We left our sheltered ice bay this morning, 19th July, because the mist lifted and the sky hung in level lilac bands above the ice-floes, and we got a few hours’ further steaming through the ice towards the coast. And I am rather sorry. For we had got to know the biggest ice features of that bay, and the fishing and shooting were worth quite a good rent—two bears, one narwhal and lots of hunting for other bears in two days. I would have stayed a week more there myself and so would Gisbert, as we are both very keen about the narwhals, but the others were not, and thought there wasn’t much chance of getting within shot.
I must say the narwhals were provoking, rising trout in a chalk stream are not more wary, still there was always a chance. I’d have given a good deal to land one of these splendid ivory horns. Time after time we got almost within harpooning distance and the group of long spotted black and white backs would signal to each other and quietly disappear and sink. We stalked or rowed as quietly as possible to one lot, and I had half a chance and let drive but the harpoon struck water just a foot short of the nearest and biggest. What a flourish of tails and spray there was as they plunged and left great quiet swirls in the rippling water; our boat and hearts bobbing but no whale fast to a straining line. You salmon-fishers don’t know the saltness of the tears for a missed or lost whale.
Svendsen, who has only done bottle-nose harpooning, was put on for next chance and did exactly as I had done, only he got his hand cut through the butt of the harpoon-gun being a bit loose. Truth is, our gear, guns and line on the Fonix are rotten. He told me a curious thing that happened with him a year or two ago; whilst bottle-nosing his mate had made miss after miss at whales with the harpoon, and coming alongside he said: “By G⸺, if I can’t hit a whale I’ll hit a gull” (fulmar petrels were, as usual, round the vessel), so he blew at one and the harpoon cut it in two! But a bottle-nose is an easier mark, to my mind, than the narwhal. Narwhals are apt to show so little above water—only about four to ten inches, and that only for a second as a rule.
Almost at every watch we heard their groanings and went after them. Sometimes we thought we heard the sound coming from under the water. I am sure we did.
Our biggest disappointment came at night—two in the morning rather. A bear was spotted—a bear on the far side of our loch, and Gisbert went off with some men in the whale-boat and we watched in our night clothes (much the same as day clothes in the Arctic) and saw the captain do a record sprint over the floe to turn the bear towards the gun, but the bear that at first seemed inclined to come and pass the time of day changed his mind and went ambling away, giving us a stern view till only its black nose and mouth were visible, as it looked round occasionally, and then it vanished in the lilac distance amongst the snow hummocks, and the writer turned in, thinking the play was over. But this morning, I am told, the real disappointment came. They gave up the bear, for a large black-and-white narwhal, with a magnificent horn, appeared round the ice point and they rowed round for it. It was lying leisurely on the surface, only going below occasionally. Gisbert was to take the harpoon. They made a splendid approach, breathlessly still, oars not making a sound, and got within five yards! And the whale rose high out of the water and Gisbert pulled the trigger, and the gun missed fire. The cap that explodes the powder had been withdrawn for safety, when they began the bear-chase, and not replaced! You can imagine the disappointment. I can assure the reader that such an approach, the approach and hunting of any whale, in fact, is far more exciting than one’s first stag or bear. There is more risk than in bear-hunting. But a danger of the narwhal is that if you make fast to a young one the rest of the family, parents and relatives, are down on you and you have a chance of getting the great ivory spear through your boat. There is all the possibility of lines and legs getting mixed, boat upset, or dragged under floes, and lots more, if you care to tot them up. Curiously, there have been far more lives lost at bottle-nose whaling than at that of the larger kinds (the bottle-nose and narwhal are about the same size). A bottle-nose is not larger than the narwhal, but it goes off with such a dash that I have known several men to have been carried overboard—Captain Larsen for one. He told me he went over with coil round his leg, and another man in front; he got loose but the other man never came up again.
The great Svend Foyn was once taken overboard—that was with a five-inch rope, after a finner whale, which is seldom or never known to check its first rush. This one did, slacked the line and Svend Foyn came to the surface and struck out and clambered on board, where the mate stood white with horror, and all the welcome he could muster was: “I—I—I am afraid you are wet, Captain!” and Foyn laughed himself dry....
Then Fortune gave a belated smile on our adventurers. The foolish bear left the immense floe, on which it was perfectly safe, and took a swim to a small one lying on the far side. Our boat having gone round after this narwhal, was therefore able to spot something moving across the calm water, and when the object got to the floe and crawled out on to the ice, great was their rejoicing to find their bear again. So they pursued it again and killed it with one head shot, one in the neck, and three in the body. It was a small bear, a female about three metres, thirty centimetres—that is, seven feet six inches—and had bad teeth and looked old! My last, about the same length, had splendid teeth and looked young. This accepted measurement, which we take from nose to tail, does not give a true impression of the size of a bear, for this bear standing up would be about nine feet in height. I do not see why we should not measure a bear standing up as we measure man, from top of his head to his heel. We never think of giving a man’s height in feet and inches from top of head to the seat of his trousers. And, besides, what is the end of a bear’s tail? Is it the flesh and bone or longest hair? I’ve seen a hair about five inches long on a bear’s tail, and including the water dripping from that you would have thought, by the measurements, it beat the record.
CHAPTER XXIX
Before we left our last misty anchorage we partook of a meal of both bear and narwhal. The narwhal’s flesh is blacker than an old mushroom, and as food it is only passable. Young bear is our best food, but there is a lot of trouble about preparing it, for we remove all the fat, which has not a good taste.