23492	----	Fast in the Ice, Adventures in the Polar Regions, by R.M. Ballantyne. ________________________________________________________________________ This little book describes a visit up to the Arctic regions, that was supposed to have taken place long before the book was written, in other words in the early part of the nineteenth century. The purpose of the journey was to get near to the North Pole, which was considered to be surrounded by a large area of ice-free water. The vessel in which they sailed became beset by ice, and could not be moved. They met with Esquimaux, and saw how they survived, how they killed walrus, how they caught birds, and how they lived in their ice-houses, or igloos. They also had several encounters with polar bears, and musk-ox. Eventually they have been in the ice for a couple of years, and some of the men are suffering from scurvy. Europeans get scurvy from lack of fruit and vegetables, but this condition doesn't seem to affect the Esquimaux, whose meat and fat diet does not cause them to have heart disorders, either. The crew eventually abandon the vessel, which has been crushed suddenly and totally by a stream of ice-floes, and are obliged to walk out of where they had spent so much time. Luckily, when at their last gasp, they find an Esquimaux village, where they learn that there is a Danish settlement not too far away, and that from it they can take ship for Europe, and eventually make their way back to Britain. ________________________________________________________________________ FAST IN THE ICE, ADVENTURES IN THE POLAR REGIONS, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. One day, many years ago, a brig cast off from her moorings, and sailed from a British port for the Polar Seas. That brig never came back. Many a hearty cheer was given, many a kind wish was uttered, many a handkerchief was waved, and many a tearful eye gazed that day as the vessel left Old England, and steered her course into the unknown regions of the far north. But no cheer ever greeted her return; no bright eyes ever watched her homeward-bound sails rising on the far-off horizon. Battered by the storms of the Arctic seas, her sails and cordage stiffened by the frosts, and her hull rasped and shattered by the ice of those regions, she was forced on a shore where the green grass has little chance to grow, where winter reigns nearly all the year round, where man never sends his merchandise, and never drives his plough. There the brig was frozen in; there, for two long years, she lay unable to move, and her starving crew forsook her; there, year after year, she lay, unknown, unvisited by civilised man, and unless the wild Eskimos [see note 1] have torn her to pieces, and made spears of her timbers, or the ice has swept her out to sea and whirled her to destruction, there she lies still--hard and fast in the ice. The vessel was lost, but her crew were saved, and most of them returned to tell their kinsfolk of the wonders and the dangers of the frozen regions, where God has created some of the most beautiful and some of the most awful objects that were ever looked on by the eye of man. What was told by the fireside, long ago, is now recounted in this book. Imagine a tall, strong man, of about five-and-forty, with short, curly black hair, just beginning to turn grey; stern black eyes, that look as if they could pierce into your secret thoughts; a firm mouth, with lines of good-will and kindness lurking about it; a deeply-browned skin, and a short, thick beard and moustache. That is a portrait of the commander of the brig. His name was Harvey. He stood on the deck, close by the wheel, looking wistfully over the stern. As the vessel bent before the breeze, and cut swiftly through the water, a female hand was raised among the gazers on the pier, and a white scarf waved in the breeze. In the forefront of the throng, and lower down, another hand was raised; it was a little one, but very vigorous; it whirled a cap round a small head of curly black hair, and a shrill "hurrah!" came floating out to sea. The captain kissed his hand and waved his hat in reply; then, wheeling suddenly round, he shouted, in a voice of thunder: "Mind your helm, there; let her away a point. Take a pull on these foretopsail halyards; look alive, lads!" "Aye, aye, sir!" replied the men. There was no occasion whatever for these orders. The captain knew that well enough, but he had his own reasons for giving them. The men knew that, too, and they understood his reasons when they observed the increased sternness of his eyes, and the compression of his lips. Inclination and duty! What wars go on in the hearts of men--high and low, rich and poor--between these two. What varied fortune follows man, according as the one or the other carries the day. "Please, sir," said a gruff, broad-shouldered, and extremely short man, with little or no forehead, a hard, vacant face, and a pair of enormous red whispers; "please, sir, Sam Baker's took very bad; I think it would be as well if you could give him a little physic, sir; a tumbler of Epsom, or some-think of that sort." "Why, Mr Dicey, there can't be anything very far wrong with Baker," said the captain, looking down at his second mate; "he seems to me one of the healthiest men in the ship. What's the matter with him?" "Well, I can't say, sir," replied Mr Dicey, "but he looks 'orrible bad, all yellow and green about the gills, and fearful red round the eyes. But what frightens me most is that I heard him groanin' very heavy about a quarter of an hour ago, and then I saw him suddenly fling himself into his 'ammock and begin blubberin' like a child. Now, sir, I say, when a grow'd-up man gives way like that, there must be some-think far wrong with his inside. And it's a serious thing, sir, to take a sick man on such a voyage as this." "Does he not say what's wrong with him?" asked the captain. "No, sir; he don't. He says it's nothin', and he'll be all right if he's only let alone. I did hear him once or twice muttering some-think about his wife and child; you know, sir, he's got a young wife, and she had a baby about two months 'fore we came away, but I can't think that's got much to do with it, for _I've_ got a wife myself, sir, and six children, two of 'em bein' babies, and that don't upset _me_, and Baker's a much stronger man." "You are right, Mr Dicey, he is a much stronger man than you," replied the captain, "and I doubt not that his strength will enable him to get over this without the aid of physic." "Very well, sir," said Mr Dicey. The second mate was a man whose countenance never showed any signs of emotion, no matter what he felt. He seldom laughed, or, if he did, his mouth remained almost motionless, and the sounds that came out were anything but cheerful. He had light grey eyes which always wore an expression of astonishment; but the expression was accidental; it indicated no feeling. He would have said, "Very well, sir," if the captain had refused to give poor Baker food instead of physic. "And hark'ee, Mr Dicey," said the captain, "don't let him be disturbed till he feels inclined to move." "Very well, sir," replied the second mate, touching his cap as he turned away. "So," murmured the captain, as he gazed earnestly at the now distant shore, "I'm not the only one who carries a heavy heart to sea this day and leaves sorrowing hearts behind him." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. This word is here spelled as pronounced. It is usually spelled Esquimaux. CHAPTER TWO. AT SEA--THE FIRST STORM. It is now hundreds of years since the North polar regions began to attract general attention. Men have long felt very inquisitive about that part of the earth, and many good ships, many noble lives have been lost in trying to force a passage through the ice that encumbers the Arctic seas, summer and winter. Britain has done more than other nations in the cause of discovery within the Arctic circle. The last and greatest of her Arctic heroes perished there--the famous Sir John Franklin. Were I writing a history of those regions I would have much to say of other countries as well as of our own. But such is not my object in this book. I mean simply to follow in the wake of one of Britain's adventurous discoverers, and thus give the reader an idea of the fortunes of those gallant men who risk life and limb for the sake of obtaining knowledge of distant lands. There have always been restless spirits in this country. There have ever been men who, when boys, were full of mischief, and who could "settle to nothing" when they grew up. Lucky for us, lucky for the world, that such is the case! Many of our "restless spirits," as we call them, have turned out to be our heroes, our discoverers, our greatest men. No doubt many of them have become our drones, our sharpers, our blacklegs. But that is just saying that some men are good, while others are bad--no blame is due to what is called the restlessness of spirit. Our restless men, if good, find rest in action; in bold energetic toil; if bad, they find rest, alas! in untimely graves. Captain Harvey was one of our restless spirits. He had a deeply learned friend who said to him one day that he felt sure "_there was a sea of open water round the North Pole_!" Hundreds of ships had tried to reach that pole without success, because they always found a barrier of thick ice raised against them. This friend said that if a ship could only cut or force its way through the ice to a certain latitude north, open water would be found. Captain Harvey was much interested in this. He could not rest until he had proved it. He had plenty of money, so had his friend. They resolved to buy a vessel and send it to the seas lying within the Arctic circle. Other rich friends helped them; a brig was bought, it was named the _Hope_, and, as we have seen in the last chapter, it finally set sail under command of Captain Harvey. Many days and nights passed, and the _Hope_ kept her course steadily toward the coast of North America. Greenland was the first land they hoped to see. Baffin's Bay was the strait through which they hoped to reach the open polar sea. The _Hope_ left England as a whaler, with all the boats, lances, harpoons, lines, and other apparatus used in the whale fishery. It was intended that she should do a little business in that way if Captain Harvey thought it advisable, but the discovery of new lands and seas was their chief end and aim. At first the weather was fine, the wind fair, and the voyage prosperous. But one night there came a deep calm. Not a breath of air moved over the sea, which was as clear and polished as a looking-glass. The captain walked the deck with the surgeon of the ship, a nephew of his own, named Gregory. Tom Gregory was a youth of about nineteen, who had not passed through the whole course of a doctor's education, but who was a clever fellow, and better able to cut and carve and physic poor suffering humanity than many an older man who wrote M.D. after his name. He was a fine, handsome, strapping fellow, with a determined manner and a kind heart. He was able to pull an oar with the best man aboard, and could even steer the brig in fine weather, if need be. He was hearty and romantic, and a great favourite with the men. He, too, was a restless spirit. He had grown tired of college life, and had made up his mind to take a year's run into the Polar regions, by way of improving his knowledge of the "outlandish" parts of the world. "I don't like the look of the sky to-day, Tom," said the captain, glancing at the horizon and then at the sails. "Indeed!" said Tom, in surprise. "It seems to me the most beautiful afternoon we have had since the voyage began. But I suppose you seamen are learned in signs which we landsmen do not understand." "Perhaps we are," replied the captain; "but it does not require much knowledge of the weather to say that such a dead calm as this, and such unusual heat, is not likely to end in a gentle breeze." "You don't object to a stiff breeze, uncle?" said the youth. "No, Tom; but I don't like a storm, because it does us no good, and may do us harm." "Storms do you no good, uncle!" cried Tom; "how can you say so? Why, what is it that makes our sailors such trumps? The British tar would not be able to face danger as he does if there were no storms." "True, Tom, but the British tar would not require to face danger at all if there were no storms. What says the barometer, Mr Mansell?" said the captain, looking down the skylight into the cabin, where the first mate--a middle-sized man of thirty-five, or thereabouts--was seated at the table writing up the ship's log-book. "The glass has gone down an inch, sir, and is still falling," answered the mate. "Reef the topsail, Mr Dicey," cried the captain, on hearing this. "Why such haste?" inquired Gregory. "Because such a sudden fall in the barometer is a sure sign of approaching bad weather," answered the captain. The first man on the shrouds and out upon the main-topsail yard was Sam Baker, whose active movements and hearty manner showed that he had quite recovered his health without the use of physic. He was quickly followed by some of his shipmates, all of whom were picked men--able in body and ready for anything. In a few minutes sail was reduced. Soon after that clouds began to rise on the horizon and spread over the sky. Before half an hour had passed the breeze came--came far stronger than had been expected--and the order to take in sail had to be repeated. Baker was first again. He was closely followed by Joe Davis and Jim Croft, both of them sturdy fellows--good specimens of the British seaman. Davy Butts, who came next, was not so good a specimen. He was nearly six feet high, very thin and loosely put together, like a piece of bad furniture. But his bones were big, and he was stronger than he looked. He would not have formed one of such a crew had he not been a good man. The rest of the crew, of whom there were eighteen, not including the officers, were of all shapes, sizes, and complexions. The sails had scarcely been taken in when the storm burst on the brig in all its fury. The waves rose like mountains and followed after her, as if they were eager to swallow her up. The sky grew dark overhead as the night closed in, the wind shrieked through the rigging, and the rag of canvas that they ventured to hoist seemed about to burst away from the yard. It was an awful night. Such a night as causes even reckless men to feel how helpless they are--how dependent on the arm of God. The gale steadily increased until near midnight, when it blew a perfect hurricane. "It's a dirty night," observed the captain, to the second mate, as the latter came on deck to relieve the watch. "It is, sir," replied Mr Dicey, as coolly as if he were about to sit down to a good dinner on shore. Mr Dicey was a remarkably matter-of-fact man. He looked upon a storm as he looked upon a fit of the toothache--a thing that had to be endured, and was not worth making a fuss about. "It won't last long," said the captain. "No, sir; it won't," answered Mr Dicey. As Mr Dicey did not seem inclined to say more, the captain went below and flung himself on a locker, having given orders that he should be called if any change for the worse took place in the weather. Soon afterward a tremendous sea rose high over the stern, and part of it fell on the deck with a terrible crash, washing Mr Dicey into the lee-scuppers, and almost sweeping him overboard. On regaining his feet, and his position beside the wheel, the second mate shook himself and considered whether he ought to call the captain. Having meditated some time, he concluded that the weather was no worse, although it had treated him very roughly, so he did not disturb the captain's repose. Thus the storm raged all that night. It tossed the _Hope_ about like a cork; it well-nigh blew the sails off the masts, and almost blew Mr Dicey's head off his shoulders! then it stopped as it had begun-- suddenly. CHAPTER THREE. IN THE ICE--DANGERS OF ARCTIC VOYAGING. Next morning the _Hope_ was becalmed in the midst of a scene more beautiful than the tongue or the pen of man can describe. When the sun rose that day, it shone upon what appeared to be a field of glass and a city of crystal. Every trace of the recent storm was gone except a long swell, which caused the brig to roll considerably, but which did not break the surface of the sea. Ice was to be seen all round as far as the eye could reach. Ice in every form and size imaginable. And the wonderful thing about it was that many of the masses resembled the buildings of a city. There were houses, and churches, and monuments, and spires, and ruins. There were also islands and mountains! Some of the pieces were low and flat, no bigger than a boat; others were tall, with jagged tops; some of the fields, as they are called, were a mile and more in extent, and there were a number of bergs, or ice-mountains, higher than the brig's topmasts. These last were almost white, but they had, in many places, a greenish-blue colour that was soft and beautiful. The whole scene shone and sparkled so brilliantly in the morning sun, that one could almost fancy it was one of the regions of fairyland! When young Gregory came on the quarter-deck, no one was there except Jim Croft, a short, thick-set man, with the legs of a dwarf and the shoulders of a giant. He stood at the helm, and although no steering was required, as there was no wind, he kept his hands on the spokes of the wheel, and glanced occasionally at the compass. The first mate, who had the watch on deck, was up at the masthead, observing the state of the ice. "How glorious!" exclaimed the youth, as he swept his sparkling eye round the horizon. "Ah, Croft! is not this splendid?" "So it is, sir," said the seaman, turning the large quid of tobacco that bulged out his left cheek. "It's very beautiful, no doubt, but it's comin' rather thick for my taste." "How so?" inquired Gregory. "There seems to me plenty of open water to enable us to steer clear of these masses. Besides, as we have no wind, it matters little, I should think, whether we have room to sail or not." "You've not seed much o' the ice yet, that's plain," said Croft, "else you'd know that the floes are closin' round us, an' we'll soon be fast in the pack, if a breeze don't spring up to help us." As the reader may not, perhaps, understand the terms used by Arctic voyagers in regard to the ice in its various forms, it may be as well here to explain the meaning of those most commonly used. When ice is seen floating in small detached pieces and scattered masses, it is called "floe" ice, and men speak of getting among the floes. When these floes close up, so that the whole sea seems to be covered with them, and little water can be seen, it is called "pack" ice. When the pack is squeezed together, so that lumps of it are forced up in the form of rugged mounds, these mounds are called "hummocks." A large mass of flat ice, varying from one mile to many miles in extent, is called a "field," and a mountain of ice is called a "berg." All the ice here spoken of, except the berg, is sea-ice; formed by the freezing of the ocean in winter. The berg is formed in a very different manner. Of this more shall be said in a future chapter. "Well, my lad," said Gregory, in reply to Jim Croft's last observation, "I have not seen much of the ice yet, as you truly remark, so I hope that the wind will not come to help us out of it for some time. You don't think it dangerous to get into the pack, do you?" "Well, not exactly dangerous, sir," replied Croft, "but I must say that it aint safe, 'specially when there's a swell on like this. But that'll go down soon. D'ye know what a nip is, Dr Gregory?" "I think I do; at least I have read of such a thing. But I should be very glad to hear what you have to say about it. No doubt you have felt one." "Felt one!" cried Jim, screwing up his face and drawing his limbs together, as if he were suffering horrible pain, "no, I've never felt one. The man what _feels_ a nip aint likely to live to tell what his feelin's was. But I've _seed_ one." "You've seen one, have you? That must have been interesting. Where was it?" "Not very far from the Greenland coast," said Croft, giving his quid another turn. "This was the way of it. You must know that there was two ships of us in company at the time. Whalers we was. We got into the heart of the pack somehow, and we thought we'd never get out of it again. There was nothin' but ice all round us as far as the eye could see. The name of our ship was the _Nancy_. Our comrade was the _Bullfinch_. One mornin' early we heard a loud noise of ice rubbin' agin the sides o' the ship, so we all jumped up, an' on deck as fast as we could, for there's short time given to save ourselves in them seas sometimes. The whole pack, we found, was in motion, and a wide lead of water opened up before us, for all the world like a smooth river or canal windin' through the pack. Into this we warped the ship, and hoistin' sail, steered away cheerily. We passed close to the _Bullfinch_, which was still hard and fast in the pack, and we saw that her crew were sawin' and cuttin' away at the ice, tryin' to get into the lead that we'd got into. So we hailed them, and said we would wait for 'em outside the pack, if we got through. But the words were no sooner spoken, when the wind it died away, and we were becalmed about half a mile from the _Bullfinch_. "`You'd better go down to breakfast, boys,' says our captain, says he, `the breeze won't be long o' comin' again.' "So down the men went, and soon after that the steward comes on deck, and, says he to the captain, `Breakfast, sir.' `Very good,' says the captain, and down he went too, leavin' me at the wheel and the mate in charge of the deck. He'd not been gone three minutes when I noticed that the great field of ice on our right was closin' in on the field on our left, and the channel we was floatin' in was closin' up. The mate noticed it, too, but he wouldn't call the captain 'cause the ice came so slowly and quietly on that for a few minutes we could hardly believe it was movin' and everything around us looked so calm and peaceful like that it was difficult to believe our danger was so great. But this was only a momentary feelin', d'ye see. A minute after that the mate he cries down to the captain:-- "`Ice closin' up, sir!' "And the captain he runs on deck. By this time there was no mistake about it; the ice was close upon us. It was clear that we were to have a nip. So the captain roars down the hatchway, `Tumble up there! tumble up! every man alive! for your lives!' And sure enough they did tumble up, as I never seed 'em do it before--two or three of 'em was sick; they came up with their clothes in their hands. The ice was now almost touchin' our sides, and I tell _you_, sir, I never did feel so queerish in all my life before as when I looked over the side at the edge of that great field of ice which rose three foot out o' the water, and was, I suppose, six foot more below the surface. It came on so slow that we could hardly see the motion. Inch by inch the water narrowed between it and our sides. At last it touched on the left side, and that shoved us quicker on to the field on our right. Every eye was fixed on it--every man held his breath. You might have heard a pin fall on the deck. It touched gently at first, then there was a low grindin' and crunchin' sound. The ship trembled as if it had been a livin' creetur, and the beams began to crack. Now, you must know, sir, that when a nip o' this sort takes a ship the ice usually eases off, after giving her a good squeeze, or when the pressure is too much for her, the ice slips under her bottom and lifts her right out o' the water. But our _Nancy_ was what we call wall-sided. She was never fit to sail in them seas. The consequence was that the ice crushed her sides in. The moment the captain heard the beams begin to go he knew it was all up with the ship; so he roared to take to the ice for our lives! You may be sure we took his advice. Over the side we went, every man Jack of us, and got on the ice. We did not take time to save an article belongin' to us; and it was as well we did not, for the ice closed up with a crash, and we heard the beams and timbers rending like a fire of musketry in the hold. Her bottom must have been cut clean away, for she stood on the ice just as she had floated on the sea. Then the noise stopped, the ice eased off, and the ship began to settle. The lead of water opened up again; in ten minutes after that the _Nancy_ went to the bottom and left us standing there on the ice. "It was the mercy of God that let it happen so near the _Bullfinch_. We might have been out o' sight o' that ship at the time, and then every man of us would have bin lost. As it was, we had a hard scramble over a good deal of loose ice, jumpin' from lump to lump, and some of us fallin' into the water several times, before we got aboard. Now that was a bad nip, sir, warn't it?" "It certainly was," replied Gregory; "and although I delight in being among the ice, I sincerely hope that our tight little brig may not be tried in the same way. But she is better able to stand it, I should think." "That she is, sir," replied Croft, with much confidence. "I seed her in dock, sir, when they was a-puttin' of extra timbers on the bow, and I do believe she would stand twice as much bad usage as the _Nancy_ got, though she is only half the size." Jim Croft's opinion on this point was well founded, for the _Hope_ had indeed been strengthened and prepared for her ice battles with the greatest care, by men of experience and ability. As some readers may be interested in this subject, I shall give a brief account of the additions that were made to her hull. The vessel was nearly two hundred tons burden. She had originally been built very strongly, and might even have ventured on a voyage to the Polar seas just as she was. But Captain Harvey resolved to take every precaution to insure the success of his voyage, and the safety and comfort of his men. He, therefore, had the whole of the ship's bottom sheathed with thick hardwood planking, which was carried up above her water-line, as high as the ordinary floe-ice would be likely to reach. The hull inside was strengthened with stout cross-beams, as well as with beams running along the length of the vessel, and in every part that was likely to be subjected to pressure iron stanchions were fastened. But the bow of the vessel was the point where the utmost strength was aimed at. Inside, just behind the cutwater, the whole space was so traversed by cross-beams of oak that it almost became a solid mass, and outside the sharp stem was cased in iron so as to resemble a giant's chisel. The false keel was taken off, the whole vessel, in short, was rendered as strong, outside and in, as wood and iron and skill could make her. It need scarcely be said that all the other arrangements about her were made with the greatest care and without regard to expense, for although the owners of the brig did not wish to waste their money, they set too high a value on human life to risk it for the sake of saving a few pounds. She was provisioned for a cruise of two years and a half. But this was in case of accidents, for Captain Harvey did not intend to be absent much longer than one year. But, to return to our story: Jim Croft's fear that they would be set fast was realised sooner than he expected. The floes began to close in, from no cause that could be seen, for the wind was quite still, and in a short time the loose ice pressed against the _Hope_ on all sides. It seemed to young Gregory as if the story that the seaman had just related was about to be enacted over again; and, being a stranger to ice, he could not help feeling a little uneasy for some time. But there was in reality little or no danger, for the pressure was light, and the brig had got into a small bay in the edge of an ice-field, which lay in the midst of the smaller masses. Seeing that there was little prospect of the pack opening up just then, the captain ordered the ice-anchors to be got out and fixed. The appearance of the sea from the brig's deck was now extremely wintry, but very bright and cheerful. Not a spot of blue water was to be seen in any direction. The whole ocean appeared as if it had been frozen over. It was now past noon, and the sun's rays were warm, although the quantity of ice around rendered the air cold. As the men were returning from fixing the anchors, the captain looked over the side, and said: "It's not likely that we shall move out of this for some hours. What say you, lads, to a game of football?" The proposal was received with a loud cheer. The ball had been prepared by the sail-maker, in expectation of some such opportunity as this. It was at once tossed over the side; those men who were not already on the field scrambled out of the brig, and the entire crew went leaping and yelling over the ice with the wild delight of schoolboys let loose for an unexpected holiday. They were in the middle of the game when a loud shout came from the brig, and the captain's voice was heard singing out: "All hands ahoy! come aboard. Look alive!" Instantly the men turned, and there was a general race toward the brig, which lay nearly a quarter of a mile distant from them. In summer, changes in the motions of the ice take place in the most unexpected manner. Currents in the ocean are, no doubt, the chief cause of these; the action of winds has also something to do with them. One of these changes was now taking place. Almost before the men got on board the ice had separated, and long canals of water were seen opening up here and there. Soon after that a light breeze sprang up, the ice-anchors were taken aboard, the sails trimmed, and soon the _Hope_ was again making her way slowly but steadily to the north. CHAPTER FOUR. DIFFICULTIES, TROUBLES, AND DANGERS. For some hours the brig proceeded onward with a freshening breeze, winding and turning in order to avoid the lumps of ice. Many of the smaller pieces were not worth turning out of the way of, the mere weight of the vessel being sufficient to push them aside. Up to this time they had succeeded in steering clear of everything without getting a thump; but they got one at last, which astonished those among the crew who had not been in the ice before. The captain, Gregory, and Dicey were seated in the cabin at the time taking tea. Ned Dawkins, the steward, an active little man, was bringing in a tea-pot with a second supply of tea. In his left hand he carried a tray of biscuit. The captain sat at the head of the table, Dicey at the foot, and the doctor at the side. Suddenly a tremendous shock was felt! The captain's cup of tea leaped away from him and flooded the centre of the table. The doctor's cup was empty; he seized the table with both hands and remained steady; but Dicey's cup happened to be at his lips at the moment, and was quite full. The effect on him was unfortunate. He was thrown violently on his back, and the tea poured over his face and drenched his hair as he lay sprawling on the floor. The steward saved himself by dropping the bread-tray and grasping the handle of the cabin door. So violent was the shock that the ship's bell was set a-ringing. "Beg pardon, gentlemen," cried the first mate, looking down the skylight. "I forgot to warn you. The ice is getting rather thick around us, and I had to charge a lump of it." "It's all very well to beg pardon," said the captain, "but that won't mend my crockery!" "Or dry my head," growled Mr Dicey; "it's as bad as if I'd been dipped overboard, it is." Before Mr Dicey's grumbling remarks were finished all three of them had reached the deck. The wind had freshened considerably, and the brig was rushing in a somewhat alarming manner among the floes. It required the most careful attention to prevent her striking heavily. "If it goes on like this, we shall have to reduce sail," observed the captain. "See, there is a neck of ice ahead that will stop us." This seemed to be probable, for the lane of water along which they were steering was, just ahead of them, stopped by a neck of ice that connected two floe-pieces. The water beyond was pretty free from ice, but this neck or mass seemed so thick that it became a question whether they should venture to charge it or shorten sail. "Stand by the fore- and main-topsail braces!" shouted the captain. "Aye, aye, sir!" "Now, Mr Mansell," said he, with a smile, "we have come to our first real difficulty. What do you advise; shall we back the topsails, or try what our little _Hope_ is made of, and charge the enemy?" "Charge!" answered the mate. "Just so," said the captain, hastening to the bow to direct the steersman. "Port your helm." "Steady." The brig was now about fifty yards from the neck of ice, tearing through the water like a race-horse. In another moment she was up to it and struck it fair in the middle. The stout little vessel quivered to her keel under the shock, but she did not recoil. She split the mass into fragments, and, bearing down all before her, sailed like a conqueror into the clear water beyond. "Well done the _Hope_!" said the captain, as he walked aft, while a cheer burst from the men. "I think she ought to be called the _Good Hope_ ever after this," said Tom Gregory. "If she cuts her way through everything as easily as she has cut through that neck of ice, we shall reach the North Pole itself before winter." "If we reach the North Pole _at all_," observed Mr Dicey, "I'll climb up to the top of it and stand on my head, I will!" The second mate evidently had no expectation of reaching that mysterious pole, which men have so long and so often tried to find, in vain. "Heavy ice ahead, sir," shouted Mr Mansell, who was at the masthead with a telescope. "Where away?" "On the weather bow, sir, the pack seems open enough to push through, but the large bergs are numerous." The _Hope_ was now indeed getting into the heart of those icy regions where ships are in constant danger from the floating masses that come down with the ocean-currents from the far north. In sailing along she was often obliged to run with great violence against lumps so large that they caused her whole frame to tremble, stout though it was. "Shall we smash the lump, or will it stave in our bows?" was a question that frequently ran in the captain's mind. Sometimes ice closed round her and squeezed the sides so that her beams cracked. At other times, when a large field was holding her fast, the smaller pieces would grind and rasp against her as they went past, until the crew fancied the whole of the outer sheathing of planks had been scraped off. Often she had to press close to ice-bergs of great size, and more than once a lump as large as a good-sized house fell off the ice-fields and plunged into the sea close to her side, causing her to rock violently on the waves that were raised by it. Indeed the bergs are dangerous neighbours, not only from this cause, but also on account of their turning upside down at times, and even falling to pieces, so that Captain Harvey always kept well out of their way when he could; but this was not always possible. The little brig had a narrow escape one day from the falling of a berg. It was a short time after that day on which they had the game of football. They passed in safety through the floes and bergs that had been seen that evening, and got into open water beyond, where they made made good progress before falling in with ice; but at last they came to a part of Baffin's Bay where a great deal of ice is always found. Here the pack surrounded them, and compelled them to pass close to a berg which was the largest they had fallen in with up to that time. It was jagged in form, and high rather than broad. Great peaks rose up from it like the mountain tops of some wild highland region. It was several hundred yards off the weather-beam when the brig passed, but it towered so high over the masts that it seemed to be much nearer than it was. There was no apparent motion in this berg, and the waves beat and rolled upon its base just as they do on the shore of an island. In fact it was as like an island as possible, or, rather, like a mountain planted in the sea, only it was white instead of green. There were cracks and rents and caverns in it, just as there are on a rugged mountain side, all of which were of a beautiful blue colour. There were also slopes and crags and precipices, down which the water of the melted ice constantly flowed in wild torrents. Many of these were equal to small rivulets, and some of the waterfalls were beautiful. The berg could not have measured less than a mile round the base, and it was probably two hundred feet high. It is well known that floating ice sinks deep, and that there is about eight or ten times as much of it below as there is above water. The reader may therefore form some idea of what an enormous mass of ice this berg was. The crew of the _Hope_ observed, in passing, that lumps were continually falling from the cliffs into the sea. The berg was evidently in a very rotten and dangerous state, and the captain ran the brig as close to the pack on the other side as possible, in order to keep out of its way. Just as this was done, some great rents occurred, and suddenly a mass of ice larger than the brig fell from the top of a cliff into the sea. No danger flowed from this, but the mass thus thrown off was so large as to destroy the balance of the berg, and, to the horror of the sailors, the huge mountain began to roll over. Fortunately it fell in a direction away from the brig. Had it rolled toward her, no human power could have saved our voyagers. The mighty mass went over with a wild hollow roar, and new peaks and cliffs rose out of the sea, as the old ones disappeared, with great cataracts of uplifted brine pouring furiously down their sides. Apart from its danger, this was an awful sight. Those who witnessed it could only gaze in solemn silence. Even the most careless among them must have been forced to recognise the might and majesty of God in the event, as well as His mercy in having led them to the _right_ side of the berg at such a dangerous moment. But the scene had not yet closed. For some time the ice mountain rocked grandly to and fro, raising a considerable swell on the sea, which, all round, was covered with the foam caused by this tremendous commotion. In a few minutes several rents took place, sounding like the reports of great guns. Rotten as it was, the berg could not stand the shock of its change of position, for it had turned fairly upside down. Crack after crack took place, with deafening reports. Lumps of all sizes fell from its sides. Then there was a roar, long continued like thunder; a moment after, the whole berg sank down in ruins, and, with a mighty crash, fell flat upon the sea! The _Hope_ was beyond the reach of danger, but she rose and sank on the swell, caused by the ruin of this berg, for some time after. It was on the afternoon of the same day that the brig received her first really severe "nip" from the ice. She had got deep into the pack, and was surrounded on all sides by large bergs, some of these being high, like the one that has just been described, others low and flat but of great extent. One, not far off, was two miles long, and its glittering walls rose about fifteen feet above the sea. The sky was brighter than usual at the time. This was owing to one of those strange appearances which one sees more of in the Arctic regions than in any other part of the world. The sun shone with unclouded splendour, and around it there were three mock suns almost as bright as the sun itself, one on each side and one directly above it. Learned men call these bright spots _parhelia_. Sailors call them sun-dogs. They were connected together with a ring of light which entirely encircled the sun, but the lower edge of it was partly lost on the horizon. Although this was the first time that these mock suns had been seen by Gregory and some others of the crew of the _Hope_, little attention was paid to them at the time, because of the dangerous position into which the brig had been forced. The pack had again closed all around her, obliging her to take shelter in the lee of a small berg, which, from its shape, did not seem likely to be a dangerous protector. There was a small bay in the berg. Into this the brig was warped, and for some time she lay safely here. It was just large enough to hold her, and a long tongue of ice, projecting from the foot of it, kept off the pressure of the sea-ice. Nevertheless a look of anxiety rested on the captain's face after the ice-anchors had been made fast. "You don't seem to like our position, captain," said young Gregory, who had been watching the doings of the men and now and then lent them a hand. "I don't, Tom. The pack is closing tight up, and this berg may prove an enemy instead of a friend, if it forces into our harbour here. Let us hear what our mate thinks of it. What say you, Mr Mansell, shall we hold on here, or warp out and take our chance in the pack?" "Better hold on, sir," answered the mate gravely. "The pack is beginning to grind; we should get a tight embrace, I fear, if we went out. Here we may do well enough; but everything depends on that tongue." He looked as he spoke toward the point of ice which extended in front of the brig's stern, and guarded the harbour from the outer ice in that direction. The tongue was not a large one, and it was doubtful whether it could stand the pressure that was increasing every minute. The pack was indeed beginning to "grind," as the mate had said, for, while they were looking at it, the edges of two floes came together with a crash about fifty yards from the berg. They ground together for a moment with a harsh growling sound, and then the two edges were suddenly forced up to a height of about fifteen or twenty feet. Next moment they fell on the closed-up ice, and lay there in a mound, or _hummock_, of broken masses. "That's how a 'ummuck is formed, Dr Gregory," said Mr Dicey, looking uncommonly wise. "You'll see more things here in five minutes, by means of your own eyes, than ye could learn from books in a year. There's nothin' like seein'. Seein' is believin', you know. I wouldn't give an ounce of experience for a ton of hearsay." "Come, Mr Dicey, don't run down book-learning," said Gregory. "If a man only knew about things that he had seen, he would know very little." Before the second mate could reply the captain shouted to the men to "Bear a hand with the ice-poles." The whole crew answered to the call, and each man, seizing a long pole, stood ready for action. The tongue to which I have referred more than once had broken off, and the ice was rushing in. The bay was full in a minute, and although the men used their ice-poles actively, and worked with a will, they could not shove the pieces past them. The _Hope_ was driven bow on to the berg. Then there was a strain, a terrible creaking and groaning of the timbers, as if the good little vessel were complaining of the pressure. All at once there was a loud crack, the bow of the brig lifted a little, and she was forced violently up the sloping side of the berg. Twice this happened, and then she remained stationary--high and dry out of the water! CHAPTER FIVE. A GALE--NARROW ESCAPES--SIGNS OF WINTER--SET FAST. During the rest of that day and the whole of that night did the brig remain fixed on the berg. Early next morning the ice began to move. It eased off, and the vessel slid gently down the slope on which she had been forced, and was re-launched safely into the water. The satisfaction of the crew, on being thus delivered from a position of much danger, was very great; but they had no sooner escaped from one peril than they were overtaken by another. A sharp breeze sprang up from the eastward, and drove them out into the pack, which began to heave about in a terrible manner under the influence of the wind. Soon this increased to a gale, and the ice was driven along at great speed by a strong northerly current. While this was going on, land was discovered bearing to the northeast. Here was new danger, for although it was not a lee-shore, still there was some risk of the vessel being caught among grounded ice-bergs--of which a few were seen. The gale increased to such a degree before night that Captain Harvey began to think of taking shelter under the lee of one of these bergs. He therefore stood toward one, but before reaching it the vessel received one or two severe shocks from passing floes. A large berg lay within half a mile of them. They reached it in safety, and getting under its lee, lowered a boat and fixed their ice-anchors. Just after they were fixed, a mass of ice, the size of a ship's long-boat and many tons in weight, came suddenly up out of the sea with great violence, the top of it rising above the bulwarks. One corner of it struck the hull just behind the mainmast, and nearly stove in the bottom of the brig. This lump was what Arctic voyagers term a "calf." When masses of ice break off from the bergs far below the surface of the water, they rise with extreme violence, and ships run great risk of being destroyed by these calves when they anchor too near to the bergs. Had this calf struck the _Hope_ a fair blow she must certainly have gone down with all on board. They were not yet freed from their troubles, however. In half an hour the wind shifted a few points, but the stream of the loose ice did not change. The brig was, therefore, blown right in among the rushing masses. The three cables that held her were snapped as if they had been pieces of packthread, and she was whirled out into the pack, where she drove helplessly, exposed to the fury of the howling storm and the dangers of the grinding ice. Captain Harvey now felt that he could do nothing to save his vessel. He believed that if God did not mercifully put forth His hand to deliver them by a miracle, he and his companions would certainly perish. In this the captain was wrong. Nothing is impossible to the Almighty. He can always accomplish his purposes without the aid of a miracle. There did, indeed, seem no way of escape; for the driving masses of ice were grinding each other to powder in nearly every direction, and the brig only escaped instant destruction by being wedged between two pieces that held together from some unknown cause. Presently they were carried down toward a large berg that seemed to be aground, for the loose ice was passing it swiftly. This was not the case, however. An undercurrent, far down in the depths of the sea, was acting on this berg, and preventing it from travelling with the ice that floated with the stream at the surface. In its passing, the mass of ice that held them struck one of the projecting tongues beneath the surface, and was split in two. The brig was at once set free. As they passed they might almost have leaped upon the berg. Captain Harvey saw and seized his opportunity. "Stand by to heave an anchor," he shouted. Sam Baker, being the strongest man in the ship, sprang to one of the small ice-anchors that lay on the deck with a line attached to it, and, lifting it with both hands, stood ready. The brig passed close to the end of the berg, where the lee-side formed a long tail of sheltered water. She was almost thrust into this by the piece of ice from which she had just escaped. She grazed the edge of the berg as she drove past. "Heave!" shouted the captain. Sam Baker swung the anchor round his head as if it had been a feather, and hurled it far upon the ice. For a few yards it rattled over the slippery surface; then it caught a lump, but the first strain broke it off. Just after that it fell into a crack and held on. The brig was checked, and swung round into the smooth water; but they had to ease off the line lest it should snap. At last she was brought up, and lay safely under the shelter of that berg until the storm was over. Some weeks flew by after this without anything occurring worthy of particular notice. During this time the _Hope_ made good progress into the Polar regions, without again suffering severely either from ice or storm, although much retarded by the thick fogs that prevail in the Arctic regions. She was indeed almost always surrounded by ice, but it was sufficiently open to allow of a free passage through it. Many whales and seals had been seen, also one or two bears, but not in circumstances in which they could be attacked without occasioning much delay. The brief summer had now passed away, and the days began to shorten as winter approached. Still Captain Harvey hoped to get farther north before being obliged to search for winter quarters. One morning early in September, however, he found to his sorrow that pancake-ice was forming on the sea. When the sea begins to freeze it does so in small needle-like spikes, which cross and recross each other until they form thin ice, which the motion of the waves breaks up into flat cakes about a foot or so across. These, by constantly rubbing against each other, get worn into a rounded shape. Sailors call this "pancake-ice." It is the first sign of coming winter. The cakes soon become joined together as the frost increases. The place where this occurred was near to those wild cliffs that rise out of the sea in the channels or straits that lie at the head of Baffin's Bay. The vessel was now beyond the farthest point of land that had been discovered at the time of which I am writing, and already one or two of the headlands had been named by Captain Harvey and marked on his chart. "I don't like to see pancake-ice so early in the season," remarked the captain to Mr Mansell. "No more do I, sir," answered the mate. "This would be a bad place to winter in, I fear." "Land ahead!" was shouted at that moment by the look-out at the masthead. "Keep her away two points," said the captain to the man at the helm. "How does it lie?" "Right ahead, sir." "Any ice near it?" "No; all clear." The brig was kept a little more out to sea. Soon she came to more open water, and in the course of four hours was close to the land, which proved to be a low, barren island, not more than a mile across. Here the wind died away altogether, and a sharp frost set in. The pancakes became joined together, and on the following morning, when our friend Gregory came on deck, he found that the whole ocean was covered with ice! It did not, indeed, look very like ice, because, being so thin, it did not prevent the usual swell from rolling over the sea. A light breeze was blowing, and the brig cut her way through it for some time; but the breeze soon died away, leaving her becalmed within a quarter of a mile of the island. For some time the voyagers hoped that a thaw would take place, or that wind would break up the ice. But they were disappointed. This was the first touch of the cold hand of winter, and the last day of the _Hope's_ advance northward. Seeing this, Captain Harvey set energetically to work to cut his way into winter quarters, for it would not do to remain all winter in the exposed position in which his vessel then lay. On his right was the island, already referred to, about a quarter of a mile off. Beyond this, about five miles distant, were the high steep cliffs of the western coast of Greenland. Everywhere else lay the open sea, covered here and there with floes and bergs, and coated with new ice. This ice became so thick in the course of another night that the men could walk on it without danger. By means of saws and chisels made for the purpose, they cut a passage toward the island, and finally moored the brig in a small bay which was sheltered on all sides except the east. This, being the land side, required no protection. They named the place "Refuge Harbour." Everyone was now full of activity. The voyagers had reached the spot where they knew they were destined to spend the winter and much had to be done before they could consider themselves in a fit state to face that terrible season. Winter in the Polar regions extends over eight months of the year--from September to May. But so much of ice and snow remains there all the summer that winter can scarcely be said to quit those regions at all. It is difficult to imagine what the Arctic winter is. We cannot properly understand the tremendous difficulties and sufferings that men who go to the Polar seas have to fight against. Let the reader think of the following facts, and see if he does not draw his chair closer to the fire and feel thankful that he has not been born an Eskimo, and is not an Arctic seaman! Winter within the Arctic circle, as I have said, is fully eight months long. During that time the land is covered with snow many feet deep, and the sea with ice of all degrees of thickness--from vast fields of ten or fifteen feet thick to bergs the size of islands and mountains-- all frozen into one solid mass. There is no sunlight there, night or day, for three out of these eight winter months, and there is not much during the remaining five. In summer there is perpetual sunlight, all night as well as all day, for about two months--for many weeks the sun never descends below the horizon. It is seen every day and every night sweeping a complete circle in the bright blue sky. Having been so free of his light in summer, the sun seems to think he has a right to absent himself in winter, for the three months of darkness that I have spoken of are not months of _partial_ but of _total_ darkness--as far, at least, as the sun is concerned. The moon and stars and the "Northern Lights" do, indeed, give their light when the fogs and clouds will allow them; but no one will say that these make up for the absence of the sun. Then the frost is so intense that everything freezes solid except pure spirits of wine. Unless you have studied the thermometer you cannot understand the intensity of this frost; but for the sake of those who do know something about extreme cold, I give here a few facts that were noted down during the winter that my story tells of. On the 10th of September these ice-bound voyagers had eighteen degrees of frost, and the darkness had advanced on them so rapidly that it was dark about ten at night. By the 1st of October the ice round the brig was a foot and a half thick. Up to this time they had shot white hares on the island, and the hunting parties that crossed the ice to the mainland shot deer and musk oxen, and caught white foxes in traps. Gulls and other birds, too, had continued to fly around them; but most of these went away to seek warmer regions farther south. Walrus and seals did not leave so soon. They remained as long as there was any open water out at sea. The last birds that left them, (and the first that returned in spring) were the "snow-birds"--little creatures about the size of a sparrow, almost white, with a few brown feathers here and there. The last of these fled from the darkening winter on the 7th of November, and did not return until the 1st of the following May. When they left it was dark almost all day. The thermometer could scarcely be read at noon, and the stars were visible during the day. From this time forward thick darkness set in, and the cold became intense. The thermometer fell _below_ zero, and after that they never saw it _above_ that point for months together--20 degrees, 30 degrees, and 40 degrees below were common temperatures. The ice around them was ten feet thick. On the 1st of December noon was so dark that they could not see fifty yards ahead, and on the 15th the fingers could not be counted a foot from the eyes. The thermometer stood at 40 degrees below zero. The darkness could not now become greater, but the cold still continued to grow more intense. It almost doubled in severity. In January it fell to 67 degrees below zero! So great was this cold that the men felt impelled to breathe gradually. The breath issued from their mouths in white clouds of steam and instantly settled on their beards and whiskers in hoar-frost. In the cabin of the _Hope_ they had the utmost difficulty in keeping themselves moderately warm at this time. Things had now reached their worst, and by slow degrees matters began to mend. On the 22nd of January the first faint sign of returning day appeared--just a blue glimmer on the horizon. By the middle of February the light tipped the tops of the mountains on shore, and the highest peaks of the ice-bergs on the sea, and on the 1st of March it bathed the deck of the _Hope_. Then the long-imprisoned crew began to feel that spring was really coming. But there was little heat in the sun's rays at first, and it was not till the month of May that the ice out at sea broke up and summer could be said to have begun. During all this long winter--during all these wonderful changes, our Arctic voyagers had a hard fight in order to keep themselves alive. Their life was a constant struggle. They had to fight the bears and the walrus; to resist the cold and the darkness; to guard against treachery from the natives; and to suffer pains, sickness, and trials, such as seldom fall to the lot of men in ordinary climates. How they did and suffered all this I shall try to show in the following pages. In attempting this I shall make occasional extracts from the journal of our friend Tom Gregory, for Tom kept his journal regularly, and was careful to note down only what he heard and saw. CHAPTER SIX. PREPARATIONS FOR WINTERING--REMARKABLE ADVENTURES WITH A BEAR. The first care of Captain Harvey, after getting his brig securely laid up in her icy cradle for the winter was to remove some of the stores to the island, where he had them carefully secured in a little hut which the crew built of loose stones. This relieved the strain on the vessel, and permitted the free circulation of air. The fitting up of the interior of the brig was then begun. The wooden partition between the cabin and the hold was taken down, and the whole space thrown into one apartment. The stove was put up in the centre of it, and moss was piled round the walls inside about a foot thick. Moss was also spread on the deck, and above it the snow was allowed to gather, for snow, although so cold itself, keeps things that it covers warm, by not permitting the heat to escape. The brig was banked up all round with snow, and a regular snowy staircase was built from the ice to her bulwarks. They changed their time, now, from what is called sea-time to that which we follow on land. That is to say, they reckoned the day to commence just after twelve, midnight, instead of dividing it into watches, as they were wont to do at sea. Journals were begun, and careful notes made of everything that occurred, or that might in any way further the object for which they had gone there. Every man in the ship had his appointed duty and his post. If the native Eskimos should arrive in a warlike temper, each man had his cutlass and pistols in readiness. If a bear should pay them a visit, each could lay hands on his musket in an instant; and if a fire should break out on board, every man had his bucket ready and his particular post fixed. Some were to run to the water-hole, which it was the duty of one man to keep open. Others were to station themselves from the hole to the ship to pass the buckets, while the rest were to remain on board to convey them to the point of danger. Captain Harvey fixed all the arrangements, and superintended the carrying out of his orders in a general way, making his two officers and the young doctor responsible for the overseeing of details. Each of these foremen furnished him with a report every night of what had been done during the day, and the result was noted down by himself in a journal. Thus everything went smoothly and pleasantly along during the first weeks of their sojourn in their frozen home. In regard to fresh provisions they were fortunate at first, for they obtained sufficient supplies of deer and other game. This was in the early part of winter, while there was still plenty of daylight. In Tom Gregory's journal I find it thus written: "_September 10th_.--The days are beginning to shorten now, and we are all busily occupied in preparing for the long, dark winter that is before us. Sam Baker, who is the best shot among us, brought in a deer to-day. This is fortunate, for we stand in need of fresh meat. Our greatest enemy this winter, I fear, will be scurvy. Unless we obtain a large supply of fresh provisions we cannot hope to escape it. Crofts brought in two Arctic hares. They are beautiful creatures--pure white-- and each weighs about seven pounds. These, with the four deer shot by myself last week and the ten hares got by Baker, will keep us going for some time. "_September 12th_.--I had an adventure with a polar bear last night, which has amused the men very much, and given them food for jocularity for a few days. Some days back Davy Butts set a trap on the island, in which he has caught a few foxes. Last night his long legs were so tired that he did not care to visit his trap, so I offered to go instead of him. It was while I was out on this errand that I happened to meet with bruin. Our meeting was sudden and unexpected on both sides, I believe. It was midnight when I set off to the trap, which was not more than half a mile from the ship, and it was quite dark when I reached it. "Davy is an ingenious fellow. His trap is made of four blocks of hard snow, with a sort of wooden trigger that goes off the moment the bait is touched, and allows a heavy log to fall down on the poor fox's back. There was no fox there, however, when I reached it. I went down on my knees and was examining the bait, when I heard a low growl. I leaped up, and felt for the knife which I usually carried in my belt. It was not there! In the haste of my departure from the ship I had forgotten to buckle it on. I had no gun, of course. It was too dark to shoot, and I had not counted on meeting with any dangerous enemy. I could only crouch down behind a lump of ice and hope that the bear would go away, but another growl, much louder than the first, and close at hand, showed that I had been seen. It was so dark that I could hardly see fifty yards ahead. There was a great chasm or hole just in front of me. This was the place where the main body of the sea-ice had been separated from the shore-ice that was aground. Here every rise and fall of the tide had broken it afresh, so that the rent was twenty yards wide, and full of large blocks that had been tossed about in confusion. Across this I gazed into the gloom, and thought I saw an object that looked like a large block of rounded ice. Before I could make up my mind how to act, the block of ice rose up with a furious roar and charged me. The chasm checked him for a moment. But for this I should have been caught immediately. While he was scrambling over it I took to my heels, and ran along the edge of the ice at the top of my speed. "There was a narrow part of the chasm which I had looked at in daylight, and wondered whether I might venture to leap across it. I had made up my mind that it was too wide and dangerous to be attempted. But it is wonderful how quickly a man changes his mind on such a point when a polar bear is roaring at his heels. I came to the gap in the ice. It was ten feet deep and thirteen or fourteen feet across. The jagged lumps of ice at the bottom lay there in horrible confusion. There was barely light enough to see where the hole was when I came within ten yards of it, but I did not hesitate. A rush! a bound! and I went over like a cat. Not so the bear. He had not measured the place with his eye in daylight, as I had done. He made a gallant leap, it is true, but fell short, as I knew from the bursting sound and the growl of rage with which he came against the edge of the ice, and fell back among the broken blocks. I did not wait to see how he got out, you may be sure, but ran as I never ran before in all my life! I reached the brig quite out of breath. The bear had not followed me up, for I did not see him that night again. Long Davy laughed at me a good deal, and said he was sure I had been frightened at a shadow. It gave a wonderfully loud roar for a shadow! I hope that Davy himself may get a chase before the winter is over, just to convince him of his error in not believing me!" The kind wish thus expressed in the young doctor's journal was gratified sooner than might have been expected. Only two days after the incident above described, poor Davy Butts met with the same bear, face to face, and had a run for his life, that turned the laugh from Tom Gregory to himself. It was on the afternoon of a clear, cold day, just about sunset. The men had finished dinner and were smoking their pipes on deck, stamping their feet and slapping their hands and arms, to keep them warm. "Hallo, Davy! where are you bound for?" inquired the captain, on observing that Butts was wrapping himself carefully in his fur-coat, tightening his belt, and putting on his mittens as if bent on a long journey. "I'm only goin' to take a look at my fox-trap, sir, if you'll allow me." "Certainly, my lad. If you get a fox it's well worth the trouble. And hark'ee, Davy, take your axe and make one or two more of these snow-traps of yours. It will be a well-spent hour." "Why, Butts," exclaimed Gregory, "what do you mean to do with that big horse-pistol? Surely you are not afraid of bears after laughing so much at the one that chased me?" "Oh, no, not _afraid_, you know," replied Davy. "But there's no harm in being armed." "Mind you shoot him straight in the eye, or send a bullet up his nose. Them's the vulnerable parts of him," cried Joe Davis, with a laugh, as Butts went down the snow-steps and got upon the ice. "I say," cried Pepper, as he was moving away. "Well?" "Bring his tongue aboard with you, and I'll cook it for supper." "Ah, and a bit of fat to fry it in," added the steward. "There's nothin' like tongue fried in bear's grease." "No, no, Dawkins," said Mr Dicey. "Hallo! Davy; bring the 'ams. Bear's 'ams are considered fustrate heatin'." "No, _don't_ bring the hams," shouted Jim Croft, "fetch the tongue; that's the thing for supper of a cold night--fetch the tongue, lad." "Hold your own tongue," shouted Davy, in reply, as he went off amid the laughter of his comrades. The sun sank soon after, and before the ingenious seaman had finished two new traps the short twilight had gradually deepened into night. Still there was plenty of light, for the sky was clear, and studded with a host of stars. In addition to this the Aurora Borealis was sending its beautiful flashes of pale-green light all across the western sky. The Aurora--which also goes by the names of "Northern Lights," and "Streamers," and "Merry-dancers," is seen in great splendour in these northern skies. When the seaman had finished his traps, and looked up for a minute or two at the sky, before starting on his return to the ship, he beheld the Aurora extending over the heavens in the form of an irregular arch. It was extremely bright, but the brightness was not the same in all parts. It moved and waved gently about like a band of thin green fire. Every now and then long tongues or streamers darted up from it, and these were brighter than the rest. They were yellowish white, and sometimes became pale pink in colour. The light from this beautiful object was equal to that of the moon in her quarter, and the stars that were behind it shone dimly through, as if they were covered with a thin gauze veil. While Davy was gazing in wonder at the splendid lights above him, a deep growl fell upon his ear. If the man had been a Jack-in-the-box he could not have leaped more quickly round. His pistol was out and cocked in a moment! The growl was followed by a roar, which drove all the blood back into Davy's heart, and seemed to freeze it there--solid. The man was no coward, as was quite clear, for at first he boldly stood his ground. But he would have been more than mortal if he had not felt some strange qualms about his heart when he saw a large white bear rushing furiously toward him. The animal came this time from the interior of the small island. The seaman knew well the place over which young Gregory had jumped when he had been chased. After wavering for a moment or two he turned and fled. Another tremendous roar helped him over the ice like a deer, and he took the chasm with a bound like an India-rubber ball. It must certainly have been the same animal that chased Gregory, for, instead of trying to leap the chasm, it went to another part of the rent and scrambled across. This gave Butts time to increase the distance between them, but a man is no match for a polar bear in a race. The monster was soon close up with him, and the ship still far off. The man knew his danger; he turned, took a quick aim, and fired. He missed, of course; flung the pistol in desperation in the bear's face, and ran on. The pistol happened to stick in the snow, with the butt in the air, and when the bear came up to it he stopped to smell it! It it well known, nowadays, that polar bears are full of curiosity, and will stop for a few minutes to examine anything that comes in their way, even when they are in full chase of a man. Davy Butts knew nothing of this at the time; but he was a quick-witted fellow. He observed this stopping of the bear, and determined to give him something more to stop at. When bruin was close at his heels he threw down his cap. The bear at once pulled up, smelt it all round, tossed it into the air with his snout, pawed it once or twice, then tore it to pieces with one wrench, and continued the chase. Very little time was lost in this operation. He was soon up with the man again; then a mitten was thrown down for his inspection. After that the other mitten went, the cravat followed, and the axe went next. All that I have just related happened in a very few minutes. Davy was still a good quarter of a mile from the brig; everything that he could tear off his person in haste and throw down was gone, and the bear was once more coming up behind. As a last hope he pulled off his heavy fur-coat and dropped it. This seemed to be a subject of great interest to the bear, for it was longer in inspecting it than the other things. And now poor Butts went tearing along like a maniac, in his flannel shirt and trousers. He was a miserable and curious object, for his body, besides being very long, was uncommonly lanky, and his legs and arms seemed to go like the wings of a windmill. Never, since the day of his birth, had Davy Butts run at such a pace, in such light clothing, and in such severe frost! A long line of low hummocks hid him from the brig. The moment he passed these he came in sight of her and began to yell. "Wot on airth is yon?" exclaimed Joe Davis, who chanced to be looking over the gangway when this remarkable object appeared. "The wild man o' the North himself, or my name aint Jim," said Crofts, turning pale. "Why, it's Davy Butts, I do believe," cried Sam Baker, who came on deck at that moment. Just then the bear came tearing round the end of the hummocks in full chase. "Hurrah! hallo! ho!" roared the men, who had crowded on deck at the first note of alarm. Sam Baker seized a heavy ash handspike about five feet long, and was on his way to meet his comrade before the others had gained the ice. They were not slow, however. Some with muskets, some with pistols and cutlasses, and some with nothing but their fists--all followed Sam, who was now far ahead. Baker passed Davy without a remark, and ran straight at the bear, which stopped on seeing such a big, powerful man running so furiously at him, and flourishing a bludgeon that would almost have suited the hand of a giant. But polar bears are not timid. He rose on his hind legs at once, and paid no attention whatever to the tremendous crack that Sam dealt him over the skull. The blow broke the handspike in two, and the fool-hardy seaman would soon have paid for his rashness with his life had not friendly and steady hands been near. Nothing daunted, he was about to repeat the blow with the piece of the handspike that was still in his grasp, and the bear was about to seize him with its claws, each of which were full two inches long, when the first mate and Gregory came running toward him, side by side, the first armed with a rifle, the doctor with pistols. "Too late," gasped Gregory. "We must fire," said Mansell, "and risk hitting Sam. Here, doctor, you are a good shot; take the rifle." The young man obeyed, dropped on one knee, and took aim, but did not fire. Sam was between him and the bear. A sudden movement changed their positions. The side of the monster came into view, and in another instant it was stretched on the ice with a bullet in his brain. CHAPTER SEVEN. A GREAT BATTLE WITH THE WALRUS. It need scarcely be said that there was a jovial feast that night at supper. The bear's tongue was cooked after all, but the impudent tongues of the party were not silenced, for they almost worried the life out of poor Davy for having run away from a bear. Soon after this event the preparations for spending the winter were completed; at least as far as the fitting up of the vessel was concerned. "This morning," writes Gregory, in his journal, "we finished housing over our Arctic home. The _Hope_ is very snug, lined with moss, and almost covered with snow. A sail has been spread over the quarter-deck like an awning; it is also covered with moss and snow. This, we hope, will give much additional warmth to our house below. We all live together now, men and officers. It will require our united strength to fight successfully against that terrible enemy, John Frost. John is king of the Arctic regions, undoubtedly! "Dawkins got a cold-bath yesterday that amused the men much and did him no harm. For some time past we have been carrying moss from the island in large bundles. Dawkins got leave to help, as he said he was sick-tired of always working among stores. He was passing close to the fire-hole with a great bundle of moss on his back, when his foot slipped, and down he went. This hole is kept constantly open. It is Baker's duty night and morning to break the ice and have it ready in case of fire. The ice on the surface was therefore thin; in a moment nothing was to be seen of poor Dawkins but his bundle! Fortunately he held tight on to it, and we hauled him out, soaked to the skin. The thermometer stood at 35 degrees below zero, the coldest day we have had up to this time; and in two minutes the unfortunate man's clothes were frozen so stiff that he could scarcely walk! We had to break the ice on his legs and arms at the joints, and even then he had to be half hoisted on board and carried below. We all dress in seal-skin and fox-skin garments now. Dawkins had on a rough coat, made of white and grey foxes; trousers of the same; boots of seal-skin, and mittens ditto. When all this was soaked and frozen he was truly a humbling sight! "The undressing of him was a labour of difficulty as well as of love. However, when he was rubbed dry, and re-clothed, he was none the worse. Indeed, I am inclined to think he was much the better of his ducking. "To-morrow we are to make some curious experiments with boats, sledges, and kites. The captain is anxious to take our largest boat over the ice as far to the south as possible, and leave her there with a quantity of provisions, so that we may have her to fall back upon if any misfortune should befall the brig, which I earnestly pray that God may forbid. "Davy Butts, who is an ingenious fellow in his way, says that we can sail a boat on the ice almost as well as on the water, and that we may drag sledges by means of kites, if we choose. The captain means to attempt a journey to the north with sledges in spring, so, if the kites answer, Butts will have done us good service. But I have my doubts. "The nights are closing in fast; very soon we shall be without the sun altogether. But the moon is cheering us. Last night, (28th October) she swept in a complete circle round the sky _all day_ as well as all night. She only touched the horizon, and then, instead of setting, she rose again, as if the frozen sea had frightened her. "_October 30th_.--Baker came in to-day and reported open water about six miles off, and walrus sporting in it. I shall set out to-morrow on a hunt." The hunt which the young doctor here wrote of came off the following day, but it was a very different one from what any of the men had expected. Early in the morning, Baker, Davy Butts, and Gregory set off on foot, armed with a rifle and two muskets, besides a couple of harpoons, a whale-lance, and a long line. They also took a small sledge, which was intended to be used in hauling home the meat if they should be successful. Three hours' hard walking brought the party to the edge of the solid ice, after which they travelled on the floes that were being constantly broken by the tides, and were only joined together by ice of a night or two old. This was little more than an inch thick, so they had to advance with caution. Presently the loud mooing of a bull walrus was heard. Its roar was something between the lowing of a bull and the bark of a large dog, but much louder, for the walrus resembles an elephant in size more than any other animal. Soon after they came in sight of their game. Five walrus were snorting and barking in a hole which they had broken in the ice. The way in which this huge monster opens a hole when he wants to get out of the sea is to come up from below with considerable violence and send his head crashing through the ice. The three men now became very wary. They crept on their hands and knees behind the ice-hummocks until within about a hundred yards of the brutes. Then they ascended a small hummock to take a look round and decide on their plan of operations. While lying there, flat on their faces, they took particular care to keep their heads well concealed, just raising them high enough to observe the position of the walrus. There was a sheet of flat ice between them and the hole, so that it was impossible to advance nearer without being seen. This perplexed them much, for although their bullets might hit at that distance, they would not be able to run in quick enough to use their lances, and the harpoons would be of no use at all. While thus undecided what to do, they were unexpectedly taught a lesson in walrus-hunting that surprised them not a little. "Hallo! there's a bear!" whispered Davy Butts, as a hairy object crawled out from behind an ice-hummock about two hundred yards from the place where they lay, and made toward the walrus in a sly, cat-like manner. "More like a seal," observed Baker. "A seal! why, it's a _man_!" said Gregory, in a low, excited whisper. "So it is, sure enough," said Baker; "it must be an Eskimo, though his hairy garments make him look more like a bear than a man, and as the fellow has got here before us, I suppose we must give up our claim to the brutes." "Time enough to talk of that when the brutes are killed," said Gregory with a smile. "But lie still, lads. We will take a lesson from this fellow, who has been so earnestly staring at the walrus that he has not noticed us." The three men lay perfectly motionless watching the native, who crept as near to the hole as he could without being seen, and then waited for a few minutes until the creatures should dive. This they were constantly doing; staying down a few moments at a time, and then coming up to breathe--for the walrus cannot live without air. He is not a fish, and although he can stay down a long time, he _must_ come to the surface occasionally to breathe. In this he resembles the seal and the whale. Presently, down they all went with a tremendous splash. Now was the moment! the Eskimo rose, ran at full speed for a few yards, then fell flat on his face, and lay quite still as if he had been shot dead. The reason of this was soon apparent. He understood the habits of the walrus, and knew that they would rise again. This they did almost the moment after, and began their snorting, bellowing, and rolling again. Once more they dived. Up got the Eskimo, ran a few yards further forward, and then fell flat down as before. In this way he got near to the hole without being seen. The watchers observed that he carried a harpoon and a coil of thick line. The next time the walrus dived he ran to the edge of the hole, but now, instead of falling down, he stood quite still with the harpoon raised above his head ready to be thrown. In a few moments the monsters reappeared. Two rose close at the edge of the hole; one was a male, the other a female. They were frightfully ugly to look at. Shaking the water from his head and shoulders, the bull at once caught sight of the man who had thus suddenly appeared. At that instant the Eskimo threw up his left arm. This action, instead of frightening the brutes away, caused them to raise themselves high out of the water, in order to have a good look at the strange creature who had thus dared to disturb them in their watery home. This was just what the native wanted. It gave him a chance of driving the harpoon under the flipper of the male. The instant this was done he caught up the end of his coil and ran quickly back to the full length of the line. The battle that now begun was perhaps one of the fiercest that was ever fought in the Arctic regions. The walrus lashed the water furiously for a second or two and dived. This checked the native, who at once stopped running, drove the sharp point of a little piece of wood into the ice, and put the loop at the end of his line over it. He pressed the loop close down to the ice with his feet, so that he could hold on when it tightened, which it did with great force. But the line was a stout one. It had been cut from the hide of a walrus, and prepared in a peculiar way for the purpose of standing a heavy strain. The Eskimo now played the monster as an angler plays a trout. At one moment he held on, the next he eased off. The line was sometimes like a bar of iron, then it was slackened off as the animal rose and darted about. After this had happened once or twice the bull came to the surface, blowing tremendously, and began to bark and roar in great fury. The female came up at the same time. She evidently meant to stick by her partner and share his danger. The others had dived and made off at the first sign of war. The wounded walrus was a little flurried and very angry; the female was not at all frightened, she was passionately furious! Both of them tore up the ice tables with their great ivory tusks, and glared at their enemy with an expression that there was no mistaking. The walrus is well known to be one of the fiercest animals in the world. Woe to the poor native if he had been caught by these monsters at that time. After some minutes spent in uselessly smashing the ice and trying to get at the native, they both dived. Now came into play the Eskimo's knowledge of the animal's habits and his skill in this curious kind of warfare. Before diving they looked steadily at the man for a second, and then swam under the ice straight for the spot where he stood. The Eskimo of course could not see this, but he knew it from past experience. He therefore changed his position instantly; ran a few yards to one side, and planted his stick and loop again. This had hardly been done when the ice burst up with a loud crash; a hole of more than fifteen feet wide was made on the exact spot which the man had quitted, and the walrus appeared with a puff like that of a steam-engine, and a roar that would have done credit to a lion. The great lumpish-looking heads and square-cut faces of the creatures looked frightful at this point in the fight. There was something like human intelligence in their malicious and brutal faces, as the water poured down their cheeks and over their bristling beards, mingled with blood and foam. At this moment there was a shout close at hand, and two other Eskimos ran out from behind the ice-hummocks and joined their comrade. They were armed with long lances, the handles of which were made of bone, and the points of beautiful white ivory tipped with steel. It was afterwards discovered that these natives obtained small pieces of iron and steel from the Eskimos further south, who were in the habit of trading at the settlements on the coast of Greenland. The strangers at once ran to the edge of the pool and gave the bull walrus two deep wounds with their lances. They also wounded the female. This seemed to render them more furious than ever. They dived again. The first Eskimo again shifted his position, and the others ran back a short distance. They were not a moment too soon in these changes, for the ice was again burst upward at the spot they had just quitted, and the enraged beasts once more came bellowing to the surface and vented their fury on the ice. It may seem almost incredible to the reader, _but it is a fact_, that this battle lasted fully four hours. At the end of the third hour it seemed to the sailors who were watching it, that the result was still doubtful, for the Eskimos were evidently becoming tired, while the monsters of the Polar seas were still furious. "I think we might help them with a butlet," whispered Baker. "It might frighten them, perhaps, but it would save them a good deal of trouble." "Wait a little longer," replied Gregory. "I have it in my mind to astonish them. You see they have wounded the female very badly, but when the male dies, which he cannot now be long of doing, she will dive and make off, and so they'll lose her, for they don't seem to have another harpoon and line." "Perhaps they have one behind the hummocks," suggested Davy Butts, whose teeth were chattering in his head with cold. "If they had they would have used it long ago," said Gregory. "At any rate I mean to carry out my plan--which is this. When the bull is about dead I will fire at the female and try to hit her in a deadly part, so as to kill her at once. Then, Sam, you will run out with our harpoon and dart into her to prevent her sinking, or diving if she should not be killed. And you, Davy, will follow me and be ready with a musket." This plan had just been settled when the bull walrus began to show signs of approaching death. Gregory therefore took a deliberate aim with the rifle and fired. The result was startling! The female walrus began to roll and lash about furiously, smashing the ice and covering the sea around with bloody foam. At first the Eskimos stood motionless--rooted to the spot, as if they had been thunderstruck. But when they saw Sam Baker dart from behind the hummock, flourishing his harpoon, followed by Gregory and Butts, their courage deserted them; they turned in terror and fled. On getting behind the hummocks, however, they halted and peeped over the ledges of ice to see what the seamen did. Sam Baker, being an old whaleman, darted his harpoon cleverly, and held fast the struggling animal. At the same time Davy Butts seized the end of the line which the natives had thrown down in terror, and held on to the bull. It was almost dead, and quite unable to show any more fight. Seeing that all was right, Gregory now laid down his rifle and advanced slowly to the hummock, behind which the Eskimos had taken refuge. He knew, from the reports of previous travellers, that holding up both arms is a sign of peace with the Eskimos. He therefore stopped when within a short distance of the hummocks and held up his arms. The signal was understood at once. The natives leaped upon the top of the hummock and held up their arms in reply. Again Gregory tossed up his, and made signs to them to draw near. This they did without hesitation, and the doctor shook them by the hand and patted their hairy shoulders. They were all of them stout, well-made fellows, about five feet seven or eight inches high, and very broad across the shoulders. They were fat, too, and oily-faced, jolly-looking men. They smiled and talked to each other for a few moments and then spoke to Gregory, but when he shook his head, as much as to say, "I don't understand you," they burst into a loud laugh. Then they suddenly became grave, and ran at full speed toward the hole where the walrus floated. Davy Butts made the usual sign of friendship and handed them the end of their line, which they seized, and set about securing their prize without taking any farther notice of their new friends. The manner in which these wild yet good-natured fellows hauled the enormous carcass out of the water was simple and ingenious. They made four cuts in the neck, about two inches apart from each other, and raised the skin between these cuts, thus making two bands. Through one of these bands they passed a line, and carried it to a stick made fast in the ice, where they passed it through a loop of well-greased hide. It was then carried back to the animal, made to pass under the second band, and the end was hauled in by the Eskimos. This formed a sort of double purchase, that enabled them to pull out of the hole a carcass which double their numbers could not have hauled up. Some idea of the bull's weight may be formed when I say that the carcass was eighteen feet long and eleven feet in circumference at the thickest part. There were no fewer than sixty deep lance-wounds in various parts of its body. When seen close at hand the walrus is a very ugly monster. It is something like a gigantic seal, having two large flippers, or fins, near its shoulders, and two others behind, that look like its tail. It uses these in swimming, but can also use them on land, so as to crawl, or rather to bounce forward in a clumsy fashion. By means of its fore-flippers it can raise itself high out of the water, and get upon the ice and rocks. It is fond of doing this, and is often found sleeping in the sunshine on the ice and on rocks. It has even been known to scramble up the side of an island to a height of a hundred feet, and there lie basking in the sun. Nevertheless, the water is the proper element of the walrus. All its motions are clumsy and slow until it gets into the sea; there it is "at home." Its upper face has a square, bluff look, and its broad muzzle and cheeks are covered by a coarse beard of bristles, like quills. The two white tusks point downward. In this they are unlike to those of the elephant. The tusks of the bull killed on this occasion were thirty inches long. The hide of the walrus is nearly an inch thick, and is covered with close, short hair. Beneath the skin he has a thick layer of fat, and this enables him to resist the extreme cold in the midst of which he dwells. The walrus is of great value to the Eskimos. But for it and the seal these poor members of the human family could not exist at all in those frozen regions. As it is, it costs them a severe struggle to keep the life in their bodies. But they do not complain of what seems to us a hard lot. They have been born to it. They know no happier condition of life. They wish for no better home, and the All-wise Creator has fitted them admirably, both in mind and body, to live and even to enjoy life in a region where most other men could live only in great discomfort, if they could exist at all. The Eskimos cut the walrus' thick hide into long lines with which they hunt--as we have seen. They do not cut these lines in strips and join them in many places; but, beginning at one end of the skin, they cut round and round without break to the centre, and thus secure a line of many fathoms in length. It is truly said that "necessity is the mother of invention." These natives have no wood. Not a single tree grows in the whole land of which I am writing. There are plenty of plants, grasses, mosses, and beautiful flowers in summer--growing, too, close beside ice-fields that remain unmelted all the year round. But there is not a tree large enough to make a harpoon of. Consequently the Eskimos are obliged to make sledges of bones; and as the bones and tusks of the walrus are not big enough for this purpose, they tie and piece them together in a remarkably neat and ingenious manner. Sometimes, indeed, they find pieces of drift-wood in the sea. Wrecks of whale-ships, too, are occasionally found by the natives in the south of Greenland. A few pieces of the precious wood obtained in this way are exchanged from one tribe to another, and so find their way north. But the further north we go the fewer pieces of this kind of wood do we find; and in the far north, where our adventurous voyagers were now ice-bound, the Eskimos have very little wood, indeed. Food is the chief object which the Eskimo has in view when he goes out to do battle with the walrus. Its flesh is somewhat coarse, no doubt, but it is excellent, nourishing food notwithstanding, and although a well-fed Englishman might turn up his nose at it, many starving Englishmen have smacked their lips over walrus-beef in days gone by-- aye, and have eaten it raw, too, with much delight! Let not my reader doubt the truth of this. Well-known and truth-loving men have dwelt for a time in those regions, and some of these have said that they actually came to _prefer_ the walrus flesh raw, because it was more strengthening, and fitted them better for undertaking long and trying journeys in extremely cold weather. One of the most gallant men who ever went to the Polar seas, (Dr Kane, of the American navy), tells us, in his delightful book, "Arctic Explorations", that he frequently ate raw flesh and liked it, and that the Eskimos often eat it raw. In fact, they are not particular. They will eat it cooked or raw--just as happens to be most convenient for them. When the animals, whose killing I have described, were secured, the Eskimos proceeded to skin and cut them up. The sailors, of course, assisted, and learned a lesson. While this was going on one of their number went away for a short time, and soon returned with a sledge drawn by about a dozen dogs. This they loaded with the meat and hide of the bull, intending evidently to leave the cow to their new friends, as being their property. But Gregory thought they were entitled to a share of it, so, after loading his sledge with a considerable portion of the meat, he gave them the remainder along with the hide. This pleased them mightily, and caused them to talk much, though to little purpose. However, Gregory made good use of the language of signs. He also delighted them with the gift of a brass ring, an old knife, and a broken pencil-case, and made them understand that his abode was not far distant, by drawing the figure of a walrus in a hole in the snow, and then a thing like a bee-hive at some distance from it, pointing northward at the same time. He struck a harpoon into the outline of the walrus, to show that it was the animal that had just been killed, and then went and lay down in the picture of the bee-hive, to show that he dwelt there. The natives understood this quite well. They immediately drew another bee-hive, pointed to the south and to the sun, and held up five fingers. From this it was understood that their village was five days distant from the spot where they then were. He next endeavored to purchase three of their dogs, but they objected to this, and refused to accept of three knives as a price for them. They were tempted, however, by the offer of a whale harpoon and a hemp line, and at last agreed to let him have three of their best dogs. This the young doctor considered a piece of great good fortune, and being afraid that they would repent, he prepared to leave the place at once. The dogs were fastened by lines to the sledge of their new masters. A whip was made out of a strip of walrus hide, a bone served for a handle, and away they went for the brig at a rattling pace, after bidding the natives farewell, and making them understand that they hoped to meet again in the course of the winter. Thus happily ended their first meeting with the Eskimos. It may well be believed that there were both astonishment and satisfaction on board the _Hope_ that night, when the hunting party returned, much sooner than had been expected, with the whip cracking, the men cheering, the dogs howling, and the sledge well laden with fresh meat. CHAPTER EIGHT. THE CAUSE OF ICE-BERGS--FOX-CHASE--A BEAR. One day, long after the walrus-hunt just described, Joe Davis stood on the deck of the _Hope_, leaning over the side and looking out to sea--at least in the direction of the sea, for, although mid-day, it was so dark that he could not see very far in any direction. Joe was conversing with Mr Dicey on the appearance of things around him. "Do you know, Mr Dicey," said he, "wot it is as causes them there ice-bergs?" Mr Dicey looked very grave and wise for a few seconds without answering. Then he said, in rather a solemn tone, "Well, Davis, to tell you the real truth, I _don't_ know!" Now, as this question is one of considerable interest, I shall endeavour to answer it for the benefit of the reader. The whole of the interior of Greenland is covered with ice and snow. This snowy covering does not resemble that soft snow which falls on our own hills. It is hard, and _never_ melts entirely away. The snow there is in some places a thousand feet thick! It covers all the hill-tops and fills up all the valleys, so that the country may be said to be a buried land. Since the world began, perhaps, snow has been falling on it every winter; but the summers there have been so short that they could not melt away the snow of one winter before that of another came and covered it up and pressed it down. Thus, for ages, the snow of one year has been added to that which was left of the preceding, and the pressure has been so great that the mass has been squeezed nearly as hard as pure ice. The ice that has been formed in this way is called _glacier_; and the glaciers of Greenland cover, as I have said, the whole country, so that it can never be cultivated or inhabited by man unless the climate change. There are glaciers of this kind in many other parts of the world. We have them in Switzerland and in Norway, but not on nearly so large a scale as in Greenland. Now, although this glacier-ice is clear and hard, it is not quite so solid as pure ice, and when it is pushed down into the valleys by the increasing masses above it, actually _flows_. But this flowing motion cannot be seen. It is like the motion of the hour hand of a watch, which cannot be perceived however closely it may be looked at. You might go to one of the valleys of Greenland and gaze at a glacier for days together, but you would see no motion whatever. All would appear solid, frozen up, and still. But notice a block of stone lying on the surface of the glacier, and go back many months after and you will find the stone lying a little further down the valley than when you first saw it. Thus glaciers are formed and thus they slowly move. But what has all this to do with ice-bergs? We shall see. As the great glaciers of the north, then, are continually moving down the valleys, of course their ends are pushed into the sea. These ends, or tongues, are often hundreds of feet thick. In some places they present a clear glittering wall to the sea of several hundreds of feet in height, with perhaps as much again lost to view down in the deep water. As the extremities of these tongues are shoved farther and farther out they chip off and float away. _These chips are ice-bergs_! I have already said that ice-bergs are sometimes miles in extent--like islands; that they sink seven or eight hundred feet below the surface, while their tops rise more than a hundred feet above it--like mountains. If these, then, are the "chips" of the Greenland glaciers, what must the "old blocks" be? Many a long and animated discussion the sailors had that winter in the cabin of the _Hope_ on the subject of ice and ice-bergs! When the dark nights drew on, little or nothing could be done outside by our voyagers, and when the ice everywhere closed up, all the animals forsook them except polar bears, so that they ran short of fresh provisions. As months of dreary darkness passed away, the scurvy, that terrible disease, began to show itself among the men, their bodies became less able to withstand the cold, and it was difficult for them at last to keep up their spirits. But they fought against their troubles bravely. Captain Harvey knew well that when a man's spirits go he is not worth much. He therefore did his utmost to cheer and enliven those around him. One day, for instance, he went on deck to breathe a mouthful of fresh air. It was about eleven in the forenoon, and the moon was shining brightly in the clear sky. The stars, too, and the aurora borealis, helped to make up for the total absence of the sun. The cold air cut like a knife against his face when he issued from the hatchway, and the cold nose of one of the dogs immediately touched his hand, as the animal gambolled round him with delight; for the extreme severity of the weather began to tell on the poor dogs, and made them draw more lovingly to their human companions. "Ho! hallo!" shouted the captain down the hatchway. "A fox-chase! a fox-chase! Tumble up, all hands!" The men were sitting at the time in a very dull and silent mood. They were much cast down, for as it had been cloudy weather for some weeks past, thick darkness had covered them night and day, so that they could not tell the one from the other, except by the help of their watches, which were kept carefully going. Their journals, also, were written up daily, otherwise they must certainly have got confused in their time altogether! In consequence of this darkness the men were confined almost entirely to the cabin for a time. Those who had scurvy, got worse; those who were well, became gloomy. Even Pepper, who was a tremendous joker, held his tongue, and Joe Davis, who was a great singer, became silent. Jim Crofts was in his bunk "down" with the scurvy, and stout Sam Baker, who was a capital teller of stories, could not pluck up spirit enough to open his mouth. "In fact," as Mr Dicey said, "they all had a most 'orrible fit o' the blues!" The captain and officers were in better health and spirits than the men, though they all fared alike at the same table, and did the same kind of work, whatever that might chance to be. The officers, however, were constantly exerting themselves to cheer the men, and I have no doubt that this very effort of theirs was the means of doing good to themselves. "He that watereth others shall be watered," says the Word of God. I take this to mean--he that does good to others shall get good to himself. So it certainly was with the officers of the _Hope_. When the captain's shout reached the cabin Jim Crofts had just said: "I'll tell 'ee what it is, messmates, if this here state of things goes on much longer, I'll go out on the floes, walk up to the first polar bear I meet, and ask him to take his supper off me!" There was no laugh at this, but Pepper remarked, in a quiet way, that "he needn't put himself to so much trouble, for he was such a pale-faced, disagreeable looking object that no bear would eat him unless it was starving." "Well, then, I'll offer myself to a starvin' bear--to one that's a'most dead with hunger," retorted Jim gloomily. "What's that the cap'en is singin' out?" said Davy Butts, who was mending a pair of canvas shoes. The men roused themselves at once; for the hope of anything new turning up excited them. "Hallo! ho!" roared the captain again, in a voice that might have started a dead walrus. "Tumble up, there!--a fox-chase! I'll give my second-best fur-coat to the man that catches foxey!" In one instant the whole crew were scrambling up the ladder. Even Jim Crofts, who was really ill, rolled out of his bunk and staggered on deck, saying he would have a "go after foxey if he should die for it!" The game of fox is simple. One man is chosen to be the fox. He runs off and the rest follow. They are bound to go wherever the fox leads. In this case it was arranged that the fox should run round the deck until he should be caught; then the man who caught him should become fox, and continue running on with all the rest following, until he, in turn, should be caught, and so on until the one who could run longest and fastest should break down all the rest. The warm fur-coat was a prize worth running for in such a cold climate, so the game began with spirit. Young Gregory offered to be fox first, and away they went with a yell. Mr Mansell was a little lame, and soon gave in. Mr Dicey fell at the second round, and was unable to recover distance. Gregory would certainly have gained the coat, for he was strong, and had been a crack racer at school; but he did not want the coat, so allowed Sam Baker to catch him. Sam held on like a deer for a few minutes, and one after another the men dropped off as they were blown. Jim Crofts, poor fellow, made a gallant burst, but his limbs refused to help his spirit. He fell, and was assisted below by the captain and replaced in his bunk, where, however, he felt the benefit of his efforts. The race was now kept up by Sam Baker, Joe Davis, and Butts. These three were struggling on and panting loudly, while their comrades danced about, clapped their mittened hands, and shouted, "Now then, Sam!--go in and win, Joe!--Butts, forever!" and such-like encouraging cries. To the surprise of everyone Davy Butts came off the winner, and for many a day after that enjoyed the warm coat which he said his long legs had gained for him. This effort of the captain to cheer the men was very successful, so he resolved to follow it up with an attempt at private theatricals. Accordingly this thing was proposed and heartily agreed to. Next day everyone was busy making preparations. Tom Gregory agreed to write a short play. Sam Baker, being the healthiest man on board, was willing to act the part of an invalid old lady, and Jim Crofts consented to become a gay young doctor for that occasion. Meanwhile the captain arranged a piece of real work, for he felt that the attempt to keep up the spirits alone would not do. They had been for a long time living on salt provisions. Nothing could restore the crew but fresh meat--yet fresh meat was not to be had. The walrus and deer were gone, and although foxes and bears were still around them, they had failed in all their attempts to shoot or trap any of these animals. A visit to the Eskimo camp, therefore, (if such a camp really existed), became necessary; so, while the theatricals were in preparation, a small sledge was rigged up, Gregory and Sam Baker were chosen to go with him; the dogs were harnessed, and, on a fine, starry forenoon, away they went to the south at full gallop, with three hearty cheers from the crew of the brig, who were left in charge of the first mate. The journey thus undertaken was one full of risk. It was not known how far distant the natives might be, or where they were likely to be found. The weather was intensely cold. Only a small quantity of preserved meat could be taken--for the rest, they trusted in some measure to their guns. But the captain's great hope was to reach the Eskimo village in a day or two at the farthest. If he should fail to do so, the prospect of himself and his crew surviving the remainder of the long winter was, he felt, very gloomy indeed. Success attended this expedition at the very beginning. They had only been eight hours out when they met a bear sitting on its haunches behind a hummock. "Hallo! look out!" cried Gregory, on catching sight of him. "Fire, lads," said the captain, "I'm not quite ready." Gregory fired and the bear staggered. Baker then fired and it fell! This was a blessing which filled their hearts so full of thankfulness that they actually shook hands with each other, and then gave vent to three hearty cheers. Their next thoughts were given to their comrades in the _Hope_. "You and Baker will camp here, Tom," said the captain, "and I will return to the brig with a sledge-load of the meat. When I've put it aboard I'll come straight back to you. We'll keep a ham for ourselves, of course. Now then, to work." To work the three men went. A hind leg of the bear was cut off, the rest was lashed firmly on the sledge, and the dogs enjoyed a feed while this was being done. Then the captain cracked his whip. "Good-bye, lads", "Good-bye, captain," and away he and the dogs and sledge went, and were soon lost to view among the hummocks of the frozen sea. CHAPTER NINE. A VISIT TO THE ESKIMOS--WONDERFUL DOINGS--A MYSTERY. The proceedings of this sledge party were so interesting that I give them in the words of Tom Gregory's journal: "_Sunday_.--We have indeed cause to rejoice and to thank God for His mercies this morning. Last night we shot a bear, and the captain is away with the carcass of it to our poor scurvy-smitten friends in the _Hope_. This Sunday will be a real day of rest for me and Sam Baker, though our resting-place is a very queer one. After the captain left us, we looked about for a convenient place to encamp, and only a few yards from the spot where we killed the bear we found the ruins of an old Eskimo hut made partly of stones, partly of ice. We set to work to patch it up with snow, and made it perfectly air-tight in about two hours. "Into this we carried our bear-skins and things, spread them on the snowy floor, put a lump of bear's fat into our tin travelling lamp, and prepared supper. We were not particular about the cookery. We cut a couple of huge slices off our bear's ham, half roasted them over the lamp, and began. It was cut, roast, and come again, for the next hour and a half. I positively never knew what hunger was until I came to this savage country! And I certainly never before had any idea of how much I could eat at one sitting! "This hearty supper was washed down with a swig of melted snow-water. We had some coffee with us, but were too tired to infuse it. Then we blocked up the door with snow, rolled our bear-skins round us, and were sound asleep in five minutes. "Lucky for us that we were so careful to stop up every hole with snow, for, during the night the wind rose and it became so intensely cold that Baker and I could scarcely keep each other warm enough to sleep, tired though we were. At this moment my fingers are so stiff that they will hardly hold the pencil with which I write, and the gale is blowing so furiously outside that we dare not open the door. This door, by the way, is only a hole big enough to creep through. The captain cannot travel to-day. He knows we are safe, so I will not expect him. I have brought my small Testament with me. It has hitherto been my constant travelling companion. I am thus provided with mental food. But, in truth, I shall not want much of that for the next twelve hours. Rest! rest! rest! is what we require. No one can imagine how a man can enjoy rest, after he has been for many months exposed to constant, exhausting, heart-breaking toil, with the thermometer _always_ below zero, and with nothing but salt food to keep him alive. "_Tuesday night_.--Here we are at last--among the Eskimos! and what a queer set they are, to be sure. All fat and fur! They look as broad as they are long. They wear short fox and seal-skin coats, or shirts, with hoods to then; no trousers, but long boots, that come up and meet the coats. Women, men, and babies, all dressed alike, or nearly so. The only difference is that the women's boots are longer and wider than those of the men. But I forgot--yes, there is one other difference; the women have _tails_ to their coats; the men have none! Real tails--not like the broad skirts of our dress-coats, but long, narrow tails, something like the tail of a cow, with a broadish flap at the end of it. This they evidently look upon as a handsome ornament, for I observe that when they go off on a journey, each woman buttons her tail up to her waist, to keep it out of the way, and when she returns she unbuttons it, and comes into camp with her tail flowing gracefully behind her! "We had a terrible journey of it down here. The captain returned to us on Monday morning early, and the next two days we spent struggling over the hummocks and out upon the floes. It was so cold that the wind cut into our very marrow. We have all had our faces frozen, more or less, but not badly. Baker will have an ugly spot on the end of his nose for some weeks to come. It is getting black now, and as the nose itself is bright red and much swelled, his appearance is not improved. I foolishly tried to eat a little snow yesterday morning, and the consequence is that my lips are sore and bloody. On Monday afternoon the dogs and sledge went head over heels into a deep rut in the ice, and it cost us two hours to get them out again. Luckily no damage was done, although the captain was on the sledge at the time. "We had almost despaired of finding the village when we came upon a sledge track that led us straight up to it. I shall never forget the beauty of the scene on our arrival. The sky was lighted up with the most beautiful aurora I have yet seen in these regions. Stars spangled the sky in millions. Great ice-bergs rose in wild confusion in the distance, and all along the shore for a few hundred yards were clusters of snow-huts. They looked exactly like bee-hives. I have seen many a strange house, but the strangest of all is certainly a house of snow! To-day I was fortunate enough to see one built. It was done very neatly. The hard snow was cut into slabs with a wooden knife. These were piled one above another in regular order, and cemented with snow-- as bricks are with lime. The form of the wall was circular, and the slabs were so shaped that they sloped inwards, thus forming a dome, or large bee-hive, with a key-stone slab in the top to keep all firm. A hole was then cut in the side for a door--just large enough to admit of a man creeping through. In front of this door a porch or passage of snow was built. The only way of getting into the hut is by creeping on hands and knees along the passage. A hole was also cut in the roof, into which was inserted a piece of clear ice, to serve for a window. "The natives received us with wild surprise, and I found my old friends, the walrus-hunters, among them. They were remarkably friendly. One stout, middle-aged fellow invited us to his hut. I am now seated in it beside the Eskimo's wife, who would be a good-looking woman if she were not so fat, dirty, and oily! But we cannot expect people living in this fashion, and in such a country, to be very clean. Although the hut is white outside, it is by no means white inside. They cook all their food over an oil-lamp, which also serves to heat the place; and it is wonderful how warm a house of snow becomes. The cold outside is so great as to prevent the walls melting inside. Besides Myouk, our host, and his wife, there are two of the man's sisters, two lads, two girls, and a baby in the hut. Also six dogs. The whole of them--men, women, children, and dogs, are as fat as they can be, for they have been successful in walrus-hunting of late. No wonder that the perspiration is running down my face! The natives feel the heat, too, for they are all half-naked--the baby entirely so; but they seem to like it! "What a chattering, to be sure! I am trying to take notes, and Myouk's wife is staring at me with her mouth wide open. It is a wonder she can open her eyes at all, her cheeks are so fat. The captain is trying, by the language of signs, to get our host to understand that we are much in want of fresh meat. Sam Baker is making himself agreeable to the young people, and the plan he has hit upon to amuse them is to show them his watch, and let them hear it tick. Truly, I have seldom seen a happier family group than this Eskimo household, under their snowy roof! "There is to be a grand walrus-hunt to-morrow. We shall accompany them, and see whether our endurance on a long march, and our powers with the rifle, cannot impress them with some respect for us. At present they have not much. They seem to think us a pale-faced set of helpless creatures. "_Wednesday night_.--We have just returned from the hunt; and a tremendous hunt it was! Six walrus and two bears have been killed, and the whole village is wild with delight. Cooking is going on in every hut. But they have no patience. Nearly everyone is munching away at a lump of raw walrus flesh. All their faces are more or less greasy and bloody. Even Myouk's baby--though not able to speak--is choking itself with a long, stringy piece of blubber. The dogs, too, have got their share. An Eskimo's chief happiness seems to be in eating, and I cannot wonder at it, for the poor creatures have hard work to get food, and they are often on the verge of starvation. "What a dirty set they are! I shall never forget the appearance of Myouk's hut when we entered it this evening after returning from the hunt. The man's wife had made the wick of her stone lamp as long as possible in order to cook a large supper. There were fifteen people crowded together in this hive of snow, and the heat had induced them to throw off the greater part of their clothing. Every hand had a greasy lump of bear or walrus meat in it; every mouth was in full occupation, and every fat face, of man, woman, and child, was beaming with delight and covered with dirt and oil! "The captain and I looked at each other and smiled as we entered, and Sam Baker laughed outright. This set all the natives laughing, too. We did not much relish the idea of supping and sleeping in such a place-- but necessity has no law. We were hungry as hawks, desperately tired, and the temperature outside is 35 degrees below zero. The first duty of the night is now over. We have supped. The natives will continue to eat the greater part of the night. They eat till they fall asleep; if they chance to awake they eat again. Half of them are asleep now, and snoring. The other half are eating slowly, for they are nearly full. The heat and smell are awful! I am perspiring at every pore. We have taken off as much of our clothes as decency will permit. Sam has on a pair of trousers--nothing more. I am in the same state! There is little room, as may be supposed. We have to lie huddled up as we best can, and a strange sight we are as the red light of the flaring lamp falls on us. At this moment Myouk's wife is cutting a fresh steak. The youngest boy is sound asleep with a lump of fat between his teeth. The captain is also sound, with his legs sprawling over the limbs of half a dozen slumbering natives. He is using the baby as a pillow. It is curious to think that these poor creatures always live in this way. Sometimes feasting, sometimes starving. Freezing out on the floes; stewing under their roofs of snow. Usually fat; for the most part jolly; always dirty! "It is sad, too, to think of this; for it is a low condition for human beings to live in. They seem to have no religion at all. Certainly none that is worthy of the name. I am much puzzled when I think of the difficulties in the way of introducing Christianity among these northern Eskimos. No missionary could exist in such a climate and in such circumstances. It is with the utmost difficulty that hardy seamen can hold out for a year, even with a ship-load of comforts. But this is too deep a subject to write about to-night! I can't keep my eyes open. I will, therefore, close my note-book and lie down to sleep--perhaps to be suffocated! I hope not!" Accordingly, our young friend the doctor did lie down to sleep, and got through the night without being suffocated. Indeed, he slept so soundly that Captain Harvey could scarcely rouse him next morning. "Hallo! Tom! Tom!" cried he loudly, at the same time shaking his nephew's arm violently. "Aye, eh!" and a tremendous yawn from Tom. "What now, uncle? Time to rise, is it? Where am I?" "Time to rise!" replied the captain, laughing. "I should think it is. Why, it's past eleven in the forenoon. The stars are bright and the sky clear. The aurora, too, is shining. Come, get up! The natives are all outside watching Sam while he packs our sledge. The ladies are going about the camp whisking their tails and whacking their babies in great glee, for it is not every day they enjoy such a feed as they had last night." In half an hour they were ready. The whole village turned out to see them start. Myouk, with his wife Oomia, and the baby, and his son Meetek, accompanied them to Refuge Harbour. Oomia's baby was part of herself. She could not move without it! It was always naked, but being stuffed into the hood of its mother's fur-coat, it seemed always warm. "I say, Tom, what's that up in the sky?" said Captain Harvey suddenly, after they had been driving for a couple of hours. "It's the strangest looking thing I ever did see." "So it is," replied Gregory, gazing intently at the object in question, which seemed high up in the air. "It can't be a comet, because it gives no light." "Perhaps not, but it has got a tail, that's a fact," said Baker, in a voice of surprise. "Who ever heard of a dark, four-cornered star with a tail? If I had seen it in daylight, and in Merry England, I would have said it was a kite!" "A kite! nonsense," cried the captain; "what in the world _can_ it be?" Reader, you shall find that out in the next chapter. CHAPTER TEN. THE TALE OF A KITE--A GREAT BEAR-FIGHT. When Mr Mansell was left in charge of the brig a heavy weight lay on his heart, and he could by no means take part in the preparations for the theatricals which occupied the rest of the crew. He felt that life or death depended on the success of the captain in his search for fresh meat. Already most of the men were ill with scurvy, and some of them were alarmingly low. Nothing could save them but fresh meat, and when the first mate thought of the difficulties and dangers of a journey on the floes in such weather, and the uncertainty of the Eskimos being discovered, his heart misgave him. About an hour after the departure of Captain Harvey on the Monday morning he took Davy Butts aside. "Davy," said he, "you've been at work on these kites a long time. Are they nearly finished?" "Quite finished, sir," answered Butts. "Then get them up, for there is a good breeze. I shall try them on our small sledges. It will at least stir up and amuse the men." Ten minutes after this the crew were summoned on deck to witness an experiment. A small dog sledge lay on the hard snow beside the vessel, and near to this Davy Butts and Mr Dicey were holding on to a stout line, at the end of which an enormous kite was pulling. This kite was square in shape, made of the thickest brown paper, and nearly six feet across. That its power was great was evident from the difficulty with which the two men held it. The end of the line was fastened to the sledge. "Now, boys, ease off line till it is taut, and then wait for the word," said Davy Butts, jumping on to the sledge. "Now! Let go!" Away went the sledge over the hard snow at the rate of three miles an hour, which soon increased to double that rate. Davy cheered and waved his arms. The men gave one loud "hurrah" of surprise and delight, and set off in mad pursuit. They were soon left behind. "Hold on, Davy!" "Good-bye, Butts." "Look out, mind the ridge!" The last warning was needful. The sledge was rushing furiously toward a long ridge of ice which rose in a sharp slope to a height of three feet, and descended on the other side to an equal depth, but without any slope. Davy saw his danger, but he did not dare to put out foot or hand to check his progress. Even if he had it would have been of no use. Up the slope he went as a sea-gull skims over a wave; for one moment he was in the air--the next, he came down with a crash that nearly dislocated all his joints, and his teeth came together with a loud snap. (By good fortune his tongue was not between them!) The sledge was a strong one, and the thing was done so quickly and neatly that it did not upset. But now a large and rugged hummock lay right before him. To go against that would have been certain death, so Davy made up his mind at once, and jumped off at the smoothest part of the floe he could find. The lightened sledge sprang away like a rocket, and was brought up with a sudden jerk by the hummock. Of course the line broke, and the kite commenced to descend. It twirled and circled violently round, and at last went crash into an ice-berg, where it was broken to pieces! "Not so bad for a beginning," said Mansell, as poor Davy came back, looking very crest-fallen. "Now, Butts, come below. You have proved that the thing will do. Mr Dicey, get yourself ready for a trip over the ice. Let three men prepare to accompany you. I shall send you off to-morrow." Dicey, much surprised, went off to obey these orders; and Mansell, with the assistance of Butts, fitted the second kite for the intended journey. He made a rough guess at the strength of its pull, and loaded the sledge accordingly. Two tail ropes were fastened to the last bar of the sledge for the men to hold on by and check its speed. A sort of anchor was made by which it could be stopped at any moment, and two stout poles, with iron claws at the end of them, were prepared for scraping over the snow and checking the pace. Next day all was ready. A trial was made and the thing found to work admirably. The trial trip over, they bade their comrades farewell, and away they went due south, in the direction where the native village was supposed to be. It was this remarkable tow-horse that had filled Captain Harvey and his companions with so much surprise. The appearance of the sledge immediately after, with a shout and a cheer from Dicey and the men, explained the mystery. Being so near the Eskimo camp they at once returned to it, in order to allow the newly arrived party to rest, as well as to load their sledge with as much fresh meat as it could carry; for which supplies the captain took care to pay the natives with a few knives and a large quantity of hoop-iron--articles that were much more valuable to them than gold. As the wind could not be made to turn about to suit their convenience, the kite was brought down and given to Davy to carry, and a team of native dogs were harnessed to the sledge instead. On the following day the united party set out on their return to the brig, which they reached in safety. Tom Gregory's account of the Eskimos who accompanied them to their wooden home is amusing. His journal runs thus: "The amazement of our visitors is very great. Myouk, his wife and baby, and his son Meetek, are now our guests. When they first came in sight of the brig they uttered a wild shout--the men did so, at least--and tossed their arms and opened their eyes and mouths. They have never shut them since. They go all round the vessel, staring and gaping with amazement. We have given them a number of useful presents, and intend to send them home loaded with gifts for their friends. It is necessary to make a good impression on them. Our lives depend very much on the friendship of these poor people. We find that they are terrible thieves. A number of knives and a hatchet were missed--they were found hidden in Myouk's sledge. We tried to prevail on Oomia to sell her long boots. To our surprise she was quite willing to part with _one_, but nothing would induce her to give up the _other_. One of the men observed her steal a knife out of the cabin and hide it in the leg of her boot. The reason was now plain. We pulled off the boot without asking leave, and found there a large assortment of articles stolen from us. Two or three knives, a spoon, a bit of hoop-iron, and a marline spike. I have tried to make them understand, by signs, that this is very wicked conduct, but they only laugh at me. They are not in the least ashamed, and evidently regard stealing as no sin. "We have shot a musk ox. There are many of these creatures in other parts of the Arctic regions, but this is the first we have seen here. He fell to my rifle, and is now being devoured by ourselves and our dogs with great relish. He is about the size of a very small cow; has a large head and enormously thick horns, which cover the whole top of his head, bend down toward his cheeks, and then curve up and outward at the point. He is covered with long, brown hair, which almost reaches the ground, and has no tail worthy of the name. He seems to be an active and an angry creature. When I wounded him he came at me furiously, but had not pluck to charge home. As he turned away I gave him the shot that killed him. The meat is not bad, but it smells strongly of musk. Walrus is better. "Myouk and his son Meetek and I have had a most exciting bear-hunt since we returned. I followed these men one day, as I thought them bold, active-looking fellows, who would be likely to show me good Eskimo sport. And I was not disappointed. "About two miles from the brig we came on fresh bear tracks. A glow of the aurora gave us plenty of light. `What is yon round white lump?' thought I. `A bear? No, it must be a snow-wreath!' Myouk did not think so, for he ran behind a lump of ice, and became excited. He made signs to me to remain there while he and his son should go and attack the bear. They were armed each with a long lance. I must say, when I remembered the size and strength of the polar bear, that I was surprised to find these men bold enough to attack him with such arms. I had my rifle, but determined not to use it except in case of necessity. I wished to see how the natives were accustomed to act. "They were soon ready. Gliding swiftly from one lump of ice to another, they got near enough to make a rush. I was disobedient! I followed, and when the rush was made I was not far behind them. The bear was a very large one. It uttered an angry growl on seeing the men running toward it, and rose on its hind legs to receive them. It stood nearly eight feet high when in this position, and looked really a terrible monster. I stood still behind a hummock at a distance of about fifty yards, with my rifle ready. "On coming close up the father and son separated, and approached the bear one on each side. This divided his attention, and puzzled him very much; for, when he made a motion as if he were going to rush at Myouk, Meetek flourished his spear, and obliged him to turn--then Myouk made a demonstration, and turned him back again. Thus they were enabled to get close to its side before it could make up its mind which to attack. But the natives soon settled the question for it. Myouk was on the bear's right side, Meetek on its left. The father pricked it with the point of his lance. A tremendous roar followed, and the enraged animal turned towards him. This was just what he wanted, because it gave the son an opportunity of making a deadly thrust. Meetek was not slow to do it. He plunged his lance deep into the bear's heart, and it fell at once at full length, while a crimson stream poured out of the wound upon the snow. "While this fight was going on I might have shot the animal through the heart with great ease, for it was quite near to me, and when it got up on its hind legs its broad chest presented a fine target. It was difficult to resist the temptation to fire, but I wished to see the native manner of doing the thing from beginning to end, so did not interfere. I was rewarded for my self-denial. "Half an hour later, while we were dragging the carcass toward the brig, we came unexpectedly upon another bear. Myouk and Meetek at once grasped their lances and ran forward to attack him. I now resolved to play them a trick. Besides my rifle I carried a large horse-pistol in my belt. This I examined, and, finding it all right, I followed close at the heels of the Eskimos. Bruin got up on his hind legs as before, and the two men advanced close to him. I stopped when within thirty yards, cocked my rifle, and stood ready. Myouk was just going to thrust with his lance when--_bang_! went my rifle. The bear fell. It was shot right through the heart, but it struggled for some time after that. The natives seemed inclined to run away when they heard the shot, but I laughed and made signs of friendship. Then I went close up and shot the bear through the head with my pistol. This affair has filled my savage companions with deep respect for me!" These two bears were the last they obtained that winter; but as a good supply of meat had been obtained from the Eskimos, they were relieved from anxiety for the time, and the health of the men began to improve a little. But this happy state of things did not last till spring. These sorely tried men were destined to endure much suffering before the light of the sun came back to cheer their drooping spirits. CHAPTER ELEVEN. CHRISTMAS TIME--DEATH--RETURN OF LIGHT AND HOPE--DISASTERS AND FINAL DELIVERANCE. Christmas came at last, but with it came no bright sun to remind those ice-bound men of our Saviour--the "Sun of Righteousness"--whose birth the day commemorated. It was even darker than usual in Refuge Harbour on that Christmas-day. It was so dark at noon that one could not see any object more than a few yards distant from the eyes. A gale of wind from the nor'-west blew the snow-drift in whirling ghost-like clouds round the _Hope_, so that it was impossible to face it for a moment. So intense was the cold that it felt like sheets of fire being driven against the face! Truly it was a day well fitted to have depressed the heartiest of men. But man is a wonderful creature, not easy to comprehend! The very things that ought to have cast down the spirits of the men of the _Hope_ were the things that helped to cheer them. About this time, as I have said, the health of the crew had improved a little, so they were prepared to make the most of everything. Those feelings of kindliness and good-will which warm the breasts of all right-minded men at this season of the year, filled our Arctic voyagers to overflowing. Thoughts of "home" came crowding on them with a power that they had not felt at other times. Each man knew that on this day, more than any other day of that long, dark winter, the talk round a well-known hearth in Merry England would be of one who was far, far away in the dark regions of ice and snow. A tear or two that could not be forced back tumbled over rough cheeks which were not used to _that_ kind of salt water; and many a silent prayer went up to call down a blessing on the heads of dear ones at home. It blew "great guns outside," as Baker said, but what of that? it was a dead calm in the cabin! It was dark as a coal-hole on the floes. What then? it was bright as noon-day in the _Hope_! No sun blazed through the skylight, to be sure, but a lamp, filled with fat, glared on the table, and a great fire of coal glowed in the stove. Both of these together did not make the place too warm, but there were fur-coats and trousers and boots to help defy the cold. The men were few in number and not likely to see many friends on that Christmas-day. All the more reason why they should make the most of each other! Besides, they were wrong in their last idea about friends, for it chanced, on that very day, that Myouk the Eskimo paid them a visit--quite ignorant of its being Christmas, of course. Meetek was with him, and so was Oomia, and so was the baby--that remarkably fat, oily, naked baby, that seemed rather to enjoy the cold than otherwise! They had a plum-pudding that day. Butts said it was almost as big as the head of a walrus. They had also a roast of beef--walrus-beef, of course--and first-rate it was. But before dinner the captain made them go through their usual morning work of cleaning, airing, making beds, posting journals, noting temperatures, opening the fire-hole, and redding up. For the captain was a great believer in the value of discipline. He knew that no man enjoys himself so much as he who has got through his work early--who has done his duty. It did not take them long, and when it was done the captain said, "Now, boys, we must be jolly to-day. As we can't get out we must take some exercise indoors. We shall need extra appetite to make away with that plum-pudding." So, at it they went! Every sort of game or feat of strength known to sailors was played, or attempted. It was in the middle of all this that Myouk and his family arrived, so they were compelled to join. Even the fat baby was put into a blanket and swung round the cabin by Jim Croft, to the horror of its mother, who seemed to think it would be killed, and to the delight of its father, who didn't seem to care whether it was killed or not. Then came the dinner. What a scene that was, to be sure! It would take a whole book to describe all that was said and done that day. The Eskimos ate till they could hardly stand--that was their usual custom. Then they lay down and went to sleep--that was their usual custom, too. The rest ate as heartily, poor fellows, as was possible for men not yet quite recovered from scurvy. They had no wine, but they had excellent coffee, and with this they drank to absent friends, sweethearts, and wives, and many other toasts, the mere mention of which raised such strong home-feelings in their breasts that some of them almost choked in the attempt to cheer. Then came songs and stories--all of them old, very old indeed--but they came out on this occasion as good as new. The great event of the evening, however, was a fancy ball, in which our friends Butts, Baker, Gregory, and Pepper distinguished themselves. They had a fiddle, and Dawkins the steward could play it. He knew nothing but Scotch reels; but what could have been better? They could all dance, or, if they could not, they all tried. Myouk and Meetek were made to join and they capered as gracefully as polar bears, which animals they strongly resembled in their hairy garments. Late in the evening came supper. It was just a repetition of dinner, with the remains of the pudding fried in bear's grease. Thus passed Christmas-Day; much in the same way passed New Year's Day. Then the men settled down to their old style of life; but the time hung so heavy on their hands that their spirits began to sink again. The long darkness became intolerable and the fresh meat began to fail. Everything with life seemed to have forsaken the place. The captain made another trip to the Eskimo village and found the huts empty--the whole race had flown, he knew not whither! The private theatricals were at first very successful; but by degrees they lost their interest and were given up. Then a school was started and Gregory became head master. Writing and arithmetic were the only branches taught. Some of the men were much in need of instruction, and all of them took to the school with energy and much delight. It lasted longer than the theatricals did. As time wore on the fresh meat was finished, scurvy became worse; and it was as much as the men who were not quite knocked down could do to attend to those who were. Day after day Tom and Gregory and Sam Baker went out to hunt, and each day returned empty-handed. Sometimes an Arctic hare or a fox was got; but not often. At last rats were eaten as food. These creatures swarmed in the hold of the brig. They were caught in traps and shot with a bow and a blunt-headed arrow. But few of the men would eat them. The captain urged them to do so in vain. Those who did eat kept in better health than those who did not. At last death came. Mr Mansell sank beneath the terrible disease and was buried on the island. No grave could be dug in that hard frozen soil. The burial service was read by his sorrowing comrades over his body, which was frozen quite hard before they reached the grave, and then they laid it in a tomb of ice. Time hung heavier than ever after that. Death is at all time a terrible visitant, but in such a place and under such circumstances it was tenfold more awful than usual. The blank in so small a band was a great one. It would perhaps have depressed them more than it did had their own situation been less desperate. But they had too fierce a battle to fight with disease, and the midnight gloom, and the bitter frost, to give way to much feeling about him who was gone. Thus the long winter passed heavily away. The sun came back at last, and when he came his beams shone upon a pale, shattered, and heart-weary band of men. But with his cheering light came also _hope_, and health soon followed in his train. Let young Gregory's journal tell the rest of our story, little of which now remains to be told. "_February 21st_.--I have to record, with joy and gratitude, that the sun shone on the peaks of the ice-bergs to-day. The first time it has done so since October last. By the end of this month we shall have his rays on deck. I climbed to the top of a berg and actually bathed in sunshine this forenoon! We are all quite excited by the event, some of us even look jolly. Ah! what miserable faces my comrades have! so pale, so thin! We are all as weak as water. The captain and I are the strongest. Baker is also pretty well. Crofts and Davis are almost useless, the rest being quite helpless. The captain cooks, Baker and I hunt, Crofts and Davis attend to the sick. Another month of darkness would have killed the half of us. "_March 10th_.--I shot a bear to-day. It did my heart good to see the faces of the men when I brought them the news and a piece of the flesh! The cold is not quite so intense now. Our coldest day this year has been the 17th of January. The glass stood at 67 degrees below zero on that morning. What a winter we have had! I shudder when I think of it. But there is more cause to be anxious about what yet lies before us. A single bear will not last long. Many weeks must pass before we are free. In June we hope to be released from our ice-prison. Fresh meat we shall then have in abundance. With it strength will return, and then, if God permits, we shall attempt to continue our voyage northward. The captain is confident on the point of open water round the Pole. The men are game for anything in spite of their sad condition." Thus wrote Gregory at that date. Many weeks later we find him writing as follows: "_June 15th_.--Free at last! The ice has been breaking up out at sea for some time past. It gave way in Refuge Harbour yesterday, and we warped out in the night. Everything is ready to push north again. We have been feeding heartily for many weeks on walrus, seals, wild-fowl, and last, but not least, on some grasses which make bad greens, but they have put scurvy to flight. All the men are well and strong and fit for hard work--though nothing like what they were when we first came here. Could it be otherwise? There are some of us who will carry the marks of this winter to our graves. The bright beautiful sunshine shines now, all day and all night, cheering our hearts and inspiring hope. "_June 16th_.--All is lost! How little we know what a day may bring forth! Our good little brig is gone, and we are here on the ice without a thing in the world except the clothes on our backs. I have saved my note-book, which chanced to be in my breast-pocket when the nip took place. How awfully sudden it was! We now appreciate the wise forethought of Captain Harvey in sending the large boat to Forlorn-Hope Bay. This boat is our last and only hope. We shall have to walk forty miles before we reach it. "Our brig went down at three o'clock this afternoon. We had warped out into the floes to catch a light breeze that was blowing outside. For some time we held on steadily to the northward, but had not got out of sight of our winter quarters when a stream of ice set down upon us and closed in all around. At first we thought nothing of this, having escaped so many dangers of the kind last autumn, but by degrees the pressure increased alarmingly. We were jammed against a great ice-field which was still fast to the shore. In a few moments the sides of our little vessel began to creak and groan loudly. The men laboured like tigers at the ice-poles, but in vain. We heard a loud report in the cabin. No one knows what it was, but I suppose it must have been the breaking of a large bolt. At any rate it was followed by a series of crashes and reports that left no doubt in our minds as to what was going on. The ice was cracking the brig as if she had been a nut-shell. `Save yourselves, lads!' cried the captain. One or two of the men made a rush to the hatchway, intending to run below and save some of their things. I ran to the cabin-ladder in the hope of saving our log-book and journals, but we all started back in horror, for the deck at that moment burst open almost under our feet. I cast one glance down through the opening into the hold. That glance was sufficient. The massive timbers and beams were being crushed together, doubled up, split, and shivered, as if they had been rotten straws! In another moment I was on the ice, where the whole crew were assembled, looking on at the work of destruction in solemn silence. "After bursting in the vessel's sides the ice eased off, and she at once began to settle down. We could hear the water rushing furiously into the hold. Ten minutes later she was gone! Thus end our hopes of farther discovery, and we are now left to fight our way in an open boat to the settlements on the south coast of Greenland. We have little time to think. Prompt action must be our watchword now, if we would escape from this world of ice. "_July 20th_.--I have not entered a line in this journal since our vessel was lost. Our work has been so severe, and our sufferings so great, that I have had no heart for writing. Our walk to the place where we left the boat was a hard one, but we were cheered by finding the boat all safe, and the provisions and stores just as we left them. There was not enough to last out the voyage, but we had guns and powder. It is in vain to attempt to describe the events of the last few weeks. Constant, and hard, and cold work--at the oars, with the ice-poles-- warping, hauling, and shoving. Beset by ice; driving before storms; detained by thick fogs; often wet to the skin; always tired, almost starving--such has been our fate since that sad day when our brig went down. And yet I don't think there is one of our party who would not turn about on the spot and renew our voyage of discovery, if he only got a chance of going in a well-appointed vessel. As it is, we must push on. Home! home! is our cry now. "_August 1st_.--We are now in clover, after having been reduced to think of roasting our shoes for breakfast. For three days last week we ate nothing at all. Our powder has been expended for some weeks past. On Monday we finished our last morsel of the gull that Pepper managed to bring down with a stone. Tuesday was a terrible day. The agony of hunger was worse than I had expected it to be. Nevertheless, we tried hard to cheer each other as we laboured at the oars. Our only hope was to fall in with natives. Signs of them were seen everywhere, and we expected to hear their shouts at every point of land we doubled. The captain suggested that we should try _shoe-soup_ on Wednesday morning! He was more than half in earnest, but spoke as if he were jesting. Pepper cocked his ears as if there was some hope still of work for him to do in his own line. Jim Crofts pulled off his shoe, and, looking at it earnestly, wondered if the sole would make a very tough chop. We all laughed, but I cannot say that the laugh sounded hearty. On the Thursday I began to feel weak, but the pangs of hunger were not so bad. Our eyes seemed very large and wolfish. I could not help shuddering when I thought of the terrible things that men have done when reduced to this state. "That evening, as we rounded a point, we saw an Eskimo boy high on a cliff, with a net in his hand. He did not see us for some time, and we were so excited that we stopped rowing to watch him in breathless silence. Thousands of birds were flying round his head among the cliffs. How often we had tried to kill some of these with sticks and stones, in vain! The net he held was a round one, with a long handle. Suddenly he made a dashing sweep with it and caught two of the birds as they passed! We now saw that a number of dead birds lay at his feet. In one moment our boat was ashore and we scrambled up the cliffs in eager haste. The boy fled in terror, but before he was well out of sight every man was seated on a ledge of rock with a bird at his mouth, sucking the blood! Hunger like ours despises cookery! It was fortunate that there were not many birds, else we should have done ourselves harm by eating too much. I have eaten many a good meal in my life, but never one so sweet, or for which I was so thankful, as that meal of raw birds, devoured on the cliffs of Greenland! "That night we reached the Eskimo village, where we now lie. We find that it is only two days' journey from this place to the Danish settlements. There we mean to get on board the first ship that is bound for Europe--no matter what port she sails for. Meanwhile we rest our weary limbs in peace, for our dangers are past, and--thanks be to God-- we are saved." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Reader, my tale is told. A little book cannot be made to contain a long story, else would I have narrated many more of the strange and interesting events that befell our adventurers during that voyage. But enough has been written to give some idea of what is done and suffered by those daring men who attempt to navigate the Polar seas. THE END. 
