We will suppose this hut to measure about five or five and a half

feet in height, and about ten feet in diameter. The walls are made

of stones, moss, and the bones of seals, narwhals, whales, and other

ocean-creatures. They are not arched, but recede inward gradually from

the foundation, and are capped by long oblong slabs of slate-stone

extending from side to side. We enter: the flooring consists of thin

flat stones. At the back part of the hut the floor rises about a foot,

and this _breck_, as the elevation is called, serves both as couch

and seat, being covered with a thick layer of dried moss and grass,

under seal-skins, dog-skins, and bear-skins. Similar elevations are

placed at the corners in front; under one of which will lie, perhaps,

a litter of pups, with their mother, and under the other a portion of

seal’s meat. In the square front of the hut, above the passage-way, a

window is inserted; the light being admitted through a square sheet

of strips of dried intestines, sewed together. The entrance is in

the floor, close to the front wall, and is covered with a piece of

seal-skin. Seal-skins are hung about the walls to dry. At the edge of

the _breck_, on either side, sits a woman, each busily engaged

in attending to a smoky lamp, fed with seal’s oil. These lamps are

made of soapstone, and in shape resemble a clam-shell, being about

eight inches in diameter. The cavity is filled with oil obtained from

seal’s blubber; and on the straight edge the flame burns quite vividly,

the wick which furnishes it being made of moss. The business of the

women is apparently to prevent the lamps from smoking, and to keep

them supplied with blubber, large pieces of which are placed in the

cavity, the heat drawing out the oil. About three inches above this

flame hangs, suspended from the ceiling, an oblong square pot made of

the same material as the lamp, in which a joint of seal is simmering

slowly. Above this hangs a rack, made of bare rib-bones, bound together

crosswise, on which stockings and mittens, and various garments made of

seal-skin, are laid to dry. No other fire can be seen than that which

the lamps supply, nor is any other needed. So many persons are crowded

into the confined interior that it is insufferably hot, while the whole

place reeks with the smell of seal-flesh, seal-oil, and seal-skin!

* * * * *

It is natural enough that we should here introduce an account of the

Eskimo mode of catching seals. The great season of the seal-hunt is the

spring, when the inoffensive _phocæ_ gambol and sport in the open

water-ways near the coasts, or clamber on the ice-floes to enjoy the

rays of the tardy sun. They are of a wary and timid disposition, and

we may suppose that their traditions have taught them to be on their

guard against man; but as all their habits and ways are well known to

the Eskimo, they do not succeed in eluding his dexterous perseverance.

Sometimes the hunter attires himself in a seal-skin, and so exactly

imitates their appearance and movements that he approaches within

spear-range of them before the disguise is detected; or else he creeps

into their haunts behind a white screen, which is propelled in front

of him by means of a sledge. As the season verges upon midsummer less

precaution becomes necessary; the eyes of the seals being so congested

by the fierce radiance of the sun that they are often nearly blind. In

winter they are assailed while labouring at their breathing-holes, or

when they rise for the purpose of respiration.

If an Eskimo satisfies himself that a seal is working away beneath the

ice, he takes up his station at the suspected point, and seldom quits

it, however severe the weather, until he has captured the animal. To

protect himself from the freezing blast, he throws up a snow-wall

four feet in height, and seating himself in its shade, he rests his

spears, lines, and other appliances on a number of little forked sticks

inserted into the snow, in order that he may move them, when wanted,

without making the slightest noise. He carries his caution to such

an excess, that he even ties his own knees together with a thong to

prevent his garments from rustling! about

[Illustration: AN ESKIMO SEAL-HUNTER.]

To discover whether the seal is still gnawing at the ice, our patient

watcher makes use of his _keep-kuttuk_; a slender rod of bone, no

thicker than ordinary bell-wire, cleverly rounded, with a knob at one

end and a sharp point at the other.

This implement he thrusts into the ice, and the knob, which remains

above the surface, informs him by its motion whether the animal is

still engaged in making his hole; if it does not move, the attempt

is given up in that place, and the hunter betakes himself elsewhere.

When he supposes the hole to be nearly completed, he stealthily raises

his spear, and as soon as he can hear the blowing of the seal, and

knows therefore that the ice-crust is very thin, he drives it into the

unsuspecting animal with all his might; and then hacks away with his

sharp-edged knife, or _panna_, the intervening ice, so as to

repeat his blows, and secure his victim. The _neituk_, or Phoca

hispida, being the smallest seal, is held while struggling, either

by the hand, or by a line one end of which is twisted round a spear

driven into the ice. In the case of the bearded seal, or _oguka_,

the line is coiled round the hunter’s leg or arm; for a walrus, round

his body, the feet being at the same time firmly planted against a

hummock of ice, so as to increase the capability of resistance. A boy

of fifteen can kill a _neituk_, but the larger animals can be

mastered only by a robust and experienced adult.

We come now to speak of the Whale, which, in size, is the sovereign of

the Arctic seas, and the grandest type of marine life.

Whales (_Cetacea_) are, as most persons now-a-days know, an

order of aquatic mammals, distinguished by their fin-like anterior

extremities, and by the peculiarity that the place of the posterior

extremities is supplied by a large horizontal caudal fin, or tail;

while the cervical bones are so compressed that the animal, externally

at least, seems to have no neck.

The general form of the whale, notwithstanding its position among

the Mammalia, is similar to that of the fishes, and the horizontal

elongation of the body, the smooth and rounded surface, the gradual

attenuation of the extremities of the trunk, and the magnitude of

the fins and tail, are specially adapted to easy and swift motion in

the water. The arrangement of the bones composing the anterior limb

is very curious. The whole of the fin consists of exactly the same

parts as those which we find in the human hand and arm; but they are

so concealed beneath the thick cutaneous or integumentary envelope,

that not a trace of bone is visible. In this respect an intermediate

organization is shown by the fore limbs of the seal.

The posterior extremity, in all the Cetacea, is either absolutely

deficient, or else rudimentary. If rudimentary, its sole vestige

consists of certain small bones, the imperfect representation of a

pelvis, suspended, as it were, in the flesh, and unconnected with the

spinal column. Here we may observe a remarkable difference between the

whale and the seal: in the latter, as we have seen, there is a short

tail, and the posterior extremities perform the office of a true caudal

fin; in the former this important organ of progression consists, to use

Mr. Bell’s words, of “an extremely broad and powerful horizontal disc,

varying in figure in the different genera, but in all constituting

the principal instrument of locomotion.” In fishes the tail is set

vertically, but in whales horizontally; and it has been well said that

the admirable adaptation of such a peculiarity in its position to the

requirements of the animal forms a fresh and beautiful illustration of

the infinite resource and foresight of the Creative Wisdom.

Thus: the fishes, respiring only the air contained in the dense liquid

medium in which they live, require no access to the atmosphere; and,

therefore, their progression is chiefly confined to the same region.

But the whales, breathing atmospheric air, must necessarily come to the

surface for each respiration; and hence they need a powerful instrument

or lever, the position of which shall apply its impulse in a vertical

direction, so as to impel their colossal bulk from the lowest depths

of ocean to the surface every time the lungs require to receive a

fresh supply of atmospheric air. The greatest rapidity of motion is

effected by alternate strokes of the tail against the water, upwards

and downwards; but the usual progression is accomplished by an oblique

lateral and downward impulse, first on one side and then on the other,

just as a boat is propelled by a man with a single oar in the art of

“sculling.” The extent of the tail in some of the larger species is

really immense; the superficies being no less than about a hundred

square feet, and its breadth considerably exceeding twenty feet.

The common, right, or Greenland whale (_Balæna mysticetus_) has

been, for centuries, the object of man’s systematic pursuit, on account

of its valuable oil and scarcely less valuable baleen.

[Illustration: THE GREENLAND WHALE.]

This whale seldom exceeds fifty to sixty feet in length, or thirty to

forty in girth, and, therefore, is by no means the head of its family.

As in other species, the body is thick and bulky forwards, largest

about the middle, and tapers suddenly towards the tail. The head is

colossal; broad, flat, and rounded beneath, and narrow above; it forms

about a third of the animal’s entire length, and is about ten or twelve

feet broad. Its lips--such lips!--are five or six feet thick. They do

not cover any teeth, but they protect a pair of very formidable jaws.

The cavernous interior of the mouth is filled up with two series of

whalebone laminæ, about three hundred in each, which require particular

description. The whalebone, or baleen, as it is called, consists of

numerous parallel plates, layers, or laminæ, each of which is formed of

a central coarse fibrous layer lying between two that are compact and

externally polished. But this outer part does not completely cover the

inner; a kind of edge is exposed, and this edge terminates in a loose

fringed or fibrous extremity. Moreover, at the base of each plate of

baleen lies a conical cavity, covering a pulp which corresponds with

it; and this pulp is sunk within the substance of the gum or buccal

membrane stretched over the palate and upper jaw.

