“Here it is, sir,” said the man, pulling out a glass of about six inches long, and handing it to Fred.
“How many is there, an’ ye plaze?”
“Six, I think; yes—one, two, three,—I can’t make them out quite, but I think there are six, besides the one on the ice. Hist! there he sees him. Ah! Meetuck, he’s too quick for you.”
As he spoke, the seal on the ice began to show symptoms of alarm. Meetuck had approached to within shot, but he did not fire; the wary Esquimaux had caught sight of another object which a lump of ice had hitherto concealed from view. This was no less a creature than a walrus, who chanced at that time to come up to take a gulp of fresh air, and lave his shaggy front in the brine, before going down again to the depths of his ocean home. Meetuck, therefore, allowed the seal to glide quietly into the sea, and advanced towards this new object of attack. At length he took a steady aim through the hole in the canvas screen, and fired. Instantly the seal dived, and at the same time the water round the walrus was lashed into foam, and tinged with red. It was evidently badly wounded, for had it been only slightly hurt it would probably have dived.
Meetuck immediately seized his harpoon, and rushed towards the struggling monster, while Fred grasped a gun, and O’Riley a harpoon, and ran to his assistance. West remained to keep back the dogs. As Meetuck gained the edge of the ice the walrus recovered partially and tried, with savage fury, to reach his assailant, who planted the harpoon deep in its breast, and held on to the rope while the animal dived.
“Whereabouts is he?” cried O’Riley, as he came panting to the scene of action.
As he spoke, the walrus ascended almost under his nose, with a loud bellow, and the Irishman started back in terror as he surveyed at close quarters, for the first time, the colossal and horrible countenance of this elephant of the northern sea. O’Riley was no coward, but the suddenness of the apparition was too much for him, and we need not wonder that in his haste he darted the harpoon far over the animal’s head into the sea beyond. Neither need we feel surprised that when Fred took aim at its forehead, the sight of its broad muzzle, fringed with bristling moustache and defended by huge tusks, caused him to miss it altogether. But O’Riley recovered, hauled his harpoon back, and succeeded in planting it deep under the creature’s left flipper, and Fred, reloading, lodged a ball in its head which finished it. With great labour the four men, aided by the dogs, drew it out upon the ice.
This was a great prize, for walrus flesh is not much inferior to beef, and would be an acceptable addition of fresh meat for the use of the Dolphin’s crew, and there was no chance of it spoiling, for the frost was now severe enough to freeze every animal solid almost immediately after it was killed.
The body of this walrus was not less than eighteen feet long and eleven in circumference. It was more like an elephant in bulk and rotundity than any other creature. It partook very much of the form of a seal, having two large paw-like flippers, with which, when struggling for life, it had more than once nearly succeeded in getting upon the ice. Its upper face had a square, bluff aspect, and its broad muzzle and cheeks were completely covered by a coarse, quill-like beard of bristles, which gave to it a peculiarly ferocious appearance. The notion that the walrus resembles man is very much overrated. The square, bluff shape of the head already referred to, destroys the resemblance to humanity when distant, and its colossal size does the same when near. Some of the seals deserve this distinction more, their drooping shoulders and oval faces being strikingly like to those of man when at a distance. The white ivory tusks of this creature were carefully measured by Fred, and found to be thirty inches long.
The resemblance of the walrus to our domestic land-animals has obtained for it, among sailors, the names of the sea-horse and sea-cow, and the records of its ferocity when attacked are numerous. Its hide is nearly an inch thick, and is put to many useful purposes by the Esquimaux, who live to a great extent on the flesh of this creature. They cut up his hide into long lines to attach to the harpoons with which they catch himself, the said harpoons being pointed with his own tusks. This tough hide is not the only garment the walrus wears to protect him from the cold. He also wears under-flannels of thick fat and a top-coat of close hair, so that he can take a siesta on an iceberg without the least inconvenience. Talking of siestas, by the way, the walrus is sometimes “caught napping”. Occasionally, when the weather is intensely cold, the hole through which he crawls upon the ice gets frozen over so solidly that, on waking, he finds it beyond even his enormous power to break it. In this extremity there is no alternative but to go to sleep again, and—die! which he does as comfortably as he can. The polar bears, however, are quick to smell him out, and assembling round his carcass for a feast, they dispose of him, body and bones, without ceremony.