14882	----	Proofreading Team. BOBBY OF THE LABRADOR [Illustration: It was plain that retreat was hopelessly cut off] Bobby of the Labrador BY DILLON WALLACE AUTHOR OF "THE FUR TRAIL ADVENTURERS," "THE LURE OF THE LABRADOR WILD," "THE WILDERNESS CASTAWAYS," ETC. ILLUSTRATIONS BY FRANK E. SCHOONOVER [Illustration: A.C. McCLURG (Publishers Stamp)] DEDICATED TO L.G.H. WHO KNOWS WHY If I may call you friend, I wish you this-- No gentle destiny throughout the years; No soft content, or ease, or unearned bliss Bereft of heart-ache where no sorrow nears, But rather rugged trouble for a mate To mold your soul against the coming blight, To train you for the ruthless whip of fate And build your heart up for the bitter fight. If I may call you friend, I wish you more-- A rare philosophy no man may fake, To put the game itself beyond the score And take the tide of life as it may break; To know the struggle that a man should know Before he comes through with the winning hit, And, though you slip before the charging foe, To love the game too well to ever quit. GRANTLAND RICE. CONTENTS CHAPTER I The Boat That Came Down from the Sea II The Mystery and Bobby III Skipper Ed and His Partner IV Over a Cliff V The Rescue VI With Passing Years VII The Wolf Pack VIII The Battle IX The Fishing Places X A Foolhardy Shot XI When the Iceberg Turned XII Adrift on the Open Sea XIII How the _Good and Sure_ Brought Trouble XIV Visions in Delirium XV Marooned in an Arctic Blizzard XVI A Snug Refuge XVII Prisoner on a Barren Island XVIII The Winter of Famine XIX Off to the _Sena_ XX Jimmy's Sacrifice XXI Who Was the Hero? XXII A Storm and a Catastrophe XXIII It Was God's Will XXIV Under the Drifting Snow XXV A Lonely Journey XXVI Cast Away on the Ice XXVII A Struggle for Existence XXVIII The Ships That Came Down to the Ice XXIX In Strange Lands XXX The Mystery Cleared ILLUSTRATIONS It was plain that retreat was hopelessly cut off _Frontispiece_ "Hurry, Jimmy. I can't hang here much longer. I'm getting all numb" Quick as a flash Bobby raised his gun to his shoulder They ran by the side of the _komatik_ to keep warm "I was hunting," explained Bobby. "The ice broke loose and cut Jimmy, and me off from Skipper Ed" Bobby of the Labrador CHAPTER I THE BOAT THAT CAME DOWN FROM THE SEA Abel Zachariah was jigging cod. Cod were plentiful, and Abel Zachariah was happy. It still lacked two hours of mid-day, and already he had caught a skiffload of fish and had landed them on Itigailit Island, where his tent was pitched. Now, as he jigged a little off shore, he could see Mrs. Abel Zachariah, the yellow sunshine spread all about her, splitting his morning catch on a rude table at the foot of the sloping rocks. Above her stood the little tent that was their summer home, and here and there the big sledge dogs, now idle and lazy and fat, sprawled blissfully upon the rocks enjoying the August morning, for this was their season of rest and plenty. With a feeling of deep content Abel drew in his line, unhooked a flapping cod, returned the jigger to the water, and, as he resumed the monotonous tightening and slackening of line, turned his eyes again to the peaceful scene ashore. Mrs. Abel in this brief interval had left the splitting table and had ascended the sloping rock a little way, where she now stood, shading her eyes with her right hand and gazing intently seaward. Suddenly she began gesticulating wildly, and shouting, and over the water to Abel came the words: "_Umiak! Umiak!_" (A boat! A boat!) Abel arose deliberately in his skiff, and looking in the direction in which Mrs. Abel pointed discovered, coming out of the horizon, a boat, rising and falling upon the swell. It carried no sail, and after careful scrutiny Abel's sharp eyes could discern no man at the oars. This, then, was the cause of Mrs. Abel's excitement. The boat was unmanned--a derelict upon the broad Atlantic. A drifting boat is fair booty on the Labrador coast. It is the recognized property of the man who sees it and boards it first. And should it be a trap boat he is indeed a fortunate man, for the value of a trap boat is often greater than a whole season's catch of fish. So Abel lost no time in hauling in and coiling his jigger line, in adjusting his oars, and in pulling away toward the derelict with all the strength his strong arms and sinewy body could muster. Abel had wished for a good sea boat all his life. When the fishing schooners now and again of a foggy night anchored behind Itigailit Island he never failed to examine the fine big trap boats which they carried. Sometimes he had ventured to inquire how much salt fish they would accept in exchange for one. But he had never had enough fish, and his desire to possess a boat seemed little less likely of fulfilment than that of a boy with a dime in his pocket, covetously contemplating a gold watch in the shop window. But here, at last, drifting directly toward him, as though Old Ocean meant it as a gift, propelled by a gentle breeze and an incoming tide, came a boat that would cost him nothing but the getting. Fortune was smiling upon Abel Zachariah this fine August morning. Now and again as he approached the derelict, Abel rested upon his oars, that he might turn about for a moment and feast his eyes upon his prospective prize, and revel in the pleasure of anticipation about to be realized. And so, presently, he discovered that the boat was not a trap boat after all, but a much finer craft than any trap boat he had ever seen. Its lines were much more graceful, it had recently been painted, and, as it rose and fell with the swell, a varnished gunwale glistened in the sunlight. It was fully four fathoms and a half in length, and was undoubtedly a ship's boat; and, being a ship's boat, was probably built of hard wood, and therefore vastly superior to the spruce boats of the fishermen. Abel had fully satisfied himself upon these points before, keenly expectant, he at length rowed alongside the derelict. Grasping its gunwale to steady himself, he was about to step aboard when, with an exclamation of astonishment and horror, he released his hold upon the gunwale and resumed his seat in the skiff. Stretched in the boat lay the body of a man. In the man's side was a great gaping wound, and his clothing and the boat were spattered and smeared with blood. The man was dead. In the fixed, cold stare of his wide-open eyes was a look of hopeless appeal, and the ghastly terror of one who had beheld some awful vision. CHAPTER II THE MYSTERY AND BOBBY Abel had often seen death before. He had seen men drowned, men who had frozen to death, men accidentally shot to death, and men who had died naturally and comfortably in their beds. It was, therefore, not the sight of death that startled him, but the horror and tragic appeal in the dead man's staring eyes. It was uncanny and supernatural. This, at least, was Abel's first intuitive impression. Though he could not have defined this impression or put his thoughts into words, he felt much as one would feel who had heard a dead man speak. He pushed his skiff a few yards away and, resting upon his oars, viewed the derelict from a respectful distance. His impulse was to row back to Itigailit Island at once and leave the boat and its ghastly, silent skipper to the mercies of the sea. But the mystery fascinated him. The beseeching gaze that had met his had roused his imagination. And so for a long time he sat in silent contemplation of the boat, wondering from whence it and the thing it contained had come, and how the man had met his death. Abel Zachariah was a Christian, but he was also an Eskimo, and he had inherited the superstitions of untold generations of heathen ancestors--superstitions that to him were truths above contradiction. He held it as a fact beyond dispute that all unnatural or accidental deaths were brought about by the evil spirits with which his forefathers had peopled the sea and the desolate land in which he lived. It was his firm belief that evil spirits remained to haunt the place where a victim had been lured to violent death, as in the present instance had plainly been the case. He had no doubt that the boat was haunted, and therefore he kept his distance, for unless by some subtle and certain charm the spirits could be driven off, none but a foolhardy man would ever venture to board the derelict, and Abel was not a foolhardy man. These superstitions seem very foolish to us, no doubt; but, after all, were they one whit more foolish or groundless than the countless superstitions to which many educated and seemingly intelligent Christian people of civilization are bound? As, for instance, the superstition that where thirteen sit together at table one will die within the year. And so Abel Zachariah, being a man of caution, held aloof from the boat which he had so eagerly set out to salvage; and sitting engrossed in contemplation, he in his skiff and the dead man in the derelict drifted for a while side by side toward Itigailit Island. And thus he was sitting silent and inactive when suddenly he was startled by the cry of a child in distress. Abel for a moment was not at all certain that this was not some wicked plot of the spirits, intended to lure him within their reach, and he seized his oars, determined to increase the distance between himself and possible danger. But when the cry was repeated, and presently became a frightened wail, Abel hesitated. If it was a spirit that emitted the succeeding wails it was surely a very corporeal spirit, with well developed lungs and also a very much frightened spirit; and a frightened spirit could not be dangerous. Abel had never heard of a spirit that cried like this one, or of a spirit that was frightened, and he rose to his feet that he might look over the gunwale and into the derelict. From this vantage he beheld the head of a little child, and he could see, also, that this very real child, and not the much feared spirits, was the source of the loud and piteous wails. The spirit of evil, then, had not tarried after striking down the man. Doubtless God had interposed to save the child, else it, too, would have been destroyed, and no spirit of evil could remain where God exerted His power. Here was a subtle and potent charm in which Abel Zachariah had unwavering faith, for, after all, his faith in God was greater than his faith in the religion of his fathers. And so, vastly relieved and no longer afraid, he rowed his skiff alongside the boat, made his painter fast and stepped aboard. Standing in the forward part of the boat was a little boy, perhaps three years of age. He was fair haired and fair skinned and handsome, but as a result of privations he had suffered he was evidently ill and his cheeks were flushed with fever. Abel's great, generous heart went out to the child in boundless sympathy. He forgot the dead man aft. He forgot even the boat. The coveted prize of his ambition an hour before, had small importance to Abel now. His one thought was for this distressed little one that God had so unexpectedly sent down to him upon the bosom of the sea. The child ceased crying, and with big blue tear-wet eyes looked with wonder upon his dusky faced deliverer. "_Oksunae_" (be strong), said Abel with a reassuring smile, as he stooped and took the little one's hand into his big rough palm. The child did not understand the word of greeting, but he did understand, with the intuition and instinct of little children and dumb creatures, that Abel was his friend. Beneath the deck, forward, were blankets, in which the boy had doubtless been sleeping when Abel first looked into the boat and discovered the dead man. Beneath the deck Abel also found among other things, a jug partly filled with tepid water, a tin cup, and a bag containing a few broken fragments of sea biscuits. He gave the child a sip of the water and selected for it one of the larger fragments of biscuit. Then, patting it affectionately upon the cheek he tenderly tucked it among the blankets, beneath the deck, that it might be sheltered from the breeze. And the little one, content with the ministrations and attentions of his new guardian, quietly acquiesced. Abel was greatly excited by his wonderful discovery, and he was eager to surprise Mrs. Abel Zachariah and to present to her the fair-skinned boy, and therefore he lost no time in further exploration of the boat. Unafraid now of evil spirits, and disregarding the dead man lying aft, he undid the painter of his skiff and secured it astern, where the skiff would tow easily. And so, with the mysterious child under the deck at his back, and the mysterious dead man lying in the boat at his feet, and his own skiff trailing behind, Abel, with a strong arm and a stout heart and a head filled with perplexing questions, rowed the mysterious boat to the low ledge of rocks that served as a landing place on Itigailit Island. Of course Mrs. Abel Zachariah, keenly interested in his quest of the prize, was there to meet him, and looking into the boat she saw the ghastly passenger and was duly shocked. "The man has been killed!" she exclaimed, stepping backward as though afraid the thing would injure her. "It is a boat of evil! Come away from it! Why did you bring it in from the sea?" For answer Abel reached beneath the deck, lifted out the child, and stepping ashore placed it in Mrs. Abel's arms. "A boy," said he. "God sent him to us and he is ours." Mrs. Abel was taken completely by surprise. For a long moment she looked into the child's flushed and feverish face, and it looked into her round and eager face, and smiled its confidence, and from that instant she took it to her heart as her own. She pressed it to her bosom with all the mother love of a good woman, for Mrs. Abel Zachariah, primitive Eskimo though she was, was a good woman, and her heart was soft and affectionate. The child was ill and neglected. It was evidently suffering from exposure and lack of nourishment. Mrs. Abel's instincts told her this at a glance and forgetful of all else, she hurried away with it to the tent. It drank eagerly from the cup of clear cold water which she held to its lips, and ate as much fresh-caught cod, boiled in sea water, and of her own coarse bread, as she thought well for it. All the time she fondled the boy and talked to him soothingly in strange Eskimo words which he had never heard before, but which nevertheless he understood, for she spoke in the universal accent of the mother to her little one. And when he had eaten he nestled snugly in her arms, as he would have nestled in his own mother's arms, and with his head upon her bosom closed his eyes and sighed in deep content. Abel when his wife had gone with the child into the tent, anchored the boat of tragedy a little way from shore, that the big wolf dogs prowling about might not interfere with the peaceful repose of its silent occupant. Then rowing ashore in his skiff, he selected a secluded spot upon the island, and dug a grave. In the rocky soil the grave was necessarily a shallow one, and he had finished his task when Mrs. Abel reappeared from the tent to announce that the boy was sleeping and seemed much better after eating. Then while they sat upon the rocks and ate their own belated dinner of boiled cod and tea, Abel told the story of his discovery. "What do you suppose killed the man?" Mrs. Abel asked. "I do not know," said Abel. "It looks like a gunshot wound but I have not searched for a gun yet. It is a fine boat, and did not belong to a schooner. I never saw a boat like it and I never saw so fine a boat before. The man was not a fisherman, either." "The boy's clothing is finer than any I ever saw," declared Mrs. Abel. "It is not like any I ever saw and is finer and prettier than the missionaries' children wear and on one of his fingers there is a beautiful ring." "I cannot get it through my head where the boat came from," said Abel. "It was God's messenger, and His way of sending us the boy," asserted Mrs. Abel. "He sent the boat with the boy out of the farthest mists of the sea, from the place where storms are born, and He sent the boat on a clear day, when we could see it, and He kept you near the boat when you would have gone away, until the boy cried. God meant that we should have a child." "Yes," agreed Abel. "It was God's way of giving us a child for our own. But why did He send a man with the boy and a dead man, at that?" "I do not know," said Mrs. Abel, "but there was some reason, I suppose. The child has a skin so white and its clothes are so fine, I am sure it must have come from Heaven. We know it came from the Far Beyond, for you say the man was not a fisherman, and the boat is not a fisherman's boat." This was an awe-inspiring solution of the mystery, and Abel and his wife accepted it with due solemnity. A suggestion of the miraculous appealed to them, for they did not in the least believe that the days of miracles were past, as indeed they are not. They had already, with big, hospitable hearts, accepted the child as their own. Now, believing that it was a gift from Heaven, sent directly to them by God, as a token of particular favor, they would not have parted from it for all the riches in the world. The afternoon was far spent when, at last, Abel, in his skiff, rowed out to the anchored derelict and brought it in again to the landing place. Here a search of the boat discovered, in addition to the blankets which had formed the boy's bed, the water jug, the tin cup, and biscuit bag, a quantity of loaded shotgun shells and a double-barreled shotgun. The shotgun, which had been hidden in the bottom of the boat by the folds of a sail, called forth an exclamation of delight from Abel. It was a marvel of workmanship, and its stock and lock were beautifully engraved. And with the sail, which would prove useful, was a tarpaulin and a quantity of rope. In the pockets of the dead man were a jackknife, a small notebook, a piece of pencil, and an empty wallet. Nothing which seemed important, but all of which Abel preserved carefully as a future heritage for the boy. There were no boards from which to fashion a coffin, so they wrapped the unknown in an old sail, and that evening, when the western sky was aglow with color buried him in the grave Abel had made. And over the grave Abel read in Eskimo a chapter from the Testament, and said a prayer, and to the doleful accompaniment of lapping waves upon the shore he and Mrs. Abel sang, in Eskimo, one of the old hymns for, as Christians, they must needs give the stranger a Christian burial, the only service they could render him. Abel and his wife looked upon the advent of the little boy as a Divine blessing. They firmly believed that God had sent him to them to increase their happiness, and they lavished upon him all the love and affection of their simple hospitable natures. They were deeply solicitous for his health, and responding to gentle care the fever quickly left him, for he was, naturally, a strong and well-developed child. They understood few words of English, but they soon discovered that the boy called himself "Bobby," and Bobby was accepted as his name. Bobby, on his part, spoke English indifferently, and of all other tongues and especially the Eskimo tongue, he was wholly ignorant. At that period of his life it was quite immaterial to him, indeed, what language he spoke so long as the language served to make his wants known; and he began to acquire an Eskimo vocabulary sufficient for his immediate needs, and his efforts in this direction afforded his foster parents a vast deal of pleasure. Mrs. Abel Zachariah, considering the clothing Bobby wore quite too fine for ordinary use, and unsuited to the climate and the conditions of his new surroundings and life, fashioned for him a suit of coarse but warmer fabric. When this was finished to her liking she dressed him in it, and washed and folded and laid away in a chest the things he had worn, as a precious souvenir of his coming. From the skins of Arctic hares, which Abel killed with the wonderful shotgun, she made him a warm little jacket with a hood; for his feet she made sealskin moccasins, with legs that reached to his knees, and sewed them with sinew to render them waterproof, that his feet might be kept quite dry when the rocks were wet with rains, or when the first moist snows of autumn fell, as they did with the coming of September. And when the great flocks of wild ducks and geese came flying out of the North, the feathers of all that Abel shot were carefully hoarded in bags for Bobby's winter bed. And so the weeks passed until early October. The land was now white with snow, and steadily increasing cold warned them that winter was at hand and that presently the bays and sea would be frozen. It was time now for Abel to set his fox traps, and time for them to move to their winter cabin on the mainland. This cabin was situated at the head of a deep bay which the Eskimos call "Tissiuhaksoak," but which English-speaking folk called "Abel's Bay," because Abel was the first to build a cabin there; and we, being English-speaking people, shall also call it Abel's Bay. The bloody record of the tragedy had long since been washed from the boat. From two of the six long oars with which the boat was fitted, Abel improvised two masts. The tarpaulin was remodeled into a second sail, and, one blustery morning, with their tent and all their belongings stowed into the boat, and the dogs in the skiff, which was in tow, they set sail for Abel's Bay, and left Itigailit Island and the lonely grave to the Arctic blasts that would presently sweep down upon it from the icy seas; and late on the following afternoon they reached the cabin which for many years was to be Bobby's home. Thus it was that Bobby, amid adventure and mystery, made his advent upon The Labrador and found a home among strange people. And in such a land it was quite plain that as the years passed he should have other adventures. CHAPTER III SKIPPER ED AND HIS PARTNER On that part of the Labrador coast where Abel Zachariah lived the cabins, with small variation, are fashioned upon one general model. The model is well adapted to the needs of the people and the exigencies of the climate. At one end of the cabin is an enclosed porch which serves as a woodshed and general storage room. Here the dog harness, traps, and other tools and equipment necessary to the hunter's life are kept. A door opens from the enclosed porch into the cabin proper, which usually consists of a single room which serves as living room, dining room, kitchen and bedroom. This room commonly has two windows, one on either side. The floor of the cabin is of uncovered planks. In the center stands a stove shaped like a large box. In the lower half of this stove is the fire space, adapted to receive huge blocks of wood. The upper half is an oven. Against the wall, and not far from the stove, the table stands, and built against the wall at one side of the door, the kitchen closet. In the farther end of the room are the family beds, usually built into the cabin after the fashion of ships' bunks. In Abel's cabin there was but one bed, and this of ample breadth to accommodate two. Now there was to be another for Bobby. Home-made chests, which answer the double purpose of storage places for clothing and whatnot and seats, take the place of chairs, though sometimes there are rude home-made chairs and Abel's cabin contained two. Guns always loaded and within reach for instant use, rest upon low overhead beams, or upon pegs against the wall. On a shelf, at some convenient place, and specially built for their accommodation, the Bible and hymnal are kept. Abel's Bible and hymnal, as in all Christianized Eskimo houses, were printed in the Eskimo language. This, then, was the kind of home that Bobby entered, and which, as the years passed, he was to love, for it was a haven of affection. The cabin was cold and damp and stuffy now, and filled with unpleasant odors, for it had been unoccupied since early in July. But soon Abel had a roaring fire in the stove, and the things in from the boat, and Mrs. Abel had the room aired, and before the candle was lighted the room had taken on the cozy comfort of occupancy. Then there was supper of stewed duck and hot dough-bread and tea. When Bobby had eaten heartily and his eyes grew heavy with sleep he was undressed and tucked away into bed, with Mrs. Abel lying by his side for a little, crooning an Eskimo lullaby before she washed her dishes. And at length, when the dishes were washed, and all was made snug for the night, Abel took down, as was his custom, the Bible, and read by the flickering light, and he and Mrs. Abel sang a hymn, and knelt in family devotion, before they joined the sleeping Bobby in their bed. Abel Zachariah's nearest neighbor was Edward Norman, commonly known as Skipper Ed, a sailor-man who had come to the coast many years before in a fishing vessel, and when his vessel sailed away Skipper Ed had remained behind to cast his lot with the Eskimos. At the head of Abel's bay and a mile from Abel's home, he took up the life of hunter and fisherman, and in due time learned to speak the Eskimo language. Here Skipper Ed lived with his little partner, as he called him--Jimmy Sanderson, a husky lad of seven years. Jimmy was an orphan. His mother died when he was so young that he could scarcely remember her at all. His father, a Newfoundland sailor and fisherman, was one of the crew of a fishing schooner that sailed regularly each summer to this part of the Labrador coast, and because there was no one at home to care for him after his mother's death, Jimmy always accompanied his father on these voyages. And thus it came about that when Seaman Sanderson fell overboard while reefing the jib, one stormy day, Jimmy was left alone in the world. It so happened that on the day Jimmy's father was lost, the schooner, with the forlorn little boy on board, took refuge under the lee of the island upon which Skipper Ed had his fishing camp. Skipper Ed, after the manner of the Coast, rowed his boat alongside and climbed aboard, to hear such scraps of news from the outside world as the sailors might bring, and to enjoy their company for an hour. Here he met Jimmy, heartbroken and weeping at the loss of his father. Skipper Ed's sympathies went out to the wretched little boy, and placing his big hand on Jimmy's small shoulder, he comforted him. "There, there, now, lad, don't cry," said he. "You're a wee bit of a lad to be left alone in the world I know, but by the mercy of God you'll forget your trouble, for Time's a wonderful healer. And there's better luck coming, lad, better luck coming." Thereupon he sought out the Captain of the schooner and inquired into Jimmy's worldly prospects. "There's none to care for him," said the Captain, "and the best prospects he have be the poor house." "Will you leave him with me, then?" asked Skipper Ed. "I'll give the lad a good home, and teach him a bit, and he'll be fine company for me." "O' course I'll leave he with you, Skipper, and wonderful glad I'll be too that the lad's found a good home," said the Captain. Then Skipper Ed returned to Jimmy. "Lad," said he, "I'm looking for a partner, and it strikes me _you'll_ do. How'd you like to be _my_ partner? Look me over now, and see what you think of _me_. How'd you like _me_ for a partner?" Jimmy looked him over critically, through tear-stained eyes, but said nothing. "Come now," urged Skipper Ed, getting down on his haunches that Jimmy might look straight into his face, "here we are, you and I, both alone in the world and both wanting partners. Can't we splice up a partnership? Share and share alike, you know--you have as much as I, and I have as much as you, and we'll take the fair winds and the contrary winds together, and make port together, and sell our cargoes together, and use the same slop chest. What do you say, lad? Shall we sign on as partners?" "Yes, sir," agreed Jimmy. "Good! Good!" exclaimed Skipper Ed. "Here, shake hands on it, partner. Now we're friends to each other, whatever falls, good voyages and poor ones, and there's better luck coming for us both, lad, better luck." And so Skipper Ed and Jimmy Sanderson formed their partnership, and Jimmy, with his own and his father's kits, went ashore with Skipper Ed in Skipper Ed's boat, which he insisted was half Jimmy's, under their partnership agreement, and the next day the schooner sailed away and left them. And with the passing weeks, Time, as Skipper Ed had predicted, and as he always does, healed Jimmy's sorrow, and he came to look upon Skipper Ed as the finest man and the finest partner in the world, and they two loved each other very much. Abel and his wife and Skipper Ed and his partner lived upon terms of intimacy and good comradeship, as neighbors should. And because they had no nearer neighbors than Abraham Moses, an Eskimo ten miles to the southward, and the people of the Moravian Mission and Eskimo settlement at Nain, twenty miles to the northward, the two families were dependent upon one another for human companionship, and therefore the bond of friendship that drew them together was the stronger. And so it happened that early on the morning following the return of Abel and Mrs. Abel with Bobby, Skipper Ed and Jimmy walked over to welcome their neighbors home, and to discuss with them the fishing season just closed, and the seal hunting and the trapping seasons which were at hand. Abel was engaged in cutting and shaping the sticks from which he was to build Bobby's little bunk, when he heard Skipper Ed's cheery: "_Oksunae!_"[A] "_Oksutingal!_"[A] exclaimed Abel, delightedly, grasping Skipper Ed's hand and then Jimmy's hand and laughing with pleasure. "_Oksutingai_! I am glad to see you, and how have you been?" [Footnote A: "_Oksunae_" is the Eskimo greeting when one is addressed, and, literally translated, means "You be strong." "_Oksutingai"_ is addressed to two--"You two be strong." "_Okiusee"_ to more than two--"You all be strong."] Abel spoke his native language, for his tongue was awkward with the few English words he had learned. He and Skipper Ed, indeed, always conversed in Eskimo, and Jimmy, though he usually spoke his native English at home when he and Skipper Ed were alone, also understood the Eskimo tongue perfectly. "We're very well," said Skipper Ed, "and glad to know you are back. We were lonely without you. How is Mrs. Abel?" "Well. Very well. And we have something to surprise you," and Abel, laughing heartily, could hardly contain himself. "I know what it is!" broke in Jimmy. "You've got a new boat. I saw it as we came up! It's a fine big boat, too!" "It's a greater surprise than that," laughed Abel. "It's in the house. Come in and see him." "A baby!" guessed the delighted Jimmy. "It's a baby!" "Come in and see for yourselves," Abel invited, and pushing the door open he led them into the cabin, where Mrs. Abel overwhelmed them with greeting, and brought Bobby forth for introduction. "A boy, and a white one!" exclaimed Skipper Ed in English. "Now wherever did they get him?" He took Bobby by the hand, and asked: "Can you talk, little lad?" "Yeth, thir," Bobby admitted, respectfully, "I like to talk." "I'll wager you do, now! Where did you live before you came here?" "With Papa and Mamma." "What, now, may your name be?" "Bobby, thir." "What is your papa's name?" "What is my papa's name?" "Yes, what is your papa's name?" "Why, 'Papa,'" in great surprise that all the world did not know that. Further solicitation brought from the child the statement that "Uncle Robert took me for a nice ride in a boat, but Uncle Robert got hurted, and I came here." And this was the sum total of the information concerning Bobby's past that Skipper Ed succeeded in drawing from the child, though he questioned and cross-questioned him at length, after Abel and Mrs. Abel had told how they found him that August morning. But Abel and Mrs. Abel, considering these things of small importance, did not mention to or show Skipper Ed the packet containing the notebook found in the dead man's pocket, and which they had carefully put away. Skipper Ed did not altogether accept the theory of Abel and Mrs. Abel that God had in a miraculous manner sent Bobby to them from heaven, directing his course from the Far Beyond, through the place where mists and storms were born. Skipper Ed in his own mind could not dismiss the subject in this casual manner. He scented some dark mystery, though he doubted if the mystery would ever be cleared. Abel must needs exhibit to Skipper Ed and Jimmy the boat, and when Skipper Ed saw it his practiced eye told him that the finish and workmanship were far too fine and expensive for any ordinary ship's boat, and that it was the long boat of a luxuriously appointed private yacht. Of this he was well assured when he read, in gold letters on either side of its prow, the name _Wanderer_. And then they must each try their hand with the beautifully engraved shotgun. Such a gun, Abel declared, had never before been seen on the coast, and was in itself a fortune. And Skipper Ed examined it critically, and agreed with Abel that it was a gun of marvelous workmanship, and had cost much money. "None but God could have fashioned it," said Abel, reverently. "It is His gift to the boy, and it will always be the boy's. He sent it with the boy from the Great Beyond, from the place where mists and storms are born. Do you think He would mind if I used it sometimes?" "No," answered Skipper Ed, "I think He meant you to use it to hunt food for the boy, so that the boy should never be in want. God never forgets. He always provides. Destiny is the Almighty's will, and He provides." "The lad has come from rich people," said Skipper Ed, as he and Jimmy walked home that evening. "He's not been used to this sort of life. But Time's a great healer. He's young enough to forget the fine things he's been used to, and he'll grow up a hunter and a fisherman like the rest of us. There's better luck coming for him. Better luck. He'll be happy and contented, for people are always happy with simple living, so long as they don't know about any other kind of living." "I thinks Abel lives fine now, and we lives fine," ventured Jimmy. "Abel's house is fine and warm, and so is ours." "Aye," said Skipper Ed, "'tis that. 'Tis that; and enough's a-plenty. Enough's a-plenty." They walked along in silence for a little while. "We must always talk to the little chap in English," said Skipper Ed, presently. "We must not let him forget to speak the tongue his mother taught him." "Yes, sir," agreed Jimmy. "And we must teach him to read and write in English, the way I teach you," continued Skipper Ed. "Somewhere in the world his mother and father are grieving their life out for the loss of him. It's very like they'll never see him again, but we must teach him as much as we know how of what they would have taught him." "Yes, sir." "Destiny is just the working out of the Almighty's will. And it was a part of the lad's destiny to be cast upon this bleak coast and to find a home with the Eskimos." And so, walking home along the rocky shore, they talked to the accompaniment of lapping waves upon the shore and soughing spruce trees in the forest. Skipper Ed, giving voice to thoughts with which he was deeply engrossed, told of the kindlier, sunnier land from which Bobby had been sent adrift--from a home of luxury, perhaps--to live upon bounty, and in the crude, primitive cabin of an Eskimo. And he thrilled his little partner with vivid descriptions of great cities where people were so numerous they jostled one another, and did not know each other's names; of rushing, shrieking locomotives; of beautiful houses which seemed to Jimmy no less than fairy palaces; of great green fields; and yellow fields of waving grain from which the flour was made which they ate; of glorious flowers; and forests of strange trees. They reached their cabin at last, which stood in the shelter of the trees at the edge of the great wilderness, and looked out over the bay; and at the porch door Skipper Ed paused, and, gazing for a moment at the stretch of heaving water, stretched his arms before him and said: "It's out there, Partner--the land I've told you about--out there beyond the sea--the land I came from and the land Bobby came from--and the land you came from, too, for that matter. Some time you may sail away to see it." In outward appearance Skipper Ed's cabin was almost the counterpart of Abel's, but within it was fitted much more completely and tastefully. On the well-scrubbed floor were rugs of dog and wolf skins, and there were three big armchairs--one for Skipper Ed, one for his partner, and one for Abel when he came to see them--and a rocker for Mrs. Abel when she called; all home-made and upholstered in buckskin. And there were four straight-backed dining chairs, and against the wall some shelves well filled with books, as well as many other conveniences and comforts and refinements not usual in the cabins of the coast. There was lacking, also, the heavy, fishy odor of seal oil, never absent from the Eskimo home, for Skipper Ed had provided a log outhouse, a little apart from his cabin, as a storehouse for seal oil and fish and pelts. Dusk was settling. Skipper Ed lighted candles and kindled a fire in the stove, and he and Jimmy together set about preparing supper. The wind was rising and soon snow began to beat against the window pane, and when supper was eaten and the table cleared, and the two drew their armchairs up before the fire, it was very cozy sitting there and listening to the howling storm outside and the roaring fire in the stove. Jimmy, snugly curled in his chair, was so still that Skipper Ed, silently smoking his pipe, believed his little partner asleep, when he was startled out of his musings by the request: "Partner, tell me a story." "A story, Partner? What kind of a story? One about the sea?" "A story about people that live out there in the country Bobby came from, and you came from." "Oh, out there! Yes, to be sure!" Skipper Ed sat silent for a few moments, gazing at the flickering light through a crack in the stove door, while Jimmy sat expectant, gazing into Skipper Ed's face. At last he began: "Once there were two boys who lived in a fine big house, for their father was rich. The house was in a town, and it had a great many rooms. In front of it was a beautiful green lawn, over which were scattered trees and bushes that bore flowers, and behind the house was a large garden where delicious fruits and vegetables grew, and where there were beautiful beds of bright flowers. Under the shady trees of this garden was a favorite playground of the boys." "What were the names of the boys?" interrupted Jimmy. "We'll call them Tom and Bill, though these may not have been their real names," explained Skipper Ed. "Tom and Bill are easy names to remember, though, don't you think so?" "Yes, Partner, they're fine names, and easy to remember." "Tom was two years older than Bill, and they were great chums. They not only played together but they got into mischief together, and went to school together, until Tom went to college. When they got into mischief together Tom, somehow, usually managed to escape punishment, for he was a much keener lad than Bill, and Bill, on his part, seldom failed to receive his full share of punishment." "That weren't fair!" broke in Jimmy. "'Tweren't honest for Tom to let Bill get all the punishment!" "He didn't mean to be dishonest, I'm sure," said Skipper Ed. "But 'tweren't honest," insisted Jimmy. "As I was saying," continued Skipper Ed, "Tom went to college and made new friends, and when Bill followed him to college two years later the lads saw little of each other. Tom was a brilliant fellow, and everyone liked him. He had a host of friends among the students. Bill, on the other hand, was not in the least brilliant, and he had to work hard to get his lessons, and they went with different crowds of fellows. "Their father, as I told you, was rich, and he was also indulgent. He gave the boys a larger allowance of spending money than was good for them. There was never a month, however, that Tom did not go to Bill and borrow some of his, and even then Tom was always in debt. Bill knew it was the gay company Tom kept, and warned him against it, but Tom would laugh it off and say that a fellow in the upper classes had to keep up his end, as Bill would learn later. "What Bill did learn later was that Tom had become an inveterate gambler, and had lost his money at cards, and went away from college leaving many debts unpaid. "The father of the boys was a manufacturer, and was also president of the bank in the little city where they lived. A bank is a place where other people's money is kept for them, and whenever the people who keep money there need any, they come and get what they need. When Tom left college he was taken into the bank, and before Bill's graduation had been advanced to the position of cashier, and had married a very fine young woman. The cashier is the man that has charge of the money in the bank. "It was thought best also for Bill to enter the bank, which he did a few months after his return from college, as assistant to his brother. "Things went on very well until, one day, a man came to examine the bank and to see if all the money was safely there, and the examiner, as the man was called, discovered a shortage. That is, there was not as much money in the bank as there should have been. The shortage lay between the two brothers. Tom, in terrible distress, admitted to Bill that he had 'just borrowed' the money to invest in stocks--which is a way people speak of one kind of gambling--but that the investment had failed, and he had lost it. "You do not know, Partner, what stocks are, but I'll tell you some other time. "When this happened Tom had a little baby boy at home, about two months old. Bill loved his brother, and he loved his brother's baby very much. "'Tom,' said Bill, 'I've always stood by you since we were little boys and played in the garden together, and I'm going to stand by you now. If the loss is laid to you it will ruin not only your life but the lives of your wife and your baby. I'll say that I took the money and you must not say I did not.' "'No,' said Tom, 'I can't let you do that! It's too much! It's too big a sacrifice!' "'Yes, you will,' said Bill. 'It will likely ruin my life, I know, but I'm only one. If it's laid on you, three lives will be ruined. Just promise me you'll live straight after this, and never gamble again.' "Tom promised, and Bill was sure he meant it, and when their father, who had been sent for by the examiner, arrived at the bank, Bill, as agreed, told his father he had taken the money. "Of course there was a terrible scene. Bill was not arrested for his father did not wish the family disgraced, but he was driven from home, with very little money in his pocket, and told never to return again. His mother and little sister--I forgot to tell you the boys had a little sister, who was ten years old at that time--nearly broke their hearts at his going. But his father was very harsh, and told him if he ever came back he would have him arrested and put into prison. It was not the loss of the money which angered him. That was a comparatively small amount, which he paid back to the bank and did not miss very much. It was the thought that one of his boys had taken it." "What was the little sister's name?" asked Jimmy. "Well, let me see," said Skipper Ed. "We'll call her Mary." "Did Bill ever go back?" "No, he never went back." "Where did he go?" "Why, he went to a seaport town and shipped as a sailor, and after knocking about the seas for a time he settled in a country much like this where we live. He liked the wild country, where he could hunt and fish, and where the people he met were true and honest, and helped each other, instead of always trying to take advantage of one another." "I'm glad he did that," declared Jimmy. "I wish he lived near us. I don't think I'd like to live in a place like he came from, and I'm glad Bobby came away from it." "And the fishing and hunting are better here than where he came from, too, Partner." "I don't want to live where the fishin' and huntin' isn't fine, and it's fine here." "Aye, 'tis fine here, and many things are fine here. Destiny is the Lord's will, and our destiny, Partner, is to live here and be as happy as we can; and now Bobby has come, it seems to be his destiny too." And so Jimmy had his story, and bedtime had arrived, and the two partners went to bed to be lulled to sleep by the storm raging about their cabin. CHAPTER IV OVER A CLIFF The storm that lulled Skipper Ed and his little partner to sleep also lulled Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel and Bobby to sleep. Bobby's new bed was finished. It was half the width of Abel's and Mrs. Abel's bed, but it was quite as long, for Bobby was to grow tall, and to become a big and brave hunter. And, too, for present needs it must be of ample length to permit Mrs. Abel to lie down by Bobby's side of nights while she crooned him to sleep with her quaint Eskimo lullabies. Abel had expended great care in his handicraft, and derived a vast deal of satisfaction from the result. And when Mrs. Abel fitted the bunk with a fine feather bed which she made from the duck and goose feathers which she had saved, and spread it with warm blankets and tucked Bobby away in it, he, too, seemed to find it entirely to his liking, for he went to sleep at once, and slept as soundly as he could have slept in a bed of carved mahogany, spread with counterpanes of silk and down. Indeed, Bobby was in a fair way of being spoiled. His indulgent foster parents could deny him nothing. They gratified his every wish and whim, even to the extent of tearing from its mother a little puppy dog, to the great distress of the dumb mother, and taking it into the house for him to play with. Since Bobby's arrival Abel, devoting his spare moments to the task, had carved from walrus tusks six little ivory dogs, an ivory sledge, and a little ivory Eskimo man, to represent the driver of the miniature team, for no dog team could be complete without a driver. Now, during the two days' enforced leisure from out-of-door activities afforded him by the blizzard, he put the finishing touches upon his work. With infinite patience he fashioned miniature harness for the ivory dogs, and, harnessing them to the ivory sledge, with due ceremony presented them to Bobby. And Bobby, who was already learning to prattle Eskimo words, received the gift with unfeigned delight. Then he must learn the name of each, which Abel patiently taught him to pronounce with proper accent and intonation: _inuit_--man; _tingmik_--dog; _komatik_--sledge. This was the first of many toys that Abel made for Bobby in the weeks that followed: a small dog whip, a fathom long, an exact counterpart of Abel's own long whip, which was a full five fathoms long; a small sledge, on which he could coast, and on which pups could haul him about over the ice; bow and arrow--nearly everything, indeed, that Abel believed his childish desires could crave. When the storm had passed Skipper Ed and Jimmy came over on snowshoes, and Jimmy stopped for a week in Abel's cabin, with Mrs. Abel and Bobby, while Abel and Skipper Ed went away to hunt for seals. This was a glorious week for both lads, and with it began a comradeship and friendship that was to last throughout their life and carry them in later years side by side through many adventures. The seal hunt was a success, and Abel and Skipper Ed returned with the big boat loaded with seals. Then followed a season of activity. The seals were skinned and dressed, the blubber placed in barrels in the porch, and the meat elevated to a stage outside where it was well out of reach of the dogs, and was at hand to be used as dog food--and human food also during the winter. The seal skins were turned over to Mrs. Abel, to soak and scrape and prepare for boots and other garments, which Abel and Skipper Ed and Jimmy, as well as she herself, and Bobby, would require. Bobby developed a vast liking for the choice morsels of the seal flippers and meat, which were always reserved for him, and it was not long before he demanded his due share of the fresh blubber, too. He loved, when Mrs. Abel was at work sewing the boots with sinew, to help her by chewing the edges of the oily leather, to soften and render it pliable for the needle. Indeed, Bobby quickly developed into an Eskimo child in all save the color of his skin, and texture and color of his hair, which persisted in remaining silky and yellow. And thus the weeks passed. With the rapidly shortening days of November, cold increased with grim earnestness. Already the snow was gathering depth in the forest, and on the open spaces it lay frozen and hard, and the sun now had no strength to soften it. A coating of ice crusted the beach where the tide rose and fell, and this crackled and snapped as the waves broke upon it. A strange, smoky vapor lay over the sea, shifting in the east wind. The sea was "smoking," and was only waiting now, Abel said, for a calm, to freeze. Then suddenly one night a great uncanny silence fell upon the world, and in the morning a gray level plain reached away, where the day before had been the heaving billows of the bay. The sea was frozen at last, and for many long months there would be no breaking of waves upon the rocks or lapping of tides upon the sandy beach. The Frost King, grim and inexorable, had ascended his throne, and the world, subdued into utter silence, lay prostrate and submissive at his feet. Toward noon Jimmy came over, hauling behind him a sled, and upon it his sleeping bag of caribou skin, to say that Skipper Ed had gone that morning to his traps and would not return until the following evening, and Jimmy was to stay at Abel's over night. This was the custom when Skipper Ed was away, and of course Jimmy was more than welcome with both Abel and Mrs. Abel, and Bobby was delighted. When dinner was over Abel, with a long stick, went down to inspect the ice. He prodded it with the stick, and finding it to his satisfaction stepped out upon it, and still prodding ahead of him made a wide circuit. The ice bent as he walked, but sea ice is tough, and may be perfectly safe though it bends. And so Abel found it, for when he came back he said "_Piovok"_ (it is good). Bobby was wrapped well, and out he went with Jimmy for his first winter frolic. A wonderful time they had, coasting down the steep bank and shooting far out upon the ice, or running over the ice, with Bobby on the sled and Jimmy hauling him, until at last, quite weary with the fun, they returned to the cabin to play with the ivory dogs and sledge until supper time. After this Jimmy came often with his sled, and he and Bobby coasted the steep bank or rolled and tumbled in the snow, or built miniature snow _igloos_, while Bobby grew as tough and hardy as any little Eskimo boy could have been, which was very much to the satisfaction, not only of Mr. and Mrs. Abel, but of Skipper Ed, as well. It was not long after the ice came that the missionary from Nain visited them, and met Bobby for the first time. He was a tall, jolly man, and made much of Bobby, asking many questions about the manner of Bobby's coming. "It is very strange," said he. "Shall I not take him, Abel, to the Mission, and care for him there? You do not want a white child." But there was such a protest from both Abel and his wife, who insisted that Bobby was their own child, sent them by God, that the missionary never again suggested taking him from them. When the mail left the coast, however, the following summer, he wrote to England a full description of the occurrence, and the fact of Bobby's rescue and whereabouts was published far and wide in British papers, but no inquiries ever came of it, and no one came to claim Bobby. But we must not linger over this period of Bobby's life. When he was five years of age Skipper Ed began his lessons, coming over to Abel Zachariah's cabin as often as possible, for the purpose, and now and again he would take Bobby to his own cabin to stop a day or two with him and Jimmy. He supplied Bobby with the books he needed, and Bobby studied hard and learned quickly, and was fascinated with the work, for Skipper Ed had the rare faculty of making study appear a pleasant game, and it was a game which Bobby loved to play. There was little else, indeed, to occupy his attention during long winter evenings--no streets to play in, no parties, no theaters--and he made more rapid progress than he probably would have made had he attended school in civilization, for Skipper Ed was a good tutor and Jimmy, who was already quite a scholar, was also of great help to Bobby in preparing lessons. And as Bobby grew and developed, Abel, on his part, taught him to be keenly alert, patient, self-reliant and resourceful--qualities that every successful hunter and wilderness dweller must possess. He learned first with the miniature whip that Abel made him, and later with Abel's own long dog whip, to wield the long lash with precision. He and Jimmy would practice for hours at a time clipping a small bit of ice no larger than an egg from a hummock thirty feet away. He played with the young puppies and trained them to haul him on his small sledge, and he would shout to them proudly, as large as life--and just as Abel did when he drove the big team--"_Hu-it!"_ when he wanted them to start; "_Ah!"_ when he wanted them to stop; "_Ouk! Ouk! Ouk_!" when he wanted them to turn to the right; "_Ra! Ra! Ra!"_ for a turn to the left; "_Ok-su-it!"_ when he wished them to hurry; and with his whip he enforced his commands. He learned to shoot his bow and arrow, and to wield the harpoon and spear. Abel once fashioned for him, from a block of wood, a very good imitation of a small seal, and Bobby and Jimmy had unending sport casting their harpoons at it, and presently they became so expert that seldom did they fail to make a "killing" strike. When he was old enough Bobby learned to make his hunting implements himself. Here, indeed, was required patience, perseverance, and resourcefulness, for his only tools were his knife and his ax, and his only material such as the wilderness produced; and to gain Abel's praise, which was his high ambition, he must needs do his work with care and niceness. And thus Bobby was learning to be a man and a hunter. Bobby was still a very young lad when Abel began to teach him the signs of the wilderness and the ways of the wild things that lived in the woods. He learned to know the tracks of all the animals of the region, and even how long it had been since the animals that made the tracks had passed by. And he learned to make snares and traps, and how to handle his gun--the wonderful gun which Abel told him God had sent with him from the Far Beyond--and shoot it quickly and accurately, for the man who exists upon the wilderness must know how to do these things, and his sense of observation must be keenly trained; and he must train himself to be alert. One other accomplishment he acquired from Skipper Ed. He learned to swim. Even in midsummer these northern waters are icy cold. From the breaking up of the ice in summer until the sea freezes again in winter, the natives spend their time upon the water or near it, yet it is rare, indeed, that one of them can swim. And so it was with Abel. He had never in his life voluntarily gone into the sea. But Skipper Ed was a mighty swimmer, and under his instruction Jimmy had learned the art, and in the fourth summer after Bobby's arrival nothing would do but he, too, must learn. Much perseverance was necessary before Abel and Mrs. Abel gave their consent, but finally it was obtained, and in a little while Bobby was as keen for a dip and a dive and a swim as were Skipper Ed and his partner, Jimmy. And so the years passed in toil, in pleasure, and in attainment--active years that were filled with glorious doing, and with never a heavy moment or idle wasting of time or vain dawdling. "Never waste time," said Skipper Ed, one stormy winter's day when Bobby was over there, and he and Bobby and Jimmy were luxuriating in their big chairs before the fire. "If you can't be busy with your hands, be busy with your brain. You were put into the world for some purpose, and your destiny is the will of the Almighty. But we may spoil His will by refusing to do the very best we can. The Almighty plans some fine thing for each of us, but He leaves it with us to decide whether we will have the fine things or not. What we're to be or to do comes to us gradually, just as the sun rises gradually. We never know ahead what He has planned for us. That's His big surprise. "He may have put us into the world to do some great thing, and to become a great and useful man, or we may be intended just to help other people to be noble and honest and true, by doing our duty always, and setting an example of honesty and nobility." "Do you think you or Jimmy or I will ever be great men?" Bobby asked in some awe. "Partner is a great man _now_" declared Jimmy. "He knows most everything!" "No, not everything," laughed Skipper Ed. "Not everything, Partner. But," and he spoke gravely again, "I've always tried to do my duty as God has pointed it out to me. Perhaps the Great Thing that I was intended to do was to teach you two chaps what I could, and perhaps your Great Thing is to teach others, and perhaps working all together in this way we may guide someone else to a great destiny. "We are just hunters and fishermen. Aside from our own two families, we don't see many people, except the missionary down at Nain, and the Eskimos at the settlement there, and now and again in summer the fishermen on passing schooners. But that doesn't matter. Here Destiny placed us, and here is our work, and we must do it the best we can. "We should work hard when we have work to do; we should play hard when we are at play; we should think hard when we are neither working nor playing. We should not waste time idling. We should do our level best to fit ourselves for our destiny, whatever it may be." This was one of many conversations of the sort that Skipper Ed had with the boys. He was their comrade, their teacher, their adviser, and their inspiration. And, be it said, with the constant inspiration, also, of the great wilderness and sea, with no other youthful companions or playmates, and with little of the joy of sports with which boys in civilization are blessed, it was but natural that they should feel more deeply the responsibility of life, and should ponder and take to heart more seriously Skipper Ed's philosophy, than they would had their lot been cast in a city or a town. It is not to be supposed, however, that they never got into mischief. They were too full of life and energy to avoid that. But they were seldom or never instructed _not_ to do this or that, and their mischief was usually the result of indiscretion and error of judgment natural to youth, rather than disobedience. Eskimos do not whip or punish their children. They treat them rather, as comrades, and the boy's effort is to do as nearly as he can the things his elders do and in the manner in which they do them. And this was the case with Abel and Mrs. Abel and Bobby. They never punished Bobby. It was the case also with Skipper Ed and Jimmy. Skipper Ed, from the first, called Jimmy his partner, and talked to him and treated him very much as he would have done had Jimmy been a grown-up. From the very beginning Bobby had his escapades, which usually included adventures. During the first summer after his arrival he fell into the water with due regularity, but always, fortunately, within reach of Abel's or Mrs. Abel's strong arms. Once he climbed into the big boat, undid the painter, and the tide had carried him well out to sea before his plight was discovered and he was rescued by Abel in the skiff. And once he was lost for a day in the forest, with Abel, Mrs. Abel, Skipper Ed, and Jimmy searching frantically for him. They found him, quite tired out with his wanderings, peacefully sleeping on the forest moss. With these escapades and a thousand others, Bobby kept his foster parents pretty constantly varying between a state of suspense and a state of joy, for they were vastly delighted when he emerged from an adventure, usually not much the worse for his experience. Bobby's age was, of course, a matter of conjecture. Abel and Mrs. Abel must needs have a definite date set down as his birthday, in order that it might be duly and appropriately celebrated each year, and as a convenient date they chose December 1 of the year in which he came to them as his fourth birthday. This was a date when the autumn seal hunt would be finished, and the sea ice would be formed, when Abel might go to Nain with the dogs and bring back some sweets or other surprise. Upon this reckoning Bobby was eight and Jimmy was twelve years of age when the two lads had their first real adventure together. It was in the spring. A westerly wind had cleared the bay of ice, and Abel and Skipper Ed had gone north in the big boat two days before for the spring seal hunt, and were not expected back for a fortnight. Jimmy, during Skipper Ed's absence, was stopping with Bobby and Mrs. Abel as usual, and the two boys were out bright and early to haul a trout net which was set in the mouth of a river which flowed into the bay not far away. It was one of those ideal days which come now and again to that northern country in spring, as though to emphasize by contrast the fact that the long bleak winter is over. The sun shone brilliantly and the rippling waves of the nearly placid bay sparkled and glinted alluringly, spicy odors of the forest perfumed the air, and birds twittered gleefully. "Let's go egging, Bobby," Jimmy suggested, as the boys, pulling leisurely back from the river, turned Abel's old skiff to the beach landing place below the cabin. "All right," agreed Bobby, "let's do, as soon as we take care of the trout. Mother said last night she'd like some eggs. We haven't had any yet this year." Bobby always called Abel "Father," and Mrs. Abel "Mother." "I'm sure there must be lots of ducks and gull and tern eggs out on the islands, and puffin and auk eggs on the cliffs along the shore. It's lots of fun!" said Jimmy enthusiastically. So they hurried in with the trout, which they dressed, washed, and finally salted down in a barrel. This required but a few minutes, and while they worked Mrs. Abel prepared a simple luncheon of bread, sufficient tea for a brewing, and a bottle of molasses for sweetening, and these, with their tea pail and cups and hunting bags, they carried down to the skiff, followed by Mrs. Abel's wishes for a pleasant day, and her "_Oksutingae_." And so they set off down the bay to the islands, each pulling at a pair of oars and chatting gaily as they rowed, in fine spirits at the prospect, and enjoying their outing as only youth with enthusiasm can enjoy itself. At the end of a three hours' row they turned the skiff to the sloping rock of an island shore, and landing, tied the painter to a big bowlder. "This is a fine egg island," said Jimmy, as they set out with their bags. "Partner brought me out here last year." Squawking birds rose in every direction as they approached, and clouds of gulls circled around crying the alarm. Down in rock crevasses along the shore they saw many sea pigeon eggs, and Bobby wanted to get them, but they were generally well out of reach. "They're too small to bother with anyway," said Jimmy. "Come on." "There! There!" shouted Bobby. "There goes an eider duck! And another! And another! _Their_ eggs are fine and big! Let's find the nests!" Presently they discovered, under a low, scrubby bush, a down-lined nest containing eight greenish-drab eggs. "There's one!" shouted Jimmy. "This is an eider's nest." And so, hunting among the bushes and rocks, they soon had their bags filled with eider duck, tern, gull, and booby eggs, while the birds in hundreds flew hither and thither, violently protesting, with discordant notes, the invasion and the looting. But the eggs were good to eat, and the boys smacked their lips over the feasts in store--and Mrs. Abel wanted them; that was the chief consideration, after all. "Now," said Jimmy, "let's go over to the mainland and boil the kettle. It's away past dinner time and I'm as hungry as a bear." "All right," agreed Bobby. "I'm so hungry I've just got to eat. Where'll we go?" "I know a dandy place over here, and there's a brook coming in close to it where we can get good water. It's just a few minutes' pull--just below the ledges." Ten minutes' strong rowing landed them on a gravelly beach near the mouth of a brook, which rushed down to the bay through a deep gulch. To the eastward the gulch banks rose into high cliffs which overhung the sea. Kittiwakes, tube-nosed swimmers, ivory gulls, cormorants, little auks and other birds were flying up and down and along the cliff's face, or perching upon ledges on the rock, and, like the birds on the island, making a great deal of discordant noise. "It seems as though there were no end of birds," said Bobby, as they secured their boat. "I'd like to see what kind of nests those make up there, and after we eat I'm going to look at some of them." "You can't get up there," said Jimmy. "I've tried it lots of times. They take good care to leave their eggs where nobody can get at them." "Well, I'm going to try, anyhow," Bobby declared, as he turned to the brook for a kettle of water. "I wish we had something to boil eggs in," said he, as he set the kettle of water down by Jimmy, who was whittling shavings for the fire. "What's the matter with the old tin bucket we use for bailing the skiff?" Jimmy suggested. "I don't believe it leaks enough to hurt." "That's so!" said Bobby. "We can boil 'em in that." With the ax--in this country men never venture from home without an ax, for in wilderness traveling it is often a life saver--Jimmy split some sticks, and then with his jackknife whittled shavings from the dry heart. He stopped his knife just short of the end of the stick, until six or eight long, thin shavings were made, then, with a twist of the blade, he broke off the stub with the shavings attached to it. Thus the shavings were held in a bunch. Several of these bunches he made, working patiently, for patience and care are as necessary in building a fire as in doing anything else, and Skipper Ed had taught him that whatever he did should be done with all the care possible. And so in making a fire he gave as much care to the cutting of shavings and placing of sticks as though it had been something of the highest importance, and doing it in this way he seldom failed to light his fire, rain or shine, with a single match. Fire making in the open is a fine art. When Jimmy had collected enough shavings for his purpose, he placed two of his split sticks upon the ground at right angles to each other, an end of one close up to the end of the other. Then, holding a bunch of shavings by the thick, or stub, end, he struck a match and lighted the thin end, and when it was blazing well placed the unlighted end upon the two sticks where they met. Other bunches of shavings he laid on this, the thin ends in the blaze, the thick ends elevated upon the sticks. Then came small splits, and bigger splits, and in a moment he had a crackling fire. He now secured a pole six or seven feet in length, and fixed one end firmly in the ground, with the other end sloped over the fire. On this he hung first, by its bale, the old bailing kettle, filled with water, and then the tea pail, in such a way as to bring them directly over the blaze, and though the fire was a small one, it was not many minutes before the kettles boiled. Then while Bobby dropped half a dozen eggs into the bailing kettle, Jimmy lifted the tea pail off, put some tea into it, and set it by the fire to brew. "Now," said Jimmy, presently, "let's go for it." And they ate, as only hungry boys can, and with the keen relish of youths who live in the open. "Let's see if we can't get some of the eggs off the cliff now," suggested Bobby, when they were through. "I know I can climb down there." "I've tried it plenty of times," said Jimmy, "and I don't believe it can be done. You can't get in from this end, and the top hangs over so you can't get in from the top." "Let's go up on top and try to get down, anyhow," insisted Bobby. "I know what! There's a harpoon line in the skiff. Father always keeps it stuffed in under the seat aft. We can tie an end of it under my arms and you can let me down, and then pull me back." And so without loss of time the young adventurers secured the harpoon line, and climbing out of the gully followed the top of the cliff to a place where birds were numerous. Jimmy tied a bowline knot at the proper distance from one end of the line, passed the line around Bobby's body under the arms, ran the end of the line through the loop, and secured it. With this arrangement the line could not tighten and pinch, and still was tight enough to hold Bobby securely. "Now," said Jimmy, indicating a high bowlder, "I'll bring the line around this rock, so I'll have a purchase on it and it can't slip away from me, and let it out as you climb down. You holler when you want to stop and holler when you want to come up." The plan worked admirably for a while. Very slowly Bobby descended, calling out now and again for Jimmy to "hold" while he picked eggs from nests on shelving rocks. At last his bag was full, and he was ready to ascend. "All right, Jimmy. Pull up now," he called. Jimmy pulled, but pull as he would he could not budge Bobby one inch. He did not dare release the line where it made its turn around the bowlder, for without the leverage he feared the line would get away from him, in which case Bobby would crash to the bottom of the cliff. So Jimmy pulled desperately. But it was of no avail, and presently he took another turn of the line around the bowlder, and secured it so that it could not slip, and ran forward. Bobby was shouting to be drawn up, and Jimmy, throwing himself upon his face and peering down over the edge of the cliff, saw Bobby dangling in mid air some forty feet below him and thirty feet above the deep black water. He also saw that, supported only by the line, Bobby was in a strained and perilous as well as most uncomfortable position. His first impulse was to lower Bobby to the base of the cliff, and let him wait there until he could get the boat, bring it around and take him off. But he saw at a glance that at its foot the rocky cliff rose out of the deep water in a perpendicular wall, so smooth that there was not even a hand hold to be had, and this was its condition for a considerable distance on either side. Neither was there hope that, in the strong outgoing tide, and encumbered by clothing, Bobby could swim in the icy waters to a point where a footing could be had. "Hurry, Jimmy; I can't stand this much longer! I can't stand it much longer!" Bobby shouted, as he caught a glimpse of Jimmy's head. Jimmy in return shouted reassurance to Bobby, and ran back for another effort to pull him out. But again he pulled and pulled in vain. With all the strength he had he could not pull Bobby up a single inch. With a sickening dread at his heart, he refastened the line. CHAPTER V THE RESCUE Jimmy realized that there was no help to be had from outside. There was no one at home but Mrs. Abel, and rowing the skiff alone against the tide fully four hours would be consumed in reaching there and another three hours in coming back. Then it would be well past dark. An easterly breeze was springing up, and a chop was rising on the bay. This easterly wind was likely to bring with it a cold storm, and Bobby, suspended thirty feet above the water, and not warmly dressed, might perish. "Yes," said Jimmy, "he might perish! He might perish! And it would be my fault!" The thought brought a cold perspiration to Jimmy's forehead, and a cold, unnatural feeling to his spine, and in desperation he tried the line again. But it was useless effort. He could not pull it up. And again he ran to the cliff, crawled out and peered over at the dangling and by no means silent Bobby. "Hey there, Jimmy! Pull me up! Hurry!" shouted Bobby. "I can't! I can't budge you! Oh, Bobby, what are we going to do?" "If you can't pull me up, let me down!" Bobby was growing impatient. "I can't stand this much longer. The line is cutting me in two." "Try to climb up the line," suggested Jimmy, the idea striking him as a bright one. "Just climb up, and when you get up here where I can reach you I'll pull you over." Bobby tried the experiment, but the line was oily, and in spite of his best efforts he could climb only a little way, when he would slide back again. "I can't do it," he shouted up to Jimmy, after several vain efforts. "The line is too greasy. I can't get a good hold." "I don't know what to do!" said the distressed Jimmy. "I don't know what to do!" "If you can't pull me up, let me down," directed Bobby. [Illustration: "Hurry, Jimmy. I can't hang here much longer. I'm getting all numb"] "That won't do any good," said Jimmy. "You'll only go into the water and drown, for there's no place for you to stand." "Well," Bobby insisted, "let me down nearer the water. I feel all the time as though the line was going to break, and I'm so high up from it that it makes me dizzy swinging around this way." "Holler when you want me to stop," shouted Jimmy, rising and running back. But Jimmy found that after all he could let Bobby down only a very little way when he came to the end of the line. So he fastened it again. "That's as far as it will go!" he called, lying down on his face again to look over the cliff at Bobby, who was now about twenty feet above the water. "Then go and get the boat and fetch it down," shouted Bobby. "Hurry, Jimmy. I can't hang here much longer. I'm getting all numb." That was a solution of the difficulty that had not occurred to Jimmy, and without delay he ran away along the cliff top and down to the skiff, which was lying a half mile above, and, undoing the painter, rowed with all his might toward Bobby, until presently he drew up directly beneath the swinging lad. "Can you unfasten the line and drop into the boat, Bobby?" he asked, gazing up. "No," decided Bobby, glancing at the skiff, which rose and fell on the swell, and which Jimmy was holding dangerously near the breaking waves on the cliff base. "I might hit the boat but I'd break my neck, and maybe tip you over. Stand her off a little, and I'll show you." He felt in his pocket for his jackknife, drew it out and opened it. Then with his left hand he succeeded, after several attempts, in lifting himself sufficiently to relieve the strain of his body, and with the jackknife in his right hand cut the line where it circled his body below the arms. Hanging now by his left hand he deliberately and coolly closed the knife by pushing the back of the blade against his leg, and restored it to his pocket. This done he grasped the line with his right hand just above the bowline knot, where he had a firm hold, slipped his other hand down to it, and began swinging in toward the cliff and out over the waves, and then on an outward swing, let go. Down he went, well away from the rocks, feet first into the deep water, and, a moment later, appearing on the surface, swam to the skiff, grasped it astern, and climbed aboard, shivering from his icy bath. "Oh, Bobby, you're a wonder!" exclaimed Jimmy. "I never would have thought of that way of your getting off that line!" "'Twasn't anything," declared Bobby, deprecatingly, as he seated himself and picked up his oars. "Now let's pull back where we can put on a fire. I'm freezing cold." "I was scared when I found I couldn't pull you up," said Jimmy, as they rowed back to the gully. "Wasn't you?" "No, I wasn't scared," boasted Bobby. "I was just getting cold and numb. The worst of it is I had to drop my bag with all the eggs I picked off the cliff. I had some dandies, too! Two of them were the prettiest eggs I _ever_ saw--real small at one end and big at the other, and all colored and marked and spotted up. They were different from any eggs I ever saw, too." "Did you find 'em together, or separate?" "Found 'em separate, on different ledges." "I know what _they_ were! They were murre eggs. Murre eggs are different from any other kind. They've got more colors and marks on 'em. Partner found some last year." "There were some murres down on the water, but I never thought they'd go up to lay their eggs in places like that. The eggs were right on the bare rock, and weren't in a nest at all, and if it wasn't for their shape they'd have rolled off." "It's a strange place for any bird to leave eggs, but that's where the kittiwakes, auks and swimmers and some of the gulls and lots of birds make nests and lay eggs. I suppose it's so as to make it hard to find them when folks go egging. Partner tells me lots, and I ask lots of questions, because he says the more I know about the way birds and animals live and the things they do, the better I'll be able to hunt and take care of myself." In spite of his exertion at the oars, Bobby's teeth were chattering when they landed at the place where they had cooked their dinner. But it was not long before Jimmy had a roaring fire and the kettle over for some hot tea, and then, leaving Bobby to dry his clothes, Jimmy climbed up again over the cliff to recover Abel's harpoon line, which was much too valuable to be left behind. At this season of the year the days are long in Labrador, and though it was nearly eleven o'clock at night when the boys reached home, it was still twilight. Mrs. Abel was on the lookout for them, and had a fine pan of fried trout and steaming pot of tea waiting on the table, for she knew they would be hungry, as boys who live in the open always are. And she praised them for the fine lot of eggs they brought her, and laughed very heartily over Bobby's adventure, for in that land adventure is a part of life, and all in a day's work. CHAPTER VI WITH PASSING YEARS Bobby's adventure on the cliff was, after all, but typical of the adventures that he was regularly getting into, and drawing Jimmy into, but somehow coming out of unscathed, during these years of his career. Though he was nearly four years Jimmy's junior, he was invariably the instigator of their escapades. Jimmy was inclined to cautiousness, while Bobby had a reckless turn, or rather failed to see danger. Bobby was naturally a leader, and in spite of his youth Jimmy instinctively recognized him as such. He could always overcome Jimmy's scruples and cautions, and with ease and celerity lead Jimmy from one scrape into another. But Bobby invariably kept a cool head. He had a steady brain and nerve and the faculty of quick thought and prompt decision, with a practical turn of mind. If he got Jimmy and himself into a scrape, he usually got them out of it again not much the worse for their experience. Jimmy was imaginative and emotional, and when they were in peril he could see only the peril, and picture the possible dire results. Bobby, on the other hand, concentrated his attention upon some practical method by which they might extricate themselves, losing sight, seemingly, of what the result might be should they fail to do so. Bobby had doubtless inherited from his unknown ancestors the peculiar mental qualities that made him a leader. From Abel he had absorbed the Eskimo's apparent contempt of danger. Abel, like all Eskimos, was a fatalist. If he was caught in a perilous position he believed that if the worst came it would be because it was to be. If he escaped unharmed, so it was to be. Therefore why be excited? Bobby had as completely accepted this creed as though he, too, were an Eskimo, for his life and training with Abel was the life and training of an Eskimo boy. And so the years passed, and Bobby grew into a tall, square-shouldered, alert, handsome, self-reliant youth. He was in nearly every respect, save the color of his skin and the shade of his hair, an Eskimo. He spoke the language like an Eskimo born, his tastes and his life were Eskimo, his ambition to be a great hunter--the greatest ambition of his life--was the ambition of an Eskimo, and he bore the hardships, which to him were no hardships at all, like an Eskimo. He was much more an Eskimo, indeed, than the native half-breeds of the coast farther south. In one respect, however, Bobby was highly civilized. He was a great reader and an exceptional student. Skipper Ed had seen to this with singleness of purpose. To him and Jimmy study was recreation. Mathematical problems were interesting to them, just as the solution of puzzles interests the boy in civilization. Just as the boy in civilization will work for hours upon the solution of a mechanical puzzle, they worked upon problems in arithmetic and geometry, and with the same gusto. They studied grammatical construction much as they studied the tracks and the habits of wild animals. They read the books in Skipper Ed's library with the feelings and sensations of explorers. In the first reading they were going through an unknown forest, and with each successive reading they were retracing their steps and exploring the trail in minute detail and becoming thoroughly acquainted with the surrounding country. This may seem very improbable and unnatural to the boy whose studies are enforced and, because they are compulsory, appeal to him as tedious duties which he must perform. But nevertheless it was very natural. Human nature is obstinate and contrary. Tom Sawyer's friends derived much pleasure from whitewashing the fence, and even paid for the privilege. Had their parents set them to whitewashing fences they would have found it irksome work, and anything but play. Bobby, indeed, had developed two distinct personalities. In his every-day living he was decidedly an Eskimo; but of long winter evenings, reading or studying Skipper Ed's books, at home in Abel's cabin, or in one of the easy chairs in Skipper Ed's cabin, when Skipper Ed explained to him and Jimmy the things they read, Bobby was as far removed from his Eskimo personality as could be. Abel and Mrs. Abel never wavered in their belief that God had sent Bobby to them from the Far Beyond, through the place where mists and storms were born. They believed he had been sent to them direct from heaven. But Bobby was very human, indeed. No one other than Abel and Mrs. Abel would ever have ascribed to him angelic origin, and as he developed it must have caused a long stretch of even their imagination to continue the fiction. There was nothing ethereal about Bobby. His big, husky frame, his abounding and never-failing appetite, and his high spirits, were very substantial indeed. And as Bobby grew, and more and more took part in the bigger things of life, his adventures grew from the smaller adventures of the boy to the greater ones of the man. In this wild land no one knows when he will be called upon to meet adventure. The sea winds breathe it, it stalks boldly over the bleak wastes of the barrens, and in the dark and mysterious fastnesses of the forest it crouches, always ready for its chance to spring forward and meet you unawares. Adventure, ay, and grave danger too, are wont to show themselves unexpectedly. And so, one winter's evening, they came to Skipper Ed and Bobby and Jimmy. CHAPTER VII THE WOLF PACK In seasons when caribou were plentiful along the coast, wolves were also plentiful, for it is the habit of wolves in this land to follow the trail of the caribou herds and prey upon the stragglers. And so it was that sometimes of a winter's night the silence of the hills was startled by the distant howl of wolves. And always Skipper Ed's dogs and Abel's dogs would answer the wild, weird cries of their untamed kin of the hills with equally weird cries, their muzzles in the air and the long-drawn notes rising and falling in woful and dismal cadence. Perhaps the dogs were possessed of an uninterpreted longing to join their brothers of the wilderness in their care-free wanderings, and be forever free themselves from the yoke of sledge and whip and the toil and drudgery of the trail. But so like men were the beasts that they never had the courage to cast themselves free from the shackles of their man-master, though it required but a resolution and a plunge into the hills. "So it is with many a man," said Skipper Ed one evening when Bobby was stopping for the night with him and Jimmy, and a wolf howl was followed by the answering howl of dogs. "Many and many a man that has the power and strength within him, and the brains too, if he but knew it, to go out into the broad world of endeavor and do great things, simmers his life away in the little narrow world into which he has grown, expending his energies as a servant when he might be a master. He keeps his eyes to the ground and never looks out or up, and so he never knows how big the world is or how much it holds for him. "It takes courage sometimes to break loose from old things. But it's the man that dares to break loose, and hit a new trail, and try his hand at new things, that wins. The man that never takes a chance, never gets anywhere, and then he says that luck has been against him. I speak of luck sometimes, but I don't mean it in that way. There is no such thing as luck. What we call luck is the Almighty's reward when we've done the best we can." "Did you ever try new things?" asked Bobby. "Yes, yes, lad! Long ago," and a shadow fell upon Skipper Ed's face, to pass in a moment, however, as he added, "I think I did what the Lord Almighty intended me to do." "What was it?" asked Bobby, ever curious. "To come here, and be Jimmy's partner, and to be a friend to both of you young scalawags, I think," and Skipper Ed smiled. "Didn't you ever ask the Lord to let you do some big, _big_ things?" insisted Bobby. "Partner does big things all the time," protested Jimmy. "He's a fine shot, and there isn't a better hunter on The Labrador." "Yes," said Skipper Ed, "I've asked the Lord, and I think the big thing He's given me to do is to teach you chaps the best I can, and maybe my teaching will help one of you to do the big, _big_ thing." And then a wolf howled again, not far away this time, and out in front of the cabin Skipper Ed's dogs howled an answer, and down from Abel's cabin came the long, weird cry of woe from Abel's dogs; and the three sat silent for a little, and listened. "The wolves are growing bold," remarked Skipper Ed presently. "That last fellow that howled was just above here in the gulch." "I'd like to see one running loose," said Bobby, "but they don't like to show themselves to me, and I never saw but one in my life." Skipper Ed arose, and donning his _adikey_ went out of doors, soon to return followed by a breath of the keen, frosty air of the winter night. "It's bright moonlight," said he, rubbing his hands briskly to warm them, for he had worn no mittens. "The wind is nor' nor'west, and if you chaps feel like an adventure we'll take a walk around and up the s'uth'ard side of the gulch, where he won't get a smell of us, and maybe we'll have a look at that old rounder that's howling, and who knows but we might get a shot at him and his mates. What do you say?" "Fine!" agreed the boys in unison, springing eagerly up from their chairs. "Well, hustle into your _adikeys_, then, and we'll try to get to leeward of the old fellow," directed Skipper Ed. "I hope there'll be a chance for a shot!" Bobby exclaimed excitedly, as they shouldered their rifles and slung cartridge pouches over their shoulders. "So do I!" agreed Jimmy. "Just a bare chance," said Skipper Ed, as they passed out into the porch shed and took their snowshoes from the pegs. "It depends upon which way they're traveling." "Do you think there's more than one?" asked Bobby in an excited undertone, as they swung away on snowshoes. "Yes, but we'd better not talk now. They're keen, and shy old devils, and they might hear us," warned Skipper Ed. Cautiously but swiftly they stole out and into the moonlit forest and up into the gulch and along the southern banks of a frozen brook. Now and again Skipper Ed halted, stooping to peer about and along the open space that marked the bed of the stream. Presently he held up his hand as a sign of caution, and crouched behind a clump of brush, motioning the boys to follow his example. "They're just above us," he whispered. "I saw them moving among the trees, above the bend. They're coming down this way, and they'll come out in that open just ahead of us. Don't shoot till I tell you, but be ready for them, lads." "How many are there?" Bobby whispered excitedly. "I can't tell yet. But I saw them move, and there's more than one," answered Skipper Ed. A moment later the blood-curdling howl of a wolf broke the forest stillness. It was answered by the distant howl of the dogs, and then near at hand the night was startled by the defiant howl of many wolves, long, loud and terrible in unexpected suddenness, and so close that the boys involuntarily rose from their crouch. "A pack!" whispered Skipper Ed, "and a big pack! See them coming there! Too many for us to tackle, lads! Keep quiet, now, lads, and don't lose your heads and don't shoot! We must keep to leeward of them so they won't get our scent, and we must get back to the cabin. They're too many for us to tackle." As he spoke the leaders of the pack--great, fearsome creatures looming big on the glistening white of the moonlit snow--straggled leisurely around the bend of the frozen stream--one--two--three--Skipper Ed counted until more than twenty had appeared, and still others were coming. It was a pack large enough to be fearless of any enemy and to attack boldly any prey that crossed its path. Leading the way, and keeping under cover of trees, with Bobby and Jimmy close at his heels, Skipper Ed turned and ran down the gulch toward the cabin, which was not above a mile distant. The gulch ended in an open space, which was a marsh in summer but was now a white expanse of hard-beaten snow. Between this open space and the bay shore a hedge of thick brush grew. On its northern and southern sides the open was flanked by the forest, extending from the gulch mouth to the shore of the bay, and on the northern side it continued to Skipper Ed's cabin and beyond. Skipper Ed led the way into the forest to the southward of the open, that they might keep well to leeward of the pack, and thus avoid so far as possible danger of the wolves getting their scent. He hoped that this maneuver might permit them to circuit back to the cabin under the protecting cover of the brush fringe along the shore and the forest to the northward. To have crossed the open would have been to invite discovery, for it was evident the wolves would follow the bed of the stream through the gulch and into the open. Whether they would answer the call of the dogs and turn northward, or whether they would range southward in quest of prey, was uncertain. If to the southward they would be very sure to catch the wind of Skipper Ed and the boys almost immediately, and be upon them before they could reach safety. If they answered the dogs, there would still be danger, but the three in that case would be enabled to keep on the lee side of the pack with the probability of detection considerably lessened. Therefore Skipper Ed hoped and trusted that the wolves would answer the challenge of the dogs. Even then there was still the danger that the trail made by them on their way up the gulch would be discovered, and unless the dogs proved a greater attraction Skipper Ed knew that the moment the wolves came upon the trail they would take up the fresh scent, and might overtake them before they could gain the shelter of the cabin. As it came about, they were behind the brush hedge, running up the shore, when the wolves wound out of the gulch and into the open. Through a break in the brush Skipper Ed saw them dimly, in the distance. The leaders stopped and sniffed. Suddenly came the howl of pursuit--the awful, terrifying cry of the wolf pack fresh upon the heels of quarry. The wolves had turned on the trail and were off up the gulch. "Run!" commanded Skipper Ed, half under his breath, but still in a tone so loud and tense that the boys heard. "Run! We must run now for our lives!" And they did run, but had scarcely gained the cover of the woods on the northern side of the open when wolf cries left no doubt that the animals had discovered the return trail and were hot upon it. It seemed now that nothing but an intercession of Providence could save them. The wolf pack would surely overtake them before they could attain the protection of the cabin. CHAPTER VIII THE BATTLE Now they could hear the pack yelping down through the forest! Already it had reached the brush hedge by the shore! It had made its turn northward, the yelps increasing in volume as it approached! Now the leaders were in sight! "Go on! Go on!" yelled Skipper Ed, himself lagging in order that he might fall in the rear of the boys and take a position between them and the wolves, and as he did so he turned quickly and fired a random shot at the leader of the pack. The cabin had just loomed into view dimly through the trees, and the wolves, almost upon their expected prey, were sounding the wild, fierce cry of triumph, when another pack, like phantoms in the forest shadows, coming from the direction of the cabin, swept down past Skipper Ed and the boys, suddenly breaking forth as they ran into a fierce howl of defiance.[B] [Footnote B: A few years ago Job Edmunds, a native acquaintance of the author, was saved from a pack of wolves in just this manner by his dogs.] "Thank God!" exclaimed Skipper Ed. "The dogs! The dogs will help us! Run, lads, and get to the door! I'll stop and help hold them with my rifle till you get in!" But Bobby and Jimmy would not have it so. They, too, turned, and in the dim light of the shadowed forest the three fired into the face of the pack until their rifles were empty. Whether or not any of the animals fell they could not see, but the pack paused for a moment in surprise. Then the dogs charged them, and as the three reached the cabin door yelps and snarls told of the clash as the dogs met their wild kin of the hills in battle. "Thank God!" again breathed Skipper Ed when the three, panting for breath, were safe in the cabin, a moment later, with the good stout door between them and the ravenous pack, which presently came snapping and snarling around the cabin. "I never saw such a pack of wolves before. I never knew that they gathered in such numbers in these days. There must be at least thirty of them."[C] [Footnote C: Not many years ago a pack of upwards of thirty of these great northern wolves appeared a few miles to the southward of this point. One of my friends was driven to the shelter of his cabin to escape them.--Author.] "The dogs! Partner, what will become of our dogs?" exclaimed Jimmy. "They'll kill our fine dogs!" "I'm afraid they will," agreed Skipper Ed, who had lighted a lamp and was loading the magazine of his rifle. "Load up, partner. Load up, Bobby. We'll see what we can do from cover." "We must have killed some of them!" Bobby exclaimed excitedly. "I know I did! I saw three fall when we shot!" "Yes, of course we did," agreed Skipper Ed, "but there are enough of them we didn't kill. Here, you chaps," he added, raising a window three or four inches. "You should get some good shots from here. I'll try my luck from the shed door." They had turned the lamp low, that they might see the better what was going on out of doors. The wolves, baffled by the sudden disappearance of their quarry, were ranged a little distance from the porch door, save two or three of the bolder ones, which were sniffing at the door itself. The dogs were nowhere to be seen. "Look out!" called Bobby to Skipper Ed, who was about to open the porch door. "Some of them are right at the door!" Then he and Jimmy began shooting. The wolves at the door fell, and Skipper Ed, opening the door a little way, joined in a fusillade at the main pack. The rapid reports of the rifles at close range, together with the flashes of fire from an unseen source, struck panic to the heart of the pack. A slightly wounded one turned and ran. That was a signal for panic, as is the way of men and beasts, and the whole pack followed in a mad, wild rush to the cover of the woods. An instant and the last of the pack had faded into the shadows among the trees--all save those left sprawling and limp upon the snow, which would never roam the hills again, and one or two of the wounded, which were whining, like whipped dogs, and the clearing about the cabin was as deserted as ever it was. "I'll go out," said Skipper Ed, "and end the suffering of those wounded brutes. Build up the fire, partner, and put the kettle on, and we'll have some tea. Then if there's no sign of what's left of the pack returning, we'll haul the carcasses into the shed, where we can skin them tomorrow." There was a roaring, cheerful fire in the stove when Skipper Ed returned a few minutes later to report that twelve wolves lay dead outside. "There must be some more down where we shot them at first," said he, as he drew off his _adikey_, "and some of those that got away were wounded, no doubt. At any rate we've cut the pack down so far in numbers that it won't be a menace any longer." "What'll they do now?" asked Bobby, as the three settled into their easy chairs to wait for the kettle to boil. "Go and look for caribou, and attend to their business, I suppose, and leave us quiet, peaceable folk alone," he laughed, adding: "I never saw such a pack before, though I've heard some of the old Eskimos say that years ago it used to happen now and again that packs like this appeared. Wolves are cowardly beasts, but numbers give them courage. When six or eight get together, you have to look out for them, and when the pack grows to a dozen they'll attack openly, and aren't afraid of anything--not even man." "Well, anyway we had the adventure we started out to get," laughed Bobby, "and a little more of it than we expected." "Yes, and a nice haul of wolf pelts to boot," added Skipper Ed. "We were lucky they didn't get us," said Jimmy. "Yes," agreed Skipper Ed, "lucky--the kind of luck we were talking about tonight. That is, the luck of the Almighty's bounty and protection. We did the best we could, according to our lights, to protect and help ourselves, and so He helped, and brought us safely back, none the worse, and perhaps a little the stronger and better and richer in experience than we were an hour ago." "It was a corking good adventure, anyhow!" broke in Bobby. "That sort of thing just makes me tingle all over! Somehow when I get out of a mess like that I feel a lot bigger and stronger and more grown up. It was great fun--now that it's over." "You're a natural-born adventurer," laughed Skipper Ed. "You should have lived in the old days, when men had to fight for their life, or went out to find and conquer new lands." "Well, I'm glad it's over," Jimmy shuddered--"the run from the wolves--and that they've gone. I didn't have time to feel much scared out there, but I'm scared now of what might have happened. I don't like to get into such fixes." "Well, it's over, and all is well, and we're none the worse for it. Now drink your hot tea, lads," counseled Skipper Ed. "We've work to do before we sleep." They ate their hardtack biscuit, and sipped the hot tea silently for a little, listening the while to the snug and cheerful crackle of wood and roar of flames in the big box stove. "Now," said Skipper Ed finally, "we'll haul the wolves into the porch, and make them safe, for the dogs are like to tear at them, and injure the pelts." The following morning the carcasses of five additional wolves were discovered at the place where they had first fired upon the pack. Two of the dogs, mangled and torn by wolf fangs, were dead, and three others were so badly injured that for a long time they were unfitted for driving. But the others had discreetly decided that it was better "to run away and live to fight another day," and were none the worse for their scrimmage. Bobby, of course, ran over to Abel's cabin to tell the great news of the battle, and Abel and Mrs. Abel must needs return with him to assist in removing the pelts from the animals, and to spend the day with Skipper Ed and his partner. And a merry day it was for all of them, for wolf pelts could be traded at the mission store for necessaries. And none of them gave heed or thought to the danger the pelts had cost, save to give thanks to God for His deliverance; for dangers in that land are an incident of the game of life, and there the game of life is truly a man's game. CHAPTER IX THE FISHING PLACES Like every other healthy lad of his years Bobby loved fun and adventure, though he had early learned to carry upon his broad shoulders a full portion of the responsibilities of the household. In the bleak land where he lived there is no shifting of these responsibilities. Everyman, and every boy, too, must do his share to wrest a living from the sea and rocks, and Bobby had no thought but to do his part. If a boy cannot do one thing in Labrador, he can do another. He can cut wood, hunt small game, attend the fish nets, jig cod--there are a thousand things that he can do, and make sport of as he does them, too, as Bobby did, until he grows to man's estate. Each summer Abel and Mrs. Abel returned to their old fishing place on Itigailit Island, and of course Bobby went with them, and did his share in jigging cod; and each summer Skipper Ed and Jimmy went to Skipper Ed's old fishing place--the place where he had found his forlorn little partner that stormy autumn day, when they had sealed their bargain with a handshake. The days of preparation for departure to the fishing were days of keen and pleasurable anticipation for the boys. It was a break from the routine of the long winter, and brought with it the novelty of change. These promised weeks upon the open sea were always weeks of delight, and above all else was the pleasure of seeing and sometimes visiting the fishing schooners which occasionally chanced their way. The schooners had a wonderful fascination for the lads, for they came from the far-away and mysterious land of civilization of which Skipper Ed had told them so often and so much, and of which they had read so eagerly on long winter evenings. It was more than a novelty to listen to the sailormen on the schooners talk of the strange happenings in that wonderful land, and to hear them sing their quaint old sea songs and chanteys, or relate marvelous stories of adventure. Sometimes a skipper would drop them a newspaper, many weeks old to be sure, but as fresh and interesting to them as though it had come directly from the press. Or perchance--and this was a treasure indeed--an illustrated magazine fell to their lot. And no line of paper or magazine, even to the last advertisement, but was read many and many times over. And no illustration in the magazines but held their attention for hours upon hours. These old newspapers and magazines were preserved, and carried home to take their place as a valued source of entertainment on stormy winter days and long winter evenings. And finally the illustrations and more interesting articles were clipped and pasted upon the walls until the interiors of Abel's and Skipper Ed's cabins became veritable picture galleries and libraries of reference. But the eve of parting for their separate fishing places was always tinged with sadness and regret, for during these weeks they were denied one another's companionship. "If our fishing places were only close to each other, so we could fish together, wouldn't it be fine!" suggested Bobby, one spring day as he and Jimmy sat on a rock below Abel's cabin, looking expectantly out over the bay, while Abel, with Skipper Ed's assistance, put the finishing touches upon the big boat in preparation for departure to their fishing places the next morning. "Yes, wouldn't it!" exclaimed Jimmy. "If we weren't so busy, Partner and I would be dreadfully lonesome without you." "And if it wasn't for being busy I'd be dreadfully lonesome without you, too," admitted Bobby. "I always am, anyhow." "Yes," said Jimmy, "so are we on days when the sea's so rough we can't fish." "But it's fine out there, and it's always fine to get back, isn't it, Jimmy?" "Aye, 'tis that!" declared Jimmy. "But it makes me feel lonesome already," said Bobby, returning to the original proposition, "to think that I won't see you and Skipper Ed for so long." "What's this I hear? Lonesome for Partner and me?" asked Skipper Ed, who had finished with the boat and, coming up behind the boys, overheard Bobby's remark. "Yes," said Bobby, "at the fishing." "Well, well, now, isn't that strange!" ejaculated Skipper Ed. "I was thinking the same way, and Abel was thinking that way, too, and we've been talking it over!" "Jimmy and I think 'twould be fine if we could all fish together," continued Bobby. "So were we! So were we! A strange coincidence!" declared Skipper Ed. "And Abel thinks it might be arranged." "Oh, can it? Can it?" and the boys jumped to their feet. "I don't know," and Skipper Ed's face assumed a long and gloomy expression as he seated himself upon the rock. "There's one thing in the way and I couldn't consent." "Why can't we?" asked Jimmy, in deep disappointment. "Because," said Skipper Ed seriously, "I'm not free to consent." "Why not? Yes, you are!" coaxed Bobby. "Please do." "I'd like to," said Skipper Ed. "Yes, I'd _like_ to; but you see I've got a partner, and one partner can't go ahead and do things unless the other partner agrees. At any rate he shouldn't. Do you agree, Partner?" The boys gave a whoop of joy. "Then you consent, Partner?" and Skipper Ed's eyes twinkled humorously. "Of course I do, Partner!" exclaimed Jimmy. "It's what I've wanted to do right along." "Then everything is arranged," said Skipper Ed. "Abel says there are plenty of fish for all of us around Itigailit Island. Perhaps, then, we'd better go home, Partner, and put things in shipshape for an early start in the morning." And so they parted in high glee, Bobby to the cabin to break the good news to Mrs. Abel, and Skipper Ed down the trail toward his own cabin, with Jimmy at his heels. CHAPTER X A FOOLHARDY SHOT Though the days were long now, for this was July, when dawn comes in this land before two o'clock in the morning, it was scarce daylight when Skipper Ed and Jimmy in their big trap boat, and with a skiff in tow in which were stowed his seven sledge dogs, hoisted sail and bore down the bay before a westerly breeze. And as they passed beyond the point which separated the cove in which Abel's cabin stood from the cove where their own cabin stood, they discovered Abel's boat almost abreast of them, and within hailing distance. Bobby and Jimmy exchanged vociferous greetings, and Skipper Ed and Abel converged their courses until the boats were so close as to permit of conversation. It was a glorious morning. The air was crisp and fragrant with whiffs of forest perfumes borne down to them from the near-by shore. Banks of brilliant red and orange in the eastern sky foretold the coming of the sun. The sea sparkled. Gulls and other wild fowl soared overhead or rode lightly upon the swell. A school of shining caplin shimmered on the surface of the water. Here and there a seal lifted its curious head for a moment, and then disappeared. At intervals a grampus, with a startling, roaring blow, raised its great black back above the surface, and then sank again from view. On barren hillsides patches of snow, remnants of mighty drifts, lay against the dark moist rocks like great white sheets, and here and there miniature ice pans rose and fell upon the swell, reminders of the long cold winter, for winter in this far northern clime is ever reluctant to relinquish its grasp upon the earth. The glow in the east disappeared at length, and then the sun rose to caress them with his warmth. Presently mirages appeared. Islands seemed to sit upon the tops of other islands, or to hang suspended in the air, and every distant shore became distorted in the brilliant July sunlight. "That's the way a good many of us look at things in this life," said Skipper Ed. "We see the mirage, and not the thing itself. Hopes loom up and look real, when they're just false. It's a great thing to be able to tell the differences between what is real and what is just a mirage." The wind fell away to a dead calm before noon, and though Abel and Skipper Ed worked at their heavy sculling oars, and Bobby and Jimmy and Mrs. Abel at the other oars, the boats, laden as they were, and retarded by the skiffs in tow, made such slow progress that at length they stopped at a convenient island to boil the kettle and cook their dinner and wait for a returning breeze. Dinner was a jolly feast, simple as it was, for in this land folk live upon simple food and are satisfied with little variety, for their appetites and desires are not glutted, as ours so often are. And many things that you and I deem necessary they do not miss, because they have never had them, and more often than not have never so much as heard of them. And perhaps it is just as well, and their happiness is just as complete. A cod which Bobby caught with his jigger, was boiled in sea water, because sea water salted it to just the right flavor. This was the first cod of the season, and the first cod is always a delicacy, and so they deemed it, together with some of Mrs. Abel's bread, and a pot of tea sweetened with a drop of molasses. Then Skipper Ed and Abel shaved tobacco from black plugs, and Skipper Ed and Abel and Mrs. Abel talked while they waited for the wind to rise that was to carry them on their journey. It was a rocky, irregular island upon which they had halted, with rocks sloping up from the water's edge, and on the top some struggling bunches of brush. It was not a large island, but nevertheless Bobby and Jimmy deemed it worthy of exploration, and so, bent upon discovery, they left their elders to talk, while they wandered about. "There's a dotar on the shore," exclaimed Bobby, stopping suddenly and indicating the dark body of a harbor seal sunning itself comfortably upon the surface of the smooth, flat rocks near water. "Wait here, Jimmy, till I get my gun and try a shot at him." And away he ran, presently to return with his gun--the same that Abel had found in the boat at the time he discovered Bobby. It was double-barreled, and a shotgun, but now both barrels were loaded with round ball. And loaded with ball it was effective enough at fifty yards or so, but far from certain in accuracy at a greater distance. "Let's work down through the brush as far as we can," suggested Bobby, "and then I'll crawl down on him, if he'll let me, for a good close shot." Slowly they crawled, and cautiously, looking at nothing and paying attention to nothing but the seal, which, presently becoming conscious of danger perhaps, grew restless; and though Bobby was not as near his game as he should have wished, he threw up his gun and fired. The bullet, after the manner of bullets fired from shotguns at long range, went wide of its mark, and the seal, after the manner of seals, slipped gently into the water and was gone. "There he goes!" exclaimed Bobby in disgust, springing to his feet. "If I had only had a rifle!" "Yes," said Jimmy, "you'd have--" Jimmy's sentence was cut short by the sound of a heavy tread behind them, and wheeling about our young hunters discovered a big polar bear, in the edge of the brush and not twenty yards away. It had apparently been aroused from an afternoon sleep, and not being partial to human society was now bent upon an expeditious departure from the vicinity. Quick as a flash Bobby raised his gun to his shoulder. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" warned Jimmy. But Bobby did not heed the warning. The bullet from the undischarged barrel went crashing into the animal's shoulder. The bear stumbled, bit furiously at the wound, and then in a rage charged upon his now defenseless enemies. Polar bears, unless very hungry, or unless placed in a position where they must defend themselves, will rarely attack man. But when wounded they are more likely than not to become furious, and their fury knows no bounds. Bent upon revenge they will attack viciously and are dangerous enemies. The hunter who wounds a polar bear without first taking the precaution to prepare for defense or retreat, tries an exceedingly dangerous experiment. [Illustration: Quick as a flash Bobby raised his gun to his shoulder] This was exactly what Bobby had done. The instant he fired the shot he realized that he had not reached a vital spot. In his eagerness to secure the bear he took the chance of his single bullet disabling it. A reckless game it was, but he played it and lost. Jimmy was unarmed and Bobby had no time to reload, for he knew the bear would charge immediately. "Run, Jimmy! Run for your life!" he shouted. But Jimmy needed no warning. He was already putting into action all the speed he could muster, and away went Bobby, also. Jimmy chose the open space nearer the shore, Bobby a more direct, though more obstructed, course across the island, but both took the general direction of camp. As the two diverged the bear, probably because he was more plainly in view, chose to follow Jimmy, and followed him so strenuously and with such singleness of purpose that he was presently at Jimmy's very heels--so close at his heels, indeed, that had Jimmy stopped or hesitated or lessened his speed for an instant, the infuriated beast would have been upon him. Bobby was quick to discover that the bear had left his own trail, and he was also quick to discover Jimmy's imminent danger. There was no other help at hand. If Jimmy was to be saved, he must save him. The thought crossed his mind like a flash of lightning. He did not lose his head--Bobby never lost his head in an emergency. He thought of everything. He feared there was not time to reload, but it was the only thing to do. As he ran he drew two shells, loaded with ball, from his pocket. For the fraction of a minute he halted, "broke" his gun, dropped the shells into place, snapped the gun back and threw it to his shoulder, but in the brief interval that had elapsed the bear and Jimmy had so far gained upon him that the distance between him and the bear loomed up before him now as almost hopelessly long. If he only had a rifle, instead of his shotgun! But it was the last hope, and whispering a prayer to God to send the bullet straight, with nerves as tense as steel, he pulled the trigger. His heart leaped with joy as he saw the bear stop, bite again at the wound, this time near its hind quarters, and then with a roar of rage turn from Jimmy toward himself. He would not risk another shot at that distance. He would wait now for his enemy to come to close quarters, and with nimble fingers he slipped a loaded shell into the empty barrel, that when the time came to shoot he might have two bullets at his disposal instead of one. He had never felt so perfectly cool and steady in his life, nor so absolutely unafraid, as now, while he stood erect and waited. The bear was not twenty feet away when he fired his first shot. It staggered, shook its head for a moment, and then rushed on. Bobby drew a careful bead and fired again. The bear fell forward, pawed the rocks, regained its feet, and lunged at Bobby. CHAPTER XI WHEN THE ICEBERG TURNED But the bear had spent its vitality, and as Bobby sprang nimbly aside it fell at the very spot upon which the young hunter had stood when he delivered his last shot, struggled a little, gave a gasp or two, and died. And when Jimmy came running up a moment later Bobby with great pride was standing by the side of his prostrate victim. "We got him, Jimmy! We got him!" said he in high glee, touching the carcass with his toe. "But, Bobby, what a chance you took!" Jimmy exclaimed. "Supposing you hadn't stopped him!" "No chance of that at all," declared Bobby in his usual positive tone. "All I wanted was time to load, and I knew I'd get him." "Well, I'm thankful you got him, instead of he getting you, and I was afraid for a minute he was going to get us both," and Jimmy breathed relief, as he placed his foot against the dead bear. "My, but he's a big one! I don't think I ever saw a bigger one!" "He _is_ a ripper!" admitted Bobby proudly. "Won't the folks be glad!" And Bobby was justified in his pride. He had fired upon the beast in the first instance, not through the lust of killing but because he was prompted to do so by the instinct of the hunter who lives upon the product of his weapons. In this far northern land it is the instinct of self-preservation to kill, for here if man would live he must kill. In Labrador they butcher wild animals for food just as we butcher steers and sheep and hogs for food, and the only difference is that the wild creature, matching its instincts and fleetness and strength against the hunter's skill, has a reasonable chance of escape, while our domestic animals, deprived of liberty, are driven helpless to the slaughter. In our kindlier clime the rich soil, too, produces vegetables and fruits upon which we might do very well, if necessary, without ever eating meat; but in the bleak land where Bobby and Jimmy lived the summer is short and the soil is barren, and there are no vegetables, and no fruits save scattered berries on the inland hillsides. And so it is that here men must depend upon flesh and fish for their existence and they must kill if they would live. Every lad on The Labrador, therefore, is taught from earliest youth to take pride in his profession of hunter and trapper and fisherman--for on The Labrador every man is a professional hunter and trapper and fisherman--and to strive for skill and the praise of his elders, and Bobby was no exception to the rule. And so it came about that Bobby at the age of thirteen proved himself a bold and brave hunter, and standing now over the carcass of his victim he felt a vast and consistent pride in his success; for it was no small achievement for a lad of his years to have killed, single-handed and poorly armed, a full grown polar bear. It was an accomplishment, indeed, in which a grown man and a more experienced hunter than Bobby might have taken pride; and a grown man could scarcely have employed better tactics, or shown greater skill and courage, after the first foolhardy shot had been fired. But this was Bobby's way. It was an exhibition of his old trait of getting himself and Jimmy into a scrape and then by quick action and practical methods getting them safely out of it again. Skipper Ed and Abel had heard the reports of Bobby's gun, and they knew that something unusual was on foot. The first shot did not disturb them. That, they knew, was for the seal for which Bobby had taken the gun. But no self-respecting seal will remain as a target to be fired at repeatedly, and the shots that followed told their practiced ears that more important game than a seal was the object of the fusillade. And so, without parley, each seized his rifle, and together they set out across the island, and thus it happened that presently they came upon Bobby and Jimmy admiring the prize. "Jimmy and I got a bear! A ripping big one, too!" said Bobby as the two men came up to them, giving Jimmy equal credit, for if he was positive, Bobby was also generous, and wished his friend to share in the glory of his triumphs and achievements. "Bobby got him alone," corrected Jimmy. "I legged it, and if it hadn't been for Bobby he'd have caught me." "Oh, you know better than that," protested Bobby. "You got in his way, so he'd take after you, and that gave me time to load, and shoot him." "_Peauke! Peauke!_" exclaimed Abel. "A fine fat bear." "Good for you, Bobby!" commented Skipper Ed, looking the carcass over. "I never killed as big a bear as that myself. Good work!" "And we'll have some meat now, and won't have to eat just fish all summer," said Bobby, who had the respect of most healthy boys for his stomach. "We'll feast like kings," agreed Skipper Ed. "Flesh as well as fish. Great luck! Great luck! And I'll be bound not another lad of your age could have got a bear like that with just a shotgun. Why, neither Abel nor I would have tackled him with just a shotgun. No, sir, we wouldn't!" And Skipper Ed put it to Abel, who declared he never would have risked a shotgun unless he had a spear, also, to protect himself. Deftly and quickly they skinned and dressed the carcass, wasting no part of the flesh, save the liver, which they fed to the dogs, for, as every one knows, the liver of the polar bear is poisonous and unfit for human consumption. "I could eat a steak right now," suggested Bobby, when the meat was stowed. But there was no time now to cook bear steaks, for a breeze had sprung up and they must needs take advantage of it, and Skipper Ed and Jimmy had already hoisted sail. "Never mind," said Abel, "I'll show you! I'll show you!" and with an air of mystery, and chuckling to himself, Abel hurriedly gathered some flat stones which he piled into the boat. "Now," suggested Abel, when they were at last moving, "you take the tiller, Bobby, and we'll see about the bear steaks." With much care he proceeded to arrange the stones in the bottom of the boat until presently a very excellent fireplace was built, and so arranged that the boat itself was well protected. No wood save driftwood was to be found on Itigailit Island or on the near-by shores, and therefore both Abel's boat and Skipper Ed's boat had been provided with sufficient firewood to meet the needs of their camp for several days. And so, with fuel at hand, Abel quickly had a cozy fire blazing in his fireplace and Mrs. Abel, laughing and enjoying the novel experience of cooking in a boat, had some tea brewing and some bear's steaks sizzling in the pan in a jiffy. Skipper Ed's trap boat, though a fine sea craft, was not so fast a sailer in a light breeze as Abel's, and though Skipper Ed and Jimmy had left the island some little time in advance the boats were now so close that Abel could make himself heard, and standing in the bow he bawled: "_Pujolik! Pujolik!_" (A steamer! A steamer!) A steamship in these waters was uncommon. No steamer had ever come into the bay, indeed--for they were still in the bay--at least within the memory of man, and eager to see what manner of ship it might be Skipper Ed and Jimmy were on their feet in an instant, eagerly searching the eastern horizon. Abel was immediately convulsed with laughter, and Mrs. Abel laughed, and Bobby laughed, and when Skipper Ed and Jimmy, failing to discover the steamer, or any signs of it, turned inquiringly back toward Abel, still standing in the bow, Abel pointed to the smoke rising from the fire, and repeated: "_Pujolik! Pujolik_!" Then Skipper Ed and Jimmy understood, and they laughed too. It was a great joke, Abel thought, and for an hour afterward he indulged at intervals in quiet chuckles, and even after the two boats had drawn alongside, and tea and fried bear's steaks had been passed to Skipper Ed and Jimmy, that they too might share in the feast, Abel laughed. It was noon the following day when the boats drew up to the old landing place on Itigailit Island, and an hour later the two tents were pitched on Abel Zachariah's old camping ground, and everything was as snug and settled, and they were all as perfectly at home, as though they had been living there for months. Then the dogs in the skiffs were brought ashore and released from their two days' confinement, and Abel's train and Skipper Ed's train, after the manner of Eskimo dogs, immediately engaged in a pitched battle. They began by snarling and snapping at one another with ugly, bared fangs, and then followed a rush toward each other and they became a rolling, tumbling mass of fearsome, fighting creatures, and had to be beaten asunder with stout sticks before they could be induced to settle into their quiet and uneventful summer existence. When all was arranged Bobby, after his custom, walked quietly back to the cairn which he had built in previous summers to mark the grave of the mysterious man that Abel and Mrs. Abel had buried so many years before, and Jimmy went with him. "I often wonder," said Bobby, as he replaced some stones that winter storms had loosed, "who the man was and how he came by his death. I remember I called him Uncle Robert, but I can't remember much else about him, and that is like a dream." "I wonder if he really was your uncle?" suggested Jimmy. "I don't know," said Bobby. "I try to remember, until my head is spinning with it, and sometimes it seems as though I am going to remember what happened away back there. It's just as though I had lived before, and I think of bright lights, and beautiful things, and wonderful people. I wonder if Father and Mother are right, and what I remember is heaven? Do you think so, Jimmy?" "I--I wonder, now!" Jimmy's voice was filled with awe. "Maybe you did come from heaven, Bobby!" "I don't believe so," and Bobby was practical again. "I don't feel as though I'd ever been an angel, and I don't look it, do I?" And he squared his shoulders and laughed his good-natured, infectious laugh, in which Jimmy joined, and the two returned to camp. There was no floe ice on the coast now, but the sea was dotted with many icebergs, children of the great northern glaciers, drifting southward on the Arctic current. Some of them were small and insignificant. Others towered in massive majesty and grandeur high above the sea, miniature mountains of ice. Some were of solid white, but the greater part of them reflected marvelous blues and greens and were a riot of beautiful color. One of the smaller icebergs lying a half mile or so from Itigailit Island attracted Bobby's attention as he and Jimmy walked back from the cairn. "See that berg, Jimmy?" he asked. "The little one close in?" "Yes. Do you know, I've got an idea. That bear meat won't keep long unless we pack it in ice or salt it, and I'd rather have it fresh than salted, wouldn't you?" "Of course I would!" said Jimmy. "Then let's take your skiff--it's bigger than ours--and go for a load of ice." "It's dangerous to go digging on icebergs. They're like to turn over," suggested Jimmy. "Oh, don't be afraid, now. Come on. There isn't any danger," said Bobby, with impelling enthusiasm. "We can get enough ice to keep the meat fresh until it's all used up. Come on." And Jimmy, as was his custom when Bobby urged, agreed. Skipper Ed's skiff lay at the landing, and arming themselves with an ax the two pulled away unobserved. It was a small iceberg, perhaps sixty feet in diameter, and rising not more than twenty feet above the water. Its surface was irregular, and there were several places where excellent footing could be had. The boat was directed toward one of these. "You stay in the boat," said Bobby, seizing the ax, "and I'll go aboard her and cut the ice." "Be careful," cautioned Jimmy. "Oh, there's no danger," said Bobby, climbing to the iceberg. Bobby began chopping off as large pieces as he thought he could conveniently handle. The ice was exceedingly hard and brittle. It had frozen centuries before, under the extremely low temperatures of the Arctic regions. It had its beginning, perhaps, in snow deposited in some far-off Greenland valley. Other snows had come upon it, and still other snows, until a tremendous weight of snow pressed it, as it froze, into a glass-like hardness. And all the while the great mass was moving, inch by inch, and slowly, down the long valley toward the sea. Perhaps a century passed, perhaps two or three, or even more, centuries, before this particular portion of the glacier, as these masses of ice between the hills are called, reached the sea and was at last thrust out beyond the land. And then, one day, with a report like the report of a cannon, it separated from the mother glacier, slid out into the current, and began its southward voyage. Months had passed since then--perhaps a year, or even two or three years--and all the time it had been wasting away in the water until Bobby and Jimmy found it this July day, off Itigailit Island. But neither Bobby as he chopped at the ice, nor Jimmy as he sat in the boat, gave that a thought, if indeed they knew it. They were intent only upon gathering enough of the aged ice to preserve the meat of a polar bear. Neither did they realize that with each stroke of the ax Bobby was disturbing the center of gravitation of the iceberg, already delicately balanced in the water, until presently Jimmy noticed that the side next him was rising--very slowly and deliberately at first. "Bobby! Look out--the berg's turning!" he shouted in a terrified voice. Up and up went the side of the iceberg. Bobby was lost to view. Then came a rush of water, a great deluging wave swamped the skiff, and Jimmy went down with a crash and roar of water and crumbling ice in his ears. CHAPTER XII ADRIFT ON THE OPEN SEA As the iceberg turned, great masses of ice, some of them weighing tons, loosened from the main body, and with loud rumbling and roar crashed into the sea. Bobby, when he realized what was happening, began with all his energy to scramble up the wall of ice as it rose from the water. Fortunately it was a small iceberg, and fortunately, also, it turned slowly and with deliberation and but a short distance, when it again reached its equilibrium, and was still. Bobby's life had been one of pretty constant peril and adventure, and after the manner of wilderness dwellers he had learned resourcefulness and self-possession. It is indeed a part of the daily training of every lad of the wilderness, that he acquire these attributes, until at last they become second nature to him, and instinctively he does the thing he should do when he comes suddenly face to face with unexpected dangers. And so it was with both Bobby and Jimmy, and thus it came about that Bobby did not lose his head when the iceberg began to turn, and when it was again at rest he found himself upon a high pinnacle, with the seething waters all around him. To be sure, his heart beat faster, and it was but natural that he should be excited, but his nerves were nevertheless under control, and his wits, too. From his perch upon the iceberg Bobby looked eagerly for Jimmy and the skiff. He feared that some of the ponderous blocks of ice had fallen upon them and crushed them, and the thought made him heart-sick for an instant. But presently he saw the skiff, filled with water and smothering in the swell, and a moment later he discovered Jimmy, also smothering in the swell, but swimming vigorously toward the iceberg. This brought him vast relief. Jimmy was alive and apparently uninjured, and the whole adventure became to Bobby at once an ordinary occurrence of their every-day life, for which he was mightily thankful. To be sure it was an unpleasant and annoying adventure, but they would escape from it, he had no doubt, none the worse for their experience. And in this frame of mind he clambered down the slippery sides of the ice hill to a level spot at the water's edge, shouting in the most matter-of-fact way, as he did so: "This way, Jimmy! This way! You can climb aboard here!" In a few strokes Jimmy came alongside, and Bobby, taking his hand, helped him to scramble, shivering, to the ice. "My, Bobby, but I was glad to see you here!" Jimmy exclaimed through his chattering teeth. "I was afraid you were done for! I was afraid it carried you under when it turned." "I was afraid you were done for, too!" and there was thanksgiving in Bobby's voice. "How did it happen you got into the water? Did the ice hit the skiff?" "I don't know how it happened," said Jimmy. "I don't think the ice hit the skiff, but it all came so suddenly I don't know." "Well, here we are, and out there's the boat, and we've got to get it," declared Bobby. "I'm going for it." "No, let me go. I'm wet anyhow, and I'm all right for it," Jimmy protested. "I might have brought it in with me, but I didn't see it." "I'm going," declared Bobby, with an accent that left no doubt he was, as he pulled off his clothes, and his sealskin boots. "You've had your dip, and I'm going to have one now--the first of the year." "It's pretty cold," Jimmy cautioned. "I've been in, and I'm used to it, and don't mind it." But Bobby was in, and swimming for the skiff. It was, fortunately, not above fifty or sixty feet away, for the whole occurrence had taken place within a very few minutes' time, and the boat had not yet had time to drift beyond reach. A few strokes carried Bobby to the submerged skiff. He secured the painter, which was attached to the bow, and with some hard tugging reached the iceberg, and climbed up with Jimmy's assistance. "You'd better take off your things and wring 'em out, while I dress," Bobby suggested, as he drew his clothes on. "I guess I had," Jimmy agreed. "Now," said Bobby, when he and Jimmy were dressed, after Jimmy had wrung as much of the water as possible from his clothes, "we're going to have a hard time of it getting the water out of her. How'll we do it?" "Can't we get her alongside and turn her over?" Jimmy suggested. "We can pull her up empty." With some mighty pulling and hauling, and many futile efforts, they at length succeeded, and presently the skiff was in the water again and floating as easily as though nothing had happened and it had never once been under the waves. And then a new problem confronted them. "The oars! The oars are gone!" exclaimed Jimmy in consternation. And so they were. Nowhere could they discover the oars, though they clambered up the iceberg again and scanned the surrounding sea. "Well," said Bobby, "that's hard luck! I wonder if we can't make father or some one hear. Let's get up on top and yell." From the top of the iceberg they shouted and shouted, but Mrs. Abel was in one tent, busied with her household affairs, and Skipper Ed and Abel were in the other tent, making ready their fishing gear, and the breeze blew from the land, and altogether no one heard the shouting. "No use," said Bobby at last, descending to the skiff. "I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll knock one of the seats out, split it, and make two paddles. They'll be short, but they'll do us to get ashore. It isn't far." "It looks as though it's the only thing to do, unless we want to stay here for three or four hours," agreed Jimmy, taking the ax and knocking out the seat. "I'm shivering cold from my wetting." "It's lucky I hung to the ax," said Bobby, as he watched Jimmy fashioning the paddles. "There," said Jimmy at length, "they're pretty short paddles, but we'll have to make 'em do. Let's get off of this." But the tide was running out, and a very strong tide it proved, and the breeze from the land was stiff enough, too, had there been no opposing tide, to have made pulling against it with a good pair of oars no easy task. All this they did not realize until they had paddled beyond the shelter of the iceberg, for they had drawn the boat up upon its lee side. They put all the energy they could muster into their effort, but the paddles were very short and very narrow, and work as they would they presently discovered that tide and wind were mastering them, and instead of progressing toward Itigailit Island they were drifting seaward. "We can't make it!" said Jimmy at last. "No," agreed Bobby. "We'll have to go back to the berg and wait for them to come for us." But even that they could not accomplish. Work as they would, the paddles proved hopelessly inefficient, and after an hour's desperate effort they realized that they were nearly as far to seaward from the iceberg as the iceberg was from Itigailit Island. "Well," said Bobby, at length, "we're in for it, and a fine fix it is." "What are we going to do?" asked Jimmy. "We've _got_ to do something." "I wish that I had some of that bear meat. I'm as hungry as the old bear ever was," said Bobby, irrelevantly. "Well, so am I, but we'll be hungrier than the bear ever was, I'm thinking, if we don't do something to get to land," broke in Jimmy with some irritation. "Why, Bobby, don't you realize what it means? We've got no water and nothing to eat! We'll perish of thirst and hunger if we don't get to land! Unless a sea rises and swamps us, and then we'll drown!" "It does look as though we were drifting to the place I came from, but it won't do any good to worry," said Bobby. "Maybe when the tide turns we can do something. The wind goes down with the sun every evening, and then with the tide in our favor maybe we can make it." "It'll be a good hour yet before the tide turns, and two or three hours before sundown, and where'll we be then?" argued Jimmy, dejectedly. "I wish I could be like you, Bobby, and not worry over things the way I do." "Well, just remember that we did the best we could to get out of the mess after we got into it, and if we keep on doing our best that is all we can do, and worrying won't help us any. I just feel like being thankful that you weren't killed and we're both here safe and sound, with an even chance that we'll get back home all right." And so, paddling, drifting, sometimes silent for a long while, sometimes talking, the time passed. The land faded upon the horizon and was lost. Icebergs lay about them. Once they were startled by the thunderous roar of a monster berg in the distance as it toppled and turned upon its side, and later they felt its swell. Not far away a whale spouted. Finally the sun set, and the wind died, and for a little while the heavens and icebergs and sea were marvelously and gloriously painted with crimson and purple and orange. Then came the long gray twilight of the North, and at last the stars, and night, and darkness, with the icebergs, white, spectral, and coldly majestic, rising in silhouette against the distant sky, and the throbbing, restless sea, somber and black, around them. CHAPTER XIII HOW THE "GOOD AND SURE" BROUGHT TROUBLE The two or three hours of the midsummer Labrador night were long hours for Bobby and Jimmy--the longest hours they had ever experienced. At intervals, guiding their course by the stars, they paddled, and this drove away the deadening chill that threatened to overcome them. But at last dawn came, and with the growing light the sense of helplessness which had enveloped them during the period of darkness fell away, and to some extent Bobby's confidence, hopefulness, and buoyancy of spirits returned, and he rallied Jimmy, also, into a better frame of mind. "Hurrah!" shouted Bobby, at length. "See there, Jimmy!" And Jimmy, looking, saw upon the western horizon a long, gray line. "Why, there's the land!" he exclaimed. "Isn't it great to see it again!" said Bobby. "Let's paddle hard, and see if we can't make it. The tide's been drifting us in, and the paddling we've done in the night has been helping." "It didn't seem to, but it must have," agreed Jimmy, working as hard as he could with his short paddle. "The exercise kept me warm, and that's about the only good I thought it was doing, but it did help, didn't it?" "It certainly did," agreed Bobby. "My, but I'm hungry!" "So am I," said Jimmy. "Won't the sun feel good when it rises?" "I wonder which way we lie from home?" "South, of course, for that's the drift of the current. All the bergs drift south." "Yes, but how far?" "Oh, I don't know, but we must be some bit south of the island." And so they calculated and chatted, while the glow grew in the eastern sky, and until the sun rose, at last, to comfort them and warm stiffened fingers and chilled bodies. But with the sun a westerly breeze also set in to retard them, and their progress was tedious and slow. The shore still lay a long way off, though a little nearer than when they first discovered it in the morning light, and Bobby had just remarked that they had gained a little, when Jimmy suddenly ceased paddling, and rising to his feet gazed eagerly to the southward. "What is it?" asked Bobby. "What do you see?" "A sail! A sail!" Jimmy almost shouted a moment later. "I wasn't sure at first, but now I'm certain!" Bobby was on his feet in an instant, and the two, balancing themselves dexterously while the skiff rose and fell upon the swell, watched excitedly as the sail increased in size. "It's a schooner!" said Jimmy. "And it'll pick us up!" said Bobby. "If it doesn't pass too far to windward to see us," suggested Jimmy. "They'll be sure to see us," insisted the optimistic Bobby. "They can't pass between us and the land without seeing us." And so it came to pass. Nearer and nearer the schooner drew, until at length her whole black hull was visible, and then Bobby and Jimmy took off their jackets and waved them and waved them, until presently men crowded at the rail of the schooner and waved in answer, and in due time, when the schooner came abreast of them, a boat was lowered, and pointed directly toward them. "Now we'll be all right," said Bobby, with immense relief, as they watched the four long oars, pulled by four husky men, rise and fall and glint in the sunshine, while a fifth man sculled astern. "They'll either drop us in at Itigailit Island or lend us oars for the skiff!" "Yes, and it's great luck for us that they saw us," remarked Jimmy. "I don't believe we ever could have made land with these short paddles." "The first thing I want is something to eat and drink," declared Bobby. "I'm getting hungrier every minute." But the boat was upon them already, and they were soon to have a plenty to eat, and the adventure after all had amounted to nothing but a little inconvenience. It was all in a day's work, and already they had forgotten the dismal night, or if they had not in fact forgotten it they had at least put it behind them as an experience of small importance. "Look sharp now, lads!" shouted the man at the sculling oar, as the boat and the skiff, rising and falling upon the swell, approached each other. "Look sharp! Now, heave her, b'y!" And Jimmy, in the bow of the skiff, with coiled painter ready, tossed it to one of the men. The boats were straightened out, the skiff drawn alongside, and in a moment Jimmy and Bobby were aboard, with Skipper Ed's skiff trailing behind. "Why, it's Skipper Ed's partner an' Abel Zachariah's lad! My eyes! My eyes now! And whatever brings you driftin' around the sea at this time of the mornin', and with nary an oar?" exclaimed the man astern, who proved to be Captain Higgles of the Newfoundland fishing schooner _Good and Sure_, who for as long as the lads could remember had anchored for at least one night each summer on his outward voyage down north, or on his homeward voyage south, in the shelter of the island upon which Skipper Ed had always fished, or behind Itigailit Island. And so it happened that Captain Higgles recognized Bobby and Jimmy, and they recognized him. "Oh," explained Bobby, "we were getting ice off a berg yesterday, when she shifted and turned us over and we lost our oars." "Yesterday, was it? And so you young scallawags ha' been cruisin' about since yesterday, eh, with nary an oar. Now listen t' that, b'ys! Cruisin' around with nary an oar! My eyes! Oh, my eyes!" and the captain roared with laughter, as though it were a great joke, and the four seamen laughed with him. "And neither of you'd be eatin' a biscuit, an' drinkin' a mug o' tea, now, if you had un!" he continued. "I'll be bound both o' you young daredevils'd turn up your nose at a mug o' tea and a biscuit, now. Wouldn't ye?" "No, sir," said Jimmy, "we wouldn't turn up our nose at anything good to eat." "I could eat the oarlocks this minute!" broke in Bobby. At which Captain Higgles exclaimed, "My eyes! Oh, my eyes!" and indulged in another burst of hearty guffaws. "Well, b'ys," said the captain, "I know how you feels, an' I knows where you'll get th' tea and th' biscuit. An' th' cook aboard th' _Good an' Sure_'ll show you." "Thank you," said Bobby. '"Twere lucky I sees you," continued the captain. "There's a sick lad with a rash aboard, an' it's a wonderful troublesome rash, and makes he sick. I were just turnin' in t' see Skipper Ed, thinkin' he might know what t' do for the little lad t' relieve he, when we sights you." "What, sir!" exclaimed Jimmy, "are we as far south as that?" "Aye," said the captain, "we're just t' th' s'uth'ard o' Skipper Ed's fishin' place. An' weren't you comin' from there when you goes adrift?" "No, sir," explained Jimmy. "Partner and I are down at Itigailit Island with Abel Zachariah this year, and we went adrift from there." "An' there we goes, then!" said the captain. "Another hour's sail, but time saved. Lucky for you that we sights you, an' lucky for th' sick lad, an' lucky for me--lucky all around. My eyes! 'Tis like t' be a lucky day." And so it came about that Bobby and Jimmy were presently aboard the _Good and Sure_, satisfying an accumulated and vast appetite upon Captain Higgles' good hardtack and tea, while the schooner laid her course for Itigailit Island. An hour later, as the captain had predicted, the _Good and Sure_ came to off Abel Zachariah's fishing place, and almost before the anchor chains had ceased rattling Skipper Ed and Abel pulled alongside in a boat and were expressing their relief upon the safe return of the two lads, whose sudden and unexplained disappearance had puzzled them and caused them a deal of worry. "I finds th' young scallawags driftin' around th' sea, and bearin' no course whatever," explained Captain Higgles, "an' I picks un up as salvage. But I don't want un. My eyes! I don't want un. I don't want any such two scallawags as they about the _Good an' Sure_. They'd be causin' me no end o' trouble, and you can have un free o' charge if you'll but take a look at a sick lad I has below, sir, an' tell us what t' do for un. 'Tis Hen. Blink's lad, sir. He has a wonderful rash all over he--my eyes, 'tis a wonderful rash, and it makes th' lad sick." Skipper Ed followed the captain to the cluttered little cabin, and Abel and Jimmy and Bobby, curious to see the wonderful rash, also followed. The lad, a boy of ten years or thereabouts, was stretched upon a bunk, and he was indeed afflicted with a wonderful rash. The moment Skipper Ed set eyes upon him his face assumed a very grave expression. He asked several questions, which the child's mother answered, and then he asked the boy: "How you feeling, little lad?" "Terrible sick," answered the boy, "but I'd be fine if I could go above deck, sir." "'Twill never do for you to go above deck with this rash," said Skipper Ed, "but there'll be better luck by and by, lad; better luck, lad." And then he directed the mother to give the child no cold drink, to keep him below decks, and not on any account to permit him to become chilled until the rash had disappeared and he felt quite well and normal again. To this he added some simple directions as to food. "Is I goin' t' die?" asked the boy anxiously. "No, no, lad, not if you do as your mother tells you, now. You'll be all right, but it'll be some time. Can't weigh your anchor and hoist your sails for a little while. Better luck by and by, though." "What's th' matter with un, Skipper?" asked Captain Higgles when they were again on deck. "Measles," answered Skipper Ed. "Measles! Measles!" exclaimed the Captain in instant consternation. "My eyes! Oh--my--eyes! And we're all like to cotch measles! And measles kills folks! Oh--my--eyes! 'Tis like t' ruin th' v'yage!" "'Tis too bad, but it can't be helped," Skipper Ed sympathized. "The lad has the measles, and if any of you haven't had measles you're likely to get 'em now. The only thing for you to do if any one breaks out with the rash, is to treat him just as I said to treat the boy. Don't let 'em go out or get chilled till the rash is well." "My eyes!" said Captain Higgles. "Measles! 'Tis a wonderful dangerous complaint. I minds when th' folks cotched un one summer in Black Run Harbor, and most every one that cotched un died! Oh, my eyes!" "Aye, 'tis like t' be a dangerous complaint down here on The Labrador, where we folk have poor means for caring for our sick," agreed Skipper Ed, dropping into the dialect of the people, as he often did when conversing with them. "But you have a schooner, and you're not so badly off as we are in our tents." "My eyes!" repeated Captain Higgles. "Measles! 'Tis like t' ruin th' v'yage!" The _Good and Sure_ spread her canvas and sailed away that morning, and quite as though nothing had occurred to disturb the even tenor of their every-day existence Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Bobby and Jimmy turned their attention to jigging cod, and Mrs. Abel to splitting the fish and spreading them to dry, and all worked from morning until night each day, that none of the harvest might be lost, for that year there was a plentiful run of fish. But Skipper Ed had something on his mind. After the departure of the _Good and Sure_ his face looked troubled, and more than once he murmured, "Better luck, I hope. Better luck." And as the days passed his anxiety increased, and Bobby and Jimmy frequently surprised him looking intently at them. Then came a morning when Bobby complained of feeling ill, and Skipper Ed directed that he must not go with the others of them to jig, but must remain in the tent, and he prepared a hot drink for Bobby, and wrapped the lad warmly in blankets. That very day Jimmy, too, fell ill, and Abel fell ill, and a day later Mrs. Abel also complained. "Measles," said Skipper Ed. And measles it was, and a serious condition of affairs confronted Skipper Ed. He gave up his fishing and devoted his whole attention to his four patients, and he thanked the Lord that he himself had passed through the ordeal as a child, and was immune. Because the people on the Labrador can seldom be brought to understand that a patient with this ailment must be kept warm and free from exposure or chill until the period of rash is passed, it is too often a fatal disease there--and an epidemic is sure to result in many deaths. In tent life, in time of gales and driving storms, it is frequently difficult, and sometimes indeed impossible, to properly care for the patients, for the tents of the people are seldom stormproof or rainproof. And so it was that Skipper Ed, who was not only nurse but cook, was more than occupied. There were times when confinement grew irksome to his patients, and at those times he was compelled to resort even to force to prevent one or another from going out into the chilling sea breeze. And one morning Bobby did evade him and go out, and became chilled, and the following day lay, as Skipper Ed verily believed, at the door of death. CHAPTER XIV VISIONS IN DELIRIUM There came a terrible day and night when Bobby's life hung in the balance. A burning fever was upon him. His reason wandered, and he talked of strange things. "Mamma! Mamma!" he called, and time and again he plead: "Uncle Robert, give me a drink of water! Uncle Robert, I'm so thirsty! Oh, I'm so thirsty!" And then it would be Abel Zachariah or Mrs. Abel, or Jimmy, or Skipper Ed himself, who was addressed. Every subject under the sun was running through Bobby's poor, delirious mind. Sometimes he spoke in Eskimo, sometimes in English. "Father!" he would cry, "see this cod. He's a fine one! We'll have a fine catch this season." And so he would ramble along about the fishing for a time, and then perhaps grow silent, only to resume, upon some other thought. After each brief silence there was something new. Perhaps he was warning Jimmy to run, or declaring that he knew he could get the bear if he only had time to load. Or perhaps he was telling Mrs. Abel that he was tired, oh, so tired, and begging her to sing a lullaby to him as she used to do when he was little. Skipper Ed, foreseeing this state of affairs, had removed his other patients, who were now convalescing, to his own tent, where he gave them strict instructions as to their conduct, and such casual attention as he could. But for the most part he remained with Bobby. Indeed, during the day and night of Bobby's delirium he scarcely left Bobby's side for an instant. And more than once during this period of vigil and fear and foreboding Skipper Ed fell upon his knees and poured out his soul to the Great Master in an appeal for his young friend's life. It was near sunrise on the second morning of his delirium that Bobby suddenly ceased to speak and lay very quiet--so quiet that an awful dread came into Skipper Ed's heart. He leaned over the still form and with fearful apprehension listened for breathing that he could not hear, and felt for heart beats that were too faint for his discovery. And then again he fell upon his knees, for he was a God-fearing man and he had the love of God in his heart, and he prayed that if it were not too late God in His goodness would again place the breath of life into Bobby and return him to them. He prayed aloud, and as he prayed the tears ran down his weather-beaten cheeks. At last he rose. Bobby's face had assumed an unnatural, peaceful repose. The color had left the cheeks that had been fever flushed for so long. The lips were partly open, and there was no movement or sign of life. Skipper Ed staggered to the tent front, and thrusting the flaps aside staggered out. The world lay quiet and serene, as though it held no grief. The waves lapped gently against the rocks. The sky was afire with radiant beauty. For a long while Skipper Ed stood there, his face drawn and haggard, his tall form bent, uncertain which way to turn or what to do. Presently the fire faded from the sky, a breeze sent a ripple over the calm waters, and the big sun rose out of the sea, as though to ask him why he mourned. And then he whispered, "Thy will be done. If it is Thy will to take him from us, oh God, give us the strength and courage to accept our bereavement like men." Then it was that a new, strange peace came upon Skipper Ed, and he reentered the tent, to stoop again over Bobby's couch, and as he did so his heart gave a bound of joy, and a lump came into his throat. Bobby was breathing--ever so softly--but breathing. With the passing minutes the steady, regular breathing became more apparent, the pulse asserted itself and grew stronger, and at the end of an hour, when Bobby at last opened his eyes Skipper Ed saw that reason had returned to them. "I've--been--asleep--dreaming--queer--dreams," Bobby murmured faintly. "Yes," said Skipper Ed, "you've been asleep." "I--feel--very--weak." "Yes, you're very weak, for you've been very sick, lad," and Skipper Ed, choking back his emotion, added cheerily: "But there's better luck for you now, lad. Better luck." "May--I--have--a--drink?" Skipper Ed poured some water into a tin cup, and supporting Bobby's head, held the cup to his parched lips. "Father--and mother--and Jimmy--where--are--they?" Bobby feebly asked, for even in sickness his eye was quick to note their absence. "They're in my tent. Nearly well, but not well enough to go out and get chilled, though they're ready enough for it, and tired enough of staying in," said Skipper Ed. And then, wearied with the exertion, Bobby fell into deep and strength-restoring slumber, and Skipper Ed joined the others to cheer their hearts with the good news that Bobby's illness had passed its climax, and to rejoice with them over a meager breakfast. With the passing days Bobby grew rapidly stronger, and the others were able to be out and at their duties again. And in due time Bobby, too, was out on the rocks enjoying the sunlight, with his old vigor daily asserting itself. But hours of sunshine were few now, and more often than not the sky was leaden and somber, and the wind blew raw and cold, and already the clouds were spitting snow. The fishing season had passed almost before they realized it. The weeks of idleness had been costly ones, and when the time came for them to return to the cabins at the head of Abel's Bay, and make ready for winter, they had garnered little of the harvest that had promised so well. "Every season can't be a good one for us," remarked Skipper Ed as they struck their camp. "Better luck next year; better luck. And we should be mighty thankful we're all alive and all well. That's good luck--good luck, after all." But they were to be denied many things that winter that the fish they had not caught would have brought them. The little luxuries in which they had always indulged occasionally were not to be thought of; and pork, which is almost a necessity, was to become a rarity and a luxury to them, and there were to be times when even the flour barrel would be empty. But this was a part of the ups and downs of their life, and one and all they accepted the condition cheerfully, for who, they said, does not have to endure privations now and again? And they had always done very well in other years, and the needs of life are small; and so they had no complaint to make. Comfort and privation are, after all, measured largely by contrast, and what to them would have been comfortable and luxurious living would have seemed to you and me little less than unendurable hardship. Bobby and Jimmy were as glad, now, to return to the snug cabins as they had been to set out for Itigailit Island in the summer, and as they looked back over the few short weeks, the July day when they had their adventure with the bear seemed to them a long, long while ago. And when the boats were loaded Bobby ran up to say good-bye for a season to the cairn and the dead man mouldering beneath it, and to the wide open sea, and the misty horizon out of which he had drifted, and then they hoisted sail and were off. Another long winter with its bitter cold and drifting snow, its joys and its hardships and adventures, was at hand. CHAPTER XV MAROONED IN AN ARCTIC BLIZZARD That was indeed a winter of bitter cold and of almost unexampled severity. It came suddenly, too, and with scant warning, as we shall see, and a full fortnight in advance of the time when it should have come. Abel and Skipper Ed took Jimmy with them that year upon their autumn seal hunt. It was deemed wise to leave Bobby behind with Mrs. Abel, despite his protest. Though he was willing enough to remain when Mrs. Abel declared that because of her recent illness she wished some one to stay at home and assist her, for she did not feel equal to the task, unassisted, of making things snug for the winter. And of course there was none but Bobby to stay. And so it came about that Bobby, with many longings and regrets, though cheerful enough withal, stood down on the beach one frosty September morning and watched Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy sail away for the hunt, while he comforted himself with the thought that another year he, too, would go. Indeed, he had already taken part in the spring hunt, and though he gave no hint that he had guessed what was in their minds, he knew well enough that the plea that he was needed at home to assist Mrs. Abel at the work was a subterfuge of his foster parents, instigated, he had no doubt, by Skipper Ed. He was also satisfied that the real reason why he was left at home was because they deemed him not yet strong enough, as a result of his own recent illness, to withstand the unavoidable exposure and hardships to which the seal hunters would be subjected on the open and unprotected coast. And he had to confess to himself that he had not indeed recovered the full measure of his activity and hardihood, and that there was reason and justice in their course. A raw wind was blowing, but a fair wind, and in a little while the boat, bowling before the breeze with all sail set, was lost to view. Then, disconsolately, Bobby turned back to the cabin, but Mrs. Abel took good care that he was kept so busy that he soon forgot his disappointment in work. And that day he and Mrs. Abel had a jolly dinner of boiled goose, and tea, and that evening they sat a full hour beyond their bedtime while she recounted to him in her own quaint way the story of his coming from the place where mists and storms are born, and told him how he was sent by God to be their son, and how little he was, and how ill he was when Abel first placed him in her arms, and how she had hugged him to her, and had nursed away his fever, and how glad she and Abel had always been that God had sent them a son. The days passed thus until they lengthened into a week. Though Bobby was content enough, it was but natural that he should be a bit lonesome now and again, and eagerly wish the fortnight gone that yet must pass before the return of the seal hunters. The wild geese and ducks were still in flight, coming in great flocks from the lakes of the vast unknown interior and from the farther north, on their way to milder southern climes. There were several marshes near Abel's Bay where the migrating flocks tarried for a time to rest and feed, and of mornings they would pass with a great roar of wings and loud honking from the bay to these marshes, and at night they would return. It was Bobby's custom morning and night to lie in wait for them with his shotgun, and he always returned to the cabin with as many birds as he could carry. These were hung in the entrance shed of the cabin, where they would freeze and remain fresh and good until needed for the table. And thus he too was doing his part in providing for the long winter which was at hand. The goose-hunting season was always one of great sport for Bobby, but this year he found it lonesome enough without Jimmy's company. It was this loneliness, no doubt, that prompted him, one morning in the beginning of the second week after the departure of the seal hunters, to take Abel Zachariah's old skiff and pull far down the bay in the hope that he might kill a seal on his own account. It was a gray day, with leaden clouds hanging low. Patches of snow lay upon the ground. The bay, throbbing with a gentle swell, was somber and dark. Bobby rowed the old skiff down the bay and past the bird islands near which he and Jimmy had their adventure on the cliff, but no seals were to be seen, and presently he turned his attention to the numerous sea pigeons which were swimming here and there. The young birds were quite full-grown now, and it was great fun shooting at them and watching them dive and rise again unharmed, though sometimes one would be just a fraction of a second too slow and the shot would find it, and then its downy body would float upon the water, and Bobby would pick it up and drop it into the boat and turn his attention to another, which might escape, or might be added to Bobby's bag. This was exciting sport--so exciting that Bobby could not bring himself to give it up until a full two hours past noonday, and even then he would not have done so had not a rising northeast wind created a chop which made shooting from the skiff so difficult and inaccurate that it lost its interest. Then Bobby discovered that he was possessed of a great hunger, and he ran the skiff ashore on a wooded point, and in a snug hollow in the lee of a knoll and surrounded by a grove of thick spruce trees, where he was well sheltered from the keen northeast wind, he lighted a fire, plucked and dressed one of the fifteen sea pigeons he had secured, and impaling it upon a stick proceeded to grill it for his dinner. He was thus busily engaged when snow began to fall. Thicker and thicker it came, but Bobby was well protected and he finished his cooking and his meal without a thought of danger or concern for his safety. And, when he had eaten, reluctant to leave his cozy fire, he tarried still another half hour. "Well," said he, rising at length, "the snow's getting thick and I'd better be pulling back. My! I didn't know it was so late! It's getting dusk, already, and it'll be good and dark before I get home!" Then, to his amazement, he discovered when he emerged from his sheltered nook that the wind had risen tremendously, that the cold had visibly increased, and that the chop had developed into a considerable sea, and that the snow, too, driving before the wind, was blinding thick. Bobby was not, however, alarmed, though he realized there was no time to be lost if he would reach home before the full force of the rising blizzard was upon him, and he chided himself for his delay. But the old skiff was a good sea boat, and Bobby was a good sea-man, and he pulled fearlessly out upon the wind-swept waters. And here the driving snow soon swallowed up the land, but Bobby was not afraid, and pulling with all his might turned down before the storm. For a little while all went well, and Bobby was congratulating himself that after all he would reach home before it became too dark to see. Then suddenly a big sea broke over his stern, and left the skiff half filled with water. This was serious. He could not relinquish the oars to bail out the water. Another such deluge would smother him. Then he realized that the seas had grown too big for him to weather, and his one hope was to make a landing. He searched his mind for a section of the shore within his reach, sufficiently free from jagged rocks and sufficiently sheltered to offer him a safe landing, and all at once he bethought himself of the bird island where he and Jimmy had gone egging, and which he had visited many times since. He was, fortunately, very near the island and when he heard the surf beating upon its rocky shores he determined quickly to make an effort to run upon its lee shore. Here, he argued, he could bail the water from the skiff, and then could pull across to the mainland, where he could haul up the skiff and walk home. It would be a disagreeable tramp in the storm, but it was his safest and his only course. But even in the lee of the island the seas were running high and dashing upon the rocks with such force that for the instant he held off, hesitating. There was no other course, however. The half-submerged skiff would never live to reach the mainland. With every passing minute conditions were growing worse. And so, watching for an opportune moment, Bobby drove for the shore. A roller carried the skiff on its crest, dropped it with a crash upon the rocks, and receded. Bobby sprang out, seized the painter, and running forward secured it to a bowlder, that the next sea might not carry it away. Then, watching his opportunity, little by little and with much tugging and effort, he drew the skiff to a safe position beyond the waves, and as he did so he discovered that the water which it held ran freely out of it, and that one of its planks had been smashed, and in the bottom of the skiff was a great hole. And there he was, wet to the skin, stranded upon a wind-swept, treeless island, with a useless skiff and with never a tool--not even an ax--with which to make repairs. And there he was, too, without shelter, and the first terrible blizzard of a Labrador winter rising, in its fury and awful cold, about him. And whether or not there was any wood about that could be gathered with bare hands he did not know. But more important than wood was cover from the storm, for without protection from the blizzard Bobby was well aware he could never survive the night. CHAPTER XVI A SNUG REFUGE The weather had suddenly become intensely cold, and Bobby's wet clothing was already stiff with ice. The northeast wind, laden with Arctic frost, swept the island with withering blasts, and cut to the bone. The wind was rising, too, and there was no doubt that with darkness it would attain the velocity of a gale, and the storm the proportions of a sub-Arctic blizzard. Snow was already falling heavily, and presently it would be driving and swirling in dense, suffocating clouds. Winter had fallen like a thunderbolt from heaven. But Bobby never permitted himself to worry needlessly. He was not one of those who with the least difficulty plunge into unnecessary discouragement and lose their capacity for action. It was not in his nature to waste his time and opportunities and energies worrying about what might happen, but what in the end rarely did happen. He conserved his mental and physical powers, and turned his mind and muscles into vigorous and practical action. And like every fortunate possessor of this valuable faculty, Bobby more often than not raised success out of failure. And so it came to pass that when Bobby found himself cast away upon the naked rocks of a small and treeless sub-Arctic island, with no shelter from the awful cold of a driving blizzard, and with no other tools than his hands, he did not give up and say, "This is the end," and then sit down to wait for the pitiless cold to end his sufferings. What he did say was: "Well, here I am in another mess, and I've got to find some way out of it." He examined the skiff carefully and the examination satisfied him that it was too badly injured to be repaired with the means at his command, and so with all his energy he set himself at once to making himself as comfortable as the conditions and the surroundings would permit. First he scoured the island for wood, for he knew that presently the storm and blizzard would rise to such proportions as to render any efforts to find wood impossible, and any attempt to move about perilous, and therefore no time must be lost. In a little while he succeeded in collecting a considerable amount of driftwood, and when he turned his attention to other things he had the consolation of knowing that the gale would sweep the snow from the rocks and into the sea, and that any wood that he had overlooked in his search, or had no time now to gather, would be left uncovered, where he could find it when the blizzard was past and he could go abroad again. He piled his fuel by the side of a big, high, smooth-faced bowlder which he had purposely chosen because of its location, not far from the place where he had been driven ashore, and on the lee side of the island. The smooth face of this bowlder looked toward the water, and with its back toward the wind it offered a fairly good wind-break, and a considerable drift had already formed against its face, or sheltered, side, where the snow lodged as it was driven in swirling gusts around its ends or swept over its top. When his wood was gathered, Bobby with much effort dragged the boat to the rock, and then working hard and fast cleared away the snow as best he could with the aid of sticks and feet from the smooth rock bed in front of the bowlder, and on which the bowlder rested. He now carried from the innumerable stones lying about upon the wind-swept rocks, sufficient to build at right angles to the bowlder two rough walls about two feet high and as long as the width of the boat. These walls were perhaps eight feet apart, and when they were finished he raised the boat, bottom up, upon them, the after part of the boat resting upon one, the prow extending over the other, and the side of the boat shoved back flush against the bowlder face. Thus he made for himself a covered shelter, and the front of this he enclosed with other stones, save for a space three feet wide in the center, which he reserved for a door. From low spruce bushes--for there were no trees on the island--he now gathered a quantity of brush and arranged it under the boat for a bed. Dusk was settling before these arrangements had been completed. When all was at length as snug as his ingenuity could make it in the short time at his disposal, he stored as much of the wood, under the boat as the limited space would allow and still permit him room to stretch with some comfort; and as quickly as possible he built a small fire just outside the door. Already snow had drifted around the ends and on top of the boat and his little fire reflecting heat within soon made his covered nook comfortable enough. Fourteen sea pigeons would make fourteen meals, though scant ones for a husky fellow like Bobby. Now he was hungry enough, as indeed he always was at meal hour and it did not take him long to pluck and dress one of the birds, and in short order it was grilling merrily on the end of a stick. There was no bread to keep the grilled sea pigeon company, but Bobby did not mind in the least. Indeed, this lack of variety was no hardship. He often dined upon meat alone, and now he was thankful enough to have the sea pigeons, or indeed anything. But almost before his supper was cooked the little fire, deluged with clouds of snow, dried out and refused to burn, and it became evident to Bobby that he must face the night without fire, and resort to other means to protect himself in his narrow quarters from freezing. He was already ashiver and his hands and feet were numb. He had no blanket, and no other covering than the wet clothes he wore, and he closed the door of his shelter as best he could with the sticks of driftwood which were stored under the boat. There was nothing else to be done. The cold had become intense. The storm demon had broken loose in all its fury and was lashing sea and land in wild frenzy. The shrieking wind, the dull, thunderous pounding of the waves upon the rocks and the hiss of driving snow, filled the air with a tumult that was little less than terrifying. No man unsheltered could have survived an hour upon the exposed rocks of the blizzard-swept island, and cold and shivering as he was, Bobby gave thanks for his narrow little cover under the boat, which in contrast to the world outside appealed to him now as an exceedingly snug retreat. It was safe for a little while, at least, and here he hoped he might have the strength to weather the storm in safety. And while he lay and listened to the roar and tumult of the storm, presently he became aware that he was growing warmer. His shivering ceased. The bitter chill of the first half hour after his fire went out passed away, and in a little while to his astonishment he discovered that he was not after all so uncomfortable. "The snow must have covered me all up," he exclaimed with sudden enlightenment, "and I'll be at the bottom of a big drift pretty soon, and that's what's making me warm." It was dark, and he struck a match to investigate, and sure enough, every chink and crevice, even his door, was packed with snow, and not a breath of air stirred within. Gradually the sound of the shrieking wind and pounding sea seemed farther and farther away, and he heard it as one hears something in the distance. "Mother's going to be scared for me," he mused, as he rearranged his bed of boughs. "She'll think I'm lost, and I'm sorry. She'll be all right when I get home, though. It is a fine mess to get into." Then his thoughts turned to Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy, somewhere out on the coast and weathering the same storm. But they had a tent and a stove, and they would be comfortable enough, he had no doubt. But there was the seal hunt. Winter had come to cut off the seal hunt two weeks too soon, and they could scarcely have made a beginning. That was a serious matter. The failure of the fishing season, now coupled with an undoubted failure of the autumn seal hunt, would pinch them harder than they had ever been pinched before. Without the seals they would not be able to keep all of their dogs, and the dogs were a necessity of their life. All of these thoughts passed through Bobby's mind as he lay in the dense darkness of his den. But he was young and he was optimistic, and disturbing thoughts presently gave way to a picture of the snug little cabin at the head of Abel's Bay and of its roaring fire in the big box stove, and with the picture the sound of the storm drew farther and farther away until it became at last one of Mrs. Abel's quaint Eskimo lullabies, that she crooned to him when he was little, and Bobby slept. And there under the snow drift he slept as peacefully as he could have slept in his bed at home in the cabin at Abel's Bay, and just as peacefully as he could ever have slept in a much finer bed in that misty and forgotten past before he drifted down from the sea to be a part of the life of the stern and desolate Labrador. And so God prepares and tempers us, to our lot, and shows us how to be happy and content, if we are willing, in whatever land He places us, and with whatever He provides for us. And thus He was tempering Bobby and directing him to his destiny. CHAPTER XVII PRISONER ON A BARREN ISLAND Because his bed of boughs was snug and comfortable, and because there was nothing else to do and nowhere to go, and it was the best way, anyhow, to spend the hours of imprisonment that would last until the blizzard spent itself, Bobby gave himself the luxury of a long sleep. But even then it was still dark when he awoke, and at first he was puzzled, for he was sure he had slept away hours enough for daylight to have come. He could hear the raging storm and pounding seas in a muffled roar, as though far away, while he lay for a little while wondering at the darkness. The air had grown close and stifling, and presently he arose and struck a match. It glowed for a moment but refused to burn. He struck another and then another, with like result. The matches were perfectly dry, for he carried them in a small, closely corked bottle. He could not understand it in the least. He struck another. It flashed, but like the others went out. Then he suddenly remembered that Skipper Ed had once said fire would not burn in air from which the oxygen had been taken, for then the air would be "dead," and that a person would exhaust all the air in a close room in a short time, and therefore rooms should be well ventilated. And with this he realized what had happened. His air had been cut off and all that remained was dead. The drift had covered his den to a great depth while he slept, and the wind had packed the snow so hard that the air could no longer circulate through it. It was necessary that an opening be made quickly or he would smother, and this he set about to do with all his might. He removed some of the sticks with which he had closed the doorway, and using one of them as a tool dug away the snow, until light at last began to filter through, and he knew it was day, and presently he broke the outer crust of the drift. A flood of pure but bitterly cold air poured in upon him, and he breathed deeply and felt refreshed. He had dug his opening straight out from the place which he had arranged for a door, and he now made it large enough to permit the passage of his body as he crawled upon hands and knees. The storm had in no degree abated. The velocity of the wind was so terrific that had Bobby not stood in the shelter of the drift-covered bowlder he could not have kept upon his feet. The air was so filled with driving snow as to be suffocating. A tremendous sea was running and great waves were pounding and breaking upon the rocks with terrific roar, though no glimpse of them could he get through the snow clouds that enveloped him. There was nothing to be done but to return to his burrow and make himself as comfortable as circumstances would permit. His first care was to clear away the snow which he had thrown back under the boat as he dug his way out, and which partially filled his cave. And when this was done he selected a sharp stick and with it made three or four air holes in the roof of the drift above his door, to furnish ventilation, for it was not long before the entrance of the passageway was again closed. Bobby was very hungry, as every healthy boy the world over is sure to be when he rises in the morning, and when he had completed the ventilation of his cave to his satisfaction he proceeded to make a small fire over which to grill one of his birds, never doubting the smoke would pass out of the ventilating holes that he had made through the top of the drift. But to his chagrin the smoke did not rise and was presently so thick as to blind and choke him, and he found it necessary to put the fire out. And so it came about that in the end he had to content himself with eating his sea pigeon uncooked, which after all was no great hardship. All that day and all the next day the storm continued and Bobby was held prisoner in his cave, and he was thankful enough that he had the cave to shelter him. When he awoke, however, on the morning of the third day of his captivity, and forced his way out of doors, he was met by sunshine and his heart bounded with joy. It was only behind bowlders and the clumps of bushes scattered here and there, and in sheltered corners where drifts had formed, that snow remained upon the island. Elsewhere the wind had swept the rocks clean. The gale that had racked the world had passed, but a brisk breeze was blowing down from the north, sharp with winter cold. The sea, too, had subsided, though even yet big rollers were driving and pounding upon the rocky shore. "Now," said Bobby, "with the first calm night, when the water quiets down, the bay will freeze, and then I can walk in on the ice. But they'll have to hurry in from the seal hunt or they'll be caught out there and won't be able to bring the boat in this winter. I can stand it a little while, and I hope the freeze-up won't come till they get back home." But Bobby lost no time in needless calculation. What was of highest immediate importance was the satisfaction of his appetite, which as usual was protesting against delay. He had been eating raw sea pigeon quite long enough, and he proposed now to enjoy the great treat of a grilled bird. And so without troubling himself with vain regrets of what he might have done or might not have done, he proceeded to fetch wood from his cave and to build a fire, and a good one it was to be, too, in the lee of his bowlder. And when the wood was crackling merrily he made a comfortable seat of boughs upon which to sit while he cooked and ate the one sea pigeon which he allowed himself. Bobby had never eaten a sea pigeon that seemed quite so small as that one, and it required a large degree of self-denial and self-restraint to observe the rule of economy which he had imposed upon himself on the evening he was wrecked. He had decided then that two sea pigeons a day, one in the morning and one in the evening, were all he could afford. For who could tell how long it might be before he would make his escape? And there were no birds or other game to be had on the island at this season, and when those he had were gone there would be hungry days to face. Though he declared to himself when picking the last bone of his breakfast that he could never possibly be any hungrier than at that very moment. Nor could he afford a large fire in future. He calculated that he had already collected enough wood to last him, with small and carefully constructed fires, one day, and a survey of the island and its possibilities revealed the fact that all the additional fuel he could garner from the rocks would scarcely last him, even with rigid economy, another week. While confined to his cave during the period of the blizzard he had satisfied his thirst with bits of ice. Now his fire was built close to a little hollow in the rock, and, placing snow near the fire, it melted, and the water running into the hollow settled there, and gave him drink. And so, making the best of his resources, Bobby prepared for his siege, which he felt quite sure would end only when the bay froze and he could make his escape over the ice. A great part of the daylight hours were spent in collecting bits of wood. This kept him exercising, and kept his blood warm. Already the sea was smoking. The freeze-up was close at hand. With each hour the merciless winter cold increased in strength. That evening when he entered his cave he closed the entrance with snow, that it might be kept warm, but nevertheless he spent an uncomfortable night, and he was glad enough to crawl out in the morning and light his fire. That was a cheerless day. The sun shone through a gray veil, and offered little warmth. There was no more wood to gather, and to save his little stock he ran up and down upon the rocks that he might drive away the cold with exercise. The sun was low when he lighted his evening fire, and as he prepared his sea pigeon for supper he remembered with regret that he had but one bird remaining. "And I've been hungry ever since I've been here," he remarked to himself. "I'm half starved this minute." He was thinking a great deal now of what he should have to eat when he reached home, and planning for this and that. And, oh, for some good hot tea! And so, thinking, and dreading to go to his cheerless cave, he sat while his fire burned low and the sun sank from sight and the long and gloomy twilight gathered. "I'll spare another stick or two," he said, replenishing the fire. "I can't go into that hole yet." The fire blazed up, and the twilight grew thicker, and the fire had nearly burned out again while Bobby, dreaming of home and Mrs. Abel, and wondering where Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed and Jimmy were, fell into a doze. Then it was that something unlooked for startled him into sudden wakefulness. CHAPTER XVIII THE WINTER OF FAMINE Faintly over the waters, but quite loud enough for Bobby to hear, came a hail, and Bobby was on his feet in an instant, shouting with all the power of his lusty young lungs. Then he ran to his cave and got his gun, and fired three shots at intervals of a few seconds, and with the last shot listened tense with eagerness and excitement. This was a signal that he and Jimmy had agreed upon. It meant, "Come! I want you," and when at home if Jimmy wished Bobby to come over to Skipper Ed's cabin, or Bobby wished Jimmy to come to Abel Zachariah's cabin, it was the way they called one another. And when the signal was heard, two shots were fired in quick succession to say, "I hear, and I will come," or two shots with an interval between, to say, "I hear you, but I can't come." Then it was the duty of the one who had fired the three shots in the beginning, whether or not his invitation had been accepted, to fire a single shot to say: "I hear you and understand." And so it was that Bobby listened eagerly. If the hail had come from the boat returning from the seal hunt, Jimmy would surely answer. He had but a moment to wait when two quickly fired shots rang out over the water. His excitement could scarcely contain itself as he fired one answering shot. Everything was working splendidly, after all! They were getting in from the seal hunt ahead of the freeze-up, and he was to reach home none the worse for his adventure. Bobby was lavish now with his wood. Darkness was settling and he piled the wood upon the fire until its flames leaped up into a great blaze as a beacon, to guide the boat to a safe landing among the rocks. And so it came to pass that Bobby was found and rescued, and he and Abel and Skipper Ed and Jimmy were glad enough to see one another again and to relate to one another their various experiences. And Mrs. Abel, mourning in the cabin, was given great joy, for she had believed that Bobby had been lost without doubt in the storm. The seal hunt was, as Bobby had feared it would be, almost a failure. But four small seals had been killed when the storm came upon the hunters, and they were forced to retreat, that they might reach home before the sea froze. These four seals, together with what remained of the meat from the spring hunt, were the only provisions they had for the dogs until February, when they could go to the ice edge, or _sena_, for the winter hunt, for then the seals would be on the ice. Even with scant rations this would be little more than half enough to keep the animals in serviceable condition, for there were a good many dogs to feed. Abel's two teams, together with an extra dog or two to fill the place of any that might be injured, numbered eighteen, while Skipper Ed kept seven. This made a total of twenty-five dogs to be provided for, and twenty-five big wolf dogs will consume a vast amount of food during a winter. So they held a consultation, and Skipper Ed decided that he could do very well without dogs if Abel would permit him the use of a team now and again. "Partner and I have kept dogs only these last two years, anyhow," said Skipper Ed. "Our hunting and trapping is chiefly inland, and we haven't much use for them. I don't want to see any of the dogs suffer for the want of something to eat, and if Partner is willing we'll kill them, and let you have the carcasses to feed to your teams. What do you say, Partner?" "We'll kill them." Jimmy agreed, regretfully. Abel also decided that it would be wise to reduce the number of his own dogs to fifteen, and thus the problem was solved. Winter settled with almost unexampled cold, and with a succession of fearful storms. It was a winter, too, of awful hardship and privation to the people of the Coast. The Eskimos to the northward depended chiefly upon seals for their own living as well as for dog food, and with them, as with Abel Zachariah and Skipper Ed, the seal hunt was cut off by the early blizzard, and few seals were killed. Abel and Skipper Ed, however, relied more largely upon the cod fishing, and it had been their custom for many years to barter away the fish they caught to trading schooners which visited them for that purpose at their fishing places before they returned to winter quarters. In this way they usually purchased sufficient flour and pork, tea and molasses to do them until the following spring, and when open water came again they would sail to the mission station and purchase with the furs their traps had yielded them, fresh supplies. The attack of measles this year, however, had so interfered with their fishing that their small catch had purchased from the traders scarcely enough flour and pork and tea to last them until the new year. And so one day late in December Abel and Skipper Ed drove the two dog teams over to the Nain Mission, expecting to obtain there the supplies they needed. "I'm sorry," said the missionary, "but I can spare you very little--almost nothing. The seal hunt was a failure with the people all down north, and they are starving, and I must take care of them. This year there are so many needy ones our stock will go only a little way. I'll divide it the best way I know how, but, God help the poor folk, it won't go far, and I'm praying God to send caribou or send seals." "We'll get on somehow," said Skipper Ed. "The timber is back of us and we'll get rabbits and partridges, and make out. Give the Eskimos what you have. They're on barren ground and don't have the chance we have. There'll be better luck for us all by and by. Better luck." And with only a half barrel of flour and some tea they returned to Abel's Bay to face the winter and make their fight against nature without complaint. For no truly brave man will complain when things go wrong in the game of life. And up there on The Labrador the game of life is a man's game and every man who wins must play it like a man, with faith and courage. The weeks that followed were trying and tedious ones. Sometimes there was not much to eat, when the hunting was poor, but they thanked God there was always something. But when February came at last there was not food enough to render it possible for them to make the long journey to the ice edge with safety. Living now was from hand to mouth. Each day they must hunt for what they would eat that day. Grouse and rabbits were the game upon which they usually relied, but Fate had cast this as one of those years when the rabbits disappear from the land as it is said they do every nine years. Be that as it may, not one was killed that winter and not a track was seen. For them to go to the ice without food was too great a risk. If they went and failed to find seals and were overtaken by a storm they would perish. This was the condition of affairs when Bobby and Jimmy set out one cold, clear morning to hunt for ptarmigans, the white grouse of the North. Not far away was a barren hill whose top was kept clean swept of snow by the winds, and up this hill they climbed, for sometimes ptarmigans are found in places like this, feeding upon the frozen moss berries which cling to the rocks. Bobby was in advance, and from the summit of the hill he scanned the great expanse of snow reaching away over the endless rolling country to the westward. And looking, he discovered in the distance a dark, moving mass slowly drawing down another hillside. For a moment he was speechless with joy, but it was for only a moment, and then he shouted: "_Tuktu! Tuktu! Tuktu!