_POLAR BEARS._
As it was impossible to launch until the return of the tide, Pierre and
Louis were given our rifles and sent off to try their fortunes. As they
departed and left us lying in the shelter of a rock we sincerely wished
them success. We had done our utmost and had failed; if they also should
fail it was too apparent what must soon be the result. Two of the other
men were sent off with shot-guns; then anxious hours of waiting followed.
No shots were heard, but towards evening Pierre and Louis, and afterwards
the other men, could be seen returning in the distance. None of them
appeared to be bringing any game, as we had hoped they might, and at the
sight I confess my heart grew sick. As they came nearer, however, Louis,
holding up something in his hand, exclaimed, “I got him.” It was the claw
of a polar bear, and we soon learned with joy that, sure enough, he had
killed a bear, which he had unexpectedly come upon at the edge of a lake
while following the deer.
The encounter had taken place about six miles inland, and Louis was
alone at the time, his brother having gone off on a diverging track. The
meeting was a mutual surprise, for the bear, which was lying on the snow
near the ice, being very white himself, was unobserved until the hunter’s
approaching footsteps aroused him. There was then a distance of not more
than fifty yards between them, and no time for consideration.
The bear, springing to his feet, made straight for Louis, who met his
charge with a slug and brought him to his knees. He was up in an instant,
though, and followed the Indian, who had taken to the ice, thinking that
in a conflict he would there have the advantage. But in this he found he
was mistaken. The bear was quickly overtaking him, being at home on the
ice, so he turned and with a second shot again knocked the animal down.
As Louis made for the shore the bear regained his feet, and with blood
streaming from his wounds, and a roar of fury, made one more desperate
charge. He was now within a few feet of Louis. The intrepid hunter,
realizing his situation as critical, turned quickly and by a well-aimed
shot laid his savage pursuer dead at his feet.
It was a most fortunate shot for our whole party, as well as for the
Indian, who, being unable to handle the carcase himself, had returned for
assistance, meeting his brother by the way. We all gladly followed him to
the scene of the combat, where, judging from the tracks and blood, there
was abundant proof of the veracity of his story.
On a hill near the carcase some dry moss was discovered, and with this,
even before the skinning had been completed, some of the flesh was
toasted and greedily devoured. The reviving effect produced upon the
spirits of our party was marked. Though the flesh of the polar bear is
famed for its rankness, we would not have exchanged it at that time for
its weight in silver.
The carcase was found to be extremely poor, the only food found in the
stomach being the droppings of reindeer. At the first meeting, therefore,
Louis must have been considered a very desirable prize. It was merely a
question of which should eat up the other in order to prolong existence.
Fortunately for our party the Indian proved to be the fittest survivor.
No part of the carcase was wasted, but every scrap, amounting to between
three and four hundred pounds, including the hide, was placed in bags and
carried to the canoes, which we reached with much difficulty long after
dark.
Next morning a strong east wind, driving a wild surf in upon the shore,
made it impossible to launch, but we were thankful during the delay
to have a supply of meat on hand with which to satisfy the cravings
of hunger. Advantage was also taken of the opportunity afforded for
obtaining moss. Though five or six miles distant, a quantity of this fuel
was gathered, and several large kettles of meat boiled—almost sufficient,
it was hoped, to take us to Churchill. But alas for our hopes! The gale
which had arisen increased in fury until it became a terrific storm,
accompanied by sleet and snow. This continued for five long days.
One night the tent occupied by my brother and I was ripped up the back
by the force of the gale, and with difficulty kept from being carried
away. So piercingly cold was the wind that without shelter we must soon
have perished. We were already numb with cold, but in the midst of snow
and darkness I managed to find in my bag a sail needle and some twine,
and then having lowered the tent to the ground while my brother held it,
I stitched up the rent. When the tent was again raised our bedding was
buried in snow, but the blankets being our only comfort, the drifts were
shaken off, and in a half-perished condition we again crept beneath them.
Besides the discomforts occasioned by the storm at this camp, I suffered
a serious experience of poisoning. Our cook, thinking to give my brother
and me a treat, provided for our dinner a dish of fried liver. Perhaps
because of its rank flavor, my brother partook sparingly and so partially
escaped, but I ate of it freely and at once became fearfully ill. For
a whole day I lay in the tent, retching and straining, though throwing
off nothing but froth, until I thought I should have died. My brother
urged me to take some brandy, a little of which still remained in a flask
we had brought with us, but for some time I declined. Towards evening,
however, finding that I would have to take something or give up the
ghost, I yielded to his advice, and soon began to recover. I have since
learned that polar bear’s liver is considered to be poisonous, both by
the Eskimos and by the north-sea whalers.
