Hour after hour the Narwhal sailed steadily on, and ever as she proceeded, the floating ice and lofty drifting bergs grew larger and more numerous. When the shores of Baffin Island at last rose above the sea, the water was only visible as narrow lanes of green amid the wide stretch of rough ice. How the schooner could ever get through the vast field with its bobbing close-packed cakes and its towering bergs, was a mystery to the boys. They watched intently as old Cap’n Pem, now in charge as ice pilot, bawled out quick, sharp orders, and at his commands, the helm was shifted, yards were swung and sails trimmed instantly as the Narwhal tacked and turned and twisted and threaded her devious way through the narrow leads. Often after the schooner’s passage, the ice, disturbed by her wake, would drift across the channels, and soon the boys, looking astern, could see nothing but the vast field of ice showing no sign of the open water by which they had entered.

Here, too, the boys saw why the topsail schooner was such a favorite with Arctic whalemen. To be sure, Cap’n Pem had already explained it to them when they had first discussed the Narwhal’s rig, but until they actually saw it demonstrated they did not fully realize how handy the rig was amid the ice. Often, as the vessel plunged forward along a narrow lead, the passage would end in an impenetrable barrier, and the boys held their breaths as the schooner seemed about to dash into the mass of ice. But each time the old whaleman’s voice would roar out an order. The men, ready at sheets and braces, would bend to the ropes and, as the huge topsail yard swung about, the Narwhal would slow down, hesitate, and at the very instant the boys expected to hear the splintering of ice and the crashing of shivered planking, the schooner would begin to move backward. But at last the leads became so narrow, so tortuous and so choked with ice that Cap’n Pem declared they could go no farther.

“Reckon we’d better be gettin’ out ice anchors, an’ lyin’ here till she opens up,” he declared, addressing Captain Edwards. “Soon’s wind or tide changes, the derned ice’ll begin ter move.”

“Humph, and take us with it, like as not,” responded the skipper. “Never did see such a lot of ice ’long here this time o’ year. And time’s flyin’. If she don’t open up mighty quick, we’ll have to put about and make for the Straits or we won’t be a-gettin’ into the Bay this season.”

“Can’t you run in with the motor?” asked Tom. “Seems to me that’s easier to handle than sails.”

“By glory! I must be gettin’ old,” cried the captain. “Say, Pem, what sort of a’ ice pilot are you that you didn’t think of that?”

“How in tarnation’d I think o’ thet there contraption?” demanded the old whaleman. “Fust time I ever wuz shipmates long o’ one.”

In a few minutes the motor’s exhaust was ringing loudly across the ice pack, and under half speed, the schooner was cautiously feeling her way through the zigzagging, winding lanes of water; bumping into floating cakes, grating against the solid masses on either side, but each moment getting farther and farther into the vast field and nearer to the gray rocky coast. Presently, from the lookout came the shout of “Open water ahead!” An hour later the Narwhal was resting at anchor in a broad expanse of open sea with only isolated grounded bergs and drifting floes upon the surface. Seaward, the white barrier through which she had passed stretched to the horizon to north and south.

Hardly had the schooner come to rest before the Eskimos were launching their kayaks, and in a few minutes were darting away in various directions.

“Where are they going?” asked Tom as he and Jim watched the skin boats leave the vessel’s side.

“Lookin’ for walrus,” replied the captain. “When they sight a herd they’ll come back and report and like as not get a few to bring along as samples.”

“I’d love to be with them,” declared Jim. “I’m going to ask Unavik to take us in a kayak some day.”

“Better start with a real boat,” advised the captain. “If you see a big bull walrus rearin’ up his head and glarin’ at you with them red eyes of his, and roarin’ and bellowin’ and heavin’ his tusks up and down, and rushin’ at you like he’s gone crazy, you’ll be mighty glad you’re in a whaleboat ’stead of a skin kayak.”

“Whew, are they like that?” cried Tom. “They look so big and clumsy in the pictures and when they’re stuffed, that I didn’t suppose they could really do much harm.”

“Wussedest critters I know,” declared Cap’n Pem, “and ye wouldn’t git me fer to hunt ’em in them there cockleshells o’ kayaks, not fer nothin’. With a good musket an’ a whaleboat ’tain’t so bad, but a bull walrus ain’t to be sneezed at, lemme tell ye!”

“All the more excitement,” laughed Tom. “I’m just crazy to go after them!”