The compact _outer_ layers of the baleen plate are continuous

with a white horny layer of the gum, which passes on to the surface of

each plate; and the pulp may be regarded, therefore, as the secreting

organ of the internal coarse structure only. The filaments of the

fringe are exceedingly numerous, and so fill up the mouth-cavity as

to form a very efficient and ingenious sieve or strainer; and as the

esophagus, or “swallow,” of the whale is so confined as to be unable

to admit of the passage even of the smaller fish, and the food of the

whale consequently is limited to minute organisms, such as the medusæ,

this skilfully devised construction is absolutely requisite in order to

retain the whole of those which are taken into the mouth.

The mode in which the whale feeds may be thus described:--

The broad waters of the Arctic seas teem with innumerable shoals of

molluscous, radiate, and crustaceous animals, and these are frequently

so numerous as absolutely to colour the wave-surface.

When a whale, therefore, desires food, it opens its colossal mouth, and

a host of these organisms is, as it were, swept up by the great expanse

of the lower jaw: as the mouth closes, the water is ejected, and the

life it contained is imprisoned by the appliance we have attempted to

describe.

If we consider the number of whales found in the Northern seas, and

the mighty bulk of each individual, our imagination entirely fails to

appreciate the countless myriads of minute organisms which must be

sacrificed to their due nourishment.

One of the principal products of the Greenland whale is its baleen,

or whalebone, with the domestic uses of which our readers will be

familiar; but the large quantities of oil which it yields are still

more valuable. A whale sixty feet in length will supply fully twenty

tons of pure oil.

Besides the common whale, our hunters find in the seas of the North the

razor-backed whale, or northern rorqual (_Balænoptera physalis_),

characterized by the prominent ridge which extends along its mighty

back. This monster of the deep attains a length, it is said, of

one hundred feet, and measures from thirty to thirty-five feet in

circumference. But its yield of oil and baleen is less than that of the

right or Greenland whale, and as its capture is a task of difficulty

and danger, the whalers seldom attack it. In its movements it is more

rapid and restless, and when harpooned it frequently plunges downward

with such force and velocity as to break the line. In several respects

it differs from the Greenland species; and particularly in the nature

of its food, for it feeds upon fishes of considerable size.

Some of our naturalists affirm that several species of rorquals exist

in the Arctic seas; and the pike whale, so called from the resemblance

of its mouth to that of a pike, is frequently described as an

independent species. Others, however, are of opinion that the pike is

simply the young of the monster we have been describing. The rorqual

is very voracious, and preys extensively upon fishes; as many as six

hundred cod, to say nothing of smaller “fry,” having been found in the

stomach of a single individual.

While the Greenland whale is being rapidly driven back into the icy

wildernesses beyond Behring Strait, on the west, and the creeks

and gulfs beyond Baffin Bay, on the east, the rorquals, including

the _Balænoptera rostratus_ (or beaked whale), _Balænoptera

musculus_, and _Balænoptera boöps_, still frequent the open

waters,--their pursuit being, as we have shown, more difficult and

less profitable. They are generally found in attendance on the

herring-shoals, of which they are the assiduous and destructive

enemies. Off Greenland, Spitzbergen, and Novaia Zemlaia they are found

in considerable numbers.

Our whalers go forth every year in well-provided ships, and supplied

with the best and most formidable weapons which scientific ingenuity

can devise. Still they find the enterprise one of peril and hardship,

and it is universally recognized as requiring in those who embark in

it no ordinary powers of endurance, as well as courage, patience,

and perseverance. Yet the Asiatic and American tribes do not fear to

confront the ocean-leviathan with the simplest of arms. The Aleüt

embarks in his little skiff, or _baidar_, and catching sight of

his prey, stealthily approaches it from behind until he nearly reaches

the monster’s head. Then he suddenly and dexterously drives his short

spear into the huge flank, just under the fore fin, and retreats as

swiftly as his well-plied oars can carry him. If the spear has sunk

into the flesh, the whale is doomed; within the next two or three days

it will perish, and the currents and the waves will hurl the vast bulk

on the nearest shore, to be claimed by its gallant conqueror. And as

each spear bears its owner’s peculiar mark, the claim is never disputed.

Occasionally the baidar does not escape in time, and the exasperated

leviathan, furiously lashing the waters with its tail, hurls the frail

boat high up into the air, as if it were a reed, or sinks it with

one crushing blow. No wonder that those of their race who undertake

so hazardous a calling are held in high repute among the Aleüts. To

sally forth alone, and encounter the whale in the icy waters of the

Polar Sea, is a task demanding the utmost intrepidity and the utmost

tranquillity of nerve.

Many of the whales thus daringly harpooned are lost. It is on record

that, in the summer of 1831, one hundred and eighteen whales were

struck near Kadjack, and of these only forty-three were found. The

others either drifted to far-off shores and lonely unknown isles, or

became the prey of sharks and ocean-birds. Wrangell states that of late

years the Russians have introduced the use of the harpoon, and engaged

some English harpooneers to teach the Aleüts the secret of their craft;

and, therefore, the older and more hazardous method, which the Aleüts

had learned from their forefathers, will soon be a thing of the past.

* * * * *

The Eskimos devote the month of August to the whale-fishery, and for

this purpose they assemble in companies, and plant a colony of huts

on some bold headland of the Polar coast, where the water is of depth

sufficient to float their destined victim.

As soon as a whale’s colossal bulk is seen outstretched on the water,

a dozen kayaks or more cautiously paddle up in the rear, until one of

them, shooting ahead, comes near enough on one side for the men to

drive the spear into its flesh with all the force of both arms. To the

spear are attached an inflated seal-skin and a long coil of thong. The

whale dives immediately it is stricken. After awhile it reappears, and

the signal being given by the floating seal-skin buoy, all the canoes

again paddle towards their prey. Again the opportunity is seized for

launching the fatal spears; and this process is repeated until the

exhausted whale rises more and more frequently to the surface, is

finally killed, and towed ashore.

Captain M’Clure fell in with an Eskimo tribe off Cape Bathurst which

hunted the whale in this primitive fashion, but the females, as well as

the men, engaged in the pursuit. An _omaiak_, or woman’s boat, he

says, is “_manned_ by ladies,” having as harpooneer a chosen man

of the tribe; and a shoal of small fry, in the form of _kayaks_,

or single-men canoes, are in attendance. The harpooneer singles out “a

fish,” drives into its flesh his weapon, to which an inflated seal-skin

is attached by means of a walrus-hide thong. The wounded fish is then

incessantly harassed by the men in the kayacks with weapons of a

similar description; and a number of these, driven into the unfortunate

whale, baffle its efforts to escape, and wear out its strength, until,

in the course of a day, it dies from exhaustion and loss of blood.

Sherard Osborn tells us that the harpooneer, when successful, becomes

a very great personage indeed, and is invariably decorated with the

Eskimo order of the Blue Ribbon; that is, a blue line is drawn across

his face over the bridge of his nose. This is the highest honour

known to the heroes of Cape Bathurst; but it carries along with it

the privilege of the decorated individual being allowed to take unto

himself a second wife!

* * * * *

In the waters of Novaia Zemlaia, Greenland, and Spitzbergen is found

the narwhal, or sea unicorn (_Monodon monoceros_), which was at

one time the theme of so many extravagant legends. It belongs to the

Cetacea, but differs from the whale in having no teeth, properly so

called, and in being armed with a formidable horn, projecting straight

forward from the upper jaw, in a direct line with the body. This horn,

or tusk, the use of which has not been satisfactorily ascertained, is

harder and whiter than ivory, spirally striated from base to point,

tapers throughout, and measures from six to ten feet in length. Mr.

Bell remarks that it would be a strange anomaly if the apparent

singleness of this weapon were real. In truth, _both_ teeth are

invariably found in the jaw, not only of the male, but of the female

also; but in ordinary (though not in all) cases one only, and this in

the male, is fully developed, the other remaining in a rudimentary

condition--even as both do in the female.

[Illustration: NARWHALS, MALE AND FEMALE.]

The narwhal, from mouth to tail, is about twenty feet long, though

individuals measuring thirty feet are sometimes met with. Its head

is short, and the upper part convex; its mouth small; its spiracle,

or respiratory vent, duplicate within; its tongue long; the pectoral

fins small. The back, which is convex and rather wide, has no fins,

and sharpens gradually towards the tail, which, as in other Cetacea,

is horizontal. The food of the narwhal, whose habits are remarkably

pacific, consists of medusæ, the smaller kinds of flat fish, and other

marine animals.