While on the subject of bears, it may be of interest to relate here a
rather exciting personal experience I once had, which took place several
years before on the barren ice-bound shores of Hudson Straits.
We were a small detachment of explorers, travelling at the time in the
little steam launch of a scientific expedition, and occupied in the
geographical determination of a group of hitherto unknown islands. The
_personnel_ of our party, without giving full names, was as follows: The
Doctor, who occupied a position in the stern of the boat and acted as
steersman; Mac., who, contrary to orders, had smuggled a small rifle on
board and come with us for sport; Con., an able seaman from Newfoundland,
and myself.
The reason for orders having been given by our commander to take no
rifles with us was doubtless that we might not allow sport to interfere
with the object of our commission. Besides Mac.’s single-shot rifle, I
had in my belt a 38-calibre S. & W. revolver, and these two arms, a knife
and an axe constituted our defences; but no special thought was given to
these things as at six o’clock on that summer morning, in the shadow of
the Arctics, our little expedition steamed away on its mission, following
and mapping the various points and bays of the rocky shore, and giving
all attention to our work as we ploughed through the cold blue waters.
Before we had proceeded many miles it became necessary to go ashore in
order to obtain fresh water for the boiler of the launch. Accordingly,
observing what appeared to be a little cascade falling over broken cliffs
into the sea, our course was shaped towards it; but before we could gain
the shore our purpose was for the time forgotten, because of the sudden
appearance, only a few yards ahead, of two polar bears—a large one and
her cub—swimming in the water.
Mac. and I quickly took our position in the bow and opened hostilities,
but on account of the roughness of the sea and the tossing of the boat
the shots were ineffective, and so far as the old bear was concerned an
opportunity was not afforded for repeating them. Quick as a flash she
disappeared, leaving her fleecy cub paddling about on the surface.
Though the engine of our boat had been stopped, the momentum carried
us on rapidly past the little swimmer, which was about the size of a
half-grown sheep. As we passed, Con. seized master bruin and endeavored
to land him on board, but in this he, perhaps fortunately, failed, and
was prevented from pursuing his ambition by the sudden appearance from
the deep of the enraged mother, who, with a roar, made a plunge for the
stern of the boat, where the doctor was seated, and seized the gunwale in
what were afterwards described as her “devilish-looking jaws.”
To say that this sudden turn of events was a surprise to us all but
feebly describes the expressions depicted upon the faces of our party.
With the other occupants and the engines between us and the bear, Mac.
and I were unable to fire a shot. Con. came to the rescue, and with
several desperate thrusts of the iron-pointed gaff he persuaded the bear
to release her hold, when with the engine again running, a separation was
effected, but not before we had learned an interesting lesson regarding
the habits of the polar bear.
As a matter of discretion, the lesson of experience, the boat was now
kept at a safe distance from the bears. Several shots were fired, one
or two slight wounds being inflicted on the mother, but as fast as the
little one could travel, though no faster, they maintained a steady
course for the nearest point of land. Apparently nothing would induce the
mother bear to forsake her little one, and though wounded herself, her
whole anxiety seemed to be for her offspring. Sometimes she would swim a
short distance in advance, but only to return in a moment, as if to urge
on the little creature to greater exertion.
The shore was soon gained by the swimmers, who then beat a rapid retreat
up the rocky cliffs and disappeared among the distant hills. As they
fled, the exhibition of motherly affection shown by the old bear was very
remarkable and pleasing. She would never allow the cub to be separated
more than a few feet from her, and would govern her own pace to suit that
of her “bairn.”
As the bears made good their escape, self-reproach and disappointment
filled our souls, and more than one emphasized denunciation was heaped
upon our commander’s head because we had been prevented from having our
rifles with us.
After a few moments of bitter reflection as to what “might have been,”
our thoughts reverted to surveying and the obtaining of fresh water, but
before thought could be followed by action, strange to say, two other
large bears were sighted ahead. They were near the shore, and not very
far from the foot of the falls for which we had been steering.
