106 MAMMALS

be missed, the consequences may prove serious to ~
the hunter. Harpooning the morse is, however, a
commoner, though but slightly safer, mode of,
securing him. There are few things more exciting
than to watch the encounter between a walrus and
an Eskimo. When a walrus reaches a floe he usually
stops at the edge, until his companion behind butts
him up on to the ice and takes his place. Hence
the occupation of a floe by walrus is a very slow
and clumsy manceuvre, particularly when the herd
is a large one—a large one numbering, say, seven
thousand. In a case like this, the walrus in some
way has to be cut off from his companions. But
often the morse are met with in detached families,
and the peculiar song—half a cow’s moo, half a
mastiff's bay—directs the Eskimo to his prey. The
chase is a long one; once the sea-horse is sighted,
the advance can be made only while he is under
water. Each time he comes up to breathe, his
pursuer stoops down to hide. At last the hunter
gets near enough to strike him as he rises at the side
of the floe. The phlegmatic harpooner then becomes
excited. His coil of walrus-hide, a well-trimmed
line of many fathoms’ length, lies at his feet. He
ties one end to an iron barb, and this he fastens
loosely by a socket to a shaft of horn; the other
end is already loose. He grasps the harpoon ; the
water eddies and whirls; puffing and panting, up
comes the unwieldy sea-horse. The Eskimo rises
slowly, his right arm thrown back, his left hanging
close to his side. The walrus looks about him and
throws the water off his crest ; the Eskimo launches