Wild Adventures round the Pole
Page 31
with the same number of seal-clubs, had to be got ready.
I saw the other day an engraving of a sealing scene in Greenland,evidently done by an artist who had never been in the Arctic regions inhis life, and who had therefore trusted to his imagination, which hadled him far from the truth. In this picture there is a ship undercanvas: error Number 1, for sealers always clue or brail up before themen go over the side. The ice is tall and pinnacled: error Number 2,for the ice the old seals lie on is either flat or hummocky. The men onthe ice are leaping madly from berg to berg and clubbing _old_ seals:error Number 3, for unless old seals get positively frozen out of thewater by the pieces becoming fast together, they will not wait to beclubbed. You may catch a weasel asleep, but never an old seal. Lastly,in this picture, the men are wielding clubs that have evidently beenborrowed from some gymnasium: this constitutes error Number 4, forseal-clubs are nothing like these. They are more like an ancientbattle-axe; the shaft is about four or five feet long and made ofstrong, tough wood, while through the top of this terrible weapon is runthe part that does the execution--a square piece of iron or steel--sharpened at one end, hammer-like at the other, and nearly a foot long.With this instrument a strong man has been known to lay a Greenland beardead with one blow. No one of course would dare to attack a bear armedwith a club alone, but instances have occurred where the bear has beenthe aggressor, and where the man had to defend himself as best he could.
One word parenthetically about the great Polar or ice bear. Until I hadfirst seen the carcass of one lying flensed on the ice, I could not havebelieved that any wild beast could attain such gigantic proportions.The footprints of this monster were as large as an ordinary pair ofkitchen bellows. The pastern, or ankle, seemed as wide as the paw, andas near as I could guess about thirty inches round; the forearms andhind-legs were of tremendous strength; so too were the shoulders andloin. An animal like this with one stroke can slay the largest seal inGreenland, and could serve the biggest lion that ever roared in anAfrican jungle precisely the same. As to the voice, it is hardly sofearful as the lion's, but heard, as I heard it one night on the pack,within two yards of me, it is sufficiently appalling, to say the leastof it. It is a sort of half-cough, half roar. As trapper Sethdescribed it after his adventure at the cave in Jan Mayen, when littleFreezing Powders so nearly lost the number of his mess:
"The roar of a healthy Greenland bear, when the owner of it is so closeye could kick him, is a kind o' confusin'; it shakes your innardsconsiderable, and makes ye think the critter has swallowed the thick endof a thunderstorm and is tryin' to work it up again."
An elephant--a tusker--is no joke when he loses his temper and comesafter you, nor is a lion or tiger when he thinks he can do you amischief, but I would rather face either of them twice over than I wouldan ice bear with his back up, if I myself were unarmed. I was veryyoung, by the way, when I found myself confronted with my firstGreenland bear, but I well remember both what my thoughts were at thetime, and what were my feelings. The truth is, I had made the captainpromise he would give me a chance to go and fight one of these terriblegiants of the ice. He did so in good time, and I confess that as theboat neared the pack--I being in the bows--I suddenly discovered that Iwas not half so brave as I had previously imagined. The bear did notrun away, as I fear I had almost wished that he would. He simplywaited, looking at us somewhat inquiringly; and when I landed, allalone, mind you, he came along to meet me, and inquire what I wanted,and I hated him while I envied him for his coolness. He seemed to say,"Why, you're only a boy; just wait till I get alongside you, and I'llshow you how I treat boys. I'll turn you inside out." I had to wait.Wild horses couldn't have tom me from the spot, where I had dropped onone knee. Oh! I can assure you, I would have liked, well enough, torun away, but with all the ship's crew looking at me--? No; deathrather than live a coward. On came Bruin, much to my disgust; I wouldhave felt as brave as a lion had he only shown me his heels. Then thesequestions chased each other through my brain: "How near will I let thebeggar come before I fire? Shall I hit him on the head, or shoot him inthe chest? and, What shall I do if the rifle misses fire?"