* * * * *

A striking spectacle which frequently greets the eye of the voyager in

the Arctic seas is that of a shoal of dolphins gambolling and leaping,

as if in the very heyday of enjoyment. The beluga, sometimes called

the white whale (_Delphinus leucos_), attracts attention by the

dazzling whiteness of its body and the swiftness of its movements. It

frequents the estuaries of the Obi and the Irtish, the Mackenzie and

the Coppermine, which it sometimes ascends to a considerable distance

in pursuit of the salmon. Its length varies from twelve to twenty feet;

it has no dorsal fin; and its head is round, with a broad truncated

snout.

[Illustration: A SHOAL OF DOLPHINS.]

The black dolphin (_Globicephalus globiceps_) is also an

inhabitant of the Polar seas, both beyond Behring Strait, and between

Greenland and Spitzbergen. It is, however, frequently met with in

waters further south. Its length averages about twenty-four feet, and

its circumference ten feet. Its smooth oily skin is bluish-black on the

upper, and an obscure white on the lower, parts of the body. Twenty-two

or twenty-four strong interlocking teeth in each jaw form its

formidable apparatus of offence and defence; its dorsal fin is about

fifteen inches high; its tail five feet broad; the pectoral fins are

long and narrow, and well adapted to assist their owner in its rapid

movements. It consorts with its kind in herds of several hundreds,

under the guidance of some old and wary males, whom the rest follow as

docilely as a flock of sheep their bell-wether; hence the Shetlanders

term it the “ca’ing whale.” Large shoals are frequently stranded on the

shores of Norway, Iceland, and the Orkney, Faroe, and Shetland Isles,

furnishing the inhabitants with a welcome booty.

* * * * *

To the same latitudes belong the ferocious orc or grampus (_Delphinus

orca_), the tiger of the seas, which not only attacks the porpoise

and dolphin, but even the colossal whale. Its broad deep body is black

above and white beneath; the sides are marbled with black and white.

There are thirty teeth in each jaw, those in front being blunt, round,

and slender, while those behind are sharp and thick; and between each

is a space fitted to receive those of the opposite jaw when the mouth

is closed. The back fin of the grampus is of great size; sometimes

measuring as much as six feet in length, from the base to the tip.

The grampus generally voyages in small squadrons of four or five

individuals, following each other in single file, and alternately

rising and sinking in such a manner as to resemble the undulatory

motions of a huge kraken or sea-serpent.

* * * * *

Among the inhabitants of the Polar Ocean must certainly be included the

Polar bear (_Thalassarctos maritimus_), since it swims and dives

with great dexterity, and, moreover, is often found on the drifting

ice-floes at a distance of eighty to one hundred miles from land. It

is a creature of great strength, great fierceness, and great courage,

though we may not accept the exaggerated accounts of it which enliven

the narratives of the earlier voyagers.

[Illustration: POLAR BEARS.]

A noble creature is the Polar bear, says Sherard Osborn, whether we

speak of him by the learned titles of “Ursus maritimus,” “Thalassarctos

maritimus,” or the sailors’ more expressive nomenclature of “Jack

Rough!” With all her many wonders, continues this lively writer,

never did Nature create a creature more admirably adapted to the

life it has to lead. Half flesh, half fish, the seaman wandering in

the inhospitable regions of the North cannot but be struck with the

appearance of latent energy and power its every action attests, as

it rolls in a lithe and swaggering way over the rough surface of the

frozen sea; or, during the brief Arctic summer, haunts the broken and

treacherous “pack” in search of its prey.

When not too loaded with fat--and it seems to fatten readily--the pace

of the bear is leisurely and easy, yet at its slowest it is equal to

that of a good pedestrian; and when alarmed or irritated, its speed

is surprising, though not graceful. On level ice, it flings itself

ahead, as it were, by a violent jerking motion of the powerful fore

paws, in what has been described as an “ungainly gallop;” but it always

makes, when it can, for rough ice, where its strength and agility are

best displayed, and where neither man nor dog can overtake it. In the

Queen’s Channel, during Captain M’Clure’s expedition, more than one

bear was seen making its way over broken-up ice, rugged and precipitous

as the mind can picture, with a truly wonderful facility; their

powerful fore paws and hind legs enabling them to spring from piece to

piece, scaling one fragment and sliding down another with the activity

of a huge quadrumane rather than that of a quadruped. Evidently it is

conscious of its superiority in such rough and perilous ground, and

is generally found at the edge of the belts of hummocks or broken ice

which intersect most ice-fields, or else amongst the frozen pack-ice of

channels such as Barrow’s and the Queen’s.

There is, however, another reason why bears keep among hummocks and

pack-ice--namely, that near such spots water usually first makes its

appearance in the summer. Seals, consequently, are most numerous

there; while the inequalities of the floe afford shelter to the bears

in approaching their prey. During summer the colour of the Polar bear

is of a dull yellowish hue, closely resembling that of decaying snow

or ice. The fur is then thin, and the hair on the soles of their feet

almost wholly rubbed off, as with the other animals of Arctic climes;

but in the autumn, when the body has recovered from the privations

of the previous winter, and a thick coating of blubber overlays his

carcass to meet the exigencies of another season of scanty fare, the

feet, as the season advances, are beautifully incased and feathered

with hair, and the animal’s colour usually turns to a very pale straw,

which, from particular points of view, as the light strikes it, looks

white, or nearly so. The nose and lips are of a jetty black; the eyes

vary in colour. Brown is common, but some have been seen with eyes of

a pale gray. Their sense of smell is peculiarly acute, facilitated no

doubt by the peculiar manner in which the pure keen air of the North

carries scent to very considerable distances.

Sherard Osborn states that bears have been seen to follow up a scent,

exactly as dogs would do; and the floes about Lowther Island, in 1851,

looked as if the bears had quartered there in search of seals, after

the fashion of a pointer in the green fields of England. The snorting

noise which they make as they approach near indicates how much more

confidence they place in their scent than in their vision; though both,

when the hunter is concerned, are apt to deceive them.

The Polar bear attains to very formidable proportions; but when seamen

speak of monsters fifteen feet in length, their auditors may be excused

for withholding their belief. _Ten_ feet would seem to be a

maximum; and the bear need be large, strong, and muscular to master

the large Arctic seal, especially the saddle-back and bladder-nose

species. For though it swims well and dives well, it neither swims nor

dives as well as the seal, and would therefore have but little chance

of obtaining a sufficient livelihood if it could not attack and capture

its victim on the ice-floes.

The seal, on the other hand, fully aware of its danger, and of the only

means of escaping from it, always keeps close to the water, whether it

be the hole it has gnawed and broken through the ice, or the open sea

at the floe edge.

And when it lies basking on the floating ice, and apparently apathetic

and lethargic, nothing can exceed its vigilance. With its magnificent

eyes it is able to sweep a wide range of the horizon, however slightly

it turns its head; its keenness of hearing adds to its security. There

is something peculiarly striking in its continuous watchfulness. Now

it raises its head and looks around; now it is intent on the slightest

sound that travels over the crisp surface of the ice; now it gazes

and listens down its hole, a needful precaution against so subtle a

hunter as old Bruin! It would seem impossible to surprise an animal

so vigilant and so wary; and, indeed, in circumventing its prey the

bear exhibits an astuteness and a skill which overpass the bounds of

instinct, and approach closely to those of reason.

From its scent and by its quick strong vision the bear apprehends the

position of the seal. Then it throws itself prone upon the ice, and

profiting by inequalities which are invisible to human eyes, gradually

steals upon its destined victim by a soft and scarcely perceptible

movement of the hind feet. To hide its black muzzle, it constantly

uses its fore feet; and thus, only the dingy white of its coat being

visible, it is scarcely to be distinguished from the general mass of

the floe. Patiently it draws nearer and nearer; the seal, mistaking it

for one of its own congeners, or else yielding to a fatal curiosity,

delaying until its assailant, with one spring, is upon it.

Yet, as the old adage says, there is many a slip; and even in these

circumstances the bear does not always secure its feast. It is

disappointed sometimes just as the prey seems within its grasp; and how

keen the disappointment is can be appreciated only, we are told, by

hapless Arctic travellers, “who have been hours crawling up, dreaming

of delicious seal’s fry and overflowing fuel bags, and seen the prey

pop down a hole when within a hundred yards of it.” The great muscular

power of the seal frequently enables it to fling itself into the water

in spite of the bear’s efforts to hold it on the floe; Bruin, however,

retains his grip, for his diving powers are not much inferior to those

of the seal, and down they go together! Sometimes the bear proves

victorious, owing to mortal injuries inflicted upon the seal before it

reaches the water; sometimes it may be seen reappearing at another hole

in the floe, or clambering up another loose piece of ice, apparently

much mortified by its want of success.

[Illustration: BEAR CATCHING A SEAL.]

