450 NEW LAND. 



chipping some fossils out of a rock, a seal far out on the ice. I had 

 no stalking-sail, but as the animal, a ringed seal (Phoca hispida), 

 was in the pressure-ice, I made an attempt to stalk it. This 

 succeeded beyond all expectation, for it was one of the most 

 accommodating seals I ever came across. Although the snow 

 creaked and crackled under my feet, and the seal lifted its head 

 several times, and, as I thought, stared me in the face, I got within 

 thirty yards or so of it, and made an end of it with a shot in the 

 head. I had no knife with me, or line with which to tow the 

 seal to land, so I had to go back to fetch both. I thought it 

 would be amusing to drag my booty home whole, and promised 

 " Basilisken " and myself an extra good dinner; in a word, I was 

 very proud of my achievement, but pride comes before a fall. 



' I returned to the seal and made the line fast to its head by 

 slitting the skin of its forehead and under-jaw, and passing the 

 line under the skin. The towing presented no difficulty, and I 

 arrived without mishap at the end of " Langelinie," where I had to 

 drag my booty up on to the ice-foot. Unfortunately this sloped, and 

 the tide was very low, so that there was a very large tidal crack, 

 which was both broad and deep. I got across it all right myself, and 

 was going to jerk the seal after me, but it proved to be too heavy, 

 and slid into the sea with a tremendous splash, nearly dragging me 

 after it. This I escaped, but in trying to haul it up again, the 

 strips of skin gave way, and all my and " Basilisken's " good food 

 disappeared into the depths. I could see the seal lying at the 

 bottom, but it was impossible to reach it. However, I did not give 

 up the attempt at once, for I went home, and fetched two long poles 

 from Fort Juliana, but when I returned with them, the seal had 

 disappeared from sight. 



' I now went home again, but my cup of bitterness was not yet 

 full, for when I began to clean my gun I found that, for some 

 reason or other, my last cartridge had broken across, and that a bit 

 of it was lodged fast in the chamber, so that I could not load 

 again. I had a good deal of trouble in getting it out, and only 

 succeeded in the end by the sacrifice of the point of my scissors. 

 By this time it was half-past twelve at night. This episode was 

 no sooner well over than I heard voices outside, and found on 