“Guess ye mus’ be crazy to wanter,” muttered old Pem. “But long’s ye’re out fer to git adventure an’ own the consarned ol’ ship, there ain’t a mite o’ use my tellin’ ye not to.”

Jim laughed. “You know perfectly well you wouldn’t let us go and neither would Captain Edwards, if there was any real danger,” he said.

“There’s always danger on a whaler in the Arctic,” said the skipper, “but you two boys know how to shoot and ain’t reckless, and Kemp’s an old hand, and there ain’t any likelihood of your gettin’ hurt, in a good boat.”

“But there’s that there cat——” began Pem.

“Oh nonsense!” interrupted Tom. “If we go, we’re going to take that cat with us as a mascot.”

“Waall, fools will rush in, ye knows,” muttered the old whaleman as he stumped aft.

While waiting for the Eskimos to return with word as to the whereabouts of the walrus herd, the boats were lowered, the masts stepped, guns and other appliances and weapons stowed, and all prepared in readiness for the hunt. At last, after several hours wait, the boys spied the kayaks returning. As they drew near, Tom and Jim saw that the two leading craft were towing some huge object. Grasping the glasses, Tom ran up the rigging. “They’ve found them!” he cried out an instant later. “They’re bringing in the ‘sample’ just as the captain said.”

“How they can get a walrus and tow him in with those kyaks gets me,” declared Jim.

“Trust those boys to do it though,” said Mr. Kemp. “Why, they even get big bowheads in kayaks. They can handle them canoes to beat all. I’ve seen ’em flop clean over and come up a smilin’ t’other side.”

Tom laughed. “You must think we’re greener than we are, to swallow that,” he declared.

The second officer grinned. “All right, I’ll prove it,” he announced, and calling to a young Eskimo who stood near, he said something to him in the fellow’s own language.

With a broad grin the Eskimo slipped over the schooner’s rail, settled himself in the tiny craft, pulled the string of the lacing to the circular opening about his body, and with a few strokes of his paddle drew away from the Narwhal.

“Now watch him!” exclaimed Mr. Kemp.

Glancing up at the watching boys, the Eskimo waved his hand, gave a sudden lurch to one side, and to the boys’ utter amazement, the kayak capsized. The next instant they could see only the smooth rounded bottom of the canoe.

“Oh, he’ll be drowned!” cried Tom. “He’s laced in and can’t——”

Before he could finish the sentence, the kayak had rotated, and scarcely believing their eyes, the boys saw the craft bob right side up with its swarthy occupant still grinning.

“Well, that is a stunt!” cried Jim.

“Yes, I take it all back,” said Tom. “I’ll believe any yarn you tell us after that.”

Over and over again the Eskimo performed the feat for the boys’ benefit, and then, the walrus hunters approaching, he darted off and joined them.

As the kayaks came alongside, the boys looked with wonder at the enormous creature they had in tow—a huge bull walrus, partly supported by air-filled skin floats, and with gleaming white tusks nearly two feet in length.

Swarming on to the schooner, the Eskimos all began chattering at once in a mixture of broken English, Danish, and their own tongue, until Captain Edwards threw up his hands in despair. “Here, Mr. Kemp,” he called, “come and get this. I can savvy a bit o’ the lingo, but this is too much for me. They’re worse nor a flock o’ poll-parrots!”

The second officer pushed his way through the group, uttered a few sharp words in the Eskimos’ dialect, and instantly all ceased talking. Then, turning to a man who appeared to be a leader, he asked him a question. Rapidly and with sparkling eyes the fellow replied, and Mr. Kemp turned to the skipper. “Says there’s a whoppin’ big herd of walrus over to Lewis’ Inlet,” he announced. “’Cordin’ to him, must be pretty nigh two hundred of the critters. Leastwise, he says ‘twenty pair of hands of ’em’ and that’s all the same as two hundred. Says they’re well up on land and easy to cut off from water. They picked the bull up outside on a cake of ice.”

“All right,” replied the captain. “Man the boats and get started. Guess you’ll need pretty near all hands. Swanson’s been after walrus afore, he tells me, and I guess Pem and Mike and two or three of the men can take care of the ship. I’ll go along in one boat, you take another, Swanson can take the third and—hmm, Mr. Chester, you’re to take the fourth boat!”

For a moment Tom did not realize that the captain was addressing him, and then, as it dawned upon him, “Wha—what’s that?” he stammered. “You don’t mean——”

“That you’re in charge of the port after-boat,” interrupted the skipper with a twinkle in his eye. “You can take Mr. Lathrop as mate if you wish. Might as well learn how to handle a boat now as ever.”