_" (Caribou, or reindeer.) Bobby's excited cry brought Jimmy up on a run, and when he looked and saw, he, too, shouted, and was no less excited than Bobby. "Caribou! The caribou are coming!" That was enough to send them back on a run for Abel and Skipper Ed and their rifles and all the ammunition they could muster, and then all four turned back to meet the caribou. On and on came the great herd, in a far-reaching, endless mass, thousands upon thousands of them, and they were heading directly for the hill where the four eager hunters waited. At length the mass reached them, and what followed was not a hunt but a slaughter, and when they were through more than a hundred caribou lay stretched upon the snow, and still the caribou came. The period of starvation was at an end. Comfort and plenty had appeared at their very door. The dogs were harnessed, and as many of the carcasses as they could use for man and dog food were hauled down, some to Abel Zachariah's cabin and some to Skipper Ed's. And bright and early the following morning Abel set out to the mission station and Skipper Ed to Abraham Moses' cabin, to bid the starving people come and help themselves and feast, and in the end not a caribou of all those that were killed was wasted. And so it was that the Almighty looked after these children of His, and so He cares for His children even in the wild wastes of Labrador. "Good luck! Good luck at last!" said Skipper Ed. CHAPTER XIX OFF TO THE "SENA" And so it was that the famine ended. There was small variety for the table, to be sure, but there was always plenty of good venison, varied with ptarmigans, and now and again a porcupine. And after all they were able to go to the ice edge on the winter seal hunt, and a profitable hunt it proved. Thus the years passed, and thus they were filled with ups and downs and many adventures and hard work, and withal plenty of good fun, too, to flavor them, as years are bound to be in that land of stern and active existence. But there was always time for study, and when Bobby was in his sixteenth year he and Jimmy could boast of having read Caesar and Cicero and Xenophon, and they were delving into Virgil and the Iliad. Under Skipper Ed's tutorship Bobby had advanced as far in his studies as most boys of his age in civilization, who have all the advantages of the best schools. And Skipper Ed was proud of his progress, and proud of Jimmy's progress too, as indeed he had reason to be, for neither of them was a waster of time. There was no inducement to be laggards. Their hearts were clean and their vision was clear. Their view was not cut off or circumscribed by the frivolous and ofttimes vicious amusements that stand as a wall around life's outlook in the town. Their view and their hope were as wide as the wilderness and the sea, rugged and stern but mighty and majestic and limitless--God's unspoiled works--and God was a living God to them. Bobby at this age had developed into a big, husky lad. He could drive the dog team as well as Abel. He had already killed many seals, and he was an excellent hunter for his years. To Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel he was a dutiful, affectionate son. They, too, were proud of him, and looked upon him as the finest lad in the whole land, and Abel boasted that when he grew to be a man he would be the finest hunter on the coast. It happened that early in February following Bobby's fifteenth birthday Abel wrenched an ankle so badly that he could not go about his duties, or even hobble outside the cabin door. The responsibility of providing for the little household, therefore, fell upon Bobby. And Bobby, though keenly sympathetic, was nevertheless glad of an opportunity to show his prowess. He squared his shoulders, and regardless of cold and storm set about the work, determined to prove that he was a man in the things he could accomplish, if not in years; and he succeeded so well that he won high praise from Abel. Certainly Abel himself could not have done better with the fox trapping, which at this season was the chief employment. Bobby kept the house, too, so well supplied with rabbits and ptarmigans, through his incessant hunting, that presently there were enough hanging frozen in the porch to last till the coming of warm weather. One evening near the end of February Bobby announced, as he entered the cabin after giving the dogs their daily feed: "There's only enough seal meat left to last the dogs a week. I'll have to go to the _sena_ and kill some more." "You do not know how to do that kind of hunting," objected Abel. "It is not like hunting seals from a boat, or like spearing them through their breathing holes in the ice. Feed the dogs only once every two days, and perhaps before the meat is gone my foot will be strong enough for me to go to the _sena_." "I was there with you last year," Bobby insisted. "Jimmy will go with me. He has been to the _sena_ with you twice, and he knows how. We will be careful." And at last Abel surrendered, for he could not long deny Bobby any reasonable thing that the lad set his heart upon, and after all Bobby had proved himself a good and careful hunter; and they needed seals. Skipper Ed had not kept dogs since the slaughter of his team in the year of famine. He hunted and trapped more after the manner of the Indian than the Eskimo, going long journeys inland on snowshoes, and now Jimmy accompanied him. And living quite alone, as he had during his earlier years on the coast, there was no one who could have fed or cared for dogs when Skipper Ed was absent upon these trapping expeditions. It was therefore only during the two or three years preceding the year of famine, when Jimmy was old enough to care for them, and wished them, that he had a team. Abel, on the other hand, after the manner of Eskimos, set his traps nearer the shore, that he might, so far as possible, make the rounds of them with dogs. Abel, therefore, had constant need of dogs, and he now had sixteen fine big fellows, which so nearly resembled the great wolves of the barrens that were dogs and wolves to intermingle only the practiced eye could distinguish the one from the other. These dogs never barked, but howled with the weird, dismal howl of the wolf. And when they were hungry they were such dangerous, savage brutes that it was unsafe for a stranger, unless armed with a cudgel, to wander among them. With sixteen dogs Abel could muster two ordinary teams of eight dogs each, or one powerful team of ten or twelve, or even the entire number. Skipper Ed and Jimmy, when they required the services of dogs, could always borrow a team from Abel, and to repay this courtesy it was their custom to join in the autumn and spring seal hunts, and to contribute the carcasses of the seals they killed to Abel, retaining only the skins, which Mrs. Abel dressed and made up for them into boots and winter garments and sleeping bags, as needs demanded. It was a Saturday evening when Bobby finally received Abel's consent for him to go to the _sena_ seal hunting. He was preparing to go over, as was his custom on Saturdays, to spend the evening with Skipper Ed and Jimmy in reading and study, and when he had eaten his supper he donned his snowshoes and _netsek_[D] and hurried eagerly away to Skipper Ed's cabin to invite Jimmy to join him in the adventure. [Footnote D: An Eskimo garment of seal skin, which is drawn on over the head like a shirt, and has a hood to protect the head. When this garment is made of caribou skin it is called a _kulutuk_, and when made of cloth, an _adikey_.] "Yes, to be sure, Partner, you must go with Bobby," said Skipper Ed. "But it's going to be bleak and cold out there. It's a man's work at this season, hunting at the _sena_, and a strong man's work, too. Perhaps I had better go along. Then we can take two teams of dogs." "That will be dandy!" exclaimed Bobby, "We'll have a fine time!" "Yes, Partner, come!" urged Jimmy. "You can leave your traps for a week." "I think I can--yes, I'll go," Skipper Ed decided. "I was never hunting at the _sena_ but twice, though, and I've never forgotten my first experience. It was a good many years ago, before you came, Partner. I went with Abel. We had a hard time of it that year, for stormy weather came up and we nearly perished in a blizzard." "We'll build a snow _igloo_" said Bobby, "and be pretty comfortable. We'll take Father's snow knives and two of his old stone lamps. We'll have plenty of seal oil to burn. You know there's no wood out there, and it isn't worth while hauling any." "Yes," agreed Skipper Ed, "we'll need the lamps, though I don't like them. I never could get used to them, and I never liked to go too far from wood." And so it came to pass that in the bright moonlight of Monday morning they lashed upon the two _komatiks_ a good supply of hardtack and boiled salt pork--the only provisions that would not freeze too hard to eat--with tea, and sleeping bags, and numerous articles of equipment for their own use and comfort, and a day's supply of seal meat for the dogs. Then the dogs were caught and harnessed, and in great excitement began to strain at the traces and howl their eagerness to be off. _Oksunaes_ were shouted to Abel and Mrs. Abel, and Bobby, grasping the front of one _komatik_, and Skipper Ed the front of the other, they pulled them sharply to one side to break them loose, shouting to the teams as they did so: "_Hu-it! Hu-it!_" Then they flung themselves upon the _komatiks_, and away they dashed, down the steep and slippery incline, and off through the shore hummocks at a wild, mad gallop. They were away to the _sena_, and the Great Adventure, at last. CHAPTER XX JIMMY'S SACRIFICE For a little way the dogs traveled at a gallop, and Bobby and Skipper Ed had lively work while this lasted, guiding the _komatiks_ between the ice hummocks. But it was not long before the first excitement of going upon a journey wore off, and after their manner the animals, with tails curled over their backs, settled down to a steady pulling. Now and again they came upon a ridge of ice piled up by the tide, and then it was necessary to lift at the _komatiks_ and help the dogs. Presently the ice hummocks were left behind and the smooth, white surface of the frozen bay stretched out before them. The snow which covered the ice had been beaten down and hard packed by the wind, and the sledge runners slid over its surface so easily that the dogs increased their pace to a steady, rapid trot. The weather was fearfully cold. The runners of the sledge squeaked and creaked. Frost flakes on the hard packed snow glistened and scintillated in the moonlight and soon the _netseks_ of the travelers were covered with white hoar frost, ice formed upon their eyelashes and Skipper Ed's breath froze upon his beard until presently his face was almost hidden by a mass of ice. They ran by the side of the _komatiks_ to keep warm, only now and again riding for a little way to rest, and as they ran or walked they chatted gaily, contemptuous of the cold, and keenly enjoying in anticipation the sport and adventure in store for them. And so they traveled for three full hours before the first hint of daylight came stealing up over the white horizon in the southeast, and at length, very slowly, as though reluctant to show his face, and uncertain of his welcome, the sun peeked timidly over the ice field. Then, reassured, he boldly lifted his round, glowing face full into view, giving cheer and promise to the frozen world. To the sledge traveler the dreariest hour of the day, and the hour of bitterest cold, is that immediately preceding sunrise. As though by consent our three friends during this period fell into silence, and none spoke until the sun looked out over the ice, and the frost-covered snow--each frost flake a miniature prism--was set a-sparkling and a-glinting as though the snow was thick sown with diamonds. [Illustration: They ran by the side of the _komatiks_ to keep warm] "Glorious! Isn't it glorious!" exclaimed Bobby, dropping by Jimmy's side upon the _komatik_, and removing a hand from its mitten for a moment to pick small particles of ice from his eyelashes. Jimmy for answer drew his right hand from its mitten, and clapping it over Bobby's nose began to rub the member vigorously. "There, now it's all right," said he, donning his mitten again after a minute or two of rubbing. "Your nose was going dead.[E] The end of it was white." [E] Freezing. "I never felt it," laughed Bobby. "Just look at the Skipper back there. He's a perfect image of Santa Claus!" "Exactly!" exclaimed Jimmy, looking back at Skipper Ed. "He's exactly like the picture of Santa Claus in that old magazine you and I used to look at so much, only a good deal more real." "If he was driving reindeers, now, instead of dogs," laughed Bobby, "and I met him with all that ice on his beard, and his _netsek_ white and glistening with the frost that way, I'd think he had stepped right out of the old picture book." "Good old Partner!" said Jimmy. "I think I'll drop back with him a while and keep him company." And, dropping lightly from the moving _komatik_, he waited to run along for a while with Skipper Ed, while Bobby ran alone with his own sledge. Once a lonely raven coming from somewhere out of the blank spaces alighted on the ice a quarter of a mile in advance of Bobby's team and directly in its track. The dogs saw it immediately, and in an instant they were after it at a mad gallop. Bobby threw himself upon the sledge, in high glee at the wild pace, and Skipper Ed's team, quite sure they were missing something very much worth while, set out in hot pursuit. In seeming disregard for his safety, the raven, cocking his head first on one side, then on the other, surveyed the approaching dogs with interest, and to Bobby it seemed that the dogs would surely catch him. Old Tucktu, the leader, was apparently of the same mind and very sure of a tasty morsel, and they were almost upon him before the raven, too dignified to hurry, rose leisurely on his wings, tantalizingly near to Tucktu's nose, and flapped away another quarter of a mile to repeat, with evident enjoyment, the episode, and then, unscathed, he disappeared again into the blank spaces. When the raven had gone and the excitement was at an end, Bobby and Skipper Ed shouted "_Ah_!" at their teams, and ran ahead with their long whips as the dogs stopped, to compel the panting animals to lie down and remain quiet while they straightened out the tangled traces and made merry over the rapid ride they had enjoyed. Then, extracting some hardtack biscuits from their bags, they sat on the sledges and ate their dry luncheon while the dogs jogged leisurely on again. The sun was setting when Bobby, now well in the lead, halted his team at Abel Zachariah's old fishing place on Itigailit Island to await Skipper Ed and Jimmy. The sea, far out in the direction in which Abel had found Bobby in the drifting boat that August morning, was frozen, and a little way out from Itigailit Island the smooth ice gave place to mountainous ridges and hummocks where, earlier in the season, rough seas had piled massive blocks one upon another and left them there to freeze and catch the drifting snow. Far out beyond the pressure ridges Bobby could see a dark line which marked the edge of the sea ice and the place where open water began. That was the _sena_ for which they were bound. "Don't you think we'd better build our _igloo_ here?" Bobby suggested as the others came up. "It's getting late and we can't do any hunting tonight, anyway, and perhaps there won't be any good drifts out there." "Yes, by all means," agreed Skipper Ed. "We'll have plenty of time in the morning to go out, and if the hunting proves good, and we prefer to stay there, we can build an _igloo_ at our leisure. If we get plenty of seals we will want to haul them in here to land to cache them, and then if the ice breaks up before we get them all hauled home, we can take them in the boat. And while we are hauling them in here from the _sena_ we'll have a snug _igloo_ at each end of the trail, where we can make hot tea, if we wish, and drink it in comfort." They found an excellent drift in a spot well sheltered from the wind, and because he was taller and stronger than Bobby and a better builder than Jimmy, Skipper Ed, with a snow knife which looked very much like a sword but had a wider blade, which was straight instead of curved, marked a circle about ten feet in diameter upon the drift. Then he cut a wedge out of the snow in the center, and with this as a beginning he carved from each side of the hole blocks of the hard-packed snow, each block about two feet long and a foot and a half wide and ten inches thick. These he placed on edge around the circle, fitting their ends close together by trimming them as he found necessary, with the knife. Bobby and Jimmy, each with a knife, now began also to cut other slabs from a drift outside the circle, and passed them to Skipper Ed when he had exhausted his supply within the circle. They were very heavy, these blocks, and as much as the boys could manage. When Skipper Ed had built a row of blocks completely around the circle, he trimmed the first blocks which he had placed to a wedge, that he might build his circle of blocks up in a spiral. Each block of snow was so placed that it was braced against the one next it, and its top leaned a little inward, so that as the walls of the _igloo_ rose each was smaller than the one preceding it, until at last a key block in the top completed the dome-shaped structure. As the house grew Bobby plastered the joints between the blocks full of snow, making its outside smooth like the surface of a snowdrift. When Skipper Ed had finished the building, he cut a circular place through the side, close down to the bottom, and just large enough to permit him to crawl out. Now with a snowshoe he shoveled the loose snow out of the opening, and leveled the floor within. Bobby and Jimmy in the meantime busied themselves unlashing the loads upon the sledges and unharnessing the dogs. When this was done Bobby with an ax chopped frozen seal meat into pieces for the dogs' supper, while Jimmy with the long whip kept the hungry dogs at a distance, for with the unharnessing, and preparation of their supper, they collected into bunches, and sitting on their haunches, growled and snapped at one another, each fearful that his neighbor should gain an advantage, and all the time emitted dismal, whistling whines of impatience. Presently Bobby stepped aside, Jimmy withdrew the menace of the whip, and in an instant the hungry beasts were upon their food, gulping it down as fast as they could pick it up, a snarling, snapping, yelping mass, and there was a fight or two that the boys were called upon to mediate by beating the animals apart. By the time the feeding was over Skipper Ed had carried the harness into the _igloo_ and spread it evenly on the floor--for the dogs would have eaten their own harness if it had been left to them--and over the harness he laid caribou skins, and then carried in the sleeping bags and provisions. Nothing, indeed, was left outside, for nothing would have been safe from the ravenous beasts. And when the dogs were fed and all was made snug and safe the three crawled within, and closed the entrance to the _igloo_ with a big block of snow previously provided for the purpose. They had brought with them two of Abel's old stone lamps. These were simply blocks of stone cut in the shape of a half moon, and hollowed out, to hold seal oil. The lamps were now placed upon snow shelves, one on either side of the _igloo_, and the oil from a piece of blubber squeezed into them. Pieces of rags carefully placed along the straight side of the lamps served as wicks. These were lighted and burned with a smoky, yellow flame. When the wicks were burning well a snow knife was stuck into the wall of the snow house over each lamp, and upon these knives kettles were suspended and filled with snow taken from the wall of the _igloo_. One of the kettles was removed when the snow was melted, and set aside for drinking water. The other was permitted to boil, tea was made, and then the fire was put out, for already the temperature inside the _igloo_ had become so warm that presently there would be danger of the snow dripping moisture. "Now," said Skipper Ed, lighting a candle, for it was growing dark, "we're ready for supper. You chaps must be hungry." "I could eat my boots!" declared Bobby. "So could I!" exclaimed Jimmy, as he poured hot tea into Skipper Ed's and Bobby's cups and then helped himself. "I was glad enough when we decided to stop here." "Isn't it fine and cozy," said Bobby, between mouthfuls of frozen boiled pork and hardtack. "I always find a snow _igloo_ cozy." "It makes a pretty good shelter," Skipper Ed admitted, "but I never did care for an _igloo_. I'm too much of an Indian, I suppose, for I prefer a tent and a good wood fire, with its sweet smoke odor, and the companionship and shelter of the forest." "Oh, I think an _igloo_ is nicer," insisted Bobby. "A tent gets cold at night when the fire goes out, and an _igloo_ keeps fine and warm. I could live in an _igloo_ all winter." "You're a regular husky!" laughed Skipper Ed. "Partner and I are Indians, aren't we, Partner?" "Yes, Partner, I like a tent better," agreed Jimmy, "but," he added, "I like our house better than a tent." "It all depends upon what we're used to, after all," remarked Skipper Ed, "and comfort is a matter of comparison. I've no doubt that Bobby, had he never been sent adrift, and had he never found his way here, would now be living in a fine mansion somewhere, and if he had been brought here directly from the luxuries of that mansion would have found this _igloo_ unbearable, and instead of praising its comforts, as he is, would be denouncing it as unendurable, and the good supper we have just eaten as unfit to eat. And in that case it would have been a terrible hardship for him to spend even a single night here." "I'm glad, then, that I came away from the mansion and its finery," declared Bobby. "But I've often wondered who the dead man was that Father found in the boat with me. I've often felt strange about that, and every summer when we're here I go over and look at his grave." "I remember you spoke of him as 'Uncle Robert,'" said Skipper Ed. "Perhaps he was your uncle." "I wonder--and I wonder--" said Bobby. "I wonder if my real mother and father are living, and whether they have stopped feeling bad about me, and forgotten me. I--think--sometimes I'd give most anything to see them and tell them I'm happy." Then they were silent, and presently Skipper Ed knew that the boys were sleeping. But for a long time he lay awake and thought of other lands, and the friends of his youth and the days when he lived in luxury; and he wondered if, after all, he had been one whit happier in those days, with all the fine things he had, than were Bobby and Jimmy here in this rugged land, with no luxuries whatever. "We do not need much," he soliloquized, "to make us happy if we are willing to be happy. Health and love, and enough plain food to eat and clothes to cover us, and a shelter--even a snow house--and we have enough." Before day broke they were astir; and the sun had not yet risen when they repacked their sledges and harnessed the dogs, and drove down over the ice toward the _sena_. For a mile the ice was smooth. Then they came among the pressure ridges, and had to pick their course in and out for another two miles before they came at last to the open sea. Seals were numerous on the ice edge, and on floating pans of ice, and the dogs began to strain and howl in eagerness to attack the game, and would have dashed to the very water's edge but for big hoops of walrus hide thrown over the front of the _komatik_, which dragged into the snow under the runners and stopped them, and when they were stopped only the menace of the long whips could induce the animals to lie quietly down. "We're going to have a dandy hunt!" exclaimed Bobby. "Shall we go right at it, and build an _igloo_ later?" "Don't you think we had better build the _igloo_ first?" suggested Skipper Ed, laughing at Bobby's eagerness. "Then when we're tired we won't have it to do, or to think about, and we'll have a shelter all ready. Let us make things ship-shape." "I suppose you're right," and Bobby grinned. One of the two lamps and a share of the provisions had been left in the _igloo_ on Itigailit Island, which was to be their land base and their cache. But they had brought with them the other lamp and necessaries to make their hunting _igloo_ comfortable. A good bank of snow was found, not too far from the ice edge, and in an hour an _igloo_ was ready and everything stowed safely away from possible foraging by the dogs. Then the two teams, still fast in their traces, were picketed behind the ice hummocks near the _igloo_, for had they been set at liberty each dog would have gone hunting on his own account, and the seals would have been driven from the ice and beyond range of the guns. Now, each armed with a rifle, and Bobby with a harpoon, they stole down toward the seals, crawling toward them, Bobby now and again emitting a "_Hough! Hough_!" in imitation of the coughing bark of the seals, until they approached quite near. Then, almost simultaneously, they fired, and, springing up, ran forward. Two seals had been shot clear through the head, and lay dead on the ice, but the other, though wounded, had slipped into the water. Bobby drew his harpoon, and holding it poised waited, until presently a dozen feet away the wounded seal came struggling to the surface. In a flash the harpoon flew from the young hunter's hand and struck its mark, and with the assistance of Skipper Ed and Jimmy he drew it to the ice. These seals were of a species which they called "harps," because of the peculiar, harp-shaped markings on their back; and of the hair variety, for none of the valuable fur seals inhabits north Atlantic waters. The skins, however, when dressed into leather by Mrs. Abel, would prove of splendid quality for boot tops, or, when dressed without removing the hair, would supply them with many articles of clothing for their comfort. The day was terribly cold--Skipper Ed judged that the temperature must have stood at least at fifty degrees below zero, and that even the temperature of the sea water, where it was unfrozen, was well below the freezing point. Once or twice, indeed, in spite of their enthusiasm, the hunters retired to the _igloo_, where a lamp was kept burning, to warm themselves. Late that afternoon Jimmy wounded a seal on an ice pan, and it went into the water. He seized a harpoon, but when the seal rose to the surface it was so far away that the line could not reach it. "Here!" shouted Bobby, laying down his gun and grabbing a paddle which he had brought from Itigailit Island for such an emergency, "jump on this pan. I'll paddle you out where you can get him." They sprang upon a small pan, and, utilizing it as a raft, Bobby paddled a few yards. "There! There!" shouted Bobby. "There he is. He's most dead. You can get him!" Jimmy jumped to the side of the pan upon which Bobby was kneeling with his paddle, and poising the harpoon was about to cast it when the pan, too heavily weighted on that side, began slowly to turn. Bobby did not see this, but Jimmy did. "Don't move!" shouted Jimmy. "Stay where you are!" And, without hesitation, Jimmy slipped from the pan and into the icy sea, though he knew there was small chance for him to swim, and, overcome by the shock of the terrible cold, he sank beneath the waves. The pan righted itself immediately it was relieved of Jimmy's weight, and Bobby, realizing what Jimmy had done, and that his friend had sacrificed himself for his sake, stood bewildered and stunned, gazing blankly at the spot where Jimmy had sunk. CHAPTER XXI WHO WAS THE HERO? Bobby did not lose his head. After his manner in emergencies, he thought quickly, and acted instantly, and now his bewilderment was for only a moment. Seizing the harpoon which Jimmy had dropped upon the ice, he gave a yell that brought Skipper Ed to the water's edge in a hurry, and when Skipper Ed came running down Bobby had already thrown off his _netsek_ and his mittens and was knotting the loose end of the harpoon line around his waist. Grasping the harpoon, he cast it upon the main ice, with the command: "Grab it, and hold it!" "My God!" gasped Skipper Ed. "What has happened? Where is Jimmy? Where is Partner?" "In there! Stand by and help!" directed Bobby, who had not taken his eyes off the dark water where Jimmy had disappeared, save for the fleeting instant when he cast his harpoon to Skipper Ed. Presently Jimmy, hampered by his _netsek_, weakly struggled to the surface, already apparently overcome by the awful cold of the plunge. Bobby saw him and instantly sprang after him, seized him about the waist and held him with the desperation of one who fights with death. A moment's struggle followed and then both lads went down. Skipper Ed now comprehended Bobby's suddenly formulated plan of rescue, and he pulled with all his strength upon the line, and as he pulled Bobby, still grasping Jimmy about the body, rose again to the surface, and Skipper Ed giving impetus to the line, drew them to him, seized them and quite easily drew them upon the ice. Jimmy had already lost consciousness and Bobby was so overcome by the shock that he could scarcely speak, and Skipper Ed, lifting Jimmy into his arms, ran with him to the _igloo_, calling to Bobby as he did so: "Come! Run! Run, or you'll freeze!" Bobby tried to run--tried very hard--but he fell. The water in an instant formed a coat of mail upon his body. He rose, but his legs refused to respond, and again he fell, and when Skipper Ed, who came running back when he had dragged Jimmy into the _igloo_, reached him he found Bobby on his hands and knees and nearly helpless. "Come!" he shouted into Bobby's ear, at the same time passing his arm around Bobby's body and lifting him to his feet. "Come, lad! Don't give up!" he encouraged, half dragging the boy forward and pushing him into the _igloo_. "Undress, Bobby! Get into your sleeping bag!" he commanded. "Jimmy--Jimmy--" said Bobby, in a voice which he hardly recognized as his own. "I'll take care of Jimmy," broke in Skipper Ed. "Get into your sleeping bag! Quick!" And Bobby in a dazed manner obeyed. Fortunately the stone lamp was burning. Skipper Ed closed the door of the _igloo_ with a block of snow, and working rapidly he stripped the frozen clothing from Jimmy, wrapped him in a caribou skin, turned him upon his face, and resorted to artificial respiration to restore him to consciousness. Jimmy responded quickly to the treatment, for he was suffering rather from shock than from the amount of water that had entered his lungs, and in a little while Skipper Ed was gratified to observe that he was breathing naturally and making an effort to speak. "Where's--Bobby?" he asked faintly. "Bobby's safe," said Skipper Ed with a strange choking in his voice. "Bobby pulled you out, Partner. My brave partner!" Without delay Skipper Ed now tucked Jimmy into his sleeping bag, and wrapping an additional caribou skin around each of the boys, set himself at once to brewing some hot strong tea, which he forced them to drink, and until they had drunk it and were thoroughly warmed he commanded them to do no talking, though in spite of the injunction Bobby asked: "Is Jimmy all right?" "He's all right," reassured Skipper Ed, "as snug as can be, in his bag. Now don't say another word until I give you permission. Go to sleep." "Where's my _netsek_? Did you find it? And my mittens? I'll need 'em again," persisted the practically disposed Bobby, who was already thinking of the future. "You young rascal! Go to sleep, I say, and don't let me hear another word," insisted Skipper Ed. "I'll go find 'em. Keep quiet now and go to sleep." Skipper Ed found the _netsek_ and mittens, as he had promised he would. The tide had driven the piece of ice upon which Bobby had left them back again to the main ice. Then he fed the dogs, and when he returned to the _igloo_ both lads were sleeping soundly. He filled his pipe, and sat for two hours, and until darkness settled, smoking and ruminating. He did not know yet the full history of the accident. He only knew that Jimmy had in some manner got into the water, was overcome by the icy bath and was perishing when Bobby called, and that Bobby by quick thought and quick action had saved his young partner. "They're both as tough as nuts or they never would have come out of that dip so well," he said to himself. "Bobby's a hero, and as unselfish as the day is long. "I wonder what he'd have been if he'd never gone adrift and had never come to this rugged land. I wonder if his rich parents, or the luxuries and frivolities of civilization, would have spoiled him, and made him grow up into a selfish, cowardly, and perhaps dissipated, weakling? I wonder if it's the rugged country and the rugged, hard life he lives, that have given him a rugged, noble heart, or whether he'd have had it anyway? "It's God's mystery. God holds our destiny in His hands, and our destiny is His will. Perhaps He sent the lad here to mould his character upon the plan of the great wide wilderness and boundless sea, and to fit him for some noble part that he is to play some time in life." Skipper Ed knocked the ashes from his pipe. "Perhaps after all," he mused, "my life here has not been wasted. Perhaps my part in life was to teach these boys and help to broaden their life. Perhaps that was the reason I drifted here and remained here. Every misfortune and every sorrow is just a stepping stone to something higher and better." "Skipper!" Bobby was awake and Skipper Ed's musings were at an end. "Yes, son." He called Bobby "son" sometimes, as a special mark of affection. "Did you find the _netsek_ and mittens?" "Yes, you practical young scamp." "That's good," said Bobby, "for I couldn't hunt tomorrow without them." "Hunt tomorrow!" exclaimed Skipper Ed. "Is that the first thing you think of when you wake up? I'm not sure I'll let you hunt tomorrow. I may keep you in your sleeping bag." "I'm all right, Skipper," declared Bobby, "I'm going to get out of my bag right now. I'm so hungry I'll be eating it if I don't." "Stay where you are!" commanded Skipper Ed. "I'll feed you right there. I have some fresh seal meat all cooked, and I'll make tea." "Is Jimmy asleep, and is he all right?" "Yes, he's sleeping, and I've no doubt he'll be all right in a day or two." "Skipper," said Bobby, as Skipper Ed threw a handful of tea into the simmering teakettle, "do you know what Jimmy did?" "Why, yes. He fell into the sea, and would have perished if you hadn't been so prompt in making a human fishhook of yourself." "What I did wasn't anything any one wouldn't have done," declared Bobby deprecatingly. "But we were on that cake of ice and it began to turn over, and Jimmy jumped into the water to save me. If we'd both gone in we'd both have drowned, for we couldn't have got out with our _netseks_ on in that paralyzing cold, and Jimmy knew it, so he just jumped in to save me, and I'm sure he never expected to get out himself. That's the greatest thing anybody could have done." "Jumped in to save you? My partner a hero, too! I knew it was in him, though. You're a pair of the bravest chaps I ever knew, and I'm proud of you both," and Skipper Ed's voice sounded strange and choky. "Oh, it was nothing for me to do! I was safe on the end of the line! I was sure of getting out--but Jimmy!" "Here," said Skipper Ed, "is some fine tender seal meat and a hard biscuit. Drink down this hot tea. It's good for you. And stop talking. I know what you did, you young husky." Bobby laughed, and sipped the steaming tea. Jimmy always insisted that he would have gone into the water anyhow when the ice turned over, and therefore had no choice, and deserved no credit for what he did, but that Bobby did a very brave act. And Bobby insisted that Jimmy had risked his life to save his, and was the bravest chap in the world. And Skipper Ed insisted that both lads were wonderful heroes. So it comes about that you and I will have to decide for ourselves which was right, and who was the hero. CHAPTER XXII A STORM AND A CATASTROPHE True to his promise, Bobby was up the next morning bright and early, and awoke Skipper Ed as he moved about, lighting the lamp and hanging the kettle of snow to melt for tea, and the kettle containing cooked seal meat, to thaw, for it had frozen hard in the night. Then, while he waited for these to heat, he crawled back into his sleeping bag. "How are you feeling after your Arctic dip?" inquired Skipper Ed. "As fine as could be!" answered Bobby. "My fingers were nipped a little, and they're a bit numb. That's the only way I'd know, from the way I feel, that I'd been in the water." "You're a regular tough young husky!" declared Skipper Ed. "But it was a narrow escape, and we can thank God for the deliverance of you two chaps. You mustn't take those risks again. It's tempting Providence." "Why, I didn't think we were careless," said Bobby. "It was the sort of thing that is always likely to happen." Jimmy lifted his head. "Hello!" drowsily. "Is it time to get up? I've been sleeping like a stone." "It isn't time for you to get up," cautioned Skipper Ed. "You stay right where you are today." "I'm all right, Partner!" Jimmy declared. "Well, you've got to demonstrate it. We don't want any pneumonia cases on our hands. Just draw some long breaths, and punch yourself, and see how you feel." "I feel fine," insisted Jimmy, after some deep breaths and several self-inflicted punches. "It doesn't hurt a bit to breathe, and I don't feel lame anywhere. The only place I feel bad is in my stomach, and that's just shouting for grub." "Very well," laughed Skipper Ed, "that kind of an ache we can cure with boiled seal and hardtack." And so, indeed, it proved. Their hardihood, brought about by a life of exposure to the elements, and their constitutions, made strong as iron by life and experience in the open, withstood the shock, and, none the worse for their experience, and passing it by as an incident of the day's work, they resumed the hunt with Skipper Ed. All of that day and the next, which was Thursday, they hunted with great success, and when Thursday night came more than half a hundred fat seals, among which were three great bearded seals--"square flippers," they called them--lay upon the ice as their reward. They were well pleased. Indeed, they could scarcely have done better had Abel Zachariah been with them. "Tomorrow will be Friday, and we had better haul our seals to Itigailit Island to the cache," Skipper Ed suggested that evening as they sat snug in the _igloo_, eating their supper. "We have all we can care for." "I hate to leave with all these seals about, but I suppose we'll have to go some time," said Bobby regretfully. "Yes, and I'm wondering what I'll find in my traps when we get home," said Jimmy. "You may have a silver fox, Partner," laughed Skipper Ed. "I've been looking for one every round I've made this winter," Jimmy grinned. "That's the way with every hunter," said Skipper Ed. "He's always looking for a silver, and it makes him the keener for the work, and drives away monotony. He's always expecting a silver, though year in and year out he gets nothing but reds and whites, with now and again a cross, to make him think that his silver is prowling around somewhere close by." "I'd feel rich if I ever caught a silver!" broke in Bobby. "And wouldn't I get some things for Father and Mother, though! A new rifle and shotgun and traps, and--loads of things!" "So you're looking for a silver, too," said Skipper Ed, all of them laughing heartily. "That's the way it goes--everyone is looking for a silver fox, and that keeps everyone always hopeful and gives vim for labor. When they don't have silvers or don't hunt and trap, they're looking for something else that takes the place of a silver--some great success. It's ambition to catch silvers, and the hope of catching them, that makes the world go round." "Well, I never got one yet," said Bobby, "and there's one due me by this time. Every one gets a silver some time in his life." "Not every one," corrected Skipper Ed. "Well, shall we haul the seals over in the morning, and then go home to see if we've got any silvers in the traps?" "I suppose so," agreed Bobby, regretfully. "It's hard to leave this fine hunting, but I suppose there'll be good hunting till the ice goes out, and anyway we've got all we can use." So with break of day on Friday they loaded their sledges, and all that day hauled seals to their cache, and when night came and they returned in the dark to the _sena igloo_, some seals still remained to be hauled on Saturday. But the sun did not show himself on Saturday morning, for the sky was heavily overcast, and before they reached Itigailit Island with the first load of seals snow was falling and the wind was rising. They hurried with all their might, for it was evident a storm was about to break with the fury of the North, and out on the open ice field, where the wind rides unobstructed and unbridled, these storms reach terrible proportions. So they pushed the dogs back to the _sena_ at the fastest gait to which they could urge them. Skipper Ed and Jimmy were in advance and had Skipper Ed's _komatik_ loaded with the larger proportion of the remaining seals, and were lashing the load into place, when Bobby arrived. "I've got a heavier load than yours will be, so I'll go on with it," Skipper Ed shouted as Bobby drove up. "There are only two small ones left for you, and the cooking outfit and your snow knives in the _igloo_. Don't forget them. You and Jimmy will likely overtake me. Hurry along." "All right," answered Bobby. "We'll catch you before you reach smooth ice." So Skipper Ed drove away with never a thought of catastrophe, and was quickly swallowed up by the thickening snow, while Bobby and Jimmy loaded the seals and the things from the _igloo_ upon the sledge, and, spurred by the rising wind and snow, hurried with all their might. Already great seas were booming and breaking with a roar upon the ice, and as the boys turned the dogs back upon the trail they observed a waving motion of the ice beneath them, which was rapidly becoming more apparent. At one moment the dogs would be hauling the sledge up an incline, and at the next moment the sledge would be coasting down another incline close upon the heels of the team, as the heaving ice assumed the motion of the seas which rolled beneath. As they receded from the ice edge, however, this motion diminished, until finally it was hardly perceptible at all, and there seemed no further cause for alarm or great speed, and the dogs, which were weary with the two days' heavy hauling, were permitted to proceed at their own leisurely gait. At length through the snow they saw Skipper Ed waiting for them, but when he was assured they were following he proceeded. "_Ah!_" Bobby shouted to his dogs a moment later, bringing them suddenly to a stop. "I've dropped my whip somewhere. Jimmy, watch the team while I run back after it." Twenty minutes elapsed before he returned with the whip, and they drove on. Skipper Ed, satisfied that Bobby and Jimmy were close at his heels, did not halt again until well out over the smooth ice and near to Itigailit Island, when he heard behind him a strange rumbling and crackling. He halted and listened, and strained his eyes through the drifting snow for a glimpse of the boys. They were not visible, and, springing from his _komatik_, he ran back in the direction from which he had come and as fast as he could run, and presently, with a sickening sensation at his heart, was brought to a halt by a broad black space of open water. The great ice pack upon which they had been hunting had broken loose from the shore ice, and tide and wind were driving it seaward. Already the chasm between him and the floe had widened to over thirty feet, and it was rapidly growing wider. The minutes dragged and when at last Bobby and Jimmy came into view on the opposite side of the chasm it was a full two hundred feet in breadth. They shouted to the dogs and rushed to the edge of the open water, but there was no hope of their escape. They had delayed too long. They were adrift on the ice floe, which was steadily taking them seaward. CHAPTER XXIII IT WAS GOD'S WILL Skipper Ed was appalled and stunned. A sense of great weakness came upon him, and he swayed, and with an effort prevented his knees from doubling under him. His vision became clouded, like the vision of one in a dream. His brain became paralyzed, inert, and he was hardly able to comprehend the terrible tragedy that he believed inevitable. Had there been any means at his command whereby he could at least have attempted a rescue, it would have served as a safety valve. But he was utterly and absolutely helpless to so much as lift a finger to relieve the two boys whom he loved so well and who had become so much a part of his life. And there was Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel. Vaguely he remembered them and the great sorrow that this thing would bring upon them. He knew well that they would place none of the responsibility upon himself, but, nevertheless, he could but feel that had he remained with the boys they would now have been safe. Home? His cabin would never be home to him again, without his partner. He could never go over to Abel Zachariah's again of evenings, with no Bobby there. Only two days ago he had thanked God for sparing the lives of the boys, and how proud he had been of their heroic action, and their pluck, too, after he had got them safe into the _igloo_! He could see them now--barely see them through the snow. He watched their faint outlines, and then the swirling snow hid them, and the ice floe and only black waters remained. Then it was that Skipper Ed fell to his knees, and, kneeling there in the driving Arctic storm and bitter cold, prayed God, as he had never prayed before, to work a miracle, and spare his loved ones to him. Nothing, he remembered, was beyond God's power, and God was good. When, presently, he arose from his knees, Skipper Ed felt strangely relieved. A part, at least, of the load was lifted from his heart. He could not account for the sensation, but, nevertheless, he felt stronger, and a degree of his old courage had returned. He stood for a little longer gazing seaward, but nothing was to be seen but black, turbulent, surly waters and swirling snow, and at length he turned reluctantly back to his sledge. The dogs were lying down, and already nearly covered by the drift. He called to them to go forward, and, arriving at the _igloo_, listlessly unharnessed and fed them, and retreated to the shelter of the _igloo_ to think. He could eat nothing that night, but he brewed some strong tea over the stone lamp. Then he lighted his pipe and sat silent, for a long while, forgetting to smoke. With every hour the wind increased in force, and before midnight one of those awful blizzards, so characteristic of Labrador at this season, was at its height. Once Skipper Ed removed the snow block at the entrance of the _igloo_, and partly crawled out with a view to looking about, but he was nearly smothered by drift, and quickly drew back again into the _igloo_ and replaced the snow block. "The poor lads!" said he. "God help and pity them, and" he added reverently, "if it be Thy will, O God, preserve their lives." Skipper Ed finally slipped into his sleeping bag and fell into a troubled sleep, to awake, as morning approached, with a great weight upon his heart, and with his waking moment came the realization of its cause. He arose upon his elbow and listened. The tempest had passed. He sprang up, and drawing on his _netsek_ and moccasins, for these were the only garments he had removed upon lying down, he went out and looked about him. The stars were shining brilliantly, and an occasional gust of wind was the only reminder of the storm. Mounds of snow marked the place where the dogs were sleeping, covered by the drift. The morning was bitterly cold. He ran down to the ice edge, and gazed eagerly seaward, but nowhere could he see the ice pack. It had vanished utterly. A sense of awful loneliness fell upon Skipper Ed. Reluctantly he returned to the _igloo_ and prepared his breakfast, which he ate sparingly. Then until day broke he sat pondering the situation. There was nothing he could do, and he decided at length to return at once to Abel Zachariah's, and report the calamity. When he emerged again from the _igloo_ the last breath of the storm had ceased to blow and a dead calm prevailed. He loaded the _komatik_, and calling the dogs from beneath their coverlets of snow, harnessed them, and without delay set out for the head of Abel's Bay. It was long after dark when the dogs, straining at their traces and yelping, rushed in through the ice hummocks below Abel's cabin. The cabin was dark, but a light flashed in the window as the sledge ascended the incline. Abel and Mrs. Abel had heard the approach, and when the sledge came to a stop before the door they were there to give welcome and greetings. "Where is Bobby? And where is Jimmy?" asked Abel. "Are they coming?" "They will never come," answered Skipper Ed. Abel and Mrs. Abel understood, for tragedies, in that stern land, are common, and always the people seem steeled to meet them. And so in silence they led the way into the cabin, and in silence they sat, uttering no word, while Skipper Ed related what had happened. And though still there was no crying and no wailing from the stricken couple, Skipper Ed knew that they felt no less keenly their loss, and he knew that they had lost what was dearer to them than their own life. "And now," said Skipper Ed, when he was through, "I will unharness the dogs and take care of the things on the _komatik_." "Yes," said Abel, "we will look after the dogs. You will stop with us tonight, for your _igloosuak_ (cabin) is cold." And when they had cared for the dogs and had eaten the supper which Mrs. Abel prepared, Abel Zachariah took his Eskimo Bible from the shelf and read from it, and then they sang a hymn, and when the three knelt in evening devotion he thanked God for the son He had sent them out of the mists from the Far Beyond where storms are born, and had seen fit to call back again into the mists, for the son had been a good son and had made brighter and happier many years of their life. It was God's will, and God's will was law, and it was not for them to question the righteousness of His acts. And that night when Mrs. Abel turned down the blankets on Bobby's bed for Skipper Ed, she thought of the time when Bobby was little, and she lay by his side of evenings to croon him to sleep with her quaint Eskimo lullabies. CHAPTER XXIV UNDER THE DRIFTING SNOW Bobby and Jimmy heard the ominous booming that accompanied the parting of the floe from the land ice, and they whipped the dogs to the utmost exertion of which the animals were capable, but they had dallied too long, and when they reached the rapidly widening chasm it was plain that retreat was hopelessly cut off. "We can swim it! We can swim!" shouted Jimmy, and but for the restraining hand of Bobby he would have plunged into the water and made the mad attempt, so soon forgetful was he of his recent experience. "You'd freeze! You'd freeze! We couldn't swim in this cold!" Bobby protested. "I think we could have made it!" declared Jimmy, when Bobby let go his arm. "You know how the water treated us the other day, Jimmy," said Bobby quietly. "We never could swim it. The cold would paralyze us before we got half way across." "But now we're sure to perish!" Jimmy exclaimed. "We'll be carried to sea, and the ice will break up, and there'll be no chance for us at all. We'd have had at least a chance if we'd tried! Now our last chance is gone!" "There wouldn't have been a chance if we'd tried to swim," Bobby protested. "Here there is some sort of a chance. The ice may not break up, and it may drift back so that we can get ashore, and if it holds together long enough some vessel may pick us up. Anyhow we're here, and we've got to make the best of it." "There's Partner!" broke in Jimmy. "Poor old Partner! See him out there? I wonder what he'll do." And then they shouted to Skipper Ed, and again and again they shouted, but the wind blew their shouts back into their teeth and Skipper Ed did not hear them, and at last he faded away, and the land ice faded away in the cloud of drifting snow. "There's going to be a hard blow, and we'll have to find a place to build our _igloo_," Bobby at length suggested. "Yes," agreed Jimmy. "I'm glad we've got the snow knives and the lamp. If it comes to blow hard we'd perish in the open." "And I'm glad we've got these seals, and some tea and biscuits," added Bobby. "I'm famishing. We'll have to get back among the hummocks to find a drift for the _igloo_. Our old _igloo_, I suppose, has been washed away before this. Anyway, it's too near the surf to be safe." "I'm afraid there's no drift, except among the big hummocks on the other side, that's big enough for an _igloo_" suggested Jimmy disconsolately, "and I think you're right about it being too near open water out there to be safe, for if the ice breaks it'll break there first." "Yes, but we may find something toward the center," agreed Bobby, as he took up the whip and turned the dogs about. "We've got to make some kind of shelter." And so they made their way back among the pressure hummocks, and, compelling the dogs to lie down, each with a snow knife began his search for a suitable snow drift upon which to build an _igloo_. The fury of the storm increased with every moment. It drifted past and around them in dense and stifling clouds and at times nearly choked them. The wind shrieked and moaned among the hummocks. In the distance they could hear the boom of the seas hammering upon the floe and threatening it with destruction, and now with growing frequency rising above the sound of shrieking wind and booming seas they were startled by the cannon-like report of smashing ice. At last the flying snow become so dense there was danger they would lose the _komatik_ and lose each other, and they came together again, groping their way blindly to the _komatik_, which was nearly hidden under the drift, and the sleeping dogs, which by this time were wholly invisible. "The snow is too soft," Bobby announced. "I've tried it everywhere, and every block that I cut falls to pieces." "I couldn't find any, either," said Jimmy, "but we've got to do something. We'll perish without shelter." "I'm afraid there's no use trying to build an _igloo_," acknowledged Bobby, "though we needn't perish if we can't make one. But I don't want to give up yet. Let's try just a little longer, but we must keep as close to the _komatik_ as we can, or we'll get separated." "We can't live through the night without an _igloo_!" Jimmy again declared, adding wistfully: "I wonder if our old _igloo_ isn't all right yet, after all? It sat a little back, you know, from the water." "It wouldn't be safe," Bobby protested. "If it hasn't gone already, it will soon in this blow, for the sea is eating away the ice floe on all sides. Don't worry, Jimmy. We'll make out, _igloo_ or no _igloo_. Look at the dogs. They don't have _igloos_ ever. But I'm weak with hunger. I've got to eat a biscuit before I do another thing." Together they dug away the snow and found the food bag, and from it extracted some sea biscuits, and each cut for himself a thick piece of the boiled fat pork, frozen as hard as pork will freeze, but nevertheless very palatable to the famished young castaways. And crouching close together under the lee of the _komatik_ they munched in silence. "If it wasn't for these big hummocks we'd be blown clear off the ice," said Bobby, finally. "We've no idea how strong the wind is and how it sweeps over the level ice out there. The dogs are wise to get under the drift so soon." They again fell into silence for a little while, when Jimmy remarked, sadly: "We'll never see home again, I suppose! There's no hope that I can see of getting off this floe. I wonder what it will be like to die." "I'm not thinking about dying," said Bobby, "and I'm not going to die till I have to. It's the last thing I expect to do. I'm thinking about getting a shelter made before it gets dark, and then keeping alive on here, and as comfortable as we can, until we get ashore." "I don't see how we're ever going to get ashore," Jimmy solemnly insisted. "Not that I feel scared, though I'd rather live than die. But it's an awful thing to feel that our bodies will be lost in the sea, and no one will know how we die." "If we have to die the sea is as good a place as any to die in, and what difference does it make about our bodies? But," added Bobby, "we won't die if I can help it, and I don't believe we're going to. If we do, why that's the way the Almighty planned it for us, and we shouldn't mind, for what the Almighty plans is right. He knows what is best for us." "I can't believe just that," said Jimmy. "If we'd hurried we wouldn't have been caught in this trap. It was our fault. I'm not blaming you, Bobby. I'm older than you and should have thought further and told you to hurry, so I'm most to blame. And I can't help worrying about Partner and Abel and Mrs. Zachariah, and how they'll feel and what they'll do." "What's the use of worry? You always get worrying and stewing, Jimmy, and you know it doesn't help things any and makes you miserable, and there's never been a time yet when it didn't turn out in the end that there never was anything to really worry about, after all. If you keep on you'll get yourself scared. Now quit it. I was more at fault for getting us into the scrape than you were, and you know that too, and if you keep up this sort of talk I'll feel you're trying to rub it in." "Well, perhaps you're right," Jimmy admitted, and after a moment's silence suggested, as they rose to continue their efforts to make a shelter: "Bobby--let's ask God to take care of us." "Yes," agreed Bobby enthusiastically, "let's do; and then let's do our best to take care of ourselves, and help Him." They sank on their knees in the snow, and each in silence offered his own fervent prayer, while the wind drove the thick snow about them and shrieked and moaned weirdly through the hummocks, and the distant booming of the seas, and thunderous smashing of the ice on the outer edge of the floe, fell upon their ears with solemn, ominous foreboding. "Now I'm going to look again for hard snow," said Bobby, when they rose presently. "You better keep close to the _komatik_, Jimmy, so we won't lose it. I won't go far, and if I find snow that will cut I'll holler, and if I lose the direction I'll holler, and then you answer." And taking his snow knife Bobby was swallowed up by the swirling snow, and Jimmy waited and waited, in dreadful loneliness and suspense, while the minutes stretched out, and at last dusk began to steal upon his stormswept world. Many times Jimmy shouted, but no answering shout from Bobby came to him, and now he shouted and listened, and shouted and listened, but only the shrieking and moaning of the wind, and booming and thundering of breaking seas and pounding ice gave answer. A sickening dread came into Jimmy's heart as vainly he peered through the gathering darkness into ever thickening snow clouds, and called and shouted until he was hoarse. He could not see the dogs now--he could hardly see the length of the _komatik_. The dogs lay quiet under their blanket of snow somewhere ahead in the gloom. Jimmy, though he had wrapped a caribou skin around his shoulders, was becoming numb with cold. Growing desperate at last, he set out to search for Bobby, but did not go far when he realized that it would be a hopeless search, and that it was after all his duty to remain with the sledge. Then he turned back to find the sledge and stumbled and groped around in the snow for a long while before he fell upon it by sheer accident. With darkness the velocity of the storm increased, constantly gathering force. The bitter cold cut through Jimmy's sealskin clothing and through the caribou skin which he had again wrapped around him, and his flesh felt numb, and a heavy drowsiness was stealing upon him which it was hard to resist. He knew that to surrender to this in his exposed position would be fatal, and he rose to his feet and jumped up and down to restore circulation. Any further attempt to find Bobby, he realized, would be foolhardy if not suicidal. His previous effort had proved this, and now he felt quite helpless. He was also very certain that Bobby could not by any possibility, if he still survived, find his way back to the _komatik_ until the storm abated. He would have lost the _komatik_ himself now had he wandered even a dozen feet from it. And then he comforted himself with the thought that Bobby had learned many things from Abel concerning the manner in which the Eskimos on the open barrens and ice fields protect themselves when suddenly overtaken by storms such as the one that now raged. In these matters, indeed, he looked upon Bobby as an Eskimo, and had great confidence in Bobby's ability to overcome conditions that to himself would seem unconquerable. He knew, too, that Bobby, when hunting with Abel upon the barrens, had weathered some terrific storms. These were experiences which he himself had never encountered, for he and Skipper Ed during their winter months on the trapping trails clung more closely to the forests, where they were protected from sweeping gales and could always find firewood in abundance, and could build a temporary shelter. And pondering these things as he sat huddled upon the sledge, his hope that Bobby might after all be safe grew, and he felt a sense of vast relief steal over him. He was not so cold now, his brain was heavy with sleep and he began to doze. Suddenly he again realized his own danger were he to submit to the sleep which the cold was urging upon him, and he sprang to his feet and jumped and jumped and shouted and swung his arms, until he could feel the blood tingling through his veins, and his brain awake. "I must do something!" said he. "I must do something! Bobby is lost out there and I can't help him, and I can't stand this much longer. I must do something for myself or I'll perish before morning." Then he remembered the dogs, lying deep and snug under the drifts, and what Bobby had said about them, and with feverish haste he drew his snow knife and cut away the drift which now all but covered the _komatik_. Then he took his sleeping bag from the load, and, digging deeper down and down into the drift, stretched the bag into the hole he had made, and slid into it, and in a little while the snow covered him, and he like the dogs lay buried beneath the drift. CHAPTER XXV A LONELY JOURNEY Weary as Jimmy was, he lay awake for a long time, torn by emotions and filled with misgivings and wild imaginings. Would he ever see good old Partner again? Would he ever see the cozy cabin that had been his home through all these happy years? Would he ever again sit, snug in his big arm chair before the big box stove with its roaring fire, while Skipper Ed helped him with his studies or told him stories of the far-off fairy land of civilization? Then for a time he fell to thinking about Bobby, and, in his old way, to worrying, and to wondering if, after all, he could not or should not make one more attempt to rescue his comrade. "I never should have let him go that last time," he moaned. "If he perishes it will be my fault! I'm older and I should have thought further! I should have kept him back! But I'm so in the habit of letting him go ahead! Oh, I should have held him back! I should have held him back!" And in this soliloquy Jimmy unconsciously admitted, though he did not know it, that Bobby was his leader still, as he always had been, and that Bobby's will and judgment dominated. Bobby had decided to go upon that last attempt to find snow suitable for an _igloo_, and Bobby went, and Jimmy could no more successfully have interposed his judgment against Bobby's than he could have stopped the blowing of the wind. "No," he admitted to himself at last, "I could not have done anything more to find Bobby. In this terrible storm I would have perished, for it is physically impossible to move about." And so presently Jimmy, easing his conscience, permitted his better judgment to prevail, though once he had been upon the point of digging out of his retreat and throwing himself again into the maelstrom of suffocating snow and darkness. And then he prayed the good Lord to preserve Bobby's life and his own, and to guide them back to safety, as only He could, for they were in His care. Even under the snowdrift that had quickly covered him Jimmy could hear the shrieking wind and thunderous pounding of ice and seas, and there was little wonder that at last he fancied the floe rising and falling beneath him, and he lay in momentary expectation of being cast into the water and crushed beneath mighty ice pans. But Jimmy was young, and nature's demands were strong upon him, and presently, snug under his accumulating blanket of snow, a drowsy warmth stole over him, and he slept. How long he had been sleeping Jimmy did not know, when he awoke from a dream that he and Skipper Ed and Bobby were in a snow _Igloo_ and the top had fallen in and was suffocating him with its weight. For a moment, until he marshaled his wandering wits, he believed it no dream at all, but a reality, and then as the happenings of the previous afternoon and night were remembered, he realized his position, and Bobby's going, and he began wildly digging away the snow with his hands. It was a hard task, but at last he made an opening through the drift, and was astonished as he forced his way out to find that it was broad day and the sun shone brightly and a dead calm prevailed. But a wild terror came upon him as he looked about. Less than fifty feet from the place where he had lain waves were breaking over the edge of the ice. On the opposite side and very close to him lay the land, and the ice upon which he stood was jammed against the land ice, offering him a clear road to safety. But safety now meant nothing to Jimmy. The main ice pack from which his little section had broken, lay glimmering in the sunlight a full two miles to the southeast and well out to sea, and Bobby was either on that pack or had been lost in the sea. The discovery made Jimmy numb with fear and consternation. He recognized the land near him as the farthermost point of Cape Harrigan. The pack in its southward drift had come in contact with Cape Harrigan's long projection of land, the wind had severed the pack, and, while the comparatively small section of floe upon which he stood had remained jammed against the land, the main floe, reaching far out beyond the obstruction of the cape, had been swept on and on, and was now floating steadily southward. In frantic frenzy Jimmy ran about and shouted, and searched every nook and turn of his little corner of the original floe for Bobby, but there was no trace of his missing comrade. Again and again he searched, but without reward. Bobby was gone and Jimmy no longer had any doubt that he had perished. With heavy heart he at last set about with his snow knife, digging the _komatik_ from under the drift and getting his load in order, and then he roused the dogs from their drifts and drove them to the land. The great floe was now but a speck upon the far horizon. There was nothing more he could do. He felt very much as Skipper Ed had felt the day before, and was feeling that very morning, and he remembered, and repeated over and over again, what Skipper Ed had so often said: "Our destiny is in God's hands, and our destiny is His will." Jimmy's travels had carried him south nearly to Cape Harrigan on two or three occasions when he had been with Skipper Ed in their trap boat in summer, and he knew that he could not be above two days' journey from the head of Abel's Bay, for now it was March and the days were growing long. And between Cape Harrigan and Abel's Bay was a Hudson's Bay trading post where he and Skipper Ed sometimes traded furs and salt trout for flour and pork and tea, and beyond this point he knew the sledge route well. So, as there was nothing else to be done, he turned the dog team northward, in the hope that he might find the trading post and the old familiar trail. The weather was keen, the air was filled with floating rime, which shimmered and sparkled in the sunshine, and Jimmy's garments were covered with it, but, plodding disconsolately on and on, his heart heavy with the tragedy and his thoughts filled with Bobby and the happy years of comradeship that were ended, he did not feel or heed the cold or dazzling glitter of the snow, until in mid-afternoon his eyes began to trouble him, and he realized that snow-blindness was threatening. Presently, however, the long, wolf-like howl of dogs came down to him over the ice, and rounding a point of land he discovered, directly ahead of him, and nestling at the foot of a great barren hill, the white buildings of the fort. His dogs immediately broke into a run, and a few moments later he was safe at the post. The factor and the people were very hospitable and kind to Jimmy, after the manner of the Coast. They agreed that he had left nothing undone that he could have done. The tragedy was, after all, an incident of life, and all in a day's work, and to some extent they reconciled him with himself, but they could not ease his sorrow. They would not permit Jimmy to proceed further that night, though at first he protested that he must, that he might so much the sooner ease Skipper Ed's anxiety, so far as his own safety was concerned. But the preceding twenty-four hours had tried his physical powers, and when he entered the heated post kitchen his eyes became so inflamed that he consented to stay. The dogs, which had not received their daily portion the previous evening, were ravenous, and when they were fed Jimmy stretched his sleeping bag upon the floor in the kitchen and slipped into it, and almost immediately fell into deep slumber. A mild attack of snow blindness held Jimmy prisoner all the next day. This was exceedingly disappointing. Bright and early the following morning, however, wearing a pair of smoked goggles to protect his eyes from the daily increasing sun glare, he set out for home, and only halted for a little at the cabin of Abraham Moses, the nearest neighbor of Skipper Ed and Abel Zachariah, where he must needs stop for tea and bread, else Abraham would feel offended. It was near sunset when he arrived again at Abel Zachariah's. They met him as they had met Skipper Ed, and welcomed him warmly, and when they heard his story of Bobby's disappearance they had no blame for him and no complaint, but said again that God had sent them Bobby, and God had called him back again, and God knew best, for He was good. And then Jimmy left them and hurried eagerly on to the cabin home that so recently had seemed lost to him forever. How good it looked that cold winter evening, and when he quietly pushed the door open and silently entered, and surprised Skipper Ed with his coming, and when Skipper Ed clasped him in his arms and thanked God over and over again for sparing his partner, Jimmy sank down in his chair and cried. CHAPTER XXVI CAST AWAY ON THE ICE It was one of Bobby's characteristics never to acknowledge himself defeated in anything he undertook to do, so long as there seemed a possibility of accomplishing the thing in hand. He had set out to find a suitable drift and to build a snow house. He was confident such a drift was to be found not far from the _komatik_ where he had left Jimmy, for in passing to Itigailit Island and back with loads of seals earlier in the day he had observed some good hard drifts which he believed to be in this locality, though he was aware that in the blinding snow he may have stopped the dogs a little on one side or the other of them. So he felt assured that he and Jimmy had overlooked them in their previous search, and this time he was determined to find them. This it was, then--this dislike to feel himself beaten--rather than dire necessity, that had sent him on the final search. And, too, the man who lives constantly in the wilderness never endures unnecessary hardships. He makes himself as comfortable as the conditions under which he lives will permit, and provides himself as many conveniences and comforts as possible under the circumstances in which he finds himself, without burdening himself with needless luxuries. Bobby had hinted to Jimmy that they might protect themselves under the snow, after the manner of the dogs. He had done this once during the winter, when he and Abel Zachariah were hunting together and were suddenly overtaken by a storm. But at best this was an uncomfortable method of passing a night, and a last resort, and Bobby was therefore quite willing to endure preliminary discomfort in order to secure an _igloo_. Engrossed in his search he wandered much farther afield than he had intended, and much farther than he knew, which was a reckless thing to do. And so it came about that presently, when his search was rewarded by a solid drift of hard-packed snow, and he shouted to Jimmy to come on with the dogs, no answer came from Jimmy, and Bobby, endeavoring to locate himself, became quite confused and uncertain as to the direction in which Jimmy and the _komatik_ lay, for his course had been a winding course, in and out among the hummocks, and in the blinding, swirling snow he could never see a dozen feet from where he stood. Then he shouted again and listened intently, and again and again, but only the roar and boom of sea and pounding ice and the shrieking and weird moaning of the wind gave answer. "Well, I've lost Jimmy, sure enough," he acknowledged to himself at last, after much futile shouting, "and I'm lost myself, too! I don't know north from south, and I couldn't hit in ten guesses in which direction the _komatik_ is! This is a pretty mess!" Dusk was not far off, and there was no time to be lost, and without further parley or useless waste of breath and strength Bobby set bravely to work with his snow knife, as any wilderness dweller in similar case would have done, and in a little while had prepared for himself a grave-shaped cavern in the drift, with a stout roof of snow blocks, and when it was finished he crawled in and closed the entrance with a huge block. This emergency shelter was, of course, not to be compared with a properly built _igloo_, but an _igloo_ he could scarcely have built in the face of the storm without assistance. It was, however, much more comfortable than a burrow in the drift, such as Jimmy had made, for it gave him an opportunity to turn over and stretch his limbs, and it afforded him, also, a considerable breathing space. "'Twould be fine, now, if I only had my sleeping bag," he soliloquized, when he had at last composed himself in his improvised shelter. "I hope Jimmy's just as snug. I told him about getting in the snow like the dogs do, and he'll do it and be all right, and he's got his sleeping bag, too." Bobby was not given to vain regrets and needless worry, as we have seen, but nevertheless he could not keep his mind from the possible fate of himself and Jimmy, and think as he would he could conceive of no possible means of their escape, save in the possibility of the floe coming again in contact with land. Then his thoughts ran to Abel and Mrs. Abel, and before he was aware of it he was crying bitterly. "If I'd only hurried on, as Skipper Ed told me to!" he moaned. "I'm always doing something! And there's Jimmy in the--in the fix too! And it was all my fault!" And then he remembered the evening devotions that Abel and Mrs. Abel were doubtless then holding in the cabin. He could see Abel taking the old worn Eskimo Bible and hymnal from the shelf, and Abel reading and the two good folks singing a hymn, and then kneeling in praise and thanks to God for his mercies. And joining them in spirit he sang the Eskimo version of "Nearer My God to Thee," and then he knelt and prayed, and felt the better for it. For a long while he lay, after his devotions were ended, recalling the kindness of his beloved foster parents. But at last he, too, like Jimmy, fell asleep to the tune of the booming ice and howling wind, and, exhausted with his day's work, he slept long and heavily. When Bobby awoke at last he perceived that it was twilight in his snow cavern, and, listening for the wind, discovered to his satisfaction that it had ceased to blow. "Now I'll find Jimmy," said he, seizing his snow knife, "and see how he spent the night in the storm." He removed the snow block from the entrance and cut away the accumulated drift, and crawling out at once looked about him with astonished eyes. On one side very near where he had been sleeping waves were breaking upon the ice, and far away beyond the waters lay the bleak and naked headland of Cape Harrigan. In the east the sun was just rising, and the snow of the ice pack sparkled and glittered with wondrous beauty. But Bobby saw only the open water, and the distant land, and nowhere Jimmy or the dogs. A sickening dread came into his heart. The water had eaten away the ice as he slept! That was the side upon which Jimmy must have been! Jimmy was gone! He had no doubt Jimmy's body was now floating somewhere in that stretch of black water! Then he ran out over the ice and among the hummocks, shouting: "Jimmy! Jimmy! Answer me, Jimmy, and tell me you're alive! Oh, Jimmy! Tell me you're alive!" But no Jimmy answered, and, overcome with grief, Bobby sat down upon the snow and threw his arms over his knees, and, pillowing his head in the crook of his elbow, wept. "It's all my fault! It's all my fault!" he moaned. "I the same as killed him! I led him into it! Oh, if I hadn't gone back for the whip! Oh, if I'd only hurried when Skipper Ed told me to!" But Bobby was young and healthy and active, and had an appetite, and the air was excessively cold. The appetite began to call for food and drink, and the cold drove him to exercise. And so, rising at last and drying his eyes, he very wisely resolved: "There's no good to come from crying or mourning about Jimmy, I suppose, or what's past. I've got to do something for myself now. There's a chance the ice may drive back with a shift of wind, and I've got to try to keep alive as long as I can." He had nothing to eat, no cup into which to melt ice for water, and no lamp or seal oil with which to make a fire over which to melt the ice had he possessed a cup, but he set out at a rapid pace to explore the ice field, clinging as he walked to his snow knife, the only weapon he possessed, for his rifle had been left upon the _komatik_, and in a little while he discovered that the pack was not so large as he had supposed it to be, for the heavy seas of the night before had eaten away its edges. It had broken away, indeed, to a point far within the boundaries of their old _igloo_ and the place where they had hunted. "The first little blow will break the whole floe up," he said dejectedly. "Anyhow I suppose it won't matter, for I'll soon starve to death without a gun." But out to the southward lay a great field of ice, and it seemed not so far away. An hour's observation assured Bobby that his small floe was traveling much more rapidly than this larger field, and was gradually approaching it. Late in the afternoon he caught the glint of miniature bergs, as the sunlight touched them, rising above the great floe ahead, and as he watched them a burst of understanding came upon him. "It's the great North pack!" he exclaimed. "It's the Arctic pack! If I can get on that I'll be safe from drowning, anyhow, for a few days! It's stronger than this, and it'll stand some good blows." To quench his thirst he clipped particles of ice with his snow knife and sucked them, while he ran up and down to keep warm. And, as night approached, he built a new night shelter from snow blocks, near the center of his floe, and, very hungry and despondent, crawled into it to lie long and think of Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, and the lost happiness in the cabin which was his home; and of Skipper Ed and Jimmy, and of the old days that were now gone forever, when he and Jimmy had played together with never a thought of the terrible fate that awaited them; and of the adventure on the cliff, and the hundred other scrapes into which they had got and from which they had somehow always escaped unharmed; and even of the lonely grave on Itigailit Island, and the cairn of stones he had built upon it. "A tragedy brought me into the country," he said to himself, "and a tragedy has taken me out of it, and the end of my life will be a tragedy." And then, after long thought: "Skipper Ed says our destiny is God's will. But God always has a purpose in His will. I wonder if I've fulfilled my destiny, and what the purpose of it was. Maybe it was just to be a son to Father and Mother." He mused upon this for a long time, and then his thoughts ran to Skipper Ed and Jimmy: "I wonder what there is in Skipper Ed's life that he's never told us," he pondered. "He's always said he was a wandering sailor-man, who stopped on the coast because he liked it. He never was a common sailor, I'm sure. I never thought of that before! Sailors aren't educated, and he is! And whenever Jimmy or I asked him to tell about his own life before he came here he always put us off with something else." And then he fell asleep to dream that he and Skipper Ed were walking under strange trees, with flowers, the like of which he had never seen, blooming all about them and making the air sweet with their perfume. CHAPTER XXVII A STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE It was fortunate that Bobby had selected the center of the floe for his night shelter, for when he awoke in the morning and crawled out of his snow cavern he discovered that the unstable shore ice of which the floe was composed had been gradually breaking up during the night into separate pans, and that he was now upon a comparatively small floe, little more indeed than a large pan, which had originally been the center of the great floe upon which he went adrift. Surrounding him was a mass of loose pans, rising and falling on the swell, and grinding and crunching against one another with a voice of ominous warning. With quick appreciation he was aware that his position was now indeed a perilous one, for it was obvious that his small remnant of floe was rapidly going to pieces. But another and more sinister danger threatened him, should he escape drowning. Bobby was ravenously hungry. He had eaten nothing since the hasty luncheon of sea biscuit and pork on the night he and Jimmy parted. He had been terribly hungry the day before, but now he was ravenous and he felt gaunt and weak. As though to tantalize him, numerous seals lay sunning themselves upon the ice pans, for it was now past sunrise, but his only weapon was his snow knife, and he was well aware that the seals would slip into the water and beyond his reach before he could approach and despatch them. Looking away over the mass of moving ice he discovered to his delight that the loose pans surrounding the little floe upon which he stood reached out in a continuous field to the great Arctic pack which he had watched so anxiously the previous day. And, what was particularly to his satisfaction, the pans were so closely massed together that by jumping from pan to pan he was quite certain he could make the passage safely, and for a time at least be secure from the threatening sea. Running over loose ice pans in this manner was not wholly new to Bobby. Every hunter in the Eskimo country learns to do it, and Bobby had often practiced it in Abel's Bay when the water was calm and the ice pans to a great extent stationary. But he had never attempted it on the open sea where the pans were never free from motion. It was, therefore, though not an unusual feat for the experienced seal hunter, a hazardous undertaking. The situation, however, demanded prompt action. Should wind arise the ice pans would quickly be scattered, and all possibility of retreat to the big ice field cut off. Bobby, after his manner, not only decided quickly what to do, but acted immediately upon his decision. The distance to be traversed was probably not much above a mile, and, selecting a course where the pans appeared closely in contact with one another, he seized his snow knife, which he had no doubt he would still find useful in preparing shelters, and leaping from pan to pan set out without hesitation upon his uncertain journey. It was a feat that required a steady nerve, a quick eye, and alert action, for the ice was constantly rising and falling upon the swell. Now and again there were gaps of several yards, where the ice had been ground into pieces so small that none would have borne his weight. He ran rapidly over these gaps, touching the ice as lightly as possible and not remaining upon any piece long enough to permit it to sink. And so it came about that presently with a vast sense of relief Bobby clambered from the last unstable ice pan to the big ice pack, and for a time, at least, felt that he had escaped the sea. For a moment he stood and looked back over the hazardous path that he had traversed. Then climbing upon a high hummock, which attained the proportions of a small berg, he scanned his surroundings. To the northward lay the loose ice; to the eastward and southward as far as he could see stretched the unbroken ice of the great field; to the westward and two miles distant was the black water of the open sea, dotted here and there by vagrant pans of ice which glistened white in the bright sunlight as they rose and fell upon the tide. Suddenly his attention was attracted to something which made him stare in astonishment and wonder. Near the water's edge, and extending back from the water for a considerable distance, there appeared innumerable dark objects, some lying quiet upon the ice, others moving slowly about. "Seals!" exclaimed Bobby. "Seals! Hundreds--thousands of them! I can get one now before they take to the water! They're too far back to get to the water before I can get at them!" And scrambling down from the hummock he set out as fast as he could go, highly excited at the prospect of food that had so suddenly come to him. "Oh, if I can get one!" he said as he ran, "if I can only get one! God help me to get one!" With this prayer on his lips, and keen anxiety in his breast, he neared the seals. Then, all of his hunter's instincts alert, his advance became slow and cautious. Crouching among hummocks, he watched his prey, and studied the intervening ice, and its possible sheltering hummocks. Carefully he stalked, now standing still as a statue, now darting forward, and at last proceeding on all fours until finally he was quite certain that those farthest from the water could not escape him. Then springing to his feet he ran at them. Bobby had until now kept his nerves under control, but with the attack a wild desperation took possession of him, and looking neither to one side nor the other he slaughtered the seals, one after another, as he overtook them, until, the first frenzy of success past, he realized that he had already killed more than he could probably use. Then he stopped, trembling with excitement, and looked about him. Five victims of the two species known to him as harp and jar seals had fallen under his knife. Now he could eat. This thought brought relaxation from the great physical strain and mental anxiety that had spurred him to activity and keyed his nerves to a high pitch since leaving his snow cavern early in the morning, and with the relaxation he was overcome by emotion. Tears sprang to his eyes, and suddenly he felt very weak. "The Lord surely has been taking care of me. Maybe it is my destiny to live, after all, and if I get out of this I'll never forget 'twas the Lord took me through." Bobby's undivided attention until this time had been centered upon the seals which he had attacked, which were among those farthest from the open water. Now as he dried his eyes and, still trembling from effort and excitement, drew his sheath knife to dress the animals, he looked about him, and what he saw brought forth an exclamation: "Puppies! That's what all the seals are here for!" And, sure enough, lying about on the ice were a great number of little white balls, so small and white they had escaped his notice at a distance, and each white ball was a new-born seal. That, then, was why old seals were so numerous and so fearless. But Bobby had no time to think about this. Hunger was crying to be satisfied, and now that food was at hand he was hungrier than ever. As quickly as he could he dressed one of the seals, and as he had no means of cooking the meat made a satisfactory meal upon the raw flesh and blubber, after the manner of Eskimos. This done he looked about him for a suitable place to build a shelter, and finding a good drift not far away set about his building with greater care than on the night before, and before noon time had a small but well-fashioned _igloo_ erected with a tunnel leading to the entrance that he might better be protected from the wind. He now skinned and dressed the remaining seals, and spreading the skins for a bed on his _igloo_ floor felt himself very comfortably situated under the circumstances. "Now," said he, surveying his work, "if I only had a lamp and a kettle I could get on all right till the ice drives ashore or I'm picked up or the pack goes to pieces and I won't need to get along any more." But this last thought he quickly put from him with the exclamation: "That's silly! I won't worry now till I have to. I'll just do my best for myself, and if the Lord wants me to live He'll show me how to save myself, or He'll save me." Then Bobby sat down to think. The pieces of ice which he melted in his mouth in lieu of water he was convinced had a weakening effect upon him, and his mouth was becoming tender and sore from sucking them, and he preferred his meat cooked. He had plenty of matches in his pocket, for the man who lives always in the wilderness is never without a good supply, but since he had gone adrift they had been of no use to him, without means or method of making a fire. "I've got it!" said he at last, springing up. "I'm sure it will work!" Opening the jackknife he cut from one of the skins a large circular piece, and at regular intervals near the edge of this made small slits. Then from the edge of a skin he cut a long, narrow thong, and proceeded to thread it through the slits. This done he tightened the thong, puckering the edge of the circular piece of skin until it assumed the form of a shallow bowl perhaps fifteen inches wide. This he set into a snow block in order that it might set firm and retain its shape. This was to be his Eskimo lamp. Now he tore a strip from his shirt, folded it to proper size, filled his lamp with oil from the blubber, drove the point of his snow knife into the side of his _igloo_ in such manner that the side rested in a flat position on the top of the bowl, and saturating the cloth with the oil he arranged it upon the knife, taking care that it did not touch either side of the bowl. This he lighted, and to his great delight found that his lamp was a success. It was easy to grill small pieces of seal meat over this, but the problem of melting ice for water was a puzzling one. Finally this, too, was solved, by improvising another bowl from sealskin and suspending over it a piece of ice. This bowl he held as near as possible to the flame without putting it in danger of scorching the skin. The ice, suspended by a thong directly above the bowl and a little on one side of the flame, began at once to drip water into the bowl. The water resulting was very oily and unclean, but Bobby in his position had neither a discriminating taste nor a discriminating appetite. "Well," said Bobby that evening when he had settled himself comfortably after a good meal of grilled meat, "this isn't as comfortable as home, but it's away ahead of raw meat and ice, and no _igloo_ at all. And it's safe for a while, anyhow." And so our young adventurer took up his lonely life upon the shifting ice, and day after day he watched the baby seals grow, and wondered at it, for each morning they were visibly larger than they had been the previous night. And he wondered, too, that each mother should know her own little one, by merely sniffing about, for the babies, or "white coats" as he called them, were as like as peas. Thus he had lived ten lonely days, and sometimes he believed God had forgotten him, when one morning a black streak appeared in the sky and then another and another, and something wonderful happened, for God had not forgotten Bobby and was guiding his destiny. CHAPTER XXVIII THE SHIPS THAT CAME DOWN TO THE ICE Closer and closer came the three black streaks, and presently the masts, then the funnels, and finally the hulls of three ships appeared, first one, then another, then the third. Bobby watched them with awe and wonder. He even forgot for a time that a way was opening for his escape. The three ships were streaming directly toward the ice, and in the course of an hour after he had first sighted them the advance ship came to, half a mile or so from the floe, and not above a mile to the southward of him. Boats were lowered before the steamer had fully stopped, and immediately men swarmed over her sides and into them, and in a moment the boats put off for the ice, the men climbed out upon it and presently were running everywhere, beating to the right and to the left with clubs. Then the boats returned to the ship to fetch more men, and still more, until there were more men upon the ice than Bobby had ever seen before, and all beating about them with their clubs. So it was with the other ships as they came up; they, too, sent scores upon scores of men to the ice in boats. Bobby was astonished beyond measure at what he saw, and at first he was afraid, and watched from a distance. But at last he recalled that he had heard of this thing before. These were the seal hunters from Newfoundland, and with bats they were slaying the young white-coat seals, and such of the old seals, also, as did not slip away from them into the water. Finally some of the sealers from the first ship were making their way up over the ice in the direction of Bobby's _igloo_, and presently he knew they would be upon the very seals that he had watched with so much interest growing from day to day. Among these were two men with guns, instead of clubs, and these two devoted their attention to the old seals, which now and again they shot. Overcome with awe and wonder, and timid in the presence of so many strangers, Bobby kept himself from view while he watched, though he knew that presently he would be called upon to present himself, in order that he might escape from the floe, for in all probability no other opportunity would come to him. So, uncertain, expectant, and trembling with excitement, he remained concealed behind an ice hummock until the seal hunters in advance had nearly reached him, and further concealment was impossible. Then he stepped boldly out. The effect of Bobby's appearance was instantaneous and wonderful. A man in the advance, looking up, saw the strangely clad figure apparently rise out of the ice itself. The man turned about and wildly broke for the boats. Then another and another took one terrified glance at the supposed apparition, and tarrying not, turned about to compete with the first in a mad race for the boats. Shouts of "Ghost! Ghost!" filled the air, and then the stampede and panic became general, though after the manner of panic-stricken crowds, perhaps none but the first two or three had the slightest idea why or from what they were running. The two men with guns were still some little distance from Bobby when the stampede began. One of these men was perhaps twenty-three or twenty-four years of age, the other many years his senior. They were dressed after the manner of sportsmen, and were evidently not members of the sealing crew. They did not join in the stampede as the men rushed past them in wild flight and confusion, but in utter astonishment looked for its cause in the direction from which the men had come, and discovered nothing more terrifying than Bobby, standing alone and no less astonished at what had occurred than themselves, and more than half inclined to run as fast in the opposite direction as the sealers had run toward their boats. "Uncle, there's an Eskimo!" exclaimed the younger of the two, observing Bobby's sealskin garments, but at that distance unable to note that his features were wholly unlike those of an Eskimo. "Sure enough!" said the older man. "That explains it! The men weren't expecting to see any one, and they've taken him for a ghost! Come on, Edward. Let us interview him." "How could an Eskimo get out here on the floe?" asked Edward, as they set out toward Bobby. "We're a long way from land." "I don't know," said his companion. "We'll soon learn. But Eskimo hunters go a long way after seals, and he's probably on a hunting expedition." "Why, he hasn't the features of an Eskimo, though he's dressed like one; and he's a handsome looking chap!" said Edward, in an undertone, as they drew near Bobby, who had overcome his inclination to run and had not moved. "Good-morning!" greeted the older man a moment later, when they were within speaking distance. "Good-morning, sir," said Bobby, timidly. "We thought you were an Eskimo, and" laughing, "the men apparently thought you were a ghost. You gave them a fine fright." "I didn't mean to frighten them," said Bobby apologetically. "I only wanted them to take me off the ice." [Illustration: "I was hunting," explained Bobby. "The ice broke loose and cut Jimmy and me off from Skipper Ed"] "Take you off the ice? Why, how did you get on it? We thought perhaps you were hunting." "I was hunting," explained Bobby, "but now I'm adrift. I'm Bobby Zachariah, from Abel's Bay. The ice broke loose and cut Jimmy and me off from Skipper Ed, and Jimmy's drowned--" Tears came into Bobby's eyes and he choked at the recollection. "I'm Frederick Winslow," said the man kindly and sympathetically, taking Bobby's hand, "and this is my nephew Edward Norman. We do not know where Abel's Bay is, nor who Skipper Ed and Jimmy are, but we're glad we found you, and you're to go with us to the ship, and then you can tell us about it, and there'll be a way to send you home to Abel's Bay." "Edward Norman!" exclaimed Bobby. "Why, that's Skipper Ed's name!" "Who is Skipper Ed?" inquired Mr. Winslow. "But never mind. Don't explain now. You must be nearly starved if you've been adrift long. Come with us." "I've been over a week--nearly two weeks, I think," said Bobby, "but I'm not hungry. I've had plenty of seals. Let me get my snow knife, sir. It's in the _igloo_." Then they went with Bobby and marveled at his _igloo_, and his crude lamp, which they must have as a souvenir, and that Bobby had not perished. And praised him for a brave lad, as they led him off. And Bobby, who saw nothing wonderful or strange in his _igloo_ or lamp, or anything he had done, said little, but followed timidly. And when the men he had frightened so badly learned that Bobby was a castaway and a very real person and not a ghost at all, they vied with one another in showering kindnesses upon him, for these men of the fleets, though a bit rough, and a bit superstitious at times, have big brave hearts, filled with sympathy for their kind. And so it came about that Bobby, who had come to the Coast a drifting waif of the sea, was carried from it by the sea. And now he was to see the land of strange trees and flowers and green fields of which Skipper Ed had so often told when they sat in the big chairs before the fire on winter evenings. And many other wonderful things were in store for Bobby. CHAPTER XXIX IN STRANGE LANDS Mr. Winslow and his nephew Edward Norman were sportsmen who, as many other sportsmen had done before them and have done since, had gone as passengers with the sealing fleet that they might see the big ice and secure for themselves trophies of the seal hunt of their own killing. And so it came about that they met Bobby, and took him under their care. Indeed, Mr. Winslow felt an unusual interest in the lad from the moment he met him, for Bobby had an open, frank countenance and a pleasing manner. But they would not permit him to talk or tell them much of his story until they had him on shipboard, and Bobby had eaten and bathed and changed his ill-smelling skin clothing for a suit that Edward Norman pressed upon him. And though the clothes were a trifle large, and the trousers two or three inches longer than was necessary, they set Bobby off to good advantage and wrought a wonderful change in his appearance. "You're to stay in the cabin as our guest," said Mr. Winslow when Bobby was dressed, and would have gone forward to the sailors' quarters. "I have arranged it with the Captain. I am very much interested in what you said about Skipper Ed. His name, you said, is Edward Norman. Who is he?" "Skipper Ed's our nearest neighbor," Bobby explained simply. "Do you call him 'Skipper' because he is a sea captain? Has he always lived on the Labrador coast? You see," added Mr. Winslow, "I'm greatly interested because his name is the same as my nephew's. It is a strange coincidence, and we should like to learn all about him." "We've always called him 'Skipper,'" answered Bobby. "He was a sailor once, but that was long before I came. He's lived at Abel's Bay, I heard him say, over twenty years. He's told Jimmy and me a lot about Harvard College, and when he was a boy he lived in a place called Carrington--" "What! Carrington?" exclaimed Mr. Winslow. "Are you sure?" "Yes, sir," said Bobby. "He's often told Jimmy and me about his home there when he was a boy." The two men looked at each other and they were plainly excited, and in an intensely expectant voice Mr. Winslow asked: "Did he ever speak of his family?" "Yes, sir--of his father and mother and brother and sister," said Bobby. "Anything else?" "Why, yes, sir; about the trees and flowers and garden and--" "I mean about himself," interrupted Mr. Winslow. "Did he ever tell you about a bank, or why he left home?" "No, sir," said Bobby. "I remember, though, a story he used to tell us about two boys whose father had a bank. One borrowed some money from the bank and lost it gambling, and because he had a wife and little child the other brother told their father that he did it, though he didn't know anything about it until after it was done. The brother that took the money tried to stop him. The father of the boys sent the one who said he took the money away, and he went and settled in a land like The Labrador, and never saw his old home or any of his people again." The two men were leaning eagerly forward during this recital. When Bobby had finished they sat back and looked into each other's eyes, and after a moment Mr. Winslow spoke: "There is no doubt, Edward, that Skipper Ed is your uncle--your father's brother who disappeared so long ago, when you were a baby." "Yes," agreed Edward, "and we must go to him and take him home again." "You--don't--mean--you're Skipper Ed's people?" stammered the astonished Bobby. "Yes," said Mr. Winslow, "Edward's father and Skipper Ed were, I believe from what you have told us, brothers, and in that case Mrs. Winslow is Skipper Ed's sister. She was a little girl when he went away. We must look into the matter, and we shall all be very glad if it proves to be true." And then they talked for a long while, and drew from Bobby the story of their life at Abel's Bay--of how Skipper Ed had taught him and Jimmy, and the evenings spent in talking and studying in the easy chairs before the big box stove in Skipper Ed's cabin, and about Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel--so much, in fact, about their daily lives and hopes and disappointments that presently his two hearers felt that they had known Bobby and his friends all their life. And Bobby told them the story of his own coming to the Coast, as he had heard it from Abel and Mrs. Abel many a time, of how he had been found drifting in a boat with a dead man, of the grave Abel had made on Itigailit Island for his dead companion, and the cairn he himself had built. "We have the boat yet," said Bobby, "for it was a good boat. Father has always taken great care of it. He and Mother always say it's the boat God sent me in out of the mists from the far beyond, where storms are born." "What a romantic life you've led!" said Edward. "Your very advent upon the Coast was romantic--and tragic. And the way we found you today is no less so." "Have you no clue that would help you identify yourself? No clue as to where you came from? Was there nothing to identify the dead man?" asked Mr. Winslow. "No," answered Bobby, "and I've never thought about it very much. Mother has the clothes I wore, wrapped in a bundle and stowed into a chest. I've often seen the bundle, but I never undid it or meddled with it for she prizes it so." "It was probably a boat from a whaling or fishing ship that was wrecked," Mr. Winslow suggested. "Perhaps you were the captain's son. You should look into the bundle; it may help to identify you, and you may have relatives living, perhaps in Newfoundland, who would be glad to know of you." For two weeks the _Fearless_, which was the ship upon which Mr. Winslow and his nephew were passengers, remained near the ice, her crew of nearly two hundred men engaged in killing seals and in loading them aboard, and then at last, with a cargo of nearly forty thousand carcasses, she set sail to the southward. The days were lengthening rapidly now, and with every mile the atmosphere grew milder. The Labrador coast was still ice-bound, and it would be many weeks before the harbors were cleared and vessels could enter them, but Mr. Winslow promised Bobby that as early as conditions would permit they would sail northward to Abel's Bay, and perhaps charter a vessel for the journey. Indeed, he and Edward were nearly if not quite as anxious for this as Bobby. It was during the first week in April that the _Fearless_ steamed into St. John's harbor, and Bobby for the first time in his life saw a city, and great buildings, and railway trains, and horses--horses were his great mark of admiration--and very shy he was, for he had been transported to a world that was new to him. And then, in a swirl of ever-growing wonders, they were away on a railway train, and for a night on a steamer, and again on a train, moving at a gait that made Bobby's head whirl, and at last budding trees were seen, and green fields--all the marvelous things of which Skipper Ed had so often told him. At last they left the train one evening at Carrington, which, as everyone knows, is a suburb of Boston. Bobby was hurried with Mr. Winslow and Edward Norman into an automobile, which whirled away with them to a great old house, where they were greeted at the door by Mrs. Winslow, whom Bobby thought nice and motherly, and whom he loved at once; and by a white-haired old gentleman and old lady who Bobby learned were Edward's grandparents. Bobby was made quite dizzy by much talking and by innumerable questions that he was called upon to answer, and when Mrs. Winslow and the white-haired old lady cried at the story of Skipper Ed, and the old gentleman repeated over and over again: "Is it possible! Is it possible! My poor Edward! My long lost boy!" he almost cried himself, though he could see nothing to cry about, really, except Jimmy's supposed death. And then came wonderful days while Bobby watched the marvelous blossoming of the trees in the garden, and as they were transformed into masses of pink and white, and flower beds became spots of glowing color, he believed a miracle had been performed before his very eyes--as, indeed, one had. And there were times when he believed he must be dreaming, and not living in the world at all, and then he would pinch himself to make certain he was really alive and awake, and that he had not perished on the ice after all and awakened in Paradise. But in his room of nights when the lights were out and he was alone and all was still, he had many sleepless and homesick hours. Then it was he longed for the old times again in the cozy cabins, and for Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, and Skipper Ed and Jimmy, and felt that he would give all the world to have them back. And so the weeks passed until the lengthening days of June were well advanced, and Mr. Winslow announced that he had chartered a small auxiliary schooner and that she was ready for the northern voyage, and then for two nights before their departure for St. John's, where the schooner was in waiting, Bobby could scarcely sleep at all, so eager was he to return home to Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, that they might know he still lived, for he often thought of them there in the cabin, very lonely without him. One day late in June Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, with Edward Norman and Bobby, went down to Boston, where they boarded their steamer, and immediately the lines were thrown off and the steamer had turned her prow seaward, Bobby nearly shouted with joy, and every throb of the steamer's engine, and every turn of the propeller, brought fresh delight to his heart, for they were beating away the miles that separated him from home. In Halifax there was a day's vexatious delay while they awaited the St. John's steamer, but at last it came, and at last they were on board the schooner _Gull_ in St. John's harbor, and at last the _Gull_ was plowing northward past stately icebergs glimmering in the sunshine, and vagrant pans of ice rising and falling on the swell, and home was drawing near. CHAPTER XXX THE MYSTERY CLEARED How slowly those last days dragged away! Bobby could scarcely restrain his impatience. But one day in the middle of July Itigailit Island was sighted, and that evening the _Gull_ anchored in its lee. Abel Zachariah had not come out to his fishing yet, and the island was bare and deserted. Bobby's emotion nearly got the better of him when he remembered that stormy winter's day when he had last been here, with Skipper Ed and Jimmy. They launched a motor boat with which they had provided themselves, and went ashore for a half hour, while Bobby pointed out Abel's landing place, and the place where they always pitched their tent, and where the snow _igloo_ had stood. The seals were gone, so Bobby knew Skipper Ed and Abel had hauled them home before the ice broke up. And then Bobby took his friends to see the grave, and the cairn he had built over it, and for a little they stood, in silence and in pity for the nameless man who lay there. Day comes early in this latitude at this season, and at two o'clock, in the morning twilight, anchor was weighed, sails hoisted before a good fair breeze, and the _Gull_ was plowing her way into Abel's Bay, with Bobby as pilot, for he knew its waters as you and I know our city streets. And what old friends the distant mountains and headlands seemed, as he pointed them out to his companions! It was mid-afternoon when the _Gull_ at last approached the head of Abel's Bay, and in the distance the two cabins gradually came into view. Skipper Ed's cabin was the nearer, and their course was laid toward it, and presently two figures were discerned at the boat landing. "That's the Skipper on the left!" exclaimed Bobby. "I know him because he's so tall! The other must be Father, but he doesn't look like Father, either!" And then, standing intently gazing at the men, he suddenly shouted: "It's Jimmy! Oh, it's Jimmy! He was saved! He was saved! He was saved! Oh, thank God, he was saved!" And in spite of himself tears of joy sprang to Bobby's eyes, and he leaned over the rail and shouted and shouted, and waved his hat, and at last Skipper Ed and Jimmy heard, and they knew his voice, and they too shouted and waved their hats, in no less excitement and joy than Bobby. Presently the _Gull's_ sails were run down, her chains rattled, and she was at anchor. As quickly as might be the launch, which was in tow, was drawn alongside, and Bobby, with Mr. and Mrs. Winslow and Edward Norman, were chugging toward the landing, where the two eager men stood to greet them. It would be quite impossible to describe the joy of the greeting, and the explanations and the reunion that followed. As quickly as he could do so Bobby, with Jimmy to accompany him, ran away to make glad the hearts of Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, who greeted him as he knew they would, and who believed they had never been so happy in their life. And embracing Bobby, Mrs. Abel cried over him, and they both declared that God was better to them than they deserved. Skipper Ed was indeed the long lost Edward Norman. His brother, young Edward's father, had confessed shortly after Edward's disappearance all that had taken place. He was forgiven and made restitution, and had never again gambled. Several years later he and his wife were lost at sea, with Mr. and Mrs. Winslow's little son. It had happened many years before. Robert Norman, Skipper Ed's brother, was invited, with his wife and Mr. and Mrs. Winslow, to cruise in a friend's yacht. Mrs. Winslow falling ill was unable to go, and therefore Mr. Winslow also declined the invitation. Robert and his wife urged, however, that the Winslows' little son, who was a namesake of Robert and of whom they were exceedingly fond, be permitted to accompany them. The child had been in poor health, and upon the recommendation of their physician consent was finally given. Edward, who was attending school at the time, was not of the party. The yacht had voyaged northward, stopping for several days at various ports from which letters were received. Finally a letter from Sydney, Nova Scotia, stated that the party had decided upon a still more northerly cruise, and for a little while might not be in touch with the mails. That was the last that was ever heard of the yacht or any one on board. And so for a full three hours they talked of home, and sorrowed over long-ago partings and the dead, and rejoiced over their reunion and the living, until Skipper Ed suggested that they all pay their respects to Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, and complained that he had hardly seen Bobby at all, and that they had not become properly acquainted with his partner, who had run off to Abel's with Bobby, which was quite to be expected under the circumstances, for the two boys were like brothers. Because it was easier for Mrs. Winslow than the rough and wet path, they chugged over in the motor boat, and were met at the landing by Abel and Mrs. Abel, who saw them coming and ran down to meet them, with much good-natured laughter, and ushered them into the cabin where, after the hospitable fashion of the country, they were called upon to drink tea. "Bobby," suggested Mr. Winslow, when they had risen from the table, "I'm immensely interested in what you told me about yourself. May we not see the package of which you spoke? It might throw some light upon your parentage." And when Bobby told Mrs. Abel that the visitors had requested to see the little clothes he wore when they found him, she and Abel were greatly pleased, for they were proud of Bobby, and without delay she opened the chest in which she kept her treasures and brought forth a neatly wrapped package, which she delivered to Mr. Winslow. For many years the package had not been opened. It was covered with cloth, and tied with a buckskin thong. Mr. Winslow placed it on the table, and as he undid it the others grouped themselves around him. On the top of the package lay the little dress. He lifted it and shook it out and held it up for inspection, and then a strange thing happened. Mrs. Winslow, mildly curious, had been standing by Skipper Ed. Her face suddenly went white, she reached for the garment, examined it for a moment, and then exclaimed: "Oh, my little Bobby! Oh, my little boy! That was his dress! It was his!" There was excitement at once. Mrs. Winslow became so dizzy and faint that Skipper Ed sat her in a chair. Mr. Winslow's hand trembled as he examined the other articles of clothing. Then he opened the wallet in which Mrs. Abel had placed Bobby's little ring, for he had long since outgrown it. "The ring Robert gave him on his third birthday, just before they left us!" said Mrs. Winslow, bursting into tears. "His name is in it--'Bobby.' Let me see it." She was right. The identification was perfect. But none seemed yet to remember that the tall, handsome lad standing with them was the same Bobby. The parents were lost in the sorrowful yesterday and forgetful of the happy today, until Skipper Ed asked: "What was the name of the yacht in which they were lost?" "The _Wanderer_," said Mr. Winslow. "The boat Bobby was found in was a yacht's boat, and it bore the name _Wanderer_. There's no doubt, I think, of the identification. Bobby, you scamp, why aren't you kissing your mother? Quick, now. And there's your own father, too; and don't forget I'm your old uncle." Suddenly this brought the father and mother to a realization that this Bobby was their Bobby--their lost child--the boy they had so long mourned as dead--and they drew him to them and the mother wept over him, and fondled him and caressed him, and for a time there was so much confusion, with every one talking and nobody listening, that they quite forgot the notebook. But at last, when some order had been restored, Mr. Winslow opened it, and read. It contained some odds and ends of items, with a closing entry which cleared up much of the mystery of the _Wanderer_: "At sea, in an open boat," it was dated. "Two weeks ago the yacht _Wanderer_, when somewhere S.W. from the Greenland coast, collided in a dense fog with an iceberg. Her bow was stove in and she began to sink at once. The boats were immediately lowered and my wife and myself with our little nephew, Robert Winslow, and a sailor named Magee, succeeded in getting away in one of them, while the remainder of our party and crew were divided among three other boats. But in the dense fog we somehow became separated from them. "Magee as he entered the boat seized my shotgun and a pouch of loaded shells, the only things within reach, and we saved nothing else. Fortunately the boats had been used on shore expeditions and ours was provisioned with a bag of sea biscuits and a quantity of water, and contained some blankets. "On the day following the wreck my wife was taken ill, developing, I believe, pneumonia. On the fifth day she died. I would have kept her remains with us in the boat, but Magee insisted that she be buried at sea, claiming that the presence of her body would have a constantly depressing effect upon us. I offered a prayer and said an improvised burial service over her, we wrapped her in a blanket, and weighting her body with an anchor buried her. My heart went into the sea with her, and but for my young son at home and my little nephew, I would have wished to follow her. "Yesterday Magee went mad. He began to talk wildly, and to brandish the loaded gun. I feared he would do injury with it, and endeavored to take it from him. In some manner it was discharged, and I was injured, I am well aware, fatally. I lost consciousness, and when I awoke today Magee was gone. In his frenzy he must have plunged overboard. "My strength is nearly gone, and it is hard to hold a pencil. Should our boat by chance be discovered, let the finder communicate with Mr. Henry Winslow, Carrington, Massachusetts, and care for the little boy, who is his son. I commend the child to God's care, and as I die I pray God that my son Edward may grow to noble and Christian manhood--that he may possess as true and noble and Christian a character as my long-lost brother for whom he was named, the brother who sacrificed so much for me and him, and whom I wronged so deeply. God has forgiven me and I die in peace. "Robert Norman." It was difficult to read the final lines, for the pencil had wavered sadly, and it was evident that the entry had been finished with intense effort. When Mr. Winslow at last laid aside the yellow old notebook there were no dry eyes, and for a little while all were silent. Then Edward took Skipper Ed's hand in a strong grasp. "With God's help," said he, "I will live as my father wished, and always endeavor to be worthy his ideal." * * * * * But our story must end. I might relate how Bobby and Jimmy went to college, for Skipper Ed would not part from his partner. How the three always spent their summers with Abel Zachariah and Mrs. Abel, and provided for their comfort until in the fullness of years they went to their final rest; and how Edward erected a stone on Itigailit Island to his father's memory. But already our story has grown too long. We may be sure in the busy years that followed, Bobby and Jimmy never forgot the cabins at Abel's Bay, nor the cozy hours in the easy chairs before the big box stove. Nor Skipper Ed's teaching: "Destiny is God's will." THE END The Wilderness Castaways _By_ DILLON WALLACE ILLUSTRATED BY H.S. WATSON One of the "meatiest" stories for boys that has seen the light for many years. The tale of how two lads, one a self-reliant Newfoundlander, and the other an over-pampered New Yorker, went adrift in a fog on Hudson Bay and were forced to make their own living out of the wild in a sub-Arctic winter. It is full of adventure from first to last.--_Boston Globe_. Full of hunting, of peril, and privation, and shows how a grim outdoors can transform the life of a self-centered youth. It is the work of a man who knows the heart of a boy, as well as the heart of the wilderness.--_Epworth Herald._ One of the best boys' stories published is this record of a spoiled New York lad and a sailor boy who became separated from a hunting party. Their adventures, and the change wrought in the selfish city lad are told with a vividness and sense of humor which will appeal at once to the boy reader or any other.--_American Tourist_. The story is brimful of exciting incidents, and will be numbered among the boy readers' favorites.--_San Francisco Bulletin_. Mr. Wallace has made a gripping story, and held up manliness and courage in an attractive light--_Boston Journal._ In this book two boys make good, and that is a mighty good thing to present in any book for boys.--_Baltimore Sun._ 12mo. $1.25 A.C. McCLURG & COMPANY PUBLISHERS-CHICAGO-ILLINOIS The Fur Trail Adventurers _By_ DILLON WALLACE ILLUSTRATED BY E.W. DEMING The story is told with a realism that is a result of Mr. Wallace's long experience in the northland. It is one of the best books that could be given to a boy of twelve or fourteen, and one of the most acceptable.--_Chicago Daily News._ Like all his others, it is intensely interesting, the style vivid, the ideas high and elevating, and the whole story clean and wholesome. All boys like his books and read them with eagerness.--_Christian Observer._ There is in it much of the woodcraft and outdoor life that boys are learning more and more to love, thanks to the scout movement. Dillon Wallace knows by experience what his boy readers like, and this is one of the best books he has written. It is well illustrated.--_Indianapolis News._ The author has written a thrilling tale in which is incorporated much real information about woodcraft and the outdoor life.--_Boston Globe._ To those who wish a library for boys, with some books of clean adventure in the woods and waters of the far north, this volume is indispensable.--_Sioux City Tribune._ A book of adventures written to satisfy the thirst of every young boy for the romance of the wilds.--_Chicago Examiner._ 12mo. $1.25 A.C. McCLURG & COMPANY PUBLISHERS-CHICAGO-ILLINOIS The Long Labrador Trail _By_ DILLON WALLACE ILLUSTRATED BY PHOTOGRAPHS "It's always the way, Wallace! When a fellow starts on the long trail, he's never willing to quit. It'll be the same with you if you go with me to Labrador. When you come home, you'll hear the voice of the wilderness calling you to return, and it will lure you back again." It was Leonidas Hubbard, the heroic explorer, who spoke these words to Dillon Wallace when they were lying by a camp fire in the snow-covered Shawangunk mountains where they planned the trip that cost them indescribable suffering, and Hubbard his life. "The work must be done, Wallace, and if one of us falls before it is completed the other must finish it." Wallace returned to keep the compact, and "The Long Labrador Trail" is the story of marvelous adventure, discovery, and brilliant description of the exploration of the land that lured, the hitherto unknown country, where the Eskimo builds his _igloo_ and hunts the walrus and the seal. The story is one of brave and successful exploration, of interesting anecdote, of human feeling, with scientific accuracy characterizing the fund of information, and many photographs illuminating the text. Crown 8vo. $1.50 A.C. McCLURG & COMPANY PUBLISHERS-CHICAGO-ILLINOIS Beyond the Mexican Sierras _By_ DILLON WALLACE WITH PHOTOGRAPHS AND A MAP With the intense interest in Mexico which now obtains everywhere, this fascinating volume attains to new values. "There is no area of equal extent that can approach Mexico in wealth of natural resources, variety of climate, grandeur of scenery, prehistoric ruins, and romantic history," writes the author in his Introduction. "Here you witness the incomparable scenery of an old, new land with its snow-clad peaks, its magnificent mountain heights, its awe-inspiring canyons, its vast plains, its picturesque villages, its ancient ruins, its historic towns, and quaint corners. "Within the borders of our neighbor republic there is a territory one-quarter as large as the United States, with a coast line of six thousand miles. In Mexico practically every product of the soil of the tropical and temperate zones can be grown to perfection. Here are vast primordial forests, and incalculable wealth of minerals." This story of travel and exploration, with its fine descriptions of the life of the people, history, and resources, possesses unfailing value and interest. A large folding map accompanies the many photographs. Crown 8vo. $2.00 A.C. McCLURG & COMPANY PUBLISHERS-CHICAGO-ILLINOIS 
21711	----	THE WORLD OF ICE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. SOME OF THE dramatis personae INTRODUCED--RETROSPECTIVE GLANCES--CAUSES OF FUTURE EFFECTS--OUR HERO'S EARLY LIFE AT SEA--A PIRATE--A TERRIBLE FIGHT AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--BUZZBY'S HELM LASHED AMIDSHIPS--A WHALING CRUISE BEGUN. Nobody ever caught John Buzzby asleep by any chance whatever. No weasel was ever half so sensitive on that point as he was. Wherever he happened to be (and in the course of his adventurous life he had been to nearly all parts of the known world) he was the first awake in the morning and the last asleep at night; he always answered promptly to the first call, and was never known by any man living to have been seen with his eyes shut, except when he winked, and that operation he performed less frequently than other men. John Buzzby was an old salt--a regular true-blue jack tar of the old school, who had been born and bred at sea; had visited foreign parts innumerable; had weathered more storms than he could count, and had witnessed more strange sights than he could remember. He was tough, and sturdy, and grizzled, and broad, and square, and massive--a first-rate specimen of a John Bull, and, according to himself, "always kept his weather-eye open." This remark of his was apt to create confusion in the minds of his hearers, for John meant the expression to be understood figuratively, while, in point of fact, he almost always kept one of his literal eyes open and the other partially closed, but as he reversed the order of arrangement frequently, he might have been said to keep his lee-eye as much open as the weather one. This peculiarity gave to his countenance an expression of earnest thoughtfulness mingled with humour. Buzzby was fond of being thought old, and he looked much older than he really was. Men guessed his age at fifty-five, but they were ten years out in their reckoning, for John had numbered only forty-five summers, and was as tough and muscular as ever he had been--although not quite so elastic. John Buzzby stood on the pier of the seaport town of Grayton watching the active operations of the crew of a whaling ship which was on the point of starting for the icebound seas of the frozen regions, and making sundry remarks to a stout, fair-haired boy of fifteen, who stood by his side gazing at the ship with an expression of deep sadness. "She's a trim-built craft and a good sea-boat, I'll be bound, Master Fred," observed the sailor, "but she's too small by half, accordin' to my notions, and I _have_ seen a few whalers in my day. Them bow-timbers, too, are scarce thick enough for goin' bump agin the ice o' Davis Straits. Howsome'iver, I've seen worse craft drivin' a good trade in the Polar Seas." "She's a first-rate craft in all respects, and you have too high an opinion of your own judgment," replied the youth indignantly. "Do you suppose that my father, who is an older man than yourself, and as good a sailor, would buy a ship, and fit her out, and go off to the whale-fishery in her if he did not think her a good one?" "Ah! Master Fred, you're a chip of the old block--neck or nothing-- carry on all sail till you tear the masts out of her! Reef the t'gallant sails of your temper, boy, and don't run foul of an old man who has been all but a wet-nurse to ye--taught ye to walk, and swim, and pull an oar, and build ships, and has hauled ye out o' the sea when ye fell in--from the time ye could barely stump along on two legs, lookin' like as if ye was more nor half seas over." "Well, Buzzby," replied the boy, laughing, "if you've been all that to me, I think you _have_ been a wet-nurse too! But why do you run down my father's ship? Do you think I'm going to stand that? No, not even from you, old boy." "Hallo! youngster," shouted a voice from the deck of the vessel in question, "run up and tell your father we're all ready, and if he don't make haste he'll lose the tide, so he will, and that'll make us have to start on a Friday, it will, an' that'll not do for me no how, it won't; so make sail and look sharp about it, do--won't you?" "What a tongue he's got," remarked Buzzby. "Before I'd go to sea with a first mate who jawed like that I'd be a landsman. Don't ever you git to talk too much, Master Fred, wotever ye do. My maxim is--and it has served me through life, uncommon,--`Keep your weather-eye open and your tongue housed 'xcept when you've got occasion to use it.' If that fellow'd use his eyes more and his tongue less he'd see your father comin' down the road there, right before the wind; with his old sister in tow." "How I wish he would have let me go with him!" muttered Fred to himself sorrowfully. "No chance now, I'm a-feared," remarked his companion. "The gov'nor's as stiff as a nor'wester. Nothin' in the world can turn him once he's made up his mind, but a regular sou'easter. Now, if you had been _my_ son, and yonder tight craft _my_ ship, I would have said, come, at once. But your father knows best, lad, and you're a wise son to obey orders cheerfully, without question. That's another o' my maxims: `Obey orders an' ax no questions.'" Frederick Ellice, senior, who now approached, whispering words of consolation into the ear of his weeping sister, might, perhaps, have just numbered fifty years. He was a fine, big, bold, hearty Englishman, with a bald head, grizzled locks, a loud but not harsh voice, a rather quick temper, and a kind, earnest, enthusiastic heart. Like Buzzby, he had spent nearly all his life at sea, and had become so thoroughly accustomed to walking on an unstable foundation, that he felt quite uncomfortable on solid ground, and never remained more than a few months at a time on shore. He was a man of good education and gentlemanly manners, and had worked his way up in the merchant service, step by step, until he obtained the command of a West India trader. A few years previous to the period in which our tale opens, an event occurred which altered the course of Captain Ellice's life, and for a long period plunged him into the deepest affliction. This was the loss of his wife at sea, under peculiarly distressing circumstances. At the age of thirty Captain Ellice had married a pretty blue-eyed girl, who resolutely refused to become a sailor's bride, unless she should be permitted to accompany her husband to sea. This was without much difficulty agreed to, and forthwith Alice Bremner became Mrs Ellice, and went to sea. It was during her third voyage to the West Indies that our hero, Fred, was born, and it was during this, and succeeding voyages, that Buzzby became "all but a wet-nurse" to him. Mrs Ellice was a loving, gentle, seriously-minded woman. She devoted herself, heart and soul, to the training of her boy, and spent many a pleasant hour in that little unsteady cabin, in endeavouring to instil into his infant mind the blessed truths of Christianity, and in making the name of Jesus familiar to his ear. As Fred grew older, his mother encouraged him to hold occasional intercourse with the sailors, for her husband's example taught her the value of a bold, manly spirit, and she knew that it was impossible for her to instil _that_ into him, but she was careful to guard him from the evil that he might chance to learn from the men, by committing him to the tender care of Buzzby. To do the men justice, however, this was almost unnecessary, for they felt that a mother's watchful eye was on the child, and no unguarded word fell from their lips while he was romping about the forecastle. When it was time for Fred to go to school, Mrs Ellice gave up her roving life, and settled in her native town of Grayton, where she resided with her widowed sister, Amelia Bright, and her niece Isobel. Here Fred received the rudiments of an excellent education at a private academy. At the age of twelve, however, Master Fred became restive, and, during one of his father's periodical visits home, begged to be taken to sea. Captain Ellice agreed; Mrs Ellice insisted on accompanying them, and in a few weeks they were once again on their old home, the ocean, and Fred was enjoying his native air in company with his friend Buzzby, who stuck to the old ship like one of her own stout timbers. But this was destined to be a disastrous voyage. One evening, after crossing the line, they descried a suspicious-looking schooner to windward, bearing down upon them under a cloud of canvas. "What do you think of her, Buzzby?" enquired Captain Ellice, handing his glass to the seaman. Buzzby gazed in silence and with compressed lips for some time; then he returned the glass, at the same time muttering the word: "Pirate." "I thought so," said the captain in a deep, unsteady voice. "There is but one course for us, Buzzby," he continued, glancing towards his wife, who, all unconscious of their danger, sat near the taffrail, employed with her needle; "these fellows show no mercy, because they expect none, either from God or man. We must fight to the last. Go, prepare the men and get out the arms. I'll tell my wife." Buzzby went forward, but the captain's heart failed him, and he took two or three rapid, hesitating turns on the quarter-deck ere he could make up his mind to speak. "Alice," he said at length abruptly, "yonder vessel is a pirate." Mrs Ellice looked up in surprise, and her face grew pale as her eye met the troubled gaze of her husband. "Are you quite sure, Frederick?" "Yes, quite. Would God that I were left alone to--but--nay, do not be alarmed; perhaps I am wrong; it may be a--a clipper-built trading vessel. If not, Alice, we must make some show of fighting, and try to frighten them. Meanwhile you must go below." The captain spoke encouragingly as he led his wife to the cabin, but his candid countenance spoke too truthfully, and she felt that his look of anxious concern bade her fear the worst. Pressing her fervently to his heart, Captain Ellice sprang on deck. By this time the news had spread through the ship, and the crew, consisting of upwards of thirty men, were conversing earnestly in knots of four or five while they sharpened and buckled on cutlasses, or loaded pistols and carbines. "Send the men aft, Mr Thompson," said the captain, as he paced the deck to and fro, casting his eyes occasionally on the schooner, which was rapidly nearing the vessel. "Take another pull at these main-topsail-halyards, and send the steward down below for my sword and pistols. Let the men look sharp; we've no time to lose, and hot work is before us." "I will go for your sword, Father," cried Fred, who had just come on deck. "Boy, boy, you must go below; you can be of no use here." "But, Father, you know that I'm not _afraid_." "I know that, boy; I know it well; but you're too young to fight; you're not strong enough; besides, you must comfort and cheer your mother, she may want you." "I am old enough and strong enough to load and fire a pistol, Father; and I heard one of the men say we would need all the hands on board, and more if we had them; besides, it was my mother who told me what was going on, and sent me on deck to _help you to fight_." A momentary gleam of pride lit up the countenance of the captain as he said hastily: "You may stay, then," and turned towards the men, who now stood assembled on the quarterdeck. Addressing the crew in his own blunt, vigorous style, he said: "Lads, yon rascally schooner is a pirate, as you all know well enough. I need not ask you if you are ready to fight--I see by your looks you are. But that's not enough--you must make up your minds to fight _well_. You know that pirates give no quarter. I see the decks are swarming with men. If you don't go at them like bull-dogs you'll walk the plank before sunset, every man of you. Now, go forward, and double-shot your muskets and pistols, and stick as many of the latter into your belts as they will hold. Mr Thompson, let the gunner double-shot the four big guns, and load the little carronade with musket balls to the muzzle. If they do try to board us, they'll get a warm reception." "There goes a shot, sir," said Buzzby, pointing towards the piratical schooner, from the side of which a white cloud burst and a round shot ricochetted over the sea, passing close ahead of the ship. "Ay, that's a request for us to lay-to," said the captain bitterly, "but we won't. Keep her away a point." "Ay, ay, sir," sung out the man at the wheel. A second and third shot were fired, but passed unheeded, and the captain, fully expecting that the next would be fired into them, ordered the men below. "We can't afford to lose a man, Mr Thompson; send them all down." "Please, sir, may I remain?" said Buzzby, touching his hat. "Obey orders," answered the captain sternly. The sailor went below with a sulky fling. For nearly an hour the two vessels cut through the water before a steady breeze, during which time the fast-sailing schooner gradually overhauled the heavy West-Indiaman, until she approached within speaking distance. Still Captain Ellice paid no attention to her, but stood with compressed lips beside the man at the wheel, gazing alternately at the sails of his vessel, and at the windward horizon, where he fancied he saw indications that led him to hope the breeze would fail ere long. As the schooner drew nearer, a man leaped on the hammock-nettings, and, putting a trumpet to his mouth, sang out lustily: "Ship ahoy, where are you from and what's your cargo?" Captain Ellice made no reply, but ordered four of his men on deck to point one of the stern-chasers. Again the voice came harshly across the waves, as if in passion: "Heave to, or I'll sink you." At the same moment the black flag was run up to the peak, and a shot passed between the main and fore-mast. "Stand by to point this gun," said the captain in a subdued voice. "Ay, ay, sir!" "Fetch a red-hot iron; luff, luff a little--a little more--steady, so." At the last word there was a puff and a roar, and an iron messenger flew towards the schooner. The gun had been fired more as a reply of defiance to the pirate, than with the hope of doing him any damage, but the shot had been well aimed--it cut the schooner's main-sail-yard in two, and brought it rattling down on deck. Instantly the pirate yawed and delivered a broadside, but in the confusion on deck the guns were badly aimed, and none took effect. The time lost in this manoeuvre, added to the crippled condition of the schooner, enabled the West-Indiaman to gain considerably on her antagonist, but the pirate kept up a well-directed fire with his bow-chasers, and many of the shots struck the hull, and cut the rigging seriously. As the sun descended towards the horizon the wind fell gradually, and ceased at length altogether, so that both vessels lay rolling on the swell with their sails flapping idly against the masts. "They're a gittin' out the boats, sir," remarked John Buzzby, who, unable to restrain himself any longer, had crept upon deck at the risk of another reprimand; "and, if my eyes be'nt deceiving me, there's a sail on the horizon to wind'ard--leastways, the direction which _wos_ wind'ard afore it fell calm." "She's bringing a breeze along with her," remarked the captain, "but I fear the boats will come up before it reaches us. There are three in the water, and manned already. There they come. Now, then, call up all hands." In a few seconds the crew of the West-Indiaman were at their stations, ready for action, and Captain Ellice, with Fred at his elbow, stood beside one of the stern-chasers. Meanwhile, the boats of the pirate-- five in number--pulled away in different directions, evidently with the intention of attacking the ship at different points. They were full of men armed to the teeth. While they rowed towards the ship the schooner resumed its fire, and one ball cut away the spanker boom, and slightly wounded two of the men with splinters. The guns of the ship were now brought to bear on the boats, but without effect, although the shot plunged into the water all round them. As they drew nearer, a brisk fire of musketry was opened on them, and the occasional falling of an oar and confusion on board showed that the shots told. The pirates replied vigorously, but without effect, as the men of the ship were sheltered by the bulwarks. "Pass the word to load and reserve fire," said the captain, "and hand me a musket, Fred. Load again as fast as I fire." So saying, the captain took aim, and fired at the steersman of the largest boat, which pulled towards the stern. "Another, Fred--" At this moment a withering volley was poured upon the boat, and a savage yell of agony followed, while the rowers--who remained unhurt--paused for an instant as if paralysed. Next instant they recovered, and another stroke would have brought them almost alongside, when Captain Ellice pointed the little carronade and fired. There was a terrific crash, the gun recoiled violently to the other side of the deck, and the pirate boat sank, leaving the sea covered with dead and wounded men. A number, however, who seemed to bear charmed lives, seized their cutlasses with their teeth, and swam boldly for the ship. This incident, unfortunately, attracted too much of the attention of the crew, and, ere they could prevent it, another boat reached the bow of the ship, the crew of which sprang up the side like cats, formed on the forecastle, and poured a volley upon the men. "Follow me, lads," shouted the captain, as he sprang forward like a tiger. The first man he reached fell by a ball from his pistol; in another moment the opposing parties met in a hand-to-hand conflict. Meanwhile Fred, having been deeply impressed with the effect of the shot from the little carronade, succeeded in raising and reloading it. He had scarcely accomplished this when one of the boats reached the larboard quarter, and two of the men sprang up the side. Fred observed them, and felled the first with a handspike before he reached the deck, but the pirate who instantly followed, would have killed him, had he not been observed by the second mate, who had prevented several of the men from joining in the melee on the forecastle, in order to meet such an emergency as this. Rushing to the rescue with his party, he drove the pirates back into the boat, which was immediately pulled towards the bow, where the other two boats were now grappling and discharging their crews on the forecastle. Although the men of the West-Indiaman fought with desperate courage, they could not stand before the increasing numbers of pirates, who now crowded the forepart of the ship in a dense mass. Gradually they were beaten back, and at length were brought to bay on the quarter-deck. "Help, Father!" cried Fred, pushing through the struggling crowd, "here's the carronade ready loaded." "Ha! boy, well done!" cried the captain, seizing the gun, and, with the help of Buzzby, who never left his side, dragging it forward. "Clear the way, lads!" In a moment the little cannon was pointed to the centre of the mass of men, and fired. One awful shriek of agony rose above the din of the fight, as a wide gap was cut through the crowd; but this only seemed to render the survivors more furious. With a savage yell they charged the quarter-deck, but were hurled back again and again by the captain, and a few chosen men who stood around him. At length one of the pirates, who had been all along conspicuous for his strength and daring, stepped deliberately up, and, pointing a pistol at the captain's breast, fired. Captain Ellice fell, and at the same moment a ball laid the pirate low; another charge was made; Fred rushed forward to protect his father, but was thrown down and trodden under foot in the rush, and in two minutes more the ship was in possession of the pirates. Being filled with rage at the opposition they had met with, these villains proceeded, as they said, to make short work of the crew, while several of them sprang into the cabin, where they discovered Mrs Ellice almost dead with terror. Dragging her violently on deck, they were about to cast her into the sea, when Buzzby, who stood with his hands bound, suddenly burst his bonds and sprang towards her. A blow from the butt of a pistol, however, stretched him insensible on the deck. "Where is my husband?--my boy?" screamed Mrs Ellice wildly. "They've gone before you, or they'll soon follow," said a savage fiercely, as he raised her in his powerful arms, and hurled her overboard. A loud shriek was followed by a heavy plunge. At the same moment two of the men raised the captain, intending to throw him overboard also, when a loud boom arrested their attention, and a cannon-shot ploughed up the sea close in front of their bows. While the fight was raging, no one had observed the fact that the breeze had freshened, and a large man-of-war, with American colours at her peak, was now within gunshot of the ship. No sooner did the pirates make this discovery than they rushed to their boats, with the intention of pulling to their schooner, but those who had been left in charge, seeing the approach of the man-of-war, and feeling that there was no chance of escape for their comrades, or, as is more than probable, being utterly indifferent about them, crowded all sail, and slipped away, and it was now hull-down on the horizon to leeward. The men in the boats rowed after her with the energy of despair, but the Americans gave chase, and we need scarcely add that, in a very short time, all were captured. When the man-of-war rejoined the West-Indiaman, the night had set in and a stiff breeze had arisen, so that the long and laborious search that was made for the body of poor Mrs Ellice, proved utterly fruitless. Captain Ellice, whose wound was very severe, was struck down as if by a thunderbolt, and for a long time his life was despaired of. During his illness Fred nursed him with the utmost tenderness, and, in seeking to comfort his father, found some relief to his own stricken heart. Months passed away. Captain Ellice was conveyed to the residence of his sister in Grayton, and, under her care, and the nursing of his little niece, Isobel, he recovered his wonted health and strength. To the eyes of men, Captain Ellice and his son were themselves again, but those who judge of men's hearts by their outward appearance and expressions, in nine cases out of ten judge very wide of the mark indeed. Both had undergone a great change. The brilliancy and glitter of this world had been completely and rudely dispelled, and both had been led to enquire whether there was not something better to live for than mere present advantage and happiness; something that would stand by them in those hours of sickness and sorrow which must inevitably, sooner or later, come upon all men. But Captain Ellice could not be induced to resume the command of his old ship, or voyage again to the West Indies. He determined to change the scene of his future labours and sail to the frozen seas, where the aspect of every object--even the ocean itself--would be very unlikely to recall the circumstances of his loss. Some time after his recovery, Captain Ellice purchased a brig, and fitted her out as a whaler, determined to try his fortune in the northern seas. Fred pleaded hard to be taken out, but his father felt that he had more need to go to school than to sea; so he refused, and Fred, after sighing very deeply once or twice, gave in with a good grace. Buzzby, too, who stuck to his old commander like a leech, was equally anxious to go, but Buzzby, in a sudden and unaccountable fit of tenderness, had, just two months before, married a wife, who might be appropriately described as "fat, fair, and forty," and Buzzby's wife absolutely forbade him to go. Alas! Buzzby was no longer his own master. At the age of forty-five he became--as he himself expressed it--an abject slave, and he would as soon have tried to steer in a slipper bath, right in the teeth of an equinoctial hurricane, as have opposed the will of his wife. He used to sigh gruffly when spoken to on this subject, and compare himself to a Dutch galliot that made more lee-way than head-way, even with a wind on the quarter. "Once," he would remark, "I was clipper-built and could sail right in the wind's eye, but ever since I tuck this craft in tow I've gone to leeward like a tub. In fact, I find there's only one way of going ahead with my Poll, and that is right before the wind! I used to yaw about a good deal at first, but she tuck that out o' me in a day or two. If I put the helm only so much as one stroke to starboard, she guv' a tug at the tow-rope that brought the wind dead aft again; so I've gi'n it up, and lashed the tiller right amidships." So Buzzby did not accompany his old commander; he did not even so much as suggest the possibility of it, but he shook his head with great solemnity as he stood with Fred, and Mrs Bright, and Isobel, at the end of the pier, gazing at the brig, with one eye very much screwed up, and a wistful expression in the other, while the graceful craft spread out her canvas and bent over to the breeze. CHAPTER TWO. DEPARTURE OF THE POLE STAR FOR THE FROZEN SEAS--SAGE REFLECTIONS OF MRS. BRIGHT, AND SAGACIOUS REMARKS OF BUZZBY--ANXIETIES, FEARS, SURMISES, AND RESOLUTIONS--ISOBEL--A SEARCH PROPOSED--DEPARTURE OF THE DOLPHIN FOR THE FAR NORTH. Digressions are bad at the best, and we feel some regret that we should have been compelled to begin our book with one; but they are necessary evils, sometimes, so we must ask our reader's forgiveness, and beg him, or her, to remember that we are still at the commencement of our story, standing at the end of the pier, and watching the departure of the _Pole Star_ whale-ship, which is now a scarcely distinguishable speck on the horizon. As it disappeared Buzzby gave a grunt, Fred and Isobel uttered a sigh in unison, and Mrs Bright resumed the fit of weeping which for some time she had unconsciously suspended. "I fear we shall never see him again," sobbed Mrs Bright, as she took Isobel by the hand and sauntered slowly home, accompanied by Fred and Buzzby, the latter of whom seemed to regard himself in the light of a shaggy Newfoundland or mastiff, who had been left to protect the family. "We are always hearing of whale-ships being lost, and, somehow or other, we _never_ hear of the crews being saved, as one reads of when ships are wrecked in the usual way on the sea-shore." Isobel squeezed her mother's hand, and looked up in her face with an expression that said plainly: "Don't cry so, Mamma, I'm _sure_ he will come back," but she could not find words to express herself, so she glanced towards the mastiff for help. Buzzby felt that it devolved upon him to afford consolation under the circumstances, but Mrs Bright's mind was of that peculiar stamp which repels advances in the way of consolation unconsciously, and Buzzby was puzzled. He screwed up first the right eye and then the left, and smote his thigh repeatedly; and assuredly, if contorting his visage could have comforted Mrs Bright, she would have returned home a happy woman, for he made faces at her violently for full five minutes; but it did her no good, perhaps because she didn't see him, her eyes being suffused with tears. "Ah! yes," resumed Mrs Bright, with another burst, "I _know_ they will never come back, and your silence shows that you think so too; and to think of their taking two years' provisions with them _in case of accidents_!