356 
GAME DECREASING. 
the weary foot-tramp that determined me to try the 
winter search. Things have changed since then, and 
the prospect ahead is less cheery. But I close my 
pilgrim-experience of the year with devout gratitude 
for the blessings it has registered, and an earnest faith 
in the support it pledges for the times to come. 
“September 11, Monday.—Our stock of game is 
down to a mere mouthful,—six long-tailed ducks not 
larger than a partridge, and three ptarmigan. The 
rabbits have not yet come to us, and the foxes seem 
tired of touching our trap-baits. 
“ I determined last Saturday to try a novel expedient 
for catching seal. Not more than ten miles to seaward 
the icebergs keep up a rude stream of broken ice and 
water, and the seals resort there in scanty numbers to 
breathe. I drove out with my dogs, taking Hans 
along; but we found the spot so hemmed in by loose 
and fragile ice that there was no approaching it. The 
thermometer was 8°, and a light breeze increased my 
difficulties. 
“Deo volente, I will he more lucky to-morrow. I am 
going to take my long Kentucky rifle, the kayack, an 
Esquimaux harpoon with its attached line and bladder, 
naligeit and awahtolc, and a pair of large snow-shoes to 
boot. My plan this time is to kneel where the ice is 
unsafe, resting my weight on the broad surflice of the 
snow-shoes, Hans following astride of his kayack, as a 
sort of life-preserver in case of breaking in. If I am 
fortunate enough to stalk within gun-range, Hans will 
take to the water and secure the game before it sinks. 
