Presently it came up again, and a boat was
lowered to pick it up, but it managed to escape capture, though it was
evident that it would soon die. After breakfast the next morning, when
we went on deck, the water was still quite smooth, and presently we
were surprised to see what appeared to be a dead seal floating in on
the tide. There was no doubt that this was the seal that Lieutenant
Schwatka had killed the previous night, and again the boat was lowered
to secure it. No precautions were deemed necessary to avoid making a
noise, and when the boat came alongside one of the men threw down his
oar, rolled up his sleeves, and stooped down to lift the carcass on
board. His surprise may be imagined when, after passing his arms around
it and proceeding to lift it, he felt it suddenly begin to struggle and
slip from his hold and dive below the surface, while a loud shout went
up from the spectators. It was not Lieutenant Schwatka's seal, but an
entirely well one that was sound asleep when it felt the rude embrace
of the sailor.
The seal is an exceedingly useful animal to the Esquimau, for it not
only supplies him with food and clothing, but its blubber furnishes the
fuel for cooking its flesh, lighting the igloo, and drying its skin
before making into clothing. The skin also is made into dog harness and
traces, whip lashes, boots and shoes, gun-covers, water-pails, bags for
the storing of oil and blubber, and his boats are covered with it.
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