Modern Whaling & Bear-Hunting / A record of present-day whaling with up-to-date appliances in many parts of the world, and of bear and seal hunting in the Arctic regions

by W. G. Burn Murdoch

Captive Polar Bear Cub Climbing on to a Drift Ice

Hamilton, being nearest, perhaps suffers more than some of us; we try to encourage him by pointing out the opportunity there is of developing his taste for natural history, and the Seton-Thomson effect at a lecture he might make with even a fair imitation of the language of these large carnivoræ. He and I agree to differ about the qualities of our first two bears. Because our Port bear was evidently interested in the very large male bear which he shot, he thinks it is the biggest, strongest and altogether the most perfect bear for a zoo, and because I lassoed the Starboard bear, I naturally think its dimensions and spirit are superb, and I point out that its three almost successful attempts for freedom are proof of this. Yes, I still back “Starboard” for trouble. Hamilton says Port bear has eaten through more wood than my Starboard bear. I think he is wrong by an inch or two; at any rate my bear has required tons more iron chain, and sacks of nails.

The drifted pine, which we found on the floe weeks ago, is all used up for Starboard’s cage; he has torn through three plies of one-and-a-half-inch battens, now over the remains he has chains, baulks of the pine-tree and other bits of timber. At some places the wood is a foot thick, and yet I still back him against the field to get out first.

Getting the bears on deck and into cages, even though they are just cubs and a third of the size of Port and Starboard, was an interesting sight; pathetic if you look at it in a way. Fancy the strength of these little heroes that look about the size of a man. They took six men each and a powerful steam-winch to overcome them. Fluff went the steam and up came the kicking, roaring, yellow-white bundle of strength and teeth, with a strop round its waist, and a line round its neck. Lower away! and the winch reverses and the ice-bear comes down from the sky and is guided to the open top of his cage by the line on his neck led through the lowest bar of the front of his cage, and as he is lowered by the winch two men haul on it, so his head is kept down and his mind occupied with the rope on his neck; whilst other men rapidly nail on battens above his back, then the rope to his neck is cut and he quickly rids himself of the noose—brother and sister are side by side—or end on, in one cage, with a partition between them....

Already they take seal blubber, and Gisbert has put a tin of preserved milk into their drinking water. Their poor gums were bleeding with efforts to chaw the wicked ropes that held them by the neck....

Four P.M. The children are now more quiet, one condescends to lick my finger and has accepted several slices of fresh seal blubber, with every manifestation of pleasure, and it carefully licks each paw afterwards, toe by toe.

Now it is my watch for a bear, and I do not feel in the least inclined for more bear, on the floe in orthodox style, or in the water style, which Scoresby cautiously observes “presents a certain amount of safety.” He studied in Edinburgh University. A belt of mist is down again to westward and there is a fine fog bow; we are in the sun, but cannot proceed, blindfolded, as it were. We might get into some cul-de-sac in the floe ice.

Odd, is it not, that only a few minutes after writing expressions of disinclination for bear I was working at a poor attempt to get effect of a fog bow in water-colour, and someone shouted “Bear!” and I had to dive for rifle and pistol, tumbled into the boat with four men and rowed away into the sun’s glitter. Sure enough the bear was there, swimming across from one tiny floe to another, so there was the chance in the water recommended by Scoresby. We swung along at a good rate and I got it, first shot, in the centre of the brain, at about twenty yards with the pistol, which made up a little for the absence of a stalk. Great was the joy of the men over the ·38 automatic and its deadly effect. To anyone who has not had the excitement of shooting a sitting rabbit, I would recommend polar bear shooting in the water: on a floe in difficult ground there is a chance for the bear, a definite chance, and quite a good chance too for the bear, if the hunter is a duffer. But of course, as compared with rabbit-shooting, there is the difficulty of getting to a floe with a bear on it, and you may be nipped in the ice, or you may die of scurvy, so rabbit-shooting taking it all round may be safer.