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Show No Sport in Hunting Seal It veers and freshens and drives the whole mass, grinding and heaving, far out to sea. where It disperses It Into Its separate fragments. The lives of the hunters depend upon up-on the watchfulness of the attenuated line of lookouts, from the women on the headland to the first sentinel within with-in signaling distance. shadowed perils. The wind gathers the ice into floes end Jams It up against the coast, an Immeasurable, jagged expanse of it interspersed with plains; then the Newfoundlander takes his food and his goggles, and sets out from his little harbor, starting start-ing at midnight that he may come up with 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 j does it pause to consider the situation J of the men who are 20 miles off shore. Gathering in of the Helpless Creatures Simply Evolves Itself Into a Merciless Slaughter. Hunting the seal frojn the icy, storm-swept coast of Newfoundland is not sport; it Is toil, whereby in part the Newfoundlander wins his scanty measure of bread, says Spare Moments. The huut is a dull and hid- ; eous slaughter, scurrying pack and the swinging and thrust of an iron-shod iron-shod gaff, a merciless raining of blows, with a silent waste of ice all splashed with red at the 3nd of it. There is no sport in this, nor is ti.ere any fear of hurt, for the seal pleads and whines like a child, even while the gaff is falling; but the chase is beset with multitudinous and unfore- |