As we have said, the bear dives well, and is nearly as much at home

in the water as upon the ice. If it catches sight of a seal upon a

drifting floe, it will slide quietly into the sea, swim with only the

tip of its nose above the water, and, diving under the floe, reach the

very spot which the hapless seal has regarded as an oasis of safety. It

is this stratagem of its enemy which has taught the seal to watch its

hole so warily. Even on extensive ice-fields fast to the land, where

the bear cannot conceal its approach by taking advantage of hummocks

or other inequalities, the seal is not safe; for then Bruin drops

down a hole, and swims along under the ice-crust until it reaches the

one where the poor seal is all unwittingly enjoying its last rays of

sunshine.

The bear’s season of plenty begins with the coming of the spring. In

February and March the seal is giving birth to her young, who are born

blind and helpless, and for ten days are unable to take to the water.

The poor mothers use every effort to protect them, but, in spite of

their affectionate exertions, a perfect massacre of the innocents takes

place, in which, not improbably, the Arctic wolf is not less guilty

than the Arctic bear.

Voracity, however, frequently proves its own Nemesis, and the bear, in

its eager pursuit of prey, often involves itself in serious disaster.

The seal instinctively breeds as close as possible to the open

water. But the ice-floes, during the early equinoctial gales, will

sometimes break up and drift away in the form of pack-ice; a matter

of indifference, says Osborn, to the seal, but a question of life and

death to the bear. Borne afar on their little islets of ice, rocked by

tempestuous waters, buffeted by icy gales, numbers of these castaways

are lost along the whole area of the Polar Sea. It is said that when

the gales blow down from the north, bears are sometimes stranded in

such numbers on the shores of Iceland as to endanger the safety of the

flocks and herds of the Icelandic peasants; and they have been known to

reach the coasts of Norway.

Bears drifting about at a considerable distance from the land are often

enough seen by the whalers. They have been discovered fully sixty miles

from shore, in Davis Strait, without any ice in sight, and utterly

exhausted by long swimming. It is thus that Nature checks their too

rapid increase; for beyond the possibility of the wolf hunting it in

packs and destroying the cubs, there seems no other limitation of their

numbers. The Eskimos are too few, and too badly provided with weapons,

to slaughter them very extensively. Wherever seals abound, so do bears;

in Barrow Strait and in the Queen’s Channel they have been seen in

very numerous troops. The Danes assert that they are plentiful about

the northern settlement of Upernavik in Greenland, for nine months

in the year; and from the united testimony of the natives inhabiting

the north-eastern portion of Baffin Bay, and that of Dr. Kane, who

wintered in Smith Sound, it is evident that they are plentiful about

the _polynias_, or open pools, formed there by the action of the

tides.

In the summer months, when the bear is loaded with fat, it is easily

hunted down, for then it can neither move swiftly nor run long; but in

deep winter its voracity and its great strength render it a formidable

enemy to uncivilized and unarmed man. Usually it avoids coming into

contact with our British seamen, though instances are on record of

fiercely contested engagements, in which Bruin has with difficulty been

defeated.

It is folly, says Sherard Osborn, to talk of the Polar bear

hibernating: whatever bears may do on the American continent, there

is only one Arctic navigator who ever saw a bear’s nest! Bears were

seen at all points visited by our sailors in the course of M’Clure’s

expedition; at all times and in all temperatures; males or females,

and sometimes females with their cubs. In mid-winter, as well as in

midsummer, they evidently frequented spots where tides or currents

occasioned either water to constantly exist, or only allowed such a

thin coating of ice to form that the seal or walrus could easily break

through.

That the Polar bear does not willingly attack man, except when hotly

pursued or when suffering from extreme want, is asserted by several

good authorities, and confirmed by an experience which Dr. Hayes

relates. He was strolling one day along the shore, and observing with

much interest the effect of the recent spring-tides upon the ice-foot,

when, rounding a point of land, he suddenly found himself confronted in

the full moonlight by an enormous bear. It had just sprung down from

the land-ice, and met Dr. Hayes at full trot, so that they caught sight

of each other, man and brute, at the same moment. Being without a

rifle or other means of defence, Dr. Hayes suddenly wheeled towards his

ship, with much the same reflections, probably, about discretion and

valour as occurred to old Jack Falstaff when the Douglas set upon him;

but discovering, after a few lengthy strides, that he was not “gobbled

up,” he looked back over his shoulder, when, to his gratification as

well as surprise, he saw the bear speeding towards the open water

with a celerity which left no doubt as to the state of its mind. It

would be difficult to determine which, on this occasion, was the more

frightened, the bear or Dr. Hayes!

* * * * *

A curious illustration of the combined voracity and epicureanism of

Bruin is recorded by Dr. Kane. A _cache_, or depôt of provisions,

which had been constructed by one of his exploring parties with great

care, and was intended to supply them with stores on their return

journey, they found completely destroyed. It had been built, with

every possible precaution, of rocks brought together by heavy labour,

and adjusted in the most skilful manner. So far as the means of the

builders permitted, the entire construction was most effective and

resisting. Yet these “tigers of the ice” seemed to have scarcely

encountered an obstacle. Not a morsel of pemmican (preserved meat)

remained, except in the iron cases, which, being round, with conical

ends, defied both claw and teeth. These they had rolled and pawed in

every direction,--tossing them about like footballs, although upwards

of eighty pounds in weight. An alcohol-case, strongly iron-bound, was

dashed into small fragments; and a tin can of liquor twisted almost

into a ball. The bears’ strong claws had perforated the metal, and torn

it up as with a chisel.

[Illustration: BEARS DESTROYING A CACHE.]

But the burglars were too dainty for salt meats. For ground coffee

they had evidently a relish; old canvas was also a favourite,--_de

gustibus non est disputandum_; even the flag which had been reared

“to take possession” of the icy wilderness, was gnawed down to the very

staff. It seemed that the bears had enjoyed a regular frolic; rolling

the bread-barrels over the ice-foot and into the broken outside ice;

and finding themselves unable to masticate the heavy India-rubber

cloth, they had amused themselves by tying it up in unimaginable hard

knots.

* * * * *

The she-bear displays a strong affection for her young, which she will

not desert even in the extremity of peril. The explorer already quoted

furnishes an interesting narrative of a pursuit of mother and cub, in

which the former’s maternal qualities were touchingly exhibited.

On the appearance of the hunting party and their dogs, the bear fled;

but the little one being unable either to keep ahead of the dogs or

to maintain the same rate of speed as its mother, the latter turned

back, and, putting her head under its haunches, threw it some distance

forward. The cub being thus safe for the moment, she would wheel round

and face the dogs, so as to give it a chance to run away; but it always

stopped where it had alighted, until its mother came up, and gave

it another forward impulse; it seemed to expect her aid, and would not

go forward without it. Sometimes the mother would run a few yards in

advance, as if to coax her cub up to her, and when the dogs approached

she would turn fiercely upon them, and drive them back. Then, as they

dodged her blows, she would rejoin the cub, and push it on,--sometimes

putting her head under it, sometimes seizing it in her mouth by the

nape of its neck.

[Illustration: FIGHT WITH A WHITE BEAR.]

For some time she conducted her retreat with equal skill and celerity,

leaving the two hunters far in the rear. They had sighted her on the

land-ice; but she led the dogs in-shore, up a small stony valley which

penetrated into the interior. After going a mile and a half, however,

her pace slackened, and, the little one being spent, she soon came to a

halt, evidently determined not to desert it.

At this moment the men were only half a mile behind; and, running at

full speed, they soon reached the spot where the dogs were holding her

at bay. The fight then grew desperate. The mother never moved more than

two yards ahead, constantly and affectionately looking at her cub.

When the dogs drew near, she sat upon her haunches, and taking the

little one between her hind legs, she fought her assailants with her

paws, roaring so loudly that she could have been heard a mile off. She

would stretch her neck and snap desperately at the nearest dog with her

shining teeth, whirling her paws like the sails of a windmill. If she

missed her aim, not daring to pursue one dog lest the others should

pounce upon her cub, she uttered a deep howl of baffled rage, and on

she went, pawing and snapping, and facing the ring, grinning at them

with wide-opened jaws.

When the hunters came up, the little one apparently had recovered its

strength a little, for it was able to turn round with its dam, however

quickly she moved, so as always to keep in front of her belly. Meantime

the dogs were actively jumping about the she-bear, tormenting her like

so many gadflies; indeed, it was difficult to fire at her without

running the risk of killing the dogs. But Hans, one of the hunters,

resting on his elbow, took a quiet, steady aim, and shot her through

the head. She dropped at once, and rolled over dead, without moving a

muscle.

Immediately the dogs sprang towards her; but the cub jumped upon her

body and reared up, for the first time growling hoarsely. They seemed

quite afraid of the little creature, she fought so actively, and made

so much noise; and, while tearing mouthfuls of hair from the dead

mother, they would spring aside the minute the cub turned towards them.

The men drove the dogs off for a time, but were compelled to shoot the

cub at last, as she would not quit the body.

* * * * *

A still more stirring episode is recorded by Dr. Kane, which will fitly

conclude our account of the Polar bear.

