The Gentle Walrus 79 



tusks, too, he digs in the sea-bed for his food, which is 

 principally shell-fish, although he does not disdain the 

 offal of a dead whale, or indeed anything else of an 

 animal nature, so long as it does not involve the chase 

 of the object. 



Pursuit is not at all in the programme of the Walrus, 

 except under certain circumstances to be alluded to 

 presently. The stomach of a Walrus that I once 

 examined (caught on a fioe in Behring Straits) looked 

 like the contents of an oyster-dredge just hauled up. 

 Curious shellfish of many kinds and in several cases 

 alive ; stones, sand, mud, shrimps, worms, and other 

 things ; it was a queer collection. Yet it seemed — if 

 such was his regular diet, and I have no reason to 

 suppose that it was not — to have suited the Walrus 

 very well indeed, for he was so fat that out of his 

 wounds exuded almost as much oil as blood. 



As might be supposed from the nature of its food, 

 the Walrus is a gentle and inoffensive creature. Here, 

 again, a sense of extreme incongruity is aroused in one 

 at the sight of a Morse suddenly popping up from under 

 the sea. Its appearance is savage in the extreme ; no 

 painted Indian ever succeeded in making himself look 

 more terror-striking than the Walrus, and his bristling 

 whiskers, each hair almost as thick as a porcupine quiU 

 and completely hiding the setting of the tusks, serves 

 excellently to heighten his appearance of ferocity. 

 Yet, generally speaking, at the sight of man he will 

 flee as fast as he can, with every appearance of earnest 

 desire to get away. The exceptions to this rule are 

 found during the breeding season, among both males 

 and females, the former in defence of the latter, and the 

 latter in defence of their young. And as they are very 

 sociable creatures, loving to herd in hundreds, an at- 

 tacking boat suddenly finds itself surrounded by a 



