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 covp- 
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 hone. 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 kayacker’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 