“_Nannook! nannook!_” (A bear! a bear!) With this welcome shout,

Hans and Morton, two of his attendants, roused Dr. Kane one fine

Saturday morning.

To the scandal of his domestic regulations, the guns were all

impracticable. While the men were loading and capping anew, Dr. Kane

seized his pillow-companion six-shooter, and ran on deck, to discover

a medium-sized bear, with a four-months’ cub, in active warfare with

the dogs. They were hanging on her skirts, and she, with remarkable

alertness, was picking out one victim after another, snatching him by

the nape of the neck, and flinging him many feet, or rather yards, by a

scarcely perceptible movement of her head.

Tudea, the best dog, was already _hors de combat_; he had been

tossed twice. Jenny, another of the pack, made an extraordinary

somerset of nearly fifty feet, and alighted senseless. Old Whitey, a

veteran combatant, stanch, but not “bear-wise,” had been foremost in

the battle; soon he lay yelping, helplessly, on the snow.

It seemed as if the battle were at an end; and _nannook_ certainly

thought so, for she turned aside to the beef-barrels, and began with

the utmost composure to turn them over, and nose out their fatness. A

bear more innocent of fear does not figure in the old, old stories of

Barents and the Spitzbergen explorers.

Dr. Kane now lodged a pistol-ball in the side of the cub. At once the

mother placed her little one between her hind legs, and, shoving it

along, made her way to the rear of the store or “beef-house.” As she

went she received a rifle-shot, but scarcely seemed to notice it. By

the unaided efforts of her fore arms she tore down the barrels of

frozen beef which made the triple walls of the store-house, mounted the

rubbish, and snatching up a half barrel of herrings, carried it down in

her teeth, and prepared to slip away. It was obviously time to arrest

her movements. Going up within half pistol-range, Dr. Kane gave her six

buck-shot. She dropped, but instantly rose, and getting her cub into

its former position, away she sped!

And this time she would undoubtedly have effected her escape, but for

the admirable tactics of Dr. Kane’s canine Eskimo allies. The Smith

Sound dogs, he says, are educated more thoroughly than any of their

more southern brethren. Next to the seal and the walrus, the bear

supplies the staple diet of the tribes of the North, and, except the

fox, furnishes the most important element of their wardrobe. Unlike the

dogs Dr. Kane had brought with him from Baffin Bay, the Smith Sound

dogs were trained, not to attack, but to embarrass. They revolved in

circles round the perplexed bear, and when pursued would keep ahead

with regulated gait, their comrades accomplishing a diversion at the

critical moment by a nip at the _nannook’s_ hind-quarters. This

was done in the most systematic manner possible, and with a truly

wonderful composure. “I have seen bear-dogs elsewhere,” says Dr. Kane,

“that had been drilled to relieve each other in the _mêlée_,

and avoid the direct assault; but here, two dogs, without even a

demonstration of attack, would put themselves before the path of the

animal, and retreating right and left, lead him into a profitless

pursuit that checked his advance completely.”

The unfortunate animal was still fighting, and still retreating,

embarrassed by the dogs, yet affectionately carrying along her wounded

cub, and though wounded, bleeding, and fatigued, gaining ground upon

her pursuers, when Hans and Dr. Kane secured the victory, such as it

was, for their own side, by delivering a couple of rifle-balls. She

staggered in front of her young one, confronted her assailants in

death-like defiance, and did not sink until pierced by six more bullets.

When her body was skinned, no fewer than nine balls were discovered.

She proved to be of medium size, very lean, and without a particle of

food in her stomach. Hunger, probably, had stimulated her courage to

desperation. The net weight of the cleansed carcass was 300 pounds;

that of the entire animal, 650 pounds; her length, only 7 feet 8 inches.

It is said that bears in this lean condition are more palatable and

wholesome than when fat; and that the impregnation of fatty oil

through the cellular tissues makes a well-fed bear nearly uneatable.

The flesh of a famished beast, though less nutritious as body-fuel

or as a stimulating diet, is rather sweet and tender than otherwise.

_Moral_: starve your bear before you eat him!

The little cub was larger than the qualifying adjective would imply.

She was taller than a dog, and her weight 114 lbs. She sprang upon

the corpse of her slaughtered mother, and rent the air with woful

lamentations. All efforts to noose her she repelled with singular

ferocity; but at last, being completely muzzled with a line fastened

by a running knot between her jaws and the back of her head, she was

dragged off to the brig amid the uproar of the dogs.

Dr. Kane asserts that during this fight, and the compulsory somersets

which it involved, not a dog suffered seriously. He expected, from

his knowledge of the hugging propensity of the plantigrades, that the

animal would rear, or it she did not rear, would at least use her

fore arms; but she invariably seized the dogs with her teeth, and

after disposing of them for a time, refrained from following up her

advantage,--probably because she had her cub to take care of. The

Eskimos state that this is the habit of the hunted bear. One of the

Smith Sound dogs made no exertion whatever when he was seized, but

allowed himself to be flung, with all his muscles relaxed, a really

fearful distance; the next instant he rose and renewed the attack.

According to the Eskimos, the dogs soon learn this “possum-playing”

habit.

It would seem that the higher the latitude, the more ferocious the

bear, or that he increases in ferocity as he recedes from the usual

hunting-fields.

At Oominak, one winter day, an Eskimo and his son were nearly killed by

a bear that had housed himself in an iceberg. They attacked him with

the lance, but he boldly turned on them, and handled them severely

before they could make their escape.

The continued hostility of man, however, has had, in Dr. Kane’s

opinion, a modifying influence upon the ursine character in South

Greenland; at all events, the bears of that region never attack, and

even in self-defence seldom inflict injury upon, the hunters. Many

instances have occurred where they have defended themselves, and even

charged after having been wounded, but in none of them was life lost.

A stout Eskimo, an assistant to a Danish cooper of Upernavik, fired at

a she-bear, and the animal closed at the instant of receiving the ball.

The man had the presence of mind to fling himself prone on the ground,

extending his arm to protect his head, and afterwards lying perfectly

motionless. The beast was deceived. She gave the arm a bite or two, but

finding her enemy did not stir, she retired a few paces, and sat upon

her haunches to watch. But her watch was not as wary as it should have

been, for the hunter dexterously reloaded his rifle, and slew her with

the second shot.

* * * * *

It has been pointed out that in approaching the bear the hunters should

take advantage of the cover afforded by the inequalities of the frozen

surface, such as its ridges and hillocks. These vary in height, from

ten feet to a hundred, and frequently are packed so closely together

as to leave scarcely a yard of level surface. It is in such a region

that the Polar bear exhibits his utmost speed, and in such a region his

pursuit is attended with no slight difficulty.

* * * * *

And after the day’s labour comes the night’s rest; but what a night! We

know what night is in these temperate climes, or in the genial southern

lands; a night of stars, with a deep blue sky overspreading the happy

earth like a dome of sapphire: a night of brightness and serene glory,

when the moon is high in the heaven, and its soft radiance seems to

touch tree and stream, hill and vale, with a tint of silver; a night of

storm, when the clouds hang low and heavily, and the rain descends, and

a wailing rushing wind loses itself in the recesses of the shuddering

woods; we know what night is, in these temperate regions, under all

its various aspects,--now mild and beautiful, now gloomy and sad, now

grand and tempestuous; the long dark night of winter with its frosty

airs, and its drooping shadows thrown back by the dead surface of the

snow; the brief bright night of summer, which forms so short a pause

between the evening of one day and the morning of another, that it

seems intended only to afford the busy earth a breathing-time;--but we

can form no idea of what an _Arctic Night_ is, in all its mystery,

magnificence, and wonder. Strange stars light up the heavens; the forms

of earth are strange; all is unfamiliar, and almost unintelligible.

[Illustration: STALKING A BEAR.]

It is not that the Arctic night makes a heavy demand on our physical

faculties. Against its rigour man is able to defend himself; but it is

less easy to provide against its strain on the moral and intellectual

faculties. The darkness which clothes Nature for so long a period

reveals to the senses of the European explorer what is virtually a

new world, and the senses do not well adapt themselves to that world.

The cheering influences of the rising sun, which invite to labour;

the soothing influences of the evening twilight, which beguile to

rest; that quick change from day to night, and night to day, which

so lightens the burden of existence in our temperate clime to mind

and soul and body, kindling the hope and renewing the courage,--all

these are wanting in the Polar world, and man suffers and languishes

accordingly. The grandeur of Nature, says Dr. Hayes, ceases to give

delight to the dulled sympathies, and the heart longs continually

for new associations, new hopes, new objects, new sources of interest

and pleasure. The solitude is so dark and drear as to oppress the

understanding; the imagination is haunted by the desolation which

everywhere prevails; and the silence is so absolute as to become a

terror.

