THE AUTHOR, MR. D. GOVE, IN ARCTIC COSTUME.
From a Photograph.
He accepted my offer, and I got him aboard the boat dressed in his sealskin breeches and deerskin "parka." The ice had no terrors for this man: he had sailed the Arctic in whale-ships and with exploring expeditions until he believed cruising amongst the floes to be an ideal occupation.
We were soon out over the bar, though some little difficulty was experienced in getting past the large floes of shore ice that were floating in the roadstead. We did not unfurl the sails, for the atmosphere was still, the water being smooth and glassy in appearance; but the little boat was well engined, and cut along swiftly until the shore and the bald mountain-tops sank beyond the range of vision. It was now ten-thirty, and the sun was setting in streaky clouds. I felt restless, and thought a few hours of sleep might refresh me for the morrow. There seemed nothing to keep me on deck; Jim Flynn, the engineer, was gesticulating to one of the Eskimos, discussing the direction in which to look for walrus, while others were cleaning rifles, repairing harpoons, and chattering in their weird jargon. I crawled down into the hold, rolled myself into a piece of canvas, and bade the world good-night.
The next thing I knew was Flynn dragging me out from beneath the canvas. Arrived on deck, I saw some black specks on the ice. "They're walrus, right enough," said Flynn; "I can see their two white teeth hanging down." Closer and closer we got, until the creatures were plainly discernible and their discordant groaning and bellowing filled the air. The noise was like a thousand cattle, but the lowing was deeper and in a lower key.
I stood there spellbound, for such a panorama of uncouth animals, lying in compact masses as far as the eye could see, I had never beheld before. They presented a curious sight, their breath exhausting from their nostrils in clouds of steam, and they appeared to take little or no notice of the approaching boat. It was now the midnight twilight; on the northern horizon the rays from both the setting and the rising sun were strangely intermingled. With the boat still moving gently ahead, the skipper became so enraptured with the sight that he let the Witch bump into a piece of ice with such force that she started a seam in the starboard side and soon began to leak, though not seriously. Meanwhile the old Eskimo leader was strutting along the deck puffing at his big brass pipe as a solace for his growing excitement. Presently he ordered the oomiak (skin boat) to be brought alongside and the hunting paraphernalia to be placed therein.
The Eskimos, sitting in the boat ready for the fray, whined like so many coyotes, levelling their guns and trying their sights, while they waited in anxious expectancy for the word to start. The sun was rising under a black cloud, and there was not yet enough actinic light for me to take my photographs. While we waited the natives grew angry with me for not commencing the attack, but still I delayed.
Dick put the binocular to his eyes and scanned each herd in turn, the animals lying upon the ice in solid masses.
"There's not a female in the bunch," he announced. "Just a lot of love-sick bulls drifting towards the Arctic."
"Why don't they live with the females and help to look after the young?" asked Flynn.