--doesn't that prove that there are _going_ to be accidents? and didn't I hear one of the sailors say that she was a crack ship, a number one? I don't know what he meant by a number one; but if she's a cracked ship I _know_ she will never come back; and although I told my dear brother of it, and advised him not to go, he only laughed at me, which was very unkind, I'm sure--" Here Mrs Bright's feelings overcame her again. "Why, Aunt," said Fred, scarce able to restrain a laugh, despite the sadness that lay at his heart, "when the sailor said it was a crack ship, he meant that it was a _good_ one, a first-rate one." "Then why did he not say what he meant? But you are talking nonsense, boy; do you think that I will believe a man means to say a thing is good when he calls it cracked? and I'm sure nobody would say a cracked tea-pot was as good as a whole one; but tell me, Buzzby, do you think they ever _will_ come back?" "Why, ma'am, in coorse I do," replied Buzzby vehemently; "for why? if they don't, they're the first that ever went out o' this port in my day as didn't. They've a good ship and lots o' grub, and it's like to be a good season; and Captain Ellice has, for the most part, good luck; and they've started with a fair wind, and kep' clear of a Friday, and what more could ye wish? I only wish as I was aboard along with them, that's all." Buzzby delivered himself of this oration with the left eye shut and screwed up, and the right one open. Having concluded, he shut and screwed up the right eye, and opened the left--he reversed the engine, so to speak, as if he wished to back out from the scene of his triumph, and leave the course clear for others to speak. But his words were thrown away on Mrs Bright, who was emphatically a weak-minded woman, and never exercised her reason at all, except in a spasmodic, galvanic sort of way, when she sought to defend or to advocate some unreasonable conclusion of some sort, at which her own weak mind had arrived somehow. So she shook her head, and sobbed good-bye to Buzzby, as she ascended the sloping avenue that led to her pretty cottage, on the green hill that overlooked the harbour and the sea beyond. As for John Buzzby, having been absent from home full half an hour beyond his usual dinner-hour, he felt that, for a man who had lashed his helm amidships, he was yawing alarmingly out of his course, so he spread all the canvas he could carry, and steered, right before the wind, towards the village, where, in a little, whitewashed, low-roofed, one-doored and two-little-windowed cottage, his spouse (and dinner) awaited him. To make a long story short, three years passed away, but the _Pole Star_ did not return, and no news of her could be got from the various whale-ships that visited the port of Grayton. Towards the end of the second year Buzzby began to shake his head despondingly; and as the third drew to a close, the expression of gloom never left his honest, weather-beaten face. Mrs Bright too, whose anxiety at first was only half genuine, now became seriously alarmed, and the fate of the missing brig began to be the talk of the neighbourhood. Meanwhile Fred Ellice and Isobel grew and improved in mind and body, but anxiety as to his father's fate rendered the former quite unable to pursue his studies, and he determined at last to procure a passage in a whale-ship, and go out in search of the brig. It happened that the principal merchant and ship-owner in the town, Mr Singleton by name, was an intimate friend and old school-fellow of Captain Ellice, so Fred went boldly to him and proposed that a vessel should be fitted out immediately, and sent off to search for his father's brig. Mr Singleton smiled at the request, and pointed out the utter impossibility of his agreeing to it; but he revived Fred's sinking hopes by saying that, he was about to send out a whaler to the northern seas at any rate, and that he would give orders to the captain to devote a _portion_ of his time to the search, and, moreover, agreed to let Fred go as a passenger in company with his own son Tom. Now Tom Singleton had been Fred's bosom friend and companion during his first year at school, but during the last two years he had been sent to the Edinburgh University, to prosecute his medical studies, and the two friends had only met at rare intervals. It was with unbounded delight, therefore, that he found his old companion, now a youth of twenty, was to go out as surgeon of the ship, and he could scarce contain himself, as he ran down to Buzzby's cottage to tell him the good news, and ask him to join. Of course Buzzby was ready to go, and, what was of far greater importance in the matter, his wife threw no obstacle in the way. On the contrary, she undid the lashings of the helm with her own hand, and told her wondering partner, with a good-humoured (but firm) smile, to steer where he chose, and she would content herself with the society of the two young Buzzbys (both miniature facsimiles of their father), till he came back. Once again a whale-ship prepared to sail from the port of Grayton, and once again Mrs Bright and Isobel stood on the pier to see her depart. Isobel was about thirteen now, and as pretty a girl, according to Buzzby, as you could meet with in any part of Britain. Her eyes were blue, and her hair nut-brown, and her charms of face and figure were enhanced immeasurably by an air of modesty and earnestness that went straight home to your heart, and caused you to adore her at once. Buzzby doated on her as if she were his only child, and felt a secret pride in being in some undefinable way her protector. Buzzby philosophised about her, too, after a strange fashion. "You see," he would say to Fred, "it's not that her figure-head is cut altogether after a parfect pattern; by no means, for I've seen pictur's and statues that wos better; but she carries her head a little down, d'ye see, Master Fred, and there's where it is; that's the way I gauges the worth o' young women, jist accordin' as they carry their chins up or down. If their brows come well for'ard, and they seems to be lookin' at the ground they walk on, I knows their brains is firm stuff, and in good workin' order; but when I sees them carryin' their noses high out o' the water, as if they wos afeard o' catchin' sight o' their own feet, and their chins elewated so that a little boy standin' in front o' them couldn't see their faces nohow, I make pretty sure that t'other end is filled with a sort o' _mush_ that's fit only to think o' dress and dancing." On the present occasion Isobel's eyes were red and swollen, and by no means improved by weeping. Mrs Bright, too, although three years had done little to alter her character, seemed to be less demonstrative, and much more sincere than usual, in her grief at parting from Fred. In a few minutes all was ready. Young Singleton and Buzzby having hastily but earnestly bade Mrs Bright and her daughter farewell, leaped on board. Fred lingered for a moment. "Once more, dear Aunt," said he, "farewell! With God's blessing we shall come back soon. Write to me, darling Isobel, won't you? to Uppernavik, on the coast of Greenland. If none of our ships are bound in that direction, write by way of Denmark. Old Mr Singleton will tell you how to address your letter, and see that it be a long one." "Now, then, youngster, jump aboard," shouted the captain; "look sharp!" "Ay, ay," returned Fred, and in another moment he was on the quarter-deck, by the side of his friend Tom. The ship, loosed from her moorings, spread her canvas, and plunged forward on her adventurous voyage. But this time she does not grow smaller as she advances before the freshening breeze, for you and I, reader, have embarked in her, and the land now fades in the distance, until it sinks from view on the distant horizon, while nothing meets our gaze, but the vault of the bright blue sky above, and the plain of the dark blue sea below. CHAPTER THREE. THE VOYAGE--THE DOLPHIN AND HER CREW--ICE AHEAD--POLAR SCENES--MASTHEAD OBSERVATIONS--THE FIRST WHALE--GREAT EXCITEMENT. And now we have fairly got into blue water--the sailor's delight, the landsman's dread-- "The sea! the sea! the open sea; The blue, the fresh, the ever free." "It's my opinion," remarked Buzzby to Singleton one day, as they stood at the weather gangway, watching the foam that spread from the vessel's bow as she breasted the waves of the Atlantic gallantly,--"It's my opinion that our skipper is made o' the right stuff. He's entered quite into the spirit of the thing, and I hear'd him say to the first mate yesterday, he'd made up his mind to run right up into Baffin's Bay, and make enquiries for Captain Ellice first, before goin' to his usual whalin'-ground. Now that's wot I call doin' the right thing; for, ye see, he runs no small risk o' gettin' beset in the ice, and losing the fishin' season altogether by so doin'." "He's a fine fellow," said Singleton; "I like him better every day, and I feel convinced he will do his utmost to discover the whereabouts of our missing friend; but I fear much that our chances are small, for although we know the spot which Captain Ellice intended to visit, we cannot tell to what part of the frozen ocean, ice and currents may have carried him." "True," replied Buzzby, giving to his left eye and cheek just that peculiar amount of screw which indicated intense sagacity and penetration; "but I've a notion that, if they are to be found, Captain Guy is the man to find 'em." "I hope it may turn out as you say. Have you ever been in these seas before, Buzzby?" "No, sir--never; but I've got a half-brother wot has bin in the Greenland whale-fishery, and I've bin in the south-sea line myself." "What line was that, Buzzby?" enquired David Summers, a sturdy boy of about fifteen, who acted as assistant steward, and was, in fact, a nautical maid-of-all-work. "Was it a log-line, or a bow-line, or a cod-line, or a bit of the equator?--eh!" The old salt deigned no reply to this passing sally, but continued his converse with Singleton. "I could give ye many a long yarn about the South Seas," said Buzzby, gazing abstractedly down into the deep. "One time, when I was about fifty mile to the sou'west o' Cape Horn, I--" "Dinner's ready, sir," said a thin, tall, active man, stepping smartly up to Singleton, and touching his cap. "We must talk over that some other time, Buzzby. The captain loves punctuality." So saying, the young surgeon sprang down the companion ladder, leaving the old salt to smoke his pipe in solitude. And here we may pause a few seconds to describe our ship and her crew. The _Dolphin_ was a tight, new, barque-rigged vessel of about three hundred tons burden, built expressly for the northern whale-fishery, and carried a crew of forty-five men. Ships that have to battle with the ice require to be much more powerfully built, than those that sail in unencumbered seas. The _Dolphin_ united strength with capacity and buoyancy. The under part of her hull and sides were strengthened with double timbers, and fortified externally with plates of iron; while, internally, stanchions and cross-beams were so arranged as to cause pressure on any part to be supported by the whole structure; and on her bows, where shocks from the ice might be expected to be most frequent and severe, extra planking, of immense strength and thickness, was secured. In other respects the vessel was fitted up much in the same manner as ordinary merchantmen. The only other peculiarity about her, worthy of notice, was the crow's-nest, a sort of barrel-shaped structure fastened to the fore-masthead, in which, when at the whaling-ground, a man is stationed to look out for whales. The chief men in the ship were Captain Guy, a vigorous, practical American; Mr Bolton, the first mate, an earnest, stout, burly, off-hand Englishman; and Mr Saunders, the second mate, a sedate, broad-shouldered, raw-boned Scot, whose opinion of himself was unbounded, whose power of argument was extraordinary, not to say exasperating, and who stood six feet three in his stockings. Mivins, the steward, was, as we have already remarked, a tall, thin, active young man, of a brisk, lively disposition, and was somewhat of a butt among the men, but being in a position of power and trust he was respected. The young surgeon, Tom Singleton, whom we have yet scarcely introduced to the reader, was a tall, slim, but firmly-knit, youth, with a kind, gentle disposition. He was always open, straightforward, and polite. He never indulged in broad humour, though he enjoyed it much, seldom ventured on a witticism, was rather shy in the company of his companions, and spoke little; but for a quiet, pleasant _tete-a-tete_ there was not a man in the ship equal to Tom Singleton. His countenance was Spanish-looking and handsome, his hair black, short, and curling, and his budding moustache was soft and dark as the eyebrow of an Andalusian belle. It would be unpardonable, in this catalogue, to omit the cook, David Mizzle. He was round, and fat, and oily, as one of his own "duff" puddings. To look at him you could not help suspecting that he purloined, and ate, at least half of the salt pork he cooked, and his sly, dimpling laugh, in which every feature participated, from the point of his broad chin to the top of his bald head, rather tended to favour this supposition. Mizzle was prematurely bald--being quite a young man,--and, when questioned on the subject, he usually attributed it to the fact of his having been so long employed about the cooking-coppers, that the excessive heat to which he was exposed, had stewed all the hair off his head! The crew was made up of stout, active men in the prime of life, nearly all of whom had been more or less accustomed to the whale-fishing, and some of the harpooners were giants in muscular development and breadth of shoulder, if not in height. Chief among these harpooners was Amos Parr, a short, thick-set, powerful man of about thirty-five, who had been at sea since he was a little boy, and had served in the fisheries of both the northern and southern seas. No one knew what country had the honour of producing him--indeed, he was ignorant of that point himself; for, although he had vivid recollections of his childhood having been spent among green hills, and trees, and streamlets, he was sent to sea with a strange captain before he was old enough to care about the name of his native land. Afterwards he ran away from his ship, and so lost all chance of ever discovering who he was; but, as he sometimes remarked, he didn't much care who he was, so long as he was _himself_; so it didn't matter. From a slight peculiarity in his accent, and other qualities, it was surmised that he must be an Irishman--a supposition which he rather encouraged, being partial to the sons, and particularly partial to the daughters, of the Emerald Isle, one of which last he had married just six months before setting out on this whaling expedition. Such was the _Dolphin_ and her crew, and merrily they bowled along over the broad Atlantic with favouring winds, and without meeting with anything worthy of note until they neared the coast of Greenland. One fine morning, just as the party in the cabin had finished breakfast, and were dallying with the last few morsels of the repast, as men who have more leisure than they desire, are wont to do, there was a sudden shock felt, and a slight tremor passed through the ship, as if something had struck her. "Ha!" exclaimed Captain Guy, finishing his cup of chocolate, "there goes the first bump." "Ice ahead, sir!" said the first mate, looking down the skylight. "Is there much?" asked the captain, rising and taking down a small telescope, from the hook on which it usually hung. "Not much, sir--only a stream; but there is an ice blink right ahead, all along the horizon." "How's her head, Mr Bolton?" "Nor'-west and by north, sir." Before this brief conversation came to a close, Fred Ellice and Tom Singleton sprang up the companion, and stood on the deck gazing ahead with feelings of the deepest interest. Both youths were well read in the history of polar seas and regions; they were well acquainted, by name at least, with floes, and bergs, and hummocks of ice, but neither of them had seen such in reality. These objects were associated in their young minds with all that was romantic and wild, hyperborean and polar, brilliant and sparkling, and light and white--emphatically _white_. To behold ice actually floating on the salt sea was an incident of note in their existence; and certainly the impressions of their first day in the ice remained sharp, vivid and prominent, long after scenes of a much more striking nature had faded from the tablets of their memories. At first the prospect that met their ardent gaze was not calculated to excite excessive admiration. There were only a few masses of low ice floating about in various directions. The wind was steady, but light, and seemed as if it would speedily fall altogether. Gradually the _blink_ on the horizon (as the light haze always distinguishable above ice, or snow-covered land, is called) resolved itself into a long white line of ice, which seemed to grow larger as the ship neared it, and in about two hours more they were fairly in the midst of the pack, which was fortunately loose enough to admit of the vessel being navigated through the channels of open water. Soon after, the sun broke out in cloudless splendour, and the wind fell entirely, leaving the ocean in a dead calm. "Let's go to the fore-top, Tom," said Fred, seizing his friend by the arm, and hastening to the shrouds. In a few seconds they were seated alone on the little platform at the top of the fore-mast, just where it is connected with the fore-top-mast, and from this elevated position they gazed in silent delight upon the fairy-like scene. Those who have never stood at the mast-head of a ship at sea, in a dead calm, cannot comprehend the feeling of intense solitude, that fills the mind in such a position. There is nothing analogous to it on land. To stand on the summit of a tower and look down on the busy multitude below is not the same, for there the sounds are quite different in _tone_, and signs of life are visible all over the distant country, while cries from afar reach the ear, as well as those from below. But from the mast-head you hear only the few subdued sounds under your feet--all beyond is silence; you behold only the small oval-shaped platform that is your world--beyond lies the calm, desolate ocean. On deck you cannot realise this feeling, for there sails and yards tower above you, and masts, and boats, and cordage, intercept your view; but from above you _take in_ the intense minuteness of your home at a single glance--you stand aside, as it were, and, in some measure, comprehend the insignificance of the _thing_ to which you have committed your life. The scene witnessed by our friends at the mast-head of the _Dolphin_ on this occasion was surpassingly beautiful. Far as the eye could stretch, the sea was covered with islands and fields of ice of every conceivable shape. Some rose in little peaks and pinnacles, some floated in the form of arches and domes, some were broken and rugged, like the ruins of old border strongholds, while others were flat and level, like fields of white marble; and so calm was it that the ocean in which they floated seemed like a groundwork of polished steel, in which the sun shone with dazzling brilliancy. The tops of the icy islets were pure white, and the sides of the higher ones of a delicate blue colour, which gave to the scene a transparent lightness that rendered it pre-eminently fairy-like. "It far surpasses anything I ever conceived," ejaculated Singleton after a long silence. "No wonder that authors speak of scenes being indescribable. Does it not seem like a dream, Fred?" "Tom," said Fred earnestly, "I've been trying to fancy myself in another world, and I have almost succeeded. When I look long and intensely at the ice, I get almost to believe that these are streets, and palaces, and cathedrals. I never felt so strong a desire to have wings, that I might fly from one island to another, and go floating in and out, and round about, those blue caves and sparkling pinnacles." "It's a curious fancy, Fred, but not unnatural." "Tom," said Fred, after another long silence, "has not the thought occurred to you that God made it all?" "Some such thought did cross my mind, Fred, for a moment, but it soon passed away. Is it not _very_ strange that the idea of the Creator is so seldom, and so slightly, connected with his works in our minds?" Again there was a long silence. Both youths had a desire to continue the conversation, and yet each felt an unaccountable reluctance to renew it. Neither of them distinctly understood that the natural heart is enmity against God, and that, until he is converted by the Holy Spirit, man neither loves to think of his Maker, nor to speak of him. While they sat thus musing, a breeze dimmed the surface of the sea, and the _Dolphin_, which had hitherto lain motionless in one of the numerous canals, began slowly to advance between the islands of ice. The breeze freshened, and rendered it impossible to avoid an occasional collision with the floating masses; but the good ship was well armed for the fight, and, although she quivered under the blows, and once or twice recoiled, she pushed her way through the pack gallantly. In the course of an hour or two they were once more in comparatively clear water. Suddenly there came a cry from the crow's-nest: "There she blows!" Instantly every man in the ship sprang to his feet as if he had received an electric shock. "Where away?" shouted the captain. "On the lee-bow, sir," replied the look-out. From a state of comparative quiet and repose the ship was now thrown into a condition of the utmost animation, and, apparently, unmeaning confusion. The sight of a whale acted on the spirits of the men like wild-fire. "There she blows!" sang out the man at the mast-head again. "Are we keeping right for her!" asked the captain. "Keep her away a bit; steady!" replied the look-out. "Steady it is!" answered the man at the wheel. "Call all hands and get the boats out, Mr Bolton," said the captain. "All hands ahoy!" shouted the mate in a tempestuous voice, while the men rushed to their respective stations. "Boat-steerers, get your boats ready." "Ay, ay, sir!" "There go flukes!" cried the look-out as the whale dived and tossed its flukes, that is its tail, in the air, not more than a mile on the lee-bow; "she's heading right for the ship." "Down with the helm!" roared the captain. "Mr Bolton, brace up the mizzen top-sail! Hoist and swing the boats! Lower away!" In another moment three boats struck the water, and their respective crews tumbled tumultuously into them. Fred and Singleton sprang into the stern-sheets of the captain's boat, just as it pushed off, and in less than five minutes the three boats were bounding over the sea in the direction of the whale like race-horses. Every man did his best, and the tough oars bent like hoops as each boat's crew strove to outstrip the others. CHAPTER FOUR. THE CHASE AND THE BATTLE--THE CHANCES AND DANGERS OF WHALING WAR--BUZZBY DIVES FOR HIS LIFE AND SAVES IT--SO DOES THE WHALE AND LOSES IT--AN ANXIOUS NIGHT WHICH TERMINATES HAPPILY, THOUGH WITH A HEAVY LOSS. The chase was not a long one, for, while the boats were rowing swiftly towards the whale, the whale was, all unconsciously, swimming towards the boats. "Give way now, lads, give way," said the captain in a suppressed voice; "bend your backs, boys, and don't let the mate beat us." The three boats flew over the sea, as the men strained their muscles to the utmost, and for some time they kept almost in line, being pretty equally matched; but gradually the captain shot ahead, and it became evident that his harpooner, Amos Parr, was to have the honour of harpooning the first whale. Amos pulled the bow oar, and behind him was the tub with the line coiled away and the harpoon bent on to it. Being an experienced whaleman, he evinced no sign of excitement, save in the brilliancy of his dark eye, and a very slight flush on his bronzed face. They had now neared the whale, and ceased rowing for a moment, lest they should miss it when down. "There she goes!" cried Fred in a tone of intense excitement, as he caught sight of the whale not more than fifty yards ahead of the boat. "Now, boys," said the captain in a hoarse whisper, "spring hard, lay back hard, I say--_stand up_!" At the last word Amos Parr sprang to his feet, and seized the harpoon; the boat ran right on to the whale's back, and in an instant Parr sent two irons, to the hitches, into the fish. "Stern all!" The men backed their oars with all their might, in order to avoid the flukes of the wounded monster of the deep, as it plunged down headlong into the sea, taking the line out perpendicularly like lightning. This was a moment of great danger. The friction of the line, as it passed the loggerhead, was so great that Parr had to keep constantly pouring water on it, to prevent its catching fire. A hitch in the line at that time, as it flew out of the tub, or any accidental entanglement, would have dragged the boat and crew right down. Many such fatal accidents occur to whalers, and many a poor fellow has had a foot or an arm torn off, or been dragged overboard and drowned, in consequence of getting entangled. One of the men stood ready with a small hatchet to cut the line in a moment, if necessary, for whales sometimes run out all that is in a boat at the first plunge, and should none of the other boats be at hand, to lend a second line to attach to the one nearly expended, there is nothing for it but to cut. On the present occasion, however, none of these accidents befel the men of the captain's boat. The line ran all clear, and long before it was exhausted the whale ceased to descend, and the _slack_ was hauled rapidly in. Meanwhile the other boats pulled up to the scene of action, and prepared to strike, the instant the fish should rise to the surface. It appeared suddenly, not twenty yards from the mate's boat, where Buzzby, who was harpooner, stood in the bow ready to give it the iron. "Spring, lads, spring!" shouted the mate, as the whale spouted into the air a thick stream of water. The boat dashed up, and Buzzby planted his harpoon vigorously. Instantly the broad flukes of the tail were tossed into the air, and, for a single second, spread like a canopy over Buzzby's head. There was no escape. The quick eye of the whaleman saw at a glance that the effort to back out was hopeless. He bent his head, and the next moment was deep down in the waves. Just as he disappeared, the flukes descended on the spot which he had left, and cut the bow of the boat completely away, sending the stern high into the air with a violence that tossed men, and oars, and shattered planks, and cordage, flying over the monster's back into the seething caldron of foam around him. It was apparently a scene of the most complete and instantaneous destruction, yet, strange to say, not a man was lost. A few seconds after, the white foam of the sea was dotted with black heads, as the men rose one by one to the surface, and struck out for floating oars and pieces of the wrecked boat. "They're lost!" cried Fred Ellice in a voice of horror. "Not a bit of it, youngster; they're safe enough, I'll warrant," replied the captain, as his own boat flew past the spot, towed by the whale. "Pay out, Amos Parr; give him line, or he'll tear the bows out of us." "Ay, ay, sir!" sang out Amos, as he sat coolly pouring water on the loggerhead, round which a coil of the rope was whizzing like lightning; "all right! The mate's men are all safe, sir; I counted them as we shot past, and I seed Buzzby come up last of all, blowin' like a grampus; and small wonder, considerin' the dive he took." "Take another turn of the coil, Amos, and hold on," said the captain. The harpooneer obeyed, and away they went after the whale like a rocket, with a tremendous strain on the line, and a bank of white foam gurgling up to the edge of the gunwale, that every moment threatened to fill the boat and sink her. Such a catastrophe is not of unfrequent occurrence, when whalemen, thus towed by a whale, are tempted to hold on too long; and many instances have happened of boats and their crews being in this way dragged under water and lost. Fortunately the whale dashed horizontally through the water, so that the boat was able to hold on and follow, and in a short time the creature paused and rose for air. Again the men bent to their oars, and the rope was hauled in until they came quite close to the fish. This time a harpoon was thrown, and a deep lance-thrust given which penetrated to the vital parts of its huge carcass, as was evidenced by the blood which it spouted, and the convulsive lashing of its tremendous tail. While the captain's crew were thus engaged, Saunders, the second mate, observing from the ship the accident to the first mate's boat, sent off a party of men to the rescue, thus setting free the third boat, which was steered by a strapping fellow named Peter Grim, to follow up the chase. Peter Grim was the ship's carpenter, and he took after his name. He was, as the sailors expressed it, a "grim customer", being burnt by the sun to a deep rich brown colour, besides being covered nearly up to the eyes with a thick coal-black beard and moustache, which completely concealed every part of his visage, except his prominent nose and dark, fiery-looking eyes. He was an immense man, the largest in the ship, probably, if we except the Scotch second mate Saunders, to whom he was about equal in all respects--except argument. Like most big men, he was peaceable and good-humoured. "Look alive now, lads," said Grim, as the men pulled towards the whale; "we'll get a chance yet, we shall, if you give way like tigers. Split your sides, boys--do--that's it. Ah! there she goes, right down. Pull away now, and be ready when she rises." As he spoke the whale suddenly _sounded_, that is, went perpendicularly down, as it had done when first struck, and continued to descend until most of the line in the captain's boat was run out. "Hoist an oar," cried Amos Parr, as he saw the coil diminishing. Grim observed the signal of distress, and encouraged his men to use their utmost exertions. "Another oar!--another!" shouted Parr, as the whale continued its headlong descent. "Stand by to cut the line," said Captain Guy with compressed lips. "No! hold on, hold on!" At this moment, having drawn down more than a thousand fathoms of rope, the whale slackened its speed, and Parr, taking another coil round the loggerhead, held on until the boat was almost dragged under water. Then the line became loose, and the slack was hauled in rapidly. Meanwhile Grim's boat had reached the spot and the men now lay on their oars at some distance ahead, ready to pull the instant the whale should show itself. Up it came, not twenty yards ahead. One short, energetic pull, and the second boat sent a harpoon deep into it, while Grim sprang to the bow, and thrust a lance with deadly force deep into the carcass. The monster sent up a stream of mingled blood, oil, and water, and whirled its huge tail so violently that the sound could be heard a mile off. Before it dived again, the captain's boat came up, and succeeded in making fast another harpoon, while several additional lance-thrusts were given with effect, and it seemed as if the battle were about to terminate, when suddenly the whale struck the sea with a clap like thunder, and darted away once more like a rocket to windward, tearing the two boats after it, as if they had been egg-shells. Meanwhile a change had come over the scene. The sun had set, red and lowering, behind a bank of dark clouds, and there was every appearance of stormy weather; but as yet it was nearly calm, and the ship was unable to beat up against the light breeze in the wake of the two boats, which were soon far away on the horizon. Then a furious gust arose and passed away; a dark cloud covered the sky as night fell, and soon boats and whale were utterly lost to view. "Waes me," cried the big Scotch mate, as he ran up and down the quarter-deck wringing his hands, "what _is_ to be done noo?" Saunders spoke a mongrel kind of language--a mixture of Scotch and English,--in which, although the Scotch words were sparsely scattered, the Scotch accent was very strong. "How's her head?" "Nor'-nor'-west, sir." "Keep her there, then. Maybe, if the wind holds stiddy, we may overhaul them before it's quite dark." Although Saunders was really in a state of the utmost consternation at this unexpected termination to the whale-hunt, and expressed the agitation of his feelings pretty freely, he was too thorough a seaman to neglect anything that was necessary to be done under the circumstances. He took the exact bearings of the point at which the boats had disappeared, and during the night, which turned out gusty and threatening, kept making short tacks, while lanterns were hung at the mast-heads, and a huge torch, or rather a small bonfire, of tarred materials was slung at the end of a spar, and thrust out over the stern of the ship. But for many hours there was no sign of the boats, and the crew of the _Dolphin_ began to entertain the most gloomy forebodings regarding them. At length, towards morning, a small speck of light was noticed on the weather-beam. It flickered for a moment, and then disappeared. "Did ye see yon?" said Saunders to Mivins in an agitated whisper, laying his huge hand on the shoulder of that worthy. "Down your helm," (to the steersman). "Ay, ay, sir!" "Stiddy!" "Steady it is, sir!" Mivins' face, which for some hours had worn an expression of deep anxiety, relaxed into a bland smile, and he smote his thigh powerfully as he exclaimed: "That's them, sir, _and_ no mistake! What's your opinion, Mr Saunders!" The second mate peered earnestly in the direction in which the light had been seen, and Mivins, turning in the same direction, screwed up his visage into a knot of earnest attention, so complicated and intense that it seemed as if no human power could evermore unravel it. "There it goes again!" cried Saunders, as the light flashed distinctly over the sea. "Down helm; back fore-top-sails!" he shouted, springing forward; "lower away the boat there!" In a few seconds the ship was hove to, and a boat, with a lantern fixed to an oar, was plunging over the swell in the direction of the light. Sooner than was expected they came up with it, and a hurrah in the distance told that all was right. "Here we are, thank God," cried Captain Guy, "safe and sound! We don't require assistance, Mr Saunders; pull for the ship." A short pull sufficed to bring the three boats alongside, and in a few seconds more the crew were congratulating their comrades, with that mingled feeling of deep heartiness, and a disposition to jest, which is characteristic of men who are used to danger, and think lightly of it after it is over. "We've lost our fish, however," remarked Captain Guy, as he passed the crew on his way to the cabin; "but we must hope for better luck next time." "Well, well," said one of the men, wringing the water out of his wet clothes as he walked forward, "we got a good laugh at Peter Grim, if we got nothin' else by our trip." "How was that, Jack?" "Why, ye see, jist before the whale gave in, it sent up a spout o' blood and oil as thick as the main-mast, and, as luck would have it, down it came slap on the head of Grim, drenchin' him from head to foot, and makin' him as red as a lobster." "'Ow did you lose the fish, sir?" enquired Mivins, as our hero sprang up the side, followed by Singleton. "Lost him as men lose money in railway speculations nowadays. We _sank_ him, and that was the last of it. After he had towed us I don't know how far-out of sight of the ship at any rate,--he suddenly stopped, and we pulled up and gave him some tremendous digs with the lances, until he spouted jets of blood, and we made sure of him, when, all at once, down he went head foremost like a cannon-ball, and took all the line out of both boats, so we had to cut, and he never came up again. At least, if he did, it became so dark that we never saw him. Then we pulled to where we thought the ship was, and, after rowing nearly all night, caught sight of your lights; and here we are, dead-tired, wet to the skin, and minus about two miles of whale-line and three harpoons." CHAPTER FIVE. MISCELLANEOUS REFLECTIONS--THE COAST OF GREENLAND--UPPERNAVIK--NEWS OF THE POLE STAR--MIDNIGHT DAY--SCIENTIFIC FACTS AND FAIRY-LIKE SCENES--TOM SINGLETON'S OPINION OF POOR OLD WOMEN--IN DANGER OF A SQUEEZE--ESCAPE. In pursuance of his original intention, Captain Guy now proceeded through Davis' Straits into Baffin's Bay, at the head of which he intended to search for the vessel of his friend Captain Ellice, and afterwards prosecute the whale-fishery. Off the coast of Greenland, many whalers were seen, actively engaged in warfare with the giants of the Polar Seas, and to several of these Captain Guy spoke, in the faint hope of gleaning some information as to the fate or the _Pole Star_, but without success. It was now apparent to the crew of the _Dolphin_ that they were engaged as much on a searching, as a whaling expedition; and the fact that the commander of the lost vessel was the father of "young Mr Fred", as they styled our hero, induced them to take a deep interest in the success of their undertaking. This interest was further increased by the graphic account that honest John Buzzby gave of the death of poor Mrs Ellice, and the enthusiastic way in which he spoke of his old captain. Fred, too, had, by his frank, affable manner, and somewhat reckless disposition, rendered himself a general favourite with the men, and had particularly recommended himself to Mivins the steward (who was possessed of an intensely romantic spirit), by stating once or twice, very emphatically, that he (Fred) meant to land on the coast of Baffin's Bay, should the captain fail to find his father, and continue the search on foot and alone. There was no doubt whatever that poor Fred was in earnest, and had made up his mind to die in the search, rather than not find him. He little knew the terrible nature of the country in which for a time his lot was to be cast, and the hopelessness of such an undertaking as he meditated. With boyish inconsiderateness he thought not of how his object was to be accomplished; he cared not what impossibilities lay in the way, but with manly determination he made up his mind to quit the ship and search for his father through the length and breadth of the land. Let not the reader smile at what he may perhaps style a childish piece of enthusiasm. Many a youth, at his age, has dreamed of attempting as great if not greater impossibilities. All honour, we say, to the boy who _dreams_ impossibilities, and greater honour to him who, like Fred, _resolves to attempt them_! James Watt stared at an iron tea kettle till his eyes were dim, and meditated the monstrous impossibility of making that kettle work like a horse; and men might (perhaps did) smile at James Watt _then_; but do men smile at James Watt _now_--now that thousands of iron kettles are dashing, like dreadful comets, over the length and breadth of the land, not to mention the sea, with long tails of men, and women, and children behind them? "That's 'ow it is, sir," Mivins used to say, when spoken to by Fred on the subject, "I've never bin in cold countries myself, sir, but I've bin in 'ot, and I knows that with a stout pair o' legs, and a will to work, a man can work 'is way hanywhere. Of course there's not much of a pop'lation in them parts, I've heer'd; but there's Heskimos, and where one man can live, so can another, and what one man can do, so can another--that's bin my hexperience, and I'm not ashamed to hown it, I'm not, though I _do_ say it as shouldn't, and I honour you, sir, for your filleral detarmination to find your father, sir, and--" "Steward!" shouted the captain down the cabin skylight. "Yes, sir!" "Bring me the chart." "Yes, sir!" and Mivins disappeared like a Jack-in-the-box from the cabin just as Tom Singleton entered it. "Here we are, Fred," he said, seizing a telescope that hung over the cabin door, "within sight of the Danish settlement of Uppernavik; come on deck and see it." Fred needed no second bidding. It was here that the captain had hinted there would, probably, be some information obtained regarding the _Pole Star_, and it was with feelings of no common interest the two friends examined the low-roofed houses of this out-of-the-way settlement. In an hour afterwards the captain and first mate, with our young friends, landed amid the clamorous greetings of the entire population, and proceeded to the residence of the governor, who received them with great kindness and hospitality; but the only information they could obtain was that, a year ago, Captain Ellice had been driven there in his brig by stress of weather, and, after refitting and taking in a supply of provisions, had set sail for England. Here the _Dolphin_ laid in a supply of dried fish, and procured several dogs, besides an Esquimaux interpreter and hunter, named Meetuck. Leaving this little settlement, they stood out once more to sea, and threaded their way among the ice, with which they were now well acquainted in all its forms, from the mighty berg, or mountain of ice, to the wide field. They passed in succession one or two Esquimaux settlements, the last of which, Votlik, is the most northerly point of colonisation. Beyond this all was terra incognita. Here enquiry was again made, through the medium of the Esquimaux interpreter, who had been taken on board at Uppernavik, and they learned that the brig in question had been last seen, beset in the pack, and driving to the northward. Whether or not she had ever returned, they could not tell. A consultation was now held, and it was resolved to proceed north as far as the ice would permit, towards Smith's Sound, and examine the coast carefully in that direction. For several weeks past there had been gradually coming over the aspect of nature, a change to which we have not yet referred, and which filled Fred Ellice and his friend, the young surgeon, with surprise and admiration; this was the long-continued daylight, which now lasted the whole night round, and increased in intensity every day, as they advanced north. They had, indeed, often heard and read of it before, but their minds had utterly failed to form a correct conception of the exquisite calmness and beauty of the _midnight-day_ of the north. Everyone knows that, in consequence of the axis of the earth not being perpendicular to the plane of its orbit round the sun, the poles are alternately directed more or less _towards_ that great luminary during one part of the year, and _away_ from it during another part. So that, far north, the days during the one season grow longer and longer until, at last, there is _one long day_ of many weeks' duration, in which the sun does not set at all; and during the other season there is _one long night_, in which the sun is never seen. It was approaching the height of the summer season when the _Dolphin_ entered the Arctic regions, and, although the sun descended below the horizon for a short time each night, there was scarcely any diminution of the light at all, and, as far as one's sensations were concerned, there was but one long continuous day, which grew brighter and brighter at midnight, as they advanced. "How thoroughly splendid this is," remarked Tom Singleton to Fred one night, as they sat in their favourite out-look, the main-top, gazing down on the glassy sea, which was covered with snowy icebergs and floes, and bathed in the rays of the sun, "and how wonderful to think that the sun will only set for an hour or so, and then get up as splendid as ever!" The evening was still as death. Not a sound broke upon the ear save the gentle cries of a few sea-birds, that dipped ever and anon into the sea, as if to kiss it gently while asleep, and then circled slowly into the bright sky again. The sails of the ship, too, flapped very gently, and a spar creaked plaintively, as the vessel rose and fell on the gentle undulations that seemed to be the breathing of the ocean; but such sounds did not disturb the universal stillness of the hour; neither did the gambols of yonder group of seals and walrus, that were at play round some fantastic blocks of ice; nor did the soft murmur of the swell that broke in surf at the foot of yonder iceberg, whose blue sides were seamed with a thousand water-courses, and whose jagged pinnacles rose up like needles of steel into the clear atmosphere. There were many bergs in sight, of various shapes and sizes, at some distance from the ship, which caused much anxiety to the captain, although they were only a source of admiration to our young friends in the main-top. "Tom," said Fred, breaking a long silence, "it may seem a strange idea to you, but, do you know, I cannot help fancying that heaven must be something like this." "I'm not sure that that's such a strange idea, Fred, for it has two of the characteristics of heaven in it--peace and rest." "True; that didn't strike me. Do you know, I wish that it were always calm like this, and that we had no wind at all." Tom smiled. "Your voyage would be a long one if that were to happen. I dare say the Esquimaux would join with you in the wish, however, for their kayaks and oomiaks are better adapted for a calm than a stormy sea." "Tom," said Fred, breaking another long silence, "you're very tiresome and stupid tonight; why don't you talk to me?" "Because this delightful dreamy evening inclines me to think and be silent." "Ah, Tom! that's your chief fault. You are always inclined to think too much, and to talk too little. Now I, on the contrary, am always--" "Inclined to talk too much, and think too little; eh, Fred?" "Bah! don't try to be funny, man; you haven't it in you. Did you ever see such a miserable set of creatures as the old Esquimaux women are, at Uppernavik?" "Why, what put _them_ into your head?" enquired Tom, laughing. "Yonder iceberg; look at it! There's the nose and chin, exactly, of the extraordinary hag you gave your silk pocket-handkerchief to at parting. Now, I never saw such a miserable old woman as that before; did you?" Tom Singleton's whole demeanour changed, and his dark eyes brightened as the strongly marked brows frowned over them, while he replied: "Yes, Fred, I have seen old women more miserable than that. I have seen women so old that their tottering limbs could scarcely support them, going about in the bitterest November winds, with clothing too scant to cover their wrinkled bodies, and so ragged and filthy, that you would have shrunk from touching it--I have seen such groping about among heaps of filth that the very dogs looked at, and turned away as if in disgust." Fred was inclined to laugh at his friend's sudden change of manner, but there was something in the young surgeon's character--perhaps its deep earnestness--that rendered it impossible, at least for his friends, to be jocular when he was disposed to be serious. Fred became grave as he spoke. "Where have you seen such poor wretches, Tom?" he asked with a look of interest. "In the cities, the civilised cities of our own Christian land. If you have ever walked about the streets of some of these cities, before the rest of the world was astir, at grey dawn, you must have seen them shivering along, and scratching among the refuse cast out by the tenants of the neighbouring houses. Oh, Fred, Fred, in my professional career, short though it has been, I have seen much of these poor old women, and many others, whom the world never sees on the streets at all, experiencing a slow, lingering death by starvation, and fatigue, and cold. It is the foulest blot on our country, that there is no sufficient provision for the _aged poor_." "I have seen those old women too," replied Fred, "but I never thought very seriously about them before." "That's it--that's just it; people don't _think_, otherwise this dreadful state of things would not continue. Just listen _now_, for a moment, to what I have to say. But don't imagine that I'm standing up for the poor in general. I don't feel--perhaps I'm wrong," continued Tom thoughtfully,--"perhaps I'm wrong--I hope not--but it's a fact I don't feel much for the young and the sturdy poor, and I make it a rule _never_ to give a farthing to _young_ beggars, not even to little children, for I know full well that they are sent out to beg by idle, good-for-nothing parents. I stand up only for the _aged_ poor, because, be they good or wicked, they _cannot_ help themselves. If a man fell down in the street, struck with some dire disease that shrunk his muscles, unstrung his nerves, made his heart tremble, and his skin shrivel up, would you look upon him and then pass him by _without thinking_?" "No!" cried Fred in an emphatic tone; "I would not! I would stop and help him." "Then, let me ask you," resumed Tom earnestly, "is there any difference between the weakness of muscle and the faintness of heart which is produced by disease, and that which is produced by old age, except that the latter is incurable? Have not these women feelings like other women? Think you that there are not amongst them those who have `known better times?' They think of sons and daughters dead and gone, perhaps, just as other old women in better circumstances do; but they must not indulge such depressing thoughts, they must reserve all the energy, the stamina, they have, to drag round the city--barefoot, it may be, and in the cold--to beg for food, and scratch up what they can find among the cinder-heaps. They groan over past comforts and past times, perhaps, and think of the days when their limbs were strong, and their cheeks were smooth--for they were not always `hags',--and remember that _once_ they had friends who loved them and cared for them, although they are old, unknown, and desolate now." Tom paused and pressed his hand upon his flushed forehead. "You may think it strange," he continued, "that I speak to you in this way about poor old women, but I feel _deeply_ for their forlorn condition. The young can help themselves, more or less, and they have strength to stand their sorrows, with _hope_, blessed hope, to keep them up; but _poor_ old men and old women cannot help themselves and cannot stand their sorrows, and, as far as this life is concerned, they have _no hope_; except to die soon and easy, and, if possible, in summer-time, when the wind is not so very cold and bitter." "But how can this be put right, Tom?" asked Fred in a tone of deep commiseration. "Our being sorry for it, and anxious about it (and you've made me sorry, I assure you) can do very little good, you know." "I don't know, Fred," replied Tom, sinking into his usual quiet tone. "If every city and town in Great Britain would start a society whose first resolution should be that they would not leave one poor _old_ man or woman unprovided for, _that_ would do it. Or if the Government would take it in hand _honestly_, that would do it." "Call all hands, Mr Bolton," cried the captain in a sharp voice. "Get out the ice-poles, and lower away the boats." "Hallo! what's wrong!" said Fred, starting up. "Getting too near the bergs, I suspect," remarked Tom. "I say, Fred, before we go on deck, will you promise to do what I ask you?" "Well--yes, I will." "Will you promise, then, all through your life, especially if you ever come to be rich or influential, to think _of_, and _for_, old men and women who are poor?" "I will," answered Fred, "but I don't know that I'll ever be rich, or influential, or able to help them much." "Of course you don't. But when a thought about them strikes you, will you always _think it out_, and, if possible, _act it out_, as God shall enable you?" "Yes, Tom, I promise to do that as well as I can." "That's right, thank you, my boy!" said the young surgeon, as they descended the shrouds and leaped on deck. Here they found the captain walking up and down rapidly, with an anxious expression of face. After taking a turn or two he stopped short, and gazed out astern. "Set the stun'sails, Mr Bolton. The breeze will be up in a little, I think. Let the men pull with a will." The order was given, and soon the ship was under a cloud of canvas, advancing slowly as the boats towed her between two large icebergs, which had been gradually drawing near to each other the whole afternoon. "Is there any danger, Buzzby?" enquired Fred, as the sturdy sailor stood looking at the larger berg, with an ice-pole in his hands. "Danger! ay, that there is, lad! more nor's agreeable, d'ye see. Here we are without a breath o' wind to get us on, right between two bergs as could crack us like a walnut. We can't get to starboard of 'em for the current, nor to larboard of 'em for the pack, as ye see, so we must go between them, neck or nothing." The danger was indeed imminent. The two bergs were within a hundred yards of each other, and the smaller of the two, being more easily moved by the current, probably, was setting down on the larger at a rate that bade fair to decide the fate of the _Dolphin_ in a few minutes. The men rowed lustily, but their utmost exertions could move the ship but slowly. Aid was coming, however, direct from the hand of Him who is a refuge in the time of danger. A breeze was creeping over the calm sea right astern, and it was to meet this that the studding sails had been set a-low and aloft, so that the wide-spreading canvas, projecting far to the right and left, had, to an inexperienced eye, the appearance of being out of all proportion to the little hull, by which it was supported. With breathless anxiety those on board stood watching the two bergs and the approaching breeze. At last it came. A few cat's-paws ruffled the surface of the sea, distending the sails for a moment, then leaving them flat and loose as before. This, however, was sufficient; another such puff and the ship was almost out of danger, but before it came, the projecting summit of the smaller berg was overhanging the deck. At this critical moment the wind began to blow steadily, and soon the _Dolphin_ was in the open water beyond. Five minutes after she had passed, the moving mountains struck with a noise louder than thunder; the summits and large portions of the sides fell, with a succession of crashes like the roaring of artillery, just above the spot where the ship had lain not quarter of an hour before, and the vessel, for some time after, rocked violently to and fro, in the surges that the plunge of the falling masses raised. CHAPTER SIX. THE GALE--ANCHORED TO A BERG WHICH PROVES TO BE A TREACHEROUS ONE-- DANGERS OF THE "PACK"--BESET IN THE ICE--MIVINS SHOWS AN ENQUIRING MIND--WALRUS--GALE FRESHENS--CHAINS AND CABLES--HOLDING ON FOR LIFE--AN UNEXPECTED DISCOVERY--A "NIP" AND ITS TERRIBLE CONSEQUENCES--YOKED TO AN ICEBERG. The narrow escape related in the last chapter was but the prelude to a night of troubles. Fortunately, as we have before mentioned, _night_ did not now add darkness to their difficulties. Soon after passing the bergs, a stiff breeze sprang up off shore, between which and the _Dolphin_ there was a thick belt of loose ice, or sludge, while outside, the pack was in motion, and presented a terrible scene of crashing and grinding masses under the influence of the breeze, which soon freshened to a gale. "Keep her away two points," said Captain Guy to the man at the wheel; "we'll make fast to yonder berg, Mr Bolton; if this gale carries us into the pack, we shall be swept far out of our course, if, indeed, we escape being nipped and sent to the bottom." Being nipped is one of the numberless dangers to which Arctic navigators are exposed. Should a vessel get between two moving fields or floes of ice, there is a chance, especially in stormy weather, of the ice being forced together and squeezing in the sides of the ship; this is called nipping. "Ah!" remarked Buzzby, as he stood with folded arms by the capstan, "many and many a good ship has been sent to the bottom by that same. I've see'd a brig, with my own two eyes, squeezed together a'most flat by two big floes of ice, and after doin' it they jist separated agin an' let her go plump down to the bottom. Before she was nipped, the crew saved themselves by jumpin' on to the ice, and they wos picked up by our ship that wos in company." "There's no dependin' on the ice, by no means," remarked Amos Parr, "for I've see'd the self-same sort of thing that ye mention happen to a small schooner in Davis Straits, only, instead o' crushin' it flat, the ice lifted it right high and dry out o' the water, and then let it down again, without more ado, as sound as iver." "Get out the warps and ice-anchors, there," cried the captain. In a moment the men were in the boats, and busy heaving and planting ice-anchors, but it was not until several hours had been spent in this tedious process that they succeeded in making fast to the berg. They had barely accomplished this when the berg gave indications of breaking up, so they cast off again in great haste, and, not long afterwards, a mass of ice, many tons in weight, fell from the edge of the berg close to where they had been moored. The captain now beat up for the land in the hope of finding anchoring-ground. At first the ice presented an impenetrable barrier, but at length a lead of open water was found, through which they passed to within a few hundred yards of the shore, which, at this spot, showed a front of high precipitous cliffs. "Stand by to let go the anchor," shouted the captain. "Ay, ay, sir!" "Down your helm! Let go!" Down went the anchor to the music of the rattling chain-cable, a sound which had not been heard since the good ship left the shores of Old England. "If we were only a few yards farther in, sir," remarked the first mate, "we should be better. I'm afraid of the stream of ice coming round yonder point." "So am I," replied the captain; "but we can scarcely manage it, I fear, on account of the shore ice. Get out a boat, Mr Saunders, and try to fix an anchor. We may warp in a few yards." The anchor was fixed, and the men strained at the capstan with a will, but, notwithstanding their utmost efforts, they could not penetrate the shore ice. Meanwhile the wind increased, and snow began to fall in large flakes. The tide, too, as it receded, brought a stream of ice round the point ahead of them, which bore right down on their bows. At first the concussions were slight, and the bow of the ship turned the floes aside, but heavier masses soon came down, and at last one fixed itself on the cable, and caused the anchor to drag with a harsh, grating sound. Fred Ellice, who stood beside the second mate, near the companion hatch, looked enquiringly at him. "Ah! that's bad," said Saunders, shaking his head slowly, "I dinna like that sound. If we're carried out into the pack there, dear knows where we'll turn up in the long run." "Perhaps we'll turn bottom up, sir," suggested the fat cook, as he passed, at the moment with a tray of meat. Mizzle could not resist a joke--no matter how unsuitable the time or dreadful the consequences. "Hold your tongue, sir," exclaimed Saunders indignantly. "Attend to your business, and speak only when you're spoken to." With some difficulty the mass of ice that had got foul of the cable was disengaged, but in a few moments another and a larger mass fixed upon it, and threatened to carry it away. In this extremity the captain ordered the anchor to be hove up, but this was not easily accomplished, and when at last it was hove up to the bow, both flukes were found to have been broken off, and the shank was polished bright with rubbing on the rocks. Ice now came rolling down in great quantities and with irresistible force, and at last the ship was whirled into the much-dreaded pack, where she became firmly embedded, and drifted along with it before the gale into the unknown regions of the north all that night. To add to their distress and danger a thick fog overspread the sea, so that they could not tell whither the ice was carrying them, and to warp out of it was impossible. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to drive before the gale and take advantage of the first opening in the ice that should afford them a chance of escape. Towards evening of the following day the gale abated, and the sun shone out bright and clear, but the pack remained close as ever, drifting steadily towards the north. "We're far beyond the most northerly sea that has ever yet been reached," remarked Captain Guy to Fred and Singleton, as he leaned on the weather bulwarks, and gazed wistfully over the fields of ice in which they were embedded. "I beg your pardon for differing, Captain Guy, but I think that Captain Parry was farther north than this when he attempted to reach the pole," remarked Saunders, with the air of a man who was prepared to defend his position to the last. "Very possibly, Mr Saunders, but I think we are at least farther north in _this_ direction than anyone has yet been; at least I make it out so by the chart." "I'm no sure o' that," rejoined the second mate positively; "charts are not always to be depended on, and I've heard that whalers have been up hereabouts before now." "Perhaps you are right, Mr Saunders," replied the captain, smiling; "nevertheless I shall take observations and name the various headlands until I find that others have been here before me. Mivins, hand me the glass; it seems to me there's a water-sky to the northward." "What is a water-sky, Captain?" enquired Fred. "It is a peculiar, dark appearance of the sky on the horizon, which indicates open water--just the reverse of that bright appearance which you have often seen in the distance, and which we call the ice-blink." "We'll have open water soon," remarked the second mate authoritatively. "Mr Saunders," said Mivins, who, having just finished clearing away and washing up the debris and dishes of one meal, was enjoying in complete idleness the ten minutes of leisure that intervened between that and preparations for the next,--"Mr Saunders, sir, can you hinform me, sir, 'ow it is that the sea don't freeze at 'ome the same as it does hout 'ere?" The countenance of the second mate brightened, for he prided himself not a little on his vast and varied stores of knowledge, and nothing pleased him so much as to be questioned, particularly on knotty subjects. "Hem! yes, Mivins, I can tell 'ee that. Ye must know that before fresh water can freeze on the surface the whole volume of it must be cooled down to 40 degrees, and _salt_ water must be cooled down to 45 degrees. Noo, frost requires to be very long continued and very sharp indeed before it can cool the deep sea from the top to the bottom, and until it is so cooled it canna freeze." "Oh!" remarked Mivins, who only half understood the meaning of the explanation, "'ow very hodd. But can you tell me, Mr Saunders, 'ow it is that them 'ere hicebergs is made? Them's wot I don't comprehend no 'ow." "Ay," replied Saunders, "there has been many a wiser head than yours puzzled for a long time aboot icebergs. But if ye'll use yer eyes you'll see how they are formed. Do you see the high cliffs yonder away to the nor'-east? Well, there are great masses o' ice that have been formed against them by the melting and freezing of the snows of many years. When these become too heavy to stick to the cliffs, they tumble into the sea and float away as icebergs. But the biggest bergs come from the foot of glaciers. We know what glaciers are, Mivins!" "No, sir, I don't." The second mate sighed. "They are immense accumulations of ice, Mivins, that have been formed by the freezings and meltings of the snows of hundreds of years. They cover the mountains of Norway and Switzerland, and many other places in this world, for miles and miles in extent, and sometimes they flow down and fill up whole valleys. I once saw one in Norway that filled up a valley eight miles long, two miles broad, and seven or eight hundred feet deep, and that was only a wee bit of it, for I was told by men who had travelled over it that it covered the mountains of the interior, and made them a level field of ice, with a surface like rough, hard snow, for more than twenty miles in extent." "You don't say so, sir!" said Mivins in surprise. "And don't they _never_ melt?" "No, never. What they lose in summer they more than gain in winter. Moreover, they are always in motion, but they move so slow that you may look at them ever so closely and so long, you'll not be able to observe the motion--just like the hour hand of a watch,--but we know it by observing the changes from year to year. There are immense glaciers here in the Arctic regions, and the lumps which they are constantly shedding off into the sea are the icebergs that one sees and hears so much about." Mivins seemed deeply impressed with this explanation, and would probably have continued the conversation much longer had he not been interrupted by the voice of his mischievous satellite, Davie Summers, who touched his forelock and said: "Please, Mr Mivins, shall I lay the table-cloth, or would it be better to slump dinner with tea this afternoon?" Mivins started. "Ha! caught me napping! Down below, you young dog!" The boy dived instantly, followed first by a dish-clout, rolled tightly up and well aimed, and afterwards by his active-limbed superior. Both reached the region of smells, cruets, and crockery at the same moment, and each set energetically to work at their never-ending duties. Soon after this the ice suddenly loosened, and the crew succeeded, after a few hours' hard labour, in warping the _Dolphin_ once more out of the pack; but scarcely had this been accomplished when another storm, which had been gradually gathering, burst upon them, and compelled them once more to seek the shelter of the land. Numerous walrus rolled about in the bays here, and they approached much nearer to the vessel than they had yet done, affording those on board a good view of their huge, uncouth visages, as they shook their shaggy fronts and ploughed up the waves with their tusks. These enormous creatures are the elephants of the Arctic Ocean. Their aspect is particularly grim and fierce, and, being nearly equal to elephants in bulk, they are not less terrible than they appear. In form they somewhat resemble seals, having barrel-shaped bodies, with round, or rather square, blunt heads and shaggy bristling moustache, and two long ivory tusks which curve downwards instead of upwards, serving the purpose frequently of hooks, by means of which and their fore-flippers they can pull themselves up on the rocks and icebergs. Indeed they are sometimes found at a considerable height up the sides of steep cliffs, basking in the sun. Fred was anxious to procure the skull of one of these monstrous animals, but the threatening appearance of the weather rendered any attempt to secure one at that time impossible. A dark sinister scowl overhung the blink under the cloud-bank to the southward, and the dovkies which had enlivened their progress hitherto forsook the channel, as if they distrusted the weather. Captain Guy made every possible preparation to meet the coming storm, by warping down under the shelter of a ledge of rock, to which he made fast with two good hawsers, while everything was made snug on board. "We are going to catch it, I fear," said Fred, glancing at the black clouds that hurried across the sky to the northward, while he walked the deck with his friend, Tom Singleton. "I suspect so," replied Tom, "and it does not raise my spirits to see Saunders shaking his huge visage so portentously. Do you know, I have a great belief in that fellow. He seems to know everything and to have gone through every sort of experience, and I notice that most of his prognostications come to pass." "So they do, Tom," said Fred, "but I wish he would put a better face on things till they _do_ come to pass. His looks are enough to frighten one." "I think we shall require another line out, Mr Saunders," remarked the captain, as the gale freshened, and the two hawsers were drawn straight and rigid like bars of iron: "send ashore and make a whale-line fast immediately." The second mate obeyed with a grunt that seemed to insinuate that _he_ would have had one out long ago. In a few minutes it was fast, and not a moment too soon, for immediately after it blew a perfect hurricane. Heavier and heavier it came, and the ice began to drift more wildly than ever. The captain had just given orders to make fast another line, when the sharp, twanging snap of a cord was heard. The six-inch hawser had parted, and they were swinging by the two others, with the gale roaring like a lion through the spars and rigging. Half a minute more and "twang, twang!" came another report, and the whale-line was gone. Only one rope now held them to the land, and prevented them being swept into the turmoil of ice, and wind, and water, from which the rocky ledge protected them. The hawser was a good one--a new ten-inch rope. It sung like the deep tones of an organ, loud above the rattle of the rigging and the shrouds, but that was its death-song. It gave way with the noise of a cannon, and in the smoke that followed its recoil, they were dragged out by the wild ice and driven hither and hither at its mercy. With some difficulty the ship was warped into a place of comparative security in the rushing drift, but it was soon thrown loose again, and severely squeezed by the rolling masses. Then an attempt was made to set the sails and beat up for the land, but the rudder was almost unmanageable owing to the ice, and nothing could be made of it, so they were compelled to go right before the wind under close-reefed top-sails, in order to keep some command of the ship. All hands were on deck watching in silence the ice ahead of them, which presented a most formidable aspect. Away to the north the strait could be seen growing narrower, with heavy ice-tables grinding up and clogging it from cliff to cliff on either side. About seven in the evening they were close upon the piling masses, to enter into which seemed certain destruction. "Stand by to let go the anchor," cried the captain, in the desperate hope of being able to wind the ship. "What's that ahead of us?" exclaimed the first mate suddenly. "Ship on the starboard bow, right inshore!" roared the look-out. The attention of the crew was for a moment called from their own critical situation towards the strange vessel which now came into view, having been previously concealed from them by a large grounded berg. "Can you make her out, Mr Bolton?" "Yes, sir, I think she's a large brig, but she seems much chafed, and there's no name left on the stern, if ever there was one." As he spoke, the driving snow and fog cleared up partially, and the brig was seen not three hundred yards from them, drifting slowly into the loose ice. There was evidently no one on board, and although one or two of the sails were loose, they hung in shreds from the yards. Scarcely had this been noted when the _Dolphin_ struck against a large mass of ice, and quivered under the violence of the shock. "Let go!" shouted the captain. Down went the heaviest anchor they had, and for two minutes the chain flew out at the hawse-hole. "Hold on!" The chain was checked, but the strain was awful. A mass of ice, hundreds of tons weight, was tearing down towards the bow. There was no hope of resisting it. Time was not even afforded to attach a buoy or log to the cable, so it was let slip, and thus the _Dolphin's_ best bower was lost for ever. But there was no time to think of or regret this, for the ship was now driving down with the gale, scraping against a lee of ice which was seldom less than thirty feet thick. Almost at the same moment the strange vessel was whirled close to them, not more than fifty yards distant, between two driving masses of thick ice. "What if it should be my father's brig?" whispered Fred Ellice, as he grasped Singleton's arm, and turned to him a face of ashy paleness. "No fear of that, lad," said Buzzby, who stood near the larboard gangway and had overheard the remark. "I'd know your father's brig among a thousand--" As he spoke, the two masses of ice closed, and the brig was nipped between them. For a few seconds she seemed to tremble like a living creature, and every timber creaked. Then she was turned slowly on one side, until the crew of the _Dolphin_ could see down into her hold, where the beams were giving way and cracking up as matches might be crushed in the grasp of a strong hand. Then the larboard bow was observed to yield as if it were made of soft clay, the starboard bow was pressed out, and the ice was forced into the forecastle. Scarcely three minutes had passed since the nip commenced; in one minute more the brig went down, and the ice was rolling wildly, as if in triumph, over the spot where she had disappeared. The fate of this vessel, which might so soon be their own, threw a momentary gloom over the crew of the _Dolphin_, but their position left them no time for thought. One upturned mass rose above the gunwale, smashed in the bulwarks, and deposited half a ton of ice on deck. Scarcely had this danger passed when a new enemy appeared in sight ahead. Directly in their way, just beyond the line of floe-ice against which they were alternately thumping and grinding, lay a group of bergs. There was no possibility of avoiding them, and the only question was whether they were to be dashed to pieces on their hard blue sides or, perchance, in some providential nook to find a refuge from the storm. "There's an open lead between them and the floe-ice," exclaimed Bolton in a hopeful tone of voice, seizing an ice-pole and leaping on the gunwale. "Look alive, men, with your poles," cried the captain, "and shove with a will." The "Ay, ay, sir!" of the men was uttered with a heartiness that showed how powerfully this gleam of hope acted on their spirits; but a new damp was cast over them when, on gaining the open passage, they discovered that the bergs were not at rest, but were bearing down on the floe-ice with slow but awful momentum, and threatened to crush the ship between the two. Just then a low berg came driving up from the southward, dashing the spray over its sides, and with its fore-head ploughing up the smaller ice as if in scorn. A happy thought flashed across the captain's mind. "Down the quarter boat," he cried. In an instant it struck the water, and four men were on the thwarts. "Cast an ice-anchor on that berg." Peter Grim obeyed the order, and, with a swing that Hercules would have envied, planted it securely. In another moment the ship was following in the wake of this novel tug! It was a moment of great danger, for the bergs encroached on their narrow canal as they advanced, obliging them to brace the yards to clear the impending ice-walls, and they shaved the large berg so closely that the port-quarter boat would have been crushed if it had not been taken from the davits. Five minutes of such travelling brought them abreast of a grounded berg, to which they resolved to make fast; the order was given to cast off the rope; away went their white tug on his race to the far north, and the ship swung round in safety under the lee of the berg, where the crew acknowledged with gratitude their merciful deliverance from imminent danger. CHAPTER SEVEN. NEW CHARACTERS INTRODUCED--AN OLD GAME UNDER NOVEL CIRCUMSTANCES-- REMARKABLE APPEARANCES IN THE SKY--O'RILEY MEETS WITH A MISHAP. Dumps was a remarkably grave and sly character, and Poker was a wag--an incorrigible wag--in every sense of the term. Moreover, although they had an occasional fight, Dumps and Poker were excellent friends, and great favourites with the crew. We have not yet introduced these individuals to our reader; but as they will act a conspicuous part in the history of the _Dolphin's_ adventurous career in the Arctic regions, we think it right now to present them. While at Uppernavik, Captain Guy had purchased a team of six good, tough Esquimaux dogs, being desirous of taking them to England, and there presenting them to several of his friends who were anxious to possess specimens of those animals. Two of these dogs stood out conspicuous from their fellows, not only in regard to personal appearance, but also in reference to peculiarities of character. One was pure white, with a lively expression of countenance, a large shaggy body, two erect, sharp-pointed ears, and a short projection that once had been a tail. Owing to some cause unknown, however, his tail had been cut or bitten off, and nothing save the stump remained. But this stump did as much duty as if it had been fifty tails in one. It was never at rest for a moment, and its owner evidently believed that wagging it was the true and only way to touch the heart of man; therefore the dog wagged it, so to speak, doggedly. In consequence of this animal's thieving propensities, which led him to be constantly _poking_ into every hole and corner of the ship in search of something to steal, he was named _Poker_. Poker had three jet-black spots in his white visage--one was the point of his nose, the other two were his eyes. Poker's bosom friend, Dumps, was so named because he had the sulkiest expression of countenance that ever fell to the lot of a dog. Hopelessly incurable melancholy seemed to have taken possession of his mind, for he never by any chance smiled--and dogs do smile, you know, just as evidently as human beings do, although not exactly with their mouths. Dumps never romped either, being old, but he sat and allowed his friend Poker to romp round him with a sort of sulky satisfaction, as if he experienced the greatest enjoyment his nature was capable of in witnessing the antics of his youthful companion--for Poker was young. The prevailing colour of Dumps's shaggy hide was a dirty brown, with black spots, two of which had fixed themselves rather awkwardly round his eyes, like a pair of spectacles. Dumps, also, was a thief, and, indeed, so were all his brethren. Dumps and Poker were both of them larger and stronger, and in every way better, than their comrades; and they afterwards were the sturdy, steady, unflinching leaders of the team during many a toilsome journey over the frozen sea. One magnificent afternoon, a few days after the escape of the _Dolphin_ just related, Dumps and Poker lay side by side in the lee-scuppers, calmly sleeping off the effects of a surfeit produced by the eating of a large piece of pork, for which the cook had searched in vain for three-quarters of an hour, and of which he at last found the bare bone sticking in the hole of the larboard pump. "Bad luck to them dogs!" exclaimed David Mizzle, stroking his chin as he surveyed the bone. "If I could only find out, now, which of ye it was, I'd have ye slaughtered right off, and cooked for the mess, I would." "It was Dumps as did it, I'll bet you a month's pay," said Peter Grim, as he sat on the end of the windlass refilling his pipe, which he had just smoked out. "Not a bit of it," remarked Amos Parr, who was squatted on the deck busily engaged in constructing a rope mat, while several of the men sat round him engaged in mending sails, or stitching canvas slippers, etcetera. "Not a bit of it, Grim; Dumps is too honest by half to do sich a thing. 'Twas Poker as did it, I can see by the roll of his eye below the skin. The blackguard's only shammin' sleep." On hearing his name mentioned, Poker gently opened his right eye, but did not move. Dumps, on the contrary, lay as if he heard not the base aspersion on his character. "What'll ye bet it was Dumps as did it?" cried Davie Summers, who passed at the moment with a dish of some sort of edible towards the galley or cooking-house on deck. "I'll _bet_ you over the 'ead, I will, if you don't mind your business," said Mivins. "You'd _bet_ter not," retorted Davie with a grin. "It's as much as your situation's worth to lay a finger on me." "That's it, youngster, give it 'im," cried several of the men, while the boy confronted his superior, taking good care, however, to keep the fore-mast between them. "What do you mean, you young rascal?" cried Mivins with a frown. "Mean!" said Davie, "why, I mean that if you touch me I'll resign office; and if I do that, you'll have to go out, for everyone knows you can't get on without me." "I say, Mivins," cried Tom Green, the carpenter's mate, "if you were asked to say: `Hold on hard to this handspike here, my hearties,' how would ye go about it?" "He'd 'it you a pretty 'ard crack hover the 'ead with it, 'e would," remarked one of the men, throwing a ball of yarn at Davie, who stood listening to the conversation with a broad grin. In stepping back to avoid the blow the lad trod on Dumps's paw, and instantly there came from the throat of that excellent dog a roar of anguish that caused Poker to leap, as the cook expressed it, nearly out of his own skin. Dogs are by nature extremely sympathetic and remarkably inquisitive; and no sooner was Dumps's yell heard than it was vigorously responded to by every dog in the ship, as the whole pack rushed each from his respective sleeping-place, and looked round in amazement. "Hallo! what's wrong there for'ard?" enquired Saunders, who had been pacing the quarter-deck with slow giant strides, arguing mentally with himself in default of a better adversary. "Only trod on Dumps's paw, sir," said Mivins as he hurried aft; "the men are sky-larking." "Sky-larking, are you?" said Saunders, going forward; "weel, lads, you've had a lot o' hard work of late, ye may go and take a run on the ice." Instantly the men, like boys set free from school, sprang up, tumbled over the side, and were scampering over the ice like madmen. "Pitch over the ball!--the football!" they cried. In a second the ball was tossed over the ship's side, and a vigorous game was begun. For two days past the _Dolphin_ had been sailing with difficulty through large fields of ice, sometimes driving against narrow necks and tongues that interrupted her passage from one lead, or canal, to another; at other times boring with difficulty through compact masses of sludge, or, occasionally, when unable to advance farther, making fast to a large berg or field. They were compelled to proceed north, however, in consequence of the pack having become fixed towards the south, and thus rendering retreat impossible in that direction until the ice should be again set in motion. Captain Guy, however, saw, by the steady advance of the larger bergs, that the current of the ocean in that place flowed southward, and trusted that in a short time the ice which had been forced into the strait by the gales, would be released, and open up a passage. Meanwhile he pushed along the coast, examining every bay and inlet in the hope of discovering some trace of the _Pole Star_ or her crew. On the day about which we are writing, the ship was beset by large fields, the snow-white surfaces of which extended north and south to the horizon, while on the east the cliffs rose in dark, frowning precipices from the midst of the glaciers that encumber them all the year round. It was a lovely Arctic day. The sun shone with unclouded splendour, and the bright air, which trembled with that liquidity of appearance that one occasionally sees in very hot weather under peculiar circumstances, was vocal with the wild music of thousands of gulls, and auks, and other sea-birds, which clustered on the neighbouring cliffs, and flew overhead in clouds. All round, the pure surfaces of the ice-fields were broken by the shadows which the hummocks and bergs cast over them, and by the pools of clear water which shone like crystals in their hollows, while the beautiful beryl blue of the larger bergs gave a delicate colouring to the dazzling scene. Words cannot describe the intense _glitter_ that characterised everything. Every point seemed a diamond; every edge sent forth a gleam of light, and many of the masses reflected the rich prismatic colours of the rainbow. It seemed as if the sun himself had been multiplied in order to add to the excessive brilliancy, for he was surrounded by _parhelia_, or _sun-dogs_ as the men called them. This peculiarity in the sun's appearance was very striking. The great orb of day was about ten degrees above the horizon, and a horizontal line of white passed completely through it extending to a considerable distance on either hand, while around it were two distinct halos, or circles of light. On the inner halo were situated the mock-suns, which were four in number--one above and one below the sun, and one on each side of him. Not a breath of wind stirred the little flag that drooped from the mizzen-peak, and the clamorous ceaseless cries of sea-birds, added to the merry shouts and laughter of the men, as they followed the restless football, rendered the whole a scene of life, as it was emphatically one of beauty. "Ain't it glorious?" panted Davie Summers vehemently, as he stopped exhausted in a headlong race beside one of his comrades, while the ball was kicked hopelessly beyond his reach by a comparatively fresh member of the party. "Ah! then, it bates the owld country intirely, it does," replied O'Riley, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. It is needless to say that O'Riley was an Irishman. We have not mentioned him until now, because up to this time he had not done anything to distinguish himself beyond his messmates; but on this particular day O'Riley's star was in the ascendant, and Fortune seemed to have singled him out as an object of her special attention. He was a short man, and a broad man, and a particularly _rugged_ man--so to speak. He was all angles and corners. His hair stuck about his head in violently rigid and entangled tufts, rendering it a matter of wonder how anything in the shape of a hat could stick on. His brow was a countless mass of ever-varying wrinkles, which gave to his sly visage an aspect of humorous anxiety that was highly diverting--and all the more diverting when you came to know that the man had not a spark of anxiety in his composition, though he often said he had. His dress, like that of most Jack-tars, was naturally rugged, and he contrived to make it more so than usual. "An' it's hot, too, it is," he continued, applying his kerchief again to his pate. "If it warn't for the ice we stand on, we'd be melted down, I do belave, like bits o' whale blubber." "Wot a jolly game football is, ain't it?" said Davie, seating himself on a hummock, and still panting hard. "Ay, boy, that's jist what it is. The only objiction I have agin it is that it makes ye a'most kick the left leg clane off yer body." "Why don't you kick with your right leg, then, stupid, like other people?" enquired Summers. "Why don't I, is it? Troth, then, I don't know for sartin. Me father lost his left leg at the great battle o' the Nile, and I've sometimes thought that had somethin' to do wid it; but then me mother was lame o' the _right_ leg intirely, and wint about wid a crutch, so I can't make out how it was, d'ye see?" "Look out, Pat," exclaimed Summers, starting up, "here comes the ball." As he spoke, the football came skimming over the ice, towards the spot on which they stood, with about thirty of the men running at full speed and shouting like maniacs after it. "That's your sort, my hearties! another like that and it's home! Pitch into it, Mivins. You're the boy for me. Now, then, Grim, trip him up! Hallo, Buzzby, you bluff-bowed Dutchman, luff! luff! or I'll stave in your ribs! Mind your eye, Mizzle, there's Green, he'll be into your larboard quarter in no time. Hurrah! Mivins, up in the air with it. Kick, boy, kick like a spanker boom in a hurricane!" Such were a few of the expressions that showered like hail round the men as they rushed hither and thither after the ball. And here we may remark that the crew of the _Dolphin_ played football in a somewhat different style, from the way in which that noble game is played by boys in England. Sides, indeed, were chosen, and boundaries were marked out, but very little if any attention was paid to such secondary matters! To kick the ball, and keep on kicking it in front of his companions, was the ambition of each man; and so long as he could get a kick at it that caused it to fly from the ground like a cannon-shot, little regard was had by anyone to the direction in which it was propelled. But, of course, in this effort to get a kick, the men soon became scattered over the field, and ever and anon the ball would fall between two men, who rushed at it simultaneously from opposite directions. The inevitable result was a collision, by which both men were suddenly and violently arrested in their career. But generally the shock resulted in one of the men being sent staggering backwards, and the other getting the _kick_. When the two were pretty equally matched, both were usually, as they expressed it, "brought up all standing", in which case a short scuffle ensued, as each endeavoured to trip up the heels of his adversary. To prevent undue violence in such struggles, a rule was laid down that hands were not to be used on any account. They might use their feet, legs, shoulders, and elbows, but not their hands. In such rough play the men were more equally matched than might have been expected, for the want of weight among the smaller men was often more than counterbalanced by their activity; and frequently a sturdy little fellow launched himself so vigorously against a heavy tar as to send him rolling head over heels on the ice. This was not always the case, however, and few ventured to come into collision with Peter Grim, whose activity was on a par with his immense size. Buzzby contented himself with galloping on the outskirts of the fight, and putting in a kick when fortune sent the ball in his way. In this species of warfare he was supported by the fat cook, whose oily carcass could neither stand the shocks nor keep up with the pace of his messmates. Mizzle was a particularly energetic man in his way, however, and frequently kicked with such good-will that he missed the ball altogether, and the tremendous swing of his leg lifted him from the ice, and laid him sprawling on his back. "Look out ahead!" shouted Green, the carpenter's mate; "there's a sail bearing down on your larboard bow." Mivins, who had the ball before him at the moment, saw his own satellite, Davie, coming down towards him with vicious intentions. He quietly pushed the ball before him for a few yards, then kicked it far over the boy's head, and followed it up like an antelope. Mivins depended for success on his almost superhuman activity. His tall, slight frame could not stand the shocks of his comrades, but no one could equal or come near to him in speed, and he was quite an adept at dodging a _charge_, and allowing his opponent to rush far past the ball by the force of his own momentum. Such a charge did Peter Grim make at him at this moment. "Starboard hard!" yelled Davie Summers, as he observed his master's danger. "Starboard it is!" replied Mivins, and, leaping aside to avoid the shock, he allowed Grim to pass. Grim knew his man, however, and had held himself in hand, so that in a moment he pulled up and was following close on his heels. "It's an ill wind that blows no good," cried one of the crew, towards whose foot the ball rolled, as he quietly kicked it into the centre of the mass of men. Grim and Mivins turned back, and for a time looked on at the general make that ensued. It seemed as though the ball must inevitably be crushed among them as they struggled and kicked hither and thither for five minutes, in their vain efforts to get a kick; and during those few exciting moments many tremendous kicks, aimed at the ball, took effect upon shins, and many shouts of glee terminated in yells of anguish. "It can't last much longer!" screamed the cook, his face streaming with perspiration, and beaming with glee, as he danced round the outside of the circle. "There it goes!" As he spoke, the ball flew out of the circle, like a shell from a mortar. Unfortunately it went directly over Mizzle's head. Before he could wink he went down before them, and the rushing mass of men passed over him like a mountain torrent over a blade of grass. Meanwhile Mivins ran ahead of the others, and gave the ball a kick that nearly burst it and down it came exactly between O'Riley and Grim, who chanced to be far ahead of the others. Grim dashed at it. "Och! ye big villain," muttered the Irishman to himself, as he put down his head and rushed against the carpenter like a battering-ram. Big though he was, Grim staggered back from the impetuous shock, and O'Riley, following up his advantage, kicked the ball in a side direction, away from everyone except Buzzby, who happened to have been steering rather wildly over the field of ice. Buzzby, on being brought thus unexpectedly within reach of the ball, braced up his energies for a kick, but seeing O'Riley coming down towards him like a runaway locomotive, he pulled up, saying quietly to himself: "Ye may take it all yer own way, lad; I'm too old a bird to go for to make my carcass a buffer for a mad-cap like you to run agin." Jack Mivins, however, was troubled by no such qualms. He happened to be about the same distance from the ball as O'Riley, and ran like a deer to reach it first. A pool of water lay in his path, however, and the necessity of going round it enabled the Irishman to gain on him a little, so that it became evident that both would come up at the same moment and a collision be inevitable. "Hold yer wind, Paddy," shouted the men, who paused for a moment to watch the result of the race. "Mind your timbers, Mivins! Back your top-sails, O'Riley; mind how he yaws!" Then there was a momentary silence of breathless expectation. The two men seemed about to meet with a shock that would annihilate both, when Mivins bounded to one side like an india-rubber ball. O'Riley shot past him like a rocket, and the next instant went head-foremost into the pool of water. This unexpected termination to the affair converted the intended huzzah of the men into a yell of mingled laughter and consternation as they hastened in a body to the spot; but before they reached it O'Riley's head and shoulders reappeared, and when they came up, he was standing on the margin of the pool blowing like a walrus. "Oh, then, but it is cowld!" he exclaimed, wringing the water from his garments. "Och, where's the ball? give me a kick or I'll freeze, so I will." As he spoke, the drenched Irishman seized the ball from Mivins' hands and gave it a kick that sent it high into the air. He was too wet and heavy to follow it up, however, so he ambled off towards the ship as vigorously as his clothes would allow him, followed by the whole crew. CHAPTER EIGHT. FRED AND THE DOCTOR GO ON AN EXCURSION, IN WHICH, AMONG OTHER STRANGE THINGS, THEY MEET WITH RED SNOW AND A WHITE BEAR, AND FRED MAKES HIS FIRST ESSAY AS A SPORTSMAN. But where were Fred Ellice and Tom Singleton all this time? the reader will probably ask. Long before the game at football was suggested, they had obtained leave of absence from the captain, and, loaded with game-bags, a botanical box, and geological hammer, and a musket, were off along the coast on a semi-scientific cruise. Young Singleton carried the botanical box and hammer, being an enthusiastic geologist and botanist, while Fred carried the game-bag and musket. "You see, Tom," he said, as they stumbled along over the loose ice towards the ice-belt that lined the cliffs,--"you see, I'm a great dab at ornithology, especially when I've got a gun on my shoulder. When I haven't a gun, strange to say, I don't feel half so enthusiastic about birds!" "That's a very peculiar style of regarding the science. Don't you think it would be worth while communicating your views on the subject to one of the scientific bodies when we get home again? They might elect you a member, Fred." "Well, perhaps I shall," replied Fred gravely; "but I say, to be serious, I'm really going to screw up my energies as much as possible, and make coloured drawings of all the birds I can get hold of in the Arctic regions. At least I would like to try." Fred finished his remark with a sigh, for just then the object for which he had gone out to those regions occurred to him, and although the natural buoyancy and hopefulness of his feelings enabled him generally to throw off anxiety in regard to his father's fate, and join in the laugh, and jest, and game as heartily as anyone on board, there were times when his heart failed him, and he almost despaired of ever seeing his father again; and these feelings of despondency had been more frequent, since the day on which he witnessed the sudden and utter destruction of the strange brig. "Don't let your spirits down, Fred," said Tom, whose hopeful and earnest disposition often reanimated his friend's drooping spirits. "It will only unfit you for doing any good service; besides, I think we have no cause yet to despair. We know that your father came up this inlet, or strait, or whatever it is, and that he had a good stock of provisions with him, according to the account we got at Uppernavik, and it is not more than a year since he was there. Many and many a whaler and discovery ship has wintered more than a year in these regions. And then, consider the immense amount of animal life all around us. They might have laid up provisions for many months long before winter set in." "I know all that," replied Fred, with a shake of his head; "but think of yon brig that we saw go down in about ten minutes." "Well, so I do think of it. No doubt the brig was lost very suddenly, but there was ample time, had there been anyone on board, to have leaped upon the ice, and they might have got to land by jumping from one piece to another. Such things have happened before, frequently. To say truth, at every point of land we turn, I feel a sort of expectation, amounting almost to certainty, that we shall find your father and his party travelling southward on their way to the Danish settlements." "Perhaps you are right. God grant that it may be so!" As he spoke they reached the fixed ice which ran along the foot of the precipices for some distance, like a road of hard white marble. Many large rocks lay scattered over it, some of them several tons in weight, and one or two balanced in a very remarkable way on the edge of the cliffs. "There's a curious-looking gull I should like to shoot," exclaimed Fred, pointing to a bird that hovered over his head, and throwing forward the muzzle of his gun. "Fire away, then," said his friend, stepping back a pace. Fred, being unaccustomed to the use of firearms, took a wavering aim and fired. "What a bother! I've missed it!" "Try again," remarked Tom with a quiet smile, as the whole cliff vomited forth an innumerable host of birds, whose cries were perfectly deafening. "It's my opinion," said Fred with a comical grin, "that if I shut my eyes and point upwards I can't help hitting something; but I particularly want yon fellow, because he's beautifully marked. Ah! I see him sitting on a rock yonder, so here goes once more." Fred now proceeded towards the coveted bird in the fashion that is known by the name of _stalking_--that is, creeping as close up to your game as possible, so as to get a good shot; and it said much for his patience and his future success, the careful manner in which, on this occasion, he wound himself in and out among the rocks and blocks of ice on the shore in the hope of obtaining that sea-gull. At last he succeeded in getting to within about fifteen yards of it, and then, resting his musket on a lump of ice, and taking an aim so long and steadily that his companion began to fancy he must have gone to sleep, he fired, and blew the gull to atoms! There was scarcely so much as a shred of it to be found. Fred bore his disappointment and discomfiture manfully. He formed a resolution then and there to become a good shot, and although he did not succeed exactly in becoming so that day, he nevertheless managed to put several fine specimens of gulls and an auk into his bag. The last bird amused him much, being a creature with a dumpy little body and a beak of preposterously large size and comical aspect. There were also a great number of eider ducks flying about but they failed to procure a specimen. Singleton was equally successful in his scientific researches. He found several beautifully green mosses, one species of which was studded with pale-yellow flowers, and, in one place, where a stream trickled down the steep sides of the cliffs, he discovered a flower-growth which was rich in variety of colouring. Amid several kinds of tufted grasses were seen growing a small purple flower and the white star of the chickweed. The sight of all this richness of vegetation growing in a little spot close beside the snow, and amid such cold Arctic scenery, would have delighted a much less enthusiastic spirit than that of our young surgeon. He went quite into raptures with it and stuffed his botanical box with mosses and rocks until it could hold no more, and became a burden that cost him a few sighs before he got back to the ship. The rocks were found to consist chiefly of red sandstone. There was also a good deal of greenstone and gneiss, and some of the spires of these that shot up to a considerable height were particularly striking and picturesque objects. But the great sight of the day's excursion was that which unexpectedly greeted their eyes on rounding a cape towards which they had been walking for several hours. On passing this point they stopped with an exclamation of amazement. Before them lay a scene such as the Arctic regions alone can produce. In front lay a vast reach of the strait, which at this place opened up abruptly and stretched away northward laden with floes, and fields, and hummocks, and bergs of every shade and size, to the horizon, where the appearance of the sky indicated open water. Ponds of various sizes, and sheets of water whose dimensions entitled them to be styled lakes, spangled the white surface of the floes, and around these were sporting innumerable flocks of wild fowl, many of which, being pure white, glanced like snow-flakes in the sunshine. Far off to the west the ice came down with heavy uniformity to the water's edge. On the right there was an array of cliffs whose frowning grandeur filled them with awe. They varied from twelve to fifteen hundred feet in height, and some of the precipices descended sheer down seven or eight hundred feet into the sea, over which they cast a dark shadow. Just at the feet of our young discoverers, for such we may truly call them, a deep bay or valley trended away to the right, a large portion of which was filled with the spur of a glacier, whose surface was covered with _pink snow_! One can imagine with what feelings the two youths gazed on this beautiful sight. It seemed as if that valley, instead of forming a portion of the sterile region beyond the Arctic Circle, were one of the sunniest regions of the south, for a warm glow rested on the bosom of the snow, as if the sun were shedding upon it his rosiest hues. A little farther to the north the red snow ceased, or only occurred here and there in patches, and beyond it there appeared another gorge in the cliffs within which rose a tall column of rock, so straight and cylindrical that it seemed to be a production of art. The whole of the back country was one great rolling distance of glacier, and, wherever a crevice or gorge in the riven cliffs afforded an opportunity, this ocean of land-ice sent down spurs into the sea, the extremities of which were constantly shedding off huge bergs into the water. "What a scene!" exclaimed Tom Singleton, when he found words to express his admiration. "I did not think that our world contained so grand a sight. It surpasses my wildest dreams of fairy-land." "Fairy-land!" ejaculated Fred, with a slight look of contempt; "do you know, since I came to this part of the world I've come to the conclusion that fairy tales are all stuff, and very inferior stuff too! Why, this reality is a thousand million times grander than anything that was ever invented. But what surprises me most is the red snow. What can be the cause of it?" "I don't know," replied Singleton; "it has long been a matter of dispute among learned men; but we must examine it for ourselves, so come along." The remarkable colour of the snow referred to, although a matter of dispute at the period of the _Dolphin's_ visit to the Arctic Seas, is generally admitted now to be the result of a curious and extremely minute vegetable growth, which spreads not only over its surface, but penetrates into it sometimes to a depth of several feet. The earlier navigators who discovered it, and first told the astonished world that the substance which they had been accustomed to associate with the idea of the purest and most radiant whiteness had been seen by them lying _red_ upon the ground, attributed the phenomenon to innumerable multitudes of minute creatures belonging to the order _Radiata_, but the discovery of red snow among the central Alps of Europe, and in the Pyrenees, and on the mountains of Norway, where _marine_ animalcules could not exist, effectually overturned this idea. The colouring matter has now been ascertained to result from plants belonging to the order called _Algae_, which have a remarkable degree of vitality, and possess the power, to an amazing extent, of growing and spreading with rapidity even over such an ungenial soil as the Arctic snow. While Singleton was examining the red snow, and vainly endeavouring to ascertain the nature of the minute specks of matter, by which it was coloured, Fred continued to gaze with a look of increasing earnestness towards the tall column, around which a bank of fog was spreading, and partially concealing it from view. At length he attracted the attention of his companion towards it. "I say, I'm half inclined to believe that yon is no work of nature, but a monument set up to attract the attention of ships. Don't you think so?" Singleton regarded the object in question for some time. "I don't think so, Fred; it is larger than you suppose, for the fog-bank deceives us; but let us go and see--it cannot be far off." As they drew near to the tall rock, Fred's hopes began to fade, and soon were utterly quenched by the fog clearing away and showing that the column was indeed of nature's own constructing. It was a single, solitary shaft of green limestone, which stood on the brink of a deep ravine, and was marked by the slaty limestone that once encased it. The length of the column was apparently about five hundred feet, and the pedestal of sandstone on which it stood was itself upwards of two hundred feet high. This magnificent column seemed the flag-staff of a gigantic crystal fortress, which was suddenly revealing by the clearing away of the fog-bank to the north. It was the face of the great glacier of the interior, which here presented an unbroken perpendicular front--a sweep of solid glassy wall, which rose three hundred feet above the water-level, with an unknown depth below it. The sun glittered on the crags, and peaks, and battlements of this ice fortress as if the mysterious inhabitants of the far north had lit up their fires, and planted their artillery to resist further invasion. The effect upon the minds of the two youths, who were probably the first to gaze upon those wondrous visions of the icy regions, was tremendous. For a long time neither of them could utter a word, and it would be idle to attempt to transcribe the language, in which, at length, their excited feelings sought to escape. It was not until their backs had been for some time turned on the scene, and the cape near the valley of red snow had completely shut it out from view, that they could condescend to converse again in their ordinary tones on ordinary subjects. As they hastened back over the ice-belt at the foot of the cliffs, a loud boom rang out in the distance, and rolled in solemn echoes along the shore. "There goes a gun," exclaimed Tom Singleton, hastily pulling out his watch. "Hallo! do you know what time it is?" "Pretty late, I suppose; it was afternoon, I know, when we started, and we must have been out a good while now. What time is it?" "Just two o'clock in the morning!" "What! do you mean to say it was _yesterday_ when we started, and that we've been walking all night, and got into _to-morrow morning_ without knowing it?" "Even so, Fred. We have overshot our time, and the captain is signalling us to make haste. He said that he would not fire unless there seemed some prospect of the ice moving, so we had better run, unless we wish to be left behind; come along." They had not proceeded more than half a mile when a Polar bear walked leisurely out from behind a lump of ice, where it had been regaling itself on a dead seal, and sauntered slowly out towards the icebergs seaward, not a hundred yards in advance of them. "Hallo! look there! what a monster!" shouted Fred, as he cocked his musket and sprang forward. "What'll you do, Tom, you've no gun?" "Never mind, I'll do what I can with the hammer. Only make sure you don't miss. Don't fire till you are quite close to him." They were running after the bear at top speed while they thus conversed in hasty and broken sentences, when suddenly they came to a yawning crack in the ice, about thirty feet wide, and a mile long on either hand, with the rising tide boiling at the bottom of it. Bruin's pursuers came to an abrupt halt. "Now, isn't that disgusting!" Probably it was, and the expression of chagrin on Fred's countenance as he said so evidently showed that he meant it, but there is no doubt that this interruption to their hunt was extremely fortunate; for to attack a polar bear with a musket charged only with small shot, and a geological hammer, would have been about as safe and successful an operation as trying to stop a locomotive with one's hand. Neither of them had yet had experience of the enormous strength of this white monarch of the frozen regions and his tenacity of life, although both were reckless enough to rush at him with any arms they chanced to have. "Give him a long shot quick!" cried Singleton. Fred fired instantly, and the bear stopped, and looked round, as much as to say: "Did you speak, gentlemen?" Then, not receiving a reply, he walked away with dignified indifference, and disappeared among the ice-hummocks. An hour afterwards the two wanderers were seated at a comfortable breakfast in the cabin of the _Dolphin_, relating their adventures to the captain and mates, and, although unwittingly, to Mivins, who generally managed so to place himself, while engaged in the mysterious operations of his little pantry, that most of the cabin-talk reached his ear, and travelled thence through his mouth to the forecastle. The captain was fully aware of this fact, but he winked at it, for there was nothing but friendly feeling on board the ship, and no secrets. When, however, matters of serious import had to be discussed, the cabin door was closed, and Mivins turned to expend himself on Davie Summers, who, in the capacity of a listener, was absolutely necessary to the comfortable existence of the worthy steward. Having exhausted their appetites and their information, Fred and Tom were told that, during their absence, a bear and two seals had been shot by Meetuck, the Esquimaux interpreter, whom they had taken on board at Uppernavik; and they were further informed that the ice was in motion to the westward, and that there was every probability of their being released by the falling tide. Having duly and silently weighed these facts for a few minutes, they simultaneously, and as if by a common impulse, yawned and retired to bed. CHAPTER NINE. THE DOLPHIN GETS BESET IN THE ICE--PREPARATIONS FOR WINTERING IN THE ICE--CAPTAIN GUY'S CODE OF LAWS. An accident now befell the _Dolphin_ which effectually decided the fate of the ship and her crew, at least for that winter. This was her getting aground near the ravine of the giant flagstaff before mentioned, and being finally beset by ice from which all efforts on the part of the men to extricate her proved abortive, and in which she was ultimately frozen in--hard and fast. The first sight the crew obtained of the red snow filled them with unbounded amazement, and a few of the more superstitious amongst them with awe approaching to fear. But soon their attention was attracted from this by the wonderful column. "Och, then! may I niver!" exclaimed O'Riley, the moment he caught sight of it, "if there ben't the north pole at long last--sure enough!" The laugh that greeted this remark was almost immediately checked, partly from the feelings of solemnity inspired by the magnificent view which opened up to them, and partly from a suspicion on the part of the more ignorant among the men that there might be some truth in O'Riley's statement after all. But their attention and energies were speedily called to the dangerous position of the ship, which unexpectedly took the ground in a bay where the water proved to be unusually shallow, and before they could warp her off, the ice closed round her in compact, immovable masses. At first Captain Guy was not seriously alarmed by this untoward event, although he felt a little chagrin in consequence of the detention, for the summer was rapidly advancing, and it behoved him to return to Baffin's Bay, and prosecute the whale-fishing as energetically as possible; but when day after day passed, and the ice round the ship still remained immovable, he became alarmed, and sought by every means in his power to extricate himself. His position was rendered all the more aggravating by the fact that, a week after he was beset, the main body of the ice in the strait opened up and drifted to the southward, leaving a comparatively clear sea through which he could have pushed his way without much difficulty in any direction, but the solid masses in which they lay embedded were fast to the ground for about fifty yards beyond the vessel, seaward, and until these should be floated away there was no chance of escape. "Get up some powder and canisters, Mr Bolton," he exclaimed, one morning after breakfast; "I'll try what can be done by blasting the ice. The highest spring tide will occur to-morrow, and if the ship don't move then we shall--" He did not finish the sentence, but turned on his heel, and walked forward, where he found Buzzby and some of the men preparing the ice-saws. "Ay, ay," muttered the mate, as he went below to give the necessary directions, "you don't need to conclude your speech, Captain. If we don't get out to-morrow, we're locked up for one winter at least if not more." "Ay, and ye'll no get oot to-morrow," remarked Saunders with a shake of his head, as he looked up from the log-book, in which he was making an entry. "We're hard and fast, so we'll just have to make the best o't." Saunders was right as the efforts of the next day proved. The ice lay around the vessel in solid masses, as we have said, and with each of the last three tides these masses had been slightly moved. Saws and ice chisels, therefore, had been in constant operation, and the men worked with the utmost energy, night and day, taking it by turns, and having double allowance of hot coffee served out to them. We may mention here that the _Dolphin_ carried no spirits, except what was needed for medicinal purposes, and for fuel to several small cooking-lamps that had been recently invented. It had now been proved by many voyagers of experience that in cold countries, as well as hot, men work harder, and endure the extremity of hardship better, without strong drink than with it, and the _Dolphin's_ crew were engaged on the distinct understanding that coffee, and tea, and chocolate were to be substituted for rum, and that spirits were never to be given to anyone on board, except in cases of extreme necessity. But, to return--although the men worked as only those can who toil for liberation from long imprisonment, no impression worth mentioning could be made on the ice. At length the attempt to rend it by means of gunpowder was made. A jar containing about thirty pounds of powder was sunk in a hole in an immense block of ice which lay close against the stern of the ship. Mivins, being light of foot, was set to fire the train. He did so, and ran--ran so fast that he missed his footing in leaping over a chasm, and had well-nigh fallen into the water below. There was a whiz and a loud report, and the enormous mass of ice heaved upwards in the centre, and fell back in huge fragments. So far the result was satisfactory, and the men were immediately set to sink several charges in various directions around the vessel, to be in readiness for the highest tide, which was soon expected. Warps and hawsers were also got out and fixed to the seaward masses, ready to heave on them at a moment's notice; the ship was lightened as much as possible, by lifting her stores upon the ice, and the whole crew--captain, mates, and all--worked and heaved like horses, until the perspiration streamed from their faces, while Mizzle kept supplying them with a constant deluge of hot coffee. Fred and the young surgeon, too, worked like the rest, with their coats off, handkerchiefs bound round their heads, and shirt-sleeves tucked up to their shoulders. At last the tide rose--inch by inch, and slowly, as if it grudged to give them even a chance of escape. Mivins grew impatient and unbelieving under it. "I don't think it'll rise another hinch," he remarked to O'Riley, who stood near him. "Niver fear, boy. The capting knows a sight better than you do, and _he_ says it'll rise a fut yit." "Does he?" asked Grim, who was also beginning to despond. "Ov coorse he does. Sure he towld me in a confidential way, just before he wint to turn in last night--if it wasn't yisturday forenoon, for it's meself as niver knows an hour o' the day since the sun became dissipated, and tuck to sittin' up all night in this fashion." "Shut up yer tatie trap and open yer weather eye," muttered Buzzby, who had charge of the gang, "there'll be time enough to speak after we're off." Gradually, as the tide rose, the ice and the ship moved, and it became evident that the latter was almost afloat though the former seemed to be only partly raised from the ground. The men were at their several posts ready for instant action, and gazing in anxious expectation at the captain, who stood, watch in hand, ready to give the word. "Now, then, fire!" he said in a low voice. In a moment the ice round the ship was rent and upheaved, as if some leviathan of the deep were rising from beneath it and the vessel swung slowly round. A loud cheer burst from the men. "Now, lads, heave with a will!" roared the captain. Round went the capstan, the windlass clanked, and the ship forged slowly ahead as the warps and hawsers became rigid. At that moment a heavy block of ice, which had been overbalanced by the motion of the vessel, fell with a crash on the rudder, splitting off a large portion of it, and drawing the iron bolts that held it completely out of the stern-post. "Never mind; heave away--for your lives!" cried the captain. "Jump on board all of you!" The few men who had until now remained on the ice scrambled up the side. There was a sheet of ice right ahead which the ship could not clear, but which she was pushing out to sea in advance of her. Suddenly this took the ground and remained motionless. "Out there with ice-chisels. Sink a hole like lightning. Prepare a canister, Mr Bolton; quick!" shouted the captain in desperation, as he sprang over the side and assisted to cut into the unwieldy obstruction. The charge was soon fixed and fired, but it only split the block in two, and left it motionless as before. A few minutes after, the ship again grounded; the ice settled round her; the spring tide was lost, and they were not delivered. Those who know the bitterness of repeated disappointment, and of hope deferred, may judge of the feelings with which the crew of the _Dolphin_ now regarded their position. Little, indeed, was said, but the grave looks of most of the men, and the absence of the usual laugh, and jest, and disposition to skylark, which on almost all other occasions characterised them, showed too plainly how heavily the prospect of a winter in the Arctic regions weighed upon their spirits. They continued their exertions to free the ship, however, for several days after the high tide, and did not finally give in until all reasonable hope of moving her was utterly annihilated. Before this, however, a reaction began to take place; the prospects of the coming winter were discussed, and some of the more sanguine looked even beyond the winter, and began to consider how they would contrive to get the ship out of her position into deep water again. Fred Ellice, too, thought of his father, and this abrupt check to the search, and his spirits sank again as his hopes decayed. But poor Fred, like the others, at last discovered that it was of no use to repine, and that it was best to face his sorrows and difficulties "like a man!" Among so many men there were all shades of character, and the fact that they were doomed to a year's imprisonment in the frozen regions was received in very different ways. Some looked grave and thought of it seriously; others laughed and treated it lightly; a few grumbled and spoke profanely, but most of them became quickly reconciled, and in a week or two nearly all forgot the past and the future in the duties, and cares, and amusements of the present. Captain Guy and his officers, however, and a few of the more sedate men, among whom were Buzzby and Peter Grim, looked forward with much anxiety, knowing full well the dangers and trials that lay before them. It is true the ship was provisioned for more than a year, but most of the provisions were salt, and Tom Singleton could have told them, had they required to be told, that without fresh provisions they stood a poor chance of escaping that dire disease, scurvy, before which have fallen so many gallant tars whom nothing in the shape of dangers or difficulties could subdue. There were, indeed, myriads of wild fowl flying about the ship, on which the men feasted and grew fat every day; and the muskets of Meetuck, and those who accompanied him, seldom failed to supply the ship with an abundance of the flesh of seals, walrus, and polar bears, portions of all of which creatures were considered very good indeed by the men, and particularly by the dogs, which grew so fat that they began to acquire a very disreputable waddle in their gait as they walked the deck for exercise, which they seldom did, by the way, being passionately fond of sleep! But birds and, perchance, beasts might be expected to take themselves off when the winter arrived, and leave the crew without fresh food. Then, although the _Dolphin_ was supplied with every necessary for a whaling expedition, and with many luxuries besides, she was ill-provided with the supplies that men deem absolutely indispensable for a winter in the Arctic regions, where the cold is so bitterly intense that, after a prolonged sojourn, men's minds become almost entirely engrossed by two clamant demands of nature--food and heat. They had only a small quantity of coal on board, and nothing except a few extra spars that could be used as a substitute, while the bleak shores afforded neither shrub nor tree of any kind. Meanwhile they had a sufficiency of everything they required for at least two or three months to come, and for the rest as Grim said, they had "stout hearts and strong arms." As soon as it became apparent that they were to winter in the bay, which the captain named the Bay of Mercy, all further attempt to extricate the ship was abandoned, and every preparation for spending the winter was begun and carried out vigorously. It was now that Captain Guy's qualities as a leader began to be displayed. He knew, from long experience and observation, that in order to keep up the _morale_ of any body of men it was absolutely necessary to maintain the strictest discipline. Indeed this rule is so universal in its application that many men find it advantageous to impose strict rules on themselves in the regulation of their time and affairs, in order to keep their own spirits under command. One of the captain's first resolves, therefore, was to call the men together and address them on this subject, and he seized the occasion of the first Sabbath morning they spent in the Bay of Mercy, when the crew were assembled on the quarterdeck, to speak to them. It was an exceedingly bright day. Captain Guy stood up, and, in an earnest, firm tone, said:-- "My lads, I consider it my duty to say a few plain words to you in reference to our present situation and prospects. I feel that the responsibility of having brought you here rests very much upon myself, and I deem it my solemn duty, in more than the ordinary sense, to do all I can to get you out of the ice again. You know as well as I do that this is impossible at the present time, and that we are compelled to spend a winter here. Some of you know what that means, but the most of you know it only by hearsay, and that's much the same as knowing nothing about it at all. Before the winter is done your energies and endurance will probably be taxed to the uttermost. I think it right to be candid with you. The life before you will not be child's-play, but I assure you that it may be mingled with much that will be pleasant and hearty if you choose to set about it in the right way. Well, then, to be short about it. There is no chance whatever of our getting through the winter in this ship comfortably, or even safely, unless the strictest discipline is maintained aboard. I know, for I've been in similar circumstances before, that when cold and hunger, and, it may be, sickness, press upon us--should it please the Almighty to send these on us in great severity--you will feel duty to be irksome, and you'll think it useless, and perhaps be tempted to mutiny. Now I ask you solemnly, while your minds are clear from all prejudices, each individually to sign a written code of laws, and a written promise that you will obey the same, and help me to enforce them even with the punishment of _death_, if need be. Now, lads, will you agree to that?" "Agreed, agreed!" cried the men at once, and in a tone of prompt decision that convinced their leader he had their entire confidence--a matter of the highest importance in the critical circumstances, in which they were placed. "Well, then, I'll read the rules; they are few, but sufficiently comprehensive. "First. Prayers shall be read every morning before breakfast, unless circumstances render it impossible to do so." The captain laid down the paper, and looked earnestly at the men. "My lads, I have never felt so strongly as I now do the absolute need we have of the blessing and guidance of the Almighty, and I am persuaded that it is our duty as well as our interest to begin, not only the Sabbath, but _every_ day with prayer. "Second. The ordinary duties of the ship shall be carried on, the watches regularly set and relieved, regular hours observed, and the details of duty attended to in the usual way, as when in harbour. "Third. The officers shall take watch and watch about as heretofore, except when required to do otherwise; the log-books, and meteorological observations, etcetera, shall be carried on as usual. "Fourth. The captain shall have supreme and absolute command as when at sea, but he, on his part, promises that, should any peculiar circumstance arise, in which the safety of the crew or ship shall be implicated, he will, if the men are so disposed, call a council of the whole crew, in which case the decision of the majority shall become law, but the minority in that event shall have it in their option to separate from the majority and carry along with them their share of the general provisions. "Fifth. Disobedience to orders shall be punishable according to the decision of a council, to be appointed specially for the purpose of framing a criminal code, hereafter to be submitted for the approval of the crew." The rules above laid down were signed by every man in the ship. Several of them could not write, but these affixed a cross (x) at the foot of the page, against which their names were written by the captain in presence of witnesses, which answered the same purpose. And from that time, until events occurred which rendered all such rules unnecessary, the work of the ship went on pleasantly and well. CHAPTER TEN. BEGINNING OF WINTER--MEETUCK EFFECTS A REMARKABLE CHANGE IN THE MEN'S APPEARANCE--MOSSING, AND WORKING, AND PLANS FOR A WINTER CAMPAIGN. In August the first frost came and formed "young ice" on the sea, but this lasted only for a brief hour or two, and was broken up by the tide and melted. By the 10th of September the young ice cemented the floes of last year's ice together, and soon rendered the ice round the ship immovable. Hummocks clustered round several rocky islets in the neighbourhood, and the rising and falling of the tide covered the sides of the rocks with bright crystals. All the feathered tribes took their departure for less rigorous climes, with the exception of a small white bird about the size of a sparrow, called the snow-bird, which is the last to leave the icy north. Then a tremendous storm arose, and the sea became choked up with icebergs and floes which the frost soon locked together into a solid mass. Towards the close of the storm snow fell in great abundance, and when the mariners ventured again to put their heads up the opened hatchways, the decks were knee-deep, the drift to windward was almost level with the bulwarks, every yard was edged with white, every rope and cord had a light side and a dark, every point and truck had a white button on it, and every hole, corner, crack, and crevice was choked up. The land and the sea were also clothed with this spotless garment, which is indeed a strikingly appropriate emblem of purity, and the only dark objects visible in the landscape were those precipices which were too steep for the snow to lie on, the towering form of the giant flag-staff, and the leaden clouds that rolled angrily across the sky. But these leaden clouds soon rolled off, leaving a blue wintry sky and a bright sun behind. The storm blew itself out early in the morning, and at breakfast-time on that day, when the sun was just struggling with the last of the clouds, Captain Guy remarked to his friends, who were seated round the cabin table: "Well, gentlemen, we must begin hard work to-day." "Hard work, Captain!" exclaimed Fred Ellice, pausing for a second or two in the hard work of chewing a piece of hard salt junk; "why, what do you call the work we've been engaged in for the last few weeks?" "Play, my lad; that was only play--just to bring our hands in, before setting to work in earnest! What do you think of the health of the men, Doctor?" "Never was better, but I fear the hospital will soon fill if you carry out your threat in regard to work." "No fear," remarked the second mate; "the more work the better health is my experience. Busy men have no time to git seek." "No doubt of it sir," said the first mate, bolting a large mouthful of pork. "Nothing so good for 'em as work." "There are two against you, Doctor," said the captain. "Then it's two to two," cried Fred, as he finished breakfast, "for I quite agree with Tom, and with that excellent proverb which says: `All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.'" The captain shook his head as he said: "Of all the nuisances I ever met with in a ship a semi-passenger is the worst. I think, Fred, I must get you bound apprentice, and give you regular work to do, you good-for-nothing." We need scarcely say that the captain jested, for Fred was possessed of a spirit that cannot rest, so to speak, unless at work. He was able to do almost anything _after a fashion_, and was never idle for a moment. Even when his hands chanced to be unemployed his brows were knitted, busily planning what to do next. "Well now, gentlemen," resumed the captain, "let us consider the order of business. The first thing that must be done now is to unstow the hold, and deposit its contents on the small island astern of us, which we shall call Store Island, for brevity's sake. Get a tent pitched there, Mr Bolton, and bank it up with snow. You can leave Grim to superintend the unloading. Then, Mr Saunders, do you go and set a gang of men to cut a canal through the young ice from the ship to the island. Fortunately the floes there are wide enough apart to let our quarter-boats float between them. The unshipping won't take long. Tell Buzzby to take a dozen men with him and collect moss; we'll need a large quantity for fuel, and if another storm like this comes, it'll be hard work to get down to it. Send Meetuck to me when you go on deck; I shall talk to him as to our prospects of finding deer hereabouts, and arrange a hunt. Doctor, you may either join the hunting party or post up the observations, etcetera, which have accumulated of late." "Thank you, Captain," said Singleton, "I'll accept the latter duty, the more willingly that I wish to have a careful examination of my botanical specimens." "And what am I to do, Captain?" enquired Fred. "What you please, lad." "Then I'll go and take care of Meetuck; he's apt to get into mischief when left--" At this moment a tremendous shout of laughter, long-continued, came from the deck, and a sound as of numbers of men dancing overhead was heard. The party in the cabin seized their caps and sprang up the companion, where they beheld a scene that accounted for the laughter, and induced them to join in it. At first sight it seemed as if thirty polar bears had boarded the vessel, and were executing a dance of triumph before proceeding to make a meal of the crew; but on closer inspection it became apparent that the men had undergone a strange transformation, and were capering with delight at the ridiculous appearance they presented. They were clad from head to foot in Esquimaux costume, and now bore as strong a resemblance to polar bears as man could attain to. Meetuck was the pattern and the chief instrument in effecting this change. At Uppernavik Captain Guy had been induced to purchase a large number of fox-skins, deer-skins, seal-skins, and other furs as a speculation, and had them tightly packed and stowed away in the hold, little imagining the purpose they were ultimately destined to serve. Meetuck had come on board in a mongrel sort of worn-out seal-skin dress, but the instant the cold weather set in he drew from a bundle, which he had brought with him, a dress made of the furs of the Arctic fox, some of the skins being white and the others blue. It consisted of a loose coat somewhat in the form of a shirt, with a large hood to it, and a short elongation behind like the commencement of a tail. The boots were made of white bear-skin which, at the end of the foot, were made to terminate with the claws of the animal, and they were so long that they came up the thigh under the coat, or "jumper" as the men called it, and thus served instead of trousers. He also wore fur mittens, with a bag for the fingers, and a separate little bag for the thumb. The hair on these garments was long and soft, and worn outside, so that when a man enveloped himself in them, and put up the hood, which well-nigh concealed the face, he became very much like a bear, or some such creature, standing on its hind-legs. Meetuck was a short, fat, burly little fellow by nature, but when he put on his winter dress he became such a round, soft, squat, hairy, and comical-looking creature that no one could look at him without laughing; and the shout with which he was received on deck the first time he made his appearance in his new costume was loud and prolonged. But Meetuck was as good-humoured an Esquimaux as ever speared a walrus or lanced a polar bear. He joined in the laugh, and cut a caper or two to show that he entered into the spirit of the joke. When the ship was set fast, and the thermometer fell pretty low, the men found that their ordinary dreadnoughts and pea-jackets, etcetera, were not a sufficient protection against the cold, and it occurred to the captain that his furs might now be turned to good account. Sailors are proverbially good needle-men of a rough kind. Meetuck showed them how to set about their work; each man made his own garments, and in less than a week they were completed. It is true the boots perplexed them a little, and the less ingenious among the men made very rare and curious-looking foot-gear for themselves, but they succeeded after a fashion, and at last the whole crew appeared on deck in their new habiliments, as we have already mentioned, capering among the snow like bears, to their own entire satisfaction and to the intense delight of Meetuck, who now came to regard the white men as brothers--so true is it that "the tailor makes the man!" "'Ow 'orribly 'eavy it is, hain't it?" gasped Mivins, after dancing round the main-hatch till he was nearly exhausted. "Heavy?" cried Buzzby, whose appearance was such that you would have hesitated to say whether his breadth or length was greater,--"heavy, d'ye say? It must be your sperrits wot's heavy, then, for I feel as light as a feather myself." "O morther! then may I niver sleep on a bed made o' sich feathers!" cried O'Riley, capering up to Green, the carpenter's mate, and throwing a mass of snow in his face. The frost rendered it impossible to form the snow into balls, but the men made up for this by throwing it about each other's eyes and ears in handfuls. "What d'ye mean by insultin' my mate?--take that!" said Peter Grim, giving the Irishman a twirl that tumbled him on the deck. "Oh, bad manners to ye," spluttered O'Riley, as he rose and ran away, "why don't ye hit a man o' yer own size." "'Deed, then, it must be because there's not one o' my own size to hit," remarked the carpenter with a broad grin. This was true. Grim's colossal proportions were increased so much by his hairy dress that he seemed to spread out into the dimensions of two large men rolled into one. But O'Riley was not to be overturned with impunity. Skulking round behind the crew, who were laughing at Grim's joke, he came upon the giant in the rear, and seizing the short tail of his jumper, pulled him violently down on the deck. "Ah! then give it him, boys," cried O'Riley, pushing the carpenter flat down, and obliterating his black beard and his whole visage in a mass of snow. Several of the wilder spirits among the men leaped on the prostrate Grim, and nearly smothered him before he could gather himself up for a struggle; then they fled in all directions, while their victim regained his feet and rushed wildly after them. At last he caught O'Riley, and grasping him by the two shoulders gave him a heave that was intended and "calc'lated," as Amos Parr afterwards remarked, "to pitch him over the foretop-sail-yard!" But an Irishman is not easily overcome. O'Riley suddenly straightened himself and held his arms up over his head, and the violent heave, which, according to Parr, was to have sent him to such an uncomfortable elevation, only pulled the jumper completely off his body, and left him free to laugh in the face of his big friend, and run away. At this point the captain deemed it prudent to interfere. "Come, come, my lads," he cried, "enough o' this! That's not the morning work, is it? I'm glad to find that your new dresses," he added with a significant smile, "make you fond of rough work in the snow; there's plenty of it before us. Come down below with me, Meetuck; I wish to talk with you." As the captain descended to the cabin the men gave a final cheer, and in ten minutes they were working laboriously at their various duties. Buzzby and his party were the first ready and off to cut moss. They drew a sledge after them towards the Red-snow Valley, which was not more than two miles distant from the ship. This "mossing", as it was termed, was by no means a pleasant duty. Before the winter became severe the moss could be cut out from the beds of the snow streams with comparative ease, but now the mixed turf of willows, heaths, grasses, and moss was frozen solid, and had to be quarried with crowbars and carried to the ship like so much stone. However, it was prosecuted vigorously, and a sufficient quantity was soon procured to pack on the decks of the ship, and around its sides, so as to keep out the cold. At the same time the operation of discharging the stores was carried on briskly, and Fred, in company with Meetuck, O'Riley, and Joseph West, started with the dog-sledge on a hunting expedition. In order to enable the reader better to understand the condition of the _Dolphin_ and her crew, we will detail the several arrangements that were made at this time and during the succeeding fortnight. As a measure of precaution, the ship, by means of blasting, sawing, and warping, was with great labour got into deeper water, where one night's frost set her fast with a sheet of ice three inches thick round her; in a few weeks this ice became several feet thick, and the snow drifted up her hull so much that it seemed as if she were resting on the land, and had taken final leave of her native element. Strong hawsers were then secured to Store Island in order to guard against the possibility of her being carried away by any sudden disruption of the ice. The disposition of the masts, yards, and sails were next determined on; the top-gallant masts were struck, the lower yards got down to the housings. The top-sail yards, gaff, and jib-boom, however, were left in their places. The top-sails and courses were kept bent to the yards, the sheets being unrove, and the clews tucked in. The rest of the binding sails were stowed on deck to prevent their thawing during winter; and the spare spars were lashed over the ship's sides, to leave a clear space for taking exercise in bad weather. The stores, in order to relieve the strain on the ship, were removed to Store Island, and snugly housed under the tent erected there, and then a thick bank of snow was heaped up round it. After this was accomplished, all the boats were hauled up beside the tent and covered with snow, except the two quarter boats, which were left hanging at the davits all winter. When the thermometer fell below zero it was found that the vapours below, and the breath of the men, condensed on the beams of the lower deck and in the cabin near the hatchway. It was therefore resolved to convert some sheet-iron, which they fortunately possessed, into pipes, which, being conducted from the cooking-stove through the length of the ship, served in some degree to raise the temperature and ventilate the cabins. A regular daily allowance of coal was served out, and four steady men appointed to attend to the fire in regular watches, for the double purpose of seeing that none of the fuel should be wasted, and of guarding against fire. They had likewise charge of the fire-pumps and buckets, and two tanks of water, all of which were kept in the hatchway in constant readiness in case of accidents. In addition to this, a fire-brigade was formed, with Joseph West, a steady, quiet, active young seaman, as its captain, and their stations in the event of fire were fixed beforehand; also a hole was kept constantly open in the ice alongside to ensure at all times a sufficient supply of water. Strict regulations as to cleanliness, and the daily airing of the hammocks, were laid down, and adhered to throughout the winter. A regular allowance of provisions was appointed to each man, so that they should not run the risk of starving before the return of the wild fowl in spring. But those provisions were all salt, and the captain trusted much to their hunting expeditions for a supply of fresh food, without which there would be little hope of their continuing in a condition of good health. Coffee was served out at breakfast, and cocoa at supper, besides being occasionally supplied at other times to men who had been engaged in exhausting work in extremely cold weather. Afterwards, when the dark season set in, and the crew were confined by the intense cold more than formerly within the ship, various schemes were set afoot for passing the time profitably and agreeably. Among others a school was started by the captain for instructing such of the crew as chose to attend in reading, writing, and arithmetic, and in this hyperborean academy Fred Ellice acted as the writing-master, and Tom Singleton as the accountant. The men were much amused at first at the idea of "goin' to school", and some of them looked rather shy at it, but O'Riley, after some consideration, came boldly forward and said: "Well, boys, bad luck to me if I don't think I'll be a scholard afther all. My old gran'mother used to tell me, whin I refused to go to the school that was kip be an owld man as tuck his fees out in murphies and photteen,--says she: `Ah ye spalpeen, ye'll niver be cliverer nor the pig, ye wont.' `Ah, then, I hope not,' says I, `for sure she's far the cliverest in the house, an' ye wouldn't have me to be cliverer than me own gran'mother, would ye?' says I. So I niver wint to school, and more be token, I can't sign me name, and if it was only to learn how to do that, I'll go and jine; indeed I will." So O'Riley joined, and before long every man in the ship was glad to join, in order to have something to do. The doctor also, twice a week, gave readings from Shakespeare, a copy of which he had fortunately brought with him. He also read extracts from the few other books they happened to have on board, and after a time, finding unexpectedly that he had a talent that way, he began to draw upon his memory and his imagination, and told long stories (which were facetiously called _lectures_) to the men, who listened to them with great delight. Then Fred started an illustrated newspaper once a week, which was named the _Arctic Sun_, and which was in great favour during the whole course of its brief existence. It is true, only one copy was issued each morning of publication, because, besides supplying the greater proportion of the material himself, and executing the illustrations in a style that would have made Mr Leech of the present day envious, he had to transcribe the various contributions he received from the men and others in a neat, legible hand. But this _one_ copy was perused and reperused as no single copy of any paper extant--not excepting _The Times_ or _Punch_--has ever yet been perused; and when it was returned to the editor to be carefully placed in the archives of the _Dolphin_, it was emphatically the worse for wear. Besides all this, a theatre was set agoing--of which we shall have more to say hereafter. In thus minutely recounting the various expedients which these banished men fell upon to pass the long dark hours of an Arctic winter, we may, perhaps, give the reader the impression that a great deal of thought and time were bestowed upon _amusement_, as if that were the chief end and object of their life in those regions. But we must remind him that though many more pages might be filled in recounting all the particulars, but a small portion of their time was, after all, taken up in this way; and it would have been well for them had they been able to find more to amuse them than they did, for the depressing influence of the long-continued darkness, and the want of a sufficiency of regular employment for so many months, added to the rigorous nature of the climate in which they dwelt, well-nigh broke their spirits at last. In order to secure warmth during winter, the deck of the ship was padded with moss about a foot deep, and, down below, the walls were lined with the same material. The floors were carefully plastered with common paste, and covered with oakum a couple of inches deep, over which a carpet of canvas was spread. Every opening in the deck was fastened down and covered deeply over with moss, with the exception of one hatch, which was their only entrance, and this was kept constantly closed, except when it was desirable to ventilate. Curtains were hung up in front of it to prevent draughts. A canvas awning was also spread over the decks from stem to stern, so that it was confidently hoped the _Dolphin_ would prove a snug tenement even in the severest cold. As has been said before, the snow-drift almost buried the hull of the ship; and, as snow is a good _non-conductor_ of heat, this further helped to keep up the temperature within. A staircase of snow was built up to the bulwarks on the larboard quarter, and on the starboard side an inclined plane of snow was sloped down to the ice to facilitate the launching of the sledges when they had to be pulled on deck. Such were the chief arrangements and preparations that were made by our adventurers for spending the winter; but although we have described them at this point in our story, many of them were not completed until a much later period. CHAPTER ELEVEN. A HUNTING EXPEDITION, IN THE COURSE OF WHICH THE HUNTERS MEET WITH MANY INTERESTING, DANGEROUS, PECULIAR, AND REMARKABLE EXPERIENCES, AND MAKE ACQUAINTANCE WITH SEALS, WALRUS, DEER, AND RABBITS. We must now return to Fred Ellice and his companions, Meetuck the Esquimaux, O'Riley, and Joseph West, whom we left while they were on the point of starting on a hunting expedition. They took the direction of the ice hummocks out to the sea, and, seated comfortably on a large sledge, were dragged by the team of dogs over the ice at the rate of ten miles an hour. "Well! did I iver expect to ride in a carriage and six?" exclaimed O'Riley in a state of great glee as the dogs dashed forward at full speed, while Meetuck flourished his awful whip, making it crack like a pistol-shot ever and anon. The sledge on which they travelled was of the very curious and simple construction peculiar to the Esquimaux, and was built by Peter Grim under the direction of Meetuck. It consisted of two runners of about ten feet in length, six inches high, two inches broad, and three feet apart. They were made of tough hickory, slightly curved in front, and were attached to each other by cross bars. At the stem of the vehicle there was a low back composed of two uprights and a single bar across. The whole machine was fastened together by means of tough lashings of raw seal-hide, so that, to all appearance, it was a rickety affair, ready to fall to pieces. In reality, however, it was very strong. No metal nails of any kind could have held in the keen frost; they would have snapped like glass at the first jolt; but the seal-skin fastenings yielded to the rude shocks and twistings, to which the sledge was subjected, and seldom gave way, or, if they did, were easily and speedily renewed without the aid of any other implement than a knife. But the whip was the most remarkable part of the equipage. The handle was only sixteen inches in length, but the lash was twenty _feet_ long, made of the toughest seal-skin, and as thick as a man's wrist near the handle, whence it tapered off to a fine point. The labour of using such a formidable weapon is so great that Esquimaux usually, when practicable, travel in couples, one sledge behind the other. The dogs of the last sledge follow mechanically and require no whip, and the riders change about so as to relieve each other. When travelling, the whip trails behind, and can be brought with a tremendous crack that makes the hair fly from the wretch that is struck--and Esquimaux are splendid _shots_, so to speak. They can hit any part of a dog with certainty, but usually rest satisfied with simply cracking the whip, a sound that produces an answering yell of terror whether the lash takes effect or not. Our hunters were clothed in their Esquimaux garments, and cut the oddest imaginable figures. They had a soft, rotund, cuddled-up appearance that was powerfully suggestive of comfort. The sled carried one day's provisions, a couple of walrus harpoons, with a sufficient quantity of rope, four muskets, with the requisite ammunition, an Esquimaux cooking-lamp, two stout spears, two tarpaulins to spread on the snow, and four blanket sleeping-bags. These last were six feet long, and just wide enough for a man to crawl into at night, feet first. "What a jolly style of travelling, isn't it?" cried Fred, as the dogs sprang wildly forward, tearing the sledge behind them, Dumps and Poker leading, and looking as lively as crickets. "Well now, isn't it true that wits jump?--that's jist what I was sayin' to meself," remarked O'Riley, grinning from ear to ear as he pulled the fur hood farther over his head, crossed his arms more firmly on his breast, and tried to double himself up as he sat there like an overgrown rat. "I wouldn't exchange it with the Lord Mayor o' London and his coach an' six--so I wouldn't. Arrah! have a care, Meetuck, ye baste, or ye'll have us kilt." This last exclamation was caused by the reckless driver dashing over a piece of rough ice that nearly capsized the sledge. Meetuck did not answer, but he looked over his shoulder with a quiet smile on his oily countenance. "Ah, then, ye may laugh!" said O'Riley, with a menacing look, "but av ye break a bone o' me body I'll--" Down went the dogs into a crack in the ice as he spoke, over went the sledge, and hurled them all out upon the ice. "Musha! but ye've done it!" "Hallo, West, are you hurt?" cried Fred anxiously, as he observed the sailor fall heavily on the ice. "Oh no, sir; all right, thank you!" replied the man, rising alertly and limping to the sledge. "Only knocked the skin off my shin, sir." West was a quiet, serious, polite man, an American by birth, who was much liked by the crew in consequence of a union of politeness and modesty with a disposition to work far beyond his strength. He was not very robust, however, and in powers of physical endurance scarcely fitted to engage in an Arctic expedition. "An' don't ye think it's worth makin' enquiries about _me_?" cried O'Riley, who had been tossed into a crevice in a hummock, where he lay jammed and utterly unable to move. Fred and the Esquimaux laughed heartily, while O'Riley extricated himself from his awkward position. Fortunately no damage was done, and in five minutes they were flying over the frozen sea as madly as ever in the direction of the point at the opposite side of Red-snow Valley, where a cloud of frost-smoke indicated open water. "Now, look you, Mr Meetuck, av ye do that again ye'll better don't, let me tell ye. Sure the back o' me's track entirely," said O'Riley, as he rearranged himself with a look of comfort that belied his words. "Och, there ye go again," he cried, as the sled suddenly fell about six inches, from a higher level to a lower, where the floe had cracked, causing the teeth of the whole party to come together with a snap. "A man dursen't spake for fear o' bitin' his tongue off." "No fee," said Meetuck, looking over his shoulder with a broader smirk. "No fee, ye lump of pork! it's a double fee I'll have to pay the dacter an ye go on like that." _No fee_ was Meetuck's best attempt at the words _no fear_. He had picked up a little English during his brief sojourn with the sailors, and already understood much of what was said to him, but words were as yet few, and his manner of pronouncing them peculiar. "Holo! look! look!" cried the Esquimaux, leaping suddenly off the sledge and checking the dogs. "Eh! what! where?" ejaculated Fred, seizing his musket. "I think I see something, sir," cried West, shading his eyes with his hand, and gazing earnestly in the direction indicated by Meetuck. "So do I, be the mortial!" said O'Riley in a hoarse whisper. "I see the mountains and the sky, I do, as plain as the nose on me face!" "Hush! stop your nonsense, man," said Fred. "I see a deer, I'm certain of it." Meetuck nodded violently to indicate that Fred was right. "Well, what's to be done? luckily we are well to leeward, and it has neither sighted nor scented us." Meetuck replied by gestures and words to the effect that West and O'Riley should remain with the dogs, and keep them quiet, under the shelter of a hummock, while he and Fred should go after the reindeer. Accordingly, away they went making a pretty long detour in order to gain the shore, and come upon it under the shelter of the grounded floes, behind which they might approach without being seen. In hurrying along the coast they observed the footprints of a musk ox, and also of several Arctic hares and foxes, which delighted them much, for hitherto they had seen none of those animals, and were beginning to be fearful lest they should not visit that part of the coast at all. Of course Fred knew not what sort of animals had made the tracks in question, but he was an adept at guessing, and the satisfied looks of his companion gave him reason to believe that he was correct in his surmises. In half an hour they came within range, and Fred, after debating with himself for some time as to the propriety of taking the first shot, triumphed over himself, and, stepping back a pace, motioned to the Esquimaux to fire. But Meetuck was an innate gentleman, and modestly declined, so Fred advanced, took a good aim, and fired. The deer bounded away, but stumbled as it went, showing that it was wounded. "Ha! ha! Meetuck," exclaimed Fred, as he recharged in tremendous excitement (taking twice as long to load in consequence), "I've improved a little you see in my shoot--, o' bother this--ramrod!