Bruin still advanced at a shambling trot. Then I brought my rifle tothe shoulder and took aim, glancing along the glimmering barrel till Icould only see the _vise_ at the end, and immediately beyond thatBruin's yellow breast. Bang, bang! I dare say it really was myself whopulled those two triggers of my double-barrelled rifle, but at the timeI felt as if I had nothing at all to do with it. Then there was a shoutfrom the boat, and a shout from the ship. Bruin was dead, and I was thehero; but somehow I did not feel that I deserved the praise which Ireceived. Yet, after all, I daresay I only felt in this encounter asmost boys would have felt. Doing anything dangerous is always nasty atfirst, but when one gains confidence in himself, then is the time oneknows--
"That strange joy that warriors feel In foemen worthy of their steel."
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
"SILAS GRIG, HIS YARN"--THE WHITE WHALE--AFLOAT ON AN ICEBERG--A DREARYJOURNEY--BEAR ADVENTURES--"THE SEALS! THE SEALS!"
There was only one subject in the whole world that Silas Grig wasthoroughly conversant with, and that was the manners and customs of hisfriends the seals. Had you started talking upon either politics orscience, or the state of Europe or Ireland, Silas would have becomesilent at once. He would have retired within himself; his soul, so tospeak, would have gone indoors, and not come out again until you haddone. Such was Silas; and he confessed frankly that he had never sung asong nor made a speech in his lifetime. He was a perfect enthusiastwhile talking about the natural family _Phocidae_. No naturalist in theworld knew half so much about them as Silas. On the evening of the dayin which he had chosen his men from the crew of the _Arrandoon_, he waspronounced by both Ralph and Rory to be in fine form. He was full ofanecdote, and even tales of adventure, so our heroes allowed him totalk, and indeed encouraged him to do so.
"What!" he cried, his honest, fear-nothing face lighting up with smilesas he eyed Rory across the table after dinner. "Spin you a yarn, d'yesay? ah! boy, and you'll excuse me calling ye a boy. Silas never couldtell a story, and I don't suppose he ever had an adventure as signifiedmuch to you in his life."
"Never mind," insisted Rory, "you tell us something, and I'll play youthat old tune you so dearly love."
"Ah! but," said Silas, "if my matie were only here; now you wouldn'tthink, gentlemen,"--here he glanced round the table as seriously as ifcontradiction were most unlikely--"you wouldn't think that a fellow likethat, with such an ugly chunk of a head, had any sentiment; but he has,though, and he owns the prettiest wife and the smartest family in allPeterhead."
"Look here," cried Rory, "be quiet about your matie. Sure this is whatwe're waiting for."
He exhibited the doctor's slate as he spoke, and on the back thereof,behold! in large letters, the words,--
"Silas Grig, His Yarn."
Silas laughed till his sides ached, his eyes watered, the chair creaked,and the rafters rang. It was a pleasant sight to see. After this helit up a huge meerschaum pipe, "hoping there was no offence," clearedhis throat, turning his face upwards at the pendent compass, as ifseeking help there. Then he began,--
"Of the earlier days of Silas Grig little need be said. I daresay hewas no better and no worse than other boys. He nearly plagued the lifeout of his grandmother, and drove three maiden aunts to the verge ofdistraction, and made any amount of work for the tailor and theshoemaker; and when they couldn't stand him any longer at home they senthim to school, reminding the teacher ere they left him there, that tospare the rod was to spoil the child. The teacher didn't forget that;he whipped me three times a day, drilled me through the English grammarand Grey's arithmetic, then flogged me into Caesar; and when Itranslated the passage, `Caesar triduas vias fecit' [Caesar made threedays' journey.] into `Caesar made three roads,' the dominie gave me sucha dressing that I followed Caesar's example--I made three days' journeydue north, and never returned to my m
aiden aunts, nor the dominieeither.
"I found myself now in the heart of what I then took to be a big town,for I wasn't very big myself, you know. It was only Peterhead, afterall. I marched boldly down to the docks, and on board a greatraking-masted Greenlandman.
"`What use would you be?' inquired the skipper when I told him what Iwanted. `Bless me!' he added, `you ain't any size at all; the bearswould eat you up.'
"`I'll have him,' said the doctor, `if you'll let me, captain. He canbe my lob-lolly-boy and body-guard.'
"And so, gentlemen, from that day to this I've been a sailor o' thenorthern seas; and there isn't much to be seen in these regions that