The Esquimaux received the three visitors and the rest of the sledge party, who came up a few hours later, with the utmost hospitality.  But we have not space to tell of how they dragged them into their smoky huts of snow; and how they offered them raw seal-flesh to eat; and how, on the sailors expressing disgust, they laughed, and added moss mixed with oil to their lamps to enable them to cook their food; and how they managed by signs and otherwise to understand that the strangers had come in search of food, at which they (the Esquimaux) were not surprised; and how they assured their visitors (also by means of signs) that they would go a-hunting with them on the following day, whereat they (the sailors) were delighted, and shook hands all round.  Neither have we space to tell of how the visitors were obliged to conform to custom, and sleep in the same huts with men, women, children, and dogs, and how they felt thankful to be able to sleep anywhere and anyhow without being frozen.  All this, and a great deal more, we are compelled to skip over here, and leave it, unwillingly, to the vivid imagination of our reader.

CHAPTER XVIII.

The hunting-party—­Reckless driving—­A desperate encounter with a walrus, etc.

Late in the day, by the bright light of the stars, the sailors and the Esquimaux left the snow-huts of the village, and travelling out to seaward on the floes, with dogs and sledges, lances and spears, advanced to do battle with the walrus.

The northern lights were more vivid than usual, making the sky quite luminous; and there was a sharp freshness in the air, which, while it induced the hunters to pull their hoods more tightly round their faces, also sent their blood careering more briskly through their veins, as they drove swiftly over the ice in the Esquimau sledges.

“Did ye ever see walruses afore, Davie?” inquired Buzzby, who sat beside Summers on the leading sledge.

“None but what I’ve seed on this voyage.”

“They’re remarkable creeturs,” rejoined Buzzby, slapping his hand on his thigh.  “I’ve seed many a one in my time, an’ I can tell ye, lad, they’re ugly customers.  They fight like good uns, and give the Esquimaux a deal o’ trouble to kill them—­they do.”

“Tell me a story about ’em, Buzzby—­do, like a good chap,” said Davie Summers, burying his nose in the skirts of his hairy garment to keep it warm.  “You’re a capital hand at a yarn; now, fire away.”

“A story, lad; I don’t know as how I can exactly tell ye a story, but I’ll give ye wot they calls a hanecdote.  It wos about five years ago, more or less, I wos out in Baffin’s Bay, becalmed off one o’ the Esquimau settlements, when we wos lookin’ over the side at the lumps of ice floatin’ past, up got a walrus not very far off shore, and out went half-a-dozen kayaks, as they call the Esquimau men’s boats, and they all sot on the beast at once.  Well, it wos one