“Gee Whitaker!” exclaimed the dazed boy as he and Jim dashed to their cabin for their rifles. “I’m as nervous as a cat! Of course I can steer the boat—with the rudder and under sail; but I don’t know what to do when we get to the walrus.”

“Oh, just do like the others do,” advised Jim. “Gosh, I’d like to have your chance! Say, you’ll be a regular boat steerer next! Besides, Captain Edwards will probably tell you what to do when we get near.”

But despite Jim’s encouraging words, Tom’s knees were shaky as he took his place in the boat assigned him, slipped the rudder in place, and sat waiting the captain’s order to cast off.

“When you get near the herd, spread out,” directed Captain Edwards, “and go in as near the same time as you can. Pick the biggest bulls and aim for the ear or neck close to the head. Take them that’s near the water first, and if one of ’em comes for you, keep off and shoot him. Don’t take no chances—a bull walrus can stave a boat’s easy as a egg shell.”

A moment later the boats were cast off, sails were trimmed, and the little fleet went dancing across the calm sea, each boat towing several kayaks with their Eskimo occupants behind it.

Nearer and nearer they approached the shore. The schooner was a mere speck in the distance, and the captain’s boat, guided by a wrinkled old Eskimo, swung more towards the south. Presently they passed a jutting, rocky cape, about whose shores the drift ice was piled high, and entered a tiny bottle-shaped bay. And at the sight which greeted them, the boys exclaimed in wonder.

Everywhere upon the shingle and the grounded cakes of ice were the bulky, dull-brown, clumsy-looking walrus. There were scores—hundreds of the creatures. Giant bulls with enormous, wrinkled, warty-skinned necks and gleaming ivory tusks; smaller, light-colored cows, and little seal-like pups. The pups and cows were some distance from the water’s edge, the younger bulls were scattered in groups near by and along the shore. Resting on rocks or ice cakes with their tiny heads raised high, were the old veterans of a thousand fights, the giant, scarred, elephantine bulls.

Instantly, as with one accord, sails were lowered, the kayaks were cast off and, under oars and paddles, the fleet of boats and canoes swept upon the herd. For a moment the bulls stared wonderingly at the unexpected visitors. Then a low, growling, barking roar echoed across the bay. The great creatures wheeled about to face the intruders and, shaking their tusked heads threateningly, prepared to defend the cows and their young.

The next instant, rifles and muskets roared. The boys glimpsed several big bulls as they swayed and sank lifeless. They heard the shouts of the excited men, the shriller cries of the Eskimos, and then forgot all else as their boat approached a gigantic bull walrus who had dragged himself to the very verge of an ice cake, and was on the point of diving into the sea. Taking careful aim, Jim fired; but at the very instant he pulled the trigger, the boat lurched, his rifle wavered, and the bull with a roar plunged with a tremendous splash into the water.

“Gosh, I missed!” cried Jim.

“There’s another!” screamed Tom. “Get him!”

Once more Jim’s rifle crashed out and a smaller bull sagged like an empty sack upon the shingle.

“Hurrah!” cried Tom, and then his glad shout died on his lips and he screamed a warning filled with terror. Within two feet of the boat—so close he could have touched it with his outstretched hand—a great, ferocious-looking head had burst from the water, the tiny, wicked eyes gleaming like those of an enraged elephant, the stiff, horny whiskers bristling, the two-foot yellow tusks dripping blood from a deep gash across the forehead where Jim’s bullet had cut its way.

Wounded, mad with fury, the walrus reared its massive neck above the water and hurled itself at the boat. Frantically Tom yelled. The men seized the oars and struggled desperately to swing the boat. Jim hastily reloaded and strove to shoot. But the boat was swaying and tipping to the men’s efforts and Jim could not aim. Almost before they realized their peril, the boys saw the maddened creature’s head raised above the edge of the boat. With a tremendous blow, the long tusks came crashing down, splintering the thwart, breaking the stout oak rail and bearing the boat down to the water’s edge.

