DOWN THE RIVER. 



95 



Pyke and Pluck, in whose minds the prevailing impression constantly 

 exists of a deficiency in the larder, and which no amount of supply can 

 remove, here descry another lot of Cygnets, and start by themselves in 

 pursuit. They soon return with a brace, which present an odd appearance 

 as they gibbet them on a dead bush; for, our friends having stopped a 

 moment to light their pipes, had flung the birds upon a heap of burning 

 twigs and leaves they had scraped together for the purpose, and the fire 

 had blackened but only partially removed the feathers, causing the singular 

 scarecrow look before alluded to. 



But now a nobler quarry arrests our attention, for Pyke, who has 

 ascended the steep rocks, not for the purpose of admiring the scenery, but 

 to observe if haply any game be in view, now descends with eyes spark- 

 ling with animation, and tells us with great glee that he has discerned 

 what he calls a Tail, asleep on the beech. "A Tail, Pyke?" we exclaim, 

 "a. tail of what?" At which question both the darkies almost go into fits 

 with laughing; and Pluck, who prides himself upon speaking English with 

 remarkable purity, proceeds hurriedly to explain to us that his friend, who 

 found it a much easier matter to spear fish than pronounce the letter S, 

 meant a Seal. So we arrange our plan of attack; but first I cut one of 

 the leaden weights of the fishing-line into slugs, and put a charge of them 

 into each of the barrels of the gun; the blacks arm themselves each with 

 a sapling they have hastily cut with their tomahawks, leaving a portion of 

 the root to form a knob at the end. Then taking advantage of a rough 

 bank of sand between us and our intended victim, we steal cautiously up. 

 The blackfellows are wild with delight, and as soon as we arrive at a 

 spot marked by Pyke, I peep over the bank, and within eight or ten 

 yards there lies a large hair seal. Notwithstanding my caution, the noise 

 of my approach alarms our oily friend, for he turns his head quickly 

 round, and I can see the play of his nostrils as he '^scents the tainted 

 gale." I think of Hector in the Antiquary, and his luckless adventure 

 with the Phoca, but I have not long to wonder whether we shall be 

 more successful, when the Seal plunges his awkward flappers into the sand, 

 and begins to shuffle down towards the sea. With a loud yell the blacks 

 rush at him ; it had been previously arranged that Pyke was to lead 

 the forlorn hope and strike the first blow. But the long teeth and fe- 

 rocious appearance of the Seal intimidate the boastful darky, and he 

 swerves aside. But almost at the same moment Pluck makes him bite 

 the dust, (sand,) by a vigorous blow upon the point of the nose — the only 

 vulnerable part, and as the wretched Phoca endeavours to recover himself — 

 it feels to me like murder — I discharge both barrels into its head, from 

 within six yards distance; then the sticks come into requisition and finish 

 the work. Whereat Pyke bursts into an extemporaneous war-dance, and. 



