A Duel in the Deep
OUGH there was no wind, the wide surface of the estuary was curiously disturbed. In from the open sea came swiftly as it were a wedge of roughness, its edges lightly dancing, sparkling with blue-and-silver flashes. The strange disturbance kept on straight up the channel, leaving the placid shoals along-shore to shine unruffled in the low, level-glancing Arctic sun.
Down along the flat, interminable shore, picking his way watchfully among the ragged ice-cakes of the tempestuous spring, came a huge white bear. His small, snaky, cruel head was bent downwards, while his fierce little eyes peered among the tumbled ice blocks for possible dead fish. His long, loose-jointed body twisted sinuously as he moved—the only living creature to be seen up and down the level desolation of those bleak shores.
The white bear was an old male, restless, and of savage temper. Like many of his fellows among the older males, he had not been so fortunate as to slumber away the long, terrific, Arctic winter in the shelter of a snow-buried rock. All through the months of dark and tempest, of ghostly auroras and cold unspeakable, he had roamed the dead world and fought his fight with hunger. His craft, his strength, his fierce desperation in attack, had pulled him through. Lean and savage, he sniffed the oncoming of spring, and watched the ice go grinding out.
Presently his keen ears noted a faint sound, which seemed to blow in from the sea. As there was no wind, this was worthy of note. Lifting his black nose high above the ice-cakes, he sniffed and peered intently at the inrushing wedge of tumbled water. His uncertainty was not for long. The salmon were returning. This was the vanguard of the spring run.
For a few seconds the great white shape stood as if turned to stone, watching the radiant confusion. Here and there he saw a slender body flash forth for an instant, half its length above the sparkling water, as if striving to escape some unseen enemy. The school was making for the main channel, which ran between two low, naked islets of rock, perhaps half a mile apart. The nearest of these was about three hundred yards from the shore. As soon as the bear made sure that the salmon were taking this course, he galloped at top speed—a long, loose, shambling, but rapid pace—down along the shore till just abreast of the islet. Then he plunged in and swam for it, his sharp black muzzle and narrow white head cleaving the smooth flood with almost incredible swiftness, and throwing off an oily, trailing ripple on either side. When he reached the islet the front of the salmon school was still some forty or fifty paces distant. He crossed the rocks, slipped smoothly down into the water again, and waited for the shining turmoil to break upon him.
For some reason known only to the hosts of the salmon themselves, however, the shining turmoil swerved as it approached the islet, crowding over toward the other side of the channel. The bear's hungry little eyes blazed savagely at this. He imagined the hordes had taken alarm at his dread presence,—a natural imagining on his part, since he knew of nothing but the old bull walrus that dared ever await his approach. But as a matter of fact the eager myriads of the salmon, thrilling with life and vigour and the mating fire of spring, were no more conscious of the savage animal than if he had been a rock or an ice-floe. The joy of the incoming rush was in their splendid sinews, and the lure of the shallow, singing rapids in their veins. To that exultant host an enemy, however formidable, was but an incident. The exhaustless fertility of their race derided fate.
With a grunt the bear launched himself through the whitish flood. On the flanks of the flashing host he dived, swimming sinuously and with extraordinary swiftness like a seal. Rising gradually toward the surface, he struck this way and that, with wide jaws and armed fore paws, among the crowded ranks of the salmon. His object was to kill, kill, kill, before the opportunity passed by, in order that there should be many dead fish to drift ashore and be picked up at his leisure.
After a minute or two of this savage work, which turned the thronged tide crimson all about him, he came to the surface for breath. The upper ranks of the salmon were still flashing on every side, and half-leaping out of water within the very sweep of his deadly paw, heedless of his presence. His hunger being fierce upon him, he now seized a good-sized fish, bit its backbone through to put an end to its troublesome struggling, and devoured it as he swam along slowly with the host.