HIS SEAL HUNT. 
483 
In an instant the kayacker has thrown his body 
hack and sent his weapon home. Whirr! goes the 
little coil, and the float is bobbing over the water — 
not far, however, for the barb has entered the lungs, 
and the seal must rise for breath. Now the harpoon 
is picked up, its head remaining in the victim ; and 
the kayack comes along. Here is required discretion 
as well as address. The hunter has probably but two 
weapons, a lance and a knife. The latter he can not 
part with, and even the lance brings him to closer 
quarters than the safety of his craft would invite ; for 
the contortions of a large seal thus wounded may tear 
it at some of the seams, and the merest crevice is cer- 
tain destruction. If he has with him the light javelin 
which he uses for spearing birds, he may be tempted 
to employ it now ; but this, I believe, is not altogether 
sportsmanlike. The lance generally gives the coup- 
de-grace. 
And now, from the greasy and somewhat odorifer- 
ous recesses of the kayack, you see him taking a dirty 
little coil of walrus hide, bearing several queer little 
toggles of bone. With a knowing gash of his knife, 
he makes a hole in the under jaw of the seal: the 
bone is passed through ; and the seal, towed alongside, 
comes in to rejoice the expectant wife and children. 
Small and frail as the kayack is, its perfect adapta- 
tion and beautiful management make it nearly inde- 
pendent of the mere danger of the sea. What, then, 
makes the kayaoker's pursuit one of constant excite- 
ment, and often of fatal peril ? 
It is the risk of perforation. The Greenland seas 
abound with ice and drift-wood. The kayacker is 
firmly wedged — as one with his vessel; and the ka- 
yack itself is a mere diaphragm of skin, stretched on a 