--tut! tut! there, that's it." Bang went Meetuck's musket at that moment, and the deer tumbled over upon the snow. "Well done, old fellow!" cried Fred, springing forward. At the same instant a white hare darted across his path, at which he fired, without even putting the gun to his shoulder, and knocked it over, to his own intense amazement. The three shots were the signal for the men to come up with the sledge, which they did at full gallop, O'Riley driving, and flourishing the long whip about in a way that soon entangled it hopelessly with the dogs' traces. "Ah, then, ye've done it this time, ye have, sure enough! Musha! what a purty crature it is. Now, isn't it, West? Stop, then, won't ye (to the restive dogs), ye've broke my heart entirely, and the whip's tied up into iver so many knots. Arrah, Meetuck! ye may drive yer coach yerself for me, you may; I've had more nor enough of it." In a few minutes the deer and the hare were lashed to the sledge--which the Irishman asserted was a great improvement, inasmuch as the carcass of the former made an excellent seat--and they were off again at full gallop over the floes. They travelled without further interruption or mishap until they drew near to the open water, when suddenly they came upon a deep fissure or crack in the ice, about four feet wide, with water in the bottom. Here they came to a dead stop. "Arrah! what's to be done now?" enquired O'Riley. "Indeed I don't know," replied Fred, looking toward Meetuck for advice. "Hup, cut-up ice, mush, hurroo!" said that fat individual. Fortunately he followed his advice with a practical illustration of its meaning. Seizing an axe he ran to the nearest hummock, and, chopping it down, rolled the heaviest pieces he could move into the chasm. The others followed his example, and, in the course of an hour, the place was bridged across, and the sledge passed over. But the dogs required a good deal of coaxing to get them to trust to this rude bridge, which their sagacity taught them was not to be depended on like the works of nature. A quarter of an hour's drive brought them to a place where there was another crack of little more than two feet across. Meetuck stretched his neck and took a steady look at this as they approached it at full gallop. Being apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, he resumed his look of self-satisfied placidity. "Look out, Meetuck, pull up!" cried Fred in some alarm; but the Esquimaux paid no attention. "O morther, we're gone now, for iver," exclaimed O'Riley, shutting his eyes and clenching his teeth as he laid fast hold of the sides of the sledge. The feet of the dogs went faster and faster until they pattered on the hard surface of the snow like rain. Round came the long whip, as O'Riley said, "like the shot of a young cannon," and the next moment they were across, skimming over the ice on the other side like the wind. It happened that there had been a break in the ice at this point on the previous night, and the floes had been cemented by a sheet of ice only an inch thick. Upon this, to the consternation even of Meetuck himself, they now passed, and in a moment, ere they were aware, they were passing over a smooth, black surface that undulated beneath them like the waves of the sea and crackled fearfully. There was nothing for it but to go on. A moment's halt would have allowed the sledge to break through and leave them struggling in the water. There was no time for remark. Each man held his breath. Meetuck sent the heavy lash with a tremendous crack over the backs of the whole team, but just as they neared the solid floe, the left runner broke through. In a moment the men flung themselves horizontally upon their breasts, and scrambled over the smooth surface until they gained the white ice, while the sledge and the dogs nearest to it were sinking. One vigorous pull, however, by dogs and men together, dragged the sledge upon the solid floe, even before the things in it had got wet. "Safe!" cried Fred, as he hauled on the sledge rope to drag it farther out of danger. "So we are," replied O'Riley, breathing very hard, "and it's meself thought to have had a wet skin at this minute. Come, West, lind a hand to fix the dogs, will ye?" A few minutes sufficed to put all to rights and enable them to start afresh. Being now in the neighbourhood of dangerous ice, they advanced with a little more caution; the possibility of seals being in the neighbourhood also rendered them more circumspect. It was well that they were on the alert, for a band of seals were soon after descried in a pool of open water not far ahead, and one of them was lying on the ice. There were no hummocks, however, in the neighbourhood to enable them to approach unseen; but the Esquimaux was prepared for such a contingency. He had brought a small sledge, of about two feet in length by a foot and a half in breadth, which he now unfastened from the large sledge, and proceeded quietly to arrange it, to the surprise of his companions, who had not the least idea what he was about to do, and watched his proceedings with much interest. "Is it to sail on the ice ye're goin', boy?" enquired O'Riley, at last, when he saw Meetuck fix a couple of poles, about four feet long, into a hole in the little sledge, like two masts, and upon these spread a piece of canvas upwards of a yard square, with a small hole in the centre of it. But Meetuck answered not. He fastened the canvas "sail" to a cross-yard above and below. Then, placing a harpoon and coil of rope on the sledge, and taking up his musket, he made signs to the party to keep under the cover of a hummock, and, pushing the sledge before him, advanced towards the seals in a stooping posture, so as to be completely hid behind the bit of canvas. "Oh the haythen, I see it now!" exclaimed O'Riley, his face puckering up with fun. "Ah, but it's a cliver trick, no doubt of it!" "What a capital dodge!" said Fred, crouching behind the hummock, and watching the movements of the Esquimaux with deep interest. "West, hand me the little telescope; you'll find it in the pack." "Here it is, sir," said the man, pulling out a glass of about six inches long, and handing it to Fred. "How many is there, an' ye plaze?" "Six, I think; yes--one, two, three,--I can't make them out quite, but I think there are six, besides the one on the ice. Hist! there he sees him. Ah! Meetuck, he's too quick for you." As he spoke, the seal on the ice began to show symptoms of alarm. Meetuck had approached to within shot, but he did not fire; the wary Esquimaux had caught sight of another object which a lump of ice had hitherto concealed from view. This was no less a creature than a walrus, who chanced at that time to come up to take a gulp of fresh air, and lave his shaggy front in the brine, before going down again to the depths of his ocean home. Meetuck, therefore, allowed the seal to glide quietly into the sea, and advanced towards this new object of attack. At length he took a steady aim through the hole in the canvas screen, and fired. Instantly the seal dived, and at the same time the water round the walrus was lashed into foam, and tinged with red. It was evidently badly wounded, for had it been only slightly hurt it would probably have dived. Meetuck immediately seized his harpoon, and rushed towards the struggling monster, while Fred grasped a gun, and O'Riley a harpoon, and ran to his assistance. West remained to keep back the dogs. As Meetuck gained the edge of the ice the walrus recovered partially and tried, with savage fury, to reach his assailant, who planted the harpoon deep in its breast, and held on to the rope while the animal dived. "Whereabouts is he?" cried O'Riley, as he came panting to the scene of action. As he spoke, the walrus ascended almost under his nose, with a loud bellow, and the Irishman started back in terror as he surveyed at close quarters, for the first time, the colossal and horrible countenance of this elephant of the northern sea. O'Riley was no coward, but the suddenness of the apparition was too much for him, and we need not wonder that in his haste he darted the harpoon far over the animal's head into the sea beyond. Neither need we feel surprised that when Fred took aim at its forehead, the sight of its broad muzzle, fringed with bristling moustache and defended by huge tusks, caused him to miss it altogether. But O'Riley recovered, hauled his harpoon back, and succeeded in planting it deep under the creature's left flipper, and Fred, reloading, lodged a ball in its head which finished it. With great labour the four men, aided by the dogs, drew it out upon the ice. This was a great prize, for walrus flesh is not much inferior to beef, and would be an acceptable addition of fresh meat for the use of the _Dolphin's_ crew, and there was no chance of it spoiling, for the frost was now severe enough to freeze every animal solid almost immediately after it was killed. The body of this walrus was not less than eighteen feet long and eleven in circumference. It was more like an elephant in bulk and rotundity than any other creature. It partook very much of the form of a seal, having two large paw-like flippers, with which, when struggling for life, it had more than once nearly succeeded in getting upon the ice. Its upper face had a square, bluff aspect, and its broad muzzle and cheeks were completely covered by a coarse, quill-like beard of bristles, which gave to it a peculiarly ferocious appearance. The notion that the walrus resembles man is very much overrated. The square, bluff shape of the head already referred to, destroys the resemblance to humanity when distant, and its colossal size does the same when near. Some of the seals deserve this distinction more, their drooping shoulders and oval faces being strikingly like to those of man when at a distance. The white ivory tusks of this creature were carefully measured by Fred, and found to be thirty inches long. The resemblance of the walrus to our domestic land-animals has obtained for it, among sailors, the names of the sea-horse and sea-cow, and the records of its ferocity when attacked are numerous. Its hide is nearly an inch thick, and is put to many useful purposes by the Esquimaux, who live to a great extent on the flesh of this creature. They cut up his hide into long lines, to attach to the harpoons, with which they catch himself, the said harpoons being pointed with his own tusks. This tough hide is not the only garment the walrus wears to protect him from the cold. He also wears under-flannels of thick fat and a top-coat of close hair, so that he can take a siesta on an iceberg without the least inconvenience. Talking of siestas, by the way, the walrus is sometimes "caught napping". Occasionally, when the weather is intensely cold, the hole through which he crawls upon the ice gets frozen over so solidly that, on waking, he finds it beyond even his enormous power to break it. In this extremity there is no alternative but to go to sleep again, and--die! which he does as comfortably as he can. The polar bears, however, are quick to smell him out, and assembling round his carcass for a feast, they dispose of him, body and bones, without ceremony. As it was impossible to drag this unwieldy animal to the ship that night, for the days had now shortened very considerably, the hunters hauled it towards the land, and, having reached the secure ice, prepared to encamp for the night under the lee of a small iceberg. CHAPTER TWELVE. A DANGEROUS SLEEP INTERRUPTED--A NIGHT IN A SNOW-HUT, AND AN UNPLEASANT VISITOR--SNOWED UP. "Now then," cried Fred, as they drew up on a level portion of the ice-floe, where the snow on its surface was so hard that the runners of the sledge scarce made an impression on it, "let us to work, lads, and get the tarpaulins spread; we shall have to sleep to-night under star-spangled bed-curtains." "Troth," said O'Riley, gazing round towards the land, where the distant cliffs loomed black and heavy in the fading light, and out upon the floes and hummocks, where the frost smoke from pools of open water on the horizon circled round the pinnacles of the icebergs,--"troth, it's a cowld place intirely to go to wan's bed in, but that fat-faced Exqueemaw seems to be settin' about it quite coolly; so here goes!" "It would be difficult to set about it otherwise than coolly with the thermometer thirty-five below zero," remarked Fred, beating his hands together, and stamping his feet, while the breath issued from his mouth like dense clouds of steam, and fringed the edges of his hood and the breast of his jumper with hoar-frost. "It's quite purty, it is," remarked O'Riley, in reference to this wreath of hoar-frost, which covered the upper parts of each of them; "it's jist like the ermine that kings and queens wear, so I'm towld, and it's chaper a long way." "I don't know that," said Joseph West. "It has cost us a rough voyage and a winter in the Arctic regions, if it doesn't cost us more yet, to put that ermine fringe on our jumpers. I can make nothing of this knot; try what you can do with it, messmate, will you?" "Sorra wan o' me 'll try it," cried O'Riley, suddenly leaping up and swinging both arms violently against his shoulders; "I've got two hands, I have, but niver a finger on them--leastwise I feel none, though it _is_ some small degrae o' comfort to see them." "My toes are much in the same condition," said West, stamping vigorously until he brought back the circulation. "Dance, then, wid me," cried the Irishman, suiting his action to the word. "I've a mortial fear o' bein' bit wid the frost for it's no joke, let me tell you. Didn't I see a whole ship's crew wance that wos wrecked in the Gulf o' Saint Lawrence about the beginnin' o' winter, and before they got to a part o' the coast where there was a house belongin' to the fur-traders, ivery man-jack o' them was frost-bit more or less, they wor. Wan lost a thumb, and another the jint of a finger or two, and most o' them had two or three toes off, an' there wos wan poor fellow who lost the front half o' wan fut, an' the heel o' the other, an' two inches o' the bone was stickin' out. Sure, it's truth I'm tellin' ye, for I seed it wid me own two eyes, I did." The earnest tones in which the last words were spoken convinced his comrades that O'Riley was telling the truth, so, having a decided objection to be placed in similar circumstances, they danced and beat each other until they were quite in a glow. "Why, what are you at there, Meetuck?" exclaimed Fred, pausing. "Igloe, make," replied the Esquimaux. "Ig--what?" enquired O'Riley. "Oh, I see!" shouted Fred, "he's going to make a snow-hut,--igloes they call them here. Capital!--I never thought of that! Come along; let's help him!" Meetuck was indeed about to erect one of those curious dwellings of snow, in which, for the greater part of the year, his primitive countrymen dwell. He had no taste for star-spangled bed-curtains, when solid walls, whiter than the purest dimity, were to be had for nothing. His first operation in the erection of this hut was to mark out a circle of about seven feet diameter. From the inside of this circle the snow was cut by means of a long knife in the form of slabs nearly a foot thick, and from two to three feet long, having a slight convexity on the outside. These slabs were then so cut and arranged that, when they were piled upon each other round the margin of the circle, they formed a dome-shaped structure like a bee-hive, which was six feet high inside, and remarkably solid. The slabs were cemented together with loose snow, and every accidental chink or crevice filled up with the same material. The natives sometimes insert a block of clear ice in the roof for a window, but this was dispensed with on the present occasion--firstly, because there was no light to let in; and, secondly, because if there had been, they didn't want it. The building of the hut occupied only an hour, for the hunters were cold and hungry, and in their case the old proverb might have been paraphrased: "No _work_, no supper." A hole, just large enough to permit a man to creep through on his hands and knees, formed the door of this bee-hive. Attached to this hole, and cemented to it, was a low tunnel of about four feet in length. When finished, both ends of the tunnel were closed up with slabs of hard snow, which served the purpose of double doors, and effectually kept out the cold. While this tunnel was approaching completion, Fred retired to a short distance, and sat down to rest a few minutes on a block of ice. A great change had come over the scene during the time they were at work on the snow-hut. The night had settled down, and now the whole sky was lit up with the vivid and beautiful coruscations of the Aurora Borealis--that magnificent meteor of the north which, in some measure, makes up to the inhabitants for the absence of the sun. It spread over the whole extent of the sky in the form of an irregular arch, and was intensely brilliant. But the brilliancy varied, as the green ethereal fire waved mysteriously to and fro, or shot up long streamers toward the zenith. These streamers, or "merry dancers" as they are sometimes termed, were at times peculiarly bright. Their colour was most frequently yellowish white, sometimes greenish, and once or twice of a lilac tinge. The strength of the light was something greater than that of the moon in her quarter, and the stars were dimmed when the Aurora passed over them as if they had been covered with a delicate gauze veil. But that which struck our hero as being most remarkable was the magnitude and dazzling brightness of the host of stars that covered the black firmament. It seemed as if they were magnified in glory, and twinkled so much that the sky seemed, as it were, to tremble with light. A feeling of deep solemnity filled Fred's heart as he gazed upwards; and as he thought upon the Creator of these mysterious worlds--and remembered that He came to this little planet of ours to work out the miracle of our redemption, the words that he had often read in the Bible: "Lord, what is man that thou art mindful of him?" came forcibly to his remembrance, and he felt the appropriateness of that sentiment which the sweet singer of Israel has expressed in the words: "Praise ye him, sun and moon; praise him, all ye stars of light." There was a deep, solemn stillness all around--a stillness widely different from that peaceful composure which characterises a calm day in an inhabited land. It was the death-like stillness of that most peculiar and dreary desolation which results from the total absence of animal existence. The silence was so oppressive that it was with a feeling of relief he listened to the low, distant voices of the men as they paused ever and anon in their busy task to note and remark on the progress of their work. In the intense cold of an Arctic night the sound of voices can be heard at a much greater distance than usual, and although the men were far off, and hummocks of ice intervened between them and Fred, their tones broke distinctly, though gently, on his ear. Yet these sounds did not interrupt the unusual stillness. They served rather to impress him more forcibly with the vastness of that tremendous solitude in the midst of which he stood. Gradually his thoughts turned homeward, and he thought of the dear ones who circled round his own fireside, and, perchance, talked of him; of the various companions he had left behind, and the scenes of life and beauty where he used to wander; but such memories led him irresistibly to the far north again, for in all home-scenes the figure of his father started up, and he was back again in an instant, searching toilsomely among the floes and icebergs of the Polar Seas. It _was_ the invariable ending of poor Fred's meditations, and, however successful he might be in entering, for a time, into the spirit of fun that characterised most of the doings of his shipmates, and in following the bent of his own joyous nature, in the hours of solitude, and in the dark night, when no one saw him, his mind ever reverted to the one engrossing subject, like the oscillating needle to the pole. As he continued to gaze up, long and earnestly, into the starry sky, his thoughts began to wander over the past and the present at random, and a cold shudder warned him that it was time to return to the hut; but the wandering thoughts and fancies seemed to chain him to the spot, so that he could not tear himself away. Then a dreamy feeling of rest and comfort began to steal over his senses, and he thought how pleasant it would be to lie down and slumber; but he knew that would be dangerous, so he determined not to do it. Suddenly he felt himself touched, and heard a voice whispering in his ear. Then it sounded loud. "Hallo, sir! Mr Ellice! Wake up, sir, d'ye hear me?" and he felt himself shaken so violently that his teeth rattled together. Opening his eyes reluctantly, he found that he was stretched at full length on the snow, and Joseph West was shaking him by the shoulder as if he meant to dislocate his arm. "Hallo, West! is that you? Let me alone, man, I want to sleep." Fred sank down again instantly--that deadly sleep, produced by cold, and from which those who indulge in it never awaken, was upon him. "Sleep!" cried West frantically, "you'll die, sir, if you don't rouse up. Hallo! Meetuck! O'Riley! help here!" "I tell you," murmured Fred faintly, "I want to sleep--only a moment or two--ah! I see; is the hut finished? Well, well, go, leave me. I'll follow--in--a--" His voice died away again, just as Meetuck and O'Riley came running up. The instant the former saw how matters stood, he raised Fred in his powerful arms, set him on his feet, and shook him with such vigour that it seemed as if every bone in his body must be forced out of joint. "What mane ye by that, ye blubber-bag?" cried the Irishman wrathfully, doubling his mittened fists and advancing in a threatening manner towards the Esquimaux; but, seeing that the savage paid not the least attention to him, and kept on shaking Fred violently with a good-humoured smile on his countenance, he wisely desisted from interfering. In a few minutes Fred was able to stand and look about him with a stupid expression, and immediately the Esquimaux dragged, and pushed, and shook him along towards the snow-hut, into which he was finally thrust, though with some trouble, in consequence of the lowness of the tunnel. Here, by means of rubbing and chafing, with a little more buffeting, he was restored to some degree of heat; on seeing which Meetuck uttered a quiet grunt, and immediately set about preparing supper. "I do believe I've been asleep," said Fred, rising and stretching himself vigorously as the bright flame of a tin lamp shot forth and shed a yellow lustre on the white walls. "Aslape is it! be me conscience an' ye have just. Oh then, may I never indulge in the same sort o' slumber!" "Why so?" asked Fred in some surprise. "You fell asleep on the ice, sir," answered West, while he busied himself in spreading the tarpaulin and blanket-bags on the floor of the hut, "and you were very near frozen to death." "Frozen, musha! I'm not too shure that he's melted yit!" said O'Riley, taking him by the arm and looking at him dubiously. Fred laughed. "Oh yes; I'm melted now! But let's have supper, else I shall faint for hunger. Did I sleep many hours?" "You slept only five minutes," said West, in some surprise at the question. "You were only gone about ten minutes altogether." This was indeed the case. The intense desire for sleep which is produced in Arctic countries when the frost seizes hold of the frame soon confuses the faculties of those who come under its influence. As long as Fred had continued to walk and work, he felt quite warm, but the instant he sat down on the lump of ice to rest, the frost acted on him. Being much exhausted, too, by labour and long fasting, he was more susceptible than he would otherwise have been to the influence of cold, so that it chilled him at once, and produced that deadly lethargy from which, but for the timely aid of his companions, he would never have recovered. The arrangements for supping and spending the night made rapid progress, and under the influence of fire and animal heat--for the dogs were taken in beside them--the igloe became comfortably warm; yet the snow-walls did not melt, or become moist, the intense cold without being sufficient to counteract and protect them from the heat within. The fair roof, however, soon became very dingy, and the odour of melted fat rather powerful. But Arctic travellers are proof against such trifles. The tarpaulin was spread over the floor, and a tin lamp, into which several fat portions of the walrus were put, was suspended from a stick thrust into the wall. Round this lamp the hunters circled, each seated on his blanket-bag, and each attended to the duty which devolved upon him. Meetuck held a tin kettle over the flame, till the snow, with which it was filled, melted and became cold water, and then gradually heated until it boiled; and all the while he employed himself in masticating a lump of raw walrus flesh, much to the amusement of Fred, and to the disgust, real or pretended, of O'Riley. But the Irishman, and Fred too, and every man on board the _Dolphin_, came at last to _relish_ raw meat, and to long for it. The Esquimaux prefer it raw in these parts of the world (although some travellers assert that in more southern latitudes they prefer cooked meat), and with good reason, for it is much more nourishing than cooked flesh; and learned, scientific men, who have wintered in the Arctic regions, have distinctly stated that in those cold countries they found raw meat to be better for them than cooked meat, and they assure us that they at last came to _prefer_ it! We would not have our readers to begin forthwith to dispense with the art of cookery, and cast Soyer to the dogs; but we would have them henceforth refuse to accept that common opinion, and vulgar error, that Esquimaux eat their food raw _because they are savages_. They do it because nature teaches them that, under the circumstances, it is best. The duty that devolved upon O'Riley was to roast small steaks of the walrus, in which operation he was assisted by West, while Fred undertook to get out the biscuit-bag and pewter plates, and to infuse the coffee when the water should boil. It was a strange feast in a strange place, but it proved to be a delightful one; for hunger requires not to be tempted, and is not fastidious. "Oh, but it's good, isn't it?" remarked O'Riley, smacking his lips, as he swallowed a savoury morsel of the walrus and tossed the remnant--a sinewy bit--to Dumps, who sat gazing sulkily at the flame of the lamp, having gorged himself long before the bipeds began supper. "Arrah! ye won't take it, won't ye? Here, Poker!" Poker sprang forward, wagging the stump of his tail, and turned his head to one side, as if to say: "Well, what's up? Any fun going?" "Here, take that, old boy; Dumps is sulky." Poker took it at once, and a single snap caused it to vanish. He, too, had finished supper, and evidently ate the morsel to please the Irishman. "Hand me the coffee, Meetuck," said Fred. "The biscuit lies beside you, don't give in so soon, man." "Thank you, sir, I have about done." "Meetuck, ye haythen, try a bit o' the roast; do now, av it was only to plaaze me." Meetuck shook his head quietly, and, cutting a _fifteenth_ lump off the mass of raw walrus that lay beside him, proceeded leisurely to devour it. "The dogs is nothin' to him," muttered O'Riley. "Isn't it a curious thing, now, to think that we're all at _sea_ a eatin', and drinkin', and slaapin'--or goin' to slaape--jist as if we wor on the land, and the great ocean away down below us there, wid whales, and seals, and walrusses, and mermaids, for what I know, a swimmin' about jist under whare we sit, and maybe lookin' through the ice at us this very minute. Isn't it quare?" "It is odd," said Fred, laughing, "and not a very pleasant idea. However, as there is at least twelve feet of solid ice between us and the company you mention, we don't need to care much." "Ov coorse not," replied O'Riley, nodding his head approvingly as he lighted his pipe; "that's my mind intirely, in all cases o' danger, when ye don't need to be afeared, ye needn't much care. It's a good chart to steer by, that same." This last remark seemed to afford so much food for thought to the company that nothing further was said by anyone until Fred rose and proposed to turn in. West had already crawled into his blanket-bag, and was stretched out like a mummy on the floor, and the sound of Meetuck's jaws still continued as he winked sleepily over the walrus meat, when a scraping was heard outside the hut. "Sure, it's the foxes; I'll go and look," whispered O'Riley, laying down his pipe and creeping to the mouth of the tunnel. He came back, however, faster than he went, with a look of consternation, for the first object that confronted him on looking out was the enormous head of a Polar bear. To glance round for their firearms was the first impulse, but these had unfortunately been left on the sledge outside. What was to be done? They had nothing but their clasp-knives in the igloe. In this extremity Meetuck cut a large hole in the back of the hut intending to creep out and procure one of the muskets, but the instant the opening was made the bear's head filled it up. With a savage yell O'Riley seized the lamp and dashed the flaming fat in the creature's face. It was a reckless deed, for it left them all in the dark, but the bear seemed to think himself insulted, for he instantly retreated, and when Meetuck emerged and laid hold of a gun he had disappeared. They found, on issuing into the open air, that a stiff breeze was blowing, which, from the threatening appearance of the sky, promised to become a gale; but as there was no apprehension to be entertained in regard to the stability of the floe, they returned to the hut, taking care to carry in their arms along with them. Having patched up the hole, closed the doors, rekindled the lamp, and crept into their respective bags, they went to sleep, for, however much they might dread the return of Bruin, slumber was a necessity of nature that would not be denied. Meanwhile the gale freshened into a hurricane, and was accompanied with heavy snow, and when they attempted to move next morning they found it impossible to face it for a single moment. There was no alternative, therefore, but to await the termination of the gale, which lasted two days, and kept them close prisoners all the time. It was very wearisome, doubtless, but they had to submit, and sought to console themselves and pass the time as pleasantly as possible by sleeping, and eating, and drinking coffee. CHAPTER THIRTEEN. JOURNEY RESUMED--THE HUNTERS MEET WITH BEARS AND HAVE A GREAT FIGHT, IN WHICH THE DOGS ARE SUFFERERS--A BEAR'S DINNER--MODE IN WHICH ARCTIC ROCKS TRAVEL--THE ICE-BELT. In the abating of the great storm, referred to in the last chapter, the hunters sought to free themselves from their snowy prison, and succeeded in burrowing, so to speak, upwards, after severe labour, for the hut was buried in drift which the violence of the gale had rendered extremely compact. O'Riley was the first to emerge into the upper world. Having dusted the snow from his garments, and shaken himself like a Newfoundland dog, he made sundry wry faces, and gazed round him with the look of a man that did not know very well what to do with himself. "It's a quare place, it is, intirely," he remarked, with a shake of the head that betokened intense sagacity, while he seated himself on a mound of snow and watched his comrades as they busied themselves in dragging their sleeping-bags and cooking utensils from the cavern they had just quitted. O'Riley seemed to be in a contemplative mood, for he did not venture any further remark, although he looked unutterable things as he proceeded quietly to fill his little black pipe. "Ho, O'Riley! lend a hand, you lazy fellow," cried Fred; "work first and play afterwards, you skulker." "Sure that same is what I'm doin'," replied O'Riley with a bland smile which he eclipsed in a cloud of smoke. "Haven't I bin workin' like a naagur for two hours to git out of that hole, and ain't I playin' a tune on me pipe now? But I won't be cross-grained. I'll lind ye a hand av ye behave yerself. It's a bad thing to be cross-grained," he continued, pocketing his pipe and assisting to arrange the sledge; "me owld grandmother always towld me that, and she was wise, she wos, beyand ordn'r. More like Salomon nor anything else." "She must have directed that remark specially to you, I think," said Fred--"let Dumps lead, West, he's tougher than the others,--did she not, O'Riley?" "Be no manes. It wos to the pig she said it. Most of her conversation (and she had a power of it) wos wid the pig, and many's the word o' good advice she gave it, as it sat in its usual place beside the fire forenint her; but it was all thrown away, it wos, for there wosn't another pig in all the length o' Ireland as had sich a will o' its own; and it had a screech, too, when it wasn't plaazed, as bate all the steam whistles in the world, it did. I've often moralated on that same, and I've noticed that as it is wid pigs, so it is wid men and women--some of them at laste--the more advice ye give them, the less they take." "Down, Poker; quiet, good dog!" said West, as he endeavoured to restrain the ardour of the team, which, being fresh and full fed, could scarcely be held in by the united efforts of himself and Meetuck while their companions lashed their provisions, etcetera, on the sledge. "Hold on, lads!" cried Fred, as he fastened the last lashing. "We'll be ready in a second. Now, then, jump on, two of you! Catch hold of the tail-line, Meetuck! All right!" "Hall right!" yelled the Esquimaux, as he let go the dogs and sprang upon the sledge. The team struggled and strained violently for a few seconds in their efforts to overcome the _vis inertiae_ of the sledge, and it seemed as if the traces would part, but they were made of tough walrus hide, and held on bravely, while the heavy vehicle gradually fetched way, and at length flew over the floes at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour. Travelling, however, was not now quite as agreeable as it had been when they set out from the ship, for the floes were swept bare in some places by the gale, while in other places large drifts had collected, so that the sledge was either swaying to and fro on the smooth ice, and swinging the dogs almost off their feet, or it was plunging heavily through banks of soft snow. As the wind was still blowing fresh, and would have been dead against them had they attempted to return by a direct route to the ship, they made for the shore, intending to avail themselves of the shelter afforded by the ice-belt. Meanwhile the carcass of the walrus, at least as much of it as could not be packed on the sledge, was buried in the hut, and a spear planted above it to mark the spot. "Hah! an' it's cowld," said O'Riley, wrapping himself more closely in his fur jumper as they sped along. "I wish we wos out o' the wind, I do." "You'll have your wish soon, then," answered West, "for that row of icebergs we're coming to will shelter us nearly all the way to the land." "Surely you are taking us too much off to the right, Meetuck," said Fred; "we are getting farther away from the ship." "No fee. Be win' too 'trong. We turn hup 'long shore very quick, soon--ha!" Meetuck accompanied each word with a violent nod of his head, at the same time opening and shutting his mouth and winking with both eyes, being apparently impressed with the conviction that such contortions of visage rendered his meaning more apparent. "Look! look! ho! Nannook, nannook!" (a bear, a bear!) whispered the Esquimaux with sudden animation, just as they gained the lee of the first iceberg. The words were unnecessary, however, for the whole party were looking ahead with the most intense eagerness at a bear which their sudden advent had aroused from a nap in the crevice of the iceberg. A little cub was discerned a moment after, standing by her side, and gazing at the intruders with infantine astonishment. While the muskets were being loosened and drawn out, Meetuck let slip all the dogs, and in a few seconds they were engaged in active warfare with the enemy. "Oh! musha! Dumps is gone intirely!" The quadruped referred to was tossed to a height of about thirty feet, and alighted senseless upon the ice. The bear seized him with her teeth and tossed him with an incredibly slight effort. The other dogs, nothing daunted by the fate of their comrade, attacked the couple in the rear, biting their heels, and so distracting their attention that they could not make an energetic attack in any direction. Another of the dogs, however, a young one, waxing reckless, ventured too near the old bear, and was seized by the back, and hurled high into the air, through which it wriggled violently, and descended with a sounding whack upon the ice. At the same moment a volley from the hunters sent several balls into the carcass of both mother and cub; but, although badly wounded, neither of them evinced any sign of pain and exhaustion as they continued to battle with the remaining dogs. The dogs that had already fallen in the fray had not been used to bear-hunting--hence their signal defeat; but this was not the case with the others, all of which were old campaigners; and Poker especially, although not old in years, was a practical fighter, having been trained not to attack but to harass. The systematic and steady way in which they advanced before the bear, and retired, right and left, leading her into a profitless pursuit, was very interesting to witness. Another volley from the hunters caused them to make off more rapidly, and wounded the cub severely, so much so that in a few minutes it began to flag. Seeing this, the mother placed it in front of her, and urged it forward with her snout so quickly that it was with the utmost difficulty the men could keep up with them. A well-directed shot, however, from Fred Ellice brought the old bear to the ground; but she rose instantly, and again advanced, pushing her cub before her, while the dogs continued to embarrass her. They now began to fear that, in spite of dogs and men, the wounded bears would escape, when an opportune crack in the ice presented itself, into which they both tumbled, followed by the yelping, and, we may add, limping, dogs. Before they could scramble up on the other side, Meetuck and Fred, being light of foot, gained upon them sufficiently to make sure shots. "There they go," cried Fred, as the she-bear bounced out of the crack with Poker hanging to her heels. Poker's audacity had at last outstripped his sagacity, and the next moment he was performing a tremendous somersault. Before he reached the ice, Meetuck and Fred fired simultaneously, and when the smoke cleared away, the old bear was stretched out in death. Hitherto the cub had acted exclusively on the defensive, and entrusted itself entirely to the protection of its dam, but now it seemed to change its character entirely. It sprang upon its mother's body, and, assuming an attitude of extreme ferocity, kept the dogs at bay, snapping and snarling right and left until the hunters came up. For the first time since the chase began, a feeling of intense pity touched Fred's heart, and he would have rejoiced at that moment had the mother risen up, and made her escape with her cub. He steeled his heart, however, by reflecting that fresh provisions were much wanted on board the _Dolphin_; still, neither he nor his shipmates could bring themselves to shoot the gallant little animal, and it is possible that they might have made up their minds to allow it to escape after all, had not Meetuck quietly ended their difficulty by putting a ball through its heart. "Ah, then, Meetuck!" said O'Riley, shaking his head as they examined their prize, "ye're a hard-hearted spalpeen, ye are, to kill a poor little baby like that in cowld blood. Well, it's yer natur', an' yer trade, so I s'pose it's all right." The weight of this bear, which was not of the largest size, was afterwards found to be above five hundred pounds, and her length was eight feet nine inches. The cub weighed upwards of a hundred pounds, and was larger than a Newfoundland dog. The operation of cutting out the entrails, preparatory to packing on the sledge, was now commenced by Meetuck, whose practised hand applied the knife with the skill, though not with the delicacy, of a surgeon. "She has been a hungry bear, it seems," remarked Fred, as he watched the progress of the work, "if we may judge from the emptiness of her stomach." "Och, but she's had a choice morsel, if it was a small wan!" exclaimed O'Riley in surprise, as he picked up a plug of tobacco. On further examination being made, it was found that this bear had dined on raisins, tobacco, pork, and adhesive plaster! Such an extraordinary mixture of articles, of course, led the party to conclude that either she had helped herself to the stores of the _Dolphin_ placed on Store Island, or that she had fallen in with those of some other vessel. This subject afforded food for thought and conversation during the next hour or two, as they drove towards the ship along the ice-belt of the shore. The ice-belt referred to is a zone of ice which extends along the shore from the unknown regions of the north. To the south it breaks up in summer and disappears altogether, but, in the latitude which our travellers had now reached, it was a permanent feature of the scenery all the year round, following the curvatures and indentations of bays and rivers, and increasing in winter or diminishing in summer, but never melting entirely away. The surface of this ice-belt was covered with immense masses of rock many tons in weight, which had fallen from the cliffs above. Pointing to one of these, as they drove along, West remarked to Fred: "There is a mystery explained, sir; I have often wondered how huge solitary stones, that no machinery of man's making could lift, have come to be placed on sandy shores where there were no other rocks of any kind within many miles of them. The ice must have done it, I see." "True, West, the ice, if it could speak, would explain many things that now seem to us mysterious, and yonder goes a big rock on a journey that may perhaps terminate at a thousand miles to the south of this." The rock referred to was a large mass that became detached from the cliffs and fell, as he spoke, with a tremendous crash upon the ice-belt, along which it rolled for fifty yards. There it would lie all winter, and in spring the mass of ice to which it was attached would probably break off and float away with it to the south, gradually melting until it allowed the rock to sink to the bottom of the sea, or depositing it, perchance, on some distant shore, where such rocks are not wont to lie-- there to remain an object of speculation and wonderment to the unlearned of all future ages. Some of the bergs close to which they passed on the journey were very fantastically formed, and many of them were more than a mile long, with clear, blue, glassy surfaces, indicating that they had been but recently thrown off from the great glacier of the north. Between two of these they drove for some time before they found that they were going into a sort of blind alley. "Sure the road's gittin' narrower," observed O'Riley, as he glanced up at the blue walls, which rose perpendicularly to a height of sixty feet on either hand. "Have a care, Meetuck, or ye'll jam us up, ye will." "'Tis a pity we left the ice-belt," remarked Fred, "for this rough work among the bergs is bad for man and dog. How say you, Meetuck, shall we take to it again when we get through this place?" "Faix, then, well niver git through," said O'Riley, pointing to the end of the chasm, where a third iceberg had entirely closed the opening. The Esquimaux pulled up, and, after advancing on foot a short way to examine, returned with a rueful expression on his countenance. "Ha! no passage, I suppose?" said Fred. "Bad luck to ye," cried O'Riley, "won't ye spaake?" "No rod--muss go back," replied Meetuck, turning the dogs in the direction whence they had come, and resuming his place on the sledge. The party had to retrace their steps half a mile in consequence of this unfortunate interruption, and return to the level track of the ice-belt, which they had left for a time and taken to the sea-ice, in order to avoid the sinuosities of the land. To add to their misfortunes, the dogs began to flag, so that they were obliged to walk behind the sledge at a slow pace, and snow began to fall heavily. But they pressed forward manfully, and, having regained the shore-ice, continued to make their way northward towards the ship, which was now spoken of by the endearing name of home. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. DEPARTURE OF THE SUN--EFFECTS OF DARKNESS ON DOGS--WINTER ARRANGEMENTS IN THE INTERIOR OF THE DOLPHIN. It is sad to part with an old friend, especially if he be one of the oldest and best friends we ever had. When the day of departure arrives, it is of no avail that he tells us kindly he will come back again. That assurance is indeed a comfort after he is gone, and a sweet star of hope that shines brighter and brighter each day until he comes back; but it is poor consolation to us at the time of parting, when we are squeezing his hand for the last time, and trying to crush back the drops that _will_ overflow. The crew of the _Dolphin_ had, in the course of that winter, to part with one of their best friends; one whom they regarded with the most devoted attachment; one who was not expected to return again till the following spring, and one, therefore, whom some of them might perhaps, never see again. Mivins became quite low-spirited about it, and said "as 'ow 'e'd 'ave a 'eavy 'eart for hever and hever, hamen," after he was gone. O'Riley remarked, in reference to his departure, that every man in the ship was about to lose a "_son_!" Yes, indeed he did; he perpetrated that atrocious pun, and wasn't a bit ashamed of it. O'Riley had perpetrated many a worse pun than that before; it's to be hoped that for the credit of his country he has perpetrated a few better ones since! Yes, the period at length arrived when the great source of light and heat was about to withdraw his face from these Arctic navigators for a long, long time, and leave them in unvarying night. It was a good while, however, before he went away altogether, and for many weeks after winter set in in all its intensity, he paid them a daily visit which grew gradually shorter and shorter, until that sad evening in which he finally bade them farewell. About the middle of October the dark months overspread the Bay of Mercy, and the reign of perpetual night began. There was something terribly depressing at first in this uninterrupted gloom, and for some time after the sun ceased to show his disc above the horizon the men of the _Dolphin_ used to come on deck at noon, and look out for the faint streak of light that indicated the presence of the life-giving luminary with all the earnestness and longing of Eastern fire-worshippers. The dogs, too, became sensibly affected by the continued absence of light, and seemed to draw more sympathetically than ever to their human companions in banishment. A curious and touching instance of this feeling was exhibited when the pack were sent to sleep on Store Island. A warm kennel had been erected for them there, partly in order that the ship might be kept more thoroughly clean, and partly that the dogs might act as a guard over the stores, in case bears or wolves should take a fancy to examine them. But nothing would induce the poor animals to keep away from the ship, and remain beyond the sound of human voices. They deserted their comfortable abode, with one consent, the first time they were sent to it, preferring to spend the night by the side of the ship upon the bare snow. Coaxing them was of no use. O'Riley tried it in vain. "At, then," said he to Dumps with a wheedling air and expression of intense affection that would have taken by storm the heart of any civilised dog, "_won't_ ye come now an' lay in yar own kennel? Sure it's a beautiful wan, an' as warm as the heart of an iceberg. Doo come now, avic, an' I'll show ye the way." But Dumps's heart was marble. He wouldn't budge. By means of a piece of walrus, however, he was at length induced to go with the Irishman to the kennel, and was followed by the entire pack. Here O'Riley endeavoured to make them comfortable, and prevailed on them to lie down and go to sleep, but whenever he attempted to leave them they were up and at his heels in a moment. "Och, but ye're too fond o' me entirely! Doo lie down agin, and I'll sing ye a ditty!" True to his word, O'Riley sat down by the dog-kennel, and gave vent to a howl which his "owld grandmother," he said, "used to sing to the pig," and whether it was the effects of this lullaby, or of the cold, it is impossible to say, but O'Riley at length succeeded in slipping away and regaining the ship, unobserved by his canine friends. Half an hour later he went on deck to take a mouthful of fresh air before supper, and on looking over the side he saw the whole pack of dogs lying in a circle close to the ship, with Dumps comfortably asleep in the middle, and using Poker's back for a pillow. "Faix, but ye must be fond of the cowld, to lie there all night when ye've got a palace on Store Island." "Fond of society, rather," observed Captain Guy, who came on deck at the moment, "the poor creatures cannot bear to be left alone. It is a strange quality in dogs which I have often observed before." "Have ye, Capting? Sure I thought it was all owin' to the bad manners o' that baste Dumps, which is for iver leadin' the other dogs into mischief." "Supper's ready, sir," said Mivins, coming up the hatchway and touching his cap. "Look here, Mivins," said O'Riley, as the captain went below, "can ye point out the mornin' star to me, lad?" "The morning star?" said Mivins slowly, as he thrust his hands into the breast of his jumper, and gazed upwards into the dark sky, where the starry host blazed in Arctic majesty. "No, of course I can't. Why, don't you know that there hain't no _morning_ star when it's _night_ all round?" "Faix ye're right. I niver thought o' that." Mivins was evidently a little puffed up with a feeling of satisfaction at the clever way in which he had got out of the difficulty without displaying his ignorance of astronomy, and was even venturing, in the pride of his heart, to make some speculative and startling assertions in regard to the "'eavenly bodies" generally, when Buzzby put his head up the hatchway. "Hallo! messmates, wot's ado now? Here's the supper awaitin', and the tea bilin' like blazes!" Mivins instantly dived down below, as the sailors express it; and we may remark, in passing, that the expression, in this particular case, was not inappropriate, for Mivins, as we have elsewhere said, was remarkably agile and supple, and gave beholders a sort of impression that he went head-foremost at everything. O'Riley followed at a more reasonable rate, and in a few minutes the crew of the _Dolphin_ were seated at supper in the cabin, eating with as much zest, and laughing and chatting as blithely as if they were floating calmly on their ocean home in temperate climes. Sailors are proverbially lighthearted, and in their moments of comfort and social enjoyment they easily forget their troubles. The depression of spirits that followed the first disappearance of the sun soon wore off, and they went about their various avocations cheerfully by the light of the Aurora Borealis and the stars. The cabin, in which they now all lived together, had undergone considerable alterations. After the return of Fred Ellice and the hunting-party, whom we left on the ice-belt in the last chapter, the bulk-head, or partition, which separated the cabin from the hold, had been taken down, and the whole was thrown into one large apartment, in order to secure a freer circulation of air and warmth. All round the walls inside of this apartment moss was piled to the depth of twelve inches to exclude the cold, and this object was further gained by the spreading of a layer of moss on the deck above. The cabin hatchway was closed, and the only entrance was at the farther end, through the hold, by means of a small doorway in the bulkhead, to which was attached a sort of porch, with a curtain of deer-skins hung in front of it. In the centre of the floor stood an iron cooking-stove, which served at once the purpose of preparing food and warming the cabin, which was lighted by several small oil-lamps. These were kept burning perpetually, for there was no distinction between day and night in midwinter, either in the cabin or out-of-doors. In this snug-looking place the officers and men of the ship messed, and dwelt, and slept together; but, notwithstanding the _apparent_ snugness, it was with the greatest difficulty they could keep themselves in a sufficient degree of warmth to maintain health and comfort. Whenever the fire was allowed to get low, the beams overhead became coated with hoar-frost; and even when the temperature was raised to the utmost possible pitch it was cold enough, at the extreme ends of the apartment, to freeze a jug of water solid. A large table occupied the upper end of the cabin, between the stove and the stern, and round this the officers and crew were seated, when O'Riley entered and took his place among them. Each individual had his appointed place at the mess-table, and with unvarying regularity these places were filled at the appointed hours. "The dogs seem to be disobedient," remarked Amos Parr, as his comrade sat down; "they'd be the better of a taste o' Meetuck's cat I think." "It's truth ye're sayin'," replied O'Riley, commencing a violent assault on a walrus steak; "they don't obey orders at all, at all. An' Dumps, the blaggard, is as cross-grained as me grandmother's owld pig--" A general laugh here interrupted the speaker, for O'Riley could seldom institute a disparaging comparison without making emphatic allusion to the pig that once shared with him the hospitalities of his grandmother's cabin. "Why, everything you speak of seems to be like that wonderful pig, messmate," said Peter Grim. "Ye're wrong there intirely," retorted O'Riley. "I niver seed nothing like it in all me thravels except yerself, and that only in regard to its muzzle, which was black and all kivered over with bristles, it wos. I'll throuble for another steak, messmate; that walrus is great livin'. We owe ye thanks for killin' it, Mister Ellice." "You're fishing for compliments, but I'm afraid I have none to give you. Your first harpoon, you know, was a little wide of the mark, if I recollect right, wasn't it?" "Yis, it wos--about as wide as the first bullet. I misremember exactly who fired it; wos it you, Meetuck?" Meetuck, being deeply engaged with a junk of fat meat at that moment expressed all he had to say in a convulsive gasp, without interrupting his supper. "Try a bit of the bear," said Fred to Tom Singleton; "it's better than the walrus to my taste." "I'd rather not," answered Tom, with a dubious shake of the head. "It's a most unconscionable thing to eat a beast o' that sort," remarked Saunders gravely. "Especially one who has been in the habit of living on raisins and sticking-plaster," said Bolton with a grin. "I have been thinking about that," said Captain Guy, who had been for some time listening in silence to the conversation, "and I cannot help thinking that Esquimaux must have found a wreck somewhere in this neighbourhood, and carried away her stores, which Bruin had managed to steal from them." "May they not have got some of the stores of the brig we saw nipped some months ago?" suggested Singleton. "Possibly they may." "I dinna think that's likely," said Saunders, shaking his head. "Yon brig had been deserted long ago, and her stores must have been consumed, if they were taken out of her at all, before we thought o' comin' here." For some time the party in the cabin ate in silence. "We must wait patiently," resumed the captain, as if he were tired of following up a fruitless train of thought. "What of your theatricals, Fred? we must get them set a-going as soon as possible." The captain spoke animatedly, for he felt that, with the prospect of a long dark winter before them, it was of the greatest importance that the spirits of the men should be kept up. "I find it difficult to beat up recruits," answered Fred, laughing; "Peter Grim has flatly refused to act, and O'Riley says he could no more learn a part off by heart than--" "His grandmother's pig could," interrupted David Mizzle, who, having concluded supper, now felt himself free to indulge in conversation. "Och! ye spalpeen," whispered the Irishman. "I have written out the half of a play which I hope to produce in a few days on the boards of our Arctic theatre with a talented company, but I must have one or two more men--one to act the part of a lady. Will you take that part, Buzzby?" "Wot! _me_?" cried the individual referred to with a stare of amazement. "Oh yes! _do_, Buzzby," cried several of the men with great delight. "You're just cut out for it." "Blue eyes," said one. "Fair hair," cried another. "And plump," said a third. "Wid cheeks like the hide of a walrus," cried O'Riley; "but, sure, it won't show wid a veil on." "Come, now, you won't refuse." But Buzzby did refuse; not, however, so determinedly but that he was induced at last to allow his name to be entered in Fred's note-book as a supernumerary. "Hark!" cried the captain; "surely the dogs must have smelt a bear." There was instantly a dead silence in the cabin, and a long, loud wail from the dogs was heard outside. "It's not like their usual cry when game is near," said the second mate. "Hand me my rifle, Mivins," said the captain, springing up and pulling forward the hood of his jumper, as he hurried on deck followed by the crew. It was a bright, still, frosty night, and the air felt intensely sharp, as if needles were pricking the skin, while the men's breath issued from their lips in white clouds, and settled in hoar-frost on the edges of their hoods. The dogs were seen galloping about the ice hummocks as if in agitation, darting off to a considerable distance at times, and returning with low whines to the ship. "It is very strange," remarked the captain. "Jump down on the ice, boys, and search for footprints. Extend as far as Store Island and see that all is right there." In a few seconds the men scattered themselves right and left, and were lost in the gloom, while the vessel was left in charge of Mivins and four men. A strict search was made in all directions, but no traces of animals could be found; the stores on the island were found undisturbed, and gradually the dogs ceased their agitated gyrations and seemed inclined to resume their slumbers on the ice. Seeing this, and supposing that they were merely restless, Captain Guy recalled his men, and, not long after, every man in the cabin of the _Dolphin_ was buried in profound slumber. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. STRANGERS APPEAR ON THE SCENE--THE ESQUIMAUX ARE HOSPITABLY ENTERTAINED BY THE SAILORS--A SPIRITED TRAFFIC--THIEVING PROPENSITIES AND SUMMARY JUSTICE. Dumps sat on the top of a hummock, about quarter of a mile from the ship, with an expression of subdued melancholy on his countenance, and thinking, evidently, about nothing at all. Poker sat in front of him, gazing earnestly and solemnly right into his eyes with a look that said, as plain as if he had spoken: "What a tremendously stupid old fellow you are, to be sure!" Having sat thus for full five minutes Dumps wagged his tail. Poker, observing the action, returned the compliment with his stump. Then Poker sprang up and barked savagely, as much as to say: "Play, won't you!" but Dumps wouldn't; so Poker endeavoured to relieve his mind by gambolling violently round him. We would not have drawn your attention, reader, to the antics of our canine friends, were it not for the fact that these antics attracted the notice of a personage who merits particular description. This was no other than one of the Esquimaux inhabitants of the land--a woman, and _such_ a woman! Most people would have pronounced her a man, for she wore precisely the same dress--fur jumper and long boots--that was worn by the men of the _Dolphin_. Her lips were thick and her nose was blunt; she wore her hair turned up, and twisted into a knot on the top of her head; her hood was thrown back, and inside of this hood there was a baby--a small and a very fat baby! It was, so to speak, a conglomerate of dumplings. Its cheeks were two dumplings, and its arms were four dumplings--one above each elbow and one below. Its hands, also, were two smaller dumplings, with ten extremely little dumplings at the end of them. This baby had a nose, of course, but it was so small that it might as well have had none; and it had a mouth, too, but that was so capacious that the half of it would have been more than enough for a baby double the size. As for its eyes, they were large and black--black as two coals--and devoid of all expression save that of astonishment. Such were the pair that stood on the edge of the ice-belt gazing down upon Dumps and Poker. And no sooner did Dumps and Poker catch sight of them than they sprang hastily towards them, wagging their tails--or, more correctly speaking, their tail and a quarter. But on a nearer approach those sagacious animals discovered that the woman and her child were strangers, whereupon they set up a dismal howl, and fled towards the ship as fast as they could run. Now it so happened that, at this very time, the howl of the dogs fell upon the ears of two separate parties of travellers--the one was a band of Esquimaux who were moving about in search of seals and walrus, to which band this woman and her baby belonged; the other was a party of men under command of Buzzby, who were returning to the ship after an unsuccessful hunt. Neither party saw the other, for one approached from the east, the other from the west, and the ice-belt, on the point of which the woman stood, rose up between them. "Hallo! what's yon," exclaimed Peter Grim, who was first to observe the woman. "Dunno," said Buzzby, halting; "it looks like a bear." "Faix an it is, then, it's got a young wan on its back," cried O'Riley. "We had better advance and find out," remarked West, as he led the way, while several of the men threw up their arms in token of their friendly intentions. O'Riley capered somewhat extravagantly as he drew near, partly with the intention of expressing his feelings of good-will towards the unknown, and partly in order to relieve the excitement caused by the unexpected apparition. These demonstrations, however, had the effect of terrifying the woman, who wheeled suddenly round and made off. "Och! it _is_ a man. Hooray, boys! give chase." "Men don't usually carry babies on their backs and tie their hair up into top-knots," remarked Grim, as he darted past in pursuit. A few seconds sufficed to enable Grim to overtake the woman, who fell on her knees the instant she felt the sailor's heavy hand on her shoulder. "Don't be afeard; we won't hurt ye," said Buzzby in a soothing tone, patting the woman on the head and raising her up. "No, avic, we's yer frinds; we'll not harm a hair o' yer beautiful head, we won't. Ah, then, it's a swate child, it is, bless its fat face!" said O'Riley, stroking the baby's head tenderly with his big hand. It was with difficulty that the poor creature's fears were calmed at first, but the genuine tenderness displayed by the men towards the baby, and the perfect complacency with which that conglomerate of dumplings received their caresses, soon relieved her mind, and she began to regard her captors with much curiosity, while they endeavoured by signs and words to converse with her. Unfortunately Meetuck was not with the party, he having been left on board ship to assist in a general cleaning of the cabin that had been instituted that day. "Sure, now, ye don't know how to talk with a girl at all, ye don't; let _me_ try," cried O'Riley, after several of the party had made numerous ineffectual attempts to convey their meaning. "Listen to _me_, darlint, and don't mind them stupid grampusses. Where have ye comed from, now; tell me, dear, _doo_ now?" O'Riley accompanied the question with a smile of ineffable sweetness and a great deal of energetic pantomime, which, doubtless, explained much of his meaning to himself, but certainly to no one else. "Ah, then, ye don't onderstand me? Well, well, now, isn't that strange? Look you, avic, have ye seen a brig or a brig's crew anywhere betune this and the north pole--try, now, an' remimber." He illustrated this question by holding up both arms straight above his head to represent the masts of a brig, and sticking his right leg straight out in front of him, to represent the bowsprit; but the woman gazed at him with an air of obtuse gravity that might have damped the hopes even of an Irishman. O'Riley prided himself, however, on not being easily beat, and despite his repeated failure, and the laughter of his messmates, was proceeding to make a third effort, when a loud shout from the cliffs caused the whole party to start and turn their eyes in that direction. The cry had been uttered by a figure whose costume bore so close a resemblance to that which they themselves wore that they thought for a moment it was one of their own shipmates, but a second glance proved that they were mistaken, for the individual in question carried a spear which he brandished with exceedingly fierce and warlike intentions. "Faix, it must be her husband," said O'Riley. "Hallo, lads, there's more on 'em!" cried Grim, as ten or twelve Esquimaux emerged from the rents and caverns of the ice-belt, and, scrambling to the top of surrounding hummocks and eminences, gazed towards the party of white men, while they threw about their arms and legs, and accompanied their uncouth and violent gesticulations with loud, excited cries. "I've a notion," he added, "that it was the scent o' them chaps set the dogs off after yon strange fashion t'other _night_." It was evident that the Esquimaux were not only filled with unbounded astonishment at this unexpected meeting with strangers, but were also greatly alarmed to see one of their own women in their power. "Let's send the woman over to them," suggested one of the men. "No, no; keep her as a hostage," said another. "Look out, lads," cried Buzzby, hastily examining the priming of his musket, as additional numbers of the wild inhabitants of the north appeared on the scene, and crowned the ice-belt and the hummocks around them. "Let's show a bold front. Draw up in single line and hold on to the woman. West, put her in front." The men instantly drew up in battle array, and threw forward their muskets; but as there was only a dozen of them, they presented a very insignificant group compared with the crowds of Esquimaux who appeared on the ice in front of them. "Now, then, stand fast, men, and I'll show ye wot's the way to manage them chaps. Keep yer weather-eyes open, and don't let them git in rear o' ye." So saying, Buzzby took the woman by the arm and led her out a few yards in front of his party, while the Esquimaux drew closer together, to prepare either to receive or make an attack, as the case might be. He then laid his musket down on the ice, and, still holding the woman by the arm, advanced boldly towards the natives unarmed. On approaching to within about twenty yards of them he halted, and raised both arms above his head as a sign of friendship. The signal was instantly understood, and one big fellow leaped boldly from his elevated position on a lump of ice, threw down his spear, and ran to meet the stranger. In a few minutes Buzzby and the Esquimaux leader came to a mutual understanding as to the friendly disposition of their respective parties, and the woman was delivered up to this big fellow, who turned out to be her husband after all, as O'Riley had correctly guessed. The other Esquimaux, seeing the amicable terms on which the leaders met, crowded in and surrounded them. "Leave the half o' ye to guard the arms, and come on the rest of ye without 'em," shouted Buzzby. The men obeyed, and in a few minutes the two parties mingled together with the utmost confidence. The sailors, however, deemed it prudent to get possession of their arms again as soon as possible, and, after explaining as well as they could by signs that their home was only at a short distance, the whole band started off for the ship. The natives were in a most uproarious state of hilarity, and danced and yelled as they ambled along in their hairy dresses, evidently filled with delight at the prospect of forming a friendship with the white strangers, as they afterwards termed the crew of the _Dolphin_, although some of the said crew were, from exposure, only a few shades lighter than themselves. Captain Guy was busily engaged with Fred Ellice and Tom Singleton in measuring and registering the state of the tide when this riotous band turned the point of the ice-belt to the northward, and came suddenly into view. "Jump down below, Fred, and fetch my rifle and sword; there are the natives," cried the captain, seizing his telescope. "Call all hands, Mivins, and let them arm; look alive!" "All 'ands, _ahoy_!" shouted the steward, looking down the hatchway; "tumble up there, tumble up, 'ere come the Heskimows. Bring your harms with ye. Look alive!" "Ay, ay," shouted the men from below; and in a few minutes they crowded up the hatchway, pulling up their hoods and hauling on their mittens, for it was intensely cold. "Why, Captain, there are some of our men with them," exclaimed Tom Singleton, as he looked through his pocket-glass at them. "So there are--I see Buzzby and Grim; come, that's fortunate, for they must have made friends with them, which it is not always easy to do. Hide your muskets, men, but keep on your cutlasses; it's as well to be prepared, though I don't expect to find those people troublesome. Is the soup in the coppers, David Mizzle?" "Yes, sir, it is." "Then put in an extra junk of pork, and fill it up to the brim." While the cook went below to obey this order, the captain and half of the crew descended to the ice, and advanced unarmed to meet the natives. The remainder of the men stayed behind to guard the ship, and be ready to afford succour if need be; but the precaution was unnecessary, for the Esquimaux met the sailors in the most frank and confiding manner, and seemed quite to understand Captain Guy when he drew a line round the ship, and stationed sentries along it to prevent them from crossing. The natives had their dogs and sledges with them, and the former they picketed to the ice, while a few of their number, and the woman, whose name was Aninga, were taken on board and hospitably entertained. It was exceedingly interesting and amusing to observe the feelings of amazement and delight expressed by those barbarous but good-humoured and intelligent people at everything they saw. While food was preparing for them, they were taken round the ship, on deck and below, and the sailors explained, in pantomime, the uses of everything. They laughed, and exclaimed, and shouted, and even roared with delight, and touched everything with their fingers, just as monkeys are wont to do when let loose. Captain Guy took Aninga and her tall husband, Awatok, to the cabin, where, through the medium of Meetuck, he explained the object of their expedition, and questioned the chief as to his knowledge of the country. Unfortunately Awatok and his band had travelled from the interior to the coast, and, never having been more than twenty or thirty miles to the north of the Bay of Mercy, could give no information either in regard to the formation of the coast or the possibility of Europeans having wintered there. In fact, neither he nor his countrymen had ever seen Europeans before; and they were so much excited that it was difficult to obtain coherent answers to questions. The captain, therefore, postponed further enquiries until they had become somewhat accustomed to the novelty of their position. Meanwhile, David Mizzle furnished them with a large supply of pea-soup, which they seemed to relish amazingly. Not so, however, the salt pork with which it had been made. They did, indeed, condescend to eat it, but they infinitely preferred a portion of raw walrus flesh, which had been reserved as food for the dogs, and which they would speedily have consumed had it not been removed out of their reach. Having finished this, they were ordered to return to their camp on the ice beside the ship, and a vigorous barter was speedily begun. First of all, however, a number of presents were made to them, and it would really have done your heart good, reader, to have witnessed the extravagant joy displayed by them on receiving such trifles as bits of hoop--iron, beads, knives, scissors, needles, etcetera. Iron is as precious among them as gold is among civilised people. The small quantities they possessed of it had been obtained from the few portions of wrecks that had drifted ashore in their ice-bound land. They used it for pointing their spear-heads and harpoons, which, in default of iron, were ingeniously made of ivory from the tusks of the walrus and the horn of the narwal. A bit of iron, therefore, was received with immense glee, and a penny looking-glass with shouts of delight. But the present which drew forth the most uproarious applause was a Union Jack, which the captain gave to their chief, Awatok. He was in the cabin when it was presented to him. On seeing its gaudy colours unrolled, and being told that it was a gift to himself and his wife, he caught his breath, and stared, as if in doubt, alternately at the flag and the captain, then he gave vent to a tremendous shout, seized the flag, hugged it in his arms, and darted up on deck literally _roaring_ with delight. The sympathetic hearts of the natives on the ice echoed the cry before they knew the cause of it; but when they beheld the prize, they yelled, and screamed, and danced, and tossed their arms in the air in the most violent manner. "They're all mad, ivery mother's son o' them," exclaimed O'Riley, who for some time had been endeavouring to barter an old, rusty knife for a pair of sealskin boots. "They looks like it," said Grim, who stood looking on with his legs apart and his arms crossed, and grinning from ear to ear. To add to the confusion, the dogs became affected with the spirit of excitement that filled their masters, and gave vent to their feelings in loud and continuous howling, which nothing could check. The imitative propensity of these singular people was brought rather oddly into play during the progress of traffic. Busby had produced a large roll of tobacco--which they knew the use of, having already been shown how to use a pipe--and cut off portions of it, which he gave in exchange for fox-skins, and deer-skins, and seal-skin boots. Observing this, a very sly old Esquimaux began to slice up a deer-skin into little pieces, which he intended to offer for the small pieces of tobacco! He was checked, however, before doing much harm to the skin, and the principles of exchange were more perfectly explained to him. The skins and boots, besides walrus and seals' flesh, which the crew were enabled to barter at this time, were of the utmost importance, for their fresh provisions had begun to get low, and their boots were almost worn out, so that the scene of barter was exceedingly animated. Davie Summers and his master, Mivins, shone conspicuous as bargain-makers, and carried to their respective bunks a large assortment of native articles. Fred and Tom Singleton, too, were extremely successful, and in a few hours a sufficient amount of skins were bartered to provide them with clothing for the winter. The quantity of fresh meat obtained, however, was not enough to last them a week, for the Esquimaux lived from hand to mouth, and the crew felt that they must depend on their own exertions in the hunt for this indispensable article of food, without which they could not hope to escape the assaults of the sailors' dread enemy, scurvy. Meetuck's duties were not light upon this occasion, as you may suppose. "Arrah, then, _don't_ ye onderstand me?" cried O'Riley in an excited tone to a particularly obtuse and remarkably fat Esquimaux, who was about as sharp at a bargain as himself. "Hallo! Meetuck, come here, do, and tell this pork-faced spalpeen what I'm sayin'. Sure I couldn't spake it plainer av I was to try." "I'll never get this fellow to understand," said Fred. "Meetuck, my boy, come here and explain to him." "Ho, Meetuck!" shouted Peter Grim, "give this old blockhead a taste o' your lingo. I never met his match for stupidity." "I do believe that this rascal wants the 'ole of this ball o' twine for the tusk of a sea-'oss. Meetuck! w'ere's Meetuck! I say, give us a 'and 'ere like a good fellow," cried Mivins; but Mivins cried in vain, for at that moment Saunders had violently collared the interpreter, and dragged him towards an old Esquimaux woman, whose knowledge of Scotch had not proved sufficient to enable her to understand the energetically-expressed words of the second mate. During all this time the stars had been twinkling brightly in the sky, and the aurora shed a clear light upon the scene, while the air was still calm and cold; but a cloud or two now began to darken the horizon to the north-east, and a puff of wind blew occasionally over the icy plain, and struck with such chilling influence on the frames of the traffickers that with one consent they closed their business for that day, and the Esquimaux prepared to return to their snow village, which was about ten miles to the southward, and which village had been erected by them only three days previous to their discovery of the ship. "I'm sorry to find," remarked the captain to those who were standing near him, "that these poor creatures have stolen a few trifling articles from below. I don't like to break the harmonious feeling which now exists between us for the sake of a few worthless things, but I know that it does more harm than good to pass over an offence with the natives of these regions, for they attribute our forbearance to fear." "Perhaps you had better tax them with the theft," suggested the surgeon; "they may confess it, if we don't look very angry." A few more remarks were made by several of those who stood on the quarter-deck, suggesting a treatment of the Esquimaux which was not of the gentlest nature, for they felt indignant that their hospitality had been abused. "No, no," replied the captain to such suggestions, "we must exercise forbearance. These poor fellows do not regard theft in the same light that we do; besides, it would be foolish to risk losing their friendship. Go down, Meetuck, and invite Awatok and his wife, and half a dozen of the chief men, into the cabin. Say I wish to have a talk with them." The interpreter obeyed, and in a few minutes the officers of the ship and the chiefs of the Esquimaux were assembled in solemn conclave round the cabin table. "Tell them, Meetuck," said the captain, "that I know they have stolen two pieces of hoop iron and a tin kettle, and ask them why they were so ungrateful as to do it." The Esquimaux, who were becoming rather alarmed at the stern looks of those around them, protested earnestly that they knew nothing about it, and that they had not taken the things referred to. "Say that I do not believe them," answered the captain sternly. "It is an exceedingly wicked thing to steal and to tell lies. White men think those who are guilty of such conduct to be very bad." "Ah, ye villain!" cried Saunders, seizing one of the Esquimaux named Oosuck by the shoulder, and drawing forth an iron spoon which he observed projecting from the end of his boot. An exclamation of surprise and displeasure burst from the officers, but the Esquimaux gave vent to a loud laugh. They evidently thought stealing to be no sin, and were not the least ashamed of being detected. Awatok, however, was an exception. He looked grave and annoyed, but whether this was at being found out, or at the ingratitude of his people, they could not decide. "Tell them," said the captain, "that I am much displeased. If they promise to return the stolen goods immediately, I will pass over their offence this time, and we will trade together, and live like brothers, and do each other good; but if not, and if any more articles are taken, I will punish them." Having had this translated to them, the chiefs were dismissed, but the expression of indifference on some of their faces proved that no impression had been made upon them. In a quarter of an hour the articles that had been mentioned as missing were returned; and, in order to restore harmony, several plugs of tobacco and a few additional trinkets were returned by the messenger. Soon after, the dogs were harnessed, the sledges packed, and, with many protestations of good-will on both sides, the parties separated. A few cracks of their long whips--a few answering howls from the dogs--and the Esquimaux were off and out of sight, leaving the _Dolphin_ in her former solitude under the shadow of the frowning cliffs. "Fetch me the telescope, Mivins," said the captain, calling down the hatchway. "Ay, ay, sir," answered the steward. "Where's my hatchet?" cried Peter Grim, striding about the deck, and looking into every corner in search of his missing implement. "It's my best one, and I can't get on without it, nohow." The captain bit his lip for he knew full well the cause of its absence. "Please, sir," said the steward, coming on deck with a very perturbed expression of countenance, "the--the--a--" "Speak out, man; what's the matter with you?" "The glass ain't nowhere to be seen, sir." "Turn up all hands!" shouted the captain, jumping down the hatchway, "Arm the men, Mr Bolton, and order the largest sledge to be got ready instantly. This will never do. Harness the whole team." Instantly the _Dolphin's_ deck was a scene of bustling activity. Muskets were loaded, jumpers and mittens put on, dogs caught and harnessed, and every preparation made for a sudden chase. "There, that will do," cried the captain, hurrying on deck with a brace of pistols and a cutlass in his belt, "six men are enough; let twelve of the remainder follow on foot. Jump on the sledge, Grim and Buzzby; O'Riley, you go too. Have a care, Fred; not too near the front! Now, Meetuck--" One crack of the long whip terminated the sentence as if with a full stop, and in another moment the sledge was bounding over the snow like a feather at the tails of twelve dogs. It was a long chase, for it was a "stern" one, but the Esquimaux never dreamed of pursuit, and, as their dogs were not too well fed, they had progressed rather slowly. In less than two hours they were distinguished on the horizon, far off to the southward, winding their way among the hummocks. "Now, Meetuck," said the captain, "drive like the wind, and lay me alongside of Awatok's sledge, and be ready, men, to act." "Ay, ay, sir!" was the prompt reply, as the heavy whip fell on the flanks of the leaders. A few minutes brought them up with Awatok's sledge, and Captain Guy, leaping upon it with a clasp-knife in his hand, cut the traces in a twinkling, set the dogs free, and, turning round, seized the Esquimaux by the collar. The big chief at first showed a disposition to resent this unceremonious treatment, but before he could move, Grim seized his elbows in his iron grasp, and tied them adroitly together behind his back with a cord. At the same time poor Aninga and her baby were swiftly transferred to the sailors' sledge. Seeing this, the whole band of natives turned back, and rushed in a body to the rescue, flourishing their lances and yelling fiercely. "Form line!" shouted the captain, handing Awatok and Aninga over to the care of O'Riley. "Three of you on the right fire over their heads, and let the rest reserve their fire. I will kill one of their dogs, for it won't do to let them fancy that nothing but noise comes out of our muskets. Ready--present!" A rattling volley followed, and at the same moment one of the dogs fell with a death-yell on the ice and dyed it with its blood. "Forward!" shouted the captain. The men advanced in a body at a smart run, but the terrified Esquimaux, who had never heard the report of firearms before, did not wait for them; they turned and fled precipitately, but not before Grim captured Oosuck and dragged him forcibly to the rear, where he was pinioned and placed on the sledge with the others. "Now then, lads, that will do; get upon the sledge again. Away with you, Meetuck. Look after Awatok, Grim; O'Riley will see that Aninga does not jump off." "That he will, darlint," said the Irishman, patting the woman on the back. "And I shall look after the baby," said Fred, chucking that series of dumplings under the chin--an act of familiarity that seemed to afford it immense satisfaction, for, notwithstanding the melancholy position of its father and mother as prisoners, it smiled on Fred benignly. In five minutes the party were far on their way back to the ship; and in less than five hours after the Esquimaux had closed their barter, and left for their village, four of their number, including the baby, were close prisoners in the _Dolphin's_ hold. It was not Captain Guy's intention, however, to use unnecessarily harsh means for the recovery of the missing articles. His object was to impress the Esquimaux with a salutary sense of the power, promptitude, and courage of Europeans, and to check at the outset their propensity for thieving. Having succeeded in making two of their chief men prisoners, he felt assured that the lost telescope and hatchet would soon make their appearance; and in this he was not mistaken. Going to the hold, where the prisoners sat with downcast looks, he addressed to them a lengthened speech as to the sin and meanness of stealing in general, and of stealing from those who had been kind to them in particular. He explained to them the utter hopelessness of their attempting to deceive or impose upon the white men in any way whatever, and assured them that if they tried that sort of thing again he would punish them severely; but that if they behaved well, and brought plenty of walrus flesh to the ship, he would give them hoop-iron, beads, looking-glasses, etcetera. These remarks seemed to make a considerable impression on his uncouth hearers. "And now," said the captain in conclusion, "I shall keep Awatok and his wife and child prisoners here until my telescope and hatchet are returned (Awatok's visage fell, and his wife looked stolid), and I shall send Oosuck to his tribe (Oosuck's face lit up amazingly) to tell them what I have said." In accordance with this resolve Oosuck was set free, and, making use of his opportunity, with prompt alacrity he sped away on foot over the ice to the southward, and was quickly lost to view. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. THE ARCTIC THEATRE ENLARGED UPON--GREAT SUCCESS OF THE FIRST PLAY--THE ESQUIMAUX SUBMIT AND BECOME FAST FRIENDS. The 1st of December was a great day on board the _Dolphin_, for on that day it was announced to the crew that "The Arctic Theatre" would be opened, under the able management of Mr F. Ellice, with the play of "Blunderbore; or, The Arctic Giant". The bill, of which two copies were issued gratis to the crew, announced that the celebrated Peter Grim, Esquire, who had so long trodden the boards of the _Dolphin_ with unparalleled success, had kindly consented to appear in the character of _Blunderbore_ for one winter only. The other parts were as follows:--_Whackinta_, a beautiful Esquimaux widow, who had been captured by two Polar bears, both of which were deeply in love with her, by Frederick Ellice, Esquire. _First Bear_, a big one, by Terence O'Riley, Esquire. _Second Bear_, a little one, by David Summers, Esquire. _Ben Bolt_, a brave British seaman, who had been wrecked in Blunderbore's desolate dominions, all the crew having perished except himself, by John Buzzby, Esquire. These constituted the various characters of the piece, the name of which had been kept a profound secret from the crew, until the morning of the day, on which it was acted. Fred's duties as manager and author upon this occasion were by no means light, for his troop, being unaccustomed to study, found the utmost difficulty in committing the simplest sentences to memory. O'Riley turned out to be the sharpest among them, but having agreed to impersonate the First Bear, and having to act his part in dumb show-- bears not being supposed capable of speech--his powers of memory had not to be exerted. Grim was also pretty good, but Davie Summers could not be got to remember even the general arrangements of the piece; and as for Buzzby, he no sooner mastered a line than he forgot the one before it, and almost gave it up in despair; but by dint of much study and many rehearsals in secret, under the superintendence of Fred and Tom Singleton, who undertook to assist, they succeeded at last in going through with it, with only a few mistakes. On the morning of the 1st December, while the most of the crew were away at Red Snow Valley cutting moss, Fred collected his _Corps Dramatique_ for a last rehearsal in the forecastle, where they were secure from interruption, the place being so cold that no one would willingly go into it except under the force of necessity. A dim lantern lit up the apartment faintly. "We must do it without a mistake this time," said Fred Ellice, opening his book and calling upon Grim to begin. "'Tis cold," began Grim. "Stop, you're wrong." "Oh, so I am!" cried Grim, slapping his thigh; "I'll begin again." It may be remarked here that although Blunderbore was supposed to be an Esquimaux monarch, he was compelled to speak English, being unfortunately ignorant--if we may so speak--of his native tongue! "Oh! 'tis a dismal thing," began Grim again, "to dwell in solitude and cold! 'Tis very cold," (Grim shuddered here tremendously) "and--and-- what's next?" "Hunger," said Fred. "Hunger gnaws my vitals. My name is Blunderbore. 'Twere better had I been born a Blunderbuss, 'cause then I have _gone off_ and dwelt in climes more shootable to my tender constitoosion. Ha! is that a bear I sees before me?" "It's not _sees_," interrupted Fred. At this moment a tremendous roar was heard, and O'Riley bounded from behind a top-sail which represented an iceberg, dressed from head to foot in the skin of a white bear which had been killed a few days before. "Stop, O'Riley," cried Fred, "you're too soon, man. _I_ have to come on first as an Esquimaux woman, and when Grim says to the woman he wishes he could see a bear, _then_ you are to come." "Och! whirra, but me brains is confuged intirely wid it all," said O'Riley, rising on his hind-legs and walking off with his tail, literally as well as figuratively, between his legs. "Now, Buzzby, now; it's _your_ time--when you hear the word `misery' come on and fight like a Trojan with the bears. The doctor will remind you." Fred was remarkably patient and painstaking, and his pupils, though not apt scholars, were willing, so that the morning rehearsal was gone through with fewer mistakes than might have been expected, and when the crew came back to dinner about mid-day, which, however, was as dark as midnight, their parts were sufficiently well got up, and nothing remained to be done but to arrange the stage and scenery for the evening's entertainment--it having been resolved that the performance should commence after supper. The stage was at the after part of the cabin, and raised about a foot above the deck, and its management had been intrusted to the doctor, who, assisted by Peter Grim, transformed that portion of the ship into a scene so romantically beautiful that the first sight of it petrified the crew with surprise. But until the curtain should rise all arrangements were carefully concealed from everyone except the _dramatis personae_. Even the captain and officers were forbidden to peep behind the sail that formed a curtain to the stage, and this secrecy, besides being necessary, was extremely useful, inasmuch as it excited the curiosity of the men and afforded them food for converse and speculation, for a week before the great day arrived. The longed-for hour came at last. The cabin tables having been removed, and rows of seats placed in front of the stage, the men were admitted from the deck, to which they had been expelled an hour previous in order not to impede preliminary arrangements. There was great joking, of course, as they took their seats and criticised the fittings up. David Mizzle was of opinion that the foot-lights "wos oncommon grand", which was an unquestionable fact, for they consisted of six tin lamps filled with seal-oil, from the wicks of which rose a compound of yellow flame and smoke that had a singularly luminous effect. Amos Parr guessed that the curtain would be certain sure to get jammed at the first haul, and several of the others were convinced that O'Riley would stick his part in one way or another. However, an end was put to all remarks, and expectation raised on tiptoe by the ringing of a small hand-bell, and immediately thereafter a violent pulling at the curtain which concealed the stage; but the curtain remained immovable (they always do on such occasions), and a loud whispering was heard behind the scenes. "Clap on extra tackle and call all hands to hoist away," suggested one of the audience. The laugh with which this advice was received was checked in the bud by the sudden rising of the curtain with such violence that the whole framework of the theatre shook again. For a few seconds a dead silence reigned, for the men were stricken dumb with genuine amazement at the scene before them. The stage was covered with white sheets arranged in such a manner as to represent snow, and the more effectually to carry out the idea, several huge blocks of real ice and a few patches of snow were introduced here and there, the cold in the after-part of the cabin being too great to permit of their melting. A top-gallant sail, on which were painted several blue cracks and some strong white lights, did duty for an iceberg, and filled up the whole back of the scene. In front of this, in the centre of the stage, on an extemporised hummock, sat Peter Grim as the Giant Blunderbore. His colossal proportions were enhanced by the addition of an entire white bearskin to his ordinary hairy dress, and which was thrown round his broad shoulders in the form of a tippet. A broad scarlet sash was tied round his waist, and a crown of brown paper, painted in alternate diamonds of blue, red, and yellow, sat upon his brow. Grim was in truth a magnificent-looking fellow, with his black beard and moustache; and the mock-heroic frown with which he gazed up (as one of the audience suggested) at the Aurora Borealis, while he grasped an enormous club in his right hand, became him well. The first few seconds of dead silence, with which this was received, were succeeded by a long and loud burst of applause, the heartiness of which plainly showed that the scene far exceeded the expectations of the men. "Bravo!" cried the captain, "excellent! nothing could be better." "It beats natur, quite," said one. "All to sticks," cried another. "And wot a tree-mendous giant he makes. Three cheers for Peter Grim, lads!" Three cheers were promptly given, with right good-will, but the Giant did not move a muscle. He was far too deeply impressed with the importance of playing his part well to acknowledge the compliment. Having gazed long enough to enable the men to get rid of their first flow of enthusiasm, Blunderbore rose majestically, and, coming forward to the foot-lights, looked straight over the heads of the men, and addressed himself to the opposite bulkhead. "Oh! 'tis a dismal thing," he began, and continued to spout his part with flashing eyes and considerable energy until he came to the word Blunderbuss, when, either from a mistaken notion as to when it was his time to go on, or nervous forgetfulness of the plan of the piece, the Little Bear sprang over the edge of the iceberg and alighted on the middle of the stage. "Oh! bad luck to yees intirely," said the Big Bear from behind the scenes in an angry whisper, which was distinctly heard by the audience, "ye've gone and spoiled it all, ye have. Come off, will ye, and take yer turn at the right time, won't ye?" In the midst of the shout of delight caused by this mistake, O'Riley, forgetting that he was a bear, rushed on the stage on his hind-legs, seized the Little Bear by the fore-leg, and dragged him off at the other side amid loud applause. Blunderbore, with admirable self-possession, resumed his part the instant there was a calm, and carried it successfully to a close. Just as he ended, Fred waddled on, in the guise of an Esquimaux woman, and so well was he got up that the crew looked round to see if Aninga (who, with her husband, had been allowed to witness the play) was in her place. Fred had intentionally taken Aninga as his model, and had been very successful in imitating the top-knot of hair. The baby, too, was hit off to perfection, having been made by Mivins, who proved himself a genius in such matters. Its head was a ball of rags covered with brown leather, and two white bone buttons with black spots in the centre did duty for its eyes. The first thing Whackinta did on coming forward was to deposit the baby on the snow with its head downwards by mistake, whereat it began to scream vociferously. This scream was accomplished by Davie Summers creeping below the stage, and putting his mouth to a hole in the flooring, close to which the baby's head lay. Davie's falsetto was uncommonly like to a child's voice, and the effect was quite startling. Of course Whackinta tried to soothe it, and, failing in this she whipped it, which caused it to yell with tenfold violence. Thereafter, losing all patience, she covered its face and stuffed its mouth with a quantity of snow, and, laying it down on its back, placed a large block of ice on its head. This, as might be expected, had the desired effect, and the baby was silenced,--not, however, until Whackinta had twice called down the hole in a hoarse whisper: "That'll do, Davie; stop, man, stop!" Then, sitting down on the hummock which Blunderbore had just left--and from behind which he was now eagerly watching her,--she began to weep. Having given full vent to her feelings in a series of convulsive sobs, Whackinta addressed a lengthened harangue, in a melancholy tone of voice, to the audience, the gist of which was that she was an unfortunate widow; that two bears had fallen in love with her, and stolen her away from her happy home in Nova Zembla; and, although they allowed her to walk about as much as she chose, they watched her closely and prevented her escaping to her own country. Worst of all, they had told her that she must agree to become the wife of one or other of them, and if she did not make up her mind, and give them an answer that very day, she was to be killed and eaten by both of them. In order the more strongly to impress the audience with her forlorn condition, Whackinta sang a tender and touching ditty, composed by herself expressly for the occasion, and sang it so well that it was encored twice. To all this Blunderbore listened with apparent rapture, and at length ventured to advance and discover himself, but the instant Whackinta saw him she fell on her knees and trembled violently. "Spare me, good king," she said; "do not slay me. I am a poor widow, and have been brought here by two bears against my will." "Woman," said the Giant, "my name is Blunderbore. I am, as you perceive by my crown, a king, and I am a lonely man. If I kill the two bears you speak of, will you marry me?" "Oh, do not ask me, good Blunderbore, I cannot! It is impossible. I cannot love you; you are--forgive me for saying it--too big, and fierce, and ugly to love." Blunderbore frowned angrily, and the audience applauded vociferously at this. "You cannot love me! Hah!" exclaimed the Giant, glaring round with clenched teeth. At this moment the Big Bear uttered an awful roar, Whackinta gave a piercing scream and fled, and Blunderbore hid himself hastily behind the hummock. The next moment the two bears bounded on the stage and began to gambol round it, tossing up their hind-legs and roaring and leaping in a manner that drew forth repeated plaudits. At length the Little Bear discovered the baby, and, uttering a frantic roar of delight, took it in its fore-paws and held it up. The Big Bear roared also of course, and, rushing forward, caught the baby by the leg, and endeavoured to tear it away from the Little Bear, at which treatment the poor baby again commenced to cry passionately. In the struggle the baby's head came off, upon which the Little Bear put the head into its mouth and swallowed it. The Big Bear immediately did the same with the body; but its mouth was too small, and the body stuck fast and could not be finally disposed of until the Little Bear came to the rescue and pushed it forcibly down its throat. Having finished this delicate little morsel, the two bears rose on their hind-legs and danced a hornpipe together--Tom Singleton playing the tune for them on a flute behind the scenes. When this was done they danced off the stage, and immediately, as if in the distance, was heard the voice of a man singing. It came gradually nearer, and at last Buzzby, in the character of Ben Bolt, swaggered up to the foot-lights with his hands in his breeches pockets. "I'm a jolly, jolly tar, Wot has comed from afar, An' it's all for to seek my fortin," sang Buzzby. "But I've not found it yit," he continued, breaking into prose, "and there don't seem much prospect o' findin' it here anyhow. Wot an 'orrible cold place it is, ugh!" Buzzby was received with enthusiastic cheers, for he was dressed in the old familiar blue jacket, white ducks, pumps, and straw hat set jauntily on one side of his head--a costume which had not been seen for so many months by the crew of the _Dolphin_ that their hearts warmed to it as if it were an old friend. Buzzby acted with great spirit and was evidently a prime favourite. He could scarcely recollect a word of his part, but he remembered the general drift of it, and had ready wit enough to extemporise. Having explained that he was the only survivor of a shipwrecked crew, he proceeded to tell some of his adventures in foreign lands, and afterwards described part of his experiences in a song, to which the doctor played an accompaniment behind the scenes. The words were composed by himself, sung to the well-known Scotch air, "Corn Riggs", and ran as follows:-- "The Jolly Tar. "My comrades, you must know It was many years ago I left my daddy's cottage in the green wood O! And I jined a man-o'-war An' became a jolly tar, An' fought for king and country on the high seas O! Pull, boys, cheerily, our home is on the sea. Pull, boys, merrily and lightly O! Pull, boys, cheerily, the wind is passing free An' whirling up the foam and water sky-high O! "There's been many a noble fight, But Trafalgar was the sight That beat the Greeks and Romans in their glory O! For Britain's jolly sons Worked the thunder-blazing guns, And Nelson stood the bravest in the fore-front O! Pull, boys, etcetera. "A roaring cannon shot Came an' hit the very spot Where my leg goes click-an'-jumble in the socket O! And swept it overboard With the precious little hoard Of pipe, an' tin, an' baccy in the pocket O! Pull, boys, etcetera. "They took me down below, An' they laid me with a row Of killed and wounded messmates on a table O! Then up comes Dr Keg, An' says, Here's a livin' leg I'll sew upon the stump if I am able O! Pull, boys, etcetera. "This good and sturdy limb Had belonged to fightin' Tim, An' scarcely had they sewed it on the socket O! When up the hatch I flew, An' dashed among the crew, An' sprang on board the Frenchman like a rocket O! Pull, boys, etcetera. "'Twas this that gained the day, For that leg it cleared the way-- And the battle raged like fury while it lasted O! Then ceased the shot and shell To fall upon the swell, And the Union-Jack went bravely to the mast-head O! Pull, boys, etcetera." We need scarcely say that this song was enthusiastically encored, and that the chorus was done full justice to by the audience, who picked it up at once and zang it with lusty vehemence. At the last word Ben Bolt nodded familiarly, thrust his hands into his pockets, and swaggered off whistling "Yankee Doodle". It was a matter of uncertainty where he had swaggered off to, but it was conjectured that he had gone on his journey to anywhere that might turn up. Meanwhile Blunderbore had been bobbing his head up and down behind the hummock in amazement at what he heard and saw, and when Ben Bolt made his exit he came forward. This was the signal for the two bears to discover him and rush on with a terrific roar. Blunderbore instantly fetched them each a sounding whack on their skulls, leaped over both their backs, and bounded up the side of the iceberg, where he took refuge, and turned at bay on a little ice pinnacle constructed expressly for that purpose. An awful fight now ensued between the Giant and the two bears. The pinnacle on which Blunderbore stood was so low that the Big Bear, by standing up on its hind-legs, could just scratch his toes, which caused the Giant to jump about continually, but the sides of the iceberg were so smooth that the bears could not climb up it. This difficulty, indeed, constituted the great and amusing feature of the fight, for no sooner did the Little Bear creep up to the edge of the pinnacle than the Giant's tremendous club came violently down on his snout (which had been made of hard wood on purpose to resist the blows) and sent it sprawling back on the stage, where the Big Bear invariably chanced to be in the way, and always fell over it. Then they both rose, and, roaring fearfully, renewed the attack, while Blunderbore laid about him with the club ferociously. Fortune, however, did not on this occasion favour the brave. The Big Bear at last caught the Giant by the heel and pulled him to the ground; the Little Bear instantly seized him by the throat, and, notwithstanding his awful yells and struggles, it would have gone ill with Blunderbore had not Ben Bolt opportunely arrived at that identical spot at that identical moment in the course of his travels. Oh! it was a glorious thing to see the fear-nothing, dare-anything fashion in which, when he saw how matters stood, Ben Bolt threw down his stick and bundle, drew his cutlass, and attacked the two bears at once, single-handed, crying "Come on," in a voice of thunder. And it was a satisfactory thing, to behold the way, in which he cut and slashed at their heads (the heads having been previously prepared for such treatment), and the agility he displayed in leaping over their backs and under their legs, and holding on by their tails, while they vainly endeavoured to catch him. The applause was frequent and prolonged, and the two Esquimaux prisoners rolled about their burly figures and laughed till the tears ran down their fat cheeks. But when Ben Bolt suddenly caught the two bears by their tails, tied them together in a double knot, and fled behind a hummock, which the Big Bear passed on one side and the little Bear on the other, and so, as a matter of course, stuck hard and fast, the laughter was excessive; and when the gallant British seaman again rushed forward, massacred the Big Bear with two terrific cuts, slew the Little Bear with one tremendous back-hander, and then sank down on one knee and pressed his hand to his brow as if he were exhausted, a cheer ran from stem to stern of the _Dolphin_, the like of which had not filled the hull of that good ship, since she was launched upon her ocean home! It was just at this moment that Whackinta chanced, curiously enough, to return to this spot in the course of _her_ wanderings. She screamed in horror at the sight of the dead bears, which was quite proper and natural, and then she started at the sight of the exhausted Bolt, and smiled sweetly--which was also natural--as she hastened to assist and sympathise with him. Ben Bolt fell in love with her at once, and told her so off-hand, to the unutterable rage of Blunderbore, who recovered from his wounds at that moment and, seizing the sailor by the throat, vowed he would kill, and quarter, and stew, and boil, and roast, and eat him in one minute if he didn't take care what he was about. The audience felt some fears for Ben Bolt at this point, but their delight knew no bounds when, shaking the Giant off, and springing backwards, he buttoned up his coat and roared, rather than said, that though he were all the Blunderbores and Blunderbusses in the world rolled together, and changed into one immortal blunder-cannon, he didn't care a pinch of bad snuff for him, and would knock all the teeth in his head down his throat. This valorous threat he followed up by shaking his fist close under the Giant's nose, and crying out: "Come on!" But the Giant did not come on; he fortunately recollected that he owed his life to the brave sailor, so he smiled, and, saying he would be his friend through life, insisted on seizing him by the hand and shaking it violently. Thereafter he took Ben Bolt and Whackinta by their right hands, and, leading them forward to the foot-lights, made them a long speech to the effect that he owed a debt of gratitude to the former for saving his life which he could never repay, and that he loved the latter too sincerely to stand in the way of her happiness. Then he joined their right hands, and they went down on one knee, and he placed his hands on their heads, and looked up at the audience with a benignant smile, and the curtain fell amid rapturous cheers. In this play it seemed somewhat curious and unaccountable that Whackinta forgot to enquire for her demolished baby, and appeared to feel no anxiety whatever about it; it was also left a matter of uncertainty whether Ben Bolt and his Esquimaux bride returned to live happily during the remainder of their lives in England, or took up their permanent abode with Blunderbore; but it is not our province to criticise--we merely chronicle events as they occurred. The entertainments were to conclude with a hornpipe from Mivins, but just as that elastic individual had completed the first of a series of complicated evolutions, and was about to commence the second, a vociferous barking of the dogs was heard outside, accompanied by the sound of human voices. The benches were deserted in a moment and the men rushed upon deck, catching up muskets and cutlasses, which always stood in readiness, as they went. The sounds proceeded from a party of about twenty Esquimaux, who had been sent from the camp with the stolen property, and with a humble request that the offence might be forgiven, and their chief and his wife returned to them. They were all unarmed, and the sincerity of their repentance was further attested by the fact that they brought back, not only the hatchet and telescope, but a large assortment of minor articles that had not been missed. Of course the apology was accepted; and after speeches were delivered, and protestations of undying friendship made on both sides, the party were presented with a few trinkets and a plug of tobacco each, and sent back in a state of supreme happiness to their village, where for a week Awatok kept the men of his tribe, and Aninga the women, in a state of intense amazement by their minute descriptions of the remarkable doings of the white strangers. The friendship thus begun between the Esquimaux and the _Dolphin's_ crew was never once interrupted by any unpleasant collision during the months that they afterwards travelled and hunted in company. Strength of muscle and promptitude in action are qualities which all nations in a savage state understand and respect; and the sailors proved that they possessed these qualities in a higher degree than themselves during the hardships and dangers incident to Arctic life, while at the same time their seemingly endless resources and contrivances impressed the simple natives with the belief that white men could accomplish anything they chose to attempt. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. EXPEDITIONS ON FOOT--EFFECTS OF DARKNESS ON DOGS AND MEN--THE FIRST DEATH--CAUGHT IN A TRAP--THE ESQUIMAUX CAMP. "Don't know how it is, an' I can't tell wot it is, but so it is," remarked Buzzby to Grim, a week after the first night of the theatricals, "that that 'ere actin' has done us all a sight o' good. Here we are as merry as crickets every one, although we're short of fresh meat, and symptoms o' scurvy are beginnin' to show on some of us." "It's the mind havin' occupation, an' bein' prewented from broodin' over its misfortins," replied Grim with the air of a philosopher. Grim did not put this remark in turned commas, although he ought to have done so, seeing that it was quoted from a speech made by the captain to Singleton the day before. "You see," continued Grim, "we've been actin' every night for a week past; well, if we hadn't been actin', we should ha' been thinkin' an' sleepin'--too much of which, you see, ain't good for us, Buzzby, and would never pay." Buzzby was not quite sure of this, but contented himself by saying: "Well, mayhap ye're right. I'm sorry it's to come to an end so soon, but there is no doubt that fresh meat is ondispensable--an' that reminds me, messmate, that I've not cleaned my musket for two days, an' it wouldn't do to go on a hunt with a foul piece, nohow. We start at 10 o'clock a.m., don't we?" Grim admitted that they did--remarking that it might just as well be 10 p.m., for all the difference the _sun_ would make in it--and went below with Buzzby. In the cabin active preparations were making for an extended hunting expedition, which the empty state of the larder rendered absolutely necessary. For a week past the only fresh provisions they had procured were a white fox and a rabbit, notwithstanding the exertions of Meetuck, Fred, and the doctor, who with three separate parties had scoured the country for miles round the ship. Scurvy was now beginning to appear among them, and Captain Guy felt that although they had enough of salt provisions to last them the greater part of the winter, if used with economy, they could not possibly subsist on these alone. An extended expedition in search of seals and walrus was therefore projected. It was determined that this should consist of two parties, the one to proceed north, the other to travel south in the tracks of the Esquimaux, who had left their temporary village in search of walrus--they also being reduced almost to a state of starvation. The plan of the expedition was as follows:-- One party, consisting of ten men, under Bolton, the first mate, was to take the largest sledge, and the whole team of dogs, on which, with twelve days' provisions and their sleeping-bags, they were to proceed northward along the coast as far as possible; and, in the event of being unsuccessful, they were to turn homeward on the eighth day, and make the best of their way back on short allowance. The other party, consisting of fifteen men under Saunders, the second mate, was to set off to the southward on foot, dragging a smaller sledge behind them, and endeavour to find the Esquimaux, who, it was supposed, could not be far off, and would probably have fresh meat in their camp. It was a clear, cold, and beautiful starlight day, when the two parties started simultaneously on their separate journeys. The coruscations of the aurora were more than usually vivid, and the snow gave forth that sharp, dry, _crunching_ sound, under the heels of the men as they moved about, that denotes intense frost. "Mind that you hug the land, Mr Bolton," said the captain at parting, "don't get farther out on the floes than you can help. To meet with a gale on the ice is no joke in these latitudes." The first mate promised obedience, and the second mate having been also cautioned to hug the land, and not to use their small supply of spirits for any other purpose than that of lighting the lamp, except in cases of the most urgent need, they set off with three hearty cheers, which were returned by Captain Guy and those who remained with him in the ship. All the able and effective men were sent on these expeditions; those who remained behind were all more or less affected with scurvy, except the captain himself, whose energetic nature seemed invulnerable, and whose flow of spirits never failed. Indeed it is probable that to this hearty and vigorous temperament, under God, he owed his immunity from disease, for, since provisions began to fail, he, along with all his officers, had fared precisely like the men--the few delicacies they possessed having been reserved for the sick. Unfortunately their stock of lime-juice was now getting low, and the crew had to be put on short allowance. As this acid is an excellent anti-scorbutic, or preventive of scurvy, as well as a cure, its rapid diminution was viewed with much concern by all on board. The long-continued absence of the sun, too, now began to tell more severely than ever on men and dogs. On the very day the expeditions took their departure, one of the latter, which had been left behind on account of illness, was attacked with a strange disease, of which several of the team eventually died before the winter came to an end. It was seized with spasms, and, after a few wild paroxysms, lapsed into a lethargic state. In this condition the animal functions went on apparently as well as usual, the appetite continued not only good but voracious. The disease was clearly mental. It barked furiously at nothing, and walked in straight or curved lines perseveringly; or at other times it remained for hours in moody silence, and then started off howling as if pursued. In thirty-six hours after the first attack the poor animal died, and was buried in the snow on Store Island. This was the first death that had occurred on board, and although it was only a dog, and not one of the favourites, its loss cast a gloom over the crew for several days. It was the first blow of the fell destroyer in the midst of their little community, which could ill spare the life even of one of the lower animals, and they felt as if the point of the wedge had now been entered, and might be driven farther home ere long. The expressive delight of the poor dogs on being admitted to the light of the cabin showed how ardently they longed for the return of the sun. It was now the beginning of December, and the darkness was complete. Not the faintest vestige of twilight appeared, even at noon. Midnight and noonday were alike. Except when the stars and aurora were bright, there was not light enough to distinguish a man's form at ten paces distant, and a blacker mass than the surrounding darkness alone indicated where the high cliffs encompassed the Bay of Mercy. When, therefore, anyone came on deck, the first thing he felt on groping his way about was the cold noses of the dogs pushed against his hands, as they frisked and gambolled round him. They howled at the appearance of an accidental light, as if they hoped the sun, or at least the moon, were going to rise once more, and they rejoiced on being taken below, and leaped up in the men's faces for sympathy, and whined, and all but spoke, with excess of satisfaction. The effect of the monotony of long-continued darkness, and the absence of novelty, had much to do also with the indifferent health of many of the men. After the two expeditions were sent out, those who remained behind became much more low-spirited, and the symptoms of scurvy increased. In these circumstances Captain Guy taxed his inventive genius to the utmost to keep up their spirits and engage their minds. He assumed an air of bustling activity, and attached a degree of importance to the regular performance of the light duties of the ship that they did not in reality possess, apart from their influence as discipline. The cabin was swept and aired, the stove cleaned, the fittings dusted, the beds made, the tides, thermometers, and barometers registered; the logs posted up, clothes mended, food cooked, traps visited, etcetera, with the regularity of clockwork, and every possible plan adopted to occupy every waking hour, and to prevent the men from brooding over their position. When the labours of the day were over, plans were proposed for getting up a concert, or a new play, in order to surprise the absentees on their return. Stories were told over and over again, and enjoyed if good, or valued far beyond their worth if bad. When old stories failed, and old books were read, new stories were invented, and here the genius of some was drawn out, while the varied information of others became of great importance. Tom Singleton, in particular, entertained the men with songs and lively tunes on the flute, and told stories, as one of them remarked, "like a book". Joseph West, too, was an invaluable comrade in this respect. He had been a studious boy at school, and a lover of books of all kinds, especially books of travel and adventure. His memory was good, and his inventive powers excellent, so that he recalled wonderful and endless anecdotes from the unfathomable stores of his memory, strung them together into a sort of story, and told them in a soft, pleasant voice that captivated the ears of his audience; but poor West was in delicate health, and could not speak so long as his messmates would have wished. The rough life they led, and the frequent exposure to intense cold, had considerably weakened a frame which had never been robust, and an occasional cough, when he told a long story, sometimes warned him to desist. Games, too, were got up. "Hide-and-seek" was revived with all the enthusiasm of boyhood, and "fox-chase" was got up with tremendous energy. In all this the captain was the most earnest and vigorous, and in doing good to others he unconsciously did the greatest possible amount of good to himself; for his forgetfulness of self, and the activity of his mind in catering for the wants and amusements of his men, had the effect of imparting a cheerfulness to his manner, and a healthy tone to his mind, that tended powerfully to sustain and invigorate his body. But despite all this, the men grew worse, and a few of them showed such alarming symptoms that the doctor began to fear there would soon be a breach in their numbers. Meanwhile Saunders and his fifteen men trudged steadily to the southward, dragging their sledge behind them. The ice-floes, however, turned out to be very rugged and hummocky, and retarded them so much that they made but slow progress until they passed the Red Snow Valley, and doubled the point beyond it. Here they left the floes, and took to the natural highway afforded by the ice-belt, along which they sped more rapidly, and arrived at the Esquimaux village in the course of about five hours. Here all was deserted and silent. Bits of seal and walrus, hide, and bones and tusks were scattered about in all directions, but no voices issued from the dome-shaped huts of snow. "They're the likest things to bee-skeps I ever saw," remarked Saunders, as he and his party stood contemplating the little group of huts. "And they don't seem to care much for big doors." Saunders referred here to the low tunnels, varying from three to twelve feet, that formed the entrance to each hut. "Mayhap there's some o' them asleep inside," suggested Tom Green, the carpenter's mate; "suppose we go in and see?" "I dare say ye're no far wrong," replied the second mate, to whom the idea seemed to be a new one. "Go in, Davie Summers, ye're a wee chap, and can bend your back better than the most o' us." Davie laughed as he went down on his hands and knees, and, creeping in at the mouth of one of the tunnels, which barely permitted him to enter in that position, disappeared. Several of the party at the same time paid similar visits to the other huts, but they all returned with the same remark, "empty". The interiors were begrimed with lamp-black and filth, and, from their appearance, seemed to have been deserted only a short time before. Buzzby, who formed one of the party, rubbed his nose for some time in great perplexity, until he drew from Davie Summers the remark that his proboscis was red enough by nature and didn't need rubbing. "It's odd," he remarked, "they seems to ha' bin here for some time, and yit they've niver looked near the ship but once. Wot's become on 'em _I_ don't know." "Don't you?" said Davie in a tone of surprise; "now that _is_ odd. One would have thought that a fellow who keeps his weather-eye so constantly open should know everything." "Don't chaff; boy, but lend a hand to undo the sled-lashings. I see that Mr Saunders is agoin' to anchor here for the night." The second mate, who had been taking a hasty glance at the various huts of the village, selected two of the largest as a lodging for his men, and, having divided them into two gangs, ordered them to turn in and sleep as hard as possible. "'Spose we may sup first," said Summers in a whining tone of mock humility. "In coorse you may," answered Tom Green, giving the lad a push that upset him in the snow. "Come here, Buzzby, I want to speak to 'ee," said Saunders, leading him aside. "It seems to me that the Esquimaux canna be very far off, and I observe their tracks are quite fresh in the snow leadin' to the southward, so I mean to have a night march after them, but as the men seem pretty weel tired I'll only take two o' the strongest. Who d'ye think might go?" "I'll go myself, sir." "Very good, and who else, think 'ee? Amos Parr seems freshest." "I think Tom Green's the man wot can do it. I seed him capsize Davie Summers jist now in the snow, an' when a man can skylark, I always know he's got lots o' wind in 'im." "Very good. Then go, Buzzby, and order him to get ready, and look sharp about it." "Ay, ay, sir," cried Buzzby, as he turned to prepare Green for the march. In pursuance of this plan, an hour afterwards Saunders and his two followers left the camp with their sleeping-bags and a day's provisions on their shoulders, having instructed the men to follow with the sledge at the end of five hours, which period was deemed sufficient time for rest and refreshment. For two hours the trio plodded silently onward over the icebelt by the light of a clear, starry sky. At the end of that time clouds began to gather to the westward, rendering the way less distinct, but still leaving sufficient light to render travelling tolerably easy. Then they came to a part of the coast where the ice-belt clung close to a line of perpendicular cliffs of about three miles in extent. The ice-belt here was about twenty feet broad. On the left the cliffs referred to rose sheer up several hundred feet; on the right the ice-belt descended only about three feet to the floes. Here our three adventurous travellers were unexpectedly caught in a trap. The tide rose so high that it raised the sea ice to a level with the ice-belt and, welling up between the two, completely overflowed the latter. The travellers pushed on as quickly as possible, for the precipices on their left forbade all hope of escape in that direction, while the gap between the ice-belt and the floes, which was filled with a gurgling mixture of ice and water, equally hemmed them in on the right. Worse than all, the tide continued to rise, and when it reached half-way to their knees, they found it dangerous to advance for fear of stepping into rents and fissures which were no longer visible. "What's to be done noo?" enquired Saunders, coming to a full stop, and turning to Buzzby with a look of blank despair. "Dunno," replied Buzzby, with an equally blank look of despair, as he stood with his legs apart and his arms hanging down by his side--the very personification of imbecility. "If I wos a fly I'd know wot to do. I'd walk up the side o' that cliff till I got to a dry bit, and then I'd stick on. But, not bein' a fly, in coorse I can't." Buzzby said this in a recklessly facetious tone, and Tom Green followed it up with a remark to the effect that "he'd be blowed if he ever wos in sich a fix in his life;" intimating his belief, at the same time, that his "toes wos freezin'." "No fear o' that," said the second mate, "they'll no' freeze as lang as they're in the water. We'll just have to stand here till the tide goes doon." Saunders said this in a dogged tone, and immediately put his plan in force by crossing his arms and planting his feet firmly on the submerged ice and wide apart. Buzzby and Green, however, adopted the wiser plan of moving constantly about within a small circle, and after Saunders had argued for half an hour as to the advantages of this plan, he followed their example. The tide rose above their knees, but they had fortunately on boots, made by the Esquimaux, which were perfectly waterproof; their feet, therefore, although very cold, were quite dry. In an hour and three-quarters the ice-belt was again uncovered, and the half-frozen travellers resumed their march with the utmost energy. Two hours later and they came to a wide expanse of level ground at the foot of the high cliffs, where a group of Esquimaux huts, similar to those they had left, was descried. "They're all deserted too," remarked Buzzby. But Buzzby was wrong, for at that moment a very small and particularly fat little boy in a fox-skin dress appeared at the mouth of one of the low tunnels that formed the entrance to the nearest hut. This boy looked exactly like a lady's muff with a hairy head above it and a pair of feet below. The instant he observed the strangers he threw up his arms, uttered a shrill cry of amazement, and disappeared in the tunnel. Next instant a legion of dogs rushed out of the huts, barking furiously, and on their heels came the entire population, creeping on their hands and knees out of the tunnel mouths like dark hairy monsters issuing from their holes. They had spears and knives of ivory with them, but a glance showed the two parties that they were friends, and in a few moments Awatok and his comrades were chattering vociferously round the sailors, and endeavouring by word and sign to make themselves understood. 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 seals' 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 EIGHTEEN. THE HUNTING PARTY--RECKLESS DRIVING--A DESPERATE ENCOUNTER WITH A WALRUS, ETCETERA. 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 Esquimaux sledges. "Did ye ever see walrusses a'fore, Davie!" enquired 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 Eskimo settlements, when we wos lookin' over the side at the lumps of ice floatin' past, up got a walrus not very far offshore, and out went half a dozen kayaks, as they call the Eskimo men's boats, and they all sot on the beast at once. Well, it wos one o' the brown walrusses, which is always the fiercest; and the moment he got the first harpoon he went slap at the man that threw it; but the fellow backed out, and then a cry was raised to let it alone, as it wos a brown walrus. One young Eskimo, howsiver, would have another slap at it and went so close that the brute charged, upset the kayak, and ripped the man up with his tusks. Seein' this, the other Eskimos made a dash at it, and wounded it badly; but the upshot wos that the walrus put them all to flight and made off, clear away, with six harpoons fast in its hide." "Buzzby's tellin' ye gammon," roared Tom Green, who rode on the second sledge in rear of that on which Davie Summers sat. "What is't all about?" "About gammon, of coorse," retorted Davie. "Keep yer mouth shut for fear your teeth freeze." "Can't ye lead us a better road?" shouted Saunders, who rode on the third sledge; "my bones are rattlin' about inside a' me like a bag o' ninepins." "Give the dogs a cut, old fellow," said Buzzby, with a chuckle and a motion of his arm to the Esquimaux who drove his sledge. The Esquimaux did not understand the words, but he quite understood the sly chuckle and the motion of the arm, so he sent the lash of the heavy whip with a loud crack over the backs of the team. "Hold on for life!" cried Davie, as the dogs sprang forward with a bound. The part they were about to pass over was exceedingly rough and broken, and Buzzby resolved to give his shipmates a shake. The pace was tremendous. The powerful dogs drew their loads after them with successive bounds, which caused a succession of crashes as the sledges sprang from lump to lump of ice, and the men's teeth snapped in a truly savage manner. "Ba-a-ck ye-e-r to-o-psails, will ye?" shouted Amos Parr. But the delighted Esquimaux leader, who entered quite into the joke, had no intention whatever of backing his top-sails; he administered another crack to the team, which yelled madly, and, bounding over a wide chasm in the ice, came down with a crash which snapped the line of the leading dog and set it free. Here Buzzby caused the driver to pull up. "Stop, ye varmint! Come to an anchor!" said he. "Is that a way to drive the poor dogs!" "Ye might have stopped him sooner, I think," cried the second mate in wrath. "Hai!" shouted the band of Esquimaux, pointing to a hummock of ice, a few hundred yards in advance of the spot, on which they stood. Instantly all were silent, and gazing intently ahead at a dark object that burst upwards through the ice. "A walrus!" whispered Buzzby. "So it is," answered Amos Parr. "I've my doobts on that point," remarked Saunders. Before the doubts of the second mate could be resolved, the Esquimaux uttered another exclamation and pointed to another dark object a quarter of a mile to the right. It was soon found that there were several of these ocean elephants sporting about in the neighbourhood, and bursting up the young ice that had formed on several holes, by using their huge heads as battering-rams. It was quickly arranged that the party should divide into three, and while a few remained behind to watch and restrain the dogs the remainder were to advance on foot to the attack. Saunders, Buzzby, Amos Parr, Davie Summers, and Awatok formed one party, and advanced with two muskets and several spears towards the walrus that had been first seen, the sailors taking care to keep in rear of Awatok in order to follow his lead, for they were as yet ignorant of the proper mode of attack. Awatok led the party stealthily towards a hummock, behind which he caused them to crouch until the walrus should dive. This it did in a few minutes, and then they all rushed from their place of concealment towards another hummock that lay about fifty yards from the hole. Just as they reached it, and crouched, the walrus rose, snorting the brine from its shaggy muzzle, and lashing the water into foam with its flippers. "Losh, what a big 'un!" exclaimed Saunders in amazement; and well he might, for this was an unusually large animal, more like an elephant in size than anything else. It had two enormous ivory tusks, with which it tore and pounded large fragments from the ice-tables, while it barked like a gigantic dog, and rolled its heavy form about in sport. Awatok now whispered to his comrades, and attempted to get them to understand that they must follow him as fast as possible at the next run. Suddenly the walrus dived. Awatok rushed forward, and in another instant stood at the edge of the hole with his spear in readiness in his right hand, and the coil of line in his left. The others joined him instantly, and they had scarcely come up when the huge monster again rose to the surface. Saunders and Buzzby fired at his head the moment it appeared above water, and Awatok at the same time planted a spear in his breast, and ran back with the coil. The others danced about in an excited state, throwing their spears and missing their mark, although it was a big one, frequently. "Give him a lance-thrust, Amos," cried Saunders, reloading his piece. But Amos could not manage it, for the creature lashed about so furiously that, although he made repeated attempts, he failed to do more than prick its tough sides, and render it still more savage. Buzzby, too, made several daring efforts to lance it, but failed, and nearly slipped into the hole in his recklessness. It was a wild scene of confusion-- the spray was dashed over the ice round the hole, and the men, as they ran about in extreme excitement, slipped and occasionally tumbled in their haste, while the maddened brute glared at them like a fiend, and bellowed in its anger and pain. Suddenly it dived, leaving the men staring at each other. The sudden cessation of noise and turmoil had a very strange effect. "Is't away?" enquired Saunders with a look of chagrin. He was answered almost instantly by the walrus reappearing, and making furious efforts by means of its flippers and tusks to draw itself out upon the ice, while it roared with redoubled energy. The shot that was instantly fired seemed to have no effect, and the well-directed harpoon of Awatok was utterly disregarded by it. Amos Parr, however, gave it a lance-thrust that caused it to howl vehemently, and dyed the foam with its blood. "Hand me a spear, Buzzby," cried Saunders, "the musket-balls seem to hurt him as little as peas. Oot o' my gait." The second mate made a rush so tremendous that something awful would infallibly have resulted had he not struck his foot against a bit of ice and fallen violently on his breast. The impetus with which he had started shot him forward till his head was within a foot of the walrus's grim muzzle. For one moment the animal looked at the man as if it were surprised at his audacity, and then it recommenced its frantic struggles, snorting blood, and foam, and water into Saunders's face as he scrambled out of its way. Immediately after, Awatok fixed another harpoon in its side, and it dived again. The struggle that ensued was tremendous, and the result seemed for a long time to be doubtful. Again and again shots were fired and spear-thrusts made with effect, but the huge creature seemed invulnerable. Its ferocity and strength remained unabated, while the men--sailors and Esquimaux alike--were nearly exhausted. The battle had now lasted three hours; the men were panting from exertion; the walrus, still bellowing, was clinging to the edge of the ice, which for several yards round the hole was covered with blood and foam. "Wot a brute it is!" said Buzzby, sitting down on a lump of ice and looking at it in despair. "We might have killed it lang ago had I not wet my gun," growled Saunders, regarding his weapon, which was completely drenched, with a look of contempt. "Give it another poke, Awatok," cried Amos Parr; "you'll know best whereabouts its life lies; I can make nothin' o't." Awatok obeyed, and gave it a thrust under the left flipper that seemed to reach its heart, for it fell back into the water and struggled violently. At the same moment Davie Summers mounted to the top of a hummock, part of which overhung the pool, and launched a harpoon down upon its back. This latter blow seemed to revive its ferocity, for it again essayed to clamber out on the ice, and looked up at Davie with a glance of seeming indignation, while Buzzby, who had approached, fell backward as he retreated from before it. At the same time Saunders succeeded in getting his musket to go off. The ball struck it in the eye, and, entering the brain, caused instant death, a result which was greeted with three enthusiastic cheers. The getting of this enormous creature out of the water would have been a matter of no small difficulty had there not been such a large party present. Even as it was, it took them a considerable time to accomplish this feat, and to cut it up and pack it on the sledges. While the battle above described was going on, two smaller walrus had been killed and secured, and the Esquimaux were in a state of great glee, for previous to the arrival of the sailors they had been unsuccessful in their hunts, and had been living on short allowance. On returning home there was a general feasting and merry-making, and Saunders felt that if he remained there long they would not only eat up their own meat, but his also. He therefore resolved to return immediately to the ship with his prize, and leave part of his men behind to continue the hunt until he should return with the sledge. But he was prevented from putting this intention into practice by a hurricane which burst over the Arctic regions with inconceivable bitterness, and for two days kept all the inhabitants of the snow-village confined to their huts. This hurricane was the fiercest that had swept over these bleak regions of ice since the arrival of the _Dolphin_. The wind shrieked, as it swept round the cliffs, and down the ravines, and out upon the frozen sea, as if a legion of evil spirits were embodied and concentrated in each succeeding blast. The snow-drift rose in solid masses, whirled madly round for a few seconds, and then was caught by the blast, and swept away like sheets of white flame. The thermometer stood at 23 degrees below zero, a temperature that was mild compared with what it usually had been of late, but the fierce wind abstracted heat from everything exposed to it so rapidly that neither man nor beast could face it for a moment. Buzzby got a little bit of his chin frozen while he merely put his head out at the door of the hut to see how the weather looked, and Davie Summers had one of his fingers slightly frozen while in the act of carrying in one of the muskets that had been left outside by mistake. As for the Esquimaux, they recked not of the weather. Their snow-huts were warm, and their mouths were full, so like wise men and women they waited patiently within-doors till the storm should blow itself out. The doings of these poor people were very curious. They ate voraciously, and evidently preferred their meat raw. But when the sailors showed disgust at this, they at once made a small fire of moss, mingled with blubber, over which they half-cooked their food. Their mode of procuring fire was curious. Two small stones were taken, one a piece of white quartz, the other a piece of iron-stone, and struck together smartly; the few sparks that flew out were thrown upon a kind of white down, found on the willows, under which was placed a lump of dried moss. It was usually a considerable time before they succeeded in catching a spark, but once caught they had no difficulty in blowing it into a flame. They had also an ingenious contrivance for melting snow. This was a flat stone, supported by two other stones, and inclined slightly at one end; upon this flat stone a lump of snow was placed, and below it was kindled a small fire of moss and blubber. When the stone became heated, the snow melted and flowed down the incline into a small seal-skin cup placed there to catch it. During the continuance of the storm the sailors shared the food and lodging of these Esquimaux. They were a fat, oily, hospitable, dirty race, and vied with each other in showing kindness to those who had been thus thrown into their society. As Davie Summers expressed it, "they were regular trumps"; and, according to Buzzby's opinion, "they wos the jolliest set o' human walrusses wot he had ever comed across in all his travels, and he ought to know, for he had always kep' his weather-eye open, he had, and wouldn't give in on that p'int, he wouldn't, to no man livin'." CHAPTER NINETEEN. THE NORTHERN PARTY--A NARROW ESCAPE, AND A GREAT DISCOVERY--ESQUIMAUX AGAIN, AND A JOYFUL SURPRISE. It is interesting to meditate, sometimes, on the deviousness of the paths by which men are led in earthly affairs--even when the starting-point and object of pursuit are the same. The two parties which left the _Dolphin_ had for their object the procuring of fresh food. The one went south and the other north, but their field was the same--the surface of the frozen sea and the margin of the ice-girt shore. Yet how different their experiences and results were the sequel will show. As we have already said, the northern party was in command of Bolton, the first mate, and consisted of ten men, among whom were our hero Fred, Peter Grim, O'Riley, and Meetuck, with the whole team of dogs, and the large sledge. Being fine weather when they set out, they travelled rapidly, making twenty miles, as near as they could calculate, in the first six hours. The dogs pulled famously, and the men stepped out well at first, being cheered and invigorated mentally by the prospect of an adventurous excursion and fresh meat. At the end of the second day they buried part of their stock of provisions at the foot of a conspicuous cliff, intending to pick it up on their return, and, thus lightened, they advanced more rapidly, keeping farther out on the floes, in hopes of falling in with walrus or seals. Their hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment. They got only one seal, and that was a small one--scarcely sufficient to afford a couple of meals to the dogs. They were "misfortunate entirely", as O'Riley remarked, and, to add to their misfortunes, the floe-ice became so rugged that they could scarcely advance at all. "Things grow worse and worse," remarked Grim, as the sledge, for the twentieth time that day, plunged into a crack in the ice, and had to be unloaded ere it could be got out. "The sledge won't stand much o' sich work, and if it breaks--good-bye to it, for it won't mend without wood, and there's none here." "No fear of it," cried Bolton encouragingly; "it's made of material as tough as your own sinews, Grim, and won't give way easily, as the thumps it has withstood already prove. Has it never struck you, Fred," he continued, turning to our hero, who was plodding forward in silence,--"has it never struck you that when things in this world get very bad, and we begin to feel inclined to give up, they somehow or other begin to get better." "Why, yes, I have noticed that; but I have a vague sort of feeling just now that things are not going to get better. I don't know whether it's this long-continued darkness, or the want of good food, but I feel more downcast than I ever was in my life before." Bolton's remark had been intended to cheer, but Fred's answer proved that a discussion of the merits of the question was not likely to have a good effect on the men, whose spirits were evidently very much cast down, so he changed the subject. Fortunately at that time an incident occurred which effected the mate's purpose better than any efforts man could have made. It has frequently happened that when Arctic voyagers have, from sickness and long confinement during a monotonous winter, become so depressed in spirits that games and amusements of every kind failed to rouse them from their lethargic despondency, sudden danger has given to their minds the needful impulse, and effected a salutary change, for a time at least, in their spirits. Such was the case at the present time. The men were so worn with hard travel and the want of fresh food, and depressed by disappointment and long-continued darkness, that they failed in their attempts to cheer each other, and at length relapsed into moody silence. Fred's thoughts turned constantly to his father, and he ceased to remark cheerfully, as was his wont, on passing objects. Even O'Riley's jests became few and far between, and at last ceased altogether. Bolton alone kept up his spirits, and sought to cheer his men, the feeling of responsibility being, probably, the secret of his superiority over them in this respect. But even Bolton's spirits began to sink at last. While they were thus groping sadly along among the hummocks, a large fragment of ice was observed to break off from a berg just over their heads. "Look out! follow me, quick!" shouted the first mate in a loud, sharp voice of alarm, at the same time darting in towards the side of the berg. The startled men obeyed the order just in time, for they had barely reached the side of the berg when the enormous pinnacle fell, and was shattered into a thousand fragments on the spot they had just left. A rebounding emotion sent the blood in a crimson flood to Fred's forehead, and this was followed by a feeling of gratitude to the Almighty for the preservation of himself and the party. Leaving the dangerous vicinity of the bergs, they afterwards kept more inshore. "What can yonder mound be?" said Fred, pointing to an object that was faintly seen at a short distance off upon the bleak shore. "An Esquimaux hut, maybe," replied Grim. "What think'ee, Meetuck?" Meetuck shook his head and looked grave, but made no reply. "Why don't you answer?" said Bolton; "but come along, we'll soon see." Meetuck now made various ineffectual attempts to dissuade the party from examining the mound, which turned out to be composed of stones heaped upon each other; but, as all the conversation of which he was capable, failed to enlighten his companions, as to what the pile was, they instantly set to work to open a passage into the interior, believing that it might contain fresh provisions, as the Esquimaux were in the habit of thus preserving their superabundant food from bears and wolves. In half an hour a hole large enough for a man to creep through was formed, and Fred entered, but started back with an exclamation of horror on finding himself in the presence of a human skeleton, which was seated on the ground in the centre of this strange tomb with its head and arms resting on the knees. "It must be an Esquimaux grave," said Fred, as he retreated hastily; "that must be the reason why Meetuck tried to hinder us." "I should like to see it," said Grim, stooping and thrusting his head and shoulders into the hole. "What have you got there?" asked Bolton, as Grim drew back and held up something in his hand. "Don't know exactly. It's like a bit o' cloth." On examination the article was found to be a shred of coarse cloth, of a blue or black colour, and, being an unexpected substance to meet with in such a place, Bolton turned round with it to Meetuck in the hope of obtaining some information. But Meetuck was gone. While the sailors were breaking into the grave, Meetuck had stood aloof with a displeased expression of countenance, as if he were angry at the rude desecration of a countryman's tomb; but the moment his eye fell on the shred of cloth an expression of mingled surprise and curiosity crossed his countenance, and without uttering a word he slipped noiselessly into the hole, from which he almost immediately issued bearing several articles in his hand. These he held up to view, and with animated words and gesticulations explained that this was the grave of a white man, not of a native. The articles he brought out were a pewter plate and a silver table-spoon. "There's a name of some kind written here," said Bolton, as he carefully scrutinised the spoon. "Look here, Fred, your eyes are better than mine; see if you can make it out." Fred took it with a trembling hand, for a strange feeling of dread had seized possession of his heart, and he could scarcely bring himself to look upon it. He summoned up courage, however, but at the first glance his hand fell down by his side, and a dimness came over his eyes, for the word "_Pole Star_" was engraven on the handle. He would have fallen to the ground had not Bolton caught him. "Don't give way, lad, the ship may be all right. Perhaps this is one o' the crew that died." Fred did not answer, but, recovering himself with a strong effort, he said: "Pull down the stones, men." The men obeyed in silence, and the poor boy sat down on a rock to await the result in trembling anxiety. A few minutes sufficed to disentomb the skeleton, for the men sympathised with their young comrade, and worked with all their energies. "Cheer up, Fred," said Bolton, coming and laying his hand on the youth's shoulder, "it's _not_ your father. There is a bit of _black_ hair sticking to the scalp." With a fervent expression of thankfulness Fred rose and examined the skeleton, which had been placed in a sort of sack of skin, but was destitute of clothing. It was quite dry, and must have been there a long time. Nothing else was found, but from the appearance of the skull, and the presence of the plate and spoon, there could be no doubt that it was that of one of the _Pole Star's_ crew. It was now resolved that they should proceed along the coast and examine every creek and bay for traces of the lost vessel. "Oh, Bolton, my heart misgives me!" said Fred, as they drove along; "I fear that they have all perished." "Niver a bit sir," said O'Riley in a sympathising tone, "yon chap must have died and been buried here be the crew as they wint past." "You forget that sailors don't bury men under mounds of stone, with pewter plates and spoons beside them." O'Riley was silenced, for the remark was unanswerable. "He may ha' bin left or lost on the shore, and been found by the Esquimaux," suggested Peter Grim. "Is that not another tomb?" enquired one of the men, pointing towards an object which stood on the end of a point or cape towards which they were approaching. Ere anyone could reply, their ears were saluted by the well-known bark of a pack of Esquimaux dogs. In another moment they dashed into the midst of a snow village, and were immediately surrounded by the excited natives. For some time no information could be gleaned from their interpreter, who was too excited to make use of his meagre amount of English. They observed, however, that the natives, although much excited, did not seem to be so much surprised at the appearance of white men amongst them as those were whom they had first met with near the ship. In a short time Meetuck apparently had expended all he had to say to his friends, and turned to make explanations to Bolton in a very excited tone; but little more could be made out than that what he said had some reference to white men. At length, in desperation, he pointed to a large hut which seemed to be the principal one of the village, and, dragging the mate towards it, made signs to him to enter. Bolton hesitated an instant. "He wants you to see the chief of the tribe, no doubt," said Fred; "you'd better go in at once." A loud voice shouted something in the Esquimaux language from within the hut. At the sound Fred's heart beat violently, and pushing past the mate he crept through the tunnelled entrance and stood within. There was little furniture in this rude dwelling. A dull flame flickered in a stone lamp which hung from the roof, and revealed the figure of a large Esquimaux reclining on a couch of skins at the raised side of the hut. The man looked up hastily as Fred entered, and uttered a few unintelligible words. "Father!" cried Fred, gasping for breath, and springing forward. Captain Ellice, for it was indeed he, started with apparent difficulty and pain into a sitting posture, and, throwing back his hood, revealed a face whose open, hearty, benignant expression shone through a coat of dark brown which long months of toil and exposure had imprinted on it. It was thin, however, and careworn, and wore an expression that seemed to be the result of long-continued suffering. "Father!" he exclaimed in an earnest tone; "who calls me father?" "Don't you know me, Father?--don't you remember Fred?--look at--" Fred checked himself, for the wild look of his father frightened him. "Ah! these dreams," murmured the old man, "I wish they did not come so--" Placing his hand on his forehead he fell backwards in a state of insensibility into the arms of his son. CHAPTER TWENTY. KEEPING IT DOWN--MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS--DEATH--NEW-YEAR'S DAY. It need scarcely be said that the sailors outside did not remain long in ignorance of the unexpected and happy discovery related in the last chapter. Bolton, who had crept in after Fred, with proper delicacy of feeling retired the moment he found how matters stood, and left father and son to expend, in the privacy of that chamber of snow, those feelings and emotions which can be better imagined than described. The first impulse of the men was to give three cheers, but Bolton checked them in the bud. "No, no, lads. We must hold on," he said in an eager but subdued voice. "Doubtless it would be pleasant to vent our feelings in a hearty cheer, but it would startle the old gentleman inside. Get along with you, and let us get ready a good supper." "Oh morther!" exclaimed O'Riley, holding on to his sides as if he believed what he said, "me biler'll bust av ye don't let me screech." "Squeeze down the safety-valve a bit longer, then," cried Bolton, as they hurried along with the whole population to the outskirts of the village. "Now, then, ye may fire away; they won't hear ye--Huzza!" A long enthusiastic cheer distantly burst from the sailors, and was immediately followed by a howl of delight from the Esquimaux, who capered round their visitors with uncouth gestures and grinning faces. Entering one of the largest huts, preparations for supper were promptly begun. The Esquimaux happened to be well supplied with walrus flesh, so the lamps were replenished, and the hiss of the frying steaks and dropping fat speedily rose above all other sounds. Meanwhile Fred and his father, having mutually recovered somewhat of their wonted composure, began to tell each other the details of their adventures since they last met, while the former prepared a cup of coffee and a steak for their mutual comfort. "But, Father," said Fred, busying himself at the lamp, "you have not yet told me how you came here, and what has become of the _Pole Star_, and how it was that one of your men came to be buried in the Esquimaux fashion, and how you got your leg broken?" "Truly, Fred, I have not told you all that; and to give it you all in detail will afford us many a long hour of converse hereafter, if it please God, whose tenderness and watchful care of me has never failed. But I can give you a brief outline of it thus:-- "I got into Baffin's Bay and made a good fishing of it the first year, but was beset in the ice and compelled to spend two winters in these regions. The third year we were liberated, and had almost got fairly on our homeward voyage, when a storm blew us to the north, and carried us up here. Then our good brig was nipped and went to the bottom, and all the crew were lost except myself and one man. We succeeded in leaping from one piece of loose ice to another until we reached the solid floe and gained the land, where we were kindly received by the Esquimaux. But poor Wilson did not survive long. His constitution had never been robust, and he died of consumption a week after we landed. The Esquimaux buried him after their own fashion, and, as I afterwards found, had buried a plate and a spoon along with him. These, with several other articles, had been washed ashore from the wreck. Since then I have been living the life of an Esquimaux, awaiting an opportunity of escape, either by a ship making its appearance or a tribe of natives travelling south. I soon picked up their language, and was living in comparative comfort when, during a sharp fight I chanced to have with a Polar bear, I fell and broke my leg. I have lain here for many months and have suffered much, Fred; but, thank God, I am now almost well, and can walk a little, though not yet without pain." "Dear Father," said Fred, "_how_ terribly you must have felt the want of kind hands to nurse you during those dreary months, and how lonely you must have been!" It were impossible here to enter minutely into the details of all that Captain Ellice related to Fred during the next few days, while they remained together in the Esquimaux village. To tell of the dangers, the adventures, and the hairbreadth escapes that the crew of the _Pole Star_ went through before the vessel finally went down would require a whole volume. We must pass it all over, and also the account of the few days that followed, during which sundry walrus were captured, and return to the _Dolphin_, to which Captain Ellice had been conveyed on the sledge, carefully wrapped up in deer-skins and tended by Fred. A party of the Esquimaux accompanied them, and as a number of the natives from the other village had returned with Saunders and his men to the ship, the scene she presented, when all parties were united, was exceedingly curious and animated. The Esquimaux soon built quite a little town of snow-huts all round the _Dolphin_, and the noise of traffic and intercourse was peculiarly refreshing to the ears of those who had long been accustomed to the death-like stillness of an Arctic winter. The beneficial effect of the change on men and dogs was instantaneous. Their spirits rose at once, and this, with the ample supply of fresh meat that had been procured, soon began to drive scurvy away. There was one dark spot, however, in this otherwise pleasant scene--one impending event that cast a gloom over all. In his narrow berth in the cabin Joseph West lay dying. Scurvy had acted more rapidly on his delicate frame than had been expected. Despite Tom Singleton's utmost efforts and skill the fell disease gained the mastery, and it soon became evident that this hearty and excellent man was to be taken away from them. During the last days of his illness Captain Ellice was his greatest comfort and his constant companion. It was on Christmas-day that West died. Next day the body of Joseph West was put in a plain deal coffin and conveyed to Store Island, where it was placed on the ground. They had no instruments that could penetrate the hard rock, so were obliged to construct a tomb of stones, after the manner of the Esquimaux, under which the coffin was laid and left in solitude. New-year's Day came, and preparations were made to celebrate the day with the usual festivities. But the recent death had affected the crew too deeply to allow them to indulge in the unrestrained hilarity of that season. Prayers were read in the morning, and both Captain Guy and Captain Ellice addressed the men feelingly in allusion to their late shipmate's death and their own present position. A good dinner was also prepared, and several luxuries served out, among which were the materials for the construction of a large plum-pudding. But no grog was allowed, and they needed it not. As the afternoon advanced, stories were told, and even songs were sung, but these were of a quiet kind, and the men seemed, from an innate feeling of propriety, to suit them to the occasion. Old friends were recalled, and old familiar scenes described. The hearths of home were spoken of with a depth of feeling that showed how intense was the longing to be seated round them again, and future prospects were canvassed with keen interest and with hopeful voices. New year's Day came and went, and when it was gone the men of the _Dolphin_ did not say, "What a jolly day it was!" They _said_ little or nothing, but, long after, they _thought_ of it as a bright spot in their dreary winter in the Bay of Mercy--as a day in which they had enjoyed earnest, glad, and sober communings of heart. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. FIRST GLEAM OF LIGHT--TRIP TO WELCOME THE SUN--BEARS AND STRANGE DISCOVERIES--O'RILEY IS RECKLESS--FIRST VIEW OF THE SUN. The wisest of men has told us that, "it is a pleasant thing for the eyes to behold the sun," but only those who spend a winter in the Arctic regions can fully appreciate the import of that inspired saying. It is absolutely essential to existence that the bright beams of the great luminary should fall on animal as well as plant. Most of the poor dogs died for want of this blessed light, and had it been much longer withheld, doubtless our navigators would have sunk also. About the 20th of January a faint gleam of light on the horizon told of the coming day. It was hailed with rapture, and, long before the bright sun himself appeared on the southern horizon, the most of the men made daily excursions to the neighbouring hill-tops to catch sight of as much as possible of his faint rays. Day by day those rays expanded, and at last a sort of _dawn_ enlightened a distant portion of their earth, which, faint though it was at first, had much the appearance in their eyes of a bright day. But time wore on, and _real_ day appeared! The red sun rose in all its glory, showed a rim of its glowing disc above the frozen sea, and then sank, leaving a long gladsome smile of twilight behind. This great event happened on the 19th of February, and would have occurred sooner but for the high cliffs to the southward, which intervened between the ship and the horizon. On the day referred to a large party was formed to go to the top of the cliffs at Red Snow Valley to welcome back the sun. "There's scarce a man left behind," remarked Captain Guy, as they started on this truly joyous expedition. "Only Mizzle, sir," said Buzzby, slapping his hands together, for the cold was intense; "he said as how he'd stop and have dinner ready agin our return." There was a general laugh from the men, who knew that the worthy cook had other reasons for not going--namely, his shortness of wind and his inveterate dislike to ascend hills. "Come, Fred," cried Captain Ellice, who had completely recovered from his accident, "I shall be quite jealous of your friend Singleton if you bestow so much of your company on him. Walk with me, sirrah, I command you, as I wish to have a chat." "You are unjust to me," replied Fred, taking his father's arm, and falling with him a little to the rear of the party; "Tom complains that I have quite given him up of late." "Och! isn't it a purty sight," remarked O'Riley to Mivins, "to see us all goin' out like good little childers to see the sun rise of a beautiful mornin' like this?" "So it _h_is," answered Mivins, "but I wish it wasn't quite so cold." It was indeed cold--so cold that the men had to beat their hands together, and stamp their feet, and rush about like real children, in order to keep their bodies warm. This month of February was the coldest they had yet experienced. Several times the thermometer fell to the unexampled temperature of 75 degrees below zero, or 107 degrees below the freezing-point of water. When we remind our young readers that the thermometer in England seldom falls so low as zero, except in what we term weather of the utmost severity, they may imagine--or, rather, they may try to imagine--what 75 degrees _below_ zero must have been. It was not quite so cold as that upon this occasion, otherwise the men could not have shown face to it. "Let's have leap-frog," shouted Davie; "we can jump along as well as walk along. Hooray! _hup_!" The "hup" was rather an exclamation of necessity than of delight inasmuch as that it was caused by Davie coming suddenly down flat on the ice in the act of vainly attempting to go leap-frog over Mivins's head. "That's your sort," cried Amos Parr; "down with you, Buzzby." Buzzby obeyed, and Amos, being heavy and past the agile time of life, leaped upon, instead of over, his back, and there stuck. "Not so high, lads," cried Captain Guy. "Come, Mr Saunders, give us a back." "Faix, he'd better go on his hands an' knees." "That's it! over you go; hurrah, lads!" In five minutes nearly the whole crew were panting from their violent exertions, and those who did not, or could not, join, panted as much from laughter. The desired result, however, was speedily gained. They were all soon in a glow of heat, and bade defiance to the frost. An hour's sharp climb brought the party almost to the brow of the hill, from which they hoped to see the sun rise for the first time for nearly five months. Just as they were about to pass over a ridge in the cliffs, Captain Guy, who had pushed on in advance with Tom Singleton, was observed to pause abruptly and make signals for the men to advance with caution. He evidently saw something unusual, for he crouched behind a rock and peeped over it. Hastening up as silently as possible, they discovered that a group of Polar bears were amusing themselves on the other side of the cliffs, within long gunshot. Unfortunately not one of the party had brought firearms. Intent only on catching a sight of the sun, they had hurried off, unmindful of the possibility of their catching sight of anything else. They had not even a spear, and the few oak cudgels that some carried, however effectual they might have proved at Donnybrook, were utterly worthless there. There were four large bears and a young one, and the gambols they performed were of the most startling as well as amusing kind. But that which interested and surprised the crew most was the fact that these bears were playing with barrels, and casks, and tent-poles, and sails! They were engaged in a regular frolic with these articles, tossing them up in the air, pawing them about, and leaping over them like kittens. In these movements they displayed their enormous strength several times. Their leaps, although performed with the utmost ease, were so great as to prove the iron nature of their muscles. They tossed the heavy casks, too, high in the air like tennis-balls; and in two instances, while the crew were watching them, dashed a cask in pieces with a slight blow of their paws. The tough canvas yielded before them like sheets of paper, and the havoc they committed was wonderful to behold. "Most extraordinary!" exclaimed Captain Guy, after watching them for some time in silence. "I cannot imagine where these creatures can have got hold of such things. Were not the goods at Store Island all right this morning, Mr Bolton?" "Yes, sir, they were." "Nothing missing from the ship!" "No, sir, nothing." "It's most unaccountable." "Captain Guy," said O'Riley, addressing his commander with a solemn face, "haven't ye more nor wance towld me the queer thing in the deserts they calls the _mirage_?" "I have," answered the captain with a puzzled look. "An' didn't ye say there was something like it in the Polar seas, that made ye see flags, an' ships, an' things o' that sort when there was no sich things there at all?" "True, O'Riley, I did." "Faix, then, it's my opinion that yon bears is a mirage, an' the sooner we git out o' their way the better." A smothered laugh greeted this solution of the difficulty. "I think I can give a better explanation--begging your pardon, O'Riley," said Captain Ellice, who had hitherto looked on with a sly smile. "More than a year ago, when I was driven past this place to the northward, I took advantage of a calm to land a supply of food, and a few stores and medicines, to be a stand-by in case my ship should be wrecked to the northward. Ever since the wreck actually took place I have looked forward to this _cache_ of provisions as a point of refuge on my way south. As I have already told you, I have never been able to commence the southward journey, and now I don't require these things, which is lucky, for the bears seem to have appropriated them entirely." "Had I known of them sooner, Captain," said Captain Guy, "the bears should not have had a chance." "That accounts for the supply of tobacco and sticking-plaster we found in the bear's stomach," remarked Fred, laughing. "True, boy, yet it surprises me that they succeeded in breaking into my _cache_, for it was made of heavy masses of stone, many of which required two and three men to lift them, even with the aid of handspikes." "What's wrong with O'Riley?" said Fred, pointing to that eccentric individual, who was gazing intently at the bears, muttering between his teeth, and clenching his cudgel nervously. "Shure, it's a cryin' shame," he soliloquised in an undertone, quite unconscious that he was observed, "that ye should escape, ye villains; av' I only had a musket now--but I han't. Arrah, av' it was only a spear! Be the mortial! I think I could crack the skull o' the small wan! Faix, then; I'll try!" At the last word, before anyone was aware of his intentions, this son of Erin, whose blood was now up, sprang down the cliffs towards the bears, flourishing his stick, and shouting wildly as he went. The bears instantly paused in their game, but showed no disposition to retreat. "Come back, you madman!" shouted the captain; but the captain shouted in vain. "Stop! halt! come back!" chorused the crew. But O'Riley was deaf; he had advanced to within a few yards of the bears, and was rushing forward to make a vigorous attack on the little one. "He'll be killed!" exclaimed Fred in dismay. "Follow me, men," shouted the captain, as he leaped the ridge; "make all the noise you can." In a moment the surrounding cliffs were reverberating with the loud halloos and frantic yells of the men, as they burst suddenly over the ridge, and poured down upon the bears like a torrent of maniacs! Bold though they were they couldn't stand this. They turned tail and fled, followed by the disappointed howls of O'Riley, and also by his cudgel, which he hurled violently after them as he pulled up. Having thus triumphantly put the enemy to flight the party continued their ascent of the hill and soon gained the summit. "There it is!" shouted Fred, who, in company with Mivins, first crossed the ridge and tossed his arms in the air. The men cheered loudly as they hurried up, and one by one emerged into a red glow of sunshine. It could not be termed _warm_, for it had no power in that frosty atmosphere, and only a small portion of the sun's disc was visible. But his _light_ was on every crag and peak around; and as the men sat down in groups, and, as it were, bathed in the sunshine, winking at the bright gleam of light with half-closed eyes, they declared that it _felt_ warm, and wouldn't hear anything to the contrary, although Saunders, true to his nature, endeavoured to prove to them that the infinitely small degree of heat imparted by such feeble rays could not by any possibility be _felt_ except in imagination. But Saunders was outvoted. Indeed, under the circumstances, he had not a chance of proving his point; for the more warm the dispute became the greater was the amount of animal heat that was created, to be placed, falsely, to the credit of the sun. Patience, however, is a virtue which is sure to meet with a reward. The point which Saunders failed to prove by argument was pretty well proved to everyone (though not admitted) by the agency of John Frost. That remarkably bitter individual nestled round the men as they sat sunning themselves, and soon compelled them to leap up and apply to other sources for heat. They danced about vigorously, and again took to leap-frog. Then they tried their powers at the old familiar games of home. Hop-step-and-jump raised the animal thermometer considerably; and the standing leap, running leap, and high leap sent it up many degrees. But a general race brought them almost to a summer temperature, and at the same time, most unexpectedly, secured to them a hare. This little creature, of which very few had yet been procured, darted in an evil hour out from behind a rock right in front of the men, who having begun the race for sport now continued it energetically for profit. A dozen sticks were hurled at the luckless hare, and one of these felled it to the ground. After this they returned home in triumph, keeping up all the way an animated dispute as to the amount of heat shed upon them by the sun, and upon that knotty question: "Who killed the hare?" Neither point was settled when they reached the _Dolphin_, and, we may add, for the sake of the curious reader, neither point is settled yet. