wolf always keeps his head down and his tail between his legs in running, whereas the dogs almost always carry their tails handsomely curled over the back. Their hair in the winter is from three to four inches long; but besides this nature furnishes them during this rigorous season with a thick under-coating of close, soft wool, which enables them to brave the most inclement weather. They do not bark, but have a long melancholy howl, like that of the wolf. When drawing a sledge, they have a simple harness of deer or seal skin going round the neck by one bight, and another for each of the fore legs, with a single thong leading over the back, and attached to the sledge as a trace. Though they appear at first sight to be huddled together without regard to regularity, considerable attention is really paid to their arrangement, particularly in the selection of a dog of peculiar spirit and sagacity, who is allowed by a longer trace to precede the rest as leader, and to whom, in turning to the right or left, the driver usually addresses himself, using certain words as the carters do with us. To these a good leader attends with admirable precision (especially if his own name be repeated at the same time), looking behind over his shoulder with great earnestness, as if listening to the directions of the driver, who sits quite low on the fore part of the sledge, his whip in hand, and his feet overhanging the snow on one side.
On rough ground, as among hummocks of ice, the sledge would be frequently overturned if the driver did not repeatedly get off, and, by lifting or drawing it to one side, steer it clear of those obstacles. At all times, indeed, except on a smooth and well-made road, he is pretty constantly employed thus with his feet, and this, together with his never-ceasing vociferations and frequent use of the whip, renders the driving of one of these vehicles by no means a pleasant or easy task.
“The whip,” says Kane, who from assiduous practice at length attained a considerable proficiency in its use, “is six yards long, and the handle but sixteen inches—a short lever to throw out such a length of seal-hide. Learn to do it, however, with a masterly sweep, or else make up your mind to forego driving sledges; for the dogs are guided solely by the lash, and you must be able to hit not only any particular dog of a team of twelve, but to accompany the feat also with a resounding crack. After this you find that, to get your lash back, involves another difficulty; for it is apt to entangle itself among the dogs and lines, or to fasten itself cunningly round bits of ice, so as to drag you head over heels into the snow. The secret by which this complicated set of requirements is fulfilled consists in properly describing an arc from the shoulder with a stiff elbow, giving the jerk to the whip-handle from the hand and wrist alone. The lash trails behind as you travel, and when thrown forward is allowed to extend itself without an effort to bring it back. You wait patiently, after giving the projectile impulse, until it unwinds its slow length, reaches the end of its tether, and cracks to tell you that it is at its journey’s end. Such a crack on the ear or fore foot of an unfortunate dog is signalized by a howl quite unmistakable in its import.”
The mere labor of using this whip is such that the Esquimaux travel in couples, one sledge after the other. The hinder dogs follow mechanically, and thus require no whip; and the drivers change about so as to rest each other.