Tcheitchenguak told me that he was preparing the lances for a walrus hunt, and that he and Hans intended to try their skill on the morrow. The walrus had been very numerous in the open waters outside the harbor all through the winter, and their shrill cry could be heard at almost any time from the margin of the ice. The flesh of these animals is the staple food of the Esquimaux; and although they prize the flesh of the reindeer, yet it is much as we do "canvas-backs;" and, for a long and steady pull, there is nothing like the "Awak," as they call the walrus, in imitation of its cry. To them its flesh is what rice is to the Hindoo, beef to the Gouchos of Buenos Ayres, or mutton to the Tartars of Mongolia.
A WALRUS HUNT.
A SEASON OF PLENTY.
The proposed hunt came off successfully. Hans and the old man set out with all of their tackle in fine order, and found a numerous herd of walrus swimming near the edge of the ice. They were approached with caution, on all fours, and were not alarmed. The hunters reached within a few feet of the water. They both then lay down flat on the ice and imitated the cry of the animals of which they were in pursuit; and the whole herd was soon brought by this means within easy reach of the harpoon. Rising suddenly, Hans buried his weapon in a good-sized beast, while his companion held fast to the line and secured his end of it with the iron spike of a lance-staff, which he drove into the ice and held down firmly. The beast struggled hard to free itself, floundering and plunging like a wild bull held by a lasso, but all without avail. With every opportunity Hans took in the slack of the line and secured it, and at length the struggling prey was within twenty feet of the hunters. The lance and rifle now did their work very expeditiously; the frightened comrades of the dying animal rushed away through the waters with loud cries of alarm, their deep bass voices sounding strangely through the darkness. The edge of the ice proved to be too thin to bear the captured game, and, having secured it with a line, it was allowed to remain until the following day, when, the ice having thickened with the low temperature, the flesh was chopped out and brought in. The snow-hut now rejoiced in a supply of food and blubber sufficient to last its inmates for a long time to come; the dogs were refreshed with a substantial meal; and the head and skin were put into a barrel and labeled "Smithsonian."
CHAPTER XX.
LOOKING FOR THE SUN.—THE OPEN SEA.—BIRDS.
While the days were thus running on, the sun was crawling up toward the horizon, and each returning noon brought an increase of light. I carried in my pocket at all times a little book, and early in February I began to experiment with it. When I could read the title-page at noon I was much rejoiced. By and by the smaller letters could be puzzled out; then I could decipher with ease the finest print, and the youngsters were in great glee at being able to read the thermometers at eleven and twelve and one o'clock without the lantern. On the 10th of February I made the following memorandum on the margin of my book: "Almost broad daylight at noon, and I read this page at 3 o'clock P. M." My calculations placed the sun at the horizon on the 18th.
LOOKING FOR THE SUN.
The appearance of the sun became now the one absorbing event. About it everybody thought and everybody talked continually. No set of men ever looked more eagerly for a coming joy than did we for the promised morn,—we, half-bloodless beings, coming from the night, bleached in the long-continued lamp-light, and almost as colorless as potato-sprouts growing in a dark cellar. We all noted how to-day compared with yesterday, and contrasted it with this day a week ago. Even the old cook caught the contagion, and crawled up from among his saucepans and coppers, and, shading his eyes with his stove-hardened hands, peered out into the growing twilight. "I tinks dis be very long night," said he, "and I likes once more to see de blessed sun." The steward was in a state of chronic excitement. He could not let the sun rest in peace for an hour. He must watch for him constantly. He must be forever running up on deck and out on the ice, book in hand, trying to read by the returning daylight. He was impatient with the time. "Don't the Commander think the sun will come back sooner than the 18th?" "Don't he think it will come back on the 17th?" "Was he quite sure that it wouldn't appear on the 16th?" "I'm afraid, steward, we must rely upon the Nautical Almanac." "But mightn't the Nautical Almanac be wrong?"—and I could clearly perceive that he thought my ciphering might be wrong too.