+By David Gove.+
A graphic account, illustrated by some very striking
photographs, describing an expedition in quest of walrus amid
the ice-packs of the Alaskan coast. "So far as I know," writes
the author, "these are the only snap-shots of the walrus in
existence."
The scene was the beach at Nome, Alaska, on an unusually warm day
towards the close of the winter of 1907. The ice had loosened its grip
upon the shore, and was drifting lazily in the roadstead; the sudden
spell of warm weather made it appear old, dirty, and rotten. I was
looking out over the broken pack, when suddenly I caught sight of a
black speck about five miles to the south-west. Noting that the keeper
of the life-saving station had his glasses to his eyes observing the
object, I inquired: "Is that a boat from the outside?"
"No," he replied; "it is the gasoline schooner _Witch_. Some people
have been out in her for a walrus-hunt."
I made haste to the mouth of the river to meet the party, and see what
the fruits of this unique expedition had been. The boat tied up to a
large cake of ice that lay aground in the mouth of the river. The first
man to come ashore I recognised as Mr. B.B. Dobbs, of the Nome Moving
Picture Company, and he appeared to be in a very bad temper.
"Good morning, Dobbs," said I. "Have you seen any walrus?"
"No, we have _not_ seen any walrus," he growled, "although we have been
looking for them for twenty-four hours. We got thirty miles beyond the
shore-ice when a gale sprang up, and the little boat became so lively
that I have had a dickens of a time trying to keep my inside in. Here,
take my camera and come with me to get some refreshments."
When he had in a measure recovered himself Dobbs continued the
conversation. "Now, listen to me," he said. "I must have a
cinematograph picture of the walrus. You are a better sailor than I am,
so I want you to take the picture for me."
"Yes," I replied; "but how about finding the walrus?"
"Why, just go and hunt for them; I will pay you well for it. The boat
is chartered, and you can sail this evening."
The thirst of the wild was on me, so I determined to add walrus-hunting
to my list of Arctic adventures, particularly as I could combine
business with pleasure. I thought that if we could locate the animals
it would be a sight never to be forgotten, and would also be a splendid
ending to the monotony of an Arctic winter.
That evening seven Eskimos piled their guns and spears into the boat,
and everything was in readiness to start, but we needed a skipper to
command the vessel. Accordingly I hurried up the beach to find some old
salt to take charge, but the camp was deserted. Scarcely a man was to
be seen in the streets; everybody was busy shovelling gravel into the
sluice-boxes, for this was the season of harvesting gold in Alaska.
Out on the creeks and along the ancient pay-streaks men were digging
for gold; the only males left in the town were a few store-keepers,
bar-keepers, and a pack of well-fed lawyers. I had bethought myself of
Dick Byers, an old sea-rover in the Arctic, and I found him sitting
in a wheelbarrow near the Breakers Saloon, his head pillowed upon his
knees, dozing. "Halloa, Dick, do you want work?" I asked. "I want you
to go on a walrus-hunt with me, and I will give you twenty-five dollars
for twenty-four hours of your service."
[Illustration: 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.
"They are not like the polygamous seal, with his harem of twelve to
fifteen wives," said the skipper, who was a surprisingly well-spoken
man. "The walrus has one wife a season, with whom he lives upon the
ice-floes. Sometimes they go ashore, climbing up the rocks and rolling
in the green grass and fresh water; then they go back to the sea again.
The young one is born in the month of May or June, upon the ice. Then
the females, with the youngsters, separate from the bulls and migrate
north until they reach the great permanent ice-pack. Those bulls that
you see form the rear-guard of the annual migration."
[Illustration: THE FIRST HERD OF WALRUS SIGHTED--THE ANIMAL WITH
UPRAISED HEAD IS THE SENTRY.
_From a Photograph._]
"What do they use their tusks for?" I inquired.
"They are used for fighting the Polar bear, but their principal use is
when they dive down to the bed of the ocean, where they dig up clams
and mussels out of the mud; bivalves and sea-urchins form their chief
food. Their numbers have been greatly diminished in late years, for
nothing can escape the wasteful slaughter of man with his scientific
weapons of destruction. The natives, with their primitive weapons, did
not do much damage, but modern rifles may cause their extermination.
But for their inaccessibility the walrus would have vanished like the
buffalo--only his impenetrable haunts save him from extinction."
Presently Dick and I launched the dory, and paddled close to the
nearest herd. This afforded me a splendid opportunity to study those
denizens of the ice-pack in their native haunts. We crawled over the
ice to within thirty feet of where the huge brutes lay, unconscious of
our presence.
"Don't make a noise," said Dick. "The one on this side is the
sentry--he is on the _qui vive_, but I do not think he sees us. If he
does, he is careless of our proximity."
At this moment one of the walrus began to perform some acrobatic feats
in the water. These concluded, he attempted to get up on the ice. He
had only one tusk, and using this like a boat-hook, tried to pull his
unsymmetrical bulk up on to the floes. But trouble arose immediately.
The sentry challenged his right to advance, raising his ponderous
body to prepare for combat. His skin was wrinkled in heavy folds,
covered with innumerable wounds, and he looked like the veteran of many
battles. Roaring hoarsely, until his fat body swelled with exertion and
rage, he plunged his tusks into the interloper's face, and forced him
to retire.
The sentinel seemed proud of this victory, for he raised himself up
and gave a great roar of satisfaction. Then he threw himself down upon
his icy bed, rolled over upon his back, and, using his flippers like a
dipper, threw the water over his body, as if attending to his morning
toilet.
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.
[Illustration: 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."
[Illustration: 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.
[Illustration: "THE WALRUS CAME BACK SLOWLY, TWISTING THEIR NECKS
CURIOUSLY, AS IF TRYING TO COURT OUR ACQUAINTANCE."