The lover of Nature will, of course, find much that is attractive in

the Arctic night; in the mysterious coruscations of the aurora, in

the flow of the moonlight over the hills and icebergs, in the keen

clearness of the starlight, in the sublimity of the mountains and the

glaciers, in the awful wildness of the storms; but it must be owned

that they speak a language which is rough, rugged, and severe.

All things seem built up on a colossal scale in the Arctic world.

Colossal are those dark and tempest-beaten cliffs which oppose their

grim rampart to the ceaseless roll and rush of the ice-clad waters.

Colossal are those mountain-peaks which raise their crests, white with

unnumbered winters, into the very heavens. Colossal are those huge

ice-rivers, those glaciers, which, born long ago in the depths of the

far-off valleys, have gradually moved their ponderous masses down to

the ocean’s brink. Colossal are those floating islands of ice, which,

outrivalling the puny architecture of man, his temples, palaces, and

pyramids, drift away into the wide waste of waters, as if abandoned

by the Hand that called them into existence. Colossal is that vast

sheet of frozen, frosty snow, shimmering with a crystalline lustre,

which covers the icy plains for countless leagues, and stretches away,

perhaps, to the very border of the sea that is supposed to encircle the

unattained Pole.

In Dr. Hayes’ account of his voyage of discovery towards the North

Pole occurs a fine passage descriptive of the various phases of the

Arctic night. “I have gone out often,” he says, “into its darkness,

and viewed Nature under different aspects. I have rejoiced with her

in her strength, and communed with her in her repose. I have seen the

wild burst of her anger, have watched her sportive play, and have

beheld her robed in silence. I have walked abroad in the darkness when

the winds were roaring through the hills and crashing over the plain.

I have strolled along the beach when the only sound that broke the

stillness was the dull creaking of the ice-floes, as they rose and fell

lazily with the tide. I have wandered far out upon the frozen sea, and

listened to the voice of the icebergs bewailing their imprisonment;

along the glacier, where forms and falls the avalanche; upon the

hill-top, where the drifting snow, coursing over the rocks, sung its

plaintive song; and again, I have wandered away to some distant valley

where all these sounds were hushed, and the air was still and solemn as

the tomb.”

Whoever has been overtaken by a winter night, when crossing some snowy

plain, or making his way over the hills and through the valleys, in the

deep drifts, and with the icicles pendent from the leafless boughs,

and the white mantle overspreading every object dimly discernible in

the darkness, will have felt the awe and mystery of the _silence_

that then and there prevails. Both the sky above and the earth beneath

reveal only an endless and unfathomable quiet. This, too, is the

peculiar characteristic of the Arctic night. Evidence there is none of

life or motion. No footfall of living thing breaks on the longing ear.

No cry of bird enlivens the scene; there is no tree, among the branches

of which the wind may sigh and moan. And hence it is that one who had

travelled much, and seen many dangers, and witnessed Nature in many

phases, was led to say that he had seen no expression on the face of

Nature so filled with terror as the silence of the Arctic night.

But by degrees the darkness grows less intense, and the coming of

the day is announced by the prevalence of a kind of twilight, which

increases more and more rapidly as winter passes into spring. There are

signs that Nature is awakening once more to life and motion. The foxes

come out upon the hill side, both blue and white, and gallop hither and

thither in search of food,--following in the track of the bear, to feed

on the refuse which the “tiger of the ice” throws aside. The walrus

and the seal come more frequently to land; and the latter begins to

assemble on the ice-floes, and select its breeding-places. At length,

early in February, broad daylight comes at noon, and then the weary

explorer rejoices to know that the end is near. Flocks of speckled

birds arrive, and shelter themselves under the lee of the shore;

chiefly _dove-kies_, as they are called in Southern Greenland--the

_Uria grylle_ of the naturalist. At last, on the 18th or 19th of

February, the sun once more makes its appearance above the southern

horizon, and is welcomed as one welcomes a friend who has been long

lost, and is found again. Upon the crests of the hills light clouds are

floating lazily, and through these the glorious orb is pouring a stream

of golden fire, and all the southern sky quivers, as it were, with

the shooting, shifting splendours of the coming day. Presently a soft

bright ray breaks through the vaporous haze, kindling it into a purple

sea, and touches the silvery summits of the lofty icebergs until they

seem like domes and pinnacles of flame. Nearer and nearer comes that

auspicious ray, and widens as it comes; and that purple sea enlarges

in every direction; and those domes and pinnacles of flame multiply

in quick succession as they feel the passage of the quickening light;

and the dark red cliffs are warmed with an indescribable glow; and a

mysterious change passes over the face of the ocean; and all Nature

acknowledges the presence of the sun!

“The parent of light and life everywhere,” says Dr. Hayes, “he is the

same within these solitudes. The germ awaits him here as in the Orient;

but there it rests only through the short hours of a summer night,

while here it reposes for months under a sheet of snows. But after a

while the bright sun will tear this sheet asunder, and will tumble it

in gushing fountains to the sea, and will kiss the cold earth, and give

it warmth and life; and the flowers will bud and bloom, and will turn

their tiny faces smilingly and gratefully up to him, as he wanders over

these ancient hills in the long summer. The very glaciers will weep

tears of joy at his coming. The ice will loose its iron grip upon the

waters, and will let the wild waves play in freedom. The reindeer will

skip gleefully over the mountains to welcome his return, and will look

longingly to him for the green pastures. The sea-fowls, knowing that

he will give them a resting-place for their feet on the rocky islands,

will come to seek the moss-beds which he spreads for their nests; and

the sparrows will come on his life-giving rays, and will sing their

love-songs through the endless day.”

With the sun return the Arctic birds, and before we quit the realm of

waters we propose to glance at a few of those which frequent the cliffs

and shores during the brief Polar summer.

Among the first-comers is the dove-kie or black guillemot (_Uria

grylle_), which migrates to the temperate climates on the approach

of winter, visiting Labrador, Norway, Scotland, and even descending as

far south as Yorkshire. In fact, we know of no better place where to

observe its habits than along the immense range of perpendicular cliffs

stretching from Flamborough Head to Filey Bay. Here, on the bare ledges

of this colossal ocean-wall, the guillemot lays its eggs, but without

the protection of a nest; some of them parallel with the edge of the

shelf, others nearly so, and others with their blunt and sharp ends

indiscriminately pointing to the sea. They are not affixed to the rock

by any glutinous matter, or any foreign substance whatever. You may see

as many as nine or ten, or sometimes twelve, old guillemots in a line,

so near to each other that their wings almost touch. The eggs vary

greatly in size and shape and colour. Some are large, others small;

some exceedingly sharp at one end, others rotund and globular. It is

said that, if undisturbed, the guillemot never lays more than one egg;

but if that be taken away, she will lay another, and so on. But Audubon

asserts that he has seen these birds sitting on as many as three eggs

at a time.

[Illustration: SEA-BIRDS IN THE POLAR REGIONS.]

The black guillemot differs from the foolish guillemot (_Uria

troile_) only in the colour of its plumage, which, with the

exception of a large white patch on the coverts of each wing, is

black, silky, and glossy; the feathers appearing to be all unwebbed,

like silky filaments or fine hair. The bill, in all the species, is

slender, strong, and pointed; the upper mandible bending slightly near

the end, and the base covered with soft short feathers. The food of the

guillemot consists of fish and other marine products.

The _Alcidæ_, or auks, are also included amongst the Arctic birds.

The little auk (_Arctica alca_) frequents the countries stretching

northwards from our latitudes to the regions of perpetual ice, and is

found in the Polar Regions both of the Old World and the New. Here,

indeed, they congregate in almost innumerable flocks. At early morn

they sally forth to get their breakfast, which consists of different

varieties of marine invertebrates, chiefly crustaceans, with which the

Arctic waters teem. Then they return to the shore in immense swarms.

It would be impossible, says an Arctic voyager, to convey an adequate

idea of the numbers of these birds which swarmed around him. The slope

on both sides of the valley in which he had pitched his camp rose at

an angle of about forty-five degrees to a distance of from 300 to 500

feet, where it met the cliffs, which stood about 700 feet higher. These

hill-sides are composed of the loose rocks detached from the cliffs by

the action of the frost. The birds crawl among these rocks, winding far

in through narrow places, and there deposit their eggs and hatch their

young, secure from their great enemy, the Arctic fox.

[Illustration: THE AUK.]

On one occasion, they were congregated along a slope, fully a mile in

length, and over this slope rushed a constant stream of birds, only a

few feet above the stones; and, after making in their rapid flight the

whole length of the hill, they returned higher in the air, performing

over and over again the complete circuit. Occasionally a few hundreds

or thousands of them would drop down, as if following some leader; and

in an instant the rocks, for a space of several rods, would swarm all

over with them, their black backs and pure white breasts speckling the

hill very prettily.