Instantly the men threw themselves to the opposite side of the craft. With oars, clubs and whatever they could grasp they rained a shower of blows upon the animal’s head, but they might as well have struck at a helmet of steel. With blood pouring from the wounds, but not affected by them in the least, the bull walrus lashed the water into a maelstrom of froth, wrenched his head back and forth, bellowed with rage, and swung the heavy thirty-foot boat from side to side and up and down as though it were a thing of paper. Excited, rattled, terror-stricken, Tom was paralyzed with fear, and neither he nor any of his men realized that their antagonist was striving with might and main to tear free his tusks wedged in the splintered wood; that, with his head thus held as in a trap, he could not lift himself high enough to withdraw his tusks, and that he was in reality almost as terrorized as the occupants of the boat. Owing to some mistake, none of the old hands were in Tom’s boat. Not a member of his crew had ever before seen a live walrus, much less an infuriated wounded one. They were so thoroughly frightened by the creature’s sudden and savage onslaught, that they completely lost their heads.

Then, suddenly and with a wild shout, one-eyed Ned leaped forward, seized a boat spade and, yelling like a fiend and holding the weapon as though it were a bayonet, he plunged the keen-edged spade time after time into the thick, wrinkled neck of the walrus. The sea turned crimson, the walrus lashed the water into scarlet foam. Gradually his struggles ceased, his eyes closed, and he lay dead, with his tusks still locked over the boat’s rail.

But the danger was not over. The inert, heavy body tipped the craft until every wave lapped over the side, and while several men struggled and heaved and tugged to lift the creature’s head free, the others bailed for their lives, but seemingly to no purpose. Not only was the buoyancy of the boat pressing upwards against the weight of the walrus, but the tusks were driven so firmly through the thwart that they were locked as though in a vise. Each second it seemed as if the boat would fill and all would be struggling in the icy water.

Their shouts and cries had attracted the attention of the other boats and Swanson, who was nearest, had come racing to Tom’s aid. Before his boat was alongside, the battle was over, however, and seeing the trouble, the cooper and several of his men leaped into Tom’s boat and with their weight on the upper side, the water ceased to come in. Then Tom, suddenly remembering his responsibility, recovered his scattered wits. “Here!” he shouted. “Get the handle of an oar under his head and pry him loose!” But even with the stout handle of the heavy ash oar as a lever, the walrus’ head could not be budged.

“Get the hatchet and cut away the thwart!” ordered Tom. As the keen-edged little ax cut through the splintered wood, the men heaved up on the oar, and with a splash the animal’s head slipped over the rail into the sea.

Swanson stood up, pulled at his huge mustache, drew his pipe from his pocket and commenced to fill it with a blunt, blackened forefinger. “Ay tank you bane have close shave,” he remarked, as he glanced about. “By yiminy, you bane pretty near cut das fellow head off.”

“I’ll say we had a close shave!” exclaimed Tom. “And if it hadn’t been for Ned we’d all have been drowned or killed. Gee, I’d have hated to be overboard with that beast. Ned was the only one who kept his head.”

The big Swede nodded approvingly, squinted his pale blue eyes and turned his gaze curiously on the ex-soldier.

“Ay tank mebbe das glass eye he got more better as two some fellers got. He bane gude fellow, Ned,” he declared gravely.

“Aw, forget it!” exclaimed the one-eyed veteran flushing. “I didn’t do nothin’. The bloomin’ beast’s face was so darned like that of a Hun what stuck his ugly mug into my dugout over there, that I plumb forgot myself an’ went at him with a bay’net same’s if he was a Heinie.”

“Well, if that was a sample of the way you went after the Germans, I’m sorry for them!” laughed Tom.

“Vell, Ay tank Ay bane goin’ back,” remarked Swanson as he scrambled into his own boat. “Yumpin yiminy! Das bane vun big bull you get!”

Now that the excitement was over, the boys glanced about. No more walruses were to be seen ashore. The rocks and ice were deserted save for a half dozen dead bulls and a couple of badly wounded ones. A few cows could be seen swimming some distance away. The other boats’ crews were busy working at the kill. The Eskimos, however, were paddling furiously about and the interested boys saw the forward man in the nearest kayak lunge forward with his harpoon as a bull walrus broke water.

“Golly, if that fellow goes for ’em they’ll be sunk!” exclaimed Jim.

But the Eskimos gave the stricken and angry creature no chance. As with a snort of rage he broke the surface and charged the kayak, the tiny craft whirled as on a pivot, dodged the oncoming creature and, as it passed by him, the Eskimo in the bow leaned over and drove a long lance into the animal’s neck. Over and over again the maneuver was repeated. Fascinated the boys and men watched this battle between the wounded, infuriated bull walrus and the frail craft of skin, with its Eskimo occupants armed with their primitive weapons. But, as always, brains and intelligence triumphed, and presently the grinning natives were paddling toward shore, towing the carcass of their victim behind them.