Show NO SPORT IN HUNTING SEAL gathering in of the helpless creature Cre simply evolves itself into a Mor merciless cIless slaughter limiting tile tho seal front from the ley cy storm swept coast of newfoundland ts Is not sport it Is toll whereby ln in part tho the newfoundlander wins hla his scanty measure of bread says sas spare moments Blonien ts the hunt la Is a lull dull and lild bild slaughter daughter scurrying pack and the swinging lind and thrust of nil gaff a merciless raining af blows with a silent waste of tee ice all splashed with red at the end of it there Is no sport in tills this not Is there thera any fear far of hurt for uie the seal pleads and whines like it a child even while the gaff let Is falling but tho the chase Is beset with multitudinous and shadowed perils tho the wind gathers the ico ice into floes and jams it up agal against rist the coast an immeasurable jagged expanse of it with plains then hen tho the newfoundlander takes ills his food and his goggles and gets bets out from hla his little harbor starting at midnight that lie he may como come up with ith the pack at dawn but the wind which sweeps the ice in inevitably sweeps it out again without warning in an hour or a day or a week nor does it t pause to consider the situation of the men who are 0 0 miles olt off shore it veers and freshens and drives the whole mass grinding ant and heaving far out to sea where it disperses it into its separate fragments the lives of the hunters depend u upon P the watchfulness of the attenuated line of lookouts from the women on the headland to the first sentinel within signaling distance |