138 BY ESKIMO DOG-SLED 



But I must go back to the morning when I 

 first saw seal hunting : Our particular seal 

 hunt on that November morning was partly 

 an accidental one. I was sitting in the stern 

 of the boat, watching the rocks and the water. 

 It was a new thing to me, this scum of ice 

 that the waves were flinging up ; and the 

 spray from the oars was freezing as the wind 

 whipped it over the side of the boat. 



I could see the kayaks further out, paddling 

 about in an aimless sort of way ; but I was 

 mostly watching the line of glistening boulders 

 at the foot of the rocks, with the oily-looking 

 sea swilling over them, and the sunshine 

 gleaming on the crust of ice which the waves 

 were leaving on them. The man with the 

 sculling-pole, who was standing beside me in 

 the stern, suddenly whispered " Puije " (a 

 seal) and his face grew tense and eager. The 

 oarsmen stopped and turned to look, while 

 Jerry, the owner of the boat, hurriedly 

 crammed a cartridge into his rifle. 



This was all very mysterious to me. I was 

 looking all round for a head above the water, 

 or for any bubbles or disturbance that might 

 mean a seal ; but everything seemed as usual ; 

 the dots of kayaks went paddling on, and the 

 sea swilled over the stones. 



Jerry seemed to aim at the line of boulders 

 below the rocks, and my eyes followed the 



