HUNTING WHITE WHALES 



The whale fought desperately to free itself, rush- 

 ing from side to side and lashing the water into foam 

 with its flukes. We had thrown the float overboard 

 at the first leap and were waiting a short distance 

 away for a second shot. The animal's struggles finally 

 became less violent and as it lay on the surface trying 

 hard to keep upright I fired a second ball into its neck ; 

 with a last convulsive twist the beautiful creature 

 slowly sank. We paddled for the buoy which was bob- 

 bing about near us and checked the carcass before it 

 had gone far down, raising it to the surface by forcing 

 the canoe ahead. 



The two men in the other boat had been watching 

 from near the shore and when they saw that the 

 whale was dead paddled out to help us tow it around 

 the headland into the harbor near the yawl. We 

 beached it in a sandy cove where the gray rock wall 

 rose in a jagged mass, making a perfect background 

 for the white body, its purity intensified by the bright 

 red streaks of blood which dripped from the bullet 

 holes. There was something almost uncanny about 

 the picture, the beautiful, ghostlike animal, a very 

 Spirit of the North, seeming strangely out of place 

 away from its ice-bound home. 



Its body was unmarked by the slightest tinge of 

 color except at the outer margin of the tail which 

 was bordered with grayish-brown. Also the short 

 broad fins or flippers, strongly upcurved at their ends, 

 were edged with brown, becoming darker at the tips. 

 The small head, which, unlike most cetaceans, joined 

 the body by a distinct neck, ended in a short stubby 



275 



