Presently an ice-raft with about twenty walrus on board went drifting slowly past us. The weight of the animals' bodies was so great that the ice was completely submerged, and the walrus looked as if they were lying upon the surface of the water.
THE ESKIMOS ADVANCING UPON THE WALRUS.
From a photograph.
"Unfortunate brutes," said Dick. "This will be a sorry day for you when the sun gets out! But here, my boy"—he turned quickly to me—"it's time you started your game; the light is here."
A FEW OF THE VICTIMS.
From a photograph.
The Eskimos were now coming towards us in their skin boat, paddling with muffled strokes. I put my Kodak in my pocket, got the cinematograph out, and we crawled to the lee side of fifty walrus, where I stole up to within thirty feet of where they lay, looking for all the world like a herd of great swine. Some of them were fighting; the rest lay still, with their heads pillowed upon one another. I arranged my picture machine and wound up the film, recording every movement they made. The six Eskimos then advanced with stealthy pace between me and the walrus. Simultaneously six rifles cracked, and fifty grizzly faces rose up and glared at the intruders. I kept on winding up the film, recording this extraordinary scene. Six more shots, and four of the huge brutes fell dead. The whole herd was now aroused, and never in my life have I seen such a sight. The clumsy animals made for the water, but the bullets flew fast, and presently three more fell, while with many a flop, hitch, and straddle the others wallowed off the ice—the clumsiest living creatures that ever attempted to walk. In the water, however, they were in their element, swimming with the grace and ease of a porpoise. Six mountains of heaving flesh lay upon the ice. One gave a lurch as though trying to roll into the water, but one of the natives fired a bullet into his brain, and a stream of blood from the wound spouted three feet into the air.
