Across the sub-Arctics of Canada

by J. W. Tyrrell

It was a most fortunate shot for our whole party, as well as for the Indian, who, being unable to handle the carcase himself, had returned for assistance, meeting his brother by the way. We all gladly followed him to the scene of the combat, where, judging from the tracks and blood, there was abundant proof of the veracity of his story.

On a hill near the carcase some dry moss was discovered, and with this, even before the skinning had been completed, some of the flesh was toasted and greedily devoured. The reviving effect produced upon the spirits of our party was marked. Though the flesh of the polar bear is famed for its rankness, we would not have exchanged it at that time for its weight in silver.

The carcase was found to be extremely poor, the only food found in the stomach being the droppings of reindeer. At the first meeting, therefore, Louis must have been considered a very desirable prize. It was merely a question of which should eat up the other in order to prolong existence. Fortunately for our party the Indian proved to be the fittest survivor. No part of the carcase was wasted, but every scrap, amounting to between three and four hundred pounds, including the hide, was placed in bags and carried to the canoes, which we reached with much difficulty long after dark.

Next morning a strong east wind, driving a wild surf in upon the shore, made it impossible to launch, but we were thankful during the delay to have a supply of meat on hand with which to satisfy the cravings of hunger. Advantage was also taken of the opportunity afforded for obtaining moss. Though five or six miles distant, a quantity of this fuel was gathered, and several large kettles of meat boiled—almost sufficient, it was hoped, to take us to Churchill. But alas for our hopes! The gale which had arisen increased in fury until it became a terrific storm, accompanied by sleet and snow. This continued for five long days.

One night the tent occupied by my brother and I was ripped up the back by the force of the gale, and with difficulty kept from being carried away. So piercingly cold was the wind that without shelter we must soon have perished. We were already numb with cold, but in the midst of snow and darkness I managed to find in my bag a sail needle and some twine, and then having lowered the tent to the ground while my brother held it, I stitched up the rent. When the tent was again raised our bedding was buried in snow, but the blankets being our only comfort, the drifts were shaken off, and in a half-perished condition we again crept beneath them.

Besides the discomforts occasioned by the storm at this camp, I suffered a serious experience of poisoning. Our cook, thinking to give my brother and me a treat, provided for our dinner a dish of fried liver. Perhaps because of its rank flavor, my brother partook sparingly and so partially escaped, but I ate of it freely and at once became fearfully ill. For a whole day I lay in the tent, retching and straining, though throwing off nothing but froth, until I thought I should have died. My brother urged me to take some brandy, a little of which still remained in a flask we had brought with us, but for some time I declined. Towards evening, however, finding that I would have to take something or give up the ghost, I yielded to his advice, and soon began to recover. I have since learned that polar bear’s liver is considered to be poisonous, both by the Eskimos and by the north-sea whalers.

While on the subject of bears, it may be of interest to relate here a rather exciting personal experience I once had, which took place several years before on the barren ice-bound shores of Hudson Straits.

We were a small detachment of explorers, travelling at the time in the little steam launch of a scientific expedition, and occupied in the geographical determination of a group of hitherto unknown islands. The personnel of our party, without giving full names, was as follows: The Doctor, who occupied a position in the stern of the boat and acted as steersman; Mac., who, contrary to orders, had smuggled a small rifle on board and come with us for sport; Con., an able seaman from Newfoundland, and myself.

The reason for orders having been given by our commander to take no rifles with us was doubtless that we might not allow sport to interfere with the object of our commission. Besides Mac.’s single-shot rifle, I had in my belt a 38-calibre S. & W. revolver, and these two arms, a knife and an axe constituted our defences; but no special thought was given to these things as at six o’clock on that summer morning, in the shadow of the Arctics, our little expedition steamed away on its mission, following and mapping the various points and bays of the rocky shore, and giving all attention to our work as we ploughed through the cold blue waters.

Before we had proceeded many miles it became necessary to go ashore in order to obtain fresh water for the boiler of the launch. Accordingly, observing what appeared to be a little cascade falling over broken cliffs into the sea, our course was shaped towards it; but before we could gain the shore our purpose was for the time forgotten, because of the sudden appearance, only a few yards ahead, of two polar bears—a large one and her cub—swimming in the water.