Though quantities are destroyed by the crews of vessels as well as

by the Eskimos, their numbers never seem to decrease. Their flesh is

both wholesome and delicate, and affords a welcome change of diet to

the mariner weary of salt meat and pemmican. They are very tame, and

easily captured,--in some places being actually caught in hand-nets,

like moths or butterflies; and they pass a great portion of their

time on the ocean, where they disport themselves with equal grace and

self-possession.

The starakis (_Phaleridinæ_) inhabit the archipelagoes which lie

between China and North America. They assemble in small flocks, and

swim about in quest of the crustaceans, molluscs, and other marine

animals on which they feed. At nightfall they return to land, where

they find shelter under the ledges of the rocks, or in burrows dug with

their bill and feet, The female lays a solitary egg.

The auks abound in the high northern latitudes. They are all

ocean-birds, and are never found, like the divers, in fresh-water

streams and lakes. Those species which possess the power of flight

nestle on the rocky cliffs and icebergs, where they lay a single egg,

of conical form; a shape which prevents it from rolling away, or

moving, except within a very narrow circle, on the bare rocky ledge

where it is deposited.

The puffins (_Fratercola_), which in winter abound on our own

shores, live chiefly on the water. They dive and swim with dexterity,

but, owing to the shortness of their wings, are capable only of

limited flight. Their plumage is thick, smooth, and dense, and so

completely throws off the water that it is quite impervious to wet;

while their deep, compressed, and pointed beak, resembling exactly a

double keel, is admirably adapted as an instrument for cutting the

waves when the bird wishes to dive.

The puffins live principally upon sprats and other small fishes; and

the food intended for their young they retain until partially digested,

when they disgorge it into their mouths. Like all the auks, the

mother-bird lays but one egg.

The appearance of an island or iceberg frequented by these birds is

very vividly sketched by Audubon, than whom no naturalist has ever more

completely attained a thorough acquaintance with the Bird-World.

[Illustration: PUFFINS.]

He tells us that on every crag or stone stood a puffin, at the entrance

of every hole another, and yet the sea was covered and the air filled

with them. The burrows were all inhabited by young birds, of different

ages and sizes; and clouds of puffins flew over us, each individual

holding a small fish by the head. The burrows all communicated with

each other in various ways, so that the whole island seemed to be

perforated by a multitude of subterranean labyrinths, over which it was

impossible to run without the risk of falling at almost every step. The

voices of the young sounded beneath the traveller’s foot like voices

from the grave, and the stench was exceedingly disagreeable.

Something must next be said of the mergansers (_Merginæ_), a

sub-family of the palmipeds, which also belong to the Polar world.

Their principal characters may thus be stated: a straight bill, much

compressed on the sides, and convex towards the tip, which is furnished

with a broad and much-hooked nail; the wings are moderate, and pointed;

the tail is short and rounded; the tarsi are short, and the toes

moderate, the outer being as long as the middle, the three anterior

ones united by a full web, while the hind toe is moderate, elevated,

and provided with a broad web on its margin.

From these characters it is easy to infer that the bird is aquatic in

its habits; that it can swim and dive well; that it is also capable of

strong, swift flight; and that its food will consist chiefly of fishes.

The dun diver or goosander (_Mergus merganser_) is widely

distributed throughout the Polar Regions both of the eastern and

western continents. During its southern migration, it visits the

United States, as well as France, Holland, and Germany; but on the

approach of summer it retires to Siberia and Kamtschatka, Iceland,

Greenland, and the Arctic shores of North America.

[Illustration: THE GOOSANDER].]

In these localities it constructs its nest--always near the edge of

the water; building it up of grass, roots, and similar materials,

with little regard to symmetry, and lining it with down. It is placed

sometimes among the mossy, weedy stones; and sometimes it is concealed

in the long grass, or under the cover of bushes, or in the stumps or

hollows of decayed trees. The female lays from twelve to fourteen eggs,

of a cream-yellow colour; their form is a long oval, both ends being

equally obtuse. The goosander may be said to spend its time in the air

and on the water; and, in truth, on the land it moves but laboriously

and awkwardly, owing to the backward position of its legs. It rises

with difficulty from the ground; but when once on the wing, its course

is swift, strong, and steady. As it lives mainly upon fish, its flesh

is oily and ill-flavoured; a circumstance which goes far to compensate

the sportsman for the frequent failure of his attempts to capture it.

It is a wild and wary bird, and as it swims with rapidity and dives

with ease, it generally effects its escape from all but the most

experienced hunters.

Another species which abounds in northern latitudes is the smew

(_Mergus albellus_), also known as the white nun or white

merganser. This palmiped is about the size of a widgeon; is of elegant

form; and its plumage beautifully coloured with black and white. Its

bill is of a dusky blue, nearly two inches long, thickest at the base,

and tapering into a slenderer and more narrow shape towards the point.

An oval black patch, glossed with green, marks each side of the head;

the under part of the crest is black; but all the rest of the head and

neck, as well as the graceful breast and the belly, are white as snow,

with the exception of a curved black line on each side of the upper

part of the breast, and similar marks on the lower part; the back, the

coverts on the ridge of the wings, and the primary quills are black;

the secondaries and greater coverts are white-tipped; while the sides

of the body, under the wings to the tail, exhibit a curious variegation

of dark wavy lines. The legs and feet are of a leaden blue.

The range of the smew is very extensive, for it migrates as far

southward as the Mediterranean, while it is found everywhere in the

Arctic Regions.

[Illustration: A BIRD “BAZAAR” IN NOVAIA ZEMLAIA.]

On the shores of Novaia Zemlaia, as on those of Spitzbergen, the

sea-birds arrive in countless hosts as soon as the summer sun has

removed the long and dreary spell under which Nature labours through

the winter months. The narrow rock-ledges on which they congregate,

and where auks and guillemots assemble in thousands, the Russians

call “a bazaar.” The large gray sea-mew (_Larus glaucus_),

the “burgomaster” of the Dutch whalers, prefers the lonely summits of

isolated cliffs, where it can reign the monarch of all it surveys.

The ivory gull (_Larus eburneus_) is seldom found in high

northern latitudes; but the common gull (_Larus canus_) and the

black-backed gull (_Larus marinus_) are almost as abundant as

guillemots.

[Illustration: THE BLACK-BACKED GULL.]

In Iceland one of the most useful, and certainly not the

least beautiful, of the birds is the eider-duck (_Somateria

mollissima_), which also frequents the shores of Baffin and Hudson

Bays, Lapland, Greenland, and Spitzbergen. It loves to breed on the

small flat islands which lie off the coast, such as Akeney, Flutry,

and Videy, where it is secure from the attacks of the Arctic fox. Its

breeding-places in Iceland are private property, and some of them

have been for centuries in the possession of the same families, which

owe to the birds all their wealth and prosperity. Hence they are very

vigilantly guarded. Whoever kills one is fined thirty dollars; and to

secrete an egg, or pocket a few downs, is an offence punishable by law.

The chief occupation of some of the proprietors is to examine through

their telescopes all the boats that approach, so as to be sure that

there are no guns on board.

[Illustration: THE EIDER-DUCK.]

As the birds on these islands are quite tame, the eider-down is easily

collected. The female having laid five or six pale greenish-olive eggs,

in a nest fashioned with marine plants, and thickly lined with down of

the most exquisite delicacy, the collectors carefully remove her, rob

the nest of its precious lining, and then replace the bird. Immediately

she begins to lay afresh, and again has recourse to the down on her

body to protect her eggs; and should her own stock be exhausted, as is

not unfrequently the case, she is furnished with an auxiliary supply

by the male. Even this second lining is often taken away, and the poor

bird a third time repeats the process, both as regards the eggs and

the down; but if the plunderers do not spare her now, she afterwards

abandons the nest, and seeks a home in some more sequestered nook.

As it comes to the European markets, this down, which is highly valued

on account of its lightness, elasticity, and warmth, occurs in balls

about the size of a man’s fist, and weighing from three to four pounds.

Such is its fineness and elastic quality, that when a ball is opened,

and cautiously laid near the fire to expand, it will completely fill a

quilt five feet square. It should be noted, however, that the down from

dead birds is of comparatively little value, having lost its elasticity.

An interesting account of a visit to Vigr in the Isafjardardjufs,

a favourite resort of the eider-duck in the north of Iceland, is

furnished by Mr. Shepherd:--

As he approached the island, he says, he could see flocks upon flocks

of the sacred birds, and could hear their cooings at a great distance.

Landing on a rocky wave-worn shore, against which the waters scarcely

rippled, he set off to survey the island. The shore he describes as

“the most wonderful ornithological sight imaginable.” The ducks and

their nests were everywhere. Great brown ducks started up under his

feet at every step; and it was with difficulty that he avoided treading

on some of the nests. As the island is but three-quarters of a mile

across, the opposite shore is soon reached. On the coast was a wall

built up of large stones, just above the high-water mark, about three

feet high, and of considerable thickness. At the bottom, on both sides

of it, alternate stones had been left out, forming a series of square

compartments in which the ducks might make their nests. Almost every

compartment was occupied; and as the human intruder walked along the

shore, a long line of startled ducks flew out one after the other. The

surface of the water also was white with ducks, who welcomed their

“brown wives” with loud and clamorous cooing.