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. "THE ARCTIC SUN"--RATS! RATS! RATS!--A HUNTING-PARTY--OUT ON THE FLOES--HARDSHIPS. Among the many schemes that were planned and carried out for lightening the long hours of confinement to their wooden home in the Arctic regions, was the newspaper started by Fred Ellice, and named, as we have already mentioned, _The Arctic Sun_. It was so named because, as Fred stated in his first leading article, it was intended to throw light on many things at a time when there was no other sun to cheer them. We cannot help regretting that it is not in our power to present a copy of this well-thumbed periodical to our readers; but being of opinion that _something_ is better than _nothing_, we transcribe the following extract as a specimen of the contributions from the forecastle. It was entitled-- "John Buzzby's Oppinyuns o' Things in Gin'ral." "Mr Editer,--As you was so good as to ax from me a contribootion to your waluable peeryoddical, I beg heer to stait that this heer article is intended as a gin'ral summery o' the noos wots agoin'. Your reeders will be glad to no that of late the wether's bin gittin' colder, but they'll be better pleased to no that before the middle o' nixt sumer it's likely to git a long chawk warmer. There's a gin'ral complaint heer that Mivins has bin eatin' the shuger in the pantry, an' that's wot's makin' it needfull to put us on short allowance. Davie Summers sais he seed him at it, and it's a dooty the guvermint owes to the publik to have the matter investigated. It's gin'rally expected, howsever, that the guvermint won't trubble its hed with the matter. There's bin an onusual swarmin' o' rats in the ship of late, an' Davie Summers has had a riglar hunt after them. The lad has becum more than ornar expert with his bow an' arrow, for he niver misses now--exceptin' always, when he dusn't hit--an' for the most part takes them on the pint on the snowt with his blunt-heded arow, which he drives in--the snowt, not the arow. There's a gin'ral wish among the crew to no whether the north pole _is_ a pole or a dot. Mizzle sais it's a dot and O'Riley swears (no, he don't do that, for we've gin up swearin' in the fog-sail); but he sais that it's a real post 'bout as thick again as the main-mast, an' nine or ten times as hy. Grim sais it's nother wun thing nor anuther, but a hydeear that _is_ sumhow or other a fact, but yit don't exist at all. Tom Green wants to no if there's any conexshun between it an' the pole that's connected with elections. In fact, we're all at sea, in a riglar muz abut this, an' as Dr Singleton's a syentiffick man, praps he'll give us a leadin' article in your nixt--so no more at present from-- "Yours to command, John Buzzby." This contribution was accompanied with an outline illustration of Mivins eating sugar with a ladle in the pantry, and Davie Summers peeping in at the door--both likenesses being excellent. Some of the articles in the _Arctic Sun_ were grave, and some were gay, but all of them were profitable, for Fred took care that they should be charged either with matter of interest or matter provocative of mirth. And, assuredly, no newspaper of similar calibre was ever looked forward to with such expectation, or read and reread with such avidity. It was one of the expedients that lasted longest in keeping up the spirits of the men. The rat-hunting referred to in the foregoing "summery" was not a mere fiction of Buzzby's brain. It was a veritable fact. Notwithstanding the extreme cold of this inhospitable climate, the rats in the ship increased to such a degree that at last they became a perfect nuisance. Nothing was safe from their attacks; whether substances were edible or not, they were gnawed through and ruined, and their impudence, which seemed to increase with their numbers, at last exceeded all belief. They swarmed everywhere--under the stove, about the beds, in the lockers, between the sofa-cushions, amongst the moss round the walls, and inside the boots and mittens (when empty) of the men. And they became so accustomed to having missiles thrown at them that they acquired to perfection that art which Buzzby described as "keeping one's weather-eye open." You couldn't hit one if you tried. If your hand moved towards an object with which you intended to deal swift destruction, the intruder paused and turned his sharp eyes towards you as if to say: "What! going to try it again?--come, then, here's a chance for you." But when you threw, at best you could only hit the empty space it had occupied the moment before. Or if you seized a stick, and rushed at the enemy in wrath, it grinned fiercely, showed its long white teeth, and then vanished with a fling of its tail that could be construed into nothing but an expression of contempt. At last an expedient was hit upon for destroying these disagreeable inmates. Small bows and arrows were made, the latter having heavy, blunt heads, and with these the men slaughtered hundreds. Whenever anyone was inclined for a little sport he took up his bow and arrows, and, retiring to a dark corner of the cabin, watched for a shot. Davie Summers acquired the title of Nimrod, in consequence of his success in this peculiar field. At first the rats proved a capital addition to the dogs' meals, but at length some of the men were glad to eat them, especially when fresh meat failed altogether, and scurvy began its assaults. White or Arctic foxes, too, came about the ship, sometimes in great numbers, and proved an acceptable addition to their fresh provisions; but at one period all these sources failed, and the crew were reduced to the utmost extremity, having nothing to eat except salt provisions. Notwithstanding the cheering influence of the sun, the spirits of the men fell as their bodily energies failed. Nearly two-thirds of the ship's company were confined to their berths. The officers retained much of their wonted health and vigour, partly in consequence, no doubt, of their unwearied exertions in behalf of others. They changed places with the men at last, owing to the force of circumstances--ministering to their wants, drawing water, fetching fuel, and cooking their food,--carrying out, in short, the divine command, "by love serve one another." During the worst period of their distress a party was formed to go out upon the floes in search of walrus. "If we don't get speedy relief," remarked Captain Guy to Tom Singleton in reference to this party, "some of us will die. I feel certain of that. Poor Buzzby seems on his last legs, and Mivins is reduced to a shadow." The doctor was silent, for the captain's remark was too true. "You must get up your party at once, and set off after breakfast, Mr Bolton," he added, turning to the first mate. "Who can accompany you?" "There's Peter Grim, sir, he's tough yet, and not much affected by scurvy, and Mr Saunders, I think, may--" "No," interrupted the doctor, "Saunders must not go. He does not look very ill, and I hope is not, but I don't like some of his symptoms." "Well, Doctor, we can do without him. There's Tom Green and O'Riley. Nothing seems able to bring down O'Riley. Then there's--" "There's Fred Ellice," cried Fred himself, joining the group; "I'll go with you if you'll take me." "Most happy to have you, sir; our healthy hands are very short, but we can muster sufficient, I think." The captain suggested Amos Parr and two or three more men, and then dismissed his first mate to get ready for an immediate start. "I don't half like your going, Fred," said his father. "You've not been well lately, and hunting on the floes, I know from experience, is hard work." "Don't fear for me, Father; I've quite recovered from my recent attack, which was but slight after all, and I know full well that those who are well must work as long as they can stand." "Ho, lads, look alive there! are you ready?" shouted the first mate down the hatchway. "Ay, ay, sir!" replied Grim, and in a few minutes the party were assembled on the ice beside the small sledge, with their shoulder-belts on, for most of the dogs were either dead or dying of that strange complaint to which allusion has been made in a previous chapter. They set out silently, but ere they had got a dozen yards from the ship Captain Guy felt the impropriety of permitting them thus to depart. "Up, lads, and give them three cheers," he cried, mounting the ship's side and setting the example. A hearty, generous spirit, when vigorously displayed, always finds a ready response from human hearts. The few sailors who were on deck at the time, and one or two of the sick men who chanced to put their heads up the hatchway, rushed to the side, waved their mittens--in default of caps--and gave vent to three hearty British cheers. The effect on the drooping spirits of the hunting-party was electrical. They pricked up like chargers that had felt the spur, wheeled round, and returned the cheer with interest. It was an apparently trifling incident, but it served to lighten the way, and make it seem less dreary for many a long mile. "I'm tired of it entirely," cried O'Riley, sitting down on a hummock, on the evening of the second day after setting out on the hunt; "here we is, two days out, and not a sign o' life nowhere." "Come, don't give in," said Bolton cheerfully, "we're sure to fall in with a walrus to-day." "I think so," cried Fred; "we have come so far out upon the floes that there must be open water near." "Come on, then," cried Peter Grim; "don't waste time talking." Thus urged, O'Riley rose, and, throwing his sledge-strap over his shoulder, plodded on wearily with the rest. Their provisions were getting low now, and it was felt that if they did not soon fall in with walrus or bears they must return as quickly as possible to the ship in order to avoid starving. It was, therefore, a matter of no small satisfaction that, on turning the edge of an iceberg, they discovered a large bear walking leisurely towards them. To drop their sledge-lines and seize their muskets was the work of a moment. But unfortunately, long travelling had filled the pans with snow, and it required some time to pick the touch-holes clear. In this extremity Peter Grim seized a hatchet and ran towards it, while O'Riley charged it with a spear. Grim delivered a tremendous blow at its head with his weapon, but his intention was better than his aim, for he missed the bear and smashed the corner of a hummock of ice. O'Riley was more successful. He thrust the spear into the animal's shoulder, but the shoulder-blade turned the head of the weapon, and caused it to run along at least three feet, just under the skin. The wound, although not fatal, was so painful that Bruin uttered a loud roar of disapproval, wheeled round, and ran away!--an act of cowardice so unusual on the part of a Polar bear that the whole party were taken by surprise. Several shots were fired after him, but he soon disappeared among the ice-hummocks, having fairly made off with O'Riley's spear. The disappointment caused by this was great; but they had little time to think of it, for, soon after, a stiff breeze of wind sprang up, which freshened into a gale, compelling them to seek the shelter of a cluster of icebergs, in the midst of which they built a snow-hut. Before night a terrific storm was raging, with the thermometer 40 degrees below zero. The sky became black as ink; drift whirled round them in horrid turmoil; and the wild blast came direct from the north, over the frozen sea, shrieking and howling in its strength and fury. All that night and the next day it continued. Then it ceased; and for the first time that winter a thaw set in, so that ere morning their sleeping-bags and socks were thoroughly wetted. This was of short duration, however. In a few hours the frost set in again as intense as ever, converting all their wet garments and bedding into hard cakes of ice. To add to their misfortunes their provisions ran out, and they were obliged to abandon the hut and push forward towards the ship with the utmost speed. Night came on them while they were slowly toiling through the deep drifts that the late gale had raised, and to their horror they found they had wandered out of their way, and were still but a short distance from their snow-hut. In despair they returned to pass the night in it, and, spreading their frozen sleeping-bags on the snow, they lay down, silent and supperless, to rest till morning. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. UNEXPECTED ARRIVALS--THE RESCUE-PARTY--LOST AND FOUND--RETURN TO THE SHIP. The sixth night after the hunting-party had left the ship, Grim and Fred Ellice suddenly made their appearance on board. It was quite dark, and the few of the ship's company who were able to quit their berths were seated round the cabin at their meagre evening meal. "Hallo, Fred!" exclaimed Captain Ellice, as his son staggered rather than walked in, and sank down on a locker. "What's wrong, boy? where are the rest of you?" Fred could not answer; neither he nor Grim were able to utter a word at first. It was evident that they laboured under extreme exhaustion and hunger. A mouthful of hot soup administered by Tom Singleton rallied them a little, however. "Our comrades are lost, I fear." "Lost!" exclaimed Captain Guy. "How so? Speak, my boy; but hold, take another mouthful before you speak. Where did you leave them, say you?" Fred looked at the captain with a vacant stare. "Out upon the ice to the north; but, I say, what a comical dream I've had!" Here he burst into a loud laugh. Poor Fred's head was evidently affected, so his father and Tom carried him to his berth. All this time Grim had remained seated on a locker, swaying to and fro like a drunken man, and paying no attention to the numerous questions that were put to him by Saunders and his comrades. "This is bad!" exclaimed Captain Guy, pressing his hand on his forehead. "A search must be made," suggested Captain Ellice. "It's evident that the party have broken down out on the floes, and Fred and Grim have been sent to let us know." "I know it," answered Captain Guy; "a search must be made, and that instantly, if it is to be of any use; but in which direction are we to go is the question. These poor fellows cannot tell us. `Out on the ice to the north' is a wide word. Fred, Fred, can you not tell us in which direction we ought to go to search for them?" "Yes, far out on the floes--among hummocks--far out," murmured Fred half-unconsciously. "We must be satisfied with that. Now, Mr Saunders, assist me to get the small sledge fitted out. I'll go to look after them myself." "An' I'll go with 'ee, sir," said the second mate promptly. "I fear you are hardly able." "No fear o' me, sir. I'm better than 'ee think." "I must go too," added Captain Ellice; "it is quite evident that you cannot muster a party without me." "That's impossible," interrupted the doctor; "your leg is not strong enough, nearly, for such a trip; besides, my dear sir, you must stay behind to perform my duties, for the ship can't do without a doctor, and I shall go with Captain Guy, if he will allow me." "That he won't," cried the captain. "You say truly the ship cannot be left without a doctor. Neither you nor my friend Ellice shall leave the ship with my permission. But don't let us waste time talking. Come, Summers and Mizzle, you are well enough to join, and Meetuck, you must be our guide; look alive and get yourselves ready." In less than half an hour the rescue party were equipped and on their way over the floes. They were six in all--one of the freshest among the crew having volunteered to join those already mentioned. It was a very dark night, and bitterly cold, but they took nothing with them except the clothes on their backs, a supply of provisions for their lost comrades, their sleeping-bags, and a small leather tent. The captain also took care to carry with them a flask of brandy. The colossal bergs, which stretched like well-known landmarks over the sea, were their guides at first, but, after travelling ten hours without halting, they had passed the greater number of those, with which they were familiar, and entered upon an unknown region. Here it became necessary to use the utmost caution. They knew that the lost men must be within twenty miles of them, but they had no means of knowing the exact spot, and any footprints that had been made were now obliterated. In these circumstances Captain Guy had to depend very much on his own sagacity. Clambering to the top of a hummock he observed a long stretch of level floe to the northward. "I think it likely," he remarked to Saunders, who had accompanied him, "that they may have gone in that direction. It seems an attractive road among the chaos of ice-heaps." "I'm no sure o' that," objected Saunders; "yonder's a pretty clear road away to the west, maybe they took that." "Perhaps they did, but as Fred said they had gone far out on the ice _to the north_, I think it likely they've gone in _that_ direction." "Maybe yer right sir, and maybe yer wrang," answered Saunders, as they returned to the party. As this was the second mate's method of intimating that he _felt_ that he ought to give in (though he didn't give in, and never would give in, _absolutely_), the captain felt more confidence in his own opinion. "Now, Meetuck, keep your eyes open," he added, as they resumed their rapid march. After journeying on for a considerable distance, the men were ordered to spread out over the neighbouring ice-fields, in order to multiply the chances of discovering tracks; but there seemed to be some irresistible power of attraction which drew them gradually together again, however earnestly they might try to keep separate. In fact, they were beginning to be affected by the long-continued march and the extremity of the cold. This last was so great that constant motion was absolutely necessary in order to prevent them from freezing. There was no time allowed for rest--life and death were in the scale. Their only hope lay in a continuous and rapid advance, so as to reach the lost men ere they should freeze or die of starvation. "Holo! look 'eer!" shouted Meetuck, as he halted and went down on his knees to examine some marks on the snow. "These are tracks," cried Captain Guy eagerly. "What think you, Saunders?" "They look like it." "Follow them up, Meetuck. Go in advance, my lad, and let the rest of you scatter again." In a few minutes there was a cry heard, and as the party hastened towards the spot whence it came, they found Davie Summers pointing eagerly to a little snow-hut in the midst of a group of bergs. With hasty steps they advanced towards it and the captain, with a terrible misgiving at heart, crept in. "Ah, then, is it yerself, darlint?" were the first words that greeted him. A loud cheer from those without told that they heard and recognised the words. Immediately two of them crept in, and, striking a light, kindled a lamp, which revealed the careworn forms of their lost comrades stretched on the ground in their sleeping-bags. They were almost exhausted for want of food, but otherwise they were uninjured. The first congratulations over, the rescue party immediately proceeded to make arrangements for passing the night. They were themselves little better than those whom they had come to save, having performed an uninterrupted march of eighteen hours without food or drink. It was touching to see the tears of joy and gratitude that filled the eyes of the poor fellows, who had given themselves up for lost as they watched the movements of their comrades while they prepared food for them; and the broken, fitful conversation was mingled strangely with alternate touches of fun and deep feeling, indicating the conflicting emotions that struggled in their breasts. "I knowed ye would come, Captain; bless you, sir," said Amos Parr in an unsteady voice. "Come! Av coorse ye knowed it," cried O'Riley energetically. "Och, but don't be long wid the mate, darlints, me stummik's shut up intirely." "There won't be room for us all here, I'm afraid," remarked Bolton. This was true. The hut was constructed to hold six, and it was impossible that ten could _sleep_ in it, although they managed to squeeze in. "Never mind that," cried the captain. "Here, take a drop of soup; gently, not too much at a time." "Ah, then, it's cruel of ye, it is, to give me sich a small taste!" It was necessary, however, to give men in their condition a "small taste" at first, so O'Riley had to rest content. Meanwhile the rescue party supped heartily, and, after a little more food had been administered to the half-starved men, preparations were made for spending the night. The tent was pitched, and the sleeping-bags spread out on the snow, then Captain Guy offered up fervent thanks to God for his protection thus far, and prayed shortly but earnestly for deliverance from their dangerous situation, after which they all lay down and slept soundly till morning--or at least as soundly as could be expected with a temperature at 55 degrees below zero. Next morning they prepared to set out on their return to the ship. But this was no easy task. The exhausted men had to be wrapped up carefully in their blankets, which were sewed closely round their limbs, then packed in their sleeping-bags and covered completely up, only a small hole being left opposite their mouths to breathe through, and after that they were lashed side by side on the small sledge. The larger sledge, with the muskets, ammunition, and spare blankets, had to be abandoned. Then the rescue party put their shoulders to the tracking-belts, and away they went briskly over the floes. But the drag was a fearfully heavy one for men who, besides having walked so long and so far on the previous day, were, most of them, much weakened by illness and very unfit for such laborious work. The floes, too, were so rugged that they had frequently to lift the heavy sledge and its living load over deep rents and chasms which, in circumstances less desperate, they would have scarcely ventured to do. Work as they would, however, they could not make more than a mile an hour, and night overtook them ere they reached the level floes. But it was of the utmost importance that they should continue to advance, so they pushed forward until a breeze sprang up that pierced them through and through. Fortunately there was a bright moon in the sky, which enabled them to pick their way among the hummocks. Suddenly, without warning, the whole party felt an alarming failure of their energies. Captain Guy, who was aware of the imminent danger of giving way to this feeling, cheered the men to greater exertion by word and voice, but failed to rouse them. They seemed like men walking in their sleep. "Come, Saunders, cheer up, man," cried the captain, shaking the mate by the arm; but Saunders stood still, swaying to and fro like a drunken man. Mizzle begged to be allowed to sleep, if it were only for two minutes, and poor Davie Summers deliberately threw himself down on the snow, from which, had he been left, he would never more have risen. The case was now desperate. In vain the captain shook and buffeted the men. They protested that they did not feel cold--"they were quite warm, and only wanted a little sleep." He saw that it was useless to contend with them, so there was nothing left for it but to pitch the tent. This was done as quickly as possible, though with much difficulty, and the men were unlashed from the sledge and placed within it. The others then crowded in, and, falling down beside each other, were asleep in an instant. The excessive crowding of the little tent was an advantage at this time, as it tended to increase their animal heat. Captain Guy allowed them to sleep only two hours, and then roused them in order to continue the journey; but short though the period of rest was, it proved sufficient to enable the men to pursue their journey with some degree of spirit. Still, it was evident that their energies had been overtaxed, for when they neared the ship next day, Tom Singleton, who had been on the lookout, and advanced to meet them, found that they were almost in a state of stupor, and talked incoherently; sometimes giving utterance to sentiments of the most absurd nature, with expressions of the utmost gravity. Meanwhile good news was brought them from the ship. Two bears and a walrus had been purchased from the Esquimaux, a party of whom--sleek, fat, oily, good-humoured, and hairy--were encamped on the lee side of the _Dolphin_, and busily engaged in their principal and favourite occupation--eating! CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. WINTER ENDS--THE FIRST INSECT--PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE--NARROW ESCAPE--CUTTING OUT--ONCE MORE AFLOAT--SHIP ON FIRE--CREW TAKE TO THE BOATS. Winter passed away, with its darkness and its frost, and, happily, with its sorrows; and summer--bright, glowing summer--came at last to gladden the heart of man and beast in the Polar regions. We have purposely omitted to make mention of spring, for there is no such season, properly so called, within the Arctic Circle. Winter usually terminates with a gushing thaw, and summer then begins with a blaze of fervent heat. Not that the heat is really so intense as compared with that of southern climes, but the contrast is so great that it _seems_ as though the torrid zones had rushed towards the Pole. About the beginning of June there were indications of the coming heat. Fresh water began to trickle from the rocks, and streamlets commenced to run down the icebergs. Soon everything became moist, and a marked change took place in the appearance of the ice-belt, owing to the pools that collected on it everywhere and overflowed. Seals now became more numerous in the neighbourhood, and were frequently killed near the _atluks_, or holes; so that fresh meat was secured in abundance, and the scurvy received a decided check. Reindeer, rabbits, and ptarmigan, too, began to frequent the bay, so that the larder was constantly full, and the mess-table presented a pleasing variety--rats being no longer the solitary dish of fresh meat at every meal. A few small birds made their appearance from the southward, and these were hailed as harbingers of the coming summer. One day O'Riley sat on the taffrail, basking in the warm sun, and drinking in health and gladness from its beams. He had been ill, and was now convalescent. Buzzby stood beside him. "I've bin thinkin'," said Buzzby, "that we don't half know the blessin's that are given to us in this here world till we've had 'em taken away. Look, now, how we're enjoyin' the sun an' the heat just as if it wos so much gold!" "Goold!" echoed O'Riley in a tone of contempt; "faix, I niver thought so little o' goold before, let me tell ye. Goold can buy many a thing, it can, but it can't buy sunshine. Hallo! what's this!" O'Riley accompanied the question with a sudden snatch of his hand. "Look here, Buzzby! Have a care, now! jist watch the opening o' my fist." "Wot is it?" enquired Buzzby, approaching, and looking earnestly at his comrade's clenched hand with some curiosity. "There he comes! Now, then; not so fast, ye spalpeen!" As he spoke, a small fly, which had been captured, crept out from between his fingers, and sought to escape. It was the first that had visited these frozen regions for many, many months, and the whole crew were summoned on deck to meet it, as if it were an old and valued friend. "Let it go, poor thing?" cried half a dozen of the men, gazing at the little prisoner with a degree of interest that cannot be thoroughly understood by those who have not passed through experiences similar to those of our Arctic voyagers. "Ay, don't hurt it, poor thing! You're squeezin' it too hard!" cried Amos Parr. "Squaazing it! no, then, I'm not. Go, avic, an' me blessin' go wid ye." The big, rough hand opened, and the tiny insect, spreading its gossamer wings, buzzed away into the bright atmosphere, where it was soon lost to view. "Rig up the ice-saws, Mr Bolton, set all hands at them, and get out the powder-canisters," cried Captain Guy, coming hastily on deck. "Ay, ay, sir," responded the mate. "All hands to the ice-saws! Look alive, boys! Ho! Mr Saunders! where's Mr Saunders?" "Here I am," answered the worthy second mate in a quiet voice. "Oh, you're there? get up some powder, Mr Saunders, and a few canisters." There was a heartiness in the tone and action with which these orders were given and obeyed that proved they were possessed of more than ordinary interest; as, indeed, they were, for the time had now come for making preparations for cutting the ship out of winter-quarters, and getting ready to take advantage of any favourable opening in the ice that might occur. "Do you hope to effect much?" enquired Captain Ellice of Captain Guy, who stood at the gangway watching the men as they leaped over the side, and began to cut holes with ice chisels preparatory to fixing the saws and powder-canisters. "Not much," replied the captain; "but a _little_ in these latitudes is worth fighting hard for, as you are well aware. Many a time have I seen a ship's crew strain and heave on warps and cables for hours together, and only gain a yard by all their efforts; but many a time, also, have I seen a single yard of headway save a ship from destruction." "True," rejoined Captain Ellice; "I have seen a little of it myself. There is no spot on earth, I think, equal to the Polar regions for bringing out into bold relief two great and _apparently_ antagonistic truths--namely, man's urgent need of all his powers to accomplish the work of his own deliverance, and man's utter helplessness and entire dependence on the sovereign will of God." "When shall we sink the canisters, sir?" asked Bolton, coming up and touching his hat. "In an hour, Mr Bolton; the tide will be full then, and we shall try what effect a blast will have." "My opeenion is," remarked Saunders, who passed at the moment with two large bags of gunpowder under his arms, "that it'll have no effect at a'. It'll just loosen the ice roond the ship." The captain smiled as he said: "_That_ is all the effect I hope for, Mr Saunders. Should the outward ice give way soon, we shall then be in a better position to avail ourselves of it." As Saunders predicted, the effect of powder and saws was merely to loosen and rend the ice-tables, in which the _Dolphin_ was imbedded; but deliverance was coming sooner than any of those on board expected. That night a storm arose, which, for intensity of violence, equalled, if it did not surpass, the severest gales they had yet experienced. It set the great bergs of the Polar seas in motion, and these moving mountains of ice slowly and majestically began their voyage to southern climes, crashing through the floes, overturning the hummocks, and ripping up the ice-tables with quiet, but irresistible momentum. For two days the war of ice continued to rage, and sometimes the contending forces, in the shape of huge tongues and corners of bergs, were forced into the Bay of Mercy, and threatening swift destruction to the little craft, which was a mere atom that might have been crushed and sunk and scarcely missed in such a wild scene. At one time a table of ice was forced out of the water and reared up, like a sloping wall of glass, close to the stern of the _Dolphin_, where all the crew were assembled with ice-poles ready to do their utmost; but their feeble efforts could have availed them nothing had the slowly-moving mass continued its onward progress. "Lower away the quarter-boat," cried the captain, as the sheet of ice six feet thick came grinding down towards the starboard quarter. Buzzby, Grim, and several others sprang to obey, but, before they could let go the fall-tackles, the mass of ice rose suddenly high above the deck, over which it projected several feet, and caught the boat. In another moment the timbers yielded; the thwarts sprang out or were broken across, and slowly, yet forcibly, as a strong hand might crush an egg-shell, the boat was squeezed flat against the ship's side. "Shove, lads; if it comes on we're lost," cried the captain, seizing one of the long poles with which the men were vainly straining every nerve and muscle. They might as well have tried to arrest the progress of a berg. On it came, and crushed in the starboard quarter bulwarks. Providentially at that moment it grounded and remained fast; but the projecting point that overhung them broke off and fell on the deck with a crash that shook the good ship from stem to stern. Several of the men were thrown violently down, but none were seriously hurt in this catastrophe. When the storm ceased, the ice out in the strait was all in motion, and that round the ship had loosened so much that it seemed as if the _Dolphin_ might soon get out into open water and once more float upon its natural element. Every preparation, therefore, was made; the stores were reshipped from Store Island; the sails were shaken out, and those of them that had been taken down were bent on to the yards. Tackle was overhauled, and, in short, everything was done that was possible under the circumstances. But a week passed away ere they succeeded in finally warping out of the bay into the open sea beyond. It was a lovely morning when this happy event was accomplished. Before the tide was quite full, and while they were waiting until the command to heave on the warps should be given, Captain Guy assembled the crew for morning prayers in the cabin. Having concluded, he said: "My lads, through the great mercy of Heaven we have been all, except one, spared through the trials and anxieties of a long and dreary winter, and are now, I trust, about to make our escape from the ice that has held us fast so long. It becomes me at such a time to tell you that, if I am spared to return home, I shall be able to report that every man in this ship has done his duty. You have never flinched in the hour of danger, and never grumbled in the hour of trial. Only one man--our late brave and warm-hearted comrade, Joseph West--has fallen in the struggle. For the mercies that have never failed us, and for our success in rescuing my gallant friend, Captain Ellice, we ought to feel the deepest gratitude. We have need, however, to pray for a blessing on the labours that are yet before us, for you are well aware that we shall probably have many a struggle with the ice before we are once more afloat on blue water. And now, lads, away with you on deck, and man the capstan, for the tide is about full." The capstan was manned, and the hawsers were hove taut. Inch by inch the tide rose, and the _Dolphin_ floated. Then a lusty cheer was given, and Amos Parr struck up one of those hearty songs intermingled with "Ho!" and "Yo heave ho!" that seem to be the life and marrow of all nautical exertion. At last the good ship forged ahead, and, _boring_ through the loose ice, passed slowly out of the Bay of Mercy. "Do you know I feel quite sad at quitting this dreary spot?" said Fred to his father, as they stood gazing backward over the taffrail. "I could not have believed that I should have become so much attached to it." "We become attached to any spot, Fred, in which incidents have occurred to call forth, frequently, our deeper feelings. These rocks and stones are intimately associated with many events that have caused you joy and sorrow, hope and fear, pain and happiness. Men cherish the memory of such feelings, and love the spots of earth with which they are associated." "Ah, Father, yonder stands one stone, at least, that calls forth feelings of sorrow." Fred pointed, as he spoke, to Store Island, which was just passing out of view. On this lonely spot the men had raised a large stone over the grave of Joseph West. O'Riley, whose enthusiastic temperament had caused him to mourn over his comrade more, perhaps, than any other man in the ship, had carved the name and date of his death in rude characters on the stone. It was a conspicuous object on the low island, and every eye in the _Dolphin_ was fixed on it as they passed. Soon the point of rock, that had sheltered them so long from many a westerly gale, intervened and shut it out from view for ever. A week of uninterrupted fair wind and weather had carried the _Dolphin_ far to the south of their dreary wintering-ground, and all was going well, when the worst of all disasters befell the ship--she caught fire! How it happened no one could tell. The smoke was first seen rising suddenly from the hold. Instantly the alarm was spread. "Firemen to your posts!" shouted the captain. "Man the water-buckets; steady, men, no hurry. Keep order." "Ay, ay, sir," was the short, prompt response, and the most perfect order _was_ kept. Every command was obeyed instantly, with a degree of vigour that is seldom exhibited save in cases of life and death. Buzzby was at the starboard, and Peter Grim at the larboard gangway, while the men stood in two rows, extending from each to the main hatch, up which ever-thickening clouds of dark smoke were rolling. Bucket after bucket of water was passed along and dashed into the hold, and everything that could be done was done, but without effect. The fire increased. Suddenly a long tongue of flame issued from the smoking cavern, and lapped round the mast and rigging with greedy eagerness. "There's no hope," said Captain Ellice in a low voice, laying his hand gently on Captain Guy's shoulder. The captain did not reply, but gazed with an expression of the deepest regret, for one moment, at the work of destruction. Next instant he sprang to the falls of the larboard quarterboat. "Now, lads," he cried energetically, "get out the boats. Bring up provisions, Mr Bolton, and a couple of spare sails. Mr Saunders, see to the ammunition and muskets. Quick, men. The cabin will soon be too hot to hold you." Setting the example, the captain sprang below, followed by Fred and Tom Singleton, who secured the charts, a compass, chronometer, and quadrant; also the log-book and the various journals and records of the voyage. Captain Ellice also did active service, and, being cool and self-possessed, he recollected and secured several articles which were afterwards of the greatest use, and which, but for him, would in such a trying moment have probably been forgotten. Meanwhile the two largest boats in the ship were lowered. Provisions, masts, sails, and oars, etcetera, were thrown in. The few remaining dogs, among whom were Dumps and Poker, were also embarked, and the crew, hastily leaping in, pushed off. They were not a moment too soon. The fire had reached the place where the gunpowder was kept and, although there was not a great quantity of it, there was enough, when it exploded, to burst open the deck. The wind, having free ingress, fanned the fire into a furious blaze, and in a few moments the _Dolphin_ was wrapped in flames from stem to stern. It was a little after sunset when the fire was discovered; in two hours later the good ship was burned to the water's edge; then the waves swept in, and, while they extinguished the fire, they sank the blackened hull, leaving the two crowded boats floating in darkness on the bosom of the ice-laden sea. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. ESCAPE TO UPPERNAVIK--LETTER FROM HOME--MEETUCK'S GRANDMOTHER--DUMPS AND POKER AGAIN. For three long weeks the shipwrecked mariners were buffeted by winds and waves in open boats, but at last they were guided in safety through all their dangers and vicissitudes to the colony of Uppernavik. Here they found several vessels on the point of setting out for Europe, one of which was bound for England; and in this vessel the crew of the _Dolphin_ resolved to ship. Nothing of particular interest occurred at this solitary settlement except _one_ thing, but that one thing was a great event, and deserves very special notice. It was nothing less than the receipt of a letter by Fred from his cousin Isobel! Fred and Isobel, having been brought up for several years together, felt towards each other like brother and sister. Fred received the letter from the pastor of the settlement shortly after landing, while his father and the captain were on board the English brig making arrangements for their passage home. He could scarcely believe his eyes when he beheld the well-known hand, but, having at last come to realise the fact that he actually held a real letter in his hand, he darted behind one of the curious, primitive cottages to read it. Here he was met by a squad of inquisitive natives; so, with a gesture of impatience, he rushed to another spot; but he was observed and followed by half a dozen Esquimaux boys, and in despair he sought refuge in the small church near which he chanced to be. He had not been there a second, however, when two old women came in, and, approaching him, began to scan him with critical eyes. This was too much, so Fred thrust the letter into his bosom, darted out, and was instantly surrounded by a band of natives, who began to question him in an unknown tongue. Seeing that there was no other resource, Fred turned him round and fled towards the mountains at a pace that defied pursuit, and, coming to a halt in the midst of a rocky gorge that might have served as an illustration of what chaos was, he sat him down behind a big rock to peruse Isobel's letter. Having read it, he re-read it; having re-read it, he read it over again. Having read it over again, he meditated a little, exclaiming several times emphatically: "My _darling_ Isobel," and then he read bits of it here and there; having done which, he read the _other_ bits, and so got through it again. As the letter was a pretty long one it took him a considerable time to do all this; then it suddenly occurred to him that he had been thus selfishly keeping it all to himself instead of sharing it with his father, so he started up and hastened back to the village, where he found old Mr Ellice in earnest confabulation with the pastor of the place. Seizing his parent by the arm, Fred led him into a room in the pastor's house, and, looking round to make sure that it was empty, he sought to bolt the door, but the door was a primitive one and had no bolt, so Fred placed a huge old-fashioned chair against it, and, sitting down therein, while his father took a seat opposite, he unfolded the letter, and, yet once again, read it through. The letter was about twelve months old, and ran thus:-- "Grayton, 25th July. "My Darling Fred, "It is now two months since you left us, and it seems to me two years. Oh, how I _do_ wish that you were back! When I think of the terrible dangers that you may be exposed to amongst the ice my heart sinks, and I sometimes fear that we shall never see you or your dear father again. But you are in the hands of our Father in heaven, dear Fred, and I never cease to pray that you may be successful and return to us in safety. Dear, good old Mr Singleton told me yesterday that he had an opportunity of sending to the Danish settlements in Greenland, so I resolved to write, though I very much doubt whether this will ever find you in such a wild far-off land. "Oh, when I think of where you are, all the romantic stories I have ever read of Polar regions spring up before me, and _you_ seem to be the hero of them all. But I must not waste my paper thus. I know you will be anxious for news. I have very little to give you, however. Good old Mr Singleton has been _very_ kind to us since you went away. He comes constantly to see us, and comforts dear Mamma very much. Your friend, Dr Singleton, will be glad to hear that he is well and strong. Tell my friend Buzzby that his wife sends her `compliments'. I laugh while I write the word! Yes, she actually sends er `compliments' to her husband. She is a very stern but a really excellent woman. Mamma and I visit her frequently when we chance to be in the village. Her two boys are the finest little fellows I ever saw. They are both so like each other that we cannot tell which is which when they are apart, and both are so like their father that we can almost fancy we see him, when looking at either of them. "The last day we were there, however, they were in disgrace, for Johnny had pushed Freddy into the washing-tub, and Freddy, in revenge, had poured a jug of treacle over Johnny's head! I am quite sure that Mrs Buzzby is tired of being a widow--as she calls herself--and will be very glad when her husband comes back. But I must reserve chit-chat to the end of my letter, and first give you a minute account of all your friends." Here followed six pages of closely-written quarto, which, however interesting they might be to those concerned, cannot be expected to afford much entertainment to our readers, so we will cut Isobel's letter short at this point. "Cap'n's ready to go aboord, sir," said O'Riley, touching his cap to Captain Ellice while he was yet engaged in discussing the letter with his son. "Very good." "An', plaaze sir, av ye'll take the throuble to look in at Mrs Meetuck in passin', it'll do yer heart good, it will." "Very well, we'll look in," replied the captain as he quitted the house of the worthy pastor. The personage whom O'Riley chose to style Mrs Meetuck was Meetuck's grandmother. That old lady was an Esquimaux whose age might be algebraically expressed as an _unknown quantity_. She lived in a boat turned upside down, with a small window in the bottom of it, and a hole in the side for a door. When Captain Ellice and Fred looked in, the old woman, who was a mere mass of bones and wrinkles, was seated on a heap of moss beside a fire, the only chimney to which was a hole in the bottom of the boat. In front of her sat her grandson, Meetuck, and on a cloth spread out at her feet were displayed all the presents with which that good hunter had been loaded by his comrades of the _Dolphin_. Meetuck's mother had died many years before, and all the affection in his naturally warm heart was transferred to, and centred upon, his old grandmother. Meetuck's chief delight in the gifts he received was in sharing them, as far as possible, with the old woman. We say _as far as possible_, because some things could not be shared with her, such as a splendid new rifle, and a silver-mounted hunting-knife and powder-horn, all of which had been presented to him by Captain Guy over and above his wages, as a reward for his valuable services. But the trinkets of every kind which had been given to him by the men were laid at the feet of the old woman, who looked at everything in blank amazement yet with a smile on her wrinkled visage that betokened much satisfaction. Meetuck's oily countenance beamed with delight as he sat puffing his pipe in his grandmother's face. This little attention, we may remark, was paid designedly, for the old woman liked it, and the youth knew that. "They have enough to make them happy for the winter," said Captain Ellice, as he turned to leave the hut. "Faix, they have. There's only two things wantin' to make it complate." "What are they?" enquired Fred. "Murphies and a pig, sure. That's all they need." "Wots come o' Dumps and Poker?" enquired Buzzby, as they reached the boat. "Oh, I quite forgot them!" cried Fred; "stay a minute, I'll run up and find them. They can't be far off." For some time Fred searched in vain. At last he bethought him of Meetuck's hut, as being a likely spot, in which to find them. On entering he found the couple as he had left them, the only difference being that the poor old woman seemed to be growing sleepy over her joys. "Have you seen Dumps or Poker anywhere?" enquired Fred. Meetuck nodded and pointed to a corner where, comfortably rolled up on a mound of dry moss, lay Dumps; Poker, as usual, making use of him as a pillow. "Thems is go bed," said Meetuck. "Thems must get up then and come aboard," cried Fred, whistling. At first the dogs, being sleepy, seemed indisposed to move, but at last they consented, and, following Fred to the beach, were soon conveyed aboard the ship. Next day Captain Guy and his men bade Meetuck and the kind, hospitable people of Uppernavik farewell, and, spreading their canvas to a fair breeze, set sail for England. CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. THE RETURN--THE SURPRISE--BUZZBY'S SAYINGS AND DOINGS--THE NARRATIVE-- FIGHTING BATTLES O'ER AGAIN--CONCLUSION. Once again we are on the end of the quay at Grayton. As Fred stands there, all that has occurred during the past year seems to him but a vivid dream. Captain Guy is there, and Captain Ellice, and Buzzby, and Mrs Buzzby too, and the two little Buzzbys also, and Mrs Bright, and Isobel, and Tom Singleton, and old Mr Singleton, and the crew of the wrecked _Dolphin_, and, in short, the "whole world"--of that part of the country. It was a great day for Grayton, that. It was a wonderful day--quite an indescribable day; but there were also some things about it that made Captain Ellice feel somehow that it was a mysterious day, for, while there were hearty congratulations, and much sobbing for joy on the part of Mrs Bright, there were also whisperings which puzzled him a good deal. "Come with me, brother," said Mrs Bright at length, taking him by the arm, "I have to tell you something." Isobel, who was on the watch, joined them, and Fred also went with them towards the cottage. "Dear brother," said Mrs Bright, "I--I--Oh, Isobel, tell him! _I_ cannot." "What means all this mystery?" said the captain in an earnest tone, for he felt that they had something serious to communicate. "Dear Uncle," said Isobel, "you remember the time when the pirates attacked--" She paused, for her uncle's look frightened her. "Go on, Isobel," he said quickly. "Your dear wife, Uncle, _was not lost at that time_--" Captain Ellice turned pale. "What mean you, girl? How came you to know this?" Then a thought flashed across him. Seizing Isobel by the shoulder he gasped, rather than said: "Speak quick--is--is she alive?" "Yes, dear Uncle, she--" The captain heard no more. He would have fallen to the ground had not Fred, who was almost as much overpowered as his father, supported him. In a few minutes he recovered, and he was told that Alice was alive--in England--_in the cottage_. This was said as they approached the door. Alice was aware of her husband's arrival. In another moment husband, and wife, and son were reunited. Scenes of intense joy cannot be adequately described, and there are meetings in this world which ought not to be too closely touched upon. Such was the present. We will therefore leave Captain Ellice and his wife and son to pour out the deep feelings of their hearts to each other, and follow the footsteps of honest John Buzzby, as he sailed down the village with his wife and children, and a host of admiring friends in tow. Buzzby's feelings had been rather powerfully stirred up by the joy of all around, and a tear _would_ occasionally tumble over his weather-beaten cheek, and hang at the point of his sunburnt, and oft frost-bitten nose, despite his utmost efforts to subdue such outrageous demonstrations. "Sit down, John, dear," said Mrs Buzzby in kind but commanding tones, when she got her husband fairly into his cottage, the little parlour of which was instantly crowded to excess. "Sit down, John, dear, and tell us all about it." "Wot! begin to spin the whole yarn o' the voyage afore I've had time to say `How d'ye do?'" exclaimed Buzzby, at the same time grasping his two uproarious sons, who had, the instant he sat down, rushed at his legs like two miniature midshipmen, climbed up them as if they had been two masts, and settled on his knees as if they had been their own favourite cross-trees! "No, John, not the yarn of the voyage," replied his wife, while she spread the board before him with bread and cheese and beer, "but tell us how you found old Captain Ellice, and where, and what's comed of the crew." "Werry good, then here goes!" Buzzby was a man of action. He screwed up his weather-eye (the one next his wife, _of course_, that being the quarter from which squalls might be expected) and began a yarn which lasted the better part of two hours. It is not to be supposed that Buzzby spun it off without interruption. Besides the questions that broke in upon him from all quarters, the two Buzzbys junior scrambled, as far as was possible, into his pockets, pulled his whiskers as if they had been hoisting a main-sail therewith, and, generally, behaved in such an obstreperous manner as to render coherent discourse all but impracticable. He got through with it, however, and then Mrs Buzzby intimated her wish, pretty strongly, that the neighbours should vacate the premises; which they did, laughingly, pronouncing Buzzby to be a "trump", and his better half a "true blue." "Good-day, old chap," said the last who made his exit; "tiller's fixed agin--nailed amidships? eh!" "Hard and fast," replied Buzzby with a broad grin, as he shut the door and returned to the bosom of his family. Two days later a grand feast was given at Mrs Bright's cottage, to which all the friends of the family were invited to meet with Captain Ellice and those who had returned from their long and perilous voyage. It was a joyful gathering, that, and glad and grateful hearts were there. Two days later still, and another feast was given. On this occasion Buzzby was the host, and Buzzby's cottage was the scene. It was a joyful meeting, too, and a jolly one to boot, for O'Riley was there, and Peter Grim, and Amos Parr, and David Mizzle, and Mivins--in short the entire crew of the lost _Dolphin_,--captain, mates, surgeon, and all. Fred and his father were also there, and old Mr Singleton, and a number of other friends, so that all the rooms in the house had to be thrown open, and even then Mrs Buzzby had barely room to move. It was on this occasion that Buzzby related to his shipmates how Mrs Ellice had escaped from drowning on the night they were attacked by pirates on board the Indiaman. He took occasion to relate the circumstances just before the "people from the house" arrived, and as the reader may perhaps prefer Buzzby's account to ours, we give it as it was delivered. "You see, it happened this way," began Buzzby. "Hand us a coal, Buzzby, to light my pipe, before ye begin," said Peter Grim. "Ah, then, howld yer tongue, Blunderbore!" cried O'Riley, handing the glowing coal demanded, with as much nonchalance as if his fingers were made of cast-iron. "Well, ye see," resumed Buzzby, "when poor Mrs Ellice wos pitched overboard, as I seed her with my own two eyes--" "Stop, Buzzby," said Mivins, "'ow was 'er 'ead at the time?" "Shut up!" cried several of the men; "go on, Buzzby." "Well, I think her _'ead_ was sou'-west, if it warn't nor'-east. Anyhow it was pintin' somewhere or other round the compass. But, as I wos sayin', when Mrs Ellice struck the water (an' she told me all about it herself, ye must know) she sank, and then she comed up, and didn't know how it wos, but she caught hold of an oar that wos floatin' close beside her, and screamed for help, but no help came, for it was dark, and the ship had disappeared, so she gave herself up for lost, but in a little the oar struck agin a big piece o' the wreck o' the pirate's boat, and she managed to clamber upon it, and lay there, a'most dead with cold, till mornin'. The first thing she saw when day broke forth wos a big ship, bearin' right down on her, and she wos just about run down when one o' the men observed her from the bow. "`Hard a-port!' roared the man. "`Port it is,' cried the man at the wheel, an' round went the ship like a duck, jist missin' the bit of wreck as she passed. A boat wos lowered, and Mrs Ellice wos took aboard. Well, she found that the ship wos bound for the Sandwich Islands, and as they didn't mean to touch at any port in passin', Mrs Ellice had to go on with her. Misfortins don't come single, howsiver. The ship was wrecked on a coral reef, and the crew had to take to their boats, w'ich they did, an' got safe to land, but the land they got to wos an out-o'-the-way island among the Feejees, and a spot where ships never come, so they had to make up their minds to stop there." "I thought," said Amos Parr, "that the Feejees were cannibals, and that whoever was wrecked or cast ashore on their coasts was killed and roasted, and eat up at once." "So ye're right," rejoined Buzzby; "but Providence sent the crew to one o' the islands that had bin visited by a native Christian missionary from one o' the other islands, and the people had gin up some o' their worst practices, and wos thinkin' o' turnin' over a new leaf altogether. So the crew wos spared, and took to livin' among the natives, quite comfortable like. But they soon got tired and took to their boats agin, and left. Mrs Ellice, however, determined to remain and help the native Christians, till a ship should pass that way. For three years nothin' but canoes hove in sight o' that lonesome island; then, at last a brig came, and cast anchor offshore. It wos an Australian trader that had been blown out o' her course on her way to England, so they took poor Mrs Ellice aboard, and brought her home--and that's how it wos." Buzzby's outline, although meagre, is so comprehensive that we do not think it necessary to add a word. Soon after he had concluded, the guests of the evening came in, and the conversation became general. "Buzzby's jollification", as it was called in the village, was long remembered as one of the most interesting events that had occurred for many years. One of the chief amusements of the evening was the spinning of long yarns about the incidents of the late voyage, by men who could spin them well. Their battles in the Polar Seas were all fought o'er again. The wondering listeners were told how Esquimaux were chased and captured; how walrus were lanced and harpooned; how bears were speared and shot; how long and weary journeys were undertaken on foot over immeasurable fields of ice and snow; how icebergs had crashed around their ship, and chains had been snapped asunder, and tough anchors had been torn from the ground, or lost; how schools had been set agoing and a theatre got up; and how, provisions having failed, rats were eaten--and eaten, too, with gusto. All this and a great deal more was told on that celebrated night--sometimes by one, sometimes by another, and sometimes, to the confusion of the audience, by two or three at once, and, not unfrequently, to the still greater confusion of story-tellers and audience alike, the whole proceedings were interrupted by the outrageous yells and turmoil of the two indomitable young Buzzbys, as they romped, in reckless joviality, with Dumps and Poker. But at length the morning light broke up the party, and stories of the World of Ice came to an end. And now, reader, our tale is told. But we cannot close without a parting word, in regard to those, with whom we have held intercourse so long. It must not be supposed that from this date everything in the affairs of our various friends flowed on in a tranquil, uninterrupted course. This world is a battle-field, on which no warrior finds rest until he dies; and yet, to the Christian warrior on that field, the hour of death is the hour of victory. "Change" is written in broad letters on everything connected with Time; and he who would do his duty well, and enjoy the greatest possible amount of happiness here, must seek to prepare himself for _every_ change. Men cannot escape the general law. The current of their particular stream may long run smooth, but, sooner or later, the rugged channel and the precipice will come. Some streams run quietly for many a league, and only at the last are troubled. Others burst from their very birth on rocks of difficulty, and rush throughout their course in tortuous, broken channels. So was it with the actors in our story. Our hero's course was smooth. Having fallen in love with his friend Tom Singleton's profession, he studied medicine and surgery, became an M.D., and returned to practise in Grayton, which was a flourishing sea-port, and, during the course of Fred's career, extended considerably. Fred also fell in love with a pretty young girl in a neighbouring town, and married her. Tom Singleton also took up his abode in Grayton, there being, as he said, "room for two". Ever since Tom had seen Isobel on the end of the quay, on the day when the _Dolphin_ set sail for the Polar regions, his heart had been taken prisoner. Isobel refused to give it back unless he, Tom, should return the heart which he had stolen from her. This he could not do, so it was agreed that the two hearts should be tied together, and they two should be constituted joint guardians of both. In short, they were married, and took Mrs Bright to live with them, not far from the residence of old Mr Singleton, who was the fattest and jolliest old gentleman in the place, and the very idol of dogs and boys, who loved him to distraction. Captain Ellice, having had, as he said, "more than his share of the sea," resolved to live on shore, and, being possessed of a moderately comfortable income, he purchased Mrs Bright's cottage on the green hill that overlooked the harbour and the sea. Here he became celebrated for his benevolence, and for the energy with which he entered into all the schemes that were devised for the benefit of the town of Grayton. Like Tom Singleton and Fred, he became deeply interested in the condition of the poor, and had a special weakness for _poor old women_, which he exhibited by searching up, and doing good to, every poor old woman in the parish. Captain Ellice was also celebrated for his garden, which was a remarkably fine one; for his flag-staff, which was a remarkably tall and magnificent one; and for his telescope, which constantly protruded from his drawing-room window, and pointed in the direction of the sea. As for the others--Captain Guy continued his career at sea, as commander of an East Indiaman. He remained stout and true-hearted to the last, like one of the oak timbers of his own good ship. Bolton, Saunders, Mivins, Peter Grim, Amos Parr, and the rest of them, were scattered in a few years, as sailors usually are, to the four quarters of the globe. O'Riley alone was heard of again. He wrote to Buzzby, "by manes of the ritin' he had larn'd aboord the _Dolfin_," informing him that he had forsaken the "say" and become a small farmer near Cork. He had plenty of murphies and also a pig--the latter "bein'," he said, "so like the wan that belonged to his owld grandmother that he thought it must be the same wan comed alive agin, or its darter." And Buzzby--poor Buzzby--he, also, gave up the sea, much against his will, by command of his wife, and took to miscellaneous work, of which there was plenty for an active man in a seaport like Grayton. His rudder, poor man, was again (and this time permanently) lashed amidships, and whatever breeze Mrs Buzzby chanced to blow, his business was to sail _right before it_. The two little Buzzbys were the joy of their father's heart. They were genuine little true-blues, both of them, and went to sea the moment their legs were long enough, and came home, voyage after voyage, with gifts of curiosities and gifts of money to their worthy parents. Dumps resided during the remainder of his days with Captain Ellice, and Poker dwelt with Buzzby. These truly remarkable dogs kept up their attachment to each other to the end. Indeed, as time passed by, they drew closer and closer together, for Poker became more sedate, and, consequently, a more suitable companion for his ancient friend. The dogs formed a connecting-link between the Buzzby and Ellice families-- constantly reminding each of the other's existence, by the daily interchange of visits. Fred and Tom soon came to be known as skilful doctors. Together they went through life respected by all who knew them--each year as it passed cementing closer and closer that undying friendship which had first started into being in the gay season of boyhood, and had bloomed and ripened amid the adventures, dangers, and vicissitudes of the World of Ice. 
21733	----	The Giant of the North, or, Pokings Round The Pole, by R.M. Ballantyne. ________________________________________________________________________ Robert Michael Ballantyne was born in 1825 and died in 1894. He was educated at the Edinburgh Academy, and in 1841 he became a clerk with the Hudson Bay Company, working at the Red River Settlement in Northen Canada until 1847, arriving back in Edinburgh in 1848. The letters he had written home were very amusing in their description of backwoods life, and his family publishing connections suggested that he should construct a book based on these letters. Three of his most enduring books were written over the next decade, "The Young Fur Traders", "Ungava", "The Hudson Bay Company", and were based on his experiences with the H.B.C. In this period he also wrote "The Coral island" and "Martin Rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited by Ballantyne. Having been chided for small mistakes he made in these books, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about. With these books he became known as a great master of literature intended for teenagers. He researched the Cornish Mines, the London Fire Brigade, the Postal Service, the Railways, the laying down of submarine telegraph cables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, the life-boat service, South Africa, Norway, the North Sea fishing fleet, ballooning, deep-sea diving, Algiers, and many more, experiencing the lives of the men and women in these settings by living with them for weeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived. He was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes he encountered with great care and attention to detail. His young readers looked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the 1860s and 1870s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year, all very good reading. The rate of production diminished in the last ten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed. He published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books for very young children under the pseudonym "Comus". For today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and what we would nowadays call "pi". In part that was the way people wrote in those days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the Red River Settlement, in the wilds of Canada, he had been a little dissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of how they ought to behave, as he felt he had been. Some of his books were quite short, little over 100 pages. These books formed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having less pocket-money. These books are particularly well-written and researched, because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible for their money. They were published as six series, three books in each series. While Ballantyne had some acqaintance with the Eskimo during his years with the Hudson Bay Company, this book runs a little into the fantastical. The head of the family who are the heroes of the book has the belief that there is a sea of ever-warm water surrounding the North Pole, and that there are islands there abounding in animal life, and colonised by the Eskimos. The plan is to visit these islands, and stand upon the actual North Pole, which they find to be a low eminence near to the hut of a descendant of a seaman of the original Hudson expedition in 1611. The story is very well-told, and you find yourself almost believing the Captain's logic. The tension is maintained right up to the last chapter, so much so that we do not learn whether the family, who have by this time all become endeared to us, ever get home to England, and what the father and mother of the Captain's nephews have to say about their sons' adventures. Created as an e-Text by Nick Hodson, August 2003. ________________________________________________________________________ THE GIANT OF THE NORTH, OR, POKINGS ROUND THE POLE, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE. CHAPTER ONE. INTRODUCES OUR HERO AND HIS KINDRED. The Giant was an Eskimo of the Arctic regions. At the beginning of his career he was known among his kindred by the name of Skreekinbroot, or the howler, because he howled oftener and more furiously than any infant that had ever been born in Arctic land. His proper name, however, was Chingatok, though his familiars still ventured occasionally to style him Skreekinbroot. Now it must not be supposed that our giant was one of those ridiculous myths of the nursery, with monstrous heads and savage hearts, who live on human flesh, and finally receive their deserts at the hands of famous giant-killing Jacks. No! Chingatok was a real man of moderate size-- not more than seven feet two in his sealskin boots--with a lithe, handsome figure, immense chest and shoulders, a gentle disposition, and a fine, though flattish countenance, which was sometimes grave with thought, at other times rippling with fun. We mention the howling characteristic of his babyhood because it was, in early life, the only indication of the grand spirit that dwelt within him--the solitary evidence of the tremendous energy with which he was endowed. At first he was no bigger than an ordinary infant. He was, perhaps, a little fatter, but _not_ larger, and there was not an oily man or woman of the tribe to which he belonged who would have noticed anything peculiar about him if he had only kept moderately quiet; but this he would not or could not do. His mouth was his safety-valve. His spirit seemed to have been born big at once. It was far too large for his infant body, and could only find relief from the little plump dwelling in which it was at first enshrined by rushing out at the mouth. The shrieks of pigs were trifles to the yelling of that Eskimo child's impatience. The caterwauling of cats was as nothing to the growls of his disgust. The angry voice of the Polar bear was a mere chirp compared with the furious howling of his disappointment, and the barking of a mad walrus was music to the roaring of his wrath. Every one, except his mother, wished him dead and buried in the centre of an iceberg or at the bottom of the Polar Sea. His mother--squat, solid, pleasant-faced, and mild--alone put up with his ways with that long-suffering endurance which is characteristic of mothers. Nothing could disturb the serenity of Toolooha. When the young giant, (that was to be), roared, she fondled him; if that was ineffectual, she gave him a walrus tusk or a seal's flipper to play with; if that did not suffice, she handed him a lump of blubber to suck; if that failed, as was sometimes the case, she gambolled with him on the floor of her snow-hut, and rubbed his oily visage lovingly over her not less oleaginous countenance. Need we enlarge on this point? Have not all mothers acted thus, or similarly, in all times and climes? From pole to pole a mother's soul Is tender, strong, and true; Whether the loved be good or bad-- White, yellow, black, or blue. But Toolooha's love was wise as well as strong. If all else failed, she was wont to apply corporal punishment, and whacked her baby with her tail. Be not shocked, reader. We refer to the tail of her coat, which was so long that it trailed on the ground, and had a flap at the end which produced surprising results when properly applied. But the howling condition of life did not last long. At the age of five years little Chingatok began to grow unusually fast, and when he reached the age of seven, the tribe took note of him as a more than promising youth. Then the grand spirit, which had hitherto sought to vent itself in yells and murderous assaults on its doting mother, spent its energies in more noble action. All the little boys of his size, although much older than himself, began to look up to him as a champion. None went so boldly into mimic warfare with the walrus and the bear as Chingatok. No one could make toy sledges out of inferior and scanty materials so well as he. If any little one wanted a succourer in distress, Skreekinbroot was the lad to whom he, or she, turned. If a broken toy had to be mended, Chingatok could do it better than any other boy. And so it went on until he became a man and a giant. When he was merely a big boy--that is, bigger than the largest man of his tribe--he went out with the other braves to hunt and fish, and signalised himself by the reckless manner in which he would attack the polar bear single-handed; but when he reached his full height and breadth he gave up reckless acts, restrained his tendency to display his great strength, and became unusually modest and thoughtful, even pensive, for an Eskimo. The superiority of Chingatok's mind, as well as his body, soon became manifest. Even among savages, intellectual power commands respect. When coupled with physical force it elicits reverence. The young giant soon became an oracle and a leading man in his tribe. Those who had wished him dead, and in the centre of an iceberg or at the bottom of the Polar Sea, came to wish that there were only a few more men like him. Of course he had one or two enemies. Who has not? There were a few who envied him his physical powers. There were some who envied him his moral influence. None envied him his intellectual superiority, for they did not understand it. There was one who not only envied but hated him. This was Eemerk, a mean-spirited, narrow-minded fellow, who could not bear to play what is styled second fiddle. Eemerk was big enough--over six feet--but he wanted to be bigger. He was stout enough, but wanted to be stouter. He was influential too, but wanted to reign supreme. This, of course, was not possible while there existed a taller, stouter, and cleverer man than himself. Even if Eemerk had been the equal of Chingatok in all these respects, there would still have remained one difference of character which would have rendered equality impossible. It was this: our young giant was unselfish and modest. Eemerk was selfish and vain-glorious. When the latter killed a seal he always kept the tit-bits for himself. Chingatok gave them to his mother, or to any one else who had a mind to have them. And so in regard to everything. Chingatok was not a native of the region in which we introduce him to the reader. He and the tribe, or rather part of the tribe, to which he belonged, had travelled from the far north; so far north that nobody knew the name of the land from which they had come. Even Chingatok himself did not know it. Being unacquainted with geography, he knew no more about his position on the face of this globe than a field-mouse or a sparrow. But the young giant had heard a strange rumour, while in his far-off country, which had caused his strong intellect to ponder, and his huge heart to beat high. Tribes who dwelt far to the south of his northern home had told him that other tribes, still further south, had declared that the people who dwelt to the south of them had met with a race of men who came to them over the sea on floating islands; that these islands had something like trees growing out of them, and wings which moved about, which folded and expanded somewhat like the wings of the sea-gull; that these men's faces were whiter than Eskimo faces; that they wore skins of a much more curious kind than sealskins, and that they were amazingly clever with their hands, talked a language that no one could understand, and did many wonderful things that nobody could comprehend. A longing, wistful expression used to steal over Chingatok's face as he gazed at the southern horizon while listening to these strange rumours, and a very slight smile of incredulity had glimmered on his visage, when it was told him that one of the floating islands of these Kablunets, or white men, had been seen with a burning mountain in the middle of it, which vomited forth smoke and fire, and sometimes uttered a furious hissing or shrieking sound, not unlike his own voice when he was a Skreekinbroot. The giant said little about these and other subjects, but thought deeply. His mind, as we have said, was far ahead of his time and condition. Let us listen to some of the disjointed thoughts that perplexed this man. "Who made me?" he asked in a low tone, when floating alone one day in his kayak, or skin canoe, "whence came I? whither go I? What is this great sea on which I float? that land on which I tread? No sledge, no spear, no kayak, no snow-hut makes itself! Who made all that which I behold?" Chingatok looked around him, but no audible answer came from Nature. He looked up, but the glorious sun only dazzled his eyes. "There _must_ be One," he continued in a lower tone, "who made all things; but who made _Him_? No one? It is impossible! The Maker must have ever been. _Ever been_!" He repeated this once or twice with a look of perplexed gravity. The northern savage had grasped the grand mystery, and, like all true philosophers savage or civilised who have gone before him, relapsed into silence. At last he resolved to travel south, until he should arrive at the coasts where these strange sights before described were said to have been seen. Having made up his mind, Chingatok began his arrangements without delay; persuaded a few families of his tribe to accompany him, and reached the north-western shores of Greenland after a long and trying journey by water and ice. Here he spent the winter. When spring came, he continued his journey south, and at last began to look out, with sanguine expectation, for the floating islands with wings, and the larger island with the burning mountain on it, about which he had heard. Of course, on his way south, our giant fell in with some members of the tribes through whom the rumours that puzzled him had been transmitted to the far north; and, as he advanced, these rumours took a more definite, also a more correct, form. In time he came to understand that the floating islands were gigantic kayaks, or canoes, with masts and sails, instead of trees and wings. The burning mountain, however, remained an unmodified mystery, which he was still inclined to disbelieve. But these more correct views did not in the least abate Chingatok's eager desire to behold, with his own eyes, the strange men from the unknown south. Eemerk formed one of the party who had volunteered to join Chingatok on this journey. Not that Eemerk was influenced by large-minded views or a thirst for knowledge, but he could not bear the thought that his rival should have all the honour of going forth on a long journey of exploration to the mysterious south, a journey which was sure to be full of adventure, and the successful accomplishment of which would unquestionably raise him very much in the estimation of his tribe. Eemerk had volunteered to go, not as second in command, but as an independent member of the party--a sort of free-lance. Chingatok did not quite relish having Eemerk for a companion, but, being a good-humoured, easy-going fellow, he made no objection to his going. Eemerk took his wife with him. Chingatok took his mother and little sister; also a young woman named Tekkona, who was his wife's sister. These were the only females of the exploring party. Chingatok had left his wife behind him, because she was not robust at that time; besides, she was very small--as is usually the case with giants' wives--and he was remarkably fond of her, and feared to expose her to severe fatigue and danger. The completed party of explorers numbered twenty souls, with their respective bodies, some of which latter were large, some small, but all strong and healthy. Four of the men were friends of Eemerk, whom he had induced to join because he knew them to be kindred spirits who would support him. "I go to the ice-cliff to look upon the sea," said Chingatok one morning, drawing himself up to his full height, and unconsciously brushing some of the lamp-black off the roof of his hut with the hood of his sealskin coat. At this point it may be well to explain, once for all, that our giant did not speak English, and as it is highly improbable that the reader understands the Eskimo tongue, we will translate as literally as possible--merely remarking that Chingatok's language, like his mind, was of a superior cast. "Why goes my son to the ice-cliff?" asked Toolooha in a slightly reproachful tone. "Are not the floes nearer? Can he not look on the great salt lake from the hummocks? The sun has been hot a long time now. The ice-cliffs are dangerous. Their edges split off every day. If my son goes often to them, he will one day come tumbling down upon the floes and be crushed flat, and men will carry him to his mother's feet like a mass of shapeless blubber." It is interesting to note how strong a resemblance there is in sentiment and modes of thought between different members of the human family. This untutored savage, this Polar giant, replied, in the Eskimo tongue, words which may be freely translated--"Never fear, mother, I know how to take care of myself." Had he been an Englishman, he could not have expressed himself more naturally. He smiled as he looked down at his stout and genial mother, while she stooped and drew forth a choice morsel of walrus flesh from one of her boots. Eskimo ladies wear enormous sealskin boots the whole length of their legs. The tops of these boots are made extremely wide, for the purpose of stowing away blubber, or babies, or other odd articles that might encumber their hands. Chingatok seemed the personification of savage dignity as he stood there, leaning on a short walrus spear. Evidently his little mother doted on him. So did Oblooria, a pretty little girl of about sixteen, who was his only sister, and the counterpart of her mother, hairy coat and tail included, only a few sizes smaller. But Chingatok's dignity was marred somewhat when he went down on his hands and knees, in order to crawl through the low snow-tunnel which was the only mode of egress from the snow-hut. Emerging at the outer end of the tunnel, he stood up, drew the hood of his sealskin coat over his head, shouldered his spear, and went off with huge and rapid strides over the frozen billows of the Arctic Sea. Spring was far advanced at the time of which we write, and the sun shone not only with dazzling brilliancy, but with intense power on the fields of ice which still held the ocean in their cold unyielding embrace. The previous winter had been unusually severe, and the ice showed little or no sign of breaking up, except at a great distance from land, where the heaving of the waves had cracked it up into large fields. These were gradually parting from the main body, and drifting away with surface-currents to southern waters, there to be liquefied and re-united to their parent sea. The particular part of the Greenland coast to which the giant went in his ramble is marked by tremendous cliffs descending perpendicularly into the water. These, at one part, are divided by a valley tilled with a great glacier, which flows from the mountains of the interior with a steep declivity to the sea, into which it thrusts its tongue, or extreme end. This mighty river of ice completely fills the valley from side to side, being more than two miles in width and many hundred feet thick. It seems as solid and motionless as the rocks that hem it in, nevertheless the markings on the surface resemble the currents and eddies of a stream which has been suddenly frozen in the act of flowing, and if you were to watch it narrowly, day by day, and week by week, you would perceive, by the changed position of objects on its surface, that it does actually advance or flow towards the sea. A further proof of this advance is, that although the tongue is constantly shedding off large icebergs, it is never much decreased in extent, being pushed out continuously by the ice which is behind. In fact, it is this pushing process which causes the end of the tongue to shed its bergs, because, when the point is thrust into deep water and floats, the motion of the sea cracks the floating mass off from that pail which is still aground, and lets it drift away. Now it was to these ice-cliffs that the somewhat reckless giant betook himself. Although not well acquainted with that region, or fully alive to the extent of the danger incurred, his knowledge was sufficient to render him cautious in the selection of the position which should form his outlook. And a magnificent sight indeed presented itself when he took his stand among the glittering pinnacles. Far as the eye could reach, the sea lay stretched in the sunshine, calm as a mill-pond, and sparkling with ice-jewels of every shape and size. An Arctic haze, dry and sunny, seemed to float over all like golden gauze. Not only was the sun encircled by a beautiful halo, but also by those lovely lights of the Arctic regions known as parhelia, or mock-suns. Four of these made no mean display in emulation of their great original. On the horizon, refraction caused the ice-floes and bergs to present endless variety of fantastic forms, and in the immediate foreground--at the giant's feet-- tremendous precipices of ice went sheer down into the deep water, while, away to the right, where a bay still retained its winter grasp of an ice-field, could be seen, like white bee-hives, the temporary snow-huts of these wandering Eskimos. Well might the eye, as well as the head, of the so-called savage rise upwards while he pondered the great mystery of the Maker of all! As he stood on the giddy ledge, rapt in contemplation, an event occurred which was fitted to deepen the solemnity of his thoughts. Not twenty yards from the point on which he stood, a great ice-cliff--the size of an average house--snapped off with a rending crash, and went thundering down into the deep, which seemed to boil and heave with sentient emotion as it received the mass, and swallowed it in a turmoil indescribable. Chingatok sprang from his post and sought a safer but not less lofty outlook, while the new-born berg, rising from the sea, swayed majestically to and fro in its new-found cradle. "It is not understandable," muttered the giant as he took up his new position and gazed with feelings of awe upon the grand scene. "I wonder if the pale-faced men in the floating islands think much about these things. Perhaps they dwell in a land which is still more wonderful than this, and hunt the walrus and the seal like us. It is said they come for nothing else but to see our land and find out what is in it. Why should I not go to see their land? My kayak is large, though it has no wings. The land may be far off, but am I not strong? They are pale-faced; perhaps the reason is that they are starved. That must be so, else they would not leave their home. I might bring some of the poor creatures to this happy land of ours, where there is always plenty to eat. They might send messengers for their relations to come and dwell with us. I will speak to mother about that; she is wise!" Like a dutiful son, the giant turned on his heel, descended the cliffs, and went straight home to consult with his mother. CHAPTER TWO. UNEXPECTED MEETINGS, ALARMS, AND CONFIDENCES. "Mother, I have been thinking," said Chingatok, as he crept into his hut and sat down on a raised bench of moss. "That is not news, my son; you think much. You are not like other men. They think little and eat much." The stout little woman looked up through the smoke of her cooking-lamp and smiled, but her big son was too much absorbed in his thoughts to observe her pleasantry, so she continued the cooking of a walrus chop in silence. "The Kablunets are not to be seen, mother," resumed Chingatok. "I have looked for them every day for a long time, and begin to weary. My thought is now to launch my kayak when we come to open water, load it with meat, take four spears and more lines than a strong hunter needs for a whole season; then paddle away south to discover the land of the Kablunets. They must be poor; they may be starving. I will guide them to our home, and show them this land of plenty." He paused abruptly, and looked at his mother with solemn anxiety, for he was well aware that he had given her food for profound reflection. We feel tempted here to repeat our remark about the strong resemblance between different members of the human family, but refrain. This untutored woman of the Arctic lands met her son's proposition with the well-known reply of many civilised persons. "Of what use would it be, my son? No good can come of searching out these poor lands. You cannot benefit the miserable Kablunets. Perhaps they are savage and fierce; and you are sure to meet with dangers by the way. Worse--you may die!" "Mother," returned Chingatok, "when the white bear stands up with his claws above my head and his mouth a-gape, does my hand tremble or my spear fail?" "No, my son." "Then why do you speak to me of danger and death?" Toolooha was not gifted with argumentative powers. She relapsed into silence and lamp-smoke. But her son was not to be so easily dissuaded. He adopted a line of reasoning which never failed. "Mother," he said, sadly, "it may be that you are right, and I am of too fearful a spirit to venture far away from you by myself; I will remain here if you think me a coward." "Don't say so, Chingatok. You know what I think. Go, if you must go, but who will hunt for your poor old mother when you are gone?" This was an appeal which the astute little woman knew to be very powerful with her son. She buried her head in the smoke again, and left the question to simmer. Chingatok was tender-hearted. He said nothing, but, as usual, he thought much, as he gazed in a contemplative manner at his oily parent, and there is no saying to what lengths of self-sacrifice he would have gone if he had not been aroused, and his thoughts scattered to the winds, by a yell so tremendous that it might well have petrified him on the spot. But it did nothing of the kind. It only caused him to drop on his knees, dart through the tunnel like an eel, spring into the open air like an electrified rabbit from its burrow, and stand up with a look of blazing interrogation on his huge countenance. The cry had been uttered by his bosom friend and former playmate Oolichuk, who came running towards him with frantic gesticulations. "The Kablunets!" he gasped, "the white-faces have come!--on a floating island!--alive!--smoking!--it is all true!" "Where?" demanded our giant, whose face blazed up at once. "There!" cried Oolichuk, pointing seaward towards the ice-hummocks with both hands, and glaring up at his friend. Without another word Chingatok ran off in the direction pointed out, followed hotly by his friend. Oolichuk was a large and powerful man, but, his legs were remarkably short. His pace, compared with that of Chingatok, was as that of a sparrow to an ostrich. Nevertheless he kept up, for he was agile and vigorous. "Have you seen them--have you spoken?" asked the giant, abruptly. "Yes, all the tribe was there." "No one killed?" "No, but terribly frightened; they made me run home to fetch you." Chingatok increased his speed. So did Oolichuk. While they run, let us leap a little ahead of them, reader, and see what had caused all the excitement. The whole party had gone off that morning, with the exception of Chingatok and his mother, to spear seals in a neighbouring bay, where these animals had been discovered in great numbers. Dogs and sledges had been taken, because a successful hunt was expected, and the ice was sufficiently firm. The bay was very large. At its distant southern extremity there rose a great promontory which jutted far out into the sea. While the men were busy there making preparations to begin the hunt, Oblooria, Chingatok's little sister, amused herself by mounting a hummock of ice about thirty feet high. When there, she chanced to look towards the promontory. Instantly she opened her eyes and mouth and uttered a squeal that brought her friends running to her side. Oolichuk was the first to reach her. He had no need to ask questions. Oblooria's gaze directed his, and there, coming round the promontory, he beheld an object which had never before filled his wondering eyes. It was, apparently, a monstrous creature with a dark body and towering wings, and a black thing in its middle, from which were vomited volumes of smoke. "Kablunets! white men!" he yelled. "Kablunets!--huk! huk!" echoed the whole tribe, as they scrambled up the ice-hill one after another. And they were right. A vessel of the pale-faces had penetrated these northern solitudes, and was advancing swiftly before a light breeze under sail and steam. Despite the preparation their minds had received, and the fact that they were out in search of these very people, this sudden appearance of them filled most of the Eskimos with alarm--some of them with absolute terror, insomuch that the term "pale-face" became most appropriate to themselves. "What shall we do?" exclaimed Akeetolik, one of the men. "Fly!" cried Ivitchuk, another of the men, whose natural courage was not high. "No; let us stay and behold!" said Oolichuk, with a look of contempt at his timid comrade. "Yes, stay and see," said Eemerk sternly. "But they will kill us," faltered the young woman, whom we have already mentioned by the name of Tekkona. "No--no one would kill _you_," said Eemerk gallantly; "they would only carry you off and keep you." While they conversed with eager, anxious looks, the steam yacht--for such she was--advanced rapidly, threading her way among the ice-fields and floes with graceful rapidity and ease, to the unutterable amazement of the natives. Although her sails were spread to catch the light breeze, her chief motive power at the time was a screw-propeller. "Yes, it must be alive," said Oolichuk to Akeetolik, with a look of solemn awe. "The white men do not paddle. They could not lift paddles big enough to move such a great oomiak," [see Note 1], "and the wind is not strong; it could not blow them so fast. See, the oomiak has a tail--and wags it!" "Oh! _do_ let us run away!" whispered the trembling Oblooria, as she took shelter behind Tekkona. "No, no," said the latter, who was brave as well as pretty, "we need not fear. Our men will take care of us." "I wish that Chingatok was here!" whimpered poor little Oblooria, nestling closer to Tekkona and grasping her tail, "he fears nothing and nobody." "Ay," assented Tekkona with a peculiar smile, "and is brave enough to fight everything and everybody." "Does Oblooria think that no one can fight but the giant?" whispered Oolichuk, who stood nearest to the little maid. He drew a knife made of bone from his boot, where it usually lay concealed, and flourished it, with a broad grin. The girl laughed, blushed slightly, and, looking down, toyed with the sleeve of Tekkona's fur coat. Meanwhile the yacht drew near to the floe on which our Eskimos were grouped. The ice was cracked right across, leaving a lane of open water about ten feet wide between its inner edge and the shore ice. The Eskimos stood on the land side of this crack, a hundred yards or so from it. On nearing the floe the strange vessel checked her speed. "It moves its wings!" exclaimed Eemerk. "And turns its side to us," said Akeetolik. "And wags its tail no more," cried Oolichuk. "Oh! do, _do_ let us run away," gasped Oblooria. "No, no, we will not run," said Tekkona. At that moment a white cloud burst from the side of the yacht. "Hi! hee! huk!" shouted the whole tribe in amazement. A crash followed which not only rattled like thunder among the surrounding cliffs, but went like electric fire to the central marrow of each Eskimo. With a united yell of terror, they leaped three feet into the air--more or less--turned about, and fled. Tekkona, who was active as a young deer, herself took the lead; and Oblooria, whose limbs trembled so that she could hardly run, held on to Oolichuk, who gallantly dragged her along. The terror was increased by a prolonged screech from the steam-whistle. It was a wild scramble in sudden panic. The Eskimos reached their sledges, harnessed their teams, left their spears on the ice, cracked their whips, which caused the dogs to join in the yelling chorus, and made for the land at a furious gallop. But their fear began to evaporate in a few minutes, and Oolichuk was the first to check his pace. "Ho! stop," he cried. Eemerk looked back, saw that they were not pursued, and pulled up. The others followed suit, and soon the fugitives were seen by those on board the yacht grouped together and gazing intently at them from the top of another ice-hummock. The effect of the cannon-shot on board the yacht itself was somewhat startling. The gun had been loaded on the other side of the promontory for the purpose of being fired if Eskimos were not visible on the coast beyond, in order to attract them from the interior, if they should chance to be there. When, however, the natives were discovered on the ice, the gun was, of course, unnecessary, and had been forgotten. It therefore burst upon the crew with a shock of surprise, and caused the Captain, who was in the cabin at the moment, to shoot up from the hatchway like a Jack-in-the-box. "Who did that?" he demanded, looking round sternly. The crew, who had been gazing intently at the natives, did not know. "I really cannot tell, sir," said the chief mate, touching his cap. Two strapping youths--one about sixteen, the other eighteen--leaned over the side and paid no regard to the question; but it was obvious, from the heaving motion of their shoulders, that they were not so much absorbed in contemplation as they pretended to be. "Come, Leo, Alf, you know something about this." The Captain was a large powerful man of about forty, with bushy iron-grey curls, a huge beard, and an aquiline nose. The two youths turned to him at once, and Leo, the eldest, said respectfully, "We did not see it done, uncle, but--but we think--" "Well, what do you think?" At that moment a delicate-looking, slender lad, about twelve years of age, with fair curly hair, and flashing blue eyes, stepped out from behind the funnel, which had hitherto concealed him, and said boldly, though blushingly-- "I did it, father." "Ha! just like you; why did you do it? eh!" "I can hardly tell, father," said the boy, endeavouring to choke a laugh, "but the Eskimos looked so funny, and I--I had a box of matches in my pocket, and--and--I thought a shot would make them look so very much funnier, and--and--I was right!" "Well, Benjamin, you may go below, and remain there till further orders." When Captain Vane called his son "Benjamin," he was seriously displeased. At other times he called him Benjy. "Yes, father," replied the boy, with a very bad grace, and down he went in a state of rebellious despair, for he was wildly anxious to witness all that went on. His despair was abated, however, when, in the course of a few minutes, the yacht swung round so as to present her stern to the shore, and remained in that position, enabling him to observe proceedings from the cabin windows almost as well as if he had been on deck. He was not aware that his father, knowing his son's nature, and wishing to temper discipline with mercy, had placed the vessel in that position for his special benefit! The difficulty now was, how to attract the natives, and inspire them with confidence in the good intentions of their visitors. In any case this would have been a difficult matter, but the firing of that unlucky gun had increased the difficulty tenfold. When, however, Captain Vane saw the natives cease their mad flight, and turn to gaze at the vessel, his hopes revived, and he set about a series of ingenious efforts to attain his end. First of all, he sent a boat in charge of his two nephews, Leonard and Alphonse Vandervell, to set up a small table on the ice, on which were temptingly arranged various presents, consisting of knives, beads, looking-glasses, and articles of clothing. Having done this, they retired, like wary anglers, to watch for a bite. But the fish would not rise, though they observed the proceedings with profound attention from the distant hummock. After waiting a couple of hours, the navigators removed the table and left an Eskimo dog in its place, with a string of blue beads tied round its neck. But this bait also failed. "Try something emblematic, uncle," suggested Leonard, the elder of the brothers before mentioned. "And get Benjy to manufacture it," said Alphonse. As Benjy was possessed of the most fertile imagination on board, he was released from punishment and brought on deck. The result of his effort of genius was the creation of a huge white calico flag, on which were painted roughly the figure of a sailor and an Eskimo sitting on an iceberg, with a kettle of soup between them. On one side were a pair of hands clasped together; on the other a sprig of heath, the only shrub that could be seen on the shore. "Splendid!" exclaimed Leo and Alf in the same breath, as they held the flag up to view. "You'll become a Royal Academician if you cultivate your talents, Benjy," said the Captain, who was proud, as well as fond, of this his only child. The boy said nothing, but a pleased expression and a twinkle in his eyes proved that he was susceptible to flattery, though not carried off his legs by it. The banner with the strange device was fixed to a pole which was erected on an ice-hummock between the ship and the shore, and a bag containing presents was hung at the foot of it. Still these Eskimo fish would not bite, though they "rose" at the flag. Oolichuk's curiosity had become so intense that he could not resist it. He advanced alone, very warily, and looked at it, but did not dare to touch it. Soon he was joined by Eemerk and the others. Seeing this, Captain Vane sent to meet them an interpreter whom he had procured at one of the Greenland settlements in passing. Just as this man, whose name was Anders, stepped into the boat alongside, it occurred to the Eskimos that their leader should be sent for. Oolichuk undertook to fetch him; he ran back to the sledges, harnessed a small team, and set off like the wind. Thus it came to pass that Chingatok and his mother were startled by a yell, as before mentioned. Meanwhile Anders was put on the ice, and advanced alone and unarmed towards the canal, or chasm, which separated the parties. He carried a small white flag and a bag containing presents. Innocent-looking and defenceless though he was, however, the Eskimos approached him with hesitating and slow steps, regarding every motion of the interpreter with suspicion, and frequently stooping to thrust their hands into their boots, in which they all carried knives. At last, when within hearing, Anders shouted a peaceful message, and there was much hallooing and gesticulation among the natives, but nothing comprehensible came of it. After a time Anders thought he recognised words of a dialect with which he was acquainted, and to his satisfaction found that they understood him. "Kakeite! kakeite!--come on, come on," he cried, holding up the present. "Nakrie! nakrie!--no, no, go away--you want to kill us," answered the doubtful natives. Thereupon Anders protested that nothing was further from his thoughts, that he was a man and a friend, and had a mother like themselves, and that he wanted to please them. At this Eemerk approached to the edge of the canal, and, drawing a knife from his boot, said, "Go away! I can kill you." Nothing daunted, Anders said he was not afraid, and taking a good English knife from his bag threw it across the canal. Eemerk picked it up, and was so pleased that he exclaimed, "Heigh-yaw! heigh-yaw!" joyously, and pulled his nose several times. Anders, understanding this to be a sign of friendship, immediately pulled his own nose, smiled, and threw several trinkets and articles of clothing to the other natives, who had by that time drawn together in a group, and were chattering in great surprise at the things presented. Ivitchuk was perhaps the most excited among them. He chanced to get hold of a round hox, in the lid of which was a mirror. On beholding himself looking at himself, he made such an awful face that he dropt the glass and sprang backward, tripping up poor Oblooria in the act, and tumbling over her. This was greeted with a shout of laughter, and Anders, now believing that friendly relations had been established, went to the boat for a plank to bridge the chasm. As Leo and Alf assisted him to carry the plank, the natives again became grave and anxious. "Stop!" shouted Eemerk, "you want to kill us. What great creature is that? Does it come from the moon or the sun? Does it eat fire and smoke?" "No, it is only a dead thing. It is a wooden house." "You lie!" cried the polite Eemerk, "it shakes its wings. It vomits fire and smoke. It has a tail, and wags it." While speaking he slowly retreated, for the plank was being placed in position, and the other natives were showing symptoms of an intention to fly. Just then a shout was heard landwards. Turning round they saw a dog-sledge flying over the ice towards them, with Oolichuk flourishing the long-lashed whip, and the huge form of their leader beside him. In a few seconds they dashed up, and Chingatok sprang upon the ice. Without a moment's hesitation he strode towards the plank and crossed it. Walking up to Anders he pulled his own nose. The interpreter was not slow to return the salutation, as he looked up at the giant with surprise, not unmingled with awe. In addition, he grasped his huge hand, squeezed, and shook it. Chingatok smiled blandly, and returned the squeeze so as to cause the interpreter to wince. Then, perceiving at once that he had got possession of a key to the affections of the strangers, he offered to shake hands with Leonard and his brother, stooping with regal urbanity to them as he did so. By this time the Captain and first mate, with Benjy and several of the crew, were approaching. Instead of exhibiting fear, Chingatok advanced to meet them, and shook hands all round. He gazed at Captain Vane with a look of admiration which was not at first quite accountable, until he laid his hand gently on the Captain's magnificent beard, and stroked it. The Captain laughed, and again grasped the hand of the Eskimo. They both squeezed, but neither could make the other wince, for Captain Vane was remarkably powerful, though comparatively short of limb. "Well, you _are_ a good fellow in every way," exclaimed the Captain. "Heigh, yah!" returned Chingatok, who no doubt meant to be complimentary, though we confess our inability to translate. It was obvious that two sympathetic souls had met. "Come across," shouted Chingatok, turning abruptly to his companions, who had been gazing at his proceedings in open-mouthed wonder. The whole tribe at once obeyed the order, and in a few minutes they were in the seventh heaven of delight and good-will, receiving gifts and handshakings, each pulling his own nose frequently by way of expressing satisfaction or friendship, and otherwise exchanging compliments with the no less amiable and gratified crew of the steam yacht _Whitebear_. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note. The oomiak is the open boat of skin used by Eskimo _women_, and is capable of holding several persons. The kayak, or man's canoe, holds only one. CHAPTER THREE. SHOWS HOW THE ESKIMOS WERE ENTERTAINED BY THE WHITE MEN. The _Whitebear_ steam yacht, owned and commanded by Captain Jacob Vane, had sailed from England, and was bound for the North Pole. "I'll find it--I'm bound to find it," was the Captain's usual mode of expressing himself to his intimates on the subject, "if there's a North Pole in the world at all, and my nephews Leo and Alf will help me. Leo's a doctor, _almost_, and Alf's a scientific Jack-of-all-trades, so we can't fail. I'll take my boy Benjy for the benefit of his health, and see if we don't bring home a chip o' the Pole big enough to set up beside Cleopatra's Needle on the Thames embankment." There was tremendous energy in Captain Vane, and indomitable resolution; but energy and resolution cannot achieve all things. There are other factors in the life of man which help to mould his destiny. Short and sad and terrible--ay, we might even say tremendous--was the _Whitebear's_ wild career. Up to the time of her meeting with the Eskimos, all had gone well. Fair weather and favouring winds had blown her across the Atlantic. Sunshine and success had received her, as it were, in the Arctic regions. The sea was unusually free of ice. Upernavik, the last of the Greenland settlements touched at, was reached early in the season, and the native interpreter Anders secured. The dreaded "middle passage," near the head of Baffin's Bay, was made in the remarkably short space of fifty hours, and, passing Cape York into the North Water, they entered Smith's Sound without having received more than a passing bump--an Arctic kiss as it were--from the Polar ice. In Smith's Sound fortune still favoured them. These resolute intending discoverers of the North Pole passed in succession the various "farthests" of previous explorers, and the stout brothers Vandervell, with their cousin Benjy Vane, gazed eagerly over the bulwarks at the swiftly-passing headlands, while the Captain pointed out the places of interest, and kept up a running commentary on the brave deeds and high aspirations of such well-known men as Frobisher, Davis, Hudson, Ross, Parry, Franklin, Kane, McClure, Rae, McClintock, Hayes, Hall, Nares, Markham, and all the other heroes of Arctic story. It was an era in the career of those three youths that stood out bright and fresh--never to be forgotten--this first burst of the realities of the Arctic world on minds which had been previously well informed by books. The climax was reached on the day when the Eskimos of the far north were met with. But from that time a change took place in their experience. Fortune seemed to frown from that memorable day. We say "seemed," because knitted brows do not always or necessarily indicate what is meant by a frown. After the first fears of the Eskimos had been allayed, a party of them were invited to go on board the ship. They accepted the invitation and went, headed by Chingatok. That noble savage required no persuasion. From the first he had shown himself to be utterly devoid of fear. He felt that the grand craving of his nature--a thirst for knowledge--was about to be gratified, and that would have encouraged him to risk anything, even if he had been much less of a hero than he was. But if fear had no influence over our giant, the same cannot be said of his companions. Oolichuk, indeed, was almost as bold, though he exhibited a considerable amount of caution in his looks and movements; but Eemerk, and one or two of his friends, betrayed their craven spirits in frequent startled looks and changing colour. Ivitchuk was a strange compound of nervousness and courage, while Akeetolik appeared to have lost the power of expressing every feeling but one--that of blank amazement. Indeed, surprise at what they saw on board the steam yacht was the predominant feeling amongst these children of nature. Their eyebrows seemed to have gone up and fixed themselves in the middle of their foreheads, and their eyes and mouths to have opened wide permanently. None of the women accepted the invitation to go aboard except Tekkona, and Oblooria followed her, not because she was courageous, but because she seemed to cling to the stronger nature as a protection from undefined and mysterious dangers. "Tell them," said Captain Vane to Anders, the Eskimo interpreter, "that these are the machines that drive the ship along when there is no wind." He pointed down the hatchway, where the complication of rods and cranks glistened in the hold. "Huk!" exclaimed the Eskimos. They sometimes exclaimed Hi! ho! hoy! and hah! as things were pointed out to them, but did not venture on language more intelligible at first. "Let 'em hear the steam-whistle," suggested the mate. Before the Captain could countermand the order, Benjy had touched the handle and let off a short, sharp _skirl_. The effect on the natives was powerful. They leaped, with a simultaneous yell, at least a foot off the deck, with the exception of Chingatok, though even he was visibly startled, while Oblooria seized Tekkona round the waist, and buried her face in her friend's jacket. A brief explanation soon restored them to equanimity, and they were about to pass on to some other object of interest, when both the steam-whistle and the escape-valve were suddenly opened to their full extent, and there issued from the engine a hissing yell so prolonged and deafening that even the Captain's angry shout was not heard. A yard at least was the leap into the air made by the weakest of the Eskimos--except our giant, who seemed, however, to shrink into himself, while he grasped his knife and looked cautiously round, as if to guard himself from any foe that might appear. Eemerk fairly turned and fled to the stern of the yacht, over which he would certainly have plunged had he not been forcibly restrained by two stout seamen. The others, trembling violently, stood still, because they knew not what to do, and poor Oblooria fell flat on the deck, catching Tekkona by the tail, and pulling her down beside her. "You scoundrel!" exclaimed the Captain, when the din ceased, "I--I--go down, sir, to--" "Oh! father, don't be hard on me," pleaded Benjy, with a gleefully horrified look, "I really could _not_ resist it. The--the temptation was too strong!" "The temptation to give you a rope's-ending is almost too strong for _me_, Benjamin," returned the Captain sternly, but there was a twinkle in his eye notwithstanding, as he turned to explain to Chingatok that his son had, by way of jest, allowed part of the mighty Power imprisoned in the machinery to escape. The Eskimo received the explanation with dignified gravity, and a faint smile played on his lips as he glanced approvingly at Benjy, for he loved a jest, and was keenly alive to a touch of humour. "What power is imprisoned in the machinery?" asked our Eskimo through the interpreter. "What power?" repeated the Captain with a puzzled look, "why, it's boiling water--steam." Here he tried to give a clear account of the nature and power and application of steam, but, not being gifted with capacity for lucid explanation, and the mind of Anders being unaccustomed to such matters, the result was that the brain of Chingatok was filled with ideas that were fitted rather to amaze than to instruct him. After making the tour of the vessel, the party again passed the engine hatch. Chingatok touched the interpreter quietly, and said in a low, grave tone, "Tell Blackbeard," (thus he styled the Captain), "to let the Power yell again!" Anders glanced up in the giant's grave countenance with a look of amused surprise. He understood him, and whispered to the Captain, who smiled intelligently, and, turning to his son, said-- "Do it again, Benjy. Give it 'em strong." Never before did that lad obey his father with such joyous alacrity. In another instant the whistle shrieked, and the escape-valve hissed ten times more furiously than before. Up went the Eskimo--three feet or more--as if in convulsions, and away went Eemerk to the stern, over which he dived, swam to the floe, leaped on his sledge, cracked his whip, and made for home on the wings of terror. Doubtless an evil conscience helped his cowardice. Meanwhile Chingatok laughed, despite his struggles to be grave. This revealed the trick to some of his quick-witted and humour-loving companions, who at once burst into loud laughter. Even Oblooria dismissed her fears and smiled. In this restored condition they were taken down to the cabin and fed sumptuously. That night, as Chingatok sat beside his mother, busy with a seal's rib, he gradually revealed to her the wonders he had seen. "The white men are very wise, mother." "So you have said four times, my son." "But you cannot understand it." "But my son can make me understand," said Toolooha, helping the amiable giant to a second rib. Chingatok gazed at his little mother with a look of solemnity that evidently perplexed her. She became restless under it, and wiped her forehead uneasily with the flap at the end of her tail. The youth seemed about to speak, but he only sighed and addressed himself to the second rib, over which he continued to gaze while he masticated. "My thoughts are big, mother," he said, laying down the bare bone. "That may well be, for so is your head, my son," she replied, gently. "I know not how to begin, mother." "Another rib may open your lips, perhaps," suggested the old woman, softly. "True; give me one," said Chingatok. The third rib seemed to have the desired effect, for, while busy with it, he began to give his parent a graphic account of the yacht and its crew, and it was really interesting to note how correctly he described all that he understood of what he had seen. But some of the things he had partly failed to comprehend, and about these he was vague. "And they have a--a Power, mother, shut up in a hard thing, so that it can't get out unless they let it, and it drives the big canoe through the water. It is very strong--terrible!" "Is it a devil?" asked Toolooha. "No, it is not alive. It is dead. It is _that_," he pointed with emphasis to a pot hanging over the lamp out of which a little steam was issuing, and looked at his mother with awful solemnity. She returned the look with something of incredulity. "Yes, mother, the Power is not a beast. It lives not, yet it drives the white man's canoe, which is as big as a little iceberg, and it whistles; it shrieks; it yells!" A slightly sorrowful look rested for a moment on Toolooha's benign countenance. It was evident that she suspected her son either of derangement, or having forsaken the paths of truth. But it passed like a summer cloud. "Tell me more," she said, laying her hand affectionately on the huge arm of Chingatok, who had fallen into a contemplative mood, and, with hands clasped over one knee, sat gazing upwards. Before he could reply the heart of Toolooha was made to bound by a shriek more terrible than she had ever before heard or imagined. Chingatok caught her by the wrist, held up a finger as if to impose silence, smiled brightly, and listened. Again the shriek was repeated with prolonged power. "Tell me, my son," gasped Toolooha, "is Oblooria--are the people safe? Why came you to me alone?" "The little sister and the people are safe. I came alone to prevent your being taken by surprise. Did I not say that it could shriek and yell? This is the white man's big canoe." Dropping the old woman's hand as he spoke, Chingatok darted into the open air with the agility of a Polar bear, and Toolooha followed with the speed of an Arctic hare. CHAPTER FOUR. A CATASTROPHE AND A BOLD DECISION. Two days after her arrival at the temporary residence of the northern Eskimos, the steam yacht _Whitebear_, while close to the shore, was beset by ice, so that she could neither advance nor retreat. Everywhere, as far as the eye could reach, the sea was covered with hummocks and bergs and fields of ice, so closely packed that there was not a piece of open water to be seen, with the exception of one small basin a few yards ahead of the lead or lane of water in which the vessel had been imprisoned. "No chance of escaping from this, I fear, for a long time," said Alf Vandervell to his brother, as they stood near the wheel, looking at the desolate prospect. "It seems quite hopeless," said Leo, with, however, a look of confidence that ill accorded with his words. "I do believe we are frozen in for the winter," said Benjy Vane, coming up at the moment. "There speaks ignorance," said the Captain, whose head appeared at the cabin hatchway. "If any of you had been in these regions before, you would have learned that nothing is so uncertain as the action of pack ice. At one time you may be hard and fast, so that you couldn't move an inch. A few hours after, the set of the currents may loosen the pack, and open up lanes of water through which you may easily make your escape. Sometimes it opens up so as to leave almost a clear sea in a few hours." "But it is pretty tight packed just now, father, and looks wintry-like, doesn't it?" said Benjy in a desponding tone. "Looks! boy, ay, but things are not what they seem hereaway. You saw four mock-suns round the real one yesterday, didn't you? and the day before you saw icebergs floating in the air, eh?" "True, father, but these appearances were deceptive, whereas this ice, which looks so tightly packed, is a reality." "That is so, lad, but it is not set fast for the winter, though it looks like it. Well, doctor," added the Captain, turning towards a tall cadaverous man who came on deck just then with the air and tread of an invalid, "how goes it with you? Better, I hope?" He asked this with kindly interest as he laid his strong hand on the sick man's shoulder; but the doctor shook his head and smiled sadly. "It is a great misfortune to an expedition, Captain, when the doctor himself falls sick," he said, sitting down on the skylight with a sigh. "Come, come, cheer up, doctor," returned the Captain, heartily, "don't be cast down; we'll all turn doctors for the occasion, and nurse you well in spite of yourself." "I'll keep up all heart, Captain, you may depend on't, as long as two of my bones will stick together, but--well, to change the subject; what are you going to do now?" "Just all that can be done in the circumstances," replied the Captain. "You see, we cannot advance over ice either with sail or steam, but there's a basin just ahead which seems a little more secure than that in which we lie. I'll try to get into it. There is nothing but a neck of ice between us and it, which I think I could cut by charging in under full steam, and there seems a faint gleam of something far ahead, which encourages me. Tell the steward to fetch my glasses, Benjy." "Butterface!" shouted the boy. "Yis, massa." "Fetch the Captain's glasses, please." "Yis, massa." A pair of large binoculars were brought up by a huge negro, whose name was pre-eminently unsuggestive of his appearance. After a long steady gaze at the horizon, the Captain shut up the glass with an air of determination, and ordered the engineer to get up full steam, and the crew to be ready with the ice-poles. There was a large berg at the extremity of the lakelet of open water into which Captain Vane wished to break. It was necessary to keep well out of the way of that berg. The Captain trusted chiefly to his screw, but got out the ice-poles in case they should be required. When all the men were stationed, the order was given to go ahead full steam. The gallant little yacht charged the neck of ice like a living creature, hit it fair, cut right through, and scattered the fragments right and left as she sailed majestically into the lakelet beyond. The shock was severe, but no harm was done, everything on board having been made as strong as possible, and of the very best material, for a voyage in ice-laden seas. An unforeseen event followed, however, which ended in a series of most terrible catastrophes. The neck of ice through which they had broken had acted as a check on the pressure of the great body of the floe, and it was no sooner removed than the heavy mass began to close in with slow but irresistible power, compelling the little vessel to steam close up to the iceberg--so close that some of the upper parts actually overhung the deck. They were slowly forced into this dangerous position. With breathless anxiety the Captain and crew watched the apparently gentle, but really tremendous grinding of the ice against the vessel's side. Even the youngest on board could realise the danger. No one moved, for nothing whatever could be done. "Everything depends, under God, on the ice easing off before we are crushed," said the Captain. As he spoke, the timbers of the yacht seemed to groan under the pressure; then there was a succession of loud cracks, and the vessel was thrust bodily up the sloping sides of the berg. While in this position, with the bow high and dry, a mass of ice was forced against the stern-post, and the screw-propeller was snapped off as if it had been made of glass. Poor Captain Vane's heart sank as if he had received his death-blow, for he knew that the yacht was now, even in the event of escaping, reduced to an ordinary vessel dependent on its sails. The shock seemed to have shaken the berg itself, for at that moment a crashing sound was heard overhead. The terror-stricken crew looked up, and for one moment a pinnacle like a church spire was seen to flash through the air right above them. It fell with an indescribable roar close alongside, deluging the decks with water. There was a momentary sigh of relief, which, however, was chased away by a succession of falling masses, varying from a pound to a ton in weight, which came down on the deck like cannon-shots, breaking the topmasts, and cutting to pieces much of the rigging. Strange to say, none of the men were seriously injured, though many received bruises more or less severe. During this brief but thrilling period, the brothers Vandervell and Benjy Vane crouched close together beside the port bulwarks, partially screened from the falling ice by the mizzen shrouds. The Captain stood on the quarter-deck, quite exposed, and apparently unconscious of danger, the picture of despair. "It can't last long," sighed poor Benjy, looking solemnly up at the vast mass of the bluish-white berg, which hung above them as if ready to fall. Presently the pressure ceased, then the ice eased off, and in a few minutes the _Whitebear_ slid back into the sea, a pitiable wreck! Now had come the time for action. "Out poles, my lads, and shove her off the berg!" was the sharp order. Every one strained as if for life at the ice-poles, and slowly forced the yacht away from the dreaded berg. It mattered not that they were forcing her towards a rocky shore. Any fate would be better than being crushed under a mountain of ice. But the danger was not yet past. No sooner had they cleared the berg, and escaped from that form of destruction, than the ice began again to close in, and this time the vessel was "nipped" with such severity, that some of her principal timbers gave way. Finally, her back was broken, and the bottom forced in. "So," exclaimed the Captain, with a look of profound grief, "our voyage in the _Whitebear_, lads, has come to an end. All that we can do now is to get the boats and provisions, and as much of the cargo as we can, safe on the ice. And sharp's the word, for when the floes ease off, the poor little yacht will certainly go to the bottom." "No, massa," said the negro steward, stepping on deck at that moment, "we can't go to de bottom, cause we's dare a-ready!" "What d'ye mean, Butterface?" "Jus' what me say," replied the steward, with a look of calm resignation. "I's bin b'low, an' seed de rocks stickin' troo de bottom. Der's one de size ob a jolly-boat's bow comed right troo my pantry, an' knock all de crockery to smash, an' de best teapot, he's so flat he wouldn't know hisself in a lookin'-glass." It turned out to be as Butterface said. The pack had actually thrust the little vessel on a shoal, which extended out from the headland off which the catastrophe occurred, and there was therefore no fear of her sinking. "Well, we've reason to be thankful for that, at all events," said the Captain, with an attempt to look cheerful; "come, lads, let's to work. Whatever our future course is to be, our first business is to get the boats and cargo out of danger." With tremendous energy--because action brought relief to their overstrained feelings--the crew of the ill-fated yacht set to work to haul the boats upon the grounded ice. The tide was falling, so that a great part of the most valuable part of the cargo was placed in security before the rising tide interrupted the work. This was fortunate, for, when the water reached a certain point the ice began to move, and the poor little vessel was so twisted about that they dared not venture on board of her. That night--if we may call it night in a region where the sun never quite went down--the party encamped on the north-western coast of Greenland, in the lee of a huge cliff just beyond which the tongue of a mighty glacier dipped into the sea. For convenience the party divided into two, with a blazing fire for each, round which the castaways circled, conversing in subdued, sad tones while supper was being prepared. It was a solemn occasion, and a scene of indescribable grandeur, with the almost eternal glacier of Greenland--the great Humboldt glacier-- shedding its bergs into the dark blue sea, the waters of which had by that time been partially cleared to the northward. On the left was the weird pack and its thousand grotesque forms, with the wreck in its iron grasp; on the right the perpendicular cliffs, and the bright sky over all, with the smoke of the campfires rising into it from the foreground. "Now, my friends," said Captain Vane to the crew when assembled after supper, "I am no longer your commander, for my vessel is a wreck, but as I suppose you still regard me as your leader, I assemble you here for the purpose of considering our position, and deciding on what is best to be done." Here the Captain said, among other things, it was his opinion that the _Whitebear_ was damaged beyond the possibility of repair, that their only chance of escape lay in the boats, and that the distance between the place on which they stood and Upernavik, although great, was not beyond the reach of resolute men. "Before going further, or expressing a decided opinion," he added, "I would hear what the officers have to say on this subject. Let the first mate speak." "It's my opinion," said the mate, "that there's only one thing to be done, namely, to start for home as soon and as fast as we can. We have good boats, plenty of provisions, and are all stout and healthy, excepting our doctor, whom we will take good care of, and expect to do no rough work." "Thanks, mate," said the doctor with a laugh, "I think that, at all events, I shall keep well enough to physic you if you get ill." "Are you willing to take charge of the party in the event of my deciding to remain here?" asked the Captain of the mate. "Certainly, sir," he replied, with a look of slight surprise. "You know I am quite able to do so. The second mate, too, is as able as I am. For that matter, most of the men, I think, would find little difficulty in navigating a boat to Upernavik." "That is well," returned the Captain, "because I do not intend to return with you." "Not return!" exclaimed the doctor; "surely you don't mean to winter here." "No, not here, but further north," replied the Captain, with a smile which most of the party returned, for they thought he was jesting. Benjy Vane, however, did not think so. A gleeful look of triumph caused his face, as it were, to sparkle, and he said, eagerly-- "We'll winter at the North Pole, father, eh?" This was greeted with a general laugh. "But seriously, uncle, what do you mean to do?" asked Leonard Vandervell, who, with his brother, was not unhopeful that the Captain meditated something desperate. "Benjy is not far off the mark. I intend to winter at the Pole, or as near to it as I can manage to get." "My dear Captain Vane," said the doctor, with an anxious look, "you cannot really mean what you say. You must be jesting, or mad." "Well, as to madness," returned the Captain with a peculiar smile, "you ought to know best, for it's a perquisite of your cloth to pronounce people mad or sane, though some of yourselves are as mad as the worst of us; but in regard to jesting, nothing, I assure you, is further from my mind. Listen!" He rose from the box which had formed his seat, and looked earnestly round on his men. As he stood there, erect, tall, square, powerful, with legs firmly planted, and apart, as if to guard against a lurch of his ship, with his bronzed face flushed, and his dark eye flashing, they all understood that their leader's mind was made up, and that what he had resolved upon, he would certainly attempt to carry out. "Listen," he repeated; "it was my purpose on leaving England, as you all know, to sail north as far as the ice would let me; to winter where we should stick fast, and organise an over-ice, or overland journey to the Pole with all the appliances of recent scientific discovery, and all the advantages of knowledge acquired by former explorers. It has pleased God to destroy my ship, but my life and my hopes are spared. So are my stores and scientific instruments. I intend, therefore, to carry out my original purpose. I believe that former explorers have erred in some points of their procedure. These errors I shall steer clear of. Former travellers have ignored some facts, and despised some appliances. These facts I will recognise; these appliances I will utilise. With a steam yacht, you, my friends, who have shown so much enthusiasm and courage up to this point, would have been of the utmost service to me. As a party in boats, or on foot, you would only hamper my movements. I mean to prosecute this enterprise almost alone. I shall join myself to the Eskimos." He paused at this point as if in meditation. Benjy, whose eyes and mouth had been gradually opening to their widest, almost gasped with astonishment as he glanced at his cousins, whose expressive countenances were somewhat similarly affected. "I have had some long talks," continued the Captain, "with that big Eskimo Chingatok, through our interpreter, and from what he says I believe my chances of success are considerable. I am all the more confirmed in this resolution because of the readiness and ability of my first mate to guide you out of the Arctic regions, and your willingness to trust him. Anders has agreed to go with me as interpreter, and now, all I want is one other man, because--" "Put me down, father," cried Benjy, in a burst of excitement--"_I'm_ your man." "Hush, lad," said the Captain with a little smile, "of course I shall take you with me and also your two cousins, but I want one other man to complete the party--but he must be a heartily willing man. Who will volunteer?" There was silence for a few moments. It was broken by the doctor. "I for one won't volunteer," he said, "for I'm too much shaken by this troublesome illness to think of such an expedition. If I were well it might be otherwise, but perhaps some of the others will offer." "You can't expect me to do so," said the mate, "for I've got to guide our party home, as agreed on; besides, under any circumstances, I would not join you, for it is simple madness. You'll forgive me, Captain. I mean no disrespect, but I have sailed many years to these seas, and I know from experience that what you propose is beyond the power of man to accomplish." "Experience!" repeated the Captain, quickly. "Has your experience extended further north than this point?" "No, sir, I have not been further north than this--nobody has. It is beyond the utmost limit yet reached, so far as I know." "Well, then, you cannot speak from _experience_ about what I propose," said the Captain, turning away. "Come, lads, I have no wish to constrain you, I merely give one of you the chance." Still no one came forward. Every man of the crew of the _Whitebear_ had had more or less personal acquaintance with arctic travel and danger. They would have followed Captain Vane anywhere in the yacht, but evidently they had no taste for what he was about to undertake. At last one stepped to the front. It was Butterface, the steward. This intensely black negro was a bulky, powerful man, with a modest spirit and a strange disbelief in his own capacities, though, in truth, these were very considerable. He came forward, stooping slightly, and rubbing his hands in a deprecating manner. "'Scuse me, massa Capting. P'r'aps it bery presumsheeous in dis yer chile for to speak afore his betters, but as no oder man 'pears to want to volunteer, I's willin' to go in an' win. Ob course I ain't a man-- on'y a nigger, but I's a willin' nigger, an' kin do a few small tings-- cook de grub, wash up de cups an' sarsers, pull a oar, clean yer boots, fight de Eskimos if you wants me to, an' ginrally to scrimmage around a'most anything. Moreover, I eats no more dan a babby--'sep wen I's hungry--an' I'll foller you, massa, troo tick and tin--to de Nort Pole, or de Sout Pole, or de East Pole, or de West Pole--or any oder pole wotsomediver--all de same to Butterface, s'long's you'll let 'im stick by you." The crew could not help giving the negro a cheer as he finished this loyal speech, and the Captain, although he would have preferred one of the other men, gladly accepted his services. A few days later the boats were ready and provisioned; adieus were said, hats and handkerchiefs waved, and soon after Captain Vane and his son and two nephews, with Anders and Butterface, were left to fight their battles alone, on the margin of an unexplored, mysterious Polar sea. CHAPTER FIVE. LEFT TO THEIR FATE. There are times, probably, in all conditions of life, when men feel a species of desolate sadness creeping over their spirits, which they find it hard to shake off or subdue. Such a time arrived to our Arctic adventurers the night after they had parted from the crew of the wrecked _Whitebear_. Nearly everything around, and much within, them was calculated to foster that feeling. They were seated on the rocky point on the extremity of which their yacht had been driven. Behind them were the deep ravines, broad valleys, black beetling cliffs, grand mountains, stupendous glaciers, and dreary desolation of Greenland. To right and left, and in front of them, lay the chaotic ice-pack of the Arctic sea, with lanes and pools of water visible here and there like lines and spots of ink. Icebergs innumerable rose against the sky, which at the time was entirely covered with grey and gloomy clouds. Gusts of wind swept over the frozen waste now and then, as if a squall which had recently passed, were sighing at the thought of leaving anything undestroyed behind it. When we add to this, that the wanderers were thinking of the comrades who had just left them--the last link, as it were, with the civilised world from which they were self-exiled, of the unknown dangers and difficulties that lay before them, and of the all but forlorn hope they had undertaken, there need be little wonder that for some time they all looked rather grave, and were disposed to silence. But life is made up of opposites, light and shade, hard and soft, hot and cold, sweet and sour, for the purpose, no doubt, of placing man between two moral battledores so as to drive the weak and erring shuttlecock of his will right and left, and thus keep it in the middle course of rectitude. No sooner had our adventurers sunk to the profoundest depths of gloom, than the battledore of brighter influences began to play upon them. It did not, however, achieve the end at once. "I'm in the lowest, bluest, dreariest, grumpiest, and most utterly miserable state of mind I ever was in in all my life," said poor little Benjy Vane, thrusting his hands into his pockets, sitting down on a rock, and gazing round on the waste wilderness, which had only just ceased howling, the very personification of despair. "So's I, massa," said Butterface, looking up from a compound of wet coal and driftwood which he had been vainly trying to coax into a flame for cooking purposes; "I's most 'orribly miserable!" There was a beaming grin on the negro's visage that gave the lie direct to his words. "That's always the way with you, Benjy," said the Captain, "either bubblin' over with jollity an' mischief, or down in the deepest blues." "Blues! father," cried the boy, "don't talk of blues--it's the blacks I'm in, the very blackest of blacks." "Ha! jus' like me," muttered Butterface, sticking out his thick lips at the unwilling fire, and giving a blow that any grampus might have envied. The result was that a column of almost solid smoke, which had been for some time rising thicker and thicker from the coals, burst into a bright flame. This was the first of the sweet influences before referred to. "Mind your wool, Flatnose," cried Benjy, as the negro drew quickly back. It may be remarked here that the mysterious bond of sympathy which united the spirits of Benjy Vane and the black steward found expression in kindly respect on the part of the man, and in various eccentric courses on the part of the boy--among others, in a habit of patting him on the back, and giving him a choice selection of impromptu names, such as Black-mug, Yellow-eyes, Square-jaws, and the like. "What have you got in the kettle?" asked Leo Vandervell, who came up with some dry driftwood at the moment. "Bubble-um-squeak," replied the cook. "What sort o' squeak is that?" asked Leo, as he bent his tall strong frame over the fire to investigate the contents of the kettle. "What am it, massa? Why, it am a bit o' salt pork, an' a bit o' dat bear you shooted troo de nose yes'rday, an' a junk o' walrus, an' two puffins, an' some injin corn, a leetil pepper, an' a leetil salt." "Good, that sounds well," said Leo. "I'll go fetch you some more driftwood, for it'll take a deal of boiling, that will, to make it eatable." The driftwood referred to was merely some pieces of the yacht which had been cast ashore by the hurly-burly of ice and water that had occurred during the last tide. No other species of driftwood was to be found on that coast, for the neighbouring region was utterly destitute of trees. "Where has Alf gone to?" asked the Captain, as Leo was moving away. "Oh, he's looking for plants and shells, as usual," answered Leo, with a smile. "You know his heart is set upon these things." "He'll have to set his heart on helping wi' the cargo after supper," said the Captain, drawing a small notebook and pencil from his pocket. A few more of the sweet and reviving influences of life now began to circle round the wanderers. Among them was the savoury odour that arose from the pot of bubble-um-squeak, also the improved appearance of the sky. It was night, almost midnight, nevertheless the sun was blazing in the heavens, and as the storm-clouds had rolled away like a dark curtain, his cheering rays were by that time gilding the icebergs, and rendering the land-cliffs ruddily. The travellers had enjoyed perpetual daylight for several weeks already, and at that high latitude they could count on many more to come. By the time supper was ready, the depressing influences were gone, and the spirits of all had recovered their wonted tone. Indeed it was not to the discredit of the party that they were so much cast down on that occasion, for the parting, perhaps for ever, from the friends with whom they had hitherto voyaged, had much more to do with their sadness than surrounding circumstances or future trials. "What plan do you intend to follow out, uncle?" asked Alphonse Vandervell, as they sat at supper that night round the kettle. "That depends on many things, lad," replied the Captain, laying down his spoon, and leaning his back against a convenient rock. "If the ice moves off, I shall adopt one course; if it holds fast I shall try another. Then, if you insist on gathering and carrying along with you such pocket-loads of specimens, plants, rocks, etcetera, as you've brought in this evening, I'll have to build a sort of Noah's ark, or omnibus on sledge-runners, to carry them." "And suppose I don't insist on carrying these things, what then?" "Well," replied the Captain, "in that case I would--well, let me see--a little more of the bubble, Benjy." "Wouldn't you rather some of the squeak?" asked the boy. "Both, lad, both--some of everything. Well, as I was saying--and you've a right to know what's running in my head, seeing that you have to help me carry out the plans--I'll give you a rough notion of 'em." The Captain became more serious as he explained his plans. "The Eskimos, you know," he continued, "have gone by what I may call the shore ice, two days' journey in advance of this spot, taking our dogs along with them. It was my intention to have proceeded to the same point in our yacht, and there, if the sea was open, to have taken on board that magnificent Eskimo giant, Chingatok, with his family, and steered away due north. In the event of the pack being impassable, I had intended to have laid the yacht up in some safe harbour; hunted and fished until we had a stock of dried and salted provisions, enough to last us two years, and then to have started northward in sledges, under the guidance of Chingatok, with a few picked men, leaving the rest and the yacht in charge of the mate. The wreck of the _Whitebear_ has, however, forced me to modify these plans. I shall now secure as much of our cargo as we have been able to save, and leave it here _en cache_--" "What sort of cash is that, father?" asked Benjy. "You are the best linguist among us, Leo, tell him," said the Captain, turning to his nephew. "`_En cache_' is French for `in hiding,'" returned Leo, with a laugh. "Why do you speak French to Englishmen, father?" said Benjy in a pathetic tone, but with a pert look. "'Cause the expression is a common one on this side the Atlantic, lad, and you ought to know it. Now, don't interrupt me again. Well, having placed the cargo in security," ("_En cache_," muttered Benjy with a glance at Butterface.) "I shall rig up the sledges brought from England, load them with what we require, and follow up the Eskimos. You're sure, Anders, that you understood Chingatok's description of the place?" The interpreter declared that he was quite sure. "After that," resumed the Captain, "I'll act according to the information the said Eskimos can give me. D'ye know, I have a strong suspicion that our Arctic giant Chingatok is a philosopher, if I may judge from one or two questions he put and observations he made when we first met. He says he has come from a fine country which lies far--very far--to the north of this; so far that I feel quite interested and hopeful about it. I expect to have more talk with him soon on the subject. A little more o' the bubble, lad; really, Butterface, your powers in the way of cookery are wonderful." "Chingatok seems to me quite a remarkable fellow for an Eskimo," observed Leo, scraping the bottom of the kettle with his spoon, and looking inquiringly into it. "I, too, had some talk with him--through Anders--when we first met, and from what he said I can't help thinking that he has come from the remote north solely on a voyage of discovery into what must be to him the unknown regions of the south. Evidently he has an inquiring mind." "Much like yourself, Leo, to judge from the way you peer into that kettle," said Benjy; "please don't scrape the bottom out of it. There's not much tin to mend it with, you know, in these regions." "Brass will do quite as well," retorted Leo, "and there can be no lack of that while you are here." "Come now, Benjy," said Alf, "that insolent remark should put you on your mettle." "So it does, but I won't open my lips, because I feel that I should speak ironically if I were to reply," returned the boy, gazing dreamily into the quiet countenance of the steward. "What are _you_ thinking of, you lump of charcoal?" "Me, massa? me tink dere 'pears to be room for more wittles inside ob me; but as all de grub's eated up, p'r'aps it would be as well to be goin' an' tacklin' suffin' else now." "You're right, Butterface," cried the Captain, rousing himself from a reverie. "What say you, comrades? Shall we turn in an' have a nap? It's past midnight." "I'm not inclined for sleep," said Alf, looking up from some of the botanical specimens he had collected. "No more am I," said Leo, lifting up his arms and stretching his stalwart frame, which, notwithstanding his youth, had already developed to almost the full proportions of a powerful man. "I vote that we sit up all night," said Benjy, "the sun does it, and why shouldn't we?" "Well, I've no objection," rejoined the Captain, "but we must work if we don't sleep--so, come along." Setting the example, Captain Vane began to shoulder the bags and boxes which lay scattered around with the energy of an enthusiastic railway porter. The other members of the party were not a whit behind him in diligence and energy. Even Benjy, delicate-looking though he was, did the work of an average man, besides enlivening the proceedings with snatches of song and a flow of small talk of a humorous and slightly insolent nature. CHAPTER SIX. FUTURE PLANS DISCUSSED AND DECIDED. Away to the northward of the spot where the _Whitebear_ had been wrecked there stretched a point of land far out into the Arctic Ocean. It was about thirty miles distant, and loomed hugely bluff and grand against the brilliant sky, as if it were the forefront of the northern world. No civilised eyes had ever beheld that land before. Captain Vane knew that, because it lay in latitude 83 north, which was a little beyond the furthest point yet reached by Arctic navigators. He therefore named it Cape Newhope. Benjy thought that it should have been named Butterface-beak, because the steward had been the first to observe it, but his father thought otherwise. About three miles to the northward of this point of land the Eskimos were encamped. According to arrangement with the white men they had gone there, as we have said, in charge of the dogs brought by Captain Vane from Upernavik, as these animals, it was thought, stood much in need of exercise. Here the natives had found and taken possession of a number of deserted Eskimo huts. These rude buildings were the abodes to which the good people migrated when summer heat became so great as to render their snow-huts sloppily disagreeable. In one of the huts sat Chingatok, his arms resting on his knees, his huge hands clasped, and his intelligent eyes fixed dreamily on the lamp-flame, over which his culinary mother was bending in busy sincerity. There were many points of character in which this remarkable mother and son resembled each other. Both were earnest--intensely so-- and each was enthusiastically eager about small matters as well as great. In short, they both possessed great though uncultivated minds. The hut they occupied was in some respects as remarkable as themselves. It measured about six feet in height and ten in diameter. The walls were made of flattish stones, moss, and the bones of seals, whales, narwhals, and other Arctic creatures. The stones were laid so that each overlapped the one below it, a very little inwards, and thus the walls approached each other gradually as they rose from the foundation; the top being finally closed by slabs of slate-stone. Similar stones covered the floor--one half of which floor was raised a foot or so above the other, and this raised half served for a seat by day as well as a couch by night. On it were spread a thick layer of dried moss, and several seal, dog, and bear skins. Smaller elevations in the corners near the entrance served for seats. The door was a curtain of sealskin. Above it was a small window, glazed, so to speak, with strips of semi-transparent dried intestines sewed together. Toolooha's cooking-lamp was made of soapstone, formed like a clam-shell, and about eight inches in diameter; the fuel was seal-oil, and the wick was of moss. It smoked considerably, but Eskimos are smoke-proof. The pot above it, suspended from the roof, was also made of soapstone. Sealskins hung about the walls drying; oily mittens, socks and boots were suspended about on pegs and racks of rib-bones. Lumps of blubber hung and lay about miscellaneously. Odours, not savoury, were therefore prevalent--but Eskimos are smell-proof. "Mother," said the giant, raising his eyes from the flame to his parent's smoke-encircled visage, "they are a most wonderful people, these Kablunets. Blackbeard is a great man--a grand man--but I think he is--" Chingatok paused, shook his head, and touched his forehead with a look of significance worthy of a white man. "Why think you so, my son?" asked the old woman, sneezing, as a denser cloud than usual went up her nose. "Because he has come here to search for _nothing_." "Nothing, my son?" "Yes--at least that is what he tried to explain to me. Perhaps the interpreter could not explain. He is not a smart man, that interpreter. He resembles a walrus with his brain scooped out. He spoke much, but I could not understand." "Could not understand?" repeated Toolooha, with an incredulous look, "let not Chingatok say so. Is there _anything_ that passes the lips of man which he cannot understand?" "Truly, mother, I once thought there was not," replied the giant, with a modest look, "but I am mistaken. The Kablunets make me stare and feel foolish." "But it is not possible to search for _nothing_," urged Toolooha. "So I said," replied her son, "but Blackbeard only laughed at me." "Did he?" cried the mother, with a much relieved expression, "then let your mind rest, my son, for Blackbeard must be a fool if he laughed at _you_." "Blackbeard is no fool," replied Chingatok. "Has he not come to search for new lands _here_, as you went to search for them _there_?" asked Toolooha, pointing alternately north and south. "No--if I have understood him. Perhaps the brainless walrus translated his words wrongly." "Is the thing he searches for something to eat?" "Something to drink or wear?" "No, I tell you. It is _nothing_! Yet he gives it a name. He calls it _Nort Pole_!" Perhaps it is needless to remind the reader that Chingatok and his mother conversed in their native tongue, which we have rendered as literally as possible, and that the last two words were his broken English for "North Pole!" "Nort Pole!" repeated Toolooha once or twice contemplatively. "Well, he may search for nothing if he will, but that he cannot find." "Nay, mother," returned the giant with a soft smile, "if he will search for nothing he is sure to find it!" Chingatok sighed, for his mother did not see the joke. "Blackbeard," he continued with a grave, puzzled manner, "said that this world on which we stand floats in the air like a bird, and spins round!" "Then Blackbeard is a liar," said Toolooha quietly, though without a thought of being rude. She merely meant what she said, and said what she meant, being a naturally candid woman. "That may be so, mother, but I think not." "How can the world float without wings?" demanded the old woman indignantly. "If it spinned should we not feel the spinning, and grow giddy?" "And Blackbeard says," continued the giant, regardless of the questions propounded, "that it spins round upon this _Nort Pole_, which he says is not a real thing, but only nothing. I asked Blackbeard--How can a world spin upon nothing?" "And what said he to that?" demanded Toolooha quickly. "He only laughed. They all laughed when the brainless walrus put my question. There is one little boy--the son I think of Blackbeard--who laughed more than all the rest. He lay down on the ice to laugh, and rolled about as if he had the bowel-twist." "That son of Blackbeard must be a fool more than his father," said Toolooha, casting a look of indignation at her innocent kettle. "Perhaps; but he is not like his father," returned Chingatok meekly. "There are two other chiefs among the Kablunets who seem to me fine men. They are very young and wise. They have learned a little of our tongue from the Brainless One, and asked me some questions about the rocks, and the moss, and the flowers. They are tall and strong. One of them is very grave and seems to think much, like myself. He also spoke of this Nothing--this Nort Pole. They are all mad, I think, about that thing-- that Nothing!" The conversation was interrupted at this point by the sudden entrance of the giant's little sister with the news that the Kablunets were observed coming round the great cape, dragging a sledge. "Is not the big oomiak with them?" asked her brother, rising quickly. "No, we see no oomiak--no wings--no fire," answered Oblooria, "only six men dragging a sledge." Chingatok went out immediately, and Oblooria was about to follow when her mother recalled her. "Come here, little one. There is a bit of blubber for you to suck. Tell me, saw you any sign of madness in these white men when they were talking with your brother about this--this--Nort Pole." "No, mother, no," answered Oblooria thoughtfully, "I saw not madness. They laughed much, it is true--but not more than Oolichuk laughs sometimes. Yes--I think again! There was one who seems mad--the small boy, whom brother thinks to be the son of Blackbeard--Benjay, they call him." "Hah! I thought so," exclaimed Toolooha, evidently pleased at her penetration on this point. "Go, child, I cannot quit the lamp. Bring me news of what they say and do." Oblooria obeyed with alacrity, bolting her strip of half-cooked blubber as she ran; her mother meanwhile gave her undivided attention to the duties of the lamp. The white men and all the members of the Eskimo band were standing by the sledge engaged in earnest conversation when the little girl came forward. Captain Vane was speaking. "Yes, Chingatok," he said, looking up at the tall savage, who stood erect in frame but with bent head and his hands clasped before him, like a modest chief, which in truth he was. "Yes, if you will guide me to your home in the northern lands, I will pay you well--for I have much iron and wood and such things as I think you wish for and value, and you shall also have my best thanks and gratitude. The latter may not indeed be worth much, but, nevertheless, you could not purchase it with all the wealth of the Polar regions." Chingatok looked with penetrating gaze at Anders while he translated, and, considering the nature of the communication, the so-called Brainless One proved himself a better man than the giant gave him credit for. "Does Blackbeard," asked Chingatok, after a few seconds' thought, "expect to find this Nothing--this Nort Pole, in my country?" "Well, I cannot exactly say that I do," replied the Captain; "you see, I'm not quite sure, from what you tell me, where your country is. It may not reach to the Pole, but it is enough for me that it lies in that direction, and that you tell me there is much open water there. Men of my nation have been in these regions before now, and some of them have said that the Polar Sea is open, others that it is covered always with ice so thick that it never melts. Some have said it is a `sea of ancient ice' so rough that no man can travel over it, and that it is not possible to reach the North Pole. I don't agree with that. I had been led to expect to fall in with this sea of ancient ice before I had got thus far, but it is not to be found. The sea indeed is partly blocked with ordinary ice, but there is nothing to be seen of this vast collection of mighty blocks, some of them thirty feet high--this wild chaos of ice which so effectually stopped some of those who went before me." This speech put such brains as the Brainless One possessed to a severe test, and, after all, he failed to convey its full meaning to Chingatok, who, however, promptly replied to such portions as he understood. "What Blackbeard calls the sea of old ice does exist," he said; "I have seen it. No man could travel on it, only the birds can cross it. But ice is not land. It changes place. It is here to-day; it is there to-morrow. Next day it is gone. We cannot tell where it goes to or when it will come back. The _very_ old ice comes back again and again. It is slow to become like your Nort Pole--nothing. But it melts at last and more comes in its place--growing old slowly and vanishing slowly. It is full of wonder--like the stars; like the jumping flames; like the sun and moon, which we cannot understand." Chingatok paused and looked upwards with a solemn expression. His mind had wandered into its favourite channels, and for the moment he forgot the main subject of conversation, while the white men regarded him with some surprise, his comrades with feelings