The Crew of the Water Wagtail by R. M. Ballantyne (types of ebook readers .TXT) 📕

notion has entered my head, an’ when a notion does that, I usually grab that notion an’ hold ’im a fast prisoner until I’ve made somethin’ useful an’ ship-shape of ’im. If it works properly we’ll soon have somethin’ better to eat than fish, an’ more substantial than rabbits, ducks, partridges, or auks.”

We may remark in passing that the animals which those wrecked sailors called rabbits were in reality hares. Moreover, the men took an easy, perhaps unscientific, method of classifying feathered game. Nearly everything with wings that dwelt chiefly on lake, river, or sea they called ducks, and all the feathered creatures of the forest they styled partridges. From this simple classification, however, were excepted swans, geese, eagles, and hawks.

“Well, Grummidge, what may be your notion?” asked Stubbs.

“My notion is—seals! For all our hard rowin’ and wastin’ of arrows we’ve failed to catch or kill a single seal, though there’s such swarms of ’em all about. Now this is a great misfortin’, for it’s well known that seals make first-rate beef—leastwise to them as ain’t partic’lar—so we’ll set about catchin’ of ’em at once.”

“But how?” asked Stubbs, becoming interested under the influence of his comrade’s earnest enthusiasm.

“This is how. Look there, d’ye see that small island lyin’ close to the shore with several seals’ heads appearin’ in the channel between?”

“Yes—what then?”

“Well, then, what I mean to do is to have nets made with big meshes, an’ set ’em between that island an’ the shore, and see what comes of it.”

“But where’s the twine to come from?” objected Stubbs.

“Twine! Ain’t there no end o’ cordage swashin’ about the Water Wagtail ever since she went ashore? An’ haven’t we got fingers? Can’t we undo the strands an’ make small cord? Surely some of ye have picked oakum enough to understand what that means!”

Stubbs was convinced. Moreover, the rest of the men were so convinced that the plan promised well, when it was explained to them, that they set to work with alacrity, and, in a brief space of time, made a strong net several fathoms in length, and with meshes large enough to permit of a seal’s head squeezing through.

No sooner was it ready than the whole community went down to see it set. Then, with difficulty, they were prevented from waiting on the shore to watch the result. In the afternoon, when Grummidge gave permission, they ran down again with all the eagerness of children, and were rewarded by finding six fat seals entangled in the net and inflated almost to bursting with the water that had drowned them.

Thus they were supplied with “beef,” and, what was of almost equal importance, with oil, which enabled them to fry the leanest food, besides affording them the means of making a steadier and stronger light than that of the log fires to which they had hitherto been accustomed.

It may be here remarked by captious readers, if such there be, that this cannot appropriately be styled the beginning of that grand sealing, or, as it is now styled, “swile huntin’,” industry, which calls into action every year hundreds of steam and other vessels, and thousands of men, who slaughter hundreds of thousands of seals; which produces mints of money, and in the prosecutions of which men dare the terrible dangers of ice-drift and pack, in order that they may bludgeon the young seals upon the floes.

As well might it be objected that a tiny rivulet on the mountain-top is not the fountain-head of a mighty river, because its course is not marked by broad expanses and thundering cataracts. Grummidge’s net was undoubtedly the beginning, the tiny rill, of the Newfoundland seal-fishery, and even the bludgeoning was initiated by one of his party. It happened thus:—

Big Swinton went out one morning to try his fortune with the bow and arrow in the neighbourhood of a range of cliffs that extended far away to the northward. Swinton usually chose to hunt in solitude. Having few sympathies with the crew he shut up his feelings within his own breast and brooded in silence on the revenge he was still resolved to take when a safe opportunity offered, for the man’s nature was singularly resolute and, at the same time, unforgiving.

Now it chanced that Grummidge, in utter ignorance of where his foe had gone, took the same direction that morning, but started some time later, intending to explore the neighbourhood of the cliffs in search of sea-fowls’ eggs.

On reaching the locality, Swinton found that a large ice-floe had come down from the Arctic regions, and stranded on the shore of the island. On the ice lay a black object which he rightly judged to be a seal. At first, he supposed it to be a dead one, but just as he was about to advance to examine it the animal raised its head and moved its tail. Love of the chase was powerful in Swinton’s breast. He instantly crouched behind a boulder, and waited patiently till the seal again laid its head on the ice as if to continue its nap.

While the seaman crouched there, perfectly motionless, his brain was active. Arrows, he feared, would be of little use, even if he were capable of shooting well, which he was not. Other weapon he had none, with the exception of a clasp-knife. What was he to do? The only answer to that question was—try a club. But how was he to get at the seal with a club?