Mr. Shepherd, on arriving at the farm-house, was received in the most

hospitable manner, hospitality being one of the special virtues of the

Icelander. He was much impressed by the appearance of the house, which

seemed to be converted into one large _duckery_. The earthen wall

surrounding it, and the window-embrasures, were filled with ducks; on

the ground, encircling the house, was a ring of ducks; on the sloping

roof were seated ducks; and a duck was perched on the door-scraper!

A grassy bank close by had been cut into square patches like a

chess-board (a square of turf of about eighteen inches being removed,

and a hollow excavated), and all these squares were occupied by ducks.

A windmill was infested with them, and so were all the out houses,

mounds, rocks, and crevices. In fact, the ducks were everywhere. Many

of them were so tame as to allow the stranger to stroke them on their

nests; and their mistress said there was scarcely a duck on the island

which would not allow her to take its eggs without flight or fear. When

she first became possessor of the island, the produce of down from the

ducks did not exceed fifteen pounds weight in the year, but under her

careful nurture it had risen, in twenty years, to nearly one hundred

pounds annually. About a pound and a half are required to make a

coverlet for a single bed; and the down is worth from twelve to fifteen

shillings per pound. Most of the eggs are taken and pickled for winter

consumption, one or two only being left to hatch.

Eider-ducks congregate in numerous flocks, generally in deep water;

they dive with wonderful force, and thus are enabled to capture the

shell-fish which form their principal food. If a storm threatens, they

retire to the rocky shores where they love to breed and rest. The

Greenlanders kill them with darts, pursuing them in their little boats,

watching their course by the air-bubbles that come floating upward when

they dive, and dexterously aiming at them as soon as they rise to the

surface wearied. Their flesh is eaten by the Greenlanders, but it is

not well-flavoured; their eggs, however, are held in high esteem.

The king eider (_Somateria spectabilis_) belongs to the same genus

as the former.

We suppose that every reader is acquainted with the beautiful lines in

which Tennyson has embodied the fable of the dying swan singing its own

dirge:--

“With an inner voice the river ran,

Adown it floated a dying swan,

And loudly did lament....

The wild swan’s death-hymn took the soul

Of that waste place with joy

Hidden in sorrow: at first, to the ear

The warble was low, and full, and clear;...

But anon her awful jubilant voice,

With a music strange and manifold,

Flowed forth on a carol free and bold....

And the creeping mosses and clambering weeds,

And the willow-branches hoar and dank,

And the wavy swell of the soughing reeds,

And the wave-worn horns of the echoing bank,

And the silvery marish-flowers that throng

The desolate creeks and pools among,

Were flooded over with eddying song.”

But the wild swan’s voice, even in its death-hour, has no such

musical sweetness as the poet here sets forth. It is always harsh

and dissonant, and when it breaks on the silence of the Arctic skies

carries with it an almost painful impression.

[Illustration: THE HAUNT OF THE WILD SWAN.]

The lakes of Iceland, and its streams, abound with these beautiful

birds. They are very numerous on the Myvatn, or Great Lake, as well

as the wild duck, the scoter, the common goosander, the red-breasted

merganser, the scaup duck, and other anserines. The wild swan is shot

or caught for its feathers, which are highly prized for ornamental

purposes. It is sometimes found in large flocks, sometimes in single

pairs; and besides the lakes and streams, it frequents the salt and

brackish waters along the coast. It is chiefly at the pairing season,

or at the approach of winter, that it assembles in multitudes; and as

the winter advances it mounts high in air, and shapes its course in

search of milder climates.

The female builds her nest of the withered leaves and stalks of reeds

and rushes, in lonely and sequestered places. She usually lays six or

seven thick-shelled eggs, which are hatched in about six weeks, when

both parents assiduously guard and feed the cygnets. When full-grown,

this fine bird measures nearly five feet in length, and above seven in

breadth across its extended wings; it weighs about fifteen pounds. The

entire plumage is of a pure white, and next to the skin lies a coat of

thick fine down.

The wealth of the Arctic and sub-Arctic seas is apparently

inexhaustible. In many parts cod are plentiful, and supply the

Greenlanders with a valuable article of food. The capelin (_Mullotus

vitlosus_), which in May and June frequents the Greenland waters,

is eaten both fresh and dried; in the latter case forming a useful

winter provision. The halibut is found of a large size; and ocean

also contributes the Norway haddock, the salmon-trout, the lump-fish,

and the bull-head. Nor are the crustacea unrepresented: long-tailed

crabs being abundant, while the common mussel may be gathered almost

everywhere at ebb-tide. The seas, however, grow poorer as we advance

towards the Pole, and many important species of fish do not penetrate

further north than the Arctic Circle.

Yet even where these are wanting, the ocean-waters teem with life;

and a recent writer is fully justified in remarking that the vast

multitudes of animated beings which people them form a remarkable

contrast to the nakedness of their bleak and desolate shores. The

colder surface-waters are, as he says, almost perpetually exposed to

a cold atmosphere, and being frequently covered, even in summer, with

floating ice, they are not favourable to the development of organic

life; but this adverse influence is modified by the higher temperature

which constantly prevails at a greater depth. Contrary to the rule

in the Equatorial seas, we find in the Polar-ocean an increase of

temperature from the surface downwards, in consequence of the warmer

under-currents, flowing from the south northwards, and passing beneath

the cold waters of the superficial Arctic current.

Hence the awful rigour of the Arctic winter, which strikes the earth

with a death-blight, is not perceptible in the ocean-depths, where

myriads of organisms find a secure retreat from the frost, and whence

they emerge during the long summer’s day, either to haunt the shores

or ascend the broad rivers of the Polar world. Between the parallels

of 74° and 80°, Dr. Scoresby observed that the colour of the Greenland

sea varies from the purest ultramarine to olive-green, and from

crystalline transparency to striking opacity; and these appearances are

not transitory, but permanent.[8] The aspect of this green semi-opaque

water, which varies in its locality with the currents,--often forming

isolated stripes, and sometimes spreading over two or three degrees of

latitude,--is mainly due to small medusæ and nudibranchiate molluscs.

Many thousands of square miles must literally run riot with life, since

the coloured waters we speak of are calculated to form one-fourth of

the sea between the 74th and 80th parallels.

On the Greenland coast, where the transparency of the waters is so

great that the bottom and every object upon it are clearly discernible,

even at a depth of eighty fathoms, the ocean-bed is covered with

gigantic tangles, so as to remind the spectator of the ocean-gardens

of the Tropical Zone. Alcyonians, sertularians, ascidians, nullipores,

mussels, and a variety of other sessile animals incrust every stone, or

congregate in every fissure and hollow of the rocky ground. A dead seal

or fish flung into the sea is soon converted into a skeleton, it is

said, by the myriads of small crustaceans which infest these northern

waters, and, like the ants in the equatorial forests, perform the part

of scavengers of the deep.

It is evident, from the observations of Professor Forbes, that

_depth_ has a very considerable influence in the distribution of

marine life. From the surface to the depth of 1380 feet eight distinct

zones or regions have been mapped out in the sea, each of which has

its own vegetation and inhabitants; and the number of these regions

must now he increased, after the astonishing results of the deep-sea

soundings of Dr. Carpenter and Professor Wyville Thomson. The changes

in the different zones are not abrupt: some of the creatures of an

under region always appear before those of the region above it vanish;

and though there are a few species the same in some of the eight zones,

only two are common to all. It is to be observed that those near the

surface have forms and colours analogous to the inhabitants of southern

latitudes, while those at a greater depth are analogous to the animals

of northern waters. Hence, in the sea, _depth_ corresponds

with latitude, as _height_ does on land. Mrs. Somerville adds,

in language of much terseness, that the extent of the geographical

distribution of any species is proportioned to the depth at which it

lives. Consequently, those which live near the surface are less widely

dispersed than those inhabiting deep water.

The larger and more active inhabitants of the seas obey the same laws

with the rest of creation, though their provinces, or regions, are in

some instances very extensive. Above the 44th parallel the Atlantic

species frequently correspond with those of the Pacific. The salmon

of America is identical with that of the British Isles, and the

coasts of Sweden and Norway; the same is true of the _Gadidæ_,

or cod. The _Cottas_, or bull-head tribe, are also the same

on both sides of the Atlantic; increasing in numbers and specific

differences on approaching the Arctic seas. The same law holds good in

the North Pacific, but the _generic_ forms differ from those in

the Atlantic. From the propinquity of the coasts of America and Asia

at Behring Strait, the fish on both sides are nearly alike, down to

Admiralty Inlet on the one side, and the Sea of Okhotsk on the other.