of interest not unmingled with awe. "But," he continued, "I know where the sea of ancient ice-blocks is just now. I came past it in my kayak, and can guide you to it by the same way." "That is just what I want, Chingatok," said the Captain with a joyful look, "only aid me in this matter, and I will reward you well. I've already told you that my ship is wrecked, and that the crew, except those you see here, have left me; but I have saved all the cargo and buried it in a place of security with the exception of those things which I need for my expedition. One half of these things are on this sledge,--the other half on a sledge left behind and ready packed near the wreck. Now, I want you to send men to fetch that sledge here." "That shall be done," said Chingatok. "Thanks, thanks, my good fellow," returned the Captain, "and we must set about it at once, for the summer is advancing, and you know as well as I do that the hot season is but a short one in these regions." "A moment more shall not be lost," said the giant. He turned to Oolichuk, who had been leaning on a short spear, and gazing open-mouthed, eyed, and eared, during the foregoing conversation, and said a few words to him and to the other Eskimos in a low tone. Oolichuk merely nodded his head, said "Yah!" or something similarly significant, shouldered his spear and went off in the direction of the Cape of Newhope, followed by nearly all the men of the party. "Stay, not quite so fast," cried Captain Vane. "Stop!" shouted Chingatok. Oolichuk and his men paused. "One of us had better go with them," said the Captain, "to show the place where the sledge has been left." "I will go, uncle, if you'll allow me," said Leo Vandervell. "Oh! let me go too, father," pleaded Benjy, "I'm not a bit tired; do." "You may both go. Take a rifle with you, Leo. There's no saying what you may meet on the way." In half-an-hour the party under Oolichuk had reached the extremity of the cape, and Captain Vane observed that his volatile son mounted to the top of an ice-block to wave a farewell. He looked like a black speck, or a crow, in the far distance. Another moment, and the speck had disappeared among the hummocks of the ice-locked sea. CHAPTER SEVEN. DIFFICULTIES ENCOUNTERED AND FACED. They had not quite doubled the Cape of Newhope, and were about to round the point which concealed the spot that had been named Wreck Bay, when they suddenly found themselves face to face with a Polar bear! Bruin was evidently out for an evening stroll, for he seemed to have nothing particular to do. Surprise lit up alike the countenances of the men and the visage of the bear. It was an unexpected meeting on both sides. The distance between them was not more than thirty feet. Leo was the only one of the party who carried a rifle. More than once during the voyage had Leo seen and shot a bear. The sight was not new to him, but never before had he come so suddenly, or so very close, upon this king of the Arctic Seas. He chanced at the time to be walking a few yards in advance of the party in company with Oolichuk and Benjy. The three stopped, stared, and stood as if petrified. For one moment, then they uttered a united and half involuntary roar. Right royally did that bear accept the challenge. It rose, according to custom, on its hind legs, and immediately began that slow, but deadly war-dance with which the race is wont to preface an attack, while its upper lip curled in apparent derision, exposing its terrible fangs. Leo recovered self-possession instantly. The rifle leaped to his shoulder, the centre of the bear's breast was covered, and the trigger pulled. Only a snap resulted. Leo had forgotten to load! Benjy gasped with anxiety. Oolichuk, who had held himself back with a sparkling smile of expectation at the prospect of seeing the Kablunet use his thunder-weapon, looked surprised and disappointed, but went into action promptly with his spear, accompanied by Akeetolik. Leo's rifle, being a breech-loader, was quickly re-charged, but as the rest of the party stood leaning on their spears with the evident intention of merely watching the combat, the youth resolved to hold his hand, despite Benjy's earnest recommendation to put one ball between the bear's eyes, and the other into his stomach. It was but a brief though decisive battle. Those Eskimos were well used to such warfare. Running towards the animal with levelled spears, the two men separated on coming close, so that Bruin was forced to a state of indecision as to which enemy he would assail first. Akeetolik settled the point for him by giving him a prick on the right side, thus, as it were, drawing the enemy's fire on himself. The bear turned towards him with a fierce growl, and in so doing, exposed his left side to attack. Oolichuk was not slow to seize the opportunity. He leaped close up, and drove his spear deep into the animal's heart--killing it on the spot. Next day the party returned to the Eskimo camp with the sledge-load of goods, and the bear on the top. While steaks of the same were being prepared by Toolooha, Captain Vane and his new allies were busy discussing the details of the advance. "I know that the difficulties will be great," he said, in reply to a remark from the interpreter, "but I mean to face and overcome them." "Ah!" exclaimed Alf, who was rather fond of poetry:-- "To dare unknown dangers in a noble cause, Despite an adverse Nature and her tiresome Laws." "Just so, Alf, my boy, stick at nothing; never give in; victory or death, that's my way of expressing the same sentiment. But there's one thing that I must impress once more upon you all--namely, that each man must reduce his kit to the very lowest point of size and weight. No extras allowed." "What, not even a box of paper collars?" asked Benjy. "Not one, my boy, but you may take a strait-waistcoat in your box if you choose, for you'll be sure to need it." "Oh! father," returned the boy, remonstratively, "you are severe. However, I will take one, if you agree to leave your woollen comforter behind. You won't need that, you see, as long as I am with you." "Of course," said Alf, "you will allow us to carry small libraries with us?" "Certainly not, my lad, only one book each, and that must be a small one." "The only book I possess is my Bible," said Leo, "and that won't take up much room, for it's an uncommonly small one." "If I only had my Robinson Crusoe here," cried Benjy, "I'd take it, for there's enough of adventure in that book to carry a man over half the world." "Ay," said Alf, "and enough of mind to carry him over the other half. For my part, if we must be content with one book each, I shall take Buzzby's poems." "Oh! horrible!" cried Benjy, "why, he's no better than a maudlin', dawdlin', drawlin', caterwaulin'--" "Come, Benjy, don't be insolent; he's second only to Tennyson. Just listen to this _morceau_ by Buzzby. It is an Ode to Courage-- "`High! hot! hillarious compound of--'" "Stop! stop! man, don't begin when we're in the middle of our plans," interrupted Benjy, "let us hear what book Butterface means to take." "I not take no book, massa, only take my flute. Music is wot's de matter wid me. Dat is de ting what hab charms to soove de savage beast." "I wouldn't advise you try to soothe a Polar bear with it," said Leo, "unless you have a rifle handy." "Yes--and especially an unloaded one, which is very effective against Polar bears," put in the Captain, with a sly look. "Ah, Leo, I could hardly have believed it of you--and you the sportsman of our party, too; our chief huntsman. Oh, fie!" "Come, uncle, don't be too hard on that little mistake," said Leo, with a slight blush, for he was really annoyed by the unsportsmanlike oversight hinted at; "but pray, may I ask," he added, turning sharply on the Captain, "what is inside of these three enormous boxes of yours which take up so much space on the sledges?" "You may ask, Leo, but you may not expect an answer. That is my secret, and I mean to keep it as a sort of stimulus to your spirits when the hardships of the way begin to tell on you. Ask Chingatok, Anders," continued the Captain, turning to the interpreter, "if he thinks we have enough provisions collected for the journey. I wish to start immediately." "We have enough," answered Chingatok, who had been sitting a silent, but deeply interested observer--so to speak--of the foregoing conversation. "Tell him, then, to arrange with his party, and be prepared to set out by noon to-morrow." That night, by the light of the midnight sun, the Eskimos sat round their kettles of bear-chops, and went into the _pros_ and _cons_ of the proposed expedition. Some were enthusiastically in favour of casting in their lot with the white men, others were decidedly against it, and a few were undecided. Among the latter was Akeetolik. "These ignorant men," said that bold savage, "are foolish and useless. They cannot kill bears. The one named Lo, (thus was Leonard's name reduced to its lowest denomination), is big enough, and looks very fine, but when he sees bear he only stares, makes a little click with his thunder-weapon, and looks stupid." "Blackbeard explained that," said Oolichuk; "Lo made some mistake." "That may be so," retorted Akeetolik, "but if you and me had not been there, the _bear_ would not make a mistake." "I will not go with these Kablunets," said Eemerk with a frown, "they are only savages. They are not taught. No doubt they had a wonderful boat, but they have not been able to keep their boat. They cannot kill bears; perhaps they cannot kill seals or walruses, and they ask us to help them to travel--to show them the way! They can do nothing. They must be led like children. My advice is to kill them all, since they are so useless, and take their goods." This speech was received with marks of decided approval by those of the party who were in the habit of siding with Eemerk, but the rest were silent. In a few moments Chingatok said, in a low, quiet, but impressive tone: "The Kablunets are not foolish or ignorant. They are wise--far beyond the wisdom of the Eskimos. It is Eemerk who is like a walrus without brains. He thinks that his little mind is outside of everything, and so he has not eyes to perceive that he is ignorant as well as foolish, and that other men are wise." This was the severest rebuke that the good-natured Chingatok had yet administered to Eemerk, but the latter, foolish though he was, had wisdom enough not to resent it openly. He sat in moody silence, with his eyes fixed on the ground. Of course Oolichuk was decidedly in favour of joining the white men, and so was Ivitchuk, who soon brought round his hesitating friend Akeetolik, and several of the others. Oblooria, being timid, would gladly have sided with Eemerk, but she hated the man, and, besides, would in any case have cast in her lot with her mother and brother, even if free to do otherwise. The fair Tekkona, whose courage and faith were naturally strong, had only one idea, and that was to follow cheerfully wherever Chingatok led; but she was very modest, and gave no opinion. She merely remarked: "The Kablunets are handsome men, and seem good." As for Toolooha, she had enough to do to attend to the serious duties of the lamp, and always left the settlement of less important matters to the men. "You and yours are free to do what you please," said Chingatok to Eemerk, when the discussion drew to a close. "I go with the white men to-morrow." "What says Oblooria?" whispered Oolichuk when the rest of the party were listening to Eemerk's reply. "Oblooria goes with her brother and mother," answered that young lady, toying coquettishly with her sealskin tail. Oolichuk's good-humoured visage beamed with satisfaction, and his flat nose curled up--as much as it was possible for such a feature to curl-- with contempt, as he glanced at Eemerk and said-- "I have heard many tales from Anders--the white man's mouthpiece--since we met. He tells me the white men are very brave and fond of running into danger for nothing but fun. Those who do not like the fun of danger should join Eemerk. Those who are fond of fun and danger should come with our great chief Chingatok--huk! Let us divide." Without more palaver the band divided, and it was found that only eight sided with Eemerk. All the rest cast in their lot with our giant, after which this Arctic House of Commons adjourned, and its members went to rest. A few days after that, Captain Vane and his Eskimo allies, having left the camp with Eemerk and his friends far behind them, came suddenly one fine morning on a barrier which threatened effectually to arrest their further progress northward. This was nothing less than that tremendous sea of "ancient ice" which had baffled previous navigators and sledging parties. "Chaos! absolute chaos!" exclaimed Alf Vandervell, who was first to recover from the shock of surprise, not to say consternation, with which the party beheld the scene on turning a high cape. "It looks bad," said Captain Vane, gravely, "but things often look worse at a first glance than they really are." "I hope it may be so in this case," said Leo, in a low tone. "Good-bye to the North Pole!" said Benjy, with a look of despondency so deep that the rest of the party laughed in spite of themselves. The truth was that poor Benjy had suffered much during the sledge journey which they had begun, for although he rode, like the rest of them, on one of the Eskimo sledges, the ice over which they had travelled along shore had been sufficiently rugged to necessitate constant getting off and on, as well as much scrambling over hummocks and broken ice. We have already said that Benjy was not very robust, though courageous and full of spirit, so that he was prone to leap from the deepest depths of despair to the highest heights of hope at a moment's notice--or _vice versa_. Not having become inured to ice-travel, he was naturally much cast down when the chaos above-mentioned met his gaze. "Strange," said the Captain, after a long silent look at the barrier, "strange that we should find it here. The experience of former travellers placed it considerably to the south and west of this." "But you know," said Leo, "Chingatok told us that the old ice drifts about just as the more recently formed does. Who knows but we may find the end of it not far off, and perhaps may reach open water beyond, where we can make skin canoes, and launch forth on a voyage of discovery." "I vote that we climb the cliffs and try to see over the top of this horrid ice-jumble," said Benjy. "Not a bad suggestion, lad. Let us do so. We will encamp here, Anders. Let all the people have a good feed, and tell Chingatok to follow us. You will come along with him." A few hours later, and the Captain, Leo, Alf, Benjy, Chingatok, and the interpreter stood on the extreme summit of the promontory which they had named Cape Chaos, and from which they had a splendid bird's-eye view of the whole region. It was indeed a tremendous and never-to-be-forgotten scene. As far as the eye could reach, the ocean was covered with ice heaped together in some places in the wildest confusion, and so firmly wedged in appearance that it seemed as if it had lain there in a solid mass from the first day of creation. Elsewhere the ice was more level and less compact. In the midst of this rugged scene, hundreds of giant icebergs rose conspicuously above the rest, towering upwards in every shape and of all sizes, from which the bright sun was flashed back in rich variety of form, from the sharp gleam that trickled down an edge of ice to the refulgent blaze on a glassy face which almost rivalled the sun himself in brilliancy. These icebergs, extending as they did to the horizon, where they mingled with and were lost in the pearl-grey sky, gave an impression of vast illimitable perspective. Although no sign of an open sea was at first observed, there was no lack of water to enliven the scene, for here and there, and everywhere, were pools and ponds, and even lakes of goodly size, which had been formed on the surface by the melting ice. In these the picturesque masses were faithfully reflected, and over them vast flocks of gulls, eider-ducks, puffins, and other wild-fowl of the north, disported themselves in garrulous felicity. On the edge of the rocky precipice, from which they had a bird's-eye view of the scene, our discoverers stood silent for some time, absorbed in contemplation, with feelings of mingled awe and wonder. Then exclamations of surprise and admiration broke forth. "The wonderful works of God!" said the Captain, in a tone of profound reverence. "Beautiful, beyond belief!" murmured Alf. "But it seems an effectual check to our advance," said the practical Leo, who, however, was by no means insensible to the extreme beauty of the scene. "Not effectual, lad; not effectual," returned the Captain, stretching out his hand and turning to the interpreter; "look, Anders, d'ye see nothing on the horizon away to the nor'ard? Isn't that a bit of water-sky over there?" "Ya," replied the interpreter, gazing intently, "there be watter-sky over there. Ya. But not possobubble for go there. Ice too big an' brokkin up." "Ask Chingatok what he thinks," returned the Captain. Chingatok's opinion was that the water-sky indicated the open sea. He knew that sea well--had often paddled over it, and his own country lay in it. "But how ever did he cross that ice?" asked the Captain; "what says he to that, Anders?" "I did not cross it," answered the Eskimo, through Anders. "When I came here with my party the ice was not there; it was far off yonder." He pointed to the eastward. "Just so," returned the Captain, with a satisfied nod, "that confirms my opinion. You see, boys, that the coast here trends off to the East'ard in a very decided manner. Now, if that was only the shore of a bay, and the land again ran off to the nor'ard, it would not be possible for such a sea of ice to have come from _that_ direction. I therefore conclude that we are standing on the most northern cape of Greenland; that Greenland itself is a huge island, unconnected with the Polar lands; that we are now on the shores of the great Polar basin, in which, somewhere not very far from the Pole itself, lies the home of our friend Chingatok--at least so I judge from what he has said. Moreover, I feel sure that the water-sky we see over there indicates the commencement of that `open sea' which, I hold, in common with many learned men, lies around the North Pole, and which I am determined to float upon before many days go by." "We'd better spread our wings then, father, and be off at once," said Benjy; "for it's quite certain that we'll never manage to scramble over that ice-jumble with sledges." "Nevertheless, I will try, Benjy." "But how, uncle?" asked Leo. "Ay, how?" repeated Alf, "_that_ is the question." "Come, come, Alf, let Shakespeare alone," said the pert Benjy, "if you _must_ quote, confine yourself to Buzzby." "Nay, Benjy, be not so severe. It was but a slip. Besides, our leader has not forbidden our carrying a whole library in our heads, so long as we take only one book in our pockets. But, uncle, you have not yet told us how you intend to cross that amazing barrier which Benjy has appropriately styled an ice-jumble." "How, boy?" returned the Captain, who had been gazing eagerly in all directions while they talked, "it is impossible for me to say how. All that I can speak of with certainty as to our future movements is, that the road by which we have come to the top of this cliff will lead us to the bottom again, where Toolooha is preparing for us an excellent supper of bear-steaks and tea. One step at a time, lads, is my motto; when that is taken we shall see clearly how and where to take the next." A sound sleep was the step which the whole party took after that which led to the bear-steaks. Then Captain Vane arose, ordered the dogs to be harnessed to the sledges, and, laying his course due north, steered straight out upon the sea of ancient ice. CHAPTER EIGHT. DIFFICULTIES AND DANGERS INCREASE, AND THE CAPTAIN EXPOUNDS HIS VIEWS. The first part of the journey over the rugged ice was not so difficult as had been anticipated, because they found a number of openings--narrow lanes, as it were--winding between the masses, most of which were wide enough to permit of the passage of the sledges; and when they chanced to come on a gap that was too narrow, they easily widened it with their hatchets and ice-chisels. There was, however, some danger connected with this process, for some of the mighty blocks of ice amongst which they moved were piled in such positions that it only required a few choppings at their base to bring them down in ruins on their heads. One instance of this kind sufficed to warn them effectually. Captain Vane's dog-sledge was leading the way at the time. Leo drove it, for by that time the Eskimos had taught him how to use the short-handled whip with the lash full fifteen feet long, and Leo was an apt pupil in every athletic and manly exercise. Beside him sat the Captain, Alf, Benjy, and Butterface--the black visage of the latter absolutely shining with delight at the novelty of the situation. Behind came the sledge of Chingatok, which, besides being laden with bear-rugs, sealskins, junks of meat, and a host of indescribable Eskimo implements, carried himself and the precious persons of Toolooha and Tekkona. Next came the sledge of the laughter-loving Oolichuk, with the timid Oblooria and another woman. Then followed the sledges of Ivitchuk and Akeetolik, laden with the rest of the Eskimo women and goods, and last of all came Captain Vane's two English-made sledges, heavily-laden with the goods and provisions of the explorers. These latter sledges, although made in England, had been constructed on the principle of the native sledge, namely, with the parts fastened by means of walrus-sinew lashings instead of nails, which last would have snapped like glass in the winter frosts of the Polar regions, besides being incapable of standing the twistings and shocks of ice-travel. All the dogs being fresh, and the floor of the lanes not too rough, the strangely-assorted party trotted merrily along, causing the echoes among the great ice-blocks, spires, and obelisks, to ring to the music of their chatting, and the cracks of their powerful whips. Suddenly, a shout at the front, and an abrupt pull up, brought the whole column to a halt. The Captain's dogs had broken into a gallop. On turning suddenly round a spur of a glacier about as big as Saint Paul's Cathedral, they went swish into a shallow pond which had been formed on the ice. It was not deep, but there was sufficient water in it to send a deluge of spray over the travellers. A burst of laughter greeted the incident as they sprang off the sledge, and waded to the dry ice a few yards ahead. "No damage done," exclaimed the Captain, as he assisted the dogs to haul the sledge out of the water. "No damage!" repeated Benjy, with a rueful look, "why, I'm soaked from top to toe!" "Yes, you've got the worst of it," said Leo, with a laugh; "that comes of being forward, Benjy. You would insist on sitting in front." "Well, it is some comfort," retorted Benjy, squeezing the water from his garments, "that _Alf_ is as wet as myself, for that gives us an opportunity of sympathising with each other. Eh, _Alf_? Does Buzzby offer no consolatory remarks for such an occasion as this?" "O yes," replied Alf; "in his beautiful poem on Melancholy, sixth canto, Buzzby says:-- "`When trouble, like a curtain spread, Obscures the clouded brain, And worries on the weary head Descend like soaking rain-- Lift up th'umbrella of the heart, Stride manfully along; Defy depression's dreary dart, And shout in gleeful song.'" "Come, Alf, clap on to this tow-rope, an' stop your nonsense," said Captain Vane, who was not in a poetical frame of mind just then. "Dat is mos' boosiful potry!" exclaimed Butterface, with an immense display of eyes and teeth, as he lent a willing hand to haul out the sledge. "Mos' boosiful. But he's rader a strong rem'dy, massa, don' you tink? Not bery easy to git up a gleefoo' shout when one's down in de mout' bery bad, eh!" Alf's reply was checked by the necessity for remounting the sledge and resuming the journey. Those in rear avoided the pond by going round it. "The weather's warm, anyhow, and that's a comfort," remarked Benjy, as he settled down in his wet garments. "We can't freeze in summer, you know, and--" He stopped abruptly, for it became apparent just then that the opening close ahead of them was too narrow for the sledge to pass. It was narrowed by a buttress, or projection, of the cathedral-berg, which jutted up close to a vast obelisk of ice about forty feet high, if not higher. "Nothing for it, boys, but to cut through," said the Captain, jumping out, and seizing an axe, as the sledge was jammed between the masses. The dogs lay down to rest and pant while the men were at work. "It's cut an' come again in dem regins," muttered the negro steward, also seizing an axe, and attacking the base of the obelisk. A sudden cry of alarm from the whole party caused him to desist and look up. He echoed the cry and sprang back swiftly, for the huge mass of ice having been just on the balance, one slash at its base had destroyed the equilibrium, and it was leaning slowly over with a deep grinding sound. A moment later the motion was swift, and it fell with a terrible crash, bursting into a thousand fragments, scattering lumps and glittering morsels far and wide, and causing the whole ice-field to tremble. The concussion overturned several other masses, which had been in the same nicely-balanced condition, some near at hand, others out of sight, though within earshot, and, for a moment, the travellers felt as if the surrounding pack were disrupting everywhere and falling into utter ruin, but in a few seconds the sounds ceased, and again all was quiet. Fortunately, the obelisk which had been overturned fell towards the north--away from the party; but although it thus narrowly missed crushing them all in one icy tomb, it blocked up their path so completely that the remainder of that day had to be spent in cutting a passage through it. Need we say that, after this, they were careful how they used their axes and ice-chisels? Soon after the occurrence of this incident, the labyrinths among the ice became more broken, tortuous, and bewildering. At last they ceased altogether, and the travellers were compelled to take an almost straight course right over everything, for blocks, masses, and drifts on a gigantic scale were heaved up in such dire confusion, that nothing having the faintest resemblance to a track or passage could be found. "It's hard work, this," remarked the Captain to Leo one evening, seating himself on a mass of ice which he had just chopped from an obstruction, and wiping the perspiration from his brow. "Hard, indeed," said Leo, sitting down beside him, "I fear it begins to tell upon poor Benjy. You should really order him to rest more than he does, uncle." A grim smile of satisfaction played for a minute on the Captain's rugged face, as he glanced at his son, who, a short distance ahead, was hacking at the ice with a pick-axe, in company with Alf and Butterface and the Eskimo men. "It'll do him good, lad," replied the Captain. "Hard work is just what my Benjy needs. He's not very stout, to be sure, but there is nothing wrong with his constitution, and he's got plenty of spirit." This was indeed true. Benjy had too much spirit for his somewhat slender frame, but his father, being a herculean man, did not quite perceive that what was good for himself might be too much for his son. Captain Vane was, however, the reverse of a harsh man. He pondered what Leo had said, and soon afterwards went up to his son. "Benjy, my lad." "Yes, father," said the boy, dropping the head of his pick-axe on the ice, resting his hands on the haft, and looking up with a flushed countenance. "You should rest a bit now and then, Benjy. You'll knock yourself up if you don't." "Rest a bit, father! Why, I've just had a rest, and I'm not tired--that is, not very. Ain't it fun, father? And the ice cuts up so easily, and flies about so splendidly--see here." With flashing eyes our little hero raised his pick and drove it into the ice at which he had been working, with all his force, so that a great rent was made, and a mass the size of a dressing-table sprang from the side of a berg, and, falling down, burst into a shower of sparkling gems. But this was not all. To Benjy's intense delight, a mass of many tons in weight was loosened by the fall of the smaller lump, and rolled down with a thunderous roar, causing Butterface, who was too near it, to jump out of the way with an amount of agility that threw the whole party into fits of laughter. "What d'ye think o' that, father?" "I think it's somewhat dangerous," answered the Captain, recovering his gravity and re-shouldering his axe. "However, as long as you enjoy the work, it can't hurt you, so go ahead, my boy; it'll be a long time before you cut away too much o' the Polar ice!" Reaching a slightly open space beyond this point, the dogs were harnessed, and the party advanced for a mile or so, when they came to another obstruction worse than that which they had previously passed. "There's a deal of ice-rubbish in these regions," remarked Benjy, eyeing the wildly heaped masses with a grave face, and heaving a deep sigh. "Yes, Massa Benjy, bery too much altogidder," said Butterface, echoing the sigh. "Come, we won't cut through this," cried Captain Vane in a cheery voice; "we'll try to go over it. There is a considerable drift of old snow that seems to offer a sort of track. What says Chingatok?" The easy-going Eskimo said that it would be as well to go over it as through it, perhaps better! So, over it they went, but they soon began to wish they had tried any other plan, for the snow-track quickly came to an end, and then the difficulty of passing even the empty sledges from one ice mass to another was very great, while the process of carrying forward the goods on the shoulders of the men was exceedingly laborious. The poor dogs, too, were constantly falling between masses, and dragging each other down, so that they gave more trouble at last than they were worth. In all these trying circumstances, the Eskimo women were almost as useful as the men. Indeed they would have been quite as useful if they had been as strong, and they bore the fatigues and trials of the journey with the placid good humour, and apparent, if not real, humility of their race. At last, one afternoon, our discoverers came suddenly to the edge of this great barrier of ancient ice, and beheld, from an elevated plateau to which they had climbed, a scene which was calculated to rouse in their breasts feelings at once of admiration and despair, for there, stretching away below them for several miles, lay a sea of comparatively level ice, and beyond it a chain of stupendous glaciers, which presented an apparently impassable barrier--a huge continuous wall of ice that seemed to rise into the very sky. This chain bore all the evidences of being very old ice--compared to which that of the so-called "ancient sea" was absolutely juvenile. On the ice-plain, which was apparently illimitable to the right and left, were hundreds of pools of water in which the icebergs, the golden clouds, the sun, and the blue sky were reflected, and on the surface of which myriads of Arctic wild-fowl were sporting about, making the air vocal with their plaintive cries, and ruffling the glassy surfaces of the lakes with their dipping wings. The heads of seals were also observed here and there. "These will stop us at last," said Alf, pointing to the bergs with a profound sigh. "No, they won't," remarked the Captain quietly. "_Nothing_ will stop us!" "That's true, anyhow, uncle," returned Alf; "for if it be, as Chingatok thinks, that we are in search of nothing, of course when we find nothing, nothing will stop us!" "Why, Alf," said Leo, "I wonder that you, who are usually in an enthusiastic and poetical frame of mind, should be depressed by distant difficulties, instead of admiring such a splendid sight of birds and beasts enjoying themselves in what I may style an Arctic heaven. You should take example by Benjy." That youth did indeed afford a bright example of rapt enthusiasm just then, for, standing a little apart by himself, he gazed at the scene with flushed face, open mouth, and glittering eyes, in speechless delight. "Ask Chingatok if he ever saw this range before," said the Captain to Anders, on recovering from his first feeling of surprise. No, Chingatok had never seen it, except, indeed, the tops of the bergs-- at sea, in the far distance--but he had often heard of it from some of his countrymen, who, like himself, were fond of exploring. But that sea of ice was not there, he said, when he had passed on his journey southward. It had drifted there, since that time, from the great sea. "Ah! the great sea that he speaks of is just what we must find and cross over," muttered the Captain to himself. "But how are we to cross over it, uncle?" asked Leo. The Captain replied with one of his quiet glances. His followers had long become accustomed to this silent method of declining to reply, and forbore to press the subject. "Come now, boys, get ready to descend to the plain. We'll have to do it with caution." There was, indeed, ground for caution. We have said that they had climbed to an elevated plateau on one of the small bergs which formed the outside margin of the rugged ice. The side of this berg was a steep slope of hard snow, so steep that they thought it unwise to attempt the descent by what in Switzerland is termed glissading. "We'll have to zig-zag down, I think," continued the Captain, settling himself on his sledge; but the Captain's dogs thought otherwise. Under a sudden impulse of reckless free-will, the whole team, giving vent to a howl of mingled glee and fear, dashed down the slope at full gallop. Of course they were overtaken in a few seconds by the sledge, which not only ran into them, but sent them sprawling on their backs right and left. Then it met a slight obstruction, and itself upset, sending Captain Vane and his companions, with its other contents, into the midst of the struggling dogs. With momentarily increasing speed this avalanche of mixed dead and living matter went sliding, hurtling, swinging, shouting, struggling, and yelling to the bottom. Fortunately, there was no obstruction there, else had destruction been inevitable. The slope merged gradually into the level plain, over which the avalanche swept for a considerable distance before the momentum of their flight was expended. When at length they stopped, and disentangled themselves from the knot into which the traces had tied them, it was found that no one was materially hurt. Looking up at the height down which they had come, they beheld the Eskimos standing at the top with outstretched arms in the attitude of men who glare in speechless horror. But these did not stand thus long. Descending by a more circuitous route, they soon rejoined the Captain's party, and then, as the night was far advanced, they encamped on the edge of the ice-plain, on a part that was bathed in the beams of the ever-circling sun. That night at supper Captain Vane was unusually thoughtful and silent. "You're not losing heart, are you, uncle?" asked Leo, during a pause. "No, lad, certainly not," replied the Captain, dreamily. "You've not been bumped very badly in the tumble, father, have you?" asked Benjy with an anxious look. "Bumped? no; what makes you think so?" "Because you're gazing at Toolooha's lamp as if you saw a ghost in it." "Well, perhaps I do see a ghost there," returned the Captain with an effort to rouse his attention to things going on around him. "I see the ghost of things to come. I am looking through Toolooha's lamp into futurity." "And what does futurity look like?" asked Alf. "Bright or dark?" "Black--black as me," muttered Butterface, as he approached and laid fresh viands before the party. It ought to be told that Butterface had suffered rather severely in the recent glissade on the snow-slope, which will account for the gloomy view he took of the future at that time. "Listen," said the Captain, with a look of sudden earnestness; "as it is highly probable that a day or two more will decide the question of our success or failure, I think it right to reveal to you more fully my thoughts, my plans, and the prospects that lie before us. You all know very well that there is much difference of opinion about the condition of the sea around the North Pole. Some think it must be cumbered with eternal ice, others that it is comparatively free from ice, and that it enjoys a somewhat milder climate than those parts of the Arctic regions with which we have hitherto been doing battle. I hold entirely with the latter view--with those who believe in an open Polar basin. I won't weary you with the grounds of my belief in detail, but here are a few of my reasons-- "It is an admitted fact that there is constant circulation of the water in the ocean. That wise and painstaking philosopher, Maury, of the US navy, has proved to my mind that this grand circulation of the sea-water round the world is the cause of all the oceanic streams, hot and cold, with which we have been so long acquainted. "This circulation is a necessity as well as a fact. At the Equator the water is extremely warm and salt, besides lime-laden, in consequence of excessive evaporation. At the Poles it is extremely cold and fresh. Mixing is therefore a necessity. The hot salt-waters of the Equator flow to the Poles to get freshened and cooled. Those of the Poles flow to the Equator to get salted, limed, and warmed. They do this continuously in two grand currents, north and south, all round the world. But the land comes in as a disturbing element; it diverts the water into streams variously modified in force and direction, and the streams also change places variously, sometimes the hot currents travelling north as under-currents with the cold currents above, sometimes the reverse. One branch of the current comes from the Equator round the Cape of Good Hope, turns up the west coast of Africa, and is deflected into the Gulf of Mexico, round which it sweeps, and then shoots across the Atlantic to England and Norway. It is known as our Gulf Stream. "Now, the equatorial warm and salt current enters Baffin's Bay as a submarine current, while the cold and comparatively fresh waters of the Polar regions descend as a surface-current, bearing the great ice-fields of the Arctic seas to the southward. One thing that goes far to prove this, is the fact that the enormous icebergs thrown off from the northern glaciers have been frequently seen by navigators travelling northward, right _against_ the current flowing south. These huge ice-mountains, floating as they do with seven or eight parts of their bulk beneath the surface, are carried thus forcibly up stream by the under-current until their bases are worn off by the warm waters below, thus allowing the upper current to gain the mastery, and hurry them south again to their final dissolution in the Atlantic. "Now, lads," continued the Captain, with the air of a man who propounds a self-evident proposition; "is it not clear that if the warm waters of the south flow into the Polar basin as an _under_ current, they must come up _somewhere_, to take the place of the cold waters that are for ever flowing away from the Pole to the Equator? Can anything be clearer than that--except the nose on Benjy's face? Well then, that being so, the waters round the Pole _must_ be comparatively warm waters, and also, comparatively, free from ice, so that if we could only manage to cross this ice-barrier and get into them, we might sail right away to the North Pole." "But, father," said Benjy, "since you have taken the liberty to trifle with my nose, I feel entitled to remark that we can't sail in waters, either hot or cold, without a ship." "That's true, boy," rejoined the Captain. "However," he added, with a half-humorous curl of his black moustache, "you know I'm not given to stick at trifles. Time will show. Meanwhile I am strongly of opinion that this is the last ice-barrier we shall meet with on our way to the Pole." "Is there not some tradition of a mild climate in the furthest north among the Eskimos?" asked Alf. "Of course there is. It has long been known that the Greenland Eskimos have a tradition of an island in an iceless sea, lying away in the far north, where there are many musk-oxen, and, from what I have been told by our friend Chingatok, I am disposed to think that he and his kindred inhabit this island, or group of islands, in the Polar basin--not far, perhaps, from the Pole itself. He says there are musk-oxen there. But there is another creature, and a much bigger one than any Eskimo, bigger even than Chingatok, who bears his testimony to an open Polar sea, namely, the Greenland whale. It has been ascertained that the `right' whale does not, and cannot, enter the tropical regions of the Ocean. They are to him as a sea of fire, a wall of adamant, so that it is impossible for him to swim south, double Cape Horn, and proceed to the North Pacific; yet the very same kind of whale found in Baffin's Bay is found at Behring Straits. Now, the question is, how did he get there?" "Was born there, no doubt," answered Benjy, "and had no occasion to make such a long voyage!" "Ah! my boy, but we have the strongest evidence that he was _not_ born there, for you must know that some whalers have a habit of marking their harpoons with date and name of ship; and as we have been told by that good and true man Dr Scoresby, there have been several instances where whales have been captured near Behring Straits with harpoons in them bearing the stamp of ships that were known to cruise on the Baffin's Bay side of America. Moreover, in one or two instances a very short time had elapsed between the date of harpooning on the Atlantic and capturing on the Pacific side. These facts prove, at all events, a `North-west Passage' for whales, and, as whales cannot travel far under ice without breathing, they also tend to prove an open Polar sea. "Another argument in favour of this basin is the migration of birds to the northward at certain seasons. Birds do not migrate to frozen regions, and such migrations northward have been observed by those who, like ourselves, have reached the highest latitudes. "Captain Nares of the _Alert_, in May 1876, when only a little to the southward of this, saw ptarmigan flying in pairs to the north-west, seeking for better feeding-grounds. Ducks and geese also passed northward early in June, indicating plainly the existence of suitable feeding-grounds in the undiscovered and mysterious North. "We have now passed beyond the point reached by Captain Nares. My last observation placed us in parallel 84 degrees 40 minutes, the highest that has yet been reached by civilised man." "The highest, uncle?" interrupted Leo. "Yes--the highest. Scoresby reached 81 degrees 50 minutes in 1806, Parry 82 degrees 45 minutes in 1827--with sledges. That unfortunate and heroic American, Captain Hall, ran his vessel, the _Polaris_, in the shortest space of time on record, up to latitude 82 degrees 16 minutes. Captain Nares reached a higher latitude than had previously been attained by ships, and Captain Markham, of Captain Nares' expedition, travelled over this very `sea of ancient ice' with sledges to latitude 83 degrees 20.4 minutes--about 400 miles from the Pole, and the highest yet reached, as I have said. So, you see, we have beaten them all! Moreover, I strongly incline to the belief that the open Polar Sea lies just beyond that range of huge icebergs which we see before us." The Captain rose as he spoke, and pointed to the gigantic chain, behind one of which the sun was just about to dip, causing its jagged peaks to glow as with intense fire. "But how are we ever to pass that barrier, uncle?" asked Alf, who was by nature the least sanguine of the party in regard to overcoming difficulties of a geographical nature, although by far the most enthusiastic in the effort to acquire knowledge. "You shall see, to-morrow," answered the Captain; "at present we must turn in and rest. See, the Eskimos have already set us the example." CHAPTER NINE. THE CAPTAIN MAKES A STUPENDOUS EFFORT. DISAPPOINTMENTS AND DISCOVERIES. Next morning the ice-plain was crossed at a swinging gallop. Indeed, the dogs were so fresh and frisky after a good rest and a hearty meal that they ran away more than once, and it became a matter of extreme difficulty to check them. At last the great chain was reached, and the party came to an abrupt halt at the base of one of the largest of the bergs. Captain Vane gazed up at it as Napoleon the First may be supposed to have gazed at the Alps he had resolved to scale and cross. The resemblance to alpine scenery was not confined to mere form--such as towering peaks and mighty precipices--for there were lakelets and ponds here and there up among the crystal heights, from which rivulets trickled, streams brawled, and cataracts thundered. It was evident, however, that the old giant that frowned on them was verging towards dissolution, for he was honey-combed in all directions. "Impossible to scale that," said Alf, with a solemn look. Even Leo's sanguine temperament was dashed for a moment. "We dare not attempt to cut through it," he said, "for masses are falling about here and there in a very dangerous fashion." As he spoke, a tall spire was seen to slip from its position, topple over, and go crashing down into a dark blue gulf of ice below it. "No chance of success _now_," said Benjamin Vane, gloomily. "None wotsomediver," muttered Butterface, his broad black visage absolutely elongated by sympathetic despair. For, you must know, as far as his own feelings were concerned, sympathy alone influenced him. Personally, he was supremely indifferent about reaching the North Pole. In fact he did not believe in it at all, and made no scruple of saying so, when asked, but he seldom volunteered his opinion, being an extremely modest and polite man. During these desponding remarks Captain Vane did not seem to be much depressed. "Anders," he said, turning abruptly to the interpreter, "ask Chingatok what he thinks. Can we pass this barrier, and, if not, what would he advise us to do?" It was observed that the other Eskimos drew near with anxious looks to hear the opinion of their chief. Toolooha and Tekkona, however, seemed quite devoid of anxiety. They evidently had perfect confidence in the giant, and poor little Oblooria glanced up in the face of her friend as if to gather consolation from her looks. Chingatok, after a short pause, said:-- "The ice-mountains cannot be passed. The white men have not wings; they cannot fly. They must return to land, and travel for many days to the open water near the far-off land--there." He pointed direct to the northward. Captain Vane made no reply. He merely turned and gave orders that the lashings of one of the large sledges which conveyed the baggage should be cast loose. Selecting a box from this, he opened it, and took therefrom a small instrument made partly of brass, partly of glass, and partly of wood. "You have often wondered, Benjy," he said, "what I meant to do with this electrical machine. You shall soon see. Help me to arrange it, boy, and do you, Leo, uncoil part of this copper wire. Here, Alf, carry this little box to the foot of the berg, and lay it in front of yon blue cavern." "Which? That one close to the waterfall or--" "No, the big cavern, just under the most solid part of the berg--the one that seems to grow bluer and bluer until it becomes quite black in its heart. And have a care, Alf. The box you carry is dangerous. Don't let it fall. Lay it down gently, and come back at once. Anders," he added, turning round, "let all the people go back with dogs and sledges for a quarter of a mile." There was something so peremptory and abrupt in their leader's manner that no one thought of asking him a question, though all were filled with surprise and curiosity as to what he meant to do. "Come here, Leo," he said, after his orders had been obeyed. "Hold this coil, and pay it out as I walk to the berg with the end in my hand." The coil was one of extremely fine copper wire. Leo let it run as the Captain walked off. A minute or two later he was seen to enter the dark blue cavern and disappear. "My dear dad is reckless," exclaimed Benjy, in some anxiety, "what if the roof o' that cave should fall in. There are bits of ice dropping about everywhere. What _can_ he be going to do?" As he spoke, the Captain issued from the cave, and walked smartly towards them. "Now then, it's all right," he said, "give me the coil, Leo, and come back, all of you. Fetch the machine, Alf." In a few minutes the whole party had retired a considerable distance from the huge berg, the Captain uncoiling the wire as he went. "Surely you're not going to try to blow it up piecemeal?" said Leo. "No, lad, I'm not going to do that, or anything so slow," returned the Captain, stopping and arranging the instrument. "But if the box contains gunpowder," persisted Leo, "there's not enough to--" "It contains dynamite," said the Captain, affixing the coil to the machine, and giving it a sharp turn. If a volcano had suddenly opened fire under the iceberg the effect could not have been more tremendous. Thunder itself is not more deep than was the crash which reverberated among the ice-cliffs. Smoke burst in a huge volume from the heart of the berg. Masses, fragments, domes, and pinnacles were hurled into the air, and fell back to mingle with the blue precipices that tumbled, slid, or plunged in horrible confusion. Only a portion, indeed, of the mighty mass had been actually disrupted, but the shock to the surrounding ice was so shattering that the entire berg subsided. "Stu-pendous!" exclaimed Alf, with a look of awe-stricken wonder. Benjy, after venting his feelings in a shriek of joyful surprise, seemed to be struck dumb. Anders and Butterface stood still,--speechless. As for the Eskimos, they turned with one hideous yell, and fled from the spot like maniacs--excepting Chingatok, who, although startled, stood his ground in an attitude expressive of superlative surprise. "So,--it has not disappointed me," remarked the Captain, when the hideous din had ceased, "dynamite is indeed a powerful agent when properly applied: immeasurably more effective than powder." "But it seems to me," said Leo, beginning to recover himself, "that although you have brought the berg down you have not rendered it much more passable." "That's true, lad," answered the Captain with a somewhat rueful expression. "It does seem a lumpy sort of heap after all; but there may be found some practicable bits when we examine it more closely. Come, we'll go see." On closer inspection it was found that the ruined berg still presented an absolutely insurmountable obstacle to the explorers, who, being finally compelled to admit that even dynamite had failed, left the place in search of a natural opening. Travelling along the chain for a considerable time, in the hope of succeeding, they came at last to a succession of comparatively level floes, which conducted them to the extreme northern end of the chain, and there they found that the floes continued onwards in an unbroken plain to what appeared to be the open sea. "That is a water-sky, for certain," exclaimed Captain Vane, eagerly, on the evening when this discovery was made. "The open ocean cannot now be far off." "There's a very dark cloud there, father," said Benjy, who, as we have before said, possessed the keenest sight of the party. "A cloud, boy! where? Um--Yes, I see something--" "It is land," said Chingatok, in a low voice. "Land!" exclaimed the Captain, "are you sure?" "Yes, I know it well. I passed it on my journey here. We left our canoes and oomiaks there, and took to sledges because the floes were unbroken. But these ice-mountains were not here at that time. They have come down since we passed from the great sea." "There!" said the Captain, turning to Leo with a look of triumph, "he still speaks of the great sea! If these bergs came from it, we _must_ have reached it, lad." "But the land puzzles me," said Leo. "Can it be part of Greenland?" "Scarcely, for Greenland lies far to the east'ard, and the latest discoveries made on the north of that land show that the coast turns still more decidedly east--tending to the conclusion that Greenland is an island. This land, therefore, must be entirely new land--an island-- a continent perhaps." "But it may be a cape, father," interposed Benjy. "You know that capes have a queer way of sticking out suddenly from land, just as men's noses stick out from their faces." "True, Benjy, true, but your simile is not perfect, for men's noses don't always stick out from their faces--witness the nose of Butterface, which, you know, is well aft of his lips and chin. However, this _may_ be Greenland's nose--who knows? We shall go and find out ere long. Come, use your whip, Leo. Ho! Chingatok, tell your hairy kinsmen to clap on all sail and make for the land." "Hold on, uncle!" cried Alf, "I think I see a splendid specimen of--" The crack of Leo's whip, and the yelping of the team, drowned the rest of the sentence, and Alf was whirled away from his splendid specimen, (whatever it was), for ever! "It is a piece of great good fortune," said the Captain, as they swept along over the hard and level snow, "that the Eskimos have left their boats on this land, for now I shall have two strings to my bow." "What is the other string?" asked Leo, as he administered a flip to the flank of a lazy dog. "Ah, that remains to be seen, lad," replied the Captain. "Why, what a tyrant you are, uncle!" exclaimed Alf, who had recovered from his disappointment about the splendid specimen. "You won't tell us anything, almost. Who ever before heard of the men of an expedition to the North Pole being kept in ignorance of the means by which they were to get there?" The Captain's reply was only a twinkle of the eye. "Father wants to fill you with bliss, Alf," said Benjy, "according to your own notions of that sort of thing." "What do you mean, Ben?" "Why, have we not all heard you often quote the words:--`Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.'" "Hear, hear! That's it, Benjy," said the Captain, with a nod and a short laugh, while his son assumed the satisfied gravity of look appropriate to one who has made a hit; "I won't decrease his bliss by removing his ignorance yet awhile." "Hain't Buzzby got nuffin' to say on that 'ere pint?" whispered Butterface to Benjy, who sat just in front of him. "Ah! to be sure. I say, Alf," said the boy with an earnest look, "hasn't your favourite author got something to say about the bliss of ignorance? I'm almost sure I heard you muttering something in your dreams on that subject the other day." "Of course he has. He has a long poem on that subject. Here is a bit of it." Alf, whose memory was good, immediately recited the following: "How sweet is ignorance! How soothing to the mind, To search for treasures in the brain, and nothing find! Consider. When the memory is richly stored, How apt the victim of redundant knowledge to be bored! When Nothing fills the chambers of the heart and brain, Then negative enjoyment comes with pleasures in her train! Descending on the clods of sense like summer rain. "Knowledge, 'tis said, gives power, and so it often does; Knowledge makes sorrow, too, around our pillows buzz. In debt I am, with little cash; I know it--and am sad. Of course, if I were ignorant of this--how glad! A loving friend, whom once I knew in glowing health, Has broken down, and also, somehow, lost his wealth. How sad the knowledge makes me! Better far In ignorance to live, than hear of things that jar, And think of things that are not,--not of things that are. "`If ignorance is bliss,' the poet saith--why `if?' Why doubt a fact so clearly proven, stubborn, stiff? The heavy griefs and burdens of the world around, The hideous tyranny by which mankind is ground, The earthquake, tempest, rush of war, and wail of woe, Are all as though they were not--if I do not know! Wrapped in my robe of ignorance, what _can_ I miss? Am I not saved from all--and more than all--of this? Do I not revel in a regal realm of bliss?" "Bravo! Buzzby," cried the Captain, "but, I say, Alf, don't it seem to smack rather too much of selfishness?" "Of course it does, uncle. I do not think Buzzby always sound in principle, and, like many poets, he is sometimes confused in his logic." "You're right, Benjy, the land is clear enough now," remarked the Captain, whose interest in Buzzby was not profound, and whose feelings towards logic bordered on the contemptuous, as is often the case with half-educated men, and, strange to say, sometimes with highly-educated men, as well as with the totally ignorant--so true is it that extremes meet! In the course of a couple of hours the sledges drew near to the island, which proved to be a large but comparatively low one, rising not more than a hundred feet in any part. It was barren and ragged, with patches of reindeer moss growing in some parts, and dwarf willows in others. Myriads of sea-birds made it their home, and these received the invaders with clamorous cries, as if they knew that white men were a dangerous novelty, and objected to the innovation. Despite their remonstrances, the party landed, and the Eskimos hurried over the rocks to that part of the island where they had left their kayaks and women's boats in charge of a party of natives who were resident on the island at the time they passed, and from whom they had borrowed the dogs and sledges with which they had travelled south. Meanwhile the white men took to rambling; Leo to shoot wild-fowl for supper, Alf to search for "specimens," and Benjy to scramble among the rocks in search of anything that might "turn up." Butterface assisted the latter in his explorations. While the rest were thus engaged, the Captain extemporised a flag-staff out of two spears lashed together with a small block at the top for the purpose of running up a flag, and formally taking possession of the island when they should re-assemble. This done, he wrote a brief outline of his recent doings, which he inserted in a ginger-beer bottle brought for that very purpose. Then he assisted Anders in making the encampment and preparing supper. The two were yet in the midst of the latter operation when a shout was heard in the distance. Looking in the direction whence it came they saw Chingatok striding over the rocks towards them with unusual haste. He was followed by the other Eskimos, who came forward gesticulating violently. "My countrymen have left the island," said Chingatok when he came up. "And taken the kayaks with them?" asked Captain Vane anxiously. "Every one," replied the giant. This was depressing news to the Captain, who had counted much on making use of the Eskimo canoes in the event of his own appliances failing. "Where have they gone, think you?" he asked. "Tell Blackbeard," replied Chingatok, turning to Anders, "that no one knows. Since they went away the lanes of open water have closed, and the ice is solid everywhere." "But where the kayak and the oomiak cannot float the sledge may go," said the Captain. "That is true; tell the pale chief he is wise, yet he knows not all things. Let him think. When he comes to the great open sea what will he do without canoes?" "Huk!" exclaimed Oolichuk, with that look and tone which intimated his belief that the pale chief had received a "clincher." The chattering of the other Eskimos ceased for a moment or two as they awaited eagerly the Captain's answer, but the Captain disappointed them. He merely said, "Well, we shall see. I may not know all things, Chingatok, nevertheless I know a deal more than you can guess at. Come now, let's have supper, Anders; we can't wait for the wanderers." As he spoke, three of the wanderers came into camp, namely Leo, Benjy, and Butterface. "What's come of Alf?" asked the Captain. Neither Leo nor Benjy had seen him since they parted, a quarter of an hour after starting, and both had expected to find him in camp, but Butterface had seen him. "Sawd him runnin'," said the sable steward, "runnin' like a mad kangaroo arter a smallish brute like a mouse. Nebber sawd nuffin' like Massa Alf for runnin'." "Well, we can't wait for him," said the Captain, "I want to take possession of the island before supper. What shall we call it?" "Disappointment Isle," said Leo, "seeing that the Eskimos have failed us." "No--I won't be ungrateful," returned the Captain, "considering the successes already achieved." "Call it Content Isle, then," suggested Benjy. "But I am not content with partial success. Come, Butterface, haven't you got a suggestion to make." The negro shook his woolly head. "No," he said, "I's 'orrible stoopid. Nebber could get nuffin' to come out o' my brain--sep w'en it's knocked out by accident. You's hard to please, massa. S'pose you mix de two,-- dis'pintment an' content,--an' call 'im Half-an'-half Island." "Home is in sight now," said Chingatok, who had taken no interest in the above discussion, as it was carried on in English. "A few days more and we should be there if we only had our kayaks." "There's the name," exclaimed the Captain eagerly when this was translated, "`Home-in-sight,' that will do." Rising quickly, he bent a Union Jack to the halyards of his primitive flag-staff, ran it up, and in the name of Queen Victoria took possession of _Home-in-sight Island_. After having given three hearty British cheers, in which the Eskimos tried to join, with but partial success, they buried the ginger-beer bottle under a heap of stones, a wooden cross was fixed on the top of the cairn, and then the party sat down to supper, while the Captain made a careful note of the latitude and longitude, which he had previously ascertained. This latest addition to Her Majesty's dominions was put down by him in latitude 85 degrees 32 minutes, or about 288 geographical miles from the North Pole. CHAPTER TEN. A SKETCHER IN IMMINENT DANGER. DIFFICULTIES INCREASE, AND ARE OVERCOME AS USUAL. The first night on Home-in-sight Island was not so undisturbed as might have been expected. The noisy gulls did indeed go to sleep at their proper bed-time, which, by the way, they must have ascertained by instinct, for the sun could be no certain guide, seeing that he shone all night as well as all day, and it would be too much to expect that gulls had sufficient powers of observation to note the great luminary's exact relation to the horizon. Polar bears, like the Eskimo, had forsaken the spot. All nature, indeed, animate and inanimate, favoured the idea of repose when the explorers lay down to sleep on a mossy couch that was quite as soft as a feather bed, and much more springy. The cause of disturbance was the prolonged absence of Alf Vandervell. That enthusiastic naturalist's failure to appear at supper was nothing uncommon. His non-appearance when they lay down did indeed cause some surprise, but little or no anxiety, and they all dropped into a sound sleep which lasted till considerably beyond midnight. Then the Captain awoke with a feeling of uneasiness, started up on one elbow, yawned, and gazed dreamily around. The sun, which had just kissed his hand to the disappointed horizon and begun to re-ascend the sky, blinded the Captain with his beams, but did not prevent him from observing that Alf's place was still vacant. "Very odd," he muttered, "Alf didn't use to--to--w'at's 'is name in-- this--way--" The Captain's head dropped, his elbow relaxed, and he returned to the land of Nod for another half-hour. Again he awoke with a start, and sat upright. "This'll never do," he exclaimed, with a fierce yawn, "something _must_ be wrong. Ho! Benjy!" "Umph!" replied the boy, who, though personally light, was a heavy sleeper. "Rouse up, Ben, Alf's not come back. Where did you leave him?" "Don' know, Burrerface saw 'im las'--." Benjy dropped off with a sigh, but was re-aroused by a rough shake from his father, who lay close to him. "Come, Ben, stir up Butterface! We must go look for Alf." Butterface lay on the other side of Benjy, who, only half alive to what he was doing, raised his hand and let it fall heavily on the negro's nose, by way of stirring him up. "Hallo! massa Benjamin! You's dreamin' drefful strong dis mornin'." "Yer up, ol' ebony!" groaned the boy. In a few minutes the whole camp was roused; sleep was quickly banished by anxiety about the missing one; guns and rifles were loaded, and a regular search-expedition was hastily organised. They started off in groups in different directions, leaving the Eskimo women in charge of the camp. The Captain headed one party, Chingatok another, and Leo with Benjy a third, while a few of the natives went off independently, in couples or alone. "I was sure Alf would get into trouble," said Benjy, as he trotted beside Leo, who strode over the ground in anxious haste. "That way he has of getting so absorbed in things that he forgets where he is, won't make him a good explorer." "Not so sure of that, Ben," returned Leo; "he can discover things that men who are less absorbed, like you, might fail to note. Let us go round this hillock on separate sides. We might pass him if we went together. Keep your eyes open as you go. He may have stumbled over one of those low precipices and broken a leg. Keep your ears cocked also, and give a shout now and then." We have said that the island was a low one, nevertheless it was extremely rugged, with little ridges and hollows everywhere, like miniature hills and valleys. Through one of these latter Benjy hurried, glancing from side to side as he went, like a red Indian on the war-path--which character, indeed, he thought of, and tried to imitate. The little vale did not, however, as Leo had imagined, lead round the hillock. It diverged gradually to the right, and ascended towards the higher parts of the island. The path was so obstructed by rocks and boulders which had evidently been at one time under the pressure of ice, that the boy could not see far in any direction, except by mounting one of these. He had not gone far when, on turning the corner of a cliff which opened up another gorge to view, he beheld a sight which caused him to open mouth and eyes to their widest. For there, seated on an eminence, with his back to a low precipice, not more than three or four hundred yards off, sat the missing explorer, with book on knees and pencil in hand--sketching; and there, seated on the top of the precipice, looking over the edge at the artist, skulked a huge Polar bear, taking as it were, a surreptitious lesson in drawing! The bear, probably supposing Alf to be a wandering seal, had dogged him to that position just as Benjy Vane discovered him, and then, finding the precipice too high for a leap perhaps, or doubting the character of his intended victim, he had paused in uncertainty on the edge. The boy's first impulse was to utter a shout of warning, for he had no gun wherewith to shoot the brute, but fear lest that might precipitate an attack restrained him. Benjy, however, was quick-witted. He saw that the leap was probably too much even for a Polar bear, and that the nature of the ground would necessitate a detour before it could get at the artist. These and other thoughts passed through his brain like the lightning flash, and he was on the point of turning to run back and give the alarm to Leo, when a rattling of stones occurred behind him--just beyond the point of rocks round which he had turned. In the tension of his excited nerves he felt as if he had suddenly become red hot. Could this be another bear? If so, what was he to do, whither to fly? A moment more would settle the question, for the rattle of stones continued as the steps advanced. The boy felt the hair rising on his head. Round came the unknown monster in the form of--a man! "Ah, Benjy, I--" But the appearance of Benjy's countenance caused Leo to stop abruptly, both in walk and talk. He had found out his mistake about sending the boy round the hillock, and, turning back, had followed him. "Ah! look there," said Benjy, pointing at the _tableau vivant_ on the hill-top. Leo's ready rifle leaped from his shoulder to his left palm, and a grim smile played on his lips, for long service in a volunteer corps had made him a good judge of distance as well as a sure and deadly shot. "Stand back, Benjy, behind this boulder," he whispered. "I'll lean on it to make more certain." He was deliberately arranging the rifle while speaking, but never for one instant took his eye off the bear, which still stood motionless, with one paw raised, as if petrified with amazement at what it saw. As for Alf, he went on intently with his work, lifting and lowering his eyes continuously, putting in bold dashes here, or tender touches there; holding out the book occasionally at arm's length to regard his work, with head first on one side, then on the other, and, in short, going through all those graceful and familiar little evolutions of artistic procedure which arouse one's home feelings so powerfully everywhere-- even in the Arctic regions! Little did the artist know who was his uninvited pupil on that sunny summer night! With one knee resting on a rock, and his rifle on the boulder, Leo took a steady, somewhat lengthened aim, and fired. The result was stupendous! Not only did the shot reverberate with crashing echoes among surrounding cliffs and boulders, but a dying howl from the bear burst over the island, like the thunder of a heavy gun, and went booming over the frozen sea. No wonder that the horrified Alf leapt nearly his own height into the air and scattered his drawing-materials right and left like chaff. He threw up his arms, and wheeled frantically round just in time to receive the murdered bear into his very bosom! They rolled down a small slope together, and then, falling apart, lay prone and apparently dead upon the ground. You may be sure that Leo soon had his brother's head on his knee, and was calling to him in an agony of fear, quite regardless of the fact that the bear lay at his elbow, giving a few terrific kicks as its huge life oozed out through a bullet-hole in its heart, while Benjy, half weeping with sympathy, half laughing with glee, ran to a neighbouring pool to fetch water in his cap. A little of the refreshing liquid dashed on his face and poured down his throat soon restored Alf, who had only been stunned by the fall. "What induced you to keep on sketching all night?" asked Leo, after the first explanations were over. "All night?" repeated Alf in surprise, "have I been away all night? What time is it?" "Three o'clock in the morning at the very least," said Leo. "The sun is pretty high, as you might have seen if you had looked at it." "But he never looked at it," said Benjy, whose eyes were not yet quite dry, "he never looks at anything, or thinks of anything, when he goes sketching." "Surely you must allow that at least I look at and think of my work," said Alf, rising from the ground and sitting down on the rock from which he had been so rudely roused; "but you are half right, Benjy. The sun was at my back, you see, hid from me by the cliff over which the bear tumbled, and I had no thoughts for time, or eyes for nature, except the portion I was busy with--by the way, where is it?" "What, your sketch?" "Ay, and the colours. I wouldn't lose these for a sight of the Pole itself. Look for them, Ben, my boy, I still feel somewhat giddy." In a few minutes the sketch and drawing-materials were collected, undamaged, and the three returned to camp, Alf leaning on Leo's arm. On the way thither they met the Captain's party, and afterwards the band led by Chingatok. The latter was mightily amused by the adventure, and continued for a considerable time afterwards to upheave his huge shoulders with suppressed laughter. When the whole party was re-assembled the hour was so late, and they had all been so thoroughly excited, that no one felt inclined to sleep again. It was resolved, therefore, at once to commence the operations of a new day. Butterface was set to prepare coffee, and the Eskimos began breakfast with strips of raw blubber, while steaks of Leo's bear were being cooked. Meanwhile Chingatok expressed a wish to see the drawing which had so nearly cost the artist his life. Alf was delighted to exhibit and explain it. For some time the giant gazed at it in silence. Then he rested his forehead in his huge hand as if in meditation. It was truly a clever sketch of a surpassingly lovely scene. In the foreground was part of the island with its pearl-grey rocks, red-brown earth, and green mosses, in the midst of which lay a calm pool, like the island's eye looking up to heaven and reflecting the bright indescribable blue of the midnight sky. Further on was a mass of cold grey rocks. Beyond lay the northern ice-pack, which extended in chaotic confusion away to the distant horizon, but the chaos was somewhat relieved by the presence of lakelets which shone here and there over its surface like shields of glittering azure and burnished gold. "Ask him what he thinks of it," said Leo to Anders, a little surprised at Chingatok's prolonged silence. "I cannot speak," answered the giant, "my mind is bursting and my heart is full. With my finger I have drawn faces on the snow. I have seen men put wonderful things on flat rocks with a piece of stone, but this!--this is my country made little. It looks as if I could walk in it, yet it is flat!" "The giant is rather complimentary," laughed Benjy, when this was translated; "to my eye your sketch is little better than a daub." "It is a daub that causes me much anxiety," said the Captain, who now looked at the drawing for the first time. "D'you mean to tell me, Alf, that you've been true to nature when you sketched that pack?" "As true as I could make it, uncle." "I'll answer for its truth," said Leo, "and so will Benjy, for we both saw the view from the top of the island, though we paid little heed to it, being too much occupied with Alf and the bear at the time. The pack is even more rugged than he has drawn it, and it extends quite unbroken to the horizon." The Captain's usually hopeful expression forsook him for a little as he commented on his bad fortune. "The season advances, you see," he said, "and it's never very long at the best. I had hoped we were done with this troublesome `sea of ancient ice,' but it seems to turn up everywhere, and from past experience we know that the crossing of it is slow work, as well as hard. However, we mustn't lose heart. `Nebber say die,' as Butterface is fond of remarking." "Yis, Massa, nebber say die, but allers say `lib, to de top ob your bent.' Dems my 'pinions w'en dey's wanted. Also `go a-hid.' Dat's a grand sent'ment--was borned 'mong de Yankees, an' I stoled it w'en I left ole Virginny." "What says Chingatok?" asked the Captain of the Eskimo, who was still seated with the sketch on his knees in profound meditation. "Blackbeard has trouble before him," answered the uncompromising giant, without removing his eyes from the paper. "There," he said, pointing to the pack, "you have three days' hard work. After that three days' easy and swift work. After that no more go on. Must come back." "He speaks in riddles, Anders. What does he mean by the three days of hard work coming to an end?" "I mean," said Chingatok, "that the ice was loose when I came to this island. It is now closed. The white men must toil, toil, toil--very slow over the ice for three days, then they will come to smooth ice, where the dogs may run for three days. Then they will come to another island, like this one, on the far-off side of which there is no ice-- nothing but sea, sea, sea. Our kayaks are gone," continued the giant, sadly, "we must come back and travel many days before we find things to make new ones." While he was speaking, Captain Vane's face brightened up. "Are you sure of what you say, Chingatok?" "Chingatok is sure," replied the Eskimo quietly. "Then we'll conquer our difficulties after all. Come, boys, let's waste no more time in idle talk, but harness the dogs, and be off at once." Of course the party had to travel round the island, for there was neither ice nor snow on it. When the other side was reached the real difficulties of the journey were fully realised. During the whole of that day and the next they were almost continuously engaged in dragging the sledges over masses of ice, some of which rose to thirty feet above the general level. If the reader will try to imagine a very small ant or beetle dragging its property over a newly macadamised road, he will have a faint conception of the nature of the work. To some extent the dogs were a hindrance rather than a help, especially when passing over broken fragments, for they were always tumbling into holes and cracks, out of which they had to be dragged, and were much given to venting their ill-humour on each other, sometimes going in for a free fight, in the course of which they tied their traces into indescribable knots, and drove their Eskimo masters furious. On such occasions the whips--both lash and handle--were applied with unsparing vigour until the creatures were cowed. Danger, also, as well as toil, was encountered during the journey. On the evening of the second day the sledge driven by Oolichuk diverged a little from the line of march towards what seemed an easier passage over the hummocks. They had just gained the top of an ice-block, which, unknown to the driver, overhung its base. When the dogs reached the edge of the mass, it suddenly gave way. Down went the team with a united howl of despair. Their weight jerked the sledge forward, another mass of the ice gave way, and over went the whole affair. In the fall the lashings broke, and Oolichuk, with several of his kindred, including poor little Oblooria, went down in a shower of skins, packages, bags, and Eskimo cooking utensils. Fortunately, they dropped on a slope of ice which broke their fall, and, as it were, shunted them all safely, though violently, to the lower level of the pack. Beyond a few scratches and bruises, no evil resulted from this accident to these hardy natives of the north. That night they all encamped, as on the previous night, in the midst of the pack, spreading their skins and furs on the flattest ice they could find, and keeping as far from overhanging lumps as possible. "What does Blackbeard mean by coming here?" asked Chingatok of Anders, as they lay side by side, gazing up at the blue sky awaiting sleep. "We cannot swim over the sea, and we have no boats." "I don't know," answered the interpreter. "Our chief is a wonderful man. He does things that seem to be all wrong, but they turn out mostly to be all right." "Does he ever speak of a Great Spirit?" asked the giant in a solemn tone. "Not to me," replied the other, "but I hear him sometimes speaking to his little boy about his God." "Then he must know his God," returned Chingatok. "Has he seen him-- spoken to him?" Anders was a good deal surprised as well as puzzled by the questions put by his new friend. His extremely commonplace mind had never been exercised by such ideas. "I never asked him about that," he said, "and he never told me. Perhaps he will tell you if you ask him." The interpreter turned on his side with a sigh and went to sleep. The giant lay on his back gazing long and steadily with a wistful look at the unbroken vault of sky, whose vast profundity seemed to thrust him mercilessly back. As he gazed, a little cloud, light as a puff of eider-down, and golden as the sun from which its lustre came, floated into the range of his vision. He smiled, for the thought that light may suddenly arise when all around seems blank gave his inquiring spirit rest, and he soon joined the slumbering band who lay upon the ice around him. According to Chingatok's prophecy, on the third day the fagged and weary discoverers surmounted their first difficulty, and came upon comparatively smooth ice, the surface of which resembled hard-trodden snow, and was sufficiently free from obstructing lumps to admit of rapid sledge travelling. It was late when they reached it, but as they could now all sit on the sledges and leave the hard work to the dogs, the leader resolved to continue the advance without resting. "It's time enough to stop when we're stopped," he remarked to Leo, while making preparations to start. "We will sleep at the first obstruction we meet with, if it's a sufficiently troublesome one. See that the things are well lashed on all the sledges, Alf. Remember that I hold you responsible for lost articles." "And what am I responsible for, father?" asked Benjy with a pert look. "For keeping out of mischief, Ben. That's the most I can expect of you." "You are only a sort of negative blessing to us, you see, Benjy," said Alf, as he stooped to tighten a rope. "It's not so much what you do, as what you don't do, that rejoices us." "I'm glad of that," retorted the boy, arranging himself comfortably on his father's sledge, "because I won't do anything at all for some hours to come, which ought to fill you all with perfect felicity. Awake me, Leo, if we chance to upset." "Now then, all ready?" cried the Captain. "Off you go, then--clap on all sail!" Crack went the mighty whips, howl went the dogs, and the sledges were soon skimming over the sea at the rate of ten miles an hour. Of course they did not keep that pace up very long. It became necessary to rest at times, also, to give the dogs a little food. When this latter process had been completed, the teams became so lively that they tried to runaway. "Let them run," said the Captain to Leo. "And help them on," added Benjy. Leo took the advice of both, applied the lash, and increased the speed so much that the sledge swung from side to side on the smooth places, sometimes catching on a lump of ice, and all but throwing out its occupants. The Eskimos entered into the spirit of their leaders. They also plied their lashes, and, being more dexterous than Leo, soon converted the journey into a race, in which Chingatok--his giant arm flourishing an appropriately huge whip--was rapidly coming to the front when a tremendous shout in the rear caused them to pull up. Looking back, Alf's sledge was seen inverted and mixed, as it were, with the team, while Alf himself and his Eskimo friends were sprawling around on the ice. No damage was done to life or limb, but a sledge-runner had been partially broken, and could not be mended,--so said Oolichuk--in less than an hour. "This, then," said the Captain, "is our first obstruction, so here we will make our beds for the night." CHAPTER ELEVEN. ANOTHER ISLAND DISCOVERED--THE ENGLISHMEN AND ESKIMOS ALIKE ARE ASTONISHED IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE. As Chingatok had predicted, on the sixth day from Home-in-sight Island the party came to another island, where the great pack abruptly terminated. It was not large, probably ten or twelve miles in length, from the Eskimo account, but the ends of it could not be seen from the spot where they landed. At that point it was only two miles wide, and on the opposite side its shores were laved by an open sea, which was quite free from ice, with the exception of a few scattered floes and bergs--a sea whose waves fell in slow regular cadence on a pebbly beach, and whose horizon was an unbroken line barely distinguishable from the sky. Close to it a few black rocks showed above the water, around which great numbers of gulls, puffins, and other sea-birds disported themselves in clamorous joy; sometimes flying to the shore as if to have a look at the newcomers, and then sheering off with a scream--it might be a laugh--to tell their comrades what they had seen. "Here, then, at last, is the open Polar Sea," said Captain Vane, after the first long silent gaze of joy and admiration. "I have no doubt of it whatever. And now we shall proceed, I hope without interruption, to the Pole!" "Of course you do not intend that we should swim there, do you, uncle?" said Leo. "Of course not, my boy. In those big cases, which have cost us so much labour to bring here, I have three large and stout india-rubber boats--" "Ha! I guessed as much," exclaimed Alf. "No doubt," returned the Captain, "but you did not guess all." "I hope not," said Leo, "for to say truth I don't much relish the idea of rowing over an unknown sea an unknown distance at the rate of three or four miles an hour. I hope you have a patent steam-engine that will drive us along somewhat faster." "No, lad, no, I have no such steam-engine or any other miraculous contrivance that sets the laws of nature at defiance, and appears only in nursery tales. This expedition has been undertaken on no haphazard or insane plan. It was all cut and dry before we left Old England, and it is much simpler than you suppose." "What, then, is to be your motive power, if not oars or sails--which last would not work well, I fear, in an india-rubber boat?" asked Leo. "Kites," replied the Captain. "Kites!" repeated both Alf and Leo in surprise. "Not paper ones, surely," said Benjy, in a tone of disappointment, not unmingled with contempt. "No, Ben, not paper ones," said the Captain, "but you shall see. Let the boxes be unlashed and carried into yonder cave. I'll unpack them presently. Meanwhile, Anders, I want you to interpret for me. Go, tell Chingatok I wish to have a talk with him." While the brothers went to obey their leader's order, and Benjy to superintend the pitching of the camp, Captain Vane walked along the shore with Anders and the giant. "Are you sure, Chingatok, that there is no more ice in this sea?" asked the Captain. "No more great packs; only a little here and there, and a few ice-mountains," answered the Eskimo. "And no more islands?" "No more islands till you come to the land where I and my people dwell. There are more islands beyond that with people on them--people who are not friendly to us." "How far off, now, is your land from this island?" continued the Captain, with a grave nod to Leo, who joined them at the moment. "About three days with a kayak." The Captain pondered for a few minutes. "Leo," he said, "the observation which I took yesterday enables me to place this island in latitude 86 degrees 40 minutes. I judge that a kayak may travel at the rate of three miles an hour, which, making allowance for sleep and rests, gives the distance of this island from Chingatok's native land approximately at about 100 miles, so that the home of this giant and his tribe is actually in the near neighbourhood of the Pole itself. If this be so, we may consider that our success, wind, weather, etcetera, permitting, is absolutely certain." The Captain spoke in the deep earnest tones of one under the influence of powerful but suppressed enthusiasm. "Now then, Leo," he continued, "we will go and take formal possession of this new discovery. What shall we call it? Good Hope is too familiar as a cape." "Why not Great Hope?" asked Leo. "Good! That will do well." So Captain Vane took possession of Great Hope Island; having fixed its position in latitude 86 degrees 40 minutes north, and longitude 60 degrees west. After that he proceeded to open the cases which had so long been objects of interest to his own party, and objects of intense curiosity to the Eskimos, who crowded round the entrance of the shallow cavern with eager looks, while their leader went to work with hammer and chisel on the copper fastenings. "Wugh! Huk! hi! hosh! ho!" were something like the exclamations uttered by the Eskimos when the lid of the first case flew up and revealed only a mass of brown paper wrappings. It was interesting to observe the utter self-oblivion of these children of nature! Of course the eyes and mouths of all opened wider and wider while the work went on. We can understand this, for it is characteristic of the simple in all nations, but it was not so easy to understand why shoulders should slowly rise and elbows be slightly bent, and the ten fingers gradually expand like claws. Anxiety might account for the way in which some of them softly lifted one foot and then the other; but why did little Oblooria raise her left foot by imperceptible degrees, and remain poised upon the other as if she were a bird, except on the supposition that she was unconsciously imitating Tekkona, who was doing the same thing? It was interesting, also, to note the slight substratum of consciousness that displayed itself in Oolichuk, who, while regarding the Captain in glaring expectancy, put his arm, inadvertently as it were, round Oblooria's waist--also the complete absence of consciousness in the latter, who was so engrossed with the Captain, that she did not appear to feel the touch of Oolichuk! These little peculiarities, however, although extremely interesting, were not observed by any of the actors on that occasion--except, perhaps, by Benjy, who, being sharp-witted, had a knack of seeing round a corner at times! When the contents of the case were turned out, they proved to consist of several coils of rope, and a large square bundle. The uncording of the latter intensified the expectation of the Eskimo to boiling point, and when the brown paper was removed, and a roll of something with a strange, not to say bad, smell was displayed, they boiled over in a series of exclamations to which the former "huks" and "hos" were mere child's play. But when the roll was unrolled, and assumed a flat shape not unlike the skin of a huge walrus, they gave a shout. Then, when the Captain, opening a smaller package, displayed a pair of bellows like a concertina, they gave a gasp. When he applied these to a hole in the flat object, and caused it slowly to swell, they uttered a roar, and when, finally, they saw the flat thing transformed into a goodly-sized boat, they absolutely squealed with delight, and began to caper about in childlike joy. In this manner, three cases were opened, and three boats produced. Then the Magician, who went about his work in perfect silence, with a knowing smile on his lips, opened several longish boxes, which Leo had guessed to be filled with fishing-rods or spare rifles, but which, it turned out, contained oars for the india-rubber boats. After that, the Captain opened another large case, which roused the surprise of his white followers as much as that of the natives. "It looks like one of mother's silk dresses," remarked Benjy, as the new wonder was dragged forth. "Too voluminous for that," said Alf. "A balloon!" exclaimed Leo. "No, boys, it's only a kite," said the Captain, unfolding it. "I confess it does not look very like one, but its appearance will change by and by." And its appearance did change remarkably as it was opened out and put together. The construction of this kite was peculiar. In the first place, it was square in form, or, rather, diamond-shaped, and its size, when fully distended, was eighteen feet by fourteen. "The simplicity of it, you see," said the Captain, as he put it together, "is its great recommendation." He ceased to speak for a few moments, while engaged with a troublesome joint, and Benjy took advantage of the pause to express a hope that simplicity was not its _greatest_ recommendation, because he had never heard of any one attempting to reach the Pole on the strength of simplicity. Without noticing this remark, the Captain went on-- "You see it would be troublesome to carry distending sticks of great length, because they would be in the way, and apt to get broken. Each stick, therefore, has a joint in the middle like that of a fishing-rod. There are four such sticks, fastened to, or radiating from, a strong steel central hinge, so that they can be folded together, or opened out into the form of a cross. A small but very strong cross of bamboo fits on the machine, behind the central hinge, and locks it in a distended position, after the silk has been placed on it. Strong cords run round the outer edges of the silk, and there are loops at the corners to attach it to the distenders. Thus, you see, the kite can be put up, or folded into a portable form like an umbrella, though not of course as quickly, nor yet as easily, owing to its great size." While he was speaking, the Captain was busily putting the several parts of the kite together. As he concluded, he laid the machine on its face, locked it with the little bamboo cross, and then held it up in triumph, to the delight of his white observers, and the blank astonishment of the Eskimos. We say blank, because, unlike the boat, the nature of which they understood before it had been quite inflated, this machine was to them an absolute mystery, and seemed to be of no use at all. Their opinion of it was not improved when a sudden puff of wind blew it flat on the ground, causing the Captain to fall on the top of it. "It's a little awkward in handling," he growled, unlocking the centre-cross. "Hold the points down, lads, till I drag it into the umbrella form. There; it's all safe now. The truth is, unmanageableness when in hand is the only fault of my kite. Once in the air, it's as tractable as a lamb; getting it up is the chief difficulty, but that is not too great to be overcome." "Besides, you know, nothing's perfect in this world, father," said Benjy, with a wink at Butterface, who, having acute risible tendencies, exploded. Some of the Eskimos, whose sympathies were strong, joined in the laugh by way of relief to their feelings. When the Captain had wound a strap round the closed kite, to restrain its volatile nature, he opened another large case which contained several reels of strong cord, somewhat resembling log-lines, but with this peculiarity, that, alongside of each thick cord there ran a thin red line of twine, connected with though not bound to the other by means of little loops or rings of twine fixed about six feet apart throughout its entire length. "These are the cords to fly the kites," said the Captain, taking up one of the reels, which was as large as a man's hat. "You see I have three sets of silk in that box, and six sets of reels and sticks, besides a few spare pieces of the latter, so that we can afford to suffer a little damage. Now, the use of this peculiar sort of double line will be clear when in action, but I may as well explain it. The end of this stout line is to be made fast to the band which you saw on the kite, and the end of this thin red line to the top of its upright stick. You remember well enough how independent ordinary kites are. You cannot cause them to descend except by hauling them in by main force, and you cannot moderate their pull. This kite of mine is capable of exerting a pull equal to six horses, with a sufficiently strong wind. So, you see, it would be impossible for a dozen men to hold it without some check on its power. This check is supplied by the thin red line, which is made of the strongest silk. By pulling it gently you bend the head of the kite forward, so that it ceases to present a flat surface to the wind, which flies off it more or less at the tail. By pulling still more on the red line, the traction-power is still further reduced, and, with a good pull, the kite can be made to present its head altogether to the wind, and thus to lie flat on it, when, of course, it will descend slowly to the ground, waving from side to side, like a dropped sheet of paper." "Are you going to try it, father?" asked Benjy eagerly. The Captain looked up at the clouds with a critical glance. "There's hardly enough of wind to-day, boy. Nevertheless we will try." In a very short time the kite was again extended, the centre locked, the thick cord fixed to a loop in the band, and the thin cord to the head of the main stick. While this was being done, the corners were held down by Leo, Benjy, Anders, and Butterface. "How about a tail, father?" asked Benjy, with sudden animation. "Ha! I forgot the tail. I've got several tails. It's well you reminded me." "It is indeed," responded the boy, "for I remember well that when my kites lost their tails they used to whirl wildly about until they dashed their heads on the ground. This kite would be little better than a mad elephant without its tail!" A short tail, made of the strongest cat-gut, was now fixed to the lower extremity of the kite. It had a bag at the end, to be weighted with stones as required. "Now, then, Alf, do you carry the reel away fifty yards or so, and pay out the line as you go. Make a dozen of the Eskimos hold on with you till I come and regulate the pull. I must remain here to set it off." Alf did as he was ordered. When he was far enough out, the Captain and Leo raised the aerial monster with caution, grasping it by the shoulders, while Benjy held on to the tail. Their great care was to keep it flat, so that it presented nothing but its thin head to the wind, but this was a difficulty, for it kept fluttering as if anxious to get away, catching a slant of wind underneath now and then, which caused both Leo and the Captain to stagger. "Don't hold down the tail, Benjy," cried the Captain, looking anxiously over his shoulder. Unfortunately Ben did not hear the "don't." Not only did he hold on with increased vigour, but he gave the tail an energetic pull downwards. The result was that the wind got fairly underneath, and the head was jerked upward. Leo, fearing to tear the silk, let go, and the Captain was thrown violently off. Benjy alone stood to his guns--or to his tail--with loyal heroism for a moment, but when he felt himself lifted off the ground a few inches, a feeling of horror seized him. He let go, and came down with a whack. Free at last, the huge kite shot upwards like a rocket, and a terrible howl from the Eskimo showed that all was not right at their end of the line. The truth was that none of them were impressed with the importance of the duty required of them. The sudden strain jerked the line out of the hands of some, and threw others to the ground, and Alf, who had for greater security taken a turn of the line round his right arm, was dragged forward at full racing speed. Indeed he was beginning to take those tremendous bounds called "giant strides," which were sure to terminate in his being dragged along the ground. Captain Vane saw the danger, and was equal to the occasion. There was little time for thought or action. Another moment and Alf would be off the beach into the sea. "Let go! Alf; let go!" cried Leo, in an agony of alarm. "No, no! hold on!" shouted the Captain. Poor Alf could not help holding on. The turns of the line round his arm held him fast. Another moment, and he was abreast of the Captain who sprang at him as he passed like a leopard on his prey and held on. But the pace was little checked with this additional weight. It was beyond the Captain's running powers, and both he and Alf would have been thrown violently to the ground had it not happened that they had reached the water, into which they plunged with a tremendous splash. They were dragged through it, however, only for a few seconds, for by that time the Captain had succeeded in getting hold of the red line and pulling it separately. The result was immediate and satisfactory. The head of the kite was thrown forward, acting somewhat as a sail does when a ship is thrown into the wind, and the two unfortunates came to an anchor in four feet of water. "We must not let it into the water, Alf," gasped the Captain, clearing the water from his eyes. "How can we prevent it?" spluttered Alf, shaking the wet hair off his face. "Ease your fingers a bit. There; hold on." As he spoke the Captain gave a slight pull on the regulating line. The kite at once caught the wind and soared, giving the two operators an awful tug, which nearly overturned them again. "Too much," growled the Captain. "You see it takes some experience to regulate the excitable thing properly. There, now, haul away for the shore." By this time they were joined by Leo and Chingatok, who ran into the water and aided them in dragging the refractory machine ashore. "That's a vigorous beginning, father," remarked Benjy as they came to land. "It is, my boy. Go and fetch me dry clothes while we haul in the kite and make her snug." "When do you mean to start?" asked Leo, as he coiled away the slack of the line on the reel. "The first steady fair wind that blows from the south," answered the Captain, "but we must have one or two experimental trials of the kites and boats together, before we set out on the real voyage." "It's a capital idea," returned Leo enthusiastically. "There's a sort of neck-or-nothing dash about it that quite suits me. But, uncle, what of the Eskimos? The three boats won't carry the half of them." "I know that, lad, and shall get over the difficulty by leaving some of them behind. Chingatok says they are quite able to take care of themselves; can easily regain the Greenland shore, find their canoes, or make new ones, and return to their own land if they choose." "But, uncle," said Alf, who was by no means as reckless as his brother, "don't you think it's rather risky to go off into an unknown sea in open boats, for no one knows how long, to go no one knows exactly where?" "Why, Alf," returned the Captain with a laugh, "if you were as stupid about your scientific pursuits as you are about geographical affairs, you would not be worth your salt. A sea's a sea, isn't it, whether known or unknown, and the laws that affect all seas are pretty much alike. Of course it is risky. So is going on a forlorn hope. So is shooting with a set of fellows who don't know how to manage their guns. So is getting on a horse, for it may kick you off or run away. So is eating fish, for you may choke yourself. Everything, almost, is more or less risky. You _must_ risk something if you'd discover the North Pole, which has baffled adventurers from the days of Adam till now. And you are wrong in saying that we shall go off for no one knows how long. The distance from this island to the Pole is pretty nearly 200 miles. If our kites carry us along at the rate of ten miles an hour, we shall cover the distance in 20 hours. If we have calms or contrary winds we may take 20 days. If storms come, we have not much to fear, for the weather is warm,--so, too,--is the water. Then, our boats are lifeboats--they cannot sink. As to not knowing where exactly we are going, why, man, we're going to the North Pole. Everybody knows where that is, and we are going to the home of Chingatok, which cannot be very far from it." "There, Alf, I hope you are sufficiently answered," said Leo, as he undid the locking-gear of the kite, which by that time lay prone on its face, as peaceful as a lamb. The next three days were spent in flying the other kites, tying them on the boats, acquiring experience, and making preparations for the voyage. It was found that, with a moderate breeze, the kites towed the boats at the rate of ten miles an hour, which was beyond the most sanguine hopes of the Captain. Of course they could not beat to windward with them, but they could sail with a considerable slant, and they prevented the boats, while thus advancing, from making much leeway by means of deep _leeboards_, such as are used even at the present day by Dutch ships. "But I can't understand," said Benjy, after several trials had been made, "why you should not have fitted sails to the boats, instead of kites." "Because a sail only a quarter the size of a kite would upset the boat," said the Captain, "and one small enough to suit it would be little better than a pair of oars. This kite system is like fitting a gigantic sail to a lilliputian boat, d'ye see?" "I see, father. But I wish it had been a balloon. It would have been greater fun to have gone to the Pole in a balloon!" "A balloon will never go there, nor anywhere else, Benjy, except where the wind carries it, for a balloon cannot be steered. It's impossible in the nature of things--as much so as that dream of the visionary, perpetual motion." On the fourth day after their arrival at Great Hope Island the wind blew strong and steady from the south, and the explorers prepared to start. The Eskimos had been told that they were to remain behind and shift for themselves--a piece of news which did not seem to affect them at all, one way or other. Those who were selected to go with the explorers were perfectly willing to do so. Chingatok, of course, was particularly ready. So were his corpulent mother and Tekkona and Oblooria; so also were Oolichuk, Ivitchuk, and Akeetolik. It was a splendid sunny afternoon when the kites were finally flown and attached to the three boats which were commanded respectively by the Captain Leo, and Alf. These three sat at the bow of each boat manipulating the regulators, and keeping the kites fluttering, while the goods and provisions were put on board. Then the Eskimo women and crews stepped in, and the stern ropes were cast loose. "Let go the check-strings!" shouted the Captain. This was done. The huge kites began to strain at once, and the india-rubber boats went rushing out to sea, leaving the remainder of the Eskimo band speechless on the shore. They stood there motionless, with open mouths and eyes, the very embodiment of unbelieving wonder, till the boats had disappeared on the horizon. CHAPTER TWELVE. THE OPEN POLAR BASIN AT LAST! ALF WASHES HIMSELF IN IT. Who can imagine or describe the feelings of Captain Vane and his young relatives on finding themselves sweeping at such a magnificent rate over the great Polar basin?--that mysterious sea, which some believe to be a sea of thick-ribbed ice, and others suppose to be no sea at all, but dry land covered with eternal snows. One theorist even goes the length of saying that the region immediately around the Pole is absolutely nothing at all!--only empty space caused by the whirling of the earth,--a space which extends through its centre from pole to pole! Much amusement did the Captain derive from the contemplation of these theories as he crossed over the grand and boundless ocean, and chatted pleasantly with his son, or Chingatok, or Toolooha, who formed the crew of his little boat. The party consisted of thirteen, all told. These were distributed as follows:-- In the Captain's boat were the three just mentioned. In Leo's boat were Butterface, Oolichuk, and Oblooria. How it came to pass that Oolichuk and Oblooria were put into the same boat no one seemed to know, or indeed to care, except Oolichuk himself, who, to judge from the expression of his fat face, was much pleased. As for Oblooria, her mild visage always betokened contentment or resignation-- save when overshadowed by timidity. In Alf's boat were Anders, Ivitchuk, Akeetolik, and Tekkona. The interpreter had been given to Alf because he was not quite so muscular or energetic as the Captain or his brother, while Anders was eminently strong and practical. The Eskimo women counted as men, being as expert with oar and paddle as they, and very nearly as strong as most ordinary men. What added to the romance of the first day's experience was the fact that, a few hours after they started, a dead calm settled down over the sea, which soon became like a great sheet of undulating glass, in which the rich, white clouds, the clear sky, and the boats with their crews, were reflected as in a moving, oily mirror; yet, strange to say, the kites kept steady, and the pace of ten or twelve miles an hour did not abate for a considerable time. This, of course, was owing to the fact that there was a continuous current blowing northward in the higher regions of the atmosphere. The sun, meantime, glowed overhead with four mock-suns around him, nevertheless the heat was not oppressive, partly because the voyagers were sitting at rest, and partly because a slight current of cool air, the creation of their own progress, fanned their cheeks. Still further to add to the charm, flocks of sea-birds circling in the air or dipping in the water, a berg or two floating in the distance, a porpoise showing its back fin now and then, a seal or a walrus coming up to stare in surprise and going down to meditate, perhaps in wonder, with an occasional puff from a lazy whale,--all this tended to prevent monotony, and gave life to the lovely scene. "Is it not the most glorious and altogether astonishing state of things you ever heard or dreamed of, father?" asked Benjy, breaking a prolonged silence. "Out o' sight, my boy, out o' sight," replied the Captain. "Never heard nor saw nor dreamed of anything like it before." "P'raps it _is_ a dream!" said Benjy, with a slightly distressed look. "How are we ever to know that we're _not_ dreaming?" The boy finished his question with a sharp cry and leaped up. "Steady, boy, steady! Have a care, or you'll upset the boat," said the Captain. "What did you do _that_ for, father?" "What, my boy?" "Pinch me so hard! Surely you didn't do it on purpose?" "Indeed I did, Ben," replied the Captain with a laugh. "You asked how you were to know you were not dreaming. If you had been dreaming that would have wakened you--wouldn't it?" "I dare say it would, father," returned the boy, resuming his seat, "but I'm convinced now. Don't do it again, please. I wish I knew what Chingatok thinks of it. Try to ask him, father. I'm sure you've had considerable experience in his lingo by this time." Benjy referred here, not only to the numerous conversations which his father had of late carried on with the giant through the interpreter, but to the fact that, having been a whaler in years past, Captain Vane had previously picked up a smattering of various Eskimo dialects. Up to that day he had conversed entirely through the medium of Anders, but as that useful man was now in Alf's boat, the Captain was left to his own resources, and got on much better than he had expected. Chingatok turned his eyes from the horizon on which they had been fixed, and looked dreamily at the Captain when asked what he was thinking about. "I have been thinking," said he, "of home, _my_ home over there." He lifted his huge right arm and pointed to the north. "And I have been thinking," he continued, "that there must be another home up there." He raised his hand and pointed to the sky. "Why do you think so?" asked the Captain in some surprise. "Because it is so beautiful, so wonderful, so full of light and peace," replied the Eskimo. "Sometimes the clouds, and the wind, and the rain, come and cover it; but they pass away, and there it is, just the same, always calm, and bright, and beautiful. Could such a place have been made for nothing? Is there no one up there? not even the Maker of it? and if there is, does he stay there alone? Men and women die, but surely there is something in us that does not die. If there is no spirit in us that lives, of what use was it to make us at all? I think we shall have a home up there." Chingatok had again turned his eyes to the horizon, and spoke the concluding words as if he were thinking aloud. The Captain looked at him earnestly for some time in silence. "You are right, Chingatok," he said at length, or at least attempted to say as best he could--"you are right. My religion teaches me that we have spirits; that God--your God and mine--dwells up there in what we call heaven, and that His people shall dwell with him after death." "His people!" repeated the Eskimo with a perplexed look. "Are some men his people and some not?" "Undoubtedly," replied the Captain, "men who obey a chief's commands are _his_ men--his friends. Those who refuse to obey, and do every kind of wickedness, are _not_ his friends, but his enemies. God has given us free-wills, and we may reject him--we may choose to be his enemies." It must not be supposed that Captain Vane expressed himself thus clearly, but the above is the substance of what he attempted by many a strange and complicated sentence to convey. That he had made his meaning to some extent plain, was proved by Chingatok's reply. "But I do not know God's commands; how then can I obey them?" "You may not know them by book," replied the Captain promptly; "for you have no books, but there is such a thing as the commands or law of God written in the heart, and it strikes me, Chingatok, that you both know and obey more of your Maker's laws than many men who have His word." To this the Eskimo made no answer, for he did not rightly understand it, and as the Captain found extreme difficulty in expressing his meaning on such questions, he was quite willing to drop the conversation. Nevertheless his respect for Chingatok was immensely increased from that day forward. He tried to explain what had been said to Benjy, and as that youth's mind was of an inquiring turn he listened with great interest, but at last was forced to confess that it was too deep for him. Thereafter he fell into a mood of unusual silence, and pondered the matter for a long time. Awaking from his reverie at last, he said, abruptly, "How's her head, father?" "Due north, Benjy." He pulled out a pocket-compass about the size of an ordinary watch, which instrument it was his habit to guard with the most anxious care. "North!" repeated the boy, glancing at the instrument with a look of surprise, "why, we're steering almost due east!" "Ah! Ben, that comes of your judging from appearances without knowledge, not an uncommon state of mind in man and boy, to say nothing of woman. Don't you know what variation of the compass is?" "No, father." "What! have you been so long at sea with me and never heard yet about the magnetic pole?" "Never a word, father. It seems to me that poles are multiplying as we get further north." "Oh, Benjy, for shame--fie! fie!" "Maybe if you had told me about it I might have had less to be shamed of, and you too, father." "That's true, Benjy. That's true. You're a sharp boy for your age. But don't be disrespectful to your father, Ben; no good can ever come o' that. Whatever you are, be respectful to your old father. Come, I'll tell you about it now." It will have been observed by this time that little Benjamin Vane was somewhat free in his converse with his father, but it must not therefore be supposed that he was really insolent. All his freedom of speech was vented in good humour, and the Captain knew that. There was, indeed, a powerful bond not only of affection but of sympathy between the little delicate boy and the big strong man. They thoroughly understood each other, and between those who understand each other there may be much freedom without offence, as everybody knows. "You must understand," began the Captain, "that although the needle of the mariner's compass is said to point to the north with its head and to the south with its tail, it does not do so exactly, because the magnetic poles do not coincide exactly with the geographical poles. There are two magnetic poles just as there are two geographical poles, one in the southern hemisphere, the other in the northern. D'ye understand!" "Clear as daylight, father." "Well, Benjy, the famous Arctic discoverer, Sir James Ross, in 1832, discovered that the northern magnetic pole was situated in the island of Boothia Felix, in latitude 70 degrees 5 seconds and longitude 96 degrees 46 seconds West. It was discovered by means of an instrument called the dipping needle, which is just a magnetised needle made for dipping perpendicularly instead of going round horizontally like the mariner's compass. A graduated arc is fitted to it so that the amount of dip at any place on the earth's surface can be ascertained. At the magnetic equator there is no dip at all, because the needle being equally distant from the north and south magnetic poles, remains horizontal. As you travel north the needle dips more and more until it reaches the region of the north magnetic pole when it is almost perpendicular--pointing straight down. "Now, it is only on a very few places of the earth's surface that the horizontal needle points to the true north and south, and its deviation from the _earth's_ pole in its determination to point to the _magnetic_ pole is called the variation of the compass. This variation is greater or less of course at different places, and must be allowed for in estimating one's exact course. In our present explorations we have got so far beyond the beaten track of travel that greater allowance than usual has to be made. In fact we have got considerably to the north of the magnetic pole. At the same time we are a good way to the east'ard of it, so that when I see the compass with its letter N pointing to what I know to be the magnetic north, I take our geographical position into account and steer almost due east by _compass_, for the purpose of advancing due north. D'ye see?" "I'm not so sure that I do, father. It seems to me something like the Irishman's pig which you pull one way when you want him to go another. However, I'll take your word for it." "That's right, my boy; when a man can't understand, he must act on faith, if he _can_, for there's no forcing our beliefs, you know. Anyhow he must be content to follow till he does understand; always supposing that he can trust his leader." "I'm out of my depths altogether now, father. P'r'aps we'd better change the subject. What d'ye say to try a race with Leo? His boat seems to be overhauling us." "No, no, Ben; no racing. Let us advance into the great unknown north with suitable solemnity." "We appear to sail rather better than you do, uncle," shouted Leo, as his boat drew near. "That's because you're not so heavily-laden," replied the Captain, looking back; "you haven't got giants aboard, you see; moreover there's one o' you rather light-headed." "Hallo! uncle; evil communications, eh? You'd better change Benjy for Oblooria. She's quite quiet, and never jokes. I say, may I go ahead of you?" "No, lad, you mayn't. Take a reef in your regulator, and drop into your proper place." Obedient to orders, Leo pulled the regulator or check-string until the kite's position was altered so as to present less resistance to the wind, and dropped astern of the _Faith_, which was the name given by Benjy to his father's boat, the other two being named respectively the _Hope_ and the _Charity_. The prosperous advance did not, however, last very long. Towards evening the three kites suddenly, and without any previous warning, began to dive, soar, flutter, and tumble about in a manner that would have been highly diverting if it had not been dangerous. This no doubt was the effect of various counter-currents of air into which they had flown. The order was at once given to haul on the regulators and coil up the towing lines. It was promptly obeyed, but before a few fathoms had been coiled in, the kites again became as steady as before, with this change, however, that they travelled in a north-westerly direction. The value of the leeboards now became apparent. These were hinged down the middle so as to fold and become small enough to stow in the bottom of each boat when not in use. When unfolded and hung over the side, they presented a surface of resistance to the water much greater than that of an ordinary boat's keel, so that very little leeway indeed was made. By means of the steering-oar Captain Vane kept his boat advancing straight northward, while the kite was puffing in a north-westerly direction. The kite was thus compelled by the boat also to travel due north, though of course it did so in a sidelong manner. Thus far the advance continued prosperously, the pace being but little checked and the course unaltered, but when, an hour or two later, the wind again shifted so as to carry the kites further to the west, the pace became much slower, and the leeway, or drift to leeward, considerable. Ultimately the wind blew straight to the west, and the boats ceased to advance. "This won't do, uncle," said Leo, who was close astern of the _Faith_, "I'm drifting bodily to leeward, and making no headway at all." "Down with the tops,--I mean, the kites," shouted the Captain. "Pass the word to Alf." Accordingly, the kites were reeled in, the regulators being so pulled and eased off that they were kept just fluttering without tugging during the operation. When, however, they passed out of the wind-stratum into the region of calm which still prevailed immediately above the sea, the kites descended in an alarming manner, swaying to and fro with occasional wild swoops, which rendered it necessary to haul in on the lines and reel up with the utmost speed. Captain Vane was very successful in this rather difficult operation. While he hauled in the line Benjy reeled it up with exemplary speed, and the kite was finally made to descend on the boat like a cloud. When secured the locking-cross was removed, the distending-rods were folded inwards, the restraining, or what we may term the waist-band was applied, and the whole affair was changed into a gigantic Mrs Gamp umbrella. Being placed in the bow of the boat, projecting over the water, it formed a not ungraceful though peculiar bowsprit, and was well out of the way. Leo and Butterface were equally successful, but poor Alf was not so fortunate. The too eager pursuit of knowledge was the cause of Alf's failure as has often been the case with others! He took on himself, as chief of his boat, the difficult and responsible task of hauling in the line,--which involved also the occasional and judicious manipulation of the regulating cord, when a sudden puff of wind should tend to send the kite soaring upwards with six or eight horse-power into the sky. To Ivitchuk was assigned the easy task of gathering in the "slack" and holding on to Alf if a sudden jerk should threaten to pull him overboard. Anders reeled up. Just as the kite was passing out of the windy region above into the calm region below Alf beheld floating near the boat a beautiful, and to him entirely new, species of marine creature of the jelly-fish kind. With a wild desire to possess it he leaned over the boat's edge to the uttermost and stretched out his left hand, while with his right he held on to the kite! Need we say that the kite assisted him?--assisted him overboard altogether, and sent him with a heavy plunge into the sea! Ivitchuk dropped his line and stretched out both arms towards the spot where the "Kablunet" had gone down. Akeetolik roared. Anders howled, and dropped his reel. Left to itself, the kite, with characteristic indecision, made an awful swoop towards the North Pole with its right shoulder. Changing its mind, it then made a stupendous rush with its left to the south-east. Losing presence of mind it suddenly tossed up its tail, and, coming down head foremost, went with fatal facility into the deep sea. When Alf rose and was dragged panting into the boat, his first glance was upwards,--but not in thankfulness for his preservation! "Gone!" he groaned, rising to his feet. But the kite was not gone. The word had barely left his lips when it rose half its length out of the water, and then fell, in melancholy inaptitude for further mischief, flat upon the sea. "Anything damaged?" asked the Captain, as he and Leo rowed their boats towards the _Charity_. "Nothing," replied Alf with a guilty look, "the stick and things seem to be all right, but it has got _awfully_ wet." "No matter," said the Captain, laughing at Alf's forlorn look, "the sun will soon dry it. So long as nothing is broken or torn, we'll get on very well. But now, boys, we must go to work with oars. There must be no flagging in this dash for the Pole. It's a neck-or-nothing business. Now, mark my orders. Although we've got four oars apiece, we must only work two at a time. I know that young bloods like you are prone to go straining yourselves at first, an' then bein' fit for nothing afterwards. We must keep it up steadily. Two in each boat will pull at a time for one hour, while the other two rest or sleep, and so on, shift about; till another breeze springs up. Don't fold it up tight, Alf. Leave it pretty slack till it is dry, and then put on its belt." "Don't you think we might have supper before taking to the oars?" suggested Leo. "I second that motion," cried Benjy. "And I support it," said Alf. "Very good, get out the prog; an' we'll lay ourselves alongside, three abreast, as Nelson did at the Battle o' the Nile," said the Captain. Their food was simple but sufficient. Pemmican--a solid greasy nutricious compound--was the foundation. Hard biscuit, chocolate, and sugar formed the superstructure. In default of fire, these articles could be eaten cold, but while their supply of spirits of wine lasted, a patent Vesuvian of the most complete and almost miraculous nature could provide a hot meal in ten minutes. Of fresh water they had a two-weeks' supply in casks, but this was economised by means of excellent water procured from a pond in a passing berg--from which also a lump of clear ice had been hewn, wrapped in a blanket, and carried into the Captain's boat as a supply of fresh water in solid form. Laying the oars across the boats to keep them together, they floated thus pleasantly on the glassy sea, bathed in midnight sunshine. And while they feasted in comfort inexpressible--to the surprise, no doubt, of surrounding gulls and puffins--Benjamin Vane once again gave utterance to the opinion that it was the most glorious and altogether astonishing state of things that he had ever heard or dreamed of since the world began! CHAPTER THIRTEEN. A GALE AND A NARROW ESCAPE. This is a world of alternations. We need not turn aside to prove that. The calm with which the voyage of our discoverers began lasted about four days and nights, during which period they advanced sometimes slowly under oars, sometimes more or less rapidly under kites--if we may so express it--according to the state of the wind. And, during all that time the discipline of two and two--at watch, or at sleep, if not at work--was rigidly kept up. For none knew better than Captain Vane the benefit of discipline, and the demoralising effect of its absence, especially in trying circumstances. It is but just to add that he had no difficulty in enforcing his laws. It is right also to state that the women were not required to conform, even although they were accustomed to hard labour and willing to work as much as required. In all three boats the bow was set apart as the women's quarters, and when Toolooha, Oblooria or Tekkona showed symptoms of a desire to go to sleep--(there was no retiring for the night in these latitudes)--a blanket stretched on two oars cut their quarters off from those of the men, and maintained the dignity of the sex. But soon the serene aspect of nature changed. Grey clouds overspread the hitherto sunny sky. Gusts of wind came sweeping over the sea from time to time, and signs of coming storm became so evident that the Captain gave orders to make all snug and prepare for dirty weather. "You see, lads," he said, when the three boats were abreast, and the kites had been furled, "we don't know what may happen to us now. Nobody in the world has had any experience of these latitudes. It may come on to blow twenty-ton Armstrongs instead of great guns, for all we know to the contrary. The lightning may be sheet and fork mixed instead of separate for any light we've got on the subject, and it may rain whales and walruses instead of cats and dogs; so it behoves us to be ready." "That's true, father," said Benjy, "but it matters little to me, for I've made my will. Only I forgot to leave the top with the broken peg and the rusty penknife to Rumty Swillpipe; so if you survive me and get home on a whale's back--or otherwise--you'll know what to do." "This is not a time for jesting, Ben," said Alf rather seriously. "Did I say it was?" inquired Ben, with a surprised look. Alf deigned no reply, and Butterface laughed, while he and the others set about executing the Captain's orders. The arrangements made in these india-rubber boats for bad weather were very simple and complete. After the lading in each had been snugly arranged, so as to present as flat a surface on the top as possible, a waterproof sheet was drawn over all, and its edges made fast to the sides of the boat, by means of tags and loops which were easily fastened and detached. As each sheet overhung its boat, any water that might fall upon it was at once run off. This, of course, was merely put on to protect the cargo and any one who chose to take shelter under it. The boat being filled with air required no such sheet, because if filled to overflowing it would still have floated. All round this sheet ran a strong cord for the crew, who sat outside of it as on a raft, to lay hold of if the waves should threaten to wash them off. There were also various other ropes attached to it for the same purpose, and loops of rope served for rowlocks. When all had been arranged, those whose duty it was to rest leaned comfortably against the lumps caused by inequalities of the cargo, while the others took to their oars. "It's coming!" cried Benjy, about half-an-hour after all had been prepared. And unquestionably it _was_ coming. The boy's quick eyes had detected a line on the southern horizon, which became gradually broader and darker as it rose until it covered the heavens. At the same time the indigo ripple caused by a rushing mighty wind crept steadily over the sea. As it neared the boats the white crests of breaking waves were seen gleaming sharply in the midst of the dark blue. "Clap the women under hatches," shouted the Captain, with more good sense than refinement. Benjy, Butterface, and Anders at the word lifted a corner of their respective sheets. Obedient Toolooha, Oblooria, and Tekkona bent their meek heads and disappeared: The sheets were refastened, and the men, taking their places, held on to the cords or life-lines. It was an anxious moment. No one could guess how the boats would behave under the approaching trial. "Oars out," cried the Captain, "we must run before it." A hiss, which had been gradually increasing as the squall drew near, broke into a kind of roar, and wind and waves rushed upon them as the men bent their backs to the oars with all their might. It was soon found that the boats had so little hold of the water that the wind and oars combined carried them forward so fast as to decrease considerably the danger of being whelmed by a falling wave. These waves increased every moment in size, and their crests were so broken and cut off by the gale that the three boats, instead of appearing as they had hitherto done the only solid objects in the scene, were almost lost to sight in the chaos of black waves and driving foam. Although they tried their best to keep close together they failed, and each soon became ignorant of the position of the others. The last that they saw of Alf's boat was in the hollow between two seas like a vanishing cormorant or a northern diver. Leo was visible some time longer. He was wielding the steering-oar in an attitude of vigorous caution, while his Eskimos were pulling as if for their lives. An enormous wave rose behind them, curled over their heads and appeared ready to overwhelm them, but the sturdy rowers sent the boat forward, and the broken crest passed under them. The next billow was still larger. Taken up though he was with his own boat the Captain found time to glance at them with horror. "They're gone!" he cried, as the top of the billow fell, and nothing was seen save the heads of the four men like dark spots on the foam. The boat had in truth been overwhelmed and sunk, but, like a true lifeboat it rose to the surface like a cork the instant the weight of water was removed, and her crew, who had held on to the life-lines and oars, were still safe. "Well done the little _Hope_!" cried the Captain, while Benjy gave vent to his feelings in a cheer, which was evidently heard by Leo, for he was seen to wave his hand in reply. Next moment another wave hid the _Hope_ from view, and it was seen no more at that time. "I feel easier now, Benjy, thank God, after _that_. Alf is a fair steersman, and our boats are evidently able to stand rough usage." Benjy made no reply. He was rubbing the water out of his eyes, and anxiously looking through the thick air in the hope of seeing Leo's boat again. The poor boy was grave enough now. When the might and majesty of the Creator are manifested in the storm and the raging sea, the merely humorous fancies of man are apt to be held in check. The Captain's boat went rushing thus wildly onwards, still, fortunately, in the right direction; and for some hours there was no decrease in the force of the gale. Then, instead of abating, as might have been expected, it suddenly increased to such an extent that speedy destruction appeared to be inevitable. "No sort o' craft could live long in _this_," muttered the Captain, as if to himself rather than to his son, who sat with a firm expression on his somewhat pale countenance, looking wistfully towards the northern horizon. Perhaps he was wondering whether it was worth while to risk so much for such an end. Suddenly he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed intently. "Land!" he exclaimed in a low eager tone. "Whereaway, boy? Ay, so there is something there. What say you, Chingatok? Is it land?" The giant, who, during all this time, had calmly plied a pair of oars with strength equal almost to that of four men, looked over his shoulder without, however, relaxing his efforts. "No," he said, turning round again, "it is an ice-hill." "A berg!" exclaimed the Captain. "We will make for it. Tie your handkerchief, Benjy, to the end of an oar and hold it up. It will serve as a guide to our comrades." In a wonderfully short space of time the berg which Benjy had seen as a mere speck on the horizon rose sharp, rugged, and white against the black sky. It was a very large one--so large that it had no visible motion, but seemed as firm as a rock, while the billows of the Arctic Ocean broke in thunder on its glassy shore. "We'll get shelter behind it, Ben, my boy," said the Captain, "hold the oar well up, and don't let the rag clap round the blade. Shake it out so. God grant that they may see it." "Amen," ejaculated Benjy to the prayer with heartfelt intensity. There was danger as well as safety in the near vicinity to this berg, for many of its pinnacles seemed ready to fall, and there was always the possibility of a mass being broken off under water, which might destroy the equilibrium of the whole berg, and cause it to revolve with awfully destructive power. However, there was one favourable point--the base was broad, and the ice-cliffs that bordered the sea were not high. In a few more minutes the western end of the berg was passed. Its last cape was rounded, and the _Faith_ was swept by the united efforts of Chingatok, Benjy, and Toolooha, (who _would_ not remain under cover), into the comparatively still water on the lee, or northern side of the berg. "Hurrah!" shouted Benjy in a tone that was too energetic and peculiar to have been called forth by the mere fact of his own escape from danger. Captain Vane looked in the direction indicated by the boy's glistening eyes--glistening with the salt tears of joy as well as with salt sea spray--and there beheld the other two boats coming dancing in like wild things on the crests of the heaving waves. They had seen the signal of the handkerchief, understood and followed it, and, in a few minutes more, were under the lee of the ice-cliffs, thanking God and congratulating each other on their deliverance. A sheltered cove was soon found, far enough removed from cliffs and pinnacles to insure moderate safety. Into this they ran, and there they spent the night, serenaded by the roaring gale, and lullabied by the crash of falling spires and the groans of rending ice. CHAPTER FOURTEEN. RECORDS A WONDERFUL APPARITION BUT A FURIOUS NIGHT. When the storm had passed, a profound calm once more settled down on the face of nature, as if the elements had been utterly exhausted by the conflict. Once more the sea became like a sheet of undulating glass, in which clouds and sun and boats were reflected vividly, and once again our voyagers found themselves advancing towards the north, abreast of each other, and rowing sociably together at the rate of about four miles an hour. When advancing under oars they went thus abreast so as to converse freely, but when proceeding under kites they kept in single file, so as to give scope for swerving, in the event of sudden change of wind, and to prevent the risk of the entanglement of lines. "What is that?" exclaimed Benjy, pointing suddenly to an object ahead which appeared at regular intervals on the surface of the water. "A whale, I think," said Leo. "A whale usually spouts on coming up, doesn't it?" said Alf. Chingatok uttered an unpronounceable Eskimo word which did not throw light on the subject. "What is it, Anders?" shouted the Captain. "What you say?" asked the interpreter from Alf's boat, which was on the other side of the _Hope_. "If these squawkin' things would hold their noise, you'd hear better," growled the Captain before repeating the question. His uncourteous remark had reference to a cloud of gulls which circled round and followed the boats with remonstrative cries and astonished looks. "It's beast," shouted Anders, "not knows his name in Ingliss." "Humph! a man with half an eye might see it is `beast,'" retorted the Captain in an undertone. As he spoke, the "beast" changed its course and bore down upon them. As it drew near the Englishmen became excited, for the size of the creature seemed beyond anything they had yet seen. Strange to say, the Eskimos looked at it with their wonted gaze of calm indifference. "It's the great sea-serpent at last," said Benjy, with something like awe on his countenance. "It does look uncommon like it," replied the Captain, with a perplexed expression on his rugged visage. "Get out the rifles, lad! It's as well to be ready. D'ye know what it is, Chingatok?" Again the giant uttered the unpronounceable name, while Benjy got out the fire-arms with eager haste. "Load 'em all, Ben, load 'em all, an' cram the Winchester to the muzzle," said the Captain. "There's no sayin' what we may have to encounter; though I _have_ heard of a gigantic bit of seaweed bein' mistaken for the great sea-serpent before now." "That may be, father," said Benjy, with increasing excitement, "but nobody ever saw a bit of seaweed swim with the activity of a gigantic eel like _that_. Why, I have counted its coils as they rise and sink, and I'm quite sure it's a hundred and fifty yards long if it's an inch." Those in the other boats were following the Captain's example,--getting out and charging the fire-arms,--and truly there seemed some ground for their alarm, for the creature, which approached at a rapid rate, appeared most formidable. Yet, strange to say, the Eskimos paid little attention to it, and seemed more taken up with the excitement of the white men. When the creature had approached to within a quarter of a mile, it diverged a little to the left, and passed the boats at the distance of a few hundred yards. Then Captain Vane burst into a sudden laugh, and shouted:-- "Grampuses!" "What?" cried Leo. "Grampuses!" repeated the Captain. "Why, it's only a shoal of grampuses following each other in single file, that we've mistaken for one creature!" Never before was man or boy smitten with heavier disappointment than was poor Benjy Vane on that trying occasion. "Why, what's wrong with you, Benjy?" asked his father, as he looked at his woeful countenance. "To think," said the poor boy, slowly, "that I've come all the way to the North Pole for _this_! Why I've believed in the great sea-serpent since ever I could think, I've seen pictures of it twisting its coils round three-masted ships, and goin' over the ocean with a mane like a lion, and its head fifty feet out o' the water! Oh! it's too bad, I'd have given my ears to have seen the great sea-serpent." "There wouldn't have been much of you left, Benjy, if you had given _them_." "Well, well," continued the boy, not noticing his father's remark, "it's some comfort to know that I've all _but_ seen the great sea-serpent." It is some comfort to us, reader, to be able to record the fact that Benjy Vane was not doomed to total disappointment on that memorable day, for, on the same evening, the voyagers had an encounter with walruses which more than made up for the previous misfortune. It happened thus:-- The three boats were proceeding abreast, slowly but steadily over the still calm sea, when their attention was attracted by a sudden and tremendous splash or upheaval of water, just off what the Captain styled his "port bow." At the same moment the head of a walrus appeared on the surface like a gigantic black bladder. It seemed to be as large as the head of a small elephant, and its ivory tusks were not less than two feet long. There was a square bluntness about the creature's head, and a savage look about its little bloodshot eyes, which gave to it a very hideous aspect. Its bristling moustache, each hair of which was six inches long, and as thick as a crow quill, dripped with brine, and it raised itself high out of the water, turning its head from side to side with a rapidity and litheness of action that one would not have expected in an animal so unwieldy. Evidently it was looking eagerly for something. Catching sight of the three boats, it seemed to have found what it looked for, and made straight at them. Leo quietly got ready his Winchester repeater, a rifle which, as the reader probably knows, can discharge a dozen or more shots in rapid succession; the cartridges being contained in a case resembling a thick ram-rod under the barrel, from which they are thrust almost instantaneously into their places. But before the creature gained the boats, a second great upheaval of water took place, and another walrus appeared. This was the real enemy of whom he had been in quest. Both were bulls of the largest and most ferocious description. No sooner did they behold each other, than, with a roar, something betwixt a bark and a bellow, they collided, and a furious fight began. The sea was churned into foam around them as they rolled, reared, spurned, and drove their tusks into each other's skulls and shoulders. The boats lay quietly by, their occupants looking on with interest. The Eskimos were particularly excited, but no one spoke or acted. They all seemed fascinated by the fight. Soon one and another and another walrus-head came up out of the sea, and then it was understood that a number of cow walruses had come to witness the combat! But the human audience paid little regard to these, so much were they engrossed by the chief actors. It might have been thought, from the position of their tusks, which are simply an enlargement and prolongation of the canine teeth, that these combatants could only strike with them in a downward direction, but this was not so. On the contrary, they turned their thick necks with so much ease and rapidity that they could strike in all directions with equal force, and numerous were the wounds inflicted on either side, as the blood-red foam soon testified. We have said that the human spectators of the scene remained inactive, but, at the first pause, the Captain said he thought they might as well put a stop to the fight, and advised Leo to give one of them a shot. "We'll not be the worse for a fresh steak," he added to Benjy, as Leo was taking aim. The effect of the shot was very unexpected. One of the bulls was hit, but evidently not in a deadly manner, for the motion of the boat had disturbed Leo's aim. Each combatant turned with a look of wild surprise at the interruptor, and, as not unfrequently happens in cases of interference with fights, both made a furious rush at him. At the same moment, all the cows seemed to be smitten with pugnacity, and joined in the attack. There was barely time to get ready, when the furious animals were upon them. Guns and rifles were pointed, axes and spears grasped, and oars gripped. Even the women seized each a spear, and stood on the defensive. A simultaneous volley checked the enemy for a moment, and sent one of the cows to the bottom; but with a furious bellow they charged again. The great anxiety of the defenders was to prevent the monsters from getting close to the boats, so as to hook on to them with their tusks, which would probably have overturned them, or penetrated the inflated sides. In either case, destruction would have been inevitable, and it was only by the active use of oar, axe, and spear that this was prevented. Twice did one of the bulls charge the Captain's boat, and on both occasions he was met by the tremendous might of Chingatok, who planted the end of an oar on his blunt nose, and thrust him off. On each occasion, also, he received a shot from the double barrel of Benjy, who fired the first time into his open mouth, and the second time into his eye, but an angry cough from the one, and a wink from the other showed that he did not mind it much. Meantime the Captain, with the Winchester repeater, was endeavouring--but vainly, owing to the motions of the giant, and the swaying of the boat--to get a shot at the beast, while Toolooha, with an axe, was coquetting with a somewhat timid cow near the stern. At last an opportunity offered. Captain Vane poured half a dozen balls as quick as he could fire into the head of the bull, which immediately sank. Not less vigorously did the occupants of the other boats receive the charge. Leo, being more active than the Captain, as well as more expert with his repeater, slew his male opponent in shorter time, and with less expenditure of ammunition. Butterface, too, gained much credit by the prompt manner in which he split the skull of one animal with an axe. Even Oblooria, the timid, rose to the occasion, and displayed unlooked-for heroism. With a barbed seal-spear she stood up and invited a baby walrus to come on--by looks, not by words. The baby accepted the invitation--perhaps, being a pugnacious baby, it was coming on at any rate--and Oblooria gave it a vigorous dab on the nose. It resented the insult by shaking its head fiercely, and endeavouring to back off, but the barb had sunk into the wound and held on. Oblooria also held on. Oolichuk, having just driven off a cow walrus, happened to observe the situation, and held on to Oblooria. The baby walrus was secured, and, almost as soon as the old bull was slain, had a line attached to it, and was made fast to the stern. "Well done, little girl!" exclaimed Oolichuk in admiration, "you're almost as good as a man." Among civilised people this might have been deemed a doubtful compliment, but it was not so in Eskimo-land. The little maid was evidently much pleased, and the title of the Timid One, which Oolichuk was wont to give her when in a specially endearing frame of mind, was changed for the Brave One from that day. In a few more minutes the last charge of the enemy was repulsed, and those of them that remained alive dived back to that native home into which the slain had already sunk. Thus ended that notable fight with walruses. After consummating the victory with three cheers and congratulating each other, the conquerors proceeded to examine into the extent of damage received. It was found that, beyond a few scratches, the _Faith_ and the _Hope_ had escaped scathless, but the _Charity_ had suffered considerably. Besides a bad rip in the upper part of the gunwale, a small hole had been poked in her side below water, and her air-chamber was filling rapidly. "Come here, quick, uncle," cried Alf, in consternation, when he discovered this. To his surprise the Captain was not so much alarmed as he had expected. "It won't sink you, Alf, so keep your mind easy," he said, while examining the injury. "You see I took care to have the boats made in compartments. It will only make you go lop-sided like a lame duck till I can repair the damage." "Repair it, uncle! how can--" "Never mind just now, hand out a blanket, quick; I'll explain after; we must undergird her and keep out as much water as we can." This operation was soon accomplished. The blanket was passed under the boat and made fast. By pressing against the injured part it checked the inflow of water. Then the cargo was shifted, and part of it was transferred to the other boats, and soon they were advancing as pleasantly, though not as quickly as before, while the Captain explained that he had brought a solution of gutta-percha for the express purpose of repairing damages to the boats, but that it was impossible to use it until they could disembark either on land or on an iceberg. "We'll come to another berg ere long, no doubt, shan't we, Chingatok?" he asked. The Eskimo shook his head and said he thought not, but there was a small rocky islet not far from where they were, though it lay somewhat out of their course. On hearing this the Captain changed his course immediately, and rowed in the direction pointed out. "There's wind enough up there, Benjy," remarked his father, looking up to the sky, where the higher clouds were seen rapidly passing the lower strata to the northward, "but how to get the kites set up in a dead calm is more than I can tell." "There is a way out of the difficulty, father," said Benjy, pointing behind them. He referred to a slight breeze which was ruffling the sea into what are called cat's paws far astern. "Right boy, right. Prepare to hoist your tops'ls, lads," shouted the Captain. In a few minutes the kites were expanded and the tow-lines attached. When the light breeze came up they all soared, heavily, it is true, but majestically, into the sky. Soon reaching the upper regions, they caught the steady breeze there, and towed the boats along at the rate of eight or ten miles an hour. In two hours they sighted the islet which Chingatok had mentioned, and, soon afterwards, had landed and taken possession of it, in the usual manner, under the name of Refuge Island. CHAPTER FIFTEEN. DISCOURSES OF DEEP THINGS. The islet, or rock, for it was little more, which the explorers had reached, was low and extremely barren. Nevertheless it had on it a large colony of sea-fowl, which received the strangers with their wonted clamour of indignation--if not of welcome. As it was near noon at the time, the Captain and Leo went with their sextants to the highest part of the island to ascertain its position; the Eskimos set about making an encampment, unloading the boats, etcetera, and Alf, with hammer and botanical box, set off on a short ramble along the coast, accompanied by Benjy and Butterface. Sometimes these three kept together and chatted, at other times they separated a little, each attracted by some object of interest, or following the lead, it might have been, of wayward fancy. But they never lost sight of each other, and, after a couple of hours, converged, as if by tacit consent, until they met and sat down to rest on a ledge of rock. "Well, I _do_ like this sort o' thing," remarked Benjy, as he wiped his heated brow. "There is something to me so pleasant and peaceful about a low rocky shore with the sun blazing overhead and the great sea stretching out flat and white in a dead calm with just ripple enough to let you know it is all alive and hearty--only resting, like a good-humoured and sleepy giant." "Why, Ben, I declare you are becoming poetical," said Alf with a smile; "your conceptions correspond with those of Buzzby, who writes:-- "`Great Ocean, slumb'ring in majestic calm, Lies like a mighty--a mighty--' "I--I fear I've forgotten. Let me see:-- "`Great Ocean, slumb'ring in majestic calm, Lies like a mighty--'" "Giant in a dwalm," suggested Benjy. "We'll change the subject," said Alf, opening his botanical box and taking out several specimens of plants and rocks. "See, here are some bits of rock of a kind that are quite new to me." "What's de use ob dem?" inquired Butterface with a look of earnest simplicity. "The use?" said Benjy, taking on himself to reply; "why, you flat-nosed grampus, don't you know that these bits of rock are made for the express purpose of being carried home, identified, classified, labelled, stuck up in a museum, and stared at by wondering ignoramuses, who care nothing whatever about them, and know less. Geologists are constantly going about the world with their little hammers keeping up the supply." "Yes, Butterface," said Alf, "Benjy is partly correct; such specimens will be treated as he describes, and be stared at in blank stupidity by hundreds of fellows like himself, but they will also be examined and understood by geologists, who from their profound knowledge of the plans which our Creator seems to have had in arranging the materials of the earth, are able to point out many interesting and useful facts which are not visible to the naked and unscientific eye, such, for instance, as the localities where coal and other precious things may be found." "Kin dey tell whar' gold is to be found, massa Alf?" "O yes, they can tell that." "Den it's dis yer chile as wishes," said Butterface with a sigh, "dat he was a jollygist." "Oh! Butterface, you're a jolly goose at all events," said Benjy; "wouldn't it be fun to go and discover a gold mine, and dig up as much as would keep us in happy idleness all the rest of our lives? But I say, Alf, have you nothing better than geological specimens in your box--no grubological specimens, eh?" Alf replied by producing from his box a paper parcel which contained some of the required specimens in the shape of biscuit and pemmican. "Capital! Well, you are a good fellow, Alf. Let us make a table-cloth of the paper--now, you undisciplined black, don't glare so at the victuals, else you'll grow too hungry for a moderate supply." When the trio were in the full swing of vigorous feeding, the negro paused, with his mouth full, to ask Alf what would be the use of the North Pole when it was discovered. "Make matches or firewood of it," said Benjy just as he was about to stop up his impudent mouth with a lump of pemmican. "Truly, of what use the Pole itself may be--supposing it to exist in the form of a thing," said Alf, "I cannot tell, but it has already been of great use in creating expeditions to the Polar regions. You know well enough, Butterface, for you've been round the Capes of Good Hope and Horn often enough, what a long long voyage it is to the eastern seas, on the other side of the world, and what a saving of time and expense it would be if we could find a shorter route to those regions, from which so many of our necessaries and luxuries come. Now, if we could only discover an open sea in the Arctic regions which would allow our ships to sail in a straight line from England across the North Pole to Behring's Straits, the voyage to the East would be reduced to only about 5000 miles, and we should be able to reach Japan in three or four weeks. Just think what an advantage that would be to commerce!" "Tea at twopence a pound an' sugar to match--not to mention molasses and baccy, you ignorant nigger!" said Benjy;--"pass the biscuits." "An' now, massa Alf," said Butterface with an eager look, "we's diskivered dis open sea--eh!" "Well, it seems as if we had." "But what good will it do us," argued Benjy, becoming more earnest in the discussion, "if it's all surrounded by a ring of ice such as we have passed over on sledges." "If," repeated Alf, "in that `if' lies the whole question. No doubt Enterprise has fought heroically for centuries to overleap this supposed ring of ice, and science has stood expectant on the edge, looking eagerly for the day when human perseverance shall reveal the secrets of the Far North. It is true, also, that _we_ at last appear to have penetrated into the great unknown, but who shall say that the so-called ice-ring has been fully examined? Our explorations have been hitherto confined to one or two parts of it. We may yet find an ever-open entrance to this open Polar sea, and our ships may yet be seen sailing regularly to and fro over the North Pole." "Just so," said Benjy, "a North Pole steam line once a month to Japan and back--first class accommodation for second class fares. Walrus and white bear parties dropped on the way at the Pole Star Hotel, an easy trip from the Pole itself, which may be made in Eskimo cabs in summer and reindeer sleighs in winter. Return tickets available for six months--touching at China, India, Nova Zembla, Kamtschatka, and Iceland. Splendid view of Hecla and the great Mer de Glace of Greenland--fogs permitting.--Don't eat so much, Butterface, else bu'stin' will surely be your doom." "Your picture is perhaps a little overdrawn, Ben," rejoined Alf with a smile. "So would the ancients have said," retorted Benjy, "if you had prophesied that in the nineteenth century our steamers would pass through the Straits of Hercules, up the Mediterranean, and over the land to India; or that our cousins' steam cars would go rattling across the great prairies of America, through the vast forests, over and under the Rocky Mountains from the States to California, in seven days; or that the telephone or electric light should ever come into being." "Well, you see, Butterface," said Alf, "there is a great deal to be said in favour of Arctic exploration, even at the present day, and despite all the rebuffs that we have received. Sir Edward Sabine, one of the greatest Arctic authorities, says of the route from the Atlantic to the Pacific, that it is the greatest geographical achievement which can be attempted, and that it will be the crowning enterprise of those Arctic researches in which England has hitherto had the pre-eminence. Why, Butterface," continued Alf, warming with his subject, while the enthusiastic negro listened as it were with every feature of his expressive face, and even the volatile Benjy became attentive, "why, there is no telling what might be the advantages that would arise from systematic exploration of these unknown regions, which cover a space of not less than two million, five hundred thousand square miles. It would advance the science of hydrography, and help to solve some of the difficult problems connected with Equatorial and Polar currents. It would enable us, it is said, by a series of pendulum observations at or near the Pole, to render essential service to the science of geology, to form a mathematical theory of the physical condition of the earth, and to ascertain its exact conformation. It would probably throw light on the wonderful phenomena of magnetism and atmospheric electricity and the mysterious Aurora Borealis--to say nothing of the flora of these regions and the animal life on the land and in the sea." "Why, Alf," exclaimed Benjy in surprise, "I had no idea you were so deeply learned on these subjects." "Deeply learned!" echoed Alf with a laugh, "why, I have only a smattering of them. Just knowledge enough to enable me in some small degree to appreciate the vast amount of knowledge which I have yet to acquire. Why do you look perplexed, Butterface?" "'Cause, massa, you's too deep for me altogidder. My brain no big 'nough to hold it all." "And your skull's too thick to let it through to the little blob of brain that you do possess," said Benjy with a kindly-contemptuous look at his sable friend. "Oh! flatnose, you're a terrible thick-head." "You's right dere, massa," replied the negro, with a gratified smile at what he deemed a compliment. "You should ha' seed me dat time when I was leetle boy down in Ole Virginny, whar dey riz me, when my gran'moder she foun' me stickin' my fist in de molasses-jar an' lickin' it off. She swarmed at me an' fetch me one kick, she did, an' sent me slap troo a pannel ob de loft door, an' tumbled me down de back stair, whar I felled over de edge an' landed on de top ob a tar barrel w'ich my head run into. I got on my legs, I did, wiv difficulty, an' runned away never a bit de worse--not even a headache--only it was tree months afore I got dat tar rightly out o' my wool. Yes, my head's t'ick _'nough_." While Butterface was speaking, Leo and the Captain were seen approaching, and the three rose to meet them. There was a grave solemnity in the Captain's look which alarmed them. "Nothing wrong I hope, uncle?" said Alf. "Wrong! no, lad, there's nothing wrong. On the contrary, everything is right. Why, where do you think we have got to?" "A hundred and fifty miles from the Pole," said Alf. "Less, less," said Leo, with an excited look. "We are not more," said the Captain slowly, as he took off his hat and wiped his brow, "not more than a hundred and forty miles from it." "Then we could be there in three days or sooner, with a good breeze," cried Benjy, whose enthusiasm was aroused. "Ay, Ben, if there was nothing in the way; but it's quite clear from what Chingatok says, that we are drawing near to his native land, which cannot be more than fifty miles distant, if so much. You remember he has told us his home is one of a group of islands, some of which are large and some small; some mountainous and others flat and swampy, affording food and shelter to myriads of wild-fowl; so, you see, after we get there our progress northward through such a country, without roads or vehicles, won't be at the rate of ten miles an hour by any means." "Besides," added Leo, "it would not be polite to Chingatok's countrymen if we were to leave them immediately after arriving. Perhaps they would not let us go, so I fear that we shan't gain the end of our journey yet a while, but that does not matter much, for we're sure to make it out at last." "What makes the matter more uncertain," resumed the Captain, as they sauntered back to camp, "is the fact that this northern archipelago is peopled by different tribes of Eskimos, some of whom are of a warlike spirit and frequently give the others trouble. However, Chingatok says we shall have no difficulty in reaching this Nothing--as he will insist on styling the Pole, ever since I explained to him that it was not a real but an imaginary point." "I wonder how Anders ever got him to understand what an imaginary point is," said Benjy. "That has puzzled me too," returned the Captain, "but he did get it screwed into him somehow, and the result is--Nothing!" "Out of nothing nothing comes," remarked Leo, as the giant suddenly appeared from behind a rock, "but assuredly _nothing_ can beat Chingatok in size or magnificence, which is more than anything else can." The Eskimo had been searching for the absentees to announce that dinner was ready, and that Toolooha was impatient to begin; they all therefore quickened their pace, and soon after came within scent of the savoury mess which had been prepared for them by the giant's squat but amiable mother. