of a mighty river, because its course is not
marked by broad expanses and thundering cataracts. Grummidge's net was
undoubtedly the beginning, the tiny rill, of the Newfoundland
seal-fishery, and even the bludgeoning was initiated by one of his
party. It happened thus:--

Big Swinton went out one morning to try his fortune with the bow and
arrow in the neighbourhood of a range of cliffs that extended far away
to the northward. Swinton usually chose to hunt in solitude. Having
few sympathies with the crew he shut up his feelings within his own
breast and brooded in silence on the revenge he was still resolved to
take when a safe opportunity offered, for the man's nature was
singularly resolute and, at the same time, unforgiving.

Now it chanced that Grummidge, in utter ignorance of where his foe had
gone, took the same direction that morning, but started some time later,
intending to explore the neighbourhood of the cliffs in search of
sea-fowls' eggs.

On reaching the locality, Swinton found that a large ice-floe had come
down from the Arctic regions, and stranded on the shore of the island.
On the ice lay a black object which he rightly judged to be a seal. At
first, he supposed it to be a dead one, but just as he was about to
advance to examine it the animal raised its head and moved its tail.
Love of the chase was powerful in Swinton's breast. He instantly
crouched behind a boulder, and waited patiently till the seal again laid
its head on the ice as if to continue its nap.

While the seaman crouched there, perfectly motionless, his brain was
active. Arrows, he feared, would be of little use, even if he were
capable of shooting well, which he was not. Other weapon he had none,
with the exception of a clasp-knife. What was he to do? The only
answer to that question was--try a club. But how was he to get at the
seal with a club?

While pondering this question he observed that there was another seal on
the same mass of ice, apparently sleeping, behind a hummock. He also
noticed that both seals were separated from the water by a considerable
breadth of ice--especially the one behind the hummock, and that there
was a tongue of ice extending from the floe to the shore by which it
seemed possible to reach the floe by patient stalking without disturbing
the game. Instantly Swinton decided on a plan, and commenced by
crawling into the bushes. There, with his clasp-knife, he carefully cut
and peeled a club