A brief consultation was held, and it was decided to advance cautiously
upon the game. Mac. with his rifle and but a half-dozen remaining
cartridges, again took his position in the bow of the boat, but prompted
by recent experience I remained at the stern with my revolver, while Con.
stood amidships armed with the gaff. The bears, observing us, landed upon
a high point of broken cliffs close by, and as they did so, Mac. gave
them a couple of slugs, which evidently took effect, but caused them no
particular inconvenience. A moment later they were lost to sight among
the rocks. Resolved upon preventing their escape if we possibly could,
Mac. and Con.—the latter armed with the axe—were allowed to go ashore and
head off the retreat, while we in the boat skirted along the shore where
the bears might be most likely to take to the water. Our land party had
no sooner reached the summit of the first ridge of rock than “bang” went
Mac.’s rifle, and a moment later, as he crammed in another cartridge,
there appeared over the ridge, not more than five yards from his feet,
the blood-bespattered heads of the two furies.
It was a critical moment for our two sportsmen, and one of breathless
suspense for those of us who looked on. Con. stood with uplifted axe
ready to strike as Mac., again levelling, fired into the face of the
foremost bear, now almost at his feet, and sent a slug boring through
his head. To ordinary bears this would have been received as sufficient
intimation to drop dead, but it seemed only to “rattle” this polar, so
that instead of proceeding to demolish Mac. and Con., he plunged over the
steep cliff into the sea and there terminated his career.
The other bear, seeing the fate of his comrade, retreated and took to the
water, and as he did so, leaving a trail of blood upon the rocks, Mac.
sent his last slug after him. He and Con. then, descending to the shore,
came on board, and with us gave chase to the wounded animal, who was
swimming off at a rapid pace. Our launch, however, soon overtook him, and
as we passed I gave him a volley from my revolver, which appeared to have
little more effect than to increase his rage.
[Illustration: “Con. stood with uplifted axe ... as Mac. ... fired into
the face of the foremost bear.”—p. 196.]
As I was about to fire again he disappeared, and a moment later
reappeared at the side of the boat, threw one paw over the gunwale, and
with open blood-thirsty jaws, made a lunge for my leg. Fortunately for me
his reach was a little too short, and the result was he got the worst of
the scuffle. Putting my revolver up to the side of his head, I gave him
the contents of the five chambers before he could retire. These shots,
however, did not penetrate the skull, and beyond causing a withdrawal,
only had the effect of further enraging him.
Hostilities having been commenced at close quarters, we continued
the fight until I had fired my last cartridge and bruin’s scalp was
riddled with lead. But the wounded fury still swam powerfully, and with
ammunition now exhausted it appeared as if we would not be able to
complete the task we had undertaken. For a short time we watched his
movements, and observing that he seemed inclined to go ashore, we decided
upon a new plan of action. Steaming away around the point we beached the
boat, and armed with axe, ice-gaff and knife, we climbed the farther side
of the cliff, and there concealed ourselves in such a position that we
were able to watch the enemy’s movements.
We had not long to wait, for, thinking himself unobserved, he swam ashore
at the foot of the bluff and hid among the broken rocks. Feeling that
our opportunity had now arrived, we descended stealthily from ledge to
ledge and from rock to rock, taking care that we should not be scented
or observed. Step by step we drew nearer, until close to the foot of the
cliff, and almost at our feet, we came upon the wounded bear. He was much
out of humor, and feeling sore enough from his many wounds, but before
he had time to demonstrate his displeasure, Mac. had thrust the gaff
through his skull, Con. had cleft his head with the axe, and my knife had
spilled his heart’s blood upon the rocks.
In the animal world the polar bear is admittedly the monarch of the
north. He is the bear of bears, being described by all Arctic travellers
as possessing enormous strength and great voracity. Of the score of
polars whose more or less intimate acquaintance I have had occasion to
make, I have seen at least two whose tracks in the snow measured fifteen
by eighteen inches, whose length measured over nine feet, and whose slain
carcases tipped the steelyard at from fifteen to sixteen hundred pounds.
Consequently I have always had great respect for the sentiments expressed
in the following lines by an author whose name I regret being unable to
recall:—
“Of the black bear you need not be afraid,
But killing white ones is a dangerous trade.
In this be cool, and well direct your lead,
And take your aim at either heart or head;
For struck elsewhere, your piece not level’d true,
Not long you’ll live your erring hand to rue.”
[Illustration: THE LAST OF OUR PROVISIONS—A GLOOMY OUTLOOK.]