_From a Photograph._]
The Eskimos believe in the effect of the human voice upon their prey,
and when the walrus rolled into the sea they started grunting a strange
guttural sound, "Huk--huk--huk."
While I watched, fascinated, the walrus came back slowly, twisting
their rubber-like necks curiously, as if trying to court our
acquaintance. Several shots were fired at them, but none hit a vital
spot, though the beasts emitted weird sounds as they disappeared
beneath the water. They came into view again at the back of the
ice-floe, bellowing and roaring; their uncouth noises rang from floe
to floe, and from every cake of ice within sight awakened monsters
plunged in alarm. The sea became literally alive with them, and we soon
became the centre of a herd of at least four hundred walrus, their
grizzly heads bobbing up all round us--the long, white tusks gleaming
conspicuously against their dark breasts. The ice-world that had been
so still was now a roaring commotion of animals, tearing in frenzy
through the water, curious and terror-stricken. Their unearthly yells
filled the air with trembling echo.
[Illustration: "THE ICE-WORLD THAT HAD BEEN SO STILL WAS NOW A ROARING
COMMOTION OF ANIMALS, TEARING IN FRENZY THROUGH THE WATER."
_From a Photograph._]
When the natives had given thanks to their gods for bringing plenty of
walrus, they cut the heads off their prizes (for the ivory) and secured
about three tons of the flesh for their families on shore. Then, in the
launch, we started for the next herd that lay undisturbed, leaving the
first mob to settle down again.
There were twelve walrus lying upon this floe, covering it from rim to
rim. My picture-taking and shooting had to be done from the skin boat.
I had my Kodak ready, and as the Eskimos leaned over the gunwale of the
boat and took aim I "snapped" my pictures just as fast as they could
shoot, making my exposures without a moment's hesitation, without the
slightest regard for background, foreground, shadows, or anything else.
Two of the walrus fell dead upon the ice-floe, and another arose in the
water close to the boat, the blood streaming from his head. Two shots
were fired, and a spear was launched into his body with a rope attached
to keep him from sinking. He was soon pulled alongside, his head cut
off, and his body allowed to sink to the bottom of the sea.
[Illustration: A SNAP-SHOT TAKEN FROM THE ESKIMO SKIN-BOAT.
_From a Photograph._]
Presently the old native leader saw a very large walrus fast asleep; it
had wonderfully long tusks, and he set out to dispatch the monster by
the primitive method used by his forefathers. He carried a spear about
five feet long, with a rope of walrus hide attached to an inflated
sealskin. Hanging the rope in a coil around his neck, he crawled upon
his stomach with the stealth of a cat, until he got within three feet
of where the animal lay. I expected to see him poise and throw the
shaft, but instead he rammed it with all his force into the walrus's
body. The creature started, turned its head round, and glared at him.
Then the enormous mass of flesh arose, and with a few spasmodic jumps
made for the water in a hobbling canter. With the spear stuck in his
side and his splay feet working like paddles upon the ice, he rolled
off the floe like a sack of wool, floundering and plunging wildly. At
first he pulled the bladder under the surface of the water, but his
great strength soon failed him, and the bladder appeared floating on
the water. One of the natives, a boy about fifteen years, was out in
the boat watching for him, and when he poked his head above the surface
to breathe the lad shot him and hauled him alongside. At this stage of
the hunt we all went back to the launch for lunch, and also to give
our quarry time to recuperate. The menu consisted of one five-gallon
can filled with walrus meat. The natives took large strips of the
half-cooked marine beef, and with their hands forced as much of it into
their mouths as the opening would contain. Then, with a knife they cut
it off close to their lips. Dick was sitting on his haunches picking
out the lean pieces and devouring it like a native, and I received
a hearty invitation to join them in this Arctic banquet. I did try
to eat a morsel, but without success--not only the odour of the meat
but the mode of eating was repulsive to my taste. After the meal the
slaughter continued until midnight. At dawn the sun arose in a mass of
dangerous-looking red clouds; to the south the murky clouds hung low.
The ice began to roll uneasily, and was soon pounding against the sides
of the vessel. Dick jumped on deck and viewed the angry aspect of the
weather.
[Illustration: FIRING AT THE WALRUS ON THE FLOE.
_From a Photograph._]
[Illustration: SOME OF THE TROPHIES--EIGHTY TUSKS WERE THE RESULT OF
THE TRIP.
_From a Photograph._]
[Illustration: A WALRUS SKULL--THE BRAIN IS LOCATED TWELVE INCHES BACK
FROM THE FOREHEAD, AT THE POINT INDICATED BY A CROSS.
_From a Photograph._]
"We are on the fringe of a south-easter," he exclaimed. "Let's scoot."
He set the course for Nome, all sails were bent to the wind, and the
engine throbbed eagerly as the little vessel tore onwards with her
port scuppers awash. I looked astern, but the scene of our carnage was
already fading in the distance. Faintly I heard the wailing monotones
of the walrus leaders calling their scattered herds together, and
mourning the loss that had so suddenly befallen them. The wind was
moaning through the rigging as we flew before the coming storm, and we
left the tenants of the ice-fields slowly flitting north.
Eighty tusks were the result of our trip, together with a splendid
moving picture of those strange animals.
We arrived in Snake River just in time to escape the coming storm. Some
of the _chechacos_ (newcomers, green-horns) came down to watch us, and
gazed in astonishment at the ivory and the few heads which hung over
the bow of the boat.
"Are them elephants?" one old gentleman whispered to Dick.
"Yes," said the skipper, gravely--"elephants of the sea." Then he
turned and walked back to the Breakers. And so ended our walrus-hunt.