While pondering this question he observed that there was another seal on the same mass of ice, apparently sleeping, behind a hummock. He also noticed that both seals were separated from the water by a considerable breadth of ice—especially the one behind the hummock, and that there was a tongue of ice extending from the floe to the shore by which it seemed possible to reach the floe by patient stalking without disturbing the game. Instantly Swinton decided on a plan, and commenced by crawling into the bushes. There, with his clasp-knife, he carefully cut and peeled a club which even Hercules might have deigned to wield.

With this weapon he crawled on hands and knees slowly out to the floe, and soon discovered that the seals were much larger than he had at first supposed, and were probably a male and a female. Being ignorant of the nature of seals, and only acquainted with the fact that the tender nose of the animal is its most vulnerable part, he crept like a cat after a mouse towards the smaller seal, which he judged to be the female, until near enough to make a rush and cut off its retreat to the sea. He then closed with it, brought his great club down upon its snout, and laid it dead upon the ice. Turning quickly round, he observed, to his surprise, that the male seal instead of making for the water, as he had expected, was making towards himself in floundering and violent bounds!

It may be necessary here to state that there are several kinds of seals in the northern seas, and that the “hood seal”—or, as hunters call it the “dog-hood”—is among the largest and fiercest of them all. The male of this species is distinguished from the female by a singular hood, or fleshy bag, on his nose, which he has the power to inflate with air, so that it covers his eyes and face—thus forming a powerful protection to his sensitive nose, for, besides being elastic, the hood is uncommonly tough. It is said that this guard will even resist shot and that the only sure way of killing the dog-hood seal is to hit him on the neck at the base of the skull.

Besides possessing this safeguard, or natural buffer, the dog-hood is full of courage, which becomes absolute ferocity when he is defending the female. This is now so well known that hunters always try to kill the male first, if possible, when the female becomes an easy victim.

Swinton saw at a single glance that he had to deal with a gigantic and furious foe, for the creature had inflated its hood and dilated its nostrils into two huge bladders, as with glaring eyes it bounced rather than rushed at him in terrific rage. Feeling that his arrows would be useless, the man flung them and the bow down, resolving to depend entirely on his mighty club. Being possessed of a good share of brute courage, and feeling confident in his great physical strength, Swinton did not await the attack, but ran to meet his foe, swung his ponderous weapon on high, and brought it down with tremendous force on the seal’s head, but the hood received it and caused it to rebound—as if from indiarubber—with such violence that it swung the man to one side. So far this was well, as it saved him from a blow of the dog-hood’s flipper that would probably have stunned him. As it was, it grazed his shoulder, tore a great hole in his strong canvas jacket and wounded his arm.

Experience usually teaches caution. When the seal turned with increased fury to renew the assault Swinton stood on the defensive, and as soon as it came within reach brought his club down a second time on its head with, if possible, greater force than before; but again the blow was broken by the hood, though not again was the man struck by the flipper, for he was agile as a panther and evaded the expected blow. His foot slipped on the ice, however, and he fell so close to the seal that it tumbled over him and almost crushed him with its weight. At the same time the club flew from his hand.

Though much shaken by the fall, the seaman scrambled to his feet in time to escape another onslaught, but do what he would he could make no impression on the creature’s head, because of that marvellous hood, and body blows were, of course, useless. Still Big Swinton was not the man to give in easily to a seal! Although he slipped on the ice and fell several times, he returned again and again to the encounter until he began to feel his strength going. As muscular power was his sole dependence, a sensation of fear now tended to make matters worse; at last he tripped over a piece of ice, and the seal fell upon him.

It was at this critical point that Grummidge came in sight of the combatants, and ran at full speed to the rescue. But he was still at a considerable distance, and had to cross the tongue of ice before he could reach the floe.

Meanwhile the seal opened its well-armed jaws to seize its victim by the throat. Swinton felt that death stared him in the face. Desperation sharpened his ingenuity. He thrust his left hand as far as possible down the throat of his adversary, and, seizing it with the other arm round the neck, held on in a tight though not loving embrace!

The struggle that ensued was brief. The seal shook off the man as if he had been but a child, and was on the point of renewing the attack when it caught sight of Grummidge, and reared itself to meet this new enemy.

Grummidge possessed a fair-sized clasp-knife. Armed with this, he rushed boldly in and made a powerful stab at the creature’s heart.

Alas! for the poor man, even though his stabbing powers had been good instead of bad, for he would only have imbedded the short weapon in a mass of fat without touching the heart. But Grummidge was a bad stabber. He missed his aim so badly as to plunge his weapon into the hood! Nothing could have been more fortunate. The air escaped and the hood collapsed. At the same moment Grummidge received an ugly scratch on the cheek which sent him sprawling. As he rose quickly he observed Swinton’s club, which he grasped and brought vigorously