Armed with these primitive weapons the natives set off in their fragile canoes, and approaching their prey as closely as is consistent with safety, dexterously cast their spears, catching back the loose handles. In a short time the monster assumes a most extraordinary appearance, being completely covered with these sealskin air-bags, which make a curious noise when bumped against one another by the winds. When the tide begins to rise, the aspect of affairs is altogether changed; the great fun now commences, and the use of the bladders becomes evident, as they actually prevent the animal sinking sufficiently to use his full strength, keeping him upon the surface of the water.
The canoes now pull towards shore, the lines become taut, and suddenly the monster feels himself moving slowly but steadily towards the land; his struggles are tremendous, but fruitless; he is literally a fish out of water, and hopelessly in the power of his Lilliputian foes, who laugh at his strength and utter ludicrous imitations of his attempts to spout, while the inhabitants, for miles round, crowd to the scene of triumph, singing and beating large drums made of the hollowed bole of a tree, over the ends of which is stretched the skin of a sea-lion. As soon as the whale is beyond low water-mark the work is done, as they have only to wait till the tide leaves their prize high and dry upon the beach, where the heat of the sun soon puts an end to its sufferings. The favourite blubber is then dug out and put away in calabashes for the future, after every one has eaten as much as he can possibly hold. However, they look forward with more anxiety to the feasts to come, as they prefer their favourite dish in a state decidedly “gamey.”
As may be supposed, the carcase of the whale decays rapidly, and taints the atmosphere for miles round, to such an extent that no one but a native could exist in the vicinity. Although if there happens to be a whaler at anchor anywhere near, she soon gets wind of what is going on, and comes in for the lion’s share at small cost or trouble; the natives, not knowing the value of any part except the blubber, are easily induced to help the whalers by the gift of a few glasses of rum.
I. D. Fenton.
THE EUROPEAN DIFFICULTY.
It would have excited a strong sensation—five centuries ago—if, in a time when the Pope was displeased with anybody in Christendom, a faithful likeness of himself and his spiritual councillors had been dispersed among the towns and Villages of England. What the Pope thought and said,—what he promised or threatened—was important to every man, woman, and child in Western Europe. When he was offended to a certain point, a complete desolation spread over the country which lay under his displeasure. The church-bells did not toll: the people would have rejoiced to hear that doleful sound; for, instead of it, there was a silence which was worse to bear.
A complete stop was put to all religious observances but two, and those two were permitted only that innocent souls might not be lost. The priests were seen only when discharging those two offices—hurrying to baptise the newly-born, and to administer the viaticum to the dying. The priests looked stern and mournful. They had spread ashes on the floors of the churches, and laid the holy images upon them; and they then retired to pray for repentance of the sinners, and the return of the Pope’s favour, that the curse might be removed. They were not permitted to bury the dead: and the dead were therefore laid in large pits, without a word being said over them. The priests could not perform the marriage-service, and young people had to wait,—they knew not how long. On Sundays the nation tried to pass the day in the old Sunday sports of the kingdom; but it was not the same thing as sport which follows homage rendered and duty done. So, in a little while, the people made Sunday like other days, and worked seven days in the week. News spread through the land which disheartened them at their work. Foreigners would hold no intercourse with a nation which lay under the Pope’s curse; and thus there would soon be no silk, or wool, or precious woods, or other commodities from abroad, and nobody abroad would purchase goods from an excommunicated country. Above all, there was the heavy sense of the Divine rebuke, administered by the Pontiff, spreading a deep gloom over each day and hour. At such a period, if it had been possible to circulate an engraving of the Holy Father and his priest-ministers throughout the kingdom, what a rush there would have been to see it! The carpenter would have come from his work-bench, and the dyer from his vat, and the swineherd from the forest, and the women from the dairy, to gaze (some through their tears) on the countenance of him who held their spiritual and social fate in his hand. Bold warriors would have bent their heads, and infants would have been taught to clasp their hands before it. Wistful eyes would have searched in every face in the group of portraits for chances of relenting,—for some token of a pitying heart within. Many would have willingly walked to Rome with peas in their shoes, if there was any chance of obtaining a pardon at the end of the march; but it was too well known that petitioners clothed in sackcloth, with ashes on their heads, had knelt before the Pope in vain.
Thus was it in former times, except that there was no such portrait to exhibit; but, instead of it, some returned pilgrim here and there, whom the people assembled to see and question. Thus was it for five years, in the reign of King John. But times are changed.
When we look at a print of the Pope and his councillors of our days, we remember that a part of Christendom is under his displeasure: but we do not feel it. It is nothing to us, except as an interesting matter of observation; and we know that it is not of much more consequence to the special objects of his censure. He has more than once threatened the King of Sardinia with excommunication, and he has—so lately as New Year’s Day—sent a message of fierce rebuke to the Emperor of the French; but we all feel that the world’s business, religion, and pleasure, will go on much the same, whether the Pope is gracious