Читать книгу Beyond Adventure - Roy Chapman Andrews - Страница 28

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George had his first taste of walrus hunting near Cape York. He gives a graphic description of the excitement: "Holy Smoke! You may spiel of your lion shooting in Africa . . . but if you want the real thing, try a scrimmage with walrus, when everyone is standing by to repel boarders, hitting them over the heads with oars, boat-hooks, and axes, when one's decks are cleared for action and the ammunition hoist is on the bum. . . .

"A walrus when killed, will go to the bottom like some submarines, so it was up to us to get it harpooned before such events materialized. . . .

"As luck would have it, our first engagement with the walrus was a lively session and no mistake. We'd seen about ten or more taking life easy on the ice-pan, so Captain Bob thought it was a good chance to put the tenderfeet through the ropes, and away Mac and I went with the Captain shouting instructions. . . .

"We stopped rowing a couple of hundred yards from the walrus and let Dennis Murphy, a sailor, scull us up. When within about fifty yards, every now and then a stray walrus feeding below would come up for a breath of fresh air. Sometimes they'd appear so close we could almost pat their heads with our hands.

"We didn't try to stick any of those in the water, as the ones on the pan were more promising. We wanted to row right up to them but our huskies [Eskimos] thought they were too fierce looking to get very close. While we were debating what to do, one of the heavy weights woke up, nudged another and information being passed that the police were raiding, they started for the fire escapes.

"Mac then got his Winchester automatic into play and the bullets streamed out of it like water out of a fire hose. We hit a couple and half killed another, but with a convulsive flop the brute slipped into the water. The huskies' blood was up by this time. Kyutah made a corking throw, harpooning one just as it was sinking, and another was handed out his epitaph.

"Just then about forty others came rushing up to see what all the roughhouse was about. Jerusalem! It looked as if a million whales were spouting at once. The air was full of water, cuss words and clam shells. The water was just one writhing mess of merry Hades let loose.

"Just then a trio came to the surface about fifteen yards off. They all bore marks of the fray and were mad clean through. Giving their battle cry of 'Ook, ook!' . . . they charged us. Our magazines were as empty as a Princeton man's pockets after the Yale football game. Our huskies didn't like the look of things. They grabbed the oars, and banged them on the gunwale of the boat . . . Mac and his automatic were having a bully time and we cut loose. The walrus were treading water and banging their front flippers together. . . . The general racket, the crepitating rifles, the shouts and pounding of the huskies and the bellowing of the infuriated animals was terrific.

"We torpedoed one and knocked the propeller off another, but the biggest one dived, and the next second we were half blinded by a water spout as the giant ranged alongside and tried to give us the hook with his tusks. With the guns almost touching his head, we let 'er rip. That ended Mr. Walrus and with an exultant cheer the Eskimos threw their harpoons."

Harry Whitney, a New Haven sportsman who had paid $1500 for the privilege of going north on the Erik, left the ship at Cape York. It was to him that Dr. Cook said he had entrusted all his records, when he arrived in Copenhagen with nothing but his word to support his claim that he had reached the North Pole. Whitney denied that Cook had left anything with him except a few instruments to be taken back to the States.

At Etah, north of Cape York, the expedition lost the last touch with civilization. Captain Bartlett in his The Log of Bob Bartlett gives a vivid picture of the Roosevelt:

"Mixed up with the coal were 70 tons of whale meat and 246 dogs, all fighting and screaming; the dogs I mean. In addition we had 49 Eskimos and the blubber of 50 walruses. To get some idea of what this meant you must remember that the Roosevelt was not any bigger than the average tug. . . . To my dying day I shall never forget the frightful noise, the choking stench and the terrible confusion that reigned aboard her as we steamed slowly down Foulke Fjord and swung into the pack of Kane Basin. We had some canned peaches that night for supper; but the odor about us was so powerful that the peaches simply felt wet and cold on one's tongue, having no fruit flavor whatsoever."