An Eskimo and his son ventured thither one day, intending to form a camp there for awhile and put in some good hunting. Mile after mile was covered, headland after headland passed, until they were nearing the sealing grounds, when the dogs began to show signs of panic. They could scarcely be got to proceed, no matter how sharply urged by voice and whalehide whip. Nothing moving, however, caught the keen sight of the men; no sound came to their ears. Suddenly, just as they passed another point, a fierce howl rang out on the bitter air, followed by a chorus of more howls, and a large pack of wolves swept out from behind it and came into full view. They had been lying in wait until the sled came up. Their bleached coats had rendered them invisible until they moved.
The hunters at once realised their deadly peril, and turning instantly about, headed at top speed for home. A long fierce chase ensued. There was no need to drive the dogs. They strained every terrified nerve in their bodies and flew over the ice. The wolves rushed on behind. They spread out fanwise, trying to encircle the dogs and cripple them one by one as opportunity offered, by making brilliant forward dashes and slashing with savage fangs at their legs.
The man thrust a sealing spear into the boy’s hands and shouted to him to thrust it at any wolf attempting [[248]]to attack at close quarters at side or rear, while he himself, armed with the terrible dog whip, lashed out continuously with the courage of despair, and the effectiveness of years of practice. He roared, and swung the murderous thong over the backs of the team, so as to protect it from the attacking wolves, crippling any one of them who ventured within its sweep. As often as one of the bloodthirsty brutes rushed in, it was met with a terrific cut, and fell back howling and disabled.
Hour after hour the awful race went on; until at last, when it seemed even to the hardy and seasoned hunter that neither he nor the wretched dogs could sustain the strain a moment longer, they came in sight of the last headland which hid the settlement from view. A final heroic effort might yet bring them to safety!
With a yell of encouragement to the exhausted son, and renewed vigour in his wielding of the whip, the hunter pressed on. The wolves, realising that their prey was actually escaping, redoubled their efforts to close in upon the sled. It dashed round the point only in the nick of time. The dogs in camp beyond, scenting what was afoot, instantly rushed out to give battle to the wolves. The pack, perceiving that the odds were now heavily against them, snarled viciously, turned coward tails, and vanished.…
The refugees arrived in camp in a state of utter collapse. The man’s whip arm was swollen beyond further usage, like his tongue, and his voice had gone. [[249]]He staggered to his house, and both he and the boy lay there for days before either sufficiently recovered to rise and go about their ordinary work again.
Many a party have been waylaid by wolves like this, and have not had the good fortune to survive. Should there be a shortage of food, resulting in subsequent sickness and weakness among the travellers or hunters, they fall victims very easily to the rapacity of the savage animal denizens of the wild. The male dogs of the teams get killed, and the females join the marauding horde and revert to their wolfish state.
THE SONG OF THE PINTAILED DUCK.
As sung in Competition in the Kagge.
Samane samiyeyiya, iya, neakoa koololotingoâle