The Walrus Hunters | Page 2

books are particularly well-written and
researched, because he wanted that readership to get the very best
possible for their money. They were published as six series, three books
in each series.
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THE WALRUS HUNTERS, A TALE OF LIFE ON THE ARCTIC
SHORES OF CANADA, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
CHAPTER ONE.
A ROMANCE OF THE ICE-WORLD.
A SURPRISE, A COMBAT, AND A FEED.
There is a river in America which flows to the north-westward of Great
Bear Lake, and helps to drain that part of the great wilderness into the
Arctic Sea.
It is an insignificant stream compared with such well-known waterways
as the Mackenzie and the Coppermine; nevertheless it is large enough
to entice the white-whale and the seal into its waters every spring, and
it becomes a resting-place for myriads of wild-fowl while on their
passage to and from the breeding-grounds of the Far North.
Greygoose River was the name given to it by the Dogrib Indians who
dwelt in its neighbourhood, and who were wont, every spring and
autumn, to descend its waters nearly to the sea in quest of game. The
Eskimos, who, coming from the mysterious north, were in the habit of
ascending it a short way during open water in pursuit of their peculiar
prey, named it Whale River.
The Indians and Eskimos did not often meet while on these trips. They
did not like meeting, because the result was apt to be disastrous.
Besides, the land was wide and the game plentiful enough for both, so
that they were not much tempted to risk a meeting. Occasionally,
however, meetings and encounters did take place, and sometimes bitter
feuds arose, but the possession of fire-arms by the Indians--who were
supplied by the fur-traders--rendered the Eskimos wary. Their
headstrong courage, however, induced the red men to keep as much as
possible out of their way. In short, there was a good deal of the spirit of
"let-be for let-be" between the two at the time of which we write.
One morning in the spring-time of the year, soon after the floods

caused by the melting snows had swept the ice clean out of Greygoose
or Whale River, a sturdy young Eskimo urged his sharp kayak, or
skin-covered canoe, up the stream in pursuit of a small white-whale.
But the creature gave him the slip, so that, after an energetic chase, he
turned his light vessel towards the left bank of the stream, intending to
land.
Cheenbuk, for such was his name, was one of those sedate beings
whose energies run calm and deep, like a mighty river. This feelings,
whatever they might be, did not usually cause much agitation on the
surface. Disappointment did not visibly depress, nor did success unduly
elate him. The loss of the whale failed to disturb the placid look of
grave contentment which sat on his good-looking countenance.
For it must be noted here that Cheenbuk was a handsome savage--if,
indeed, we are entitled to style him a savage at all. His features were
good, and strongly marked. His young beard and moustache were black,
though not bushy. His dark eyes were large and full of tenderness,
which expression, by an almost imperceptible raising of eyelid and
contraction of brow, was easily transmuted into a gaze of ferocity or
indignation. His bulky frame was clothed in the seal-skin garb peculiar
to his people; his hair was straight, voluminous, and unkempt, and his
motions gave indication of great strength combined with agility.
And no wonder, for a large part of our young Eskimo's life had been
spent in battling with the forces of Nature, and the hardships of life as
displayed in the Arctic regions--to say nothing of frequent conflicts
with the seal, the walrus and the polar bear.
Running his kayak among the rushes of a small inlet, Cheenbuk
stepped out of the hole in its centre into the stream. The water was
ankle-deep, but the youth suffered no discomfort, for he wore what may
be styled home-made waterproof boots reaching to above the knees.
These had been invented by his forefathers, no doubt, in the remote
ages of antiquity--at all events, long before india-rubber had been
discovered or Macintosh was born.
Drawing his little craft out of the water, the young man took some food

from its interior, and was about to begin his truly simple meal by eating
it raw, when a distant sound arrested his hand on the way to his mouth.
He turned his head slightly on one side and remained for some
moments like a singularly attentive statue.
Presently the voice of a wild-goose was faintly heard in the far distance.
Evidently the young Eskimo desired a change of fare, for he laid down
the slice of raw seal, on which he had been about to regale himself, and