248 THE WORLD OF ICE.

“Hand me a spear, Buzzby,” cried Saunders; “the
musket-balls seem to hurt him as little as peas. Oot
o my gait.”

The second mate made a rush so tremendous that
something awful would infallibly have resulted, had
he not struck his foot against a bit of ice and fallen
violently on his breast. The impetus with which he
had started shot him forward till his head was within
a foot of the walrus’s grim muzzle. For one moment
the animal looked at the man, as if it were surprised
at his audacity, and then it recommenced its frantic
struggles, snorting blood, and foam, and water into
Saunders’s face as he scrambled out of its way. Im-
mediately after, Awatok fixed another harpoon in its
side, and it dived again.

The struggle that ensued was tremendous, and the
result seemed for a long time to be doubtful. Again
and again shots were fired and spear-thrusts made
with effect, but the huge creature seemed invulnerable.
Its ferocity and strength remained unabated, while
the men—sailors and Esquimau alike—were nearly
exhausted. The battle had now lasted three hours ;
the men were panting from exertion; the walrus, still
bellowing, was clinging to the edge of the ice, which
for several yards round the hole was covered with
blood and foam.

 

 

“Wot a brute it is!” said Buzzby, sitting down on
a lump of ice and looking at it in despair,

“We might have killed it lang ago had I not wet
my gun,” growled Saunders, regarding his weapon,