THE COMMODORE AND CREW. - 32 

hunting scene, that would look wild and weird, could we 
have photographed it. 
But to describe the hunt, we must add to this, though extra 
touches often mar, rather than improve. The Commodore 
and his crew, their coats off and hanging upon the bushes 
behind them, with sleeves high rolled, and bending over their 
prey (which is lying upon its back, partly disrobed) like 
slaughtering demons, talking in lowest, muttering tones, 
moving their long, skinny arms up and down, while in their 
hands they are flourishing bright, gleaming knives, which are 
constantly flashing in the firelight, their faces showing wicked 
in the red glare, as they raise them to glance stealthily about, 
and those demonical smiles always seen to wreathe the lips of 
such, in full bloom upon each ruddy countenance. 
Sembee ! 7? 
‘¢ What is it, Mr. Crew?” 
‘*T heard the snap of a dry alder.” 
‘* Well,” whispers the Commodore, ‘* sh—quiet—only look 
over there.” 
And on the opposite shore three caribou were standing, and 
three pair of large shining eyes were gazing wonderingly upon 
us. The Commodore’s hand stole toward his rifle, but he 
touched it not, though had he so wished he could very easily 
have made a sure centre shot between the eyes of the largest 
one at the short distance. For a moment we looked them 
quietly over, while they stood as motionless as statues. Then 
on resuming our work, the largest one moved quietly up the 
shore, the other two turn their heads, look after it, and slowly 
follow, all disappearing as noiselessly as they came. 
Having dressed the buck and divided it in quarters, we 
pack it in the middle part of the canoe, with clean branches 