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. ARRIVAL IN POLOELAND. Fortune, which had hitherto proved favourable to our brave explorers, did not desert them at the eleventh hour. Soon after their arrival at Refuge Island a fair wind sprang up from the south, and when the _Charity_ had been carefully patched and repaired, the kites were sent up and the voyage was continued. That day and night they spent again upon the boundless sea, for the island was soon left out of sight behind them, though the wind was not very fresh. Towards morning it fell calm altogether, obliging them to haul down the kites and take to the oars. "It can't be far off now, Chingatok," said the Captain, who became rather impatient as the end drew near. "Not far," was the brief reply. "Land ho!" shouted Benjy, about half-an-hour after that. But Benjy was forced to admit that anxiety had caused him to take an iceberg on the horizon for land. "Well, anyhow you must admit," said Benjy, on approaching the berg, "that it's big enough for a fellow to mistake it for a mountain. I wonder what it's doing here without any brothers or sisters to keep it company." "Under-currents brought it here, lad," said the Captain. "You see, such a monster as that must go very deep down, and the warm under-current has not yet melted away enough of his base to permit the surface-current to carry him south like the smaller members of his family. He is still travelling north, but that won't last long. He'll soon become small enough to put about and go the other way. I never saw a bigger fellow than that, Benjy. Hayes, the American, mentions one which he measured, about 315 feet high, and nearly a mile long. It had been grounded for two years. He calculated that there must have been seven times as much of it below water as there was above, so that it was stranded in nearly half-a-mile depth of water. This berg cannot be far short of that one in size." "Hm! probably then his little brothers and sisters are being now crushed to bits in Baffin's Bay," said Benjy. "Not unlikely, Ben, if they've not already been melted in the Atlantic, which will be this one's fate at last--sooner or later." From a pool on this berg they obtained a supply of pure fresh water. When our explorers did at last sight the land it came upon them unexpectedly, in the form of an island so low that they were quite close before observing it. The number of gulls hovering above it might have suggested its presence, but as these birds frequently hover in large flocks over shoals of small fish, little attention was paid to them. "Is this your native land, Chingatok?" asked the Captain, quickly. "No, it is over there," said the Eskimo, pointing to the distant horizon; "this is the first of the islands." As they gazed they perceived a mountain-shaped cloud so faint and far away that it had almost escaped observation. Advancing slowly, this cloud was seen to take definite form and colour. "I _knew_ it was!" said Benjy, "but was afraid of making another mistake." Had the boy or his father looked attentively at the giant just then, they would have seen that his colour deepened, his eyes glittered, and his great chest heaved a little more than was its wont, as he looked over his shoulder while labouring at the oars. Perhaps we should have said played with the oars, for they were mere toys in his grasp. Chingatok's little mother also was evidently affected by the sight of home. But the Captain and his son saw it not--they were too much occupied with their own thoughts and feelings. To the Englishmen the sight of land roused only one great all-engrossing thought--the North Pole! which, despite the absurdity of the idea, _would_ present itself in the form of an upright post of terrific magnitude--a worthy axle-tree, as it were, for the world to revolve upon. To the big Eskimo land presented itself in the form of a palatial stone edifice measuring fifteen feet by twelve, with a dear pretty little wife choking herself in the smoke of a cooking-lamp, and a darling little boy choking himself with a mass of walrus blubber. Thus the same object, when presented to different minds, suggested ideas that were: "Diverse as calm from thunder, Wide as the poles asunder." It was midnight when the boats drew near to land. The island in which stood the giant's humble home seemed to Captain Vane not more than eight or ten miles in extent, and rose to a moderate height--apparently about five or six hundred feet. It was picturesque in form and composed of rugged rocks, the marks on which, and the innumerable boulders everywhere, showed that at some remote period of the world's history, it had been subjected to the influence of glacial action. No glacier was visible now, however--only, on the rocky summit lay a patch or two of the last winter's snow-drift, which was too deep for the summer sun to melt away. From this storehouse of water gushed numerous tiny rivulets which brawled cheerily rather than noisily among the rocks, watering the rich green mosses and grasses which abounded in patches everywhere, and giving life to countless wild-flowers and berries which decked and enriched the land. Just off the island--which by a strange coincidence the inhabitants had named Poloe--there were hundreds of other islets of every shape and size, but nearly all of them low, and many flat and swampy--the breeding-grounds of myriads of waterfowl. There were lakelets in many of these isles, in the midst of which were still more diminutive islets, whose moss-covered rocks and fringing sedges were reflected in the crystal water. Under a cliff on the main island stood the Eskimo village, a collection of stone huts, bathed in the slanting light of the midnight sun. But no sound issued from these huts or from the neighbouring islands. It was the period of rest for man and bird. Air, earth, and water were locked in profound silence and repose. "We've got to Paradise at last, father," was the first sound that broke the silence, if we except the gentle dip of the oars and the rippling water on the bow. "Looks like it, Benjy," replied the Captain. A wakeful dog on shore was the first to scent the coming strangers. He gave vent to a low growl. It was the keynote to the canine choir, which immediately sent up a howl of discord. Forthwith from every hut there leaped armed men, anxious women, and terrified children, which latter rushed towards the cliffs or took refuge among the rocks. "Hallo! Chingatok, your relations are not to be taken by surprise," said the Captain--or something to that effect--in Eskimo. The giant shook his head somewhat gravely. "They must be at war," he said. "At war! whom with?" "With the Neerdoowulls," replied Chingatok with a frown. "They are always giving us trouble." "Not badly named, father," said Benjy; "one would almost think they must be of Scotch extraction." At that moment the natives--who had been gesticulating wildly and brandishing spears and bone knives with expressions of fury that denoted a strong desire on their part to carve out the hearts and transfix the livers of the newcomers--suddenly gave vent to a shout of surprise, which was succeeded by a scream of joy. Chingatok had stood up in the boat and been recognised. The giant's dog--an appropriately large one-- had been the first to observe him, and expressed its feelings by wagging its tail to such an extent that its hind legs had difficulty in keeping the ground. Immediately on landing, the party was surrounded by a clamorous crew, who, to do them justice, took very little notice of the strangers, so overjoyed were they at the return of their big countryman. Soon a little pleasant though flattish-faced woman pushed through the crowd and seized the giant. This was his wife Pingasuk, or Pretty One. She was _petite_--not much larger than Oblooria the timid. The better to get at her, Chingatok went down on his knees, seized her by the shoulders, and rubbed her nose against his so vigorously that the smaller nose bid fair to come off altogether. He had to stoop still lower when a stout urchin of about five years of age came up behind him and tried to reach his face. "Meltik!" exclaimed the giant, rubbing noses gently for fear of damaging him, "you are stout and fat, my son, you have been eating much blubber-- good." At that moment Chingatok's eyes fell on an object which had hitherto escaped his observation. It was a little round yellow head in his wife's hood, with a pair of small black eyes which stared at him in blank surprise. He made a snatch at it and drew forth--a naked baby! "Our girlie," said the wife, with a pleased but anxious look; "don't squeeze. She is very young and tender--like a baby seal." The glad father tried to fold the creature to his bosom; nearly dropped it in his excess of tender caution; thrust it hastily back into his wife's hood, and rose to give a respectful greeting to an aged man with a scrubby white beard, who came forward at the moment. "Who are these, my son?" asked the old man, pointing to the Englishmen, who, standing in a group with amused expressions, watched the meeting above described. "These are the Kablunets, father. I met them, as I expected, in the far-off land. The poor creatures were wandering about in a great kayak, which they have lost, searching for _nothing_!" "Searching for nothing! my son, that cannot be. It is not possible to search for nothing--at least it is not possible to find it." "But that is what they come here for," persisted Chingatok; "they call it the Nort Pole." "And what is the Nort Pole, my son?" "It is nothing, father." The old man looked at his stately son with something of anxiety mingled with his surprise. "Has Chingatok become a fool, like the Kablunets, since he left home?" he asked in a low voice. "Chingatok is not sure," replied the giant, gravely. "He has seen so much to puzzle him since he went away, that he sometimes feels foolish." The old Eskimo looked steadily at his son for a few moments, and shook his head. "I will speak to these men--these foolish men," he said. "Do they understand our language?" "Some of them understand and speak a little, father, but they have with them one named Unders, who interprets. Come here, Unders." Anders promptly stepped to the front and interpreted, while the old Eskimo put Captain Vane through an examination of uncommon length and severity. At the close of it he shook his head with profound gravity, and turned again to his son. "You have indeed brought to us a set of fools, Chingatok. Your voyage to the far-off lands has not been very successful. These men want something that they do not understand; that they could not see if it was before them; that they cannot describe when they talk about it, and that they could not lay hold of if they had it." "Yes, father," sighed Chingatok, "it is as I told you--nothing; only the Nort Pole--a mere name." A new light seemed to break in on Chingatok as he said this, for he added quickly, "But, father, a name is _something_--my name, Chingatok, is something, yet it is nothing. You cannot see it, you do not lay hold of it, yet it is there." "Toohoo! my son, that is so, no doubt, but your name describes _you_, and you are something. No one ever goes to a far-off land to search for a _name_. If this Nort Pole is only a name and not a _thing_, how can it _be_?" exclaimed the old man, turning on his heel and marching off in a paroxysm of metaphysical disgust. He appeared to change his mind, however, for, turning abruptly back, he said to Anders, "Tell these strangers that I am glad to see them; that a house and food shall be given to them, and that they are welcome to Poloe. Perhaps their land--the far-off land--is a poor one; they may not have enough to eat. If so, they may stay in this rich land of mine to hunt and fish as long as they please. But tell them that the Eskimos love wise men, and do not care for foolishness. They must not talk any more about this search after nothing--this Nort Pole--this nonsense-- huk!" Having delivered himself of these sentiments with much dignity, the old man again turned on his heel with a regal wave of the hand, and marched up to his hut. "That must be the King of Poloe," whispered Captain Vane to Leo, endeavouring to suppress a smile at the concluding caution, as they followed Anders and one of the natives to the hut set apart for them. The Captain was only half right. Amalatok was indeed the chief of the island, but the respect and deference shown to him by the tribe were owing more to the man's age and personal worth, than to his rank. He had succeeded his father as chief of the tribe, and, during a long life, had led his people in council, at the hunt, and in war, with consummate ability and success. Although old, he still held the reins of power, chiefly because his eldest son and rightful successor--Chingatok's elder brother--was a weak-minded man of little capacity and somewhat malignant disposition. If our giant had been his eldest, he would have resigned cheerfully long ago. As it was, he did not see his way to change the customs of the land, though he could not tell when, or by whom, or under what circumstances, the order of succession had been established. Probably, like many other antiquated customs, it had been originally the result of despotism on the part of men in power, and of stupid acquiescence on the part of an unthinking people. On reaching his hut the old chief sat down, and, leaning carelessly against the wall, he toyed with a bit of walrus rib, as an Englishman might with a pair of nut-crackers at dessert. "Why did you bring these barbarians here?" "I did not bring them, father, they brought me," said the son with a deprecating glance. "Huk!" exclaimed the chief, after which he added, "hum!" It was evident that he had received new light, and was meditating thereon. "My son," continued Amalatok, "these Kablunets seem to be stout-bodied fellows; can they fight--are they brave?" "They are brave, father, very brave. Even the little one, whom they call Bunjay, is brave--also, he is funny. I have never seen the Kablunets fight with men, but they fight well with the bear and the walrus and the ice. They are not such fools as you seem to think. True, about this nothing--this Nort Pole--they are quite mad, but in other matters they are very wise and knowing, as you shall see before long." "Good, good," remarked the old chief, flinging the walrus rib at an intrusive dog with signal success, "I am glad to hear you say that, because I may want their help." Amalatok showed one symptom of true greatness--a readiness to divest himself of prejudice. "For what do you require their help, father?" asked Chingatok. Instead of answering, the old chief wrenched off another walrus rib from its native backbone, and began to gnaw it growlingly, as if it were his enemy and he a dog. "My father is disturbed in his mind," said the giant in a sympathising tone. Even a less observant man than Chingatok might have seen that the old chief was not only disturbed in mind, but also in body, for his features twitched convulsively, and his face grew red as he thought of his wrongs. "Listen," said Amalatok, flinging the rib at another intrusive dog, again with success, and laying his hand impressively on his son's arm. "My enemy, Grabantak--that bellowing walrus, that sly seal, that empty-skulled puffin, that porpoise, cormorant, narwhal--s-s-sus!" The old man set his teeth and hissed. "Well, my father?" "It is not well, my son. It is all ill. That marrowless bear is stirring up his people, and there is no doubt that we shall soon be again engaged in a bloody--a _useless_ war." "What is it all about, father?" "About!--about nothing." "Huk! about Nort Pole--nothing," murmured Chingatok--his thoughts diverted by the word. "No, it is worse than Nort Pole, worse than nothing," returned the chief sternly; "it is a small island--very small--so small that a seal would not have it for a breathing-place. Nothing on it; no moss, no grass. Birds won't stay there--only fly over it and wink with contempt. Yet Grabantak says he must have it--it is within the bounds of _his_ land!" "Well, let him have it, if it be so worthless," said Chingatok, mildly. "Let him have it!" shouted the chief, starting up with such violence as to overturn the cooking-lamp--to which he paid no regard whatever--and striding about the small hut savagely, "no, never! I will fight him to the last gasp; kill all his men; slay his women; drown his children; level his huts; burn up his meat--" Amalatok paused and glared, apparently uncertain about the propriety of wasting good meat. The pause gave his wrath time to cool. "At all events," he continued, sitting down again and wrenching off another rib, "we must call a council and have a talk, for we may expect him soon. When you arrived we took you for our enemies." "And you were ready for us," said Chingatok, with an approving smile. "Huk!" returned the chief with a responsive nod. "Go, Chingatok, call a council of my braves for to--night, and see that these miserable starving Kablunets have enough of blubber wherewith to stuff themselves." Our giant did not deem it worth while to explain to his rather petulant father that the Englishmen were the reverse of starving, but he felt the importance of raising them in the old chief's opinion without delay, and took measures accordingly. "Blackbeard," he said, entering the Captain's hut and sitting down with a troubled air, "my father does not think much of you. Tell him that, Unders." "I understand you well enough, Chingatok; go on, and let me know why the old man does not think well of me." "He thinks you are a fool," returned the plain spoken Eskimo. "H'm! I'm not altogether surprised at that, lad. I've sometimes thought so myself. Well, I suppose you've come to give me some good advice to make me wiser--eh! Chingatok?" "Yes, that is what I come for. Do what I tell you, and my father will begin to think you wise." "Ah, yes, the old story," remarked Benjy, who was an amused listener-- for his father translated in a low tone for the benefit of his companions as the conversation proceeded--"the same here as everywhere-- Do as I tell you and all will be well!" "Hold your tongue, Ben," whispered Alf. "Well, what am I to do?" asked the Captain. "Invite my father to a feast," said Chingatok eagerly, "and me too, and my mother too; also my wife, and some of the braves with their wives. And you must give us biskit an'--what do you call that brown stuff?" "Coffee," suggested the Captain. "Yes, cuffy, also tee, and shoogre, and seal st- ate--what?" "Steak--eh?" "Yes, stik, and cook them all in the strange lamp. You must ask us to see the feast cooked, and then we will eat it." It will be observed that when Chingatok interpolated English words in his discourse his pronunciation was not perfect. "Well, you are the coolest fellow I've met with for many a day! To order a feast, invite yourself to it, name the rest of the company, as well as the victuals, and insist on seeing the cooking of the same," said the Captain in English; then, in Eskimo,--"Well, Chingatok, I will do as you wish. When would you like supper?" "Now," replied the giant, with decision. "You hear, Butterface," said the Captain when he had translated, "go to work and get your pots and pans ready. See that you put your best foot foremost. It will be a turning-point, this feast, I see." Need we say that the feast was a great success? The wives, highly pleased at the attention paid them by the strangers, were won over at once. The whole party, when assembled in the hut, watched with the most indescribable astonishment the proceedings of the negro--himself a living miracle--as he manipulated a machine which, in separate compartments, cooked steaks and boiled tea, coffee, or anything else, by means of a spirit lamp in a few minutes. On first tasting the hot liquids they looked at each other suspiciously; then as the sugar tickled their palates, they smiled, tilted their pannikins, drained them to the dregs, and asked for more! The feast lasted long, and was highly appreciated. When the company retired--which did not happen until the Captain declared he had nothing more to give them, and turned the cooking apparatus upside down to prove what he said--there was not a man or woman among them who did not hold and even loudly assert that the Kablunets were wise men. After the feast the council of war was held and the strangers were allowed to be present. There was a great deal of talk--probably some of it was not much to the point, but there was no interruption or undignified confusion. There was a peace-party, of course, and a war-party, but the latter prevailed. It too often does so in human affairs. Chingatok was understood to favour the peace-party, but as his sire was on the other side, respect kept him tongue-tied. "These Eskimos reverence age and are respectful to women," whispered Leo to Alf, "so we may not call them savages." The old chief spoke last, summing up the arguments, as it were, on both sides, and giving his reasons for favouring war. "The island is of no use," he said; "it is not worth a seal's nose, yet Grabantak wishes to tear it from us--us who have possessed it since the forgotten times. Why is this? because he wishes to insult us," ("huk!" from the audience). "Shall we submit to insult? shall we sit down like frightened birds and see the black-livered cormorant steal what is ours? shall the courage of the Poloes be questioned by all the surrounding tribes? Never! while we have knives in our boots and spears in our hands. We will fight till we conquer or till we are all dead--till our wives are husbandless and our children fatherless, and all our stores of meat and oil are gone!" ("huk! huk!") "Then shall it be said by surrounding tribes, `Behold! how brave were the Poloes! they died and left their wives and little children to perish, or mourn in slavery, rather than submit to insult!'" The "huks" that greeted the conclusion of the speech were so loud and numerous that the unfortunate peace-makers were forced to hide their diminished heads. Thus did Amalatok resolve to go to war for "worse than Nort Pole--for nothing"--rather than submit to insult! (See Note 1.) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note 1. It may not be inappropriate here to point out that Eskimo savages are sometimes equalled, if not surpassed, in this respect, by civilised and even Christian nations. CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. THE EFFECT OF PERSUASION ON DIVERSE CHARACTERS. The warlike tendencies of Grabantak, the northern savage, had the effect of compelling Captain Vane and his party to delay for a considerable time their efforts to reach the Pole. This was all the more distressing that they had by that time approached so very near to it. A carefully made observation placed the island of Poloe in latitude 88 degrees 30 minutes 10 seconds, about 90 geographical, or 104 English statute miles from the Pole. There was no help for it, however. To have ventured on Grabantak's territory while war was impending would have been to court destruction. Captain Vane saw therefore that the only way of advancing his own cause was to promote peace between the tribes. With a view to this he sought an interview with the old chief Amalatok. "Why do you wish to go to war?" he asked. "I do not wish to go to war," answered the chief, frowning fiercely. "Why do you go then?" said the Captain in a soothing tone, for he was very anxious not to rouse the chief's anger; but he was unsuccessful, for the question seemed to set the old man on fire. He started up, grinding his teeth and striding about his hut, knocking over pots, oil cans, and cooking-lamps somewhat like that famous bull which got into a china shop. Finding the space too small for him he suddenly dropped on his knees, crept through the low entrance, sprang up, and began to stride about more comfortably. The open air calmed him a little. He ceased to grind his teeth, and stopping in front of the Captain, who had followed him, said in a low growl, "Do you think I will submit to insult?" "Some men have occasionally done so with advantage," answered the Captain. "Kablunets may do so, Eskimos _never_!" returned the old man, resuming his hurried walk to and fro, and the grinding of his teeth again. "If Amalatok were to kill all his enemies--all the men, women and children," said the Captain, raising a fierce gleam of satisfaction in the old man's face at the mere suggestion, "and if he were to knock down all their huts, and burn up all their kayaks and oomiaks, the insult would still remain, because an insult can only be wiped out by one's enemy confessing his sin and repenting." For a few seconds Amalatok stood silent; his eyes fixed on the ground as if he were puzzled. "The white man is right," he said at length, "but if I killed them all I should be avenged." "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord," leaped naturally to the Captain's mind; but, reflecting that the man before him was a heathen who would not admit the value of the quotation, he paused a moment or two. "And what," he then said, "if Grabantak should kill Amalatok and all his men, and carry away the women and children into slavery, would the insult be wiped out in that case? Would it not rather be deepened?" "True, it would; but then we should all be dead--we should not care." "The _men_ would all be dead, truly," returned the Captain, "but perhaps the women and children left behind might care. They would also suffer." "Go, go," said the Eskimo chief, losing temper as he lost ground in the argument; "what can Kablunets know about such matters? You tell me you are men of peace; that your religion is a religion of peace. Of course, then, you understand nothing about war. Go, I have been insulted, and I _must_ fight." Seeing that it would be fruitless talking to the old chief while he was in this frame of mind, Captain Vane left him and returned to his own hut, where he found Chingatok and Leo engaged in earnest conversation-- Alf and Benjy being silent listeners. "I'm glad you've come, uncle," said Leo, making room for him on the turf seat, "because Chingatok and I are discussing the subject of war; and--" "A strange coincidence," interrupted the Captain. "I have just been discussing the same subject with old Amalatok. I hope that in showing the evils of war you are coming better speed with the son than I did with the father." "As to that," said Leo, "I have no difficulty in showing Chingatok the evils of war. He sees them clearly enough already. The trouble I have with him is to explain the Bible on that subject. You see he has got a very troublesome inquiring sort of mind, and ever since I have told him that the Bible is the Word of God he won't listen to my explanations about anything. He said to me in the quietest way possible, just now, `Why do you give me _your_ reasons when you tell me the Great Spirit has given His? I want to know what _He_ says.' Well, now, you know, it is puzzling to be brought to book like that, and I doubt if Anders translates well. You understand and speak the language, uncle, better than he does, I think, so I want you to help me." "I'll try, Leo, though I am ashamed to say I am not so well read in the Word myself as I ought to be. What does Chingatok want to know?" "He wants to _reconcile_ things, of course. That is always the way. Now I told him that the Great Spirit is good, and does not wish men to go to war, and that He has written for us a law, namely, that we should `live peaceably with all men.' Chingatok liked this very much, but then I had told him before, that the Great Spirit had told His ancient people the Jews to go and fight His enemies, and take possession of their lands. Now he regards this as a contradiction. He says--How can a man live peaceably with all men, and at the same time go to war with some men, kill them, and take their lands?" "Ah! Leo, my boy, your difficulty in answering the Eskimo lies in your own _partial_ quotation of Scripture," said the Captain. Then, turning to Chingatok, he added, "My young friend did not give you the whole law--only part of it. The word is written thus:--`if it be _possible_, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all men.' Some times it is _not_ possible, Chingatok; then we must fight. But the law says keep from fighting `_as much as you can_.' Mind that, Chingatok, and if you are ever induced to go to war for the sake of a little island--for the sake of a little insult,--don't flatter yourself that you are keeping out of it as much as lieth in you." "Good, good," said the giant, earnestly; "Blackbeard's words are wise." "As to the people of God in the long past," continued the Captain, "God told them to go to war, so they went; but that does not authorise men to go to war at their own bidding. What is right in the Great Father of all may be very wrong in the children. God kills men every day, and we do not blame Him, but if man kills his fellow we hunt him down as a murderer. In the long past time the Great Father spoke to His children by His wise and holy men, and sometimes He saw fit to tell them to fight. With His reasons we have nothing to do. Now, the Great Father speaks to us by His Book. In it He tells us to live in peace with all men--if _possible_." "Good," said the giant with an approving nod, though a perplexed expression still lingered on his face. "But the Great Father has never before spoken to me by His Book--never at all to my forefathers." "He may, however, have spoken by His Spirit within you, Chingatok, I cannot tell," returned the Captain with a meditative air. "You have desires for peace and a tendency to forgive. This could not be the work of the spirit of evil. It must have been that of the Good Spirit." This seemed to break upon the Eskimo as a new light, and he relapsed into silence as he thought of the wonderful idea that within his breast the Great Spirit might have been working in time past although he knew it not. Then he thought of the many times he had in the past resisted what he had hitherto only thought of as good feelings; and the sudden perception that at such times he had been resisting the Father of all impressed him for the first time with a sensation of guiltiness. It was some time before the need of a Saviour from sin entered into his mind, but the ice had been broken, and at last, through Leo's Bible, as read by him and explained by Captain Vane, Jesus, the Sun of Righteousness, rose upon his soul and sent in the light for which he had thirsted so long. But, as we have said, this effect was not immediate, and he remained in a state of uncertainty and sadness while the warlike councils and preparations went on. Meanwhile Captain Vane set himself earnestly to work to hit on some plan by which, if possible, to turn the feeling of the Eskimo community in favour of peace. At first he thought of going alone and unarmed, with Anders as interpreter, to the land of Grabantak to dissuade that savage potentate from attacking the Poloes, but the Eskimos pointed out that the danger of this plan was so great that he might as well kill himself at once. His own party, also, objected to it so strongly that he gave it up, and resolved in the meantime to strengthen his position and increase his influence with the natives among whom his lot was cast, by some exhibitions of the powers with which science and art had invested him. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. THE CAPTAIN ELECTRIFIES AS WELL AS SURPRISES HIS NEW FRIENDS. It will be remembered that the party of Englishmen arrived at Poloeland under oars, and although the india-rubber boats had been gazed at, and gently touched, with intense wonder by the natives, they had not yet seen the process of disinflation, or the expansion of the kites. Of course, Chingatok and their other Eskimo fellow-travellers had given their friends graphic descriptions of everything, but this only served to whet the desire to see the wonderful oomiaks in action. Several times, during the first few days, the old chief had expressed a wish to see the Kablunets go through the water in their boats, but as the calm still prevailed, and the Captain knew his influence over the natives would depend very much on the effect with which his various proceedings were carried out, he put him off with the assurance that when the proper time for action came, he would let him know. One night a gentle breeze sprang up and blew directly off shore. As it seemed likely to last, the Captain waited till the whole community was asleep, and then quietly roused his son. "Lend a hand here, Ben," he whispered, "and make no noise." Benjy arose and followed his father in a very sleepy frame of mind. They went to the place where the india-rubber boats lay, close behind the Englishmen's hut, and, unscrewing the brass heads that closed the air-holes, began to press out the air. "That's it, Ben, but don't squeeze too hard, lest the hissing should rouse some of 'em." "What'r 'ee doin' this for--ee--yaou?" asked Benjy, yawning. "You'll see that to-morrow, lad." "Hum! goin' t'squeeze'm all?" "Yes, all three, and put 'em in their boxes." The conversation flagged at this point, and the rest of the operation was performed in silence. Next morning, after breakfast, seeing that the breeze still held, the Captain sent a formal message to Amalatok, that he was prepared to exhibit his oomiaks. The news spread like wild-fire, and the entire community soon assembled--to the number of several hundreds--in front of the Englishmen's hut, where the Captain was seen calmly seated on a packing-case, with a solemn expression on his face. The rest of his party had been warned to behave with dignity. Even Benjy's round face was drawn into something of an oval, and Butterface made such superhuman attempts to appear grave, that the rest of the party almost broke down at the sight of him. Great was the surprise among the natives when they perceived that the three oomiaks had disappeared. "My friends," said the Captain, rising, "I will now show you the manner in which we Englishmen use our oomiaks." A soft sigh of expectation ran through the group of eager natives, as they pressed round their chief and Chingatok who stood looking on in dignified silence, while the Captain and his companions went to work. Many of the women occupied a little eminence close at hand, whence they could see over the heads of the men, and some of the younger women and children clambered to the top of the hut, the better to witness the great sight. Numerous and characteristic were the sighs, "huks," grunts, growls, and other exclamations; all of which were in keeping with the more or less intense glaring of eyes, and opening of mouths, and slight bending of knees and elbows, and spreading of fingers, and raising of hands, as the operators slowly unrolled the india-rubber mass, attached the bellows, gradually inflated the first boat, fixed the thwarts and stretchers, and, as it were, constructed a perfect oomiak in little more than ten minutes. Then there was a shout of delight when the Captain and Leo, one at the bow, the other at the stern, lifted the boat as if it had been a feather, and, carrying it down the beach, placed it gently in the sea. But the excitement culminated when Chingatok, stepping lightly into it, sat down on the seat, seized the little oars, and rowed away. We should have said, attempted to row away, for, though he rowed lustily, the boat did not move, owing to Anders, who, like Eskimos in general, dearly loved a practical joke. Holding fast by the tail-line a few seconds, he suddenly let go, and the boat shot away, while Anders, throwing a handful of water after it, said, "Go off, bad boy, and don't come back; we can do without you." A roar of laughter burst forth. Some of the small boys and girls leaped into the air with delight, causing the tails of the latter to wriggle behind them. The Captain gave them plenty of time to blow off the steam of surprise. When they had calmed down considerably, he proceeded to open out and arrange one of the kites. Of course this threw them back into the open-eyed and mouthed, and finger-spreading condition, and, if possible, called forth more surprise than before. When the kite soared into the sky, they shouted; when it was being attached to the bow of the boat, they held their breath with expectation, many of them standing on one leg; and when at last the boat, with four persons in it, shot away to sea at the rate of eight or ten miles an hour, they roared with ecstasy; accompanying the yells with contortions of frame and visage which were so indescribable that we gladly leave it all to the reader's imagination. There can be no doubt of the fact that the Captain placed himself and his countrymen that day on a pedestal from which there was no fear of their being afterwards dislodged. "Did not I tell you," said Chingatok to his sire that night, in the privacy of his hut, "that the Kablunets are great men?" "You did, my son. Chingatok is wise, and his father is a fool!" No doubt the northern savage meant this self-condemning speech to be understood much in the same way in which it is understood by civilised people. "When the oomiak swelled I thought it was going to burst," added the chief. "So did I, when I first saw it," said Chingatok. Father and son paused a few minutes. They usually did so between each sentence. Evidently they pondered what they said. "Have these men got wives?" asked the chief. "The old one has, and Bunjay is his son. The other ones--no. The black man may have a wife: I know not, but I should think that no woman would have him." "What made him black?" "I know not." "Was he always black?" "The Kablunets say he was--from so big." Chingatok measured off the half of his left hand by way of explaining how big. "Is he black under the clothes?" "Yes; black all over." Again the couple paused. "It is strange," said the old man, shaking his head. "Perhaps he was made black because his father was wicked." "Not so," returned the young giant. "I have heard him say his father was a very good man." "Strange," repeated the chief, with a solemn look, "he is very ugly-- worse than a walrus. Tell me, my son, where do the Kablunets live? Do they hunt the walrus or the seal?" "Blackbeard has told me much, father, that I do not understand. His people do not hunt much--only a very few of them do." "Wah! they are lazy! The few hunt to keep the rest in meat, I suppose." "No, father, that is not the way. The few hunt for fun. The great many spend their time in changing one thing for another. They seem to be never satisfied--always changing, changing--every day, and all day. Getting and giving, and never satisfied." "Poor things!" said the chief. "And they have no walruses, no white bears, no whales, nothing!" added the son. "Miserables! Perhaps that is why they come here to search for _nothing_!" "But, father, if they have got nothing at home, why come here to search for it?" "What do they eat?" asked Amalatok, quickly, as if he were afraid of recurring to the puzzling question that had once already taken him out of his mental depth. "They eat all sorts of things. Many of them eat things that are nasty-- things that grow out of the ground; things that are very hot and burn the tongue; things that are poison and make them ill. They eat fish too, like us, and other people bring them their meat in great oomiaks from far-off lands. They seem to be so poor that they cannot find enough in their own country to feed themselves." "Wretched creatures!" said the old man, pitifully. "Yes, and they drink too. Drink waters so hot and so terrible that they burn their mouths and their insides, and so they go mad." "Did I not say that they were fools?" said Amalatok, indignantly. "But the strangest thing of all," continued Chingatok, lowering his voice, and looking at his sire in a species of wonder, "is that they fill their mouths with smoke!" "What? Eat smoke?" said Amalatok in amazement. "No, they spit it out." "Did Blackbeard tell you that?" "Yes." "Then Blackbeard is a liar!" Chingatok did not appear to be shocked by the old man's plain speaking, but he did not agree with him. "No, father," said he, after a pause. "Blackbeard is not a liar. He is good and wise, and speaks the truth. I have seen the Kablunets do it myself. In the big oomiak that they lost, some of the men did it, so-- puff, pull, puff, puff--is it not funny?" Both father and son burst into laughter at this, and then, becoming suddenly grave, remained staring at the smoke of their cooking-lamp, silently meditating on these things. While thus engaged, a man entered the low doorway in the only possible manner, on hands and knees, and, rising, displayed the face of Anders. "Blackbeard sends a message to the great old chief," said the interpreter. "He wishes him to pay the Kablunets a visit. He has something to show to the great old chief." "Tell him I come," said the chief, with a toss of the head which meant, "be off!" "I wonder," said Amalatok slowly, as Anders crept out, "whether Blackbeard means to show us some of his wisdom or some of his foolishness. The white men appear to have much of both." "Let us go see," said Chingatok. They went, and found the Captain seated in front of the door of his hut with his friends round him--all except Benjy, who was absent. They were very grave, as usual, desiring to be impressive. "Chief," began the Captain, in that solemn tone in which ghosts are supposed to address mankind, "I wish to show you that I can make the stoutest and most obstinate warrior of Poloeland tremble and jump without touching him." "That is not very difficult," said the old man, who had still a lurking dislike to acknowledge the Englishmen his superiors. "I can make any one of them tremble and jump by throwing a spear at him." A slight titter from the assembly testified to the success of this reply. "But," rejoined the Captain, with deepening solemnity, "I will do it without throwing a spear." "So will I, by suddenly howling at him in the dark," said Amalatok. At this his men laughed outright. "But I will not howl or move," said the Captain. "That will be clever," returned the chief, solemnised in spite of himself. "Let Blackbeard proceed." "Order one of your braves to stand before me on that piece of flat skin," said the Captain. Amalatok looked round, and, observing a huge ungainly man with a cod-fishy expression of face, who seemed to shrink from notoriety, ordered him to step forward. The man did so with obvious trepidation, but he dared not refuse. The Captain fixed his eyes on him sternly, and, in a low growling voice, muttered in English: "Now, Benjy, give it a good turn." Cod-fishiness vanished as if by magic, and, with a look of wild horror, the man sprang into the air, tumbled on his back, rose up, and ran away! It is difficult to say whether surprise or amusement predominated among the spectators. Many of them laughed heartily, while the Captain, still as grave as a judge, said in a low growling tone as if speaking to himself:-- "Not quite so stiff, Benjy, not quite so stiff. Be more gentle next time. Don't do it all at once, boy; jerk it, Benjy, a turn or so at a time." It is perhaps needless to inform the reader that the Captain was practising on the Eskimos with his electrical machine, and that Benjy was secretly turning the handle inside the hut. The machine was connected, by means of wires, with the piece of skin on which the patients stood. These wires had been laid underground, not, indeed, in the darkness, but, during the secrecy and silence of the previous night. After witnessing the effect on the first warrior, no other brave seemed inclined to venture on the skin, and the women, who enjoyed the fun greatly, were beginning to taunt them with cowardice, when Oolichuk strode forward. He believed intensely, and justifiably, in his own courage. No man, he felt quite sure, had the power to stare _him_ into a nervous condition--not even the fiercest of the Kablunets. Let Blackbeard try, and do his worst! Animated by these stern and self-reliant sentiments, he stepped upon the mat. Benjy, being quick in apprehension, perceived his previous error, and proceeded this time with caution. He gave the handle of the machine a gentle half-turn and stopped, peeping through a crevice in the wall to observe the effect. "Ha! ha! ho! ho!--hi! huk!" laughed Oolichuk, as a tickling sensation thrilled through all his nervous system. The laugh was irresistibly echoed by the assembled community. Benjy waited a few seconds, and then gave the handle another and slightly stronger turn. The laugh this time was longer and more ferocious, while the gallant Eskimo drew himself together, determined to resist the strange and subtle influence; at the same time frowning defiance at the Captain, who never for a moment took his coal-black eye off him! Again Benjy turned the handle gently. He evidently possessed something of the ancient Inquisitor spirit, and gloated over the pains of his victim! The result was that Oolichuk not only quivered from head to foot, but gave a little jump and anything but a little yell. Benjy's powers of self-restraint were by that time exhausted. He sent the handle round with a whirr and Oolichuk, tumbling backwards off the mat, rent the air with a shriek of demoniac laughter. Of course the delight of the Eskimos--especially of the children--was beyond all bounds, and eager were the efforts made to induce another warrior to go upon the mysterious mat, but not one would venture. They would rather have faced their natural enemy, the great Grabantak, unarmed, any day! In this difficulty an idea occurred to Amalatok. Seizing a huge dog by the neck he dragged it to the mat, and bade it lie down. The dog crouched and looked sheepishly round. Next moment he was in the air wriggling. Then he came to the ground, over which he rushed with a prolonged howl, and disappeared among the rocks on the hill side. It is said that that poor dog was never again seen, but Benjy asserts most positively that, a week afterwards, he saw it sneaking into the village with its tail very much between its legs, and an expression of the deepest humility on its countenance. "You'd better give them a taste of dynamite, father," said Benjy that evening, as they all sat round their supper-kettle. "No, no, boy. It is bad policy to fire off all your ammunition in a hurry. We'll give it 'em bit by bit." "Just so, impress them by degrees," said Alf. "De fust warrior was nigh bu'sted by degrees," said Butterface, with a broad grin, as he stirred the kettle. "You gib it 'im a'most too strong, Massa Benjee." "Blackbeard must be the bad spirit," remarked Amalatok to his son that same night as they held converse together--according to custom--before going to bed. "The bad spirit is _never_ kind or good," replied Chingatok, after a pause. "No," said the old man, "never." "But Blackbeard is always good and kind," returned the giant. This argument seemed unanswerable. At all events the old man did not answer it, but sat frowning at the cooking-lamp under the influence of intense thought. After a prolonged meditation--during the course of which father and son each consumed the tit-bits of a walrus rib and a seal's flipper-- Chingatok remarked that the white men were totally beyond his comprehension. To which, after another pause, his father replied that he could not understand them at all. Then, retiring to their respective couches, they calmly went to sleep--"perchance to dream!" CHAPTER NINETEEN. A SHOOTING TRIP TO PARADISE ISLE, AND FURTHER DISPLAY OF THE CAPTAIN'S CONTRIVANCES. While our explorers were thus reduced to a state of forced inaction as regarded the main object of their expedition, they did not by any means waste their time in idleness. On the contrary, each of the party went zealously to work in the way that was most suitable to his inclination. After going over the main island of Poloe as a united party, and ascertaining its size, productions, and general features, the Captain told them they might now do as they pleased. For his part he meant to spend a good deal of his time in taking notes and observations, questioning the chief men as to the lands lying to the northward, repairing and improving the hut, and helping the natives miscellaneously so as to gain their regard. Of course Leo spent much of his time with his rifle, for the natives were not such expert hunters but that occasionally they were badly off for food. Of course, also, Alf shouldered his botanical box and sallied forth hammer in hand, to "break stones," as Butterface put it. Benjy sometimes followed Alf--more frequently Leo, and always carried his father's double-barrelled shot-gun. He preferred that, because his powers with the rifle were not yet developed. Sometimes he went with Toolooha, or Tekkona, or Oblooria, in one of the native oomiaks to fish. At other times he practised paddling in the native kayak, so that he might accompany Chingatok on his excursions to the neighbouring islands after seals and wild-fowl. In the excursions by water Leo preferred one of the india-rubber boats-- partly because he was strong and could row it easily, and partly because it was capable of holding more game than the kayak. These expeditions to the outlying islands were particularly delightful. There was something so peaceful, yet so wild, so romantic and so strange about the region, that the young men felt as if they had passed into a new world altogether. It is scarcely surprising that they should feel thus, when it is remembered that profound calms usually prevailed at that season, causing the sea to appear like another heaven below them; that the sun never went down, but circled round and round the horizon-- dipping, indeed, a little more and more towards it each night, but not yet disappearing; that myriads of wild birds filled the air with plaintive cries; that whales, and sea-unicorns, and walruses sported around; that icebergs were only numerous enough to give a certain strangeness of aspect to the scene--a strangeness which was increased by the frequent appearance of arctic phenomena, such as several mock-suns rivalling the real one, and objects being enveloped in a golden haze, or turned upside down by changes in atmospheric temperature. "No wonder that arctic voyagers are always hankering after the far north," said Leo to Benjy, one magnificent morning, as they rowed towards the outlying islands over the golden sea. Captain Vane was with them that morning, and it was easy to see that the Captain was in a peculiar frame of mind. A certain twinkle in his eyes and an occasional smile, apparently at nothing, showed that his thoughts, whatever they might be, were busy. Now, it cannot have failed by this time to strike the intelligent reader, that Captain Vane was a man given to mystery, and rather fond of taking by surprise not only Eskimos but his own companions. On the bright morning referred to he took with him in the boat a small flat box, or packing-case, measuring about three feet square, and not more than four inches deep. As they drew near to Leo's favourite sporting-ground,--a long flat island with several small lakes on it which were bordered by tall reeds and sedges, where myriads of ducks, geese, gulls, plover, puffins, and other birds revelled in abject felicity,--Benjy asked his father what he had got in the box. "I've got somethin' in it, Benjy,--somethin'." "Why, daddy," returned the boy with a laugh, "if I were an absolute lunatic you could not treat me with greater contempt. Do you suppose I am so weak as to imagine that you would bring a packing-case all the way from England to the North Pole with nothing in it?" "You're a funny boy, Benjy," said the Captain, regarding his son with a placid look. "You're a funny father, daddy," answered the son with a shake of the head; "and it's fortunate for you that I'm good as well as funny, else I'd give you some trouble." "You've got a good opinion of yourself, Ben, anyhow," said Leo, looking over his shoulder as he rowed. "Just change the subject and make yourself useful. Jump into the bow and have the boat-hook ready; the water shoals rather fast here, and I don't want to risk scraping a hole in our little craft." The island they were approaching formed part of the extensive archipelago of which Poloe was the main or central island. Paradise Isle, as Leo had named it, lay about two miles from Poloe. The boat soon touched its shingly beach, but before it could scrape thereon its occupants stepped into the water and carefully carried it on shore. "Now, Benjy, hand me the rifle and cartridges," said Leo, after the boat was placed in the shadow of a low bank, "and fetch the game-bag. What! you don't intend to carry the packing-case, uncle, do you?" "I think I'd better do it," answered the Captain, lifting the case by its cord in a careless way; "it might take a fancy to have a swim on its own account, you know. Come along, the birds are growing impatient, don't you see?" With a short laugh, Leo shouldered his rifle, and marched towards the first of a chain of little lakes, followed by Benjy with the game-bag, and the Captain with the case. Soon a splendid grey wild-goose was seen swimming at a considerable distance beyond the reeds. "There's your chance, now, Leo," said the Captain. But Leo shook his head. "No use," he said; "if I were to shoot that one I'd never be able to get it; the mud is too deep for wading, and the reeds too thick for swimming amongst. It's a pity to kill birds that we cannot get hold of, so, you see, I must walk along the margin of the lake until I see a bird in a good position to be got at, and then pot him." "But isn't that slow work, lad?" asked the Captain. "It might be slow if I missed often or wounded my birds," replied Leo, "but I don't often miss." The youth might with truth have said he never missed, for his eye was as true and his hand as sure as that of any Leatherstocking or Robin Hood that ever lived. "Why don't you launch the boat on the lake?" asked the Captain. "Because I don't like to run the risk of damaging it by hauling it about among mud and sticks and overland. Besides, that would be a cumbersome way of hunting. I prefer to tramp about the margin as you see, and just take what comes in my way. There are plenty of birds, and I seldom walk far without getting a goodish--hist! There's one!" As he spoke another large grey goose was seen stretching its long neck amongst the reeds at a distance of about two hundred yards. The crack of the rifle was followed by the instant death of the goose. At the same moment several companions of the bird rose trumpeting into the air amid a cloud of other birds. Again the rifle's crack was heard, and one of the geese on the wing dropped beside its comrade. As Leo carried his repeating rifle, he might easily have shot another, but he refrained, as the bird would have been too far out to be easily picked up. "Now, Benjy, are you to go in, or am I?" asked the sportsman with a sly look. "Oh! I suppose _I_ must," said the boy with an affectation of being martyred, though, in truth, nothing charmed him so much as to act the part of a water-dog. A few seconds more, and he was stripped, for his garments consisted only of shirt and trousers. But it was more than a few seconds before he returned to land, swimming on his back and trailing a goose by the neck with each hand, for the reeds were thick and the mud softish, and the second bird had been further out than he expected. "It's glorious fun," said Benjy, panting vehemently as he pulled on his clothes. "It's gloriously knocked up you'll be before long at that rate," said the Captain. "Oh! but, uncle," said Leo, quickly, "you must not suppose that I give him all the hard work. We share it between us, you know. Benjy sometimes shoots and then I do the retrieving. You've no idea how good a shot he is becoming." "Indeed, let me see you do it, my boy. D'ye see that goose over there?" "What, the one near the middle of the lake, about four hundred yards off?" "Ay, Benjy, I want that goose. You shoot it, my boy." "But you'll never be able to get it, uncle," said Leo. "Benjy, I want that goose. You shoot it." There was no disobeying this peremptory command. Leo handed the rifle to the boy. "Down on one knee, Ben, Hythe position, my boy," said the Captain, in the tone of a disciplinarian. Benjy obeyed, took a long steady aim, and fired. "Bravo!" shouted the Captain as the bird turned breast up. "There's that goose's brother comin' to see what's the matter with him; just cook _his_ goose too, Benjy." The boy aimed again, fired, and missed. "Again!" cried the Captain, "look sharp!" Again the boy fired, and this time wounded the bird as it was rising on the wing. Although wounded, the goose was quite able to swim, and made rapidly towards the reeds on the other side. "What! am I to lose that goose?" cried the Captain indignantly. Leo seized the rifle. Almost without taking time to aim, he fired and shot the bird dead. "There," said he, laughing, "but I suspect it is a lost goose after all. It will be hard work to get either of these birds, uncle. However, I'll try." Leo was proceeding to strip when the Captain forbade him. "Don't trouble yourself, lad," he said, "I'll go for them myself." "You, uncle?" "Ay, me. D'ye suppose that nobody can swim but you and Benjy? Here, help me to open this box." In silent wonder and expectation Leo and Benjy did as they were bid. When the mysterious packing-case was opened, there was displayed to view a mass of waterproof material. Tumbling this out and unrolling it, the Captain displayed a pair of trousers and boots in one piece attached to something like an oval life-buoy. Thrusting his legs down into the trousers and boots, he drew the buoy--which was covered with india-rubber cloth--up to his waist and fixed it there. Then, putting the end of an india-rubber tube to his mouth, he began to blow, and the buoy round his waist began to extend until it took the form of an oval. "Now, boys," said the Captain, with profound gravity, "I'm about ready to go to sea. Here, you observe, is a pair o' pants that won't let in water. At the feet you'll notice two flaps which expand when driven backward, and collapse when moved forward. These are propellers--human web-feet--to enable me to walk ahead, d'ye see? and here are two small paddles with a joint which I can fix together--so--and thus make one double-bladed paddle of 'em, about four feet long. It will help the feet, you understand, but I'm not dependent on it, for I can walk without the paddles at the rate of two or three miles an hour." As he spoke Captain Vane walked quietly into the water, to the wild delight of Benjy, and the amazement of his nephew. When he was about waist-deep the buoy floated him. Continuing to walk, though his feet no longer touched ground, he was enabled by the propellers to move on. When he had got out a hundred yards or so, he turned round, took off his hat, and shouted--"land ho!" "Ship ahoy!" shrieked Benjy, in an ecstasy. "Mind your weather eye!" shouted the Captain, resuming his walk with a facetious swagger, while, with the paddles, he increased his speed. Soon after, he returned to land with the two geese. "Well now, daddy," said his son, while he and Leo examined the dress with minute interest, "I wish you'd make a clean breast of it, and let us know how many more surprises and contrivances of this sort you've got in store for us." "I fear this is the last one, Benjy, though there's no end to the applications of these contrivances. You'd better apply this one to yourself now, and see how you get on in it." Of course Benjy was more than willing, though, as he remarked, the dress was far too big for him. "Never mind that, my boy. A tight fit ain't needful, and nobody will find fault with the cut in these regions." "Where ever did you get it, father?" asked the boy, as the fastenings were being secured round him. "I got it from an ingenious friend, who says he's goin' to bring it out soon. Mayhap it's in the shops of old England by this time. There, now, off you go, but don't be too risky, Ben. Keep her full, and mind your helm." (See Note.) Thus encouraged, the eager boy waded into the water, but, in his haste, tripped and fell, sending a volume of water over himself. He rose, however, without difficulty, and, proceeding with greater caution, soon walked off into deep water. Here he paddled about in a state of exuberant glee. The dress kept him perfectly dry, although he splashed the water about in reckless fashion, and did not return to land till quite exhausted. Benjamin Vane from that day devoted himself to that machine. He became so enamoured of the "water-tramp," as he styled it--not knowing its proper name at the time--that he went about the lakelets in it continually, sometimes fishing, at other times shooting. He even ventured a short distance out to sea in it, to the amazement of the Eskimos, the orbits of whose eyes were being decidedly enlarged, Benjy said, and their eyebrows permanently raised, by the constant succession of astonishment-fits into which they were thrown from day to day by their white visitors. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note. Lest it should be supposed that the "pedomotive" here described is the mere creature of the author's brain, it may be well to state that he has seen it in the establishment of the patentees, Messrs. Thornton and Company of Edinburgh. CHAPTER TWENTY. BENJY'S ENJOYMENTS INTERRUPTED, AND POLOELAND OVERWHELMED WITH A CATASTROPHE. One pleasant morning, towards the end of summer, Benjamin Vane went out with his gun in the water-tramp on the large lake of Paradise Isle. Leo and he had reached the isle in one of the india-rubber boats. They had taken Anders with them to carry their game, and little Oblooria to prepare their dinner while they were away shooting; for they disliked the delay of personal attention to cooking when they were ravenous! After landing Benjy, and seeing him busy getting himself into the aquatic dress, Leo said he would pull off to a group of walruses, which were sporting about off shore, and shoot one. Provisions of fowl and fish were plentiful enough just then at the Eskimo village, but he knew that walrus beef was greatly prized by the natives, and none of the huge creatures had been killed for some weeks past. About this time the threatened war with the northern Eskimos had unfortunately commenced. The insatiable Grabantak had made a descent on one of Amalatok's smaller islands, killed the warriors, and carried off the women and children, with everything else he could lay hands on. Of course Amalatok made reprisals; attacked a small island belonging to Grabantak, and did as much general mischief as he could. The paltry islet about which the war began was not worthy either of attack or defence! Then Amalatok, burning with the righteous indignation of the man who did not begin the quarrel, got up a grand muster of his forces, and went with a great fleet of kayaks to attack Grabantak in his strongholds. But Grabantak's strongholds were remarkably strong. A good deal of killing was done, and some destruction of property accomplished, but that did not effect the conquest of the great northern Savage. Neither did it prove either party to be right or wrong! Grabantak retired to impregnable fastnesses, and Amalatok returned to Poloeland "covered with glory,"--some of his followers also covered with wounds, a few of which had fallen to his own share. The success, however, was not decided. On the whole, the result was rather disappointing, but Amalatok was brave and high-spirited, as some people would say. _He_ was not going to give in; not he! He would fight as long as a man was left to back him, and bring Grabantak to his knees--or die! Either event would, of course, have been of immense advantage to both nations. He ground his teeth and glared when he announced this determination, and also shook his fist, but a sharp twinge of pain in one of his unhealed wounds caused him to cease frowning abruptly. There was a sound, too, in the air, which caused him to sit down and reflect. It was a mixed and half-stifled sound, as if of women groaning and little children wailing. Some of his braves, of course, had fallen in the recent conflicts--fallen honourably with their faces to the foe. Their young widows and their little ones mourned them, and refused to be comforted, because they were not. It was highly unpatriotic, no doubt, but natural. Amalatok had asked the white men to join him in the fight, but they had refused. They would help him to defend his country, if attacked, they said, but they would not go out to war. Amalatok had once threatened Blackbeard if he refused to go, but Blackbeard had smiled, and threatened to retaliate by making him "jump!" Whereupon the old chief became suddenly meek. This, then, was the state of affairs when Benjy and Leo went shooting, on the morning to which we have referred. But who can hope to describe, with adequate force, the joyful feelings of Benjamin Vane as he moved slily about the lakelets of Paradise Isle in the water-tramp? The novelty of the situation was so great. The surrounding circumstances were so peculiar. The prolonged calms of the circumpolar basin, at that period of the year, were so new to one accustomed to the variable skies of England; the perpetual sunshine, the absence of any necessity to consider time, in a land from which night seemed to have finally fled; the glassy repose of lake and sea, so suggestive of peace; the cheery bustle of animal life, so suggestive of pleasure--all these influences together filled the boy's breast with a strong romantic joy which was far too powerful to seek or find relief in those boisterous leaps and shouts which were his usual safety-valves. Although not much given to serious thought, except when conversing with his father, Benjy became meditative as he moved quietly about at the edge of the reeds, and began to wonder whether the paradise above _could_ exceed this paradise below! Events occurred that day which proved to him that the sublunary paradise was, at least, woefully uncertain in its nature. "Now, just keep still, will you, for one moment," muttered Benjy, advancing cautiously through the outer margin of reeds, among the stems of which he peered earnestly while he cocked his gun. The individual to whom he spoke made no reply, because it was a goose-- would that it were thus with all geese! It was a grey goose of the largest size. It had caught a glimpse of the new and strange creature that was paddling about its home, and was wisely making for the shelter of a spot where the reeds were more dense, and where Benjy would not have dared to follow. For, it must be remembered that our young sportsman was sunk to his waist in water, and that the reeds rose high over his head, so that if once lost in the heart of them, he might have found it extremely difficult to find his way out again. Anxious not to lose his chance, he gave vent to a loud shout. This had the effect of setting up innumerable flocks of wild-fowl, which, although unseen, had been lurking listeners to the strange though gentle sound of the water-tramp. Among them rose the grey goose with one or two unexpected comrades. Benjy had not at that time acquired the power of self-restraint necessary to good shooting. He fired hastily, and missed with the first barrel. Discharging the second in hotter haste, he missed again, but brought down one of the comrades by accident. This was sufficiently gratifying. Picking it up, he placed it on the boat-buoy in front of him to balance several ducks which already lay on the part in rear. He might have carried a dozen geese on his novel hunting-dress, if there had been room for them, for its floating power was sufficient to have borne up himself, and at least four, if not five, men. Pursuing his way cautiously and gently, by means of the webbed feet alone, the young sportsman moved about like a sly water-spirit among the reeds, sometimes addressing a few pleasant words, such as, "how d'ye do, old boy," or, "don't alarm yourself, my tulip," to a water-hen or a coot, or some such bird which crossed his path, but was unworthy of his shot; at other times stopping to gaze contemplatively through the reed stems, or to float and rest in placid enjoyment, while he tried to imagine himself in a forest of water-trees. Everywhere the feathered tribes first gazed at him in mute surprise; then hurried, with every variety of squeak, and quack, and fluttering wing, from his frightful presence. Suddenly he came in sight of a bird so large that his heart gave a violent leap, and the gun went almost of its own accord to his shoulder, but the creature disappeared among the reeds before he could take aim. Another opening, however, again revealed it fully to view! It was a swan--a hyperborean wild swan! Just as he made this discovery, the great bird, having observed Benjy, spread its enormous wings and made off with an amazing splutter. Bang! went Benjy's gun, both barrels in quick succession, and down fell the swan quite dead, with its head in the water and its feet pointing to the sky. "What a feast the Eskimos will have to-night!" was Benjy's first thought as he tramped vehemently towards his prize. But his overflowing joy was rudely checked, for, having laid his gun down in front of him, for the purpose of using the paddle with both hands, it slipped to one side, tilted up, and, disappearing like an arrow in the lake, went to the bottom. The sinking of Benjy's heart was not less complete. He had the presence of mind, however, to seize the reeds near him and check his progress at the exact spot. Leaning over the side of his little craft, he beheld his weapon quivering, as it were, at the bottom, in about eight feet of water. What was to be done? The energetic youth was not long in making up his mind on that point. He would dive for it. But diving in the water-tramp was out of the question. Knowing that it was all but impossible to make his way to the shore through the reeds, he resolved to reach the opposite shore, which was in some places free from vegetation. Seizing one of the reeds, he forced it down, and tied it into a knot to mark the spot where his loss had happened. He treated several more reeds in this way till he gained the open water outside, thus marking his path. Then he paddled across the lake, landed, undressed, and swam out again, pushing the empty dress before him, intending to use it as a resting-place. On reaching the spot, he dived with a degree of vigour and agility worthy of a duck, but found it hard to reach the bottom, as he was not much accustomed to diving. For the same reason he found it difficult to open his eyes under water, so as to look for the gun. While trying to do so, a desperate desire to breathe caused him to leap to the surface, where he found that he had struggled somewhat away from the exact spot. After a few minutes' rest, he took a long breath and again went down; but found, to his dismay, that in his first dive he had disturbed the mud, and thus made the water thick. Groping about rendered it thicker, and he came to the surface the second time with feelings approaching to despair. Besides which, his powers were being rapidly exhausted. But Benjy was full of pluck as well as perseverance. Feeling that he could not hold out much longer, he resolved to make the next attempt with more care--a resolve, it may be remarked, which it would have been better to have made at first. He swam to the knotted reed, considered well the position he had occupied when his loss occurred, took an aim at a definite spot with his head, and went down. The result was that his hands grasped the stock of the gun the moment they reached the bottom. Inflated with joy he leaped with it to the surface like a bladder; laid it carefully on the water-dress, and pushing the latter before him soon succeeded in getting hold of the dead swan. The bird was too heavy to be lifted on the float, he therefore grasped its neck with his teeth, and thus, heavily weighted, made for the shore. It will not surprise the reader to be told that Benjy felt hungry as well as tired after these achievements, and this induced him to look anxiously for Leo, and to wonder why the smoke of Oblooria's cooking-lamp was not to be seen anywhere. The engrossing nature of the events just described had prevented our little hero from observing that a smart breeze had sprung up, and that heavy clouds had begun to drive across the hitherto blue sky, while appearances of a very squally nature were gathering on the windward horizon. Moreover, while engaged in paddling among the reeds he had not felt the breeze. It was while taking off the water-tramp that he became fully alive to these facts. "That's it," he muttered to himself. "They've been caught by this breeze and been delayed by having had to pull against it, or perhaps the walruses gave them more trouble than they expected." Appeasing his appetite as well as he could with this reflection, he left the water-tramp on the ground, with the dripping gun beside it, and hurried to the highest part of the island. Although not much of an elevation, it enabled him to see all round, and a feeling of anxiety filled his breast as he observed that the once glassy sea was ruffled to the colour of indigo, while wavelets flecked it everywhere, and no boat was visible! "They may have got behind some of the islands," he thought, and continued his look-out for some time, with growing anxiety and impatience, however, because the breeze was by that time freshening to a gale. When an hour had passed away the poor boy became thoroughly alarmed. "Can anything have happened to the boat?" he said to himself. "The india-rubber is easily cut. Perhaps they may have been blown out to sea!" This latter thought caused an involuntary shudder. Looking round, he observed that the depression of the sun towards the horizon indicated that night had set in. "This will never do," he suddenly exclaimed aloud. "Leo will be lost. I _must_ risk it!" Turning as he spoke, he ran back to the spot where he had left the water-dress, which he immediately put on. Then, leaving gun and game on the beach, he boldly entered the sea, and struck out with feet and paddle for Poloeland. Although sorely buffeted by the rising waves, and several times overwhelmed, his waterproof costume proved well able to bear him up, and with comparatively little fatigue he reached the land in less than two hours. Without waiting to take the dress off, he ran up to the Eskimo village and gave the alarm. While these events were going on among the islets, Captain Vane and Alphonse Vandervell had been far otherwise engaged. "Come, Alf," said the Captain, that same morning, after Leo and his party had started on their expedition, "let you and me go off on a scientific excursion,--on what we may style a botanico-geologico-meteorological survey." "With all my heart, uncle, and let us take Butterface with us, and Oolichuk." "Ay, lad, and Ivitchuk and Akeetolik too, and Chingatok if you will, for I've fixed on a spot whereon to pitch an observatory, and we must set to work on it without further delay. Indeed I would have got it into working order long ago if it had not been for my hope that the cessation of this miserable war would have enabled us to get nearer the North Pole this summer." The party soon started for the highest peak of the island of Poloe--or Poloeland, as Alf preferred to call it. Oolichuk carried on his broad shoulders one of those mysterious cases out of which the Captain was so fond of taking machines wherewith to astonish the natives. Indeed it was plain to see that the natives who accompanied them on this occasion expected some sort of surprise, despite the Captain's earnest assurance that there was nothing in the box except a few meteorological instruments. How the Captain translated to the Eskimos the word meteorological we have never been able to ascertain. His own explanation is that he did it in a roundabout manner which they failed to comprehend, and which he himself could not elucidate. On the way up the hill, Alf made several interesting discoveries of plants which were quite new to him. "Ho! stop, I say, uncle," he exclaimed for the twentieth time that day, as he picked up some object of interest. "What now, lad?" said the Captain, stopping and wiping his heated brow. "Here is another specimen of these petrifactions--look!" "He means a vegetable o' some sort turned to stone, Chingatok," explained the Captain, as he examined the specimen with an interested though unscientific eye. "You remember, uncle, the explanation I gave you some time ago," said the enthusiastic Alf, "about Professor Heer of Zurich, who came to the conclusion that primeval forests once existed in these now treeless Arctic regions, from the fossils of oak, elm, pine, and maple leaves discovered there. Well, I found a fossil of a plane leaf the other day,--not a very good one, to be sure--and now, here is a splendid specimen of a petrified oak-leaf. Don't you trace it quite plainly?" "Well, lad," returned the Captain, frowning at the specimen, "I do believe you're right. There does seem to be the mark of a leaf there, and there is some ground for your theory that this land may have been once covered with trees, though it's hard to believe that when we look at it." "An evidence, uncle, that we should not be too ready to judge by appearances," said Alf, as they resumed their upward march. The top gained, a space was quickly selected and cleared, and a simple hut of flat stones begun, while the Captain unpacked his box. It contained a barometer, a maximum and minimum self-registering thermometer, wet and dry bulb, also a black bulb thermometer, a one-eighth-inch rain-gauge, and several other instruments. "I have another box of similar instruments, Alf, down below," said the Captain, as he laid them carefully out, "and I hope, by comparing the results obtained up here with those obtained at the level of the sea, to carry home a series of notes which will be of considerable value to science." When the Captain had finished laying them out, the Eskimos retired to a little distance, and regarded them for some minutes with anxious expectancy; but, as the strange things did not burst, or go up like sky-rockets, they soon returned with a somewhat disappointed look to their hut-building. The work was quickly completed, for Eskimos are expert builders in their way, and the instruments had been carefully set up under shelter when the first symptoms of the storm began. "I hope the sportsmen have returned," said the Captain, looking gravely round the horizon. "No doubt they have," said Alf, preparing to descend the mountain. "Leo is not naturally reckless, and if he were, the cautious Anders would be a drag on him." An hour later they regained the Eskimo village, just as Benjy came running, in a state of dripping consternation, from the sea. Need it be said that an instant and vigorous search was instituted? Not only did a band of the stoutest warriors, headed by Chingatok, set off in a fleet of kayaks, but the Captain and his companions started without delay in the two remaining india-rubber boats, and, flying their kites, despite the risk of doing so in a gale, went away in eager haste over the foaming billows. After exerting themselves to the uttermost, they failed to discover the slightest trace of the lost boat. The storm passed quickly, and a calm succeeded, enabling them to prosecute the search more effectively with oar and paddle, but with no better result. Day after day passed, and still no member of the band--Englishman or Eskimo--would relax his efforts, or admit that hope was sinking. But they had to admit it at last, and, after three weeks of unremitting toil, they were compelled to give up in absolute despair. The most sanguine was driven to the terrible conclusion that Leo, Anders, and timid little Oblooria were lost. It was an awful blow. What cared Alf or the Captain now for discovery, or scientific investigation! The poor negro, who had never at any time cared for plants, rocks, or Poles, was sunk in the profoundest depths of sorrow. Benjy's gay spirit was utterly broken. Oolichuk's hearty laugh was silenced, and a cloud of settled melancholy descended over the entire village of Poloe. CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. FATE OF THE LOST ONES. Leo, Anders, and timid little Oblooria, however, were not lost! Their case was bad enough, but it had not quite come to that. On parting from Benjy, as described in the last chapter, these three went after a walrus, which coquetted with them instead of attacking, and drew them a considerable distance away from the island. This would have been a matter of trifling import if the weather had remained calm, but, as we have seen, a sudden and violent gale arose. When the coming squall was first observed the boat was far to leeward of Paradise Isle, and as that island happened to be one of the most northerly of the group over which Amalatok ruled, they were thus far to leeward of any land with the exception of a solitary sugar-loaf rock near the horizon. Still Leo and his companions were not impressed with any sense of danger. They had been so long accustomed to calms, and to moving about in the india-rubber boats by means of paddles with perfect ease and security, that they had half forgotten the force of wind. Besides, the walrus was still playing with them provokingly--keeping just out of rifle-shot as if he had studied fire-arms and knew their range exactly. "The rascal!" exclaimed Leo at last, losing patience, "he will never let us come an inch nearer." "Try 'im once more," said Anders, who was a keen sportsman, "push him, paddle strong. Ho! Oblooria, paddle hard and queek." Although the interpreter, being in a facetious mood, addressed Oblooria in English, she quite understood his significant gestures, and bent to her work with a degree of energy and power quite surprising in one apparently so fragile. Leo also used his oars, (for they had both oars and paddles), with such good-will that the boat skimmed over the Arctic sea like a northern diver, and the distance between them and the walrus was perceptibly lessened. "I don't like the looks o' the southern sky," said Leo, regarding the horizon with knitted brows. "Hims black 'nough--any'ow," said Anders. "Hold. I'll have a farewell shot at the brute, and give up the chase," said Leo, laying down the oars and grasping his rifle. The ball seemed to take effect, for the walrus dived immediately with a violent splutter, and was seen no more. By this time the squall was hissing towards them so fast that the hunters, giving up all thought of the walrus, turned at once and made for the land, but land by that time lay far off on the southern horizon with a dark foam-flecked sea between it and them. "There's no fear of the boat, Oblooria," said Leo, glancing over his shoulder at the girl, who sat crouching to meet the first burst of the coming storm, "but you must hold on tight to the life-lines." There was no need to caution Anders. That worthy was already on his knees embracing a thwart--his teeth clenched as he gazed over the bow. On it came like a whirlwind of the tropics, and rushed right over the low round gunwale of the boat, sweeping loose articles overboard, and carrying her bodily to leeward. Leo had taken a turn of the life-lines round both thighs, and held manfully to his oars. These, after stooping to the first rush of wind and water, he plied with all his might, and was ably seconded by Oblooria as well as by the interpreter, but a very few minutes of effort sufficed to convince them that they laboured in vain. They did not even "hold their own," as sailors have it, but drifted slowly, yet steadily, to the north. "It's impossible to make head against _this_," said Leo, suddenly ceasing his efforts, "and I count it a piece of good fortune, for which we cannot be too thankful, that there is still land to leeward of us." He pointed to the sugar-loaf rock before mentioned, towards which they were now rapidly drifting. "Nothing to eat dere. Nothing to drink," said Anders, gloomily. "Oh! that won't matter much. A squall like this can't last long. We shall soon be able to start again for home, no doubt. I say, Anders, what are these creatures off the point there? They seem too large and black for sea-birds, and not the shape of seals or walruses." The interpreter gazed earnestly at the objects in question for some moments without answering. The rock which they were quickly nearing was rugged, barren, and steep on its southern face, against which the waves were by that time dashing with extreme violence, so that landing there would have been an impossibility. On its lee or northern side, however they might count on quiet water. "We have nothing to fear," said Leo, observing that Oblooria was much agitated; "tell her so, Anders; we are sure to find a sheltered creek of some sort on the other side." "I fear not the rocks or storm," replied the Eskimo girl to Anders. "It is Grabantak, the chief of Flatland, that I fear." "Grabantak!" exclaimed Anders and Leo in the same breath. "Grabantak is coming with his men!" Poor little Oblooria, whose face had paled while her whole frame trembled, pointed towards the dark objects which had already attracted their attention. They were by that time near enough to be distinguished, and as they came, one after another, round the western point of Sugar-loaf rock, it was all too evident that the girl was right, and that the fleet of kayaks was probably bearing the northern savage and his men to attack the inhabitants of Poloe. Leo's first impulse was to seize his repeating rifle and fill its cartridge-chamber quite full. It may be well to observe here that the cartridges, being carried in a tight waterproof case, had not been affected by the seas which had so recently overwhelmed them. "What's de use?" asked Anders, in an unusually sulky tone, as he watched the youth's action. "Two men not can fight all de mans of Flatland." "No, but I can pick off a dozen of them, one after another, with my good rifle, and then the rest will fly. Grabantak will fall first, and his best men after him." This was no idle boast on the part of Leo. He knew that he could accomplish what he threatened long before the Eskimos could get within spear-throwing distance of his boat. "No use," repeated Anders, firmly, still shaking his head in a sulky manner. "When you's bullets be done, more an' more inimies come on. Then dey kill you, an' me, an' Oblooria." Leo laid down his weapon. The resolve to die fighting to the last was the result of a mere impulse of animal courage. Second thoughts cooled him, and the reference to Oblooria's fate decided him. "You are right, Anders. If by fighting to the death I could save Oblooria, it would be my duty as well as my pleasure to fight; but I see that I haven't the ghost of a chance against such a host as is approaching, and it would be simply revengeful to send as many as I can into the next world before going there myself. Besides, it would exasperate the savages, and make them harder on the poor girl." In saying this Leo was rather arguing out the point with himself than talking to the interpreter, who did not indeed understand much of what he said. Having made up his mind how to act, Leo stowed his precious rifle and ammunition in a small bag placed for that purpose under one of the thwarts, and, resuming the oars, prepared to meet his fate, whatever it should be, peacefully and unarmed. While thus drifting in silence before the gale, the thought suddenly occurred to Leo, "How strange it is that I, who am a Christian--in name at least--should feel as if it were absurd to pray for God's help at such a time as this! Surely He who made me and these Eskimos is capable of guarding us? The very least we can do is to ask Him to guide us!" The youth was surprised at the thought. It had flashed upon him like a ray of light. It was not the first time that he had been in even more imminent danger than the present, yet he had never before thought of the necessity of asking help from God, as if He were really present and able as well as willing to succour. Before the thought had passed he acted on it. He had no time for formal prayer. He looked up! It was prayer without words. In a few minutes more the boat was surrounded by the fleet of kayaks. There were hundreds of these tiny vessels of the north, each with its solitary occupant, using his double-bladed paddle vigorously. Need we say that the strangers were at first gazed on with speechless wonder? and that the Eskimos kept for some time hovering round them at a respectful distance, as if uncertain how to act, but with their war-spears ready? All the time the whole party drifted before the gale towards the island-rock. "Anders," said Leo, while the natives remained in this state of indecision, "my mind is made up as to our course of action. We will offer no resistance whatever to these fellows. We must be absolutely submissive, unless, indeed, they attempt to ill-treat Oblooria, in which case of course we will defend her. Do you hear?" This was said with such quiet decision, and the concluding question was put in such a tone, that the interpreter replied, "Yis, sar," promptly. As Leo made no sign of any kind, but continued to guide the boat steadily with the oars, as if his sole anxiety was to round the western point of the island and get into a place of shelter, the natives turned their kayaks and advanced along with him. Naturally they fell into the position of an escort--a part of the fleet paddling on each side of the captives, (for such they now were), while the rest brought up the rear. "What ails Oblooria, Anders?" asked Leo in a low tone. "What is the matter?" asked the interpreter, turning to the girl, who, ever since the approach of the Eskimos, had crouched like a bundle in the bottom of the boat with her face buried in her hands. "There is no fear. Grabantak is a man, not a bear. He will not eat you." "Grabantak knows me," answered the poor girl, without lifting her head; "he came to Poloe once, before the war, and wanted me to be the wife of his son. I want not his son. I want Oolichuk!" The simplicity and candour of this confession caused Leo to laugh in spite of himself, while poor little Oblooria, who thought it no laughing matter, burst into tears. Of course the men of Flatland kept their eyes fixed in wide amazement on Leo, as they paddled along, and this sudden laugh of his impressed them deeply, being apparently without a cause, coupled as it was with an air of absolute indifference to his probable fate, and to the presence of so many foes. Even the ruthless land-hungerer, Grabantak, was solemnised. In a few minutes the whole party swept round the point of rocks, and proceeded towards the land over the comparatively quiet waters of a little bay which lay under the lee of the Sugar-loaf rock. During the brief period that had been afforded for thought, Leo had been intently making his plans. He now proceeded to carry them out. "Hand me the trinket-bundle," he said to Anders. The interpreter searched in a waterproof pouch in the stern of the boat, and produced a small bundle of such trinkets as are known to be valued by savages. It had been placed and was always kept there by Captain Vane, to be ready for emergencies. "They will be sure to take everything from us at any rate," remarked Leo, as he divided the trinkets into two separate bundles, "so I shall take the wind out of their sails by giving everything up at once with a good grace." The Grabantaks, if we may so style them, drew near, as the fleet approached the shore, with increasing curiosity. When land was reached they leaped out of their kayaks and crowded round the strangers. It is probable that they would have seized them and their possessions at this point, but the tall strapping figure of Leo, and his quiet manner, overawed them. They held back while the india-rubber boat was being carried by Leo and Anders to a position of safety. Poor Oblooria walked beside them with her head bowed down, shrinking as much as possible out of sight. Everybody was so taken up with the strange white man that no one took any notice of her. No sooner was the boat laid down than Leo taking one of the bundles of trinkets stepped up to Grabantak, whom he easily distinguished by his air of superiority and the deference paid him by his followers. Pulling his own nose by way of a friendly token, Leo smiled benignantly in the chief's face, and opened the bundle before him. It is needless to say that delight mingled with the surprise that had hitherto blazed on the visage of Grabantak. "Come here, Anders, and bring the other bundle with you. Tell this warrior that I am very glad to meet with him." "Great and unconquerable warrior," began the interpreter, in the dialect which he had found was understood, by the men of Poloe, "we have come from far-off lands to bring you gifts--" "Anders," said Leo, whose knowledge of the Eskimo tongue was sufficient, by that time, to enable him in a measure to follow the drift of a speech, "Anders, if you don't tell him _exactly_ what I say I'll kick you into the sea!" As Anders stood on a rock close to the water's edge, and Leo looked unusually stern, he thereafter rendered faithfully what the latter told him to say. The speech was something to the following effect:-- "I am one of a small band of white men who have come here to search out the land. We do not want the land. We only want to see it. We have plenty of land of our own in the far south. We have been staying with the great chief Amalatok in Poloeland." At the mention of his enemy's name the countenance of Grabantak darkened. Without noticing this, Leo went on:-- "When I was out hunting with my man and a woman, the wind arose and blew us hither. We claim your hospitality, and hope you will help us to get back again to Poloeland. If you do so we will reward you well, for white men are powerful and rich. See, here are gifts for Grabantak, and for his wife." This latter remark was a sort of inspiration. Leo had observed, while Anders was speaking, that a stout cheerful-faced woman had been pushing aside the men and gradually edging her way toward the Eskimo chief with the air of a privileged person. That he had hit the mark was obvious, for Grabantak turned with a bland smile, and hit his wife a facetious and rather heavy slap on the shoulder. She was evidently accustomed to such treatment, and did not wince. Taking from his bundle a gorgeous smoking-cap richly ornamented with brilliant beads, Leo coolly crowned the chief with it. Grabantak drew himself up and tried to look majestic, but a certain twitching of his face, and sparkle in his eyes, betrayed a tendency to laugh with delight. Fortunately, there was another cap of exactly the same pattern in the bundle, which Leo instantly placed on the head of the wife--whose name he afterwards learned was Merkut. The chief's assumed dignity vanished at this. With that childlike hilarity peculiar to the Eskimo race, he laughed outright, and then, seizing the cap from Merkut's head, put it above his own to the amusement of his grinning followers. Leo then selected a glittering clasp-knife with two blades, which the chief seized eagerly. It was evidently a great prize--too serious a gift to be lightly laughed at. Then a comb was presented to the wife, and a string of gay beads, and a pair of scissors. Of course the uses of combs and scissors had he explained, and deep was the interest manifested during the explanation, and utter the forgetfulness of the whole party for the time being in regard to everything else in the world--Oblooria included, who sat unnoticed on the rocks with her face still buried in her hands. When Grabantak's possessions were so numerous that the hood of his coat, and the tops of his wife's boots were nearly filled with them, he became generous, and, prince-like, (having more than he knew what to do with), began to distribute things to his followers. Among these followers was a tall and stalwart son of his own, to whom he was rather stern, and not very liberal. Perhaps the chief wished to train him with Spartan ideas of self-denial. Perhaps he wanted his followers to note his impartiality. Merkut did not, however, act on the same principles, for she quietly passed a number of valuable articles over to her dear son Koyatuk, unobserved by his stern father. Things had gone on thus pleasantly for some time; the novelty of the gifts, and the interest in their explanation having apparently rendered these people forgetful of the fact that they might take them all at once; when a sudden change in the state of affairs was wrought by the utterance of one word. "We must not," said Leo to Anders, looking at his follower over the heads of the Eskimos, "forget poor little Oblooria." "Oblooria!" roared Grabantak with a start, as if he had been electrified. "Oblooria!" echoed Koyatuk, glaring round. "Oblooria!" gasped the entire band. Another moment and Grabantak, bursting through the crowd, leaped towards the crouching girl and raised her face. Recognising her he uttered a yell which probably was meant for a cheer. Hurrying the frightened girl into the circle through which he had broken, the chief presented her to his son, and, with an air worthy of a civilised courtier, said:-- "Your _wife_, Koyatuk--your Oblooria!--Looria!" He went over the last syllables several times, as if he doubted his senses, and feared it was too good news to be true. This formal introduction was greeted by the chief's followers with a series of wild shouts and other demonstrations of extreme joy. CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. A FIGHT IN DEFENCE OF WOMAN, AND RIFLE-SHOOTING EXTRAORDINARY. When the excitement had somewhat abated, Leo stepped to the side of Oblooria, and laying his hand on her shoulder said firmly, through Anders:-- "Pardon me, Grabantak, this girl is _not_ the wife of Koyatuk; she is my _sister_!" The chief frowned, clenched his teeth, and grasped a spear-- "When did Kablunet men begin to have Eskimo sisters?" "When they took all distressed women under their protection," returned Leo promptly. "Every woman who needs my help is my sister," he added with a look of self-sufficiency which he was far from feeling. This new doctrine obviously puzzled the chief, who frowned, smiled, and looked at the ground, as if in meditation. It seemed to afford great comfort to Oblooria, who nestled closer to her champion. As for Koyatuk, he treated the matter with an air of mingled surprise and scorn, but dutifully awaited his father's pleasure. Koyatuk was physically a fine specimen of a savage, but his spirit was not equal to his body. Like his father he was over six feet high, and firmly knit, being of both larger and stronger build than Leo, whom he now regarded, and of course hated, as his rival--a contemptible one, no doubt; still--a rival. The warriors watched their chief in breathless suspense. To them it was a thoroughly new and interesting situation. That a white stranger, tall and active, but slender and very young, should dare single-handed to defy not only their chief, but, as it were, the entire tribe, including the royal family, was a state of things in regard to which their previous lives afforded no parallel. They could not understand it at all, and stood, as it were, in eager, open-mouthed, and one-legged expectation. At last Grabantak looked up, as if smitten by a new idea, and spoke-- "Can Kablunet men fight?" he asked. "They love peace better than war," answered Leo, "but when they see cause to fight they can do so." Turning immediately to his son, Grabantak said with a grim smile-- "Behold your wife, take her!" Koyatuk advanced. Leo placed Oblooria behind him, and, being unarmed, threw himself into a pugilistic posture of defence. The young Eskimo laid one of his strong hands on the Englishman's shoulder, intending to thrust him aside violently. Leo was naturally of a tender disposition. He shrank from dealing a violent blow to one who had not the remotest idea of what was coming, or how to defend himself from the human fist when used as a battering-ram. But Leo chanced to be, in a sense, doubly armed. During one of his holiday rambles in England he had visited Cornwall, and there had learned that celebrated "throw" which consists in making your haunch a fulcrum, your right arm a lever, and your adversary a shuttlecock. He suddenly grasped his foe round the waist with one arm. Next moment the Grabantaks saw what the most imaginative among them had never till then conceived of--Koyatuk's soles turned to the sky, and his head pointing to the ground! The moment following, he lay flat on his back looking upwards blankly. The huk! hi! ho! hooroos! that followed may be conceived, but cannot be described. Some of the men burst into laughter, for anything ludicrous is irresistible to an Eskimo of the very far north. A few were petrified. Others there were who resented this indignity to the heir-apparent, and flourished their spears in a threatening manner. These last Grabantak quieted with a look. The incident undoubtedly surprised that stern parent, but also afforded him some amusement. He said it was an insult that must be avenged. Oddly enough he made use of an expression which sounded curiously familiar to Leo's ears, as translated by Anders. "The insult," said Grabantak, "could only be _washed out in blood_!" Strange, that simple savages of the far north should hold to that ridiculous doctrine. We had imagined that it was confined entirely to those further south, whose minds have been more or less warped by civilised usage. A ring was immediately formed, and poor Leo now saw that the matter was becoming serious. He was on the eve of fighting an enforced duel in Oblooria's service. While the savages were preparing the lists, and Koyatuk, having recovered, was engaged in converse with his father, Leo whispered to Anders-- "Perhaps Oblooria has no objection to be the wife of this man?" But the poor girl had very strong objections. She was, moreover, so emphatic in her expressions of horror, and cast on her champion such a look of entreaty, that he would have been more than mortal had he refused her. It was very perplexing. The idea of killing, or being killed, in such a cause was very repulsive. He tried to reason with Grabantak about the sin of injuring a defenceless woman, and the abstract right of females in general to have some say in the selection of their husbands, but Grabantak was inexorable. "Is the Kablunet afraid?" he asked, with a glance of scornful surprise. "Does he _look_ afraid?" returned Leo, quietly. Koyatuk now stepped into the middle of the ring of warriors, with a short spear in his right hand, and half-a-dozen spare ones in his left, whereby Leo perceived that the battle before him was not meant to be a mere "exchange of shots," for the "satisfaction of honour." There was evidently no humbug about these Eskimos. Two men mounted guard over Anders and Oblooria, who, however, were allowed to remain inside the ring to witness the combat. A warrior now advanced to Leo and presented him with a small bundle of spears. He took them almost mechanically, thanked the giver, and laid them down at his feet without selecting one. Then he stood up, and, crossing his arms on his breast, gazed full at his opponent, who made a hideous face at him and flourished his spear. It was quite evident that the Eskimos were perplexed by the white youth's conduct, and knew not what to make of it. The truth is that poor Leo was almost beside himself with conflicting emotions and uncertainty as to what he ought to do. Despite all that had taken place, he found it almost impossible to persuade himself that he was actually about to engage in mortal combat. He had not a vestige of angry feeling in his heart against the man whom he was expected to fight with to the death, and the extraordinary nature of the complex faces that Koyatuk was making at him tended to foster the delusion that the whole thing was a farce--or a dream. Then the knowledge that he could burst through the ring, get hold of his rifle, and sell his life dearly, or, perhaps, cause the whole savage tribe to fly in terror, was a sore temptation to him. All this, coupled with the necessity for taking instant and vigorous action of some sort, was enough to drive an older head distracted. It did drive the blood violently to the youth's face, but, by a powerful effort of self-restraint, he continued to stand perfectly still, like a living statue, facing the Eskimo. At last Koyatuk became tired of making useless faces at his rival. Suddenly poising his spear, he launched it. Had Leo's eye been less quick, or his limbs less active, that spear had laid him low for ever. He had barely time to spring aside, when the weapon passed between his side and his left arm, grazing the latter slightly, and drawing blood which trickled to the ends of his fingers. There could be no further doubt now about the nature of the fight. Catching up a spear from the bundle at his feet he was just in time to receive the Eskimo, who sprang in on him with the intention of coming at once to close quarters. His rush was very furious; probably with a view to make it decisive. But the agile Leo was equal to the occasion. Bending suddenly so low as to be quite under his opponent's desperate thrust, he struck out his right leg firmly. Koyatuk tripped over it, and ploughed the land for some yards with his hands, head, and knees. Considerably staggered in mind and body by the fall, he sprang up with a roar, and turned to renew the attack. Leo was ready. The Eskimo, by that time mad with pain, humiliation, and rage, exercised no caution in his assault. He rushed at his rival like a mad bull. Our Englishman saw his opportunity. Dropping his own spear he guarded the thrust of his adversary's with his right arm, while, with his left fist, he planted a solid blow on Koyatuk's forehead. The right fist followed the left like the lightning flash, and alighted on Koyatuk's nose, which, flat by nature, was rendered flatter still by art. Indeed it would be the weakest flattery to assert that he had any nose at all after receiving that blow. It was reduced to the shape of a small pancake, from the two holes in which there instantly spouted a stream of blood so copious that it drenched alike its owner and his rival. After giving him this double salute, Leo stepped quickly aside to let him tumble forward, heels over head, which he did with the only half-checked impetuosity of his onset, and lay prone upon the ground. "There, Anders," said the victor, turning round as he pointed to his prostrate foe, "surely Grabantak's son has got enough of blood now to wipe out all the insults he ever received, or is likely to receive, from me." Grabantak appeared to agree to this view of the case. That he saw and relished the jest was obvious, for he burst into an uproarious fit of laughter, in which his amiable warriors joined him, and, advancing to Leo, gave him a hearty slap of approval on the shoulder. At the same time he cast a look of amused scorn on his fallen son, who was being attended to by Merkut. It may be observed here that Merkut was the only woman of the tribe allowed to go on this war-expedition. Being the chief's wife, she had been allowed to do as she pleased, and it was her pleasure to accompany the party and to travel like the warriors in a kayak, which she managed as well as the best of them. Grabantak now ordered his men to encamp, and feed till the gale should abate. Then, calling Leo and the interpreter aside, he questioned them closely as to the condition of the Poloese and the numbers of the white men who had recently joined them. Of course Leo made Anders give him a graphic account of the preparations made by his enemies to receive him, in the hope that he might be induced to give up his intentions, but he had mistaken the spirit of the Eskimo, who merely showed his teeth, frowned, laughed in a diabolic manner, and flourished his spear during the recital of Amalatok's warlike arrangements. He wound up by saying that he was rejoiced to learn all that, because it would be all the more to his credit to make his enemy go down on his knees, lick the dust, crawl in his presence, and otherwise humble himself. "But tell him, Anders," said Leo, earnestly, "that my white brothers, though few in number, are very strong and brave. They have weapons too which kill far off and make a dreadful noise." Grabantak laughed contemptuously at this. "Does the Kablunet," he asked, "think I am afraid to die--afraid of a noise? does he think that none but white men can kill far off?" As he spoke he suddenly hurled his spear at a gull, which, with many others, was perched on a cliff about thirty yards off, and transfixed it. "Go to the boat, Anders, and fetch my rifle," said Leo in a low tone. When the rifle was brought a crowd of Eskimos came with it. They had been closely observing their chief and the stranger during the conference, but remained at a respectful distance until they saw something unusual going on. "Tell the chief," said Leo, "to look at that peak with the solitary gull standing on it." He pointed to a detached cone of rock upwards of two hundred yards distant. When the attention of the whole party was concentrated on the bird in question, Leo took a steady aim and fired. Need we say that the effect of the shot was wonderful? not only did the braves utter a united yell and give a simultaneous jump, but several of the less brave among them bolted behind rocks, or tumbled in attempting to do so, while myriads of sea-fowl, which clustered among the cliffs, sprang from their perches and went screaming into the air. At the same time echoes innumerable, which had lain dormant since creation, or at best had given but sleepy response to the bark of walruses and the cry of gulls, took up the shot in lively haste and sent it to and fro from cliff to crag in bewildering continuation. "Wonderful!" exclaimed Grabantak in open-mouthed amazement, when he beheld the shot gull tumbling from its lofty perch, "Do it again." Leo did it again--all the more readily that another gull, unwarned by its predecessor's fate, flew to the conical rock at the moment, and perched itself on the same peak. It fell, as before, and the echoes were again awakened, while the sea-birds cawed and screamed more violently than ever. The timid ones among the braves, having recovered from their first shock, stood fast this time, but trembled much and glared horribly. The chief, who was made of sterner stuff than many of his followers; did not move, though his face flushed crimson with suppressed emotion. As to the sea-birds, curiosity seemed to have overcome fear, for they came circling and wheeling overhead in clouds so dense that they almost darkened the sky--many of them swooping close past the Eskimos and then shearing off and up with wild cries. An idea suddenly flashed into Leo's head. Pointing his rifle upwards he began and continued a rapid fire until all the bullets in it, (ten or twelve), were expended. The result was as he had expected. Travelling through such a dense mass of birds, each ball pierced we know not how many, until it absolutely rained dead and wounded gulls on the heads of the natives, while the rocks sent forth a roar of echoes equal to a continuous fire of musketry. It was stupendous! Nothing like it had occurred in the Polar regions since the world first became a little flattened at the poles! Nothing like it will happen again until the conjunction of a series of similar circumstances occurs. The timid braves lost heart again and dived like the coneys into holes and corners of the rocks. Others stood still with chattering teeth. Even Grabantak wavered for a moment. But it was only for a moment. Recovering himself he uttered a mighty shout; then he yelled; then he howled; then he slapped his breast and thighs; then he seized a smallish brave near him by the neck and hurled him into the sea. Having relieved his feelings thus he burst into a fit of laughter such as has never been equalled by the wildest maniac either before or since. Suddenly he calmed, stepped up to Leo, and wrenched the rifle from his grasp. "I will do that!" he cried, and held the weapon out at arms-length in front of his face with both hands; but there was no answering shot. "Why does it not bark?" he demanded, turning to Leo sternly. "It will only bark at my bidding," said Leo, with a significant smile. "Bid it, then," said the chief in a peremptory tone, still holding the rifle out. "You must treat it in the right way, otherwise it will not bark. I will show you." Having been shown how to pull the trigger, the chief tried again, but a sharp click was the only reply. Grabantak having expected a shot, he nervously dropped the rifle, but Leo was prepared, and caught it. "You must not be afraid of it; it cannot work properly if you are afraid. See, look there," he added, pointing to the conical rock on which another infatuated gull had perched himself. Grabantak looked earnestly. His timid braves began to creep out of their holes, and directed their eyes to the same spot. While their attention was occupied Leo managed to slip a fresh cartridge into the rifle unobserved. "Now," said he, handing the rifle to the chief, "try again." Grabantak, who was not quite pleased at the hint about his being afraid, seized the rifle and held it out as before. Resolved to maintain his reputation for coolness, he said to his followers in imitation of Leo:-- "Do you see that gull?" "Huk!" replied the warriors, with eager looks. Leo thought of correcting his manner of taking aim, but, reflecting that the result would be a miss in any case, he refrained. Grabantak raised the rifle slowly, as its owner had done, and frowned along the barrel. In doing so, he drew it back until the butt almost touched his face. Then he fired. There was a repetition of previous results with some differences. The gull flew away from the rock unhurt; one of the braves received the bullet in his thigh and ran off shrieking with agony, while the chief received a blow from the rifle on the nose which all but incorporated that feature with his cheeks, and drew from his eyes the first tears he had ever shed since babyhood. That night Grabantak sat for hours staring in moody silence at the sea, tenderly caressing his injured nose, and meditating, no doubt, on things past, present, and to come. CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. LEO VISITS FLATLAND AND SEES AS WELL AS HEARS MUCH TO INTEREST HIM THERE. The result of Grabantak's meditation was that, considering the nature and wonderful weapons of the men by whom Amalatok had been reinforced, he thought it advisable to return to his own land, which was not far distant, for the purpose of adding to the force with which he meant to subjugate the men of Poloe. "We are unconquerable," he said, while conversing on the situation with Teyma, his first lieutenant, or prime minister; "everybody knows that we are invincible. It is well-known that neither white men, nor yellow men,--no, nor black men, nor blue men,--can overcome the Flatlanders. We must keep up our name. It will not do to let the ancient belief die down, that one Flatlander is equal to three men of Poloe, or any other land." "The Poloe men laugh in their boots when they hear us boast in this way," said Teyma gently. We draw attention to the curious resemblance in this phrase to our more civilised "laughing in the sleeve," while we point out that the prime minister, although of necessity a man of war, was by nature a man of peace. Indeed his name, Teyma, which signifies peace, had been given him because of his pacific tendencies. "What! would you not have me defend the Flatland name?" demanded Grabantak, fiercely. "No, I would have you defend only the Flatland property," replied the blunt minister. "And is not Puiroe my property?" growled Grabantak, referring to the barren rock which was the cause of war. "So is _that_ your property," said Teyma, picking up a stone, "and yet I treat it thus!" (He tossed it contemptuously into the sea.) "Is that worth Flatlander blood? would you kill me for _that_? shall Eskimo wives and mothers weep, and children mourn and starve for a useless rock in the sea." "You always thwart me, Teyma," said Grabantak, trying to suppress a burst of wrath, which he was well aware his fearless minister did not mind in the least. "It is true this island is not worth the shake of a puffin's tail; but if we allow the Poloe men to take it--" "To keep it," mildly suggested Teyma, "they have long had it." "Well, to keep it, if you will," continued the chief testily; "will not other tribes say that the old name of the Flatlanders is dead, that the war-spirit is gone, that they may come and attack us when they please; for we cannot defend our property, and they will try to make us slaves? What! shall Flatlanders become slaves? no never, never, _never_!" cried Grabantak, furiously, though unconsciously quoting the chorus of a well-known song. "No, _never_," re-echoed Teyma with an emphatic nod, "yet there are many steps between fighting for a useless rock, and being made slaves." "Well then," cried Grabantak, replying to the first part of his lieutenant's remark and ignoring the second, "we must fight to prove our courage. As to losing many of our best men, of course we cannot help that. Then we must kill, burn, and destroy right and left in Poloeland, to prove our power. After that we will show the greatness of our forbearance by letting our enemies alone. Perhaps we may even condescend to ask them to become our friends. What an honour that would be to them, and, doubtless, what a joy!" "Grabantak," said Teyma with a look and tone of solemnity which invariably overawed his chief, and made him uncomfortable, "you have lived a good many years now. Did you ever make a friend of an enemy by beating him?" "Of course not," said the other with a gesture of impatience. "Grabantak, you had a father." "Yes," said the chief, with solemn respect. "And _he_ had a father." "True." "And he, too, had a father." "Well, I suppose he had." "Of course he had. All fathers have had fathers back and back into the mysterious Longtime. If not, where did our tales and stories come from? There are many stories told by fathers to sons, and fathers to sons, till they have all come down to us, and what do these stories teach us? that all fighting is bad, except what _must_ be. Even what _must_ be is bad--only, it is better than some things that are worse. Loss of life, loss of country, loss of freedom to hunt, and eat, and sleep, are worse. We must fight for these--but to fight for a bare rock, for a name, for a coast, for a fancy, it is foolish! and when you have got your rock, and recovered your name, and pleased your fancy, do the brave young men that are dead return? Do the maidens that weep rejoice? Do the mothers that pine revive? Of what use have been all the wars of Flatland from Longtime till now? Can you restore the mountain-heaps of kayaks, and oomiaks, and spears, and walrus-lines, from the smoke into which they vanished! Can you recall the great rivers of whale-oil from the sea into which they have been poured, or the blood of men from the earth that swallowed it? Is not war _always_ loss, loss, loss, and _never_ gain? Why cannot we live at peace with those who will, and fight only with those who insist on war." "Go, Teyma, stop your mouth with blubber," said the chief, rising; "I am weary of you. I tell you, Amalatok shall die; Puiroe shall be mine. The tribes shall all learn to tremble at the name of Grabantak and to respect the men of Flatland." "Ay, and to love them too, I suppose," added Teyma with a facetious sneer. "Boo!" replied his chief, bringing the conversation to an abrupt close by walking away. In accordance with their chief's resolve, the Grabantak band embarked in their kayaks next morning, the gale having moderated, and with the intention of obtaining reinforcements, paddled back to Flatland, which they reached in a couple of days. On the voyage Leo confined himself strictly to the oars and paddles, being unwilling to let the Eskimos into the secret of the kite, until he could do so with effect, either in the way of adding to their respect for the white man and his contrivances, or of making his escape. Now, as has been said or hinted, although Grabantak's son, Koyatuk, was a stout and tall man, he was not gifted with much brain. He possessed even less of that substance than his father, whose energy and power of muscle, coupled with indomitable obstinacy, enabled him to hold the reins of government which were his by hereditary right. Besides being a fearless man, Grabantak was respected as a good leader in war. But Koyatuk had neither the energy of his father, nor his determination. He was vacillating and lazy, as well as selfish. Hence he was not a favourite, and when, after landing at Flatland, he endeavoured to renew his claim to Oblooria, neither his father nor the people encouraged him. The timid one was therefore left with Leo and Anders, who immediately fitted up for her a separate screened-off apartment in the hut which was assigned to them in the native village. Even Koyatuk's mother did not befriend her son on this occasion. Merkut had her own reasons for proving faithless to her spoilt boy, whom on most occasions she favoured. Knowing his character well, the sturdy wife of Grabantak had made up her mind that Koyatuk should wed a young intelligent, and what you may call lumpy girl named Chukkee, who was very fond of the huge and lazy youth, and who, being herself good-natured and unselfish, would be sure to make him a good wife. After one or two unavailing efforts, therefore, and a few sighs, the heir-apparent to the throne of Flatland ceased to trouble Oblooria, and devoted himself to his three favourite occupations--hunting, eating, and repose. "Misser Lo," whispered Anders, on the first night after landing, as they busied themselves with the partition above referred to, "we 'scapes from dis here land very easy." "How, Anders?" "W'y, you's on'y got wait for nort' vint, den up kite, launch boat, an'--hup! away." "True, lad, but I don't want to escape just yet." "Not want to 'scape?" "No. You see, Anders, we are now on very friendly terms with this tribe, and it seems to me that if we were to remain for a time and increase our influence, we might induce Grabantak to give up this war on which he seems to have set his heart. I have great hopes of doing something with Teyma. He is evidently a reasonable fellow, and has much power, I think, with the chief--indeed with every one. Pity that he is not to succeed Grabantak instead of that stupid Koyatuk. Besides, now I am here I must explore the land if possible. It is a pity no doubt to leave our friends, even for a short time, in ignorance of our fate, but we can't help that at present. Light the lamp, Anders, and let's see what we're about." The summer was by that time so far advanced that the sun descended a considerable way below the horizon each night, leaving behind a sweet mellow twilight which deepened almost into darkness inside the Eskimo huts. These latter, like those already described, were made of stone, and the small openings that served for windows did not let in much light at any time. The hut which had been assigned by Grabantak to his prisoners--or visitors, for as such he now seemed to regard them--was a large roomy one, made chiefly of clay. It stood on a little mound a hundred yards or so apart from the main village of Flatland, and was probably one of the chief's private palaces. It was oval in form--like a huge oven-- about fifteen feet in diameter, and six feet in height. One-half of the floor was raised about eight inches, thus forming the "breck," which served for a lounge by day, and a couch by night. Its furniture of skins, cooking-lamp, etcetera, was much the same as that of the Eskimo huts already described, except that the low tunnel-shaped entrance was very long--about twelve feet. Light was admitted by a parchment-covered hole or window, with several rents in it, as well as by various accidental holes in the roof. When the lamp was lighted, and skins were spread on the breck, and Leo, having finished the partition, was busy making entries in a note-book, and Anders was amusing himself with a tobacco pipe--foolish man! and Oblooria was devoting herself to the lamp, from which various charming sounds and delicious smells emanated--as well as smoke--this northern residence looked far more cheerful and snug than the luxurious dwellers in civilised lands will readily believe. "I wonder," said Leo, looking up from his book after a prolonged silence, "I wonder what strange sounds are those I hear." "P'r'aps it's de vint," said Anders, puffing a cloud from his lips in sleepy contentment, and glancing upwards. When he and Leo looked at the roof of the hut it shook slightly, as if something had fallen on it. "Strange," muttered Leo, reverting to his notebook, "it did not look like wind when the sun went down. It must be going to blow hard." After a few minutes of silence Leo again looked up inquiringly. "Dere's anoder squall," said Anders. "More like a sneeze than a squall. Listen; that is a queer pattering sound." They listened, but all was silent. After a minute or so they resumed their occupations. The sounds were, however, no mystery to those who were in the secret of them. Knowing the extreme curiosity of his countrymen, Grabantak had placed a sentinel over his guests' hut, with orders to let no one go near it. The sentinel entered on his vigil with that stern sense of duty-unto-death that is supposed to animate all sentinels. At first the inhabitants of Flatland kept conscientiously away from the forbidden spot, but as the shades of night toned down the light, some of them could not resist drawing near occasionally and listening with distended eyes, ears, and nostrils, as if they expected to drink in foreign sounds at all these orifices. The sentinel grasped his spear, steeled his heart, and stood in front of the door with a look of grand solemnity worthy of the horse-guards. At last, however, the sentinel's own curiosity was roused by the eager looks of those--chiefly big boys--who drew ever nearer and nearer. Occasional sounds from the hut quickened his curiosity, and the strange smell of tobacco-smoke at last rendered it unbearable. Slowly, sternly, as if it were part of his duty to spy, he moved to the torn window and peeped in. He was fascinated at once of course. After gazing for five minutes in rapt admiration, he chanced to withdraw his face for a moment, and then found that nine Eskimos had discovered nine holes or crevices in the hut walls, against which their fat faces were thrust, while at least half-a-dozen others were vainly searching for other peep-holes. A scarcely audible hiss caused the rapt nine to look up. A terrible frown and a shake of the official spear caused them to retire down the slope that led to the hut. This was the unaccountable "squall" that had first perplexed Leo and his comrade. But like tigers who have tasted blood, the Flatlanders could not now be restrained. "Go!" said the sentinel in a low stern voice to the retreating trespassers, whom he followed to the foot of the slope. "If you come up again I will tell Grabantak, who will have you all speared and turned into whale-buoys." The boys did not appear to care much for the threat. They were obviously buoyed up with hope. "Oh! do, _do_ let us peep! just once!" entreated several of them in subdued but eager tones. The sentinel shook his obdurate head and raised his deadly spear. "We will make no noise," said a youth who was the exact counterpart of Benjamin Vane in all respects except colour and costume--the first being dirty yellow and the latter hairy. The sentinel frowned worse than ever. "The Kablunets," said another of the band, entreatingly, "shall hear nothing louder than the falling of a snow-flake or a bit of eider-down." Still the sentinel was inexorable. The Eskimos were in despair. Suddenly Benjy's counterpart turned and fled to the village on light and noiseless toe. He returned immediately with a rich, odorous, steaming piece of blubber in his hand. It was a wise stroke of policy. The sentinel had been placed there without any reference to the fact that he had not had his supper. He was ravenously hungry. Can you blame him for lowering his spear, untying his eyebrows, and smiling blandly as the held out his hand? "Just one peep, and it is yours," said the counterpart, holding the morsel behind him. "My life is in danger if I do," remonstrated the sentinel. "Your supper is in danger if you don't," said the counterpart. It was too much for him. The sentinel accepted the bribe, and, devouring it, returned with the bribers on tiptoe to the hut, where they gazed in silent wonder to their hearts' content. "Well, that beats everything," said Leo, laying down his book and pencil, "but I never did hear a gale that panted and snorted as this one does. I'll go out and have a look at it." He rose and crawled on hands and knees through the tunnel. The spies rolled off the hut with considerable noise and fled, while the sentinel resuming his spear and position, tried to look innocent. While he was explaining to Anders why he was there, Grabantak himself walked up, accompanied by his lieutenant. They were hospitably entertained, and as Oblooria had by that time prepared a savoury mess, such as she knew the white men loved, the chief and Teyma condescended to sup with their captive-guests. Leo had not with him the great cooking machine with which his uncle had effected so much in Poloeland, but he had a tin kettle and a couple of pannikins, with some coffee, sugar, and biscuit, which did good service in the way of conciliating, if not surprising, the chief of Flatland. Both he and his lieutenant, moreover, were deeply interested in Anders's proceedings with the pipe. At first they supposed he was conducting some religious ceremony, and looked on with appropriate solemnity, but, on being informed of the mistake, Grabantak smiled graciously and requested a "whiff." He received one, and immediately made such a hideous face that Anders could not restrain a short laugh, whereupon the chief hit him over the head with his empty pannikin, but, after frowning fiercely, joined in the laugh. Leo then began to question the chief about the land over which he ruled, and was told that it was a group of islands of various sizes, like the group which belonged to Amalatok, but with more islands in it; that most of these islands were flat, and covered with lakes, large and small, in which were to be found many animals, and birds as numerous almost as the stars. "Ask him from what direction these birds come," said Leo, pulling out his pocket-compass and expecting that Grabantak would point to the south; but the chief pointed to the north, then to the south, then to the east, and then to the west! "What does he mean? I don't understand him," said Leo. "The birds come from _everywhere_--from all round. They come here to breed," said the chief, spreading his hands round him and pointing in all directions. "Then, when the young are strong and the cold season begins, they spread the wing and go away there--to _every_ place--all round." "Anders," said Leo impressively, "do you know I think we have actually arrived at the immediate region of the North Pole! What the chief says almost settles the question. This, you see, must be the warmest place in the Polar regions; the central spot around the Pole to which migratory birds flock from the south. If voyagers, crossing the Arctic circle at _all_ parts, have observed these birds ever flying _north_, it follows that they _must_ have some meeting-place near the Pole, where they breed and from which they depart in autumn. Well, according to Grabantak, _this_ is the meeting-place, therefore _this_ must be near the Pole! How I wish uncle were here!" Leo had been more than half soliloquising; he now looked up and burst into a laugh, for the interpreter was gazing at him with an expression of blank stupidity. "You's kite right, Missr Lo," he said at last, with a meek smile, "kite right, no doubt; only you's too clibber for _me_." "Well, Anders, I'll try not to be quite so clibber in future; but ask Grabantak if he will go with me on an expedition among these islands. I want very much to examine them all." "Examine them all!" repeated the chief with emphasis when this was translated; "tell the young Kablunet with the hard fist, that the sunless time would come and go, and the sun-season would come again, before he could go over half my lands. Besides, I have more important work to do. I must first go to Poloeland, to kill and burn and destroy. After that I will travel with Hardfist." Hardfist, as the chief had styled him in reference to his late pugilistic achievements, felt strongly inclined to use his fists on Grabantak's skull when he mentioned his sanguinary intentions, but recalling Alf's oft-quoted words, "Discretion is the better part of valour," he restrained himself. He also entered into a long argument with the savage, in the hope of converting him to peace principles, but of course in vain. The chief was thoroughly bent on destroying his enemies. Then, in a state of almost desperate anxiety, Leo sought to turn him from his purpose by telling him about God the Father, and the Prince of Peace, and, pulling out his Bible, began to read and make Anders interpret such passages of the Word as bore most directly on his subject. While acting in this, to him, novel capacity as a teacher of God's Word, Leo more than once lifted up his heart in brief silent prayer that the Spirit might open the heart of the savage to receive the truth. The chief and his lieutenant listened with interest and surprise. Being savages, they also listened with profound respect to the young enthusiast, but Grabantak would not give up his intention. He explained, however, that he meant first to go to the largest and most central island of his dominions, to make inquiry there of the Man of the Valley what would be the best time to set out for the war. "The Man of the Valley!" asked Leo, "who is that?" "He is an Eskimo," replied Grabantak, with a sudden air of solemnity in his manner, "whose first forefather came in the far past longtime, from nobody knows where; but this first forefather never had any father or mother. He settled among the Eskimos and taught them many things. He married one of their women, and his sons and daughters were many and strong. Their descendants inhabit the Great Isle of Flatland at the present day. They are good and strong; great hunters and warriors. The first forefather lived long, till he became white and blind. His power and wisdom lay in a little strange thing which he called `buk.' How it made him strong or wise no one can tell, but so it was. His name was Makitok. When he died he gave _buk_ to his eldest son. It was wrapped up in a piece of sealskin. The eldest son had much talk with his father about this mystery-thing, and was heard to speak much about the Kablunets, but the son would never tell what he said. Neither would he unwrap the mystery-thing, for fear that its power might escape. So he wrapped it up in another piece of sealskin, and gave it to his eldest son, telling him to hand it down from son to son, along with the name Makitok. So _buk_ has grown to be a large bundle now, and no one understands it, but every one has great reverence for it, and the Makitok now in possession is a great mystery-man, very wise; we always consult him on important matters." Here was food for reflection to Leo during the remainder of that night, and for many hours did his sleepless mind puzzle over the mystery of Makitok, the Man of the Valley. This sleepless condition was, not unpleasantly, prolonged by the sounds of animal life that entered his oven-like dwelling during great part of the night. Evidently great numbers of the feathered tribes were moving about, either because they meant to retire at dissipatedly late, or had risen at unreasonably early, hours. Among them he clearly distinguished the musical note of the long-tailed duck and the harsh scream of the great northern diver, while the profound calmness of the weather enabled him to hear at intervals the soft blow and the lazy plash of a white whale, turning, it might be, on his other side in his water-bed on the Arctic Sea. Following the whale's example, Leo turned round at last, buried his face in a reindeer pillow, and took refuge in oblivion. CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. A GLORIOUS REGION CONTEMPLATED, AND A GLORIOUS CHASE PLANNED. Leo did not slumber long. Very early in the morning he awoke with that sensation about him which told that at that time further repose was not attainable. He therefore rose, donned the few garments which he had put off on lying down, crept through his tunnel, and emerged into the open air. And what a vision of glorious beauty met his enraptured eyes, while the fresh sea-breeze entered, like life, into his heaving chest! It was still a profound calm. Earth, air, water, sky, seemed to be uniting in a silent act of adoration to their great Creator, while the myriad creatures therein contained were comparatively quiet in the enjoyment of His rich and varied bounties. It seemed as if the hour were too early for the strife of violent passions--too calm for the stirrings of hatred or revenge. Everything around spoke only of peace. Sitting down with his back to a sun-bathed rock, and his face to the silver sea, Leo drew out his Bible and proceeded to read the records of the Prince of Peace. As he lifted his eyes from the words, "marvellous are thy works, and that my soul knoweth right well," to the vision of beauty and life that lay before him, Leo made the words and the thought, for the first time, _his own_. The prospect embraced innumerable islands of all sizes, studding like gems the gently-heaving sea. Over these, countless millions of sea-birds flew or sailed to and fro; some with the busy fluttering of activity, as if they had something to do and a mind to do it; others loitering idly on the wing, or dipping lightly on the wave, as if to bid their images good-morning. Burgomaster, yellow-legged, and pink-beaked gulls, large and small, wheeled in widening circles round him. Occasional flocks of ptarmigan, in the mixed brown and white plumage of summer, whirred swiftly over him and took refuge among the rocky heights of the interior, none of which heights rose above three hundred feet. Eider-ducks, chattering kittiwakes, and graceful tern, auks, guillemots, puffins, geese, and even swans, swarmed on the islands, far and near, while seals, whales, narwhals, dolphins, and grampuses, revelled in the sea, so that the Arctic world appeared almost overcharged with animal life. Of course the noise of their cries and evolutions would have been great had not distance lent enchantment to sound as well as view. To Leo there seemed even a sort of restfulness in the voices of the innumerable wild-fowl. They were so far off, most of them, that the sounds fell on his ear like a gentle plaint, and even the thunderous plash of the great Greenland whale was reduced by distance to a ripple like that which fell on the shore at his feet. While he was meditating, Anders joined him and responded heartily to his salutation, but Anders was not in a poetical frame of mind that morning. His thoughts had been already turned to an eminently practical subject. "I'm tole," said he, seating himself beside our hero, "dat Grabantak holds a talk 'bout fighting." "And a council of war," said Leo. "I know what the result of that will be. When leaders like Grabantak and Amalatok decide for war, most of the people follow them like a flock of sheep. Although most of the people never saw this miserable island--this Puiroe--and know, and care, nothing about it, you'll see that the Flatlanders will be quite enthusiastic after the council, and ready to fight for it to the bitter end. A very bitter end it is, indeed, to see men and women make fools of themselves about nothing, and be ready to die for the same! Will Grabantak allow us to be present at the council, think you?" "Ho yis. He send me to say you muss come." Leo was right. Nothing could surpass the impetuosity of Grabantak, except the anxiety of many of the Flatlanders to be led by the nose. Was not the point in question one of vital importance to the wellbeing of the community--indeed of the whole Arctic world? Teyma mildly asked them what _was_ the point in question, but not a soul could tell, until Grabantak, starting up with furious energy, manufactured a "point," and then explained it in language so intricate, yet so clear, that the whole council stood amazed at their never having seen it before in that light, and then said, more or less emphatically, "There, that's what we thought exactly, only we could not state it so well as the great Grabantak!" After this there was no chance for Teyma and his party--and he had a party, even among northern savages,--who believed in men working hard at their own affairs and letting other people alone, as far as that was possible. But the peace-party in Arctic land was in a minority at that time, and the council broke up with shouts for Grabantak, and denunciations of death and destruction to the men of Poloeland. But things do not always turn out as men--even wise men--arrange them. From that day, during the brief period of preparation for the setting out of an expedition to visit Makitok of Great Isle, Leo received daily visits from the Prime Minister, who was deeply interested and inquisitive about the strange "_thing_," as he styled the Bible, which told the Kablunets about God and the Prince of Peace. Of course Leo was willing and happy to give him all the information he desired, and, in doing so, found a new and deep source of pleasure. Teyma was not the man to hide his light under a bushel. He was a fearless outspoken counsellor, and not only sought to advance the pacific views he held, by talking to the men of his own party in private, but even propounded them in public to Grabantak himself, who, however, could not be moved, though many of his men quietly changed sides. With all this Teyma was loyal to his chief. Whatever he did was in the way of fair and open argument. He was too loyal to help Leo when he made a certain proposal to him one day. "Teyma," said Leo, on that occasion, "you have been very friendly to me. Will you do me a great favour? Will you send a young man in a kayak to Poloeland with a message from me to my people? They must think I am dead. I wish them to know that I am here, and well." "No," replied Teyma promptly; "that would let the men of Poloe know that we talk of going to attack them. I do not love war. I wish to let our enemies alone, but if my chief decides for war, it is my duty to help, not to frustrate him. If we go to war with Poloeland, we must take the men of Poloe by surprise. That could not be if a young man went with your message." Leo saw the force of this, and respected Teyma's disinterested loyalty to his chief; but felt inclined to argue that, fidelity to the best interests of his country stood higher than loyalty to a chief. He refrained, however, from pressing the matter at that time. Not so Anders. When that worthy saw that Teyma would not act, and that Leo from some inexplicable reason hesitated, he quietly took the matter into his own hands, and so wrought on the feelings of a weak but amiable youth of the tribe, that he prevailed on him to carry a message to the enemy, explaining to him earnestly that no evil, but the reverse, would result from his mission; that the Kablunets were men of peace, who would immediately come over to Flatland and put everything right in a peaceable and satisfactory manner. "Tell the white men," said Anders, "that we are prisoners in Flatland-- alive and well--but they must come to help us quickly." No difficulty was experienced in sending the messenger away. There was unlimited personal freedom in Flatland. Young men frequently went off to hunt for days together at a time, without saying anything about their intentions, unless they chose; so the secret messenger set out. Thus the interpreter lighted the fuse of a mine which was eminently calculated to blow up the plans of Grabantak. But another fuse had been lighted which, in a still more effectual manner, overturned the plans of that warlike chief. It chanced at this time that the Flatlanders ran short of meat. Their habit was to go off on a grand hunt, gather as much meat as they could, and then come home to feast and rejoice with their families until scarcity again obliged them to hunt. Of course there were many among them whose natural activity rebelled against this lazy style of life, but the exertions of these did not suffice to keep the whole tribe supplied. Hence it came to pass, that they often began to be in want while in the midst of plenty. A grand hunt was therefore organised. They were tired, they said, of ducks and geese and swans. They wanted a change from seals and bears, walruses and such small fry. Nothing short of a whale would serve them! Once stirred up to the point of action, there was no lack of energy among these northern Eskimos. Kayaks, lines, and spears were got ready, and oomiaks were launched; for women and children loved to see the sport, though they did not join in it. Everywhere bustle and excitement reigned, and the hubbub was not a little increased by the agitated dogs, which knew well what was a-foot, and licked their lips in anticipation. Of course Leo and Anders prepared to go and see the fun. So did Oblooria. It was arranged that Leo and the latter were to go in the india-rubber boat. That vessel had been the source of deep, absorbing interest and curiosity to the natives. When our travellers landed, it had been conveyed to the side of the hut assigned them, and laid gently on the turf, where it was stared at by successive groups all day. They would have stayed staring at it all night, if they had not been forbidden by Grabantak to approach the Kablunets during the hours of repose. Leo explained its parts to them, but made no reference to its expansive and contractile properties. He also launched it and paddled about to gratify the curiosity of his new friends, but did not show them the kite, which, folded and in its cover, he had stowed away in the hut. One night, fearing that the sun might injure the boat, Leo had squeezed the air out of it, folded it, and stowed it away in the hut beside the kite. The astonishment of the natives, when they came out next morning to stare and wonder, according to custom, was very great. Leo resolved to make a mystery of it, looked solemn when spoken to on the point, and gave evasive replies. When, however, the time came for setting off on this grand hunt, he carried his boat, still bundled up in skins, down to the water's edge, where kayaks and oomiaks in hundreds lay ready to be launched. The news spread like wild-fire that the Kablunet was going to "act wonderfully!" Every man, woman, and child in the place hurried to the spot. "It is destroyed!" exclaimed Grabantak, sadly, when he saw the boat unrolled, flat and empty, on the sand. We shall not describe the scene in detail. It is sufficient to say that Leo did not disappoint the general expectation. He did indeed "act wonderfully," filling the unsophisticated savages with unbounded surprise and admiration, while he filled the boat with air and launched it. He then stepped into it with Anders, gallantly lifted Oblooria on board, and, seizing the oars, rowed gently out to sea. With shouts of delight the Eskimos jumped into their kayaks and followed. Their admiration was, however, a little calmed by the discovery that the kayaks could beat the Kablunet boat in speed, though the women in their oomiaks could not keep up with it. There was no emulation, however; Leo carefully refrained from racing. He had been supplied with a long lance and a couple of spears, to which latter were attached, by thongs of walrus hide, two inflated sealskins to act as buoys. These Leo had been previously instructed how to use. He took the kite with him on this occasion, without, however, having much expectation of being able to use it, as the calm still prevailed. It was folded of course, and fixed in its place in the bow. The natives thought it must be a spear or harpoon of strange form. It was not long before a whale was sighted. There were plenty of these monsters about, some coming lazily to the surface to blow, others lying quite still, with their backs out of the water as if sunning themselves, or asleep. Soon the spirit of the hunter filled each Eskimo bosom. What appeared to be an unusually large whale was observed on the horizon. Kablunets, india-rubber boats, and all less important things, were forgotten for the moment; paddles were plied with energy, and the chase began. CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. IN WHICH A GREAT HUNT IS DESCRIBED, A WAR EXPEDITION FRUSTRATED, AND A HERO ENNOBLED. Now, in a fit of unwise ambition, Anders the interpreter resolved to signalise himself, and display his valour on the occasion of this hunt. He borrowed a kayak of one of the natives, and went as an independent hunter. Leo, being quite able to row his boat alone, with Oblooria to steer, did not object. The whale which had been selected was a thorough-going Arctic monster of the largest size, nearly a hundred feet long, which, while on his passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific through Behring Straits, had paused for a nap off the isles of Flatland. The fleet of kayaks converged towards the fish like a flock of locusts. Despite his utmost efforts, Leo could not do more than keep up in rear of the hunters, for the sharp shuttle-like kayaks shot like arrows over the smooth sea, while his clumsier boat required greater force to propel it. In a few minutes those Eskimos who were best paddlers crept ahead of the rest. Grabantak and his son took the lead, whether because of right or because of superior strength it was hard to say. Anders, who was a powerful fellow, and an expert canoeman, kept close alongside of them. Not content with this, he attempted to pass them; but they saw his intention, put on what sporting men call a "spurt," and in a few seconds left him several yards behind. On nearing their victim, Grabantak and Koyatuk checked their speed and got their spears ready. A few minutes later and a dozen of the followers were up and prepared to act, but they all held back--all except the excitable Anders--while the chief and his son glided cautiously towards the fish, one on either side. Suddenly each grasped a spear and drove it with all the force of both arms deep into the whale's flesh. It was a rude awaking! Of course the fish dived instantly. In doing so it flung its tail on high with a superb sweep, sending tons of water, and the impatient Anders, into the air. The interpreter came down in a cataract of spray, with his kayak doubled up but himself uninjured, while the Eskimos greeted the event with a shout of alarm. This changed into laughter when it was found that the ambitious man was none the worse for his toss; and the women in one of the oomiak; paddling quickly up, hauled the drenched and crestfallen man out of the sea. They also picked up his spear with the sealskin buoy attached. Giving him the place of honour in the bow, they put the spear in his hand, and bade him keep up heart and do better next time. Meanwhile the whale, having got over its first surprise, and feeling the two large sealskin-floats a somewhat heavy as well as unusual drag, soon came again to the surface, not far from the spot where Leo lay on his oars, an amused as well as interested spectator of the scene. "Ho!" shrieked Oblooria, whose eager little heart was easily excited. She pointed to the fish, and gazed at Leo with blazing eyes. You may be sure our hero did not lose time. The india-rubber boat leaped over the water as if it had suddenly been endowed with life. The smart little woman carefully arranged the spear and buoy ready to hand. Several of the kayaks which chanced to be nearest to the whale rushed towards it like sword-fish; but they had no chance, Leo being so near. He did not check his speed on reaching the fish, but allowed the boat to run tilt on its back. The smooth india-rubber glided up on the slippery surface till more than half its length was on the creature's back. It was thus checked without a shock--probably unfelt by the whale. Leo seized the spear, leaped up, and, with both hands, drove it deep into the flesh, just as the chief and his son had done. The force with which he drove it was so great that it thrust the boat back into the water. This was fortunate, for it enabled them narrowly to escape the vortex that was instantly made by the diving of the now enraged monster; a few back-strokes of the oars took them out of the sea of foam left behind. The masterly manner in which this was done called forth shouts of admiration from the entire fleet, and it greatly surprised Leo himself, for it was the first time he had attempted to use the harpoon. "It _must_ have been chance," he muttered to himself as he again lay on his oars awaiting the whale's reappearance, "a sort of happy accident. I feel convinced I could not do it so well a second time." The fish took a longer dive on this occasion, and when he retained to the surface for another breath of air, was at a considerable distance from all parts of the fleet. The instant he was seen, however, every paddle flashed into the sea, and the kayaks darted away in pursuit. They soon came up with their victim, and another spear, with its accompanying sealskin buoy, was fixed in its side. Down it went a third time, and reappeared in quite an opposite direction from that in which it had been looked for. This uncertainty in the movements of the whale was a matter of small moment to the occupiers of the light kayaks, but it told rather heavily on Leo in his clumsier boat. He therefore resolved to paddle gently about, take things easy, watch the progress of the chase, and trust to the chapter of accidents giving him another chance. "You see, Oblooria," he said in the Eskimo tongue, which he was picking up rapidly, "it's of no use my pulling wildly about in all directions, blowing myself for nothing; so we'll just hang off-and-on here and watch them." As this remark called for no direct reply, Oblooria merely smiled-- indeed she more than smiled--but said nothing. It is just possible that Leo's rendering of the phrase "off-and-on" into Eskimo may have sounded ridiculous. However this may be, the two sat there for some time, absorbed and silent spectators of the chase. "How long will they take to kill it?" asked Leo when he saw Grabantak thrust somewhere about the thirty-fifth spear into the victim. "All day," answered Oblooria. "All day!" repeated Leo in surprise. "If they could lance him far in," said the girl, "he would die soon, but his flesh is thick and his life is deep down." Leo relapsed into silence. The idea of remaining a mere spectator all day was distasteful to his active mind and body. He had almost made up his mind to ask one of the natives to lend him a kayak and change places, when a puff of wind sent a few cats-paws over the hitherto glassy sea. He looked quickly in the direction whence it came, and observed a blue line on the horizon. It was a coming breeze. Ere long it touched them, blowing gently, indeed, but steadily. A glance upwards showed that it was steadier and stronger in the upper regions, and blew towards the south-east, in which direction the chase was being prosecuted with unflagging activity. "If there was only enough," muttered Leo, "to take the kite up, I'd soon be alongside of the whale; come, I'll try. Lend a hand, Oblooria." The Eskimo girl had, during her voyage to Flatland, become so well acquainted with the operation of extending and setting up the kite, that she was able to lend effective assistance. In less than ten minutes it was expanded, and although Leo was nearly pulled into the water before he got fair hold of the regulator, while Oblooria was thrown down by an eccentric whisk of the tail, they managed at last to get it fairly over their heads, and soon sent it shooting upwards into the stronger air current above. Of course they began to rush over the sea at a pace that would have quickly left the best kayak in the fleet far astern, but Leo did not wish to act precipitately. He sat down in the bow to attend to the regulator, while Oblooria held the steering-oar. "Keep her away a bit, Oblooria; starboard--I mean to _that_ side. So, we won't spoil their sport too soon." He pulled the regulator as he spoke, and eased the pace, while the Eskimo girl, with eyes glittering from expectancy and hope, turned the boat off to the right. Leo seemed to be meditative at first, as if uncertain how to proceed. Soon this condition of mind passed. He let go the regulator, and, taking up the long whale lance with which he had been provided, examined its blade and point. The full force of the breeze filled the kite and carried them along at not less than ten miles an hour. Hitherto the Eskimos had been so intent on their prey that they had no eyes for anything else. Again and again had the whale been pierced by the stinging harpoons, and the number of inflated sealskins which he was obliged by that time to drag down into the deep was so great that his dives had become more frequent and much shorter. It was obvious that the perseverance of his little foes would in the end overcome his mighty strength. It was equally evident, however, that there was still a great deal of fighting power left in him, and as some of the harpoons had come out while several of the floats had broken loose, there was just a possibility that he might yet escape if not vigorously followed up. Suddenly one of the Eskimos was seen to drop his paddle and point with both hands to the sky, uttering at the same time a cry of surprise and alarm. There was no mistaking the cry. Every paddle ceased to dip, and every eye was turned to the sky. Of course every voice gave forth a howl! "A mystery!" shouted Grabantak. "An evil spirit!" cried Koyatuk. "A new kind of bird!" roared Teyma. At that moment a cry louder than ever arose. Leo's boat was observed coming like a narwhal over the sea, with the foam flying from its bows! The "new kind of bird," so they at first imagined, had let down a long thin tail, caught the boat of the white man, and was flying away with it! Into the midst of them the boat rushed. They dashed aside right and left. Leo was standing in the bow. He moved not, spoke not, looked at no one, but stood up, bent a little forward, with a stern frown on his brow, his lips compressed, and the long lance held level in both hands as if in the act of charging. "Catch hold of him!" yelled Grabantak as they flew past. As well might they have tried to catch a comet! "Steer a little to the left," said Leo in a low tone. Obedient, on the instant, the girl made a sharp stroke with the oar. "Steady--so. Now, Oblooria, hold on tight for your life!" They were going straight at the whale. Leo did not dare to think of the result of his intended attack. He could not guess it. He hoped all would be well. He had no time to think of _pros_ and _cons_. They were close to the victim. On it, now, sliding over its back, while the sharp lance entered its body with the full momentum of the charge,--deep down into its vitals! Blood flew out like a waterspout. The lance was torn from Leo's grasp as he fell backwards. Oblooria leaped up, in wild excitement, dropped her oar, and clapped her hands. At that instant the stout traction-line snapped, and the boat remained fast, while the kite descended in a series of helpless gyrations into the sea. Next moment the whale went down in a convulsive struggle, and the boat, with its daring occupants, was whelmed in a whirlpool of blood and foam. No cry proceeded from the Eskimos during this stupendous attack. They seemed bereft alike of voice and volition, but, on beholding the closing catastrophe, they rushed to the rescue with a united roar. Before they could gain the spot, Leo was seen to emerge from the deep, dripping with pink and white foam like a very water-god. Oblooria followed instantly, like a piebald water-nymph. The boat had not been upset, though overwhelmed, and they had held on to it with the tenacity of a last hope. Looking sharply round, as he gasped and swept the water from his eyes, Leo seized the oars, which, being attached to the boat, were still available, and rowed with all his might away from the approaching Eskimos as if he were afraid of being caught by them. They followed with, if possible, increased surprise at this inexplicable conduct. They made up to him; some even shot ahead of him. Poor Leo was not a moment too soon in reaching his kite, for these people were about to transfix it with their whale-harpoons, when he dashed up and ordered them to desist. Having rescued the miserable-looking thing from the sea and hastily folded it, he placed it in the bow. Then breathing freely, he began to look about him just as the whale came again to the surface in a dying flurry. It so chanced that it came up right under Grabantak's kayak, which it tossed up end over end. This would not have been a serious matter if it had not, the next moment, brought its mighty tail down on the canoe. It then sheered off a hundred yards or so, leaped half its length out of the water, and fell over on its side with a noise like thunder and died. Every one turned to the place where the chief's kayak lay a complete wreck on the water. Its owner was seen swimming beside it, and was soon hauled into one of the women's oomiaks. Evidently he had been severely hurt, but he would not admit the fact. With characteristic dignity he sternly ordered the fleet to lay hold of the whale and make for the shore. "Tell him his arm is broken," said Leo that evening to Anders, after examining the chief's hurts in the privacy of his own hut, "and let him know that I am a medicine-man and will try to cure him." Grabantak received the information with a look of anger. "Then," said he, "Amalatok must live a little longer, for I cannot fight him with a broken arm. Go," he added, looking full at Leo with something like admiration, "go, you have done well to-day; my young men want to make your nose blue." The peremptory nature of the chief's command forbade delay. Leo was therefore obliged to creep out of his hut, wondering intensely, and not a little uncomfortably, as to what having his nose made blue could mean. He was quickly enlightened by Anders, who told him that the most successful harpooner in a whale hunt is looked on as a very great personage indeed, and is invariably decorated with what may be styled the Eskimo order of the Blue Ribbon. Scarcely had he received this information, when he was seized by the young men and hurried into the midst of an expectant circle, where he submitted with a good grace to the ceremony. A youth advanced to him, made a few complimentary remarks, seized him by the right ear, and, with a little wet paint, drew a broad blue line across his face over the bridge of his nose. He was then informed that he had received the highest honour known to the Eskimos of the far north, and that, among other privileges, it gave him the right of marrying two wives if he felt disposed to do so! Accepting the honour, but declining the privilege, Leo expressed his gratitude for the compliment just paid him in a neat Eskimo speech, and then retired to his hut in search of much-needed repose, not a little comforted by the thought that the chief's broken arm would probably postpone the threatened war for an indefinite period. That night ridiculous fancies played about his deerskin pillow, for he dreamed of being swallowed by a mad whale, and whisked up to the sky by a kite with a broken arm and a blue stripe across its nose! CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. TELLS OF A WARLIKE EXPEDITION AND ITS HAPPY TERMINATION. While these stirring events were taking place in Flatland, our friends in the Island of Poloe continued to fish and hunt, and keep watch and ward against their expected enemies in the usual fashion; but alas for the poor Englishmen! All the light had gone out of their eyes; all the elasticity had vanished from their spirits. Ah! it is only those who know what it is to lose a dear friend or brother, who can understand the terrible blank which had descended on the lives of our discoverers, rendering them, for the time at least, comparatively indifferent to the events that went on around them, and totally regardless of the great object which had carried them so far into those regions of ice. They could no longer doubt that Leo and his companions had perished, for they had searched every island of the Poloe group, including that one on which Leo and the Eskimos had found temporary refuge. Here, indeed, a momentary gleam of hope revived, when Alf found the spent cartridge-cases which his brother had thrown down on the occasion of his shooting for the purpose of impressing his captors, and they searched every yard of the island, high and low, for several days, before suffering themselves to relapse into the old state of despair. No evidence whatever remained to mark the visit of the Eskimos, for these wily savages never left anything behind them on their war-expeditions, and the storm had washed away any footprints that might have remained in the hard rocky soil. Amalatok--who, with his son and his men, sympathised with the Englishmen in their loss, and lent able assistance in the prolonged search--gave the final death-blow to their hopes by his remarks, when Captain Vane suggested that perhaps the lost ones had been blown over the sea to Flatland. "That is not possible," said Amalatok promptly. "Why not? The distance is not so very great." "The distance is not very great, that is true," replied Amalatok. "If Lo had sailed away to Flatland he might have got safely there, but Blackbeard surely forgets that the storm did not last more than a few hours. If Lo had remained even a short time on this island, would not the calm weather which followed the storm have enabled him to paddle back again to Poloe? No, he must have thought the storm was going to be a long one, and thinking that, must have tried, again to face it and paddle against it. In this attempt he has perished. Without doubt Lo and Unders and Oblooria are in the land of spirits." Eskimos of the far north, unlike the red men of the prairies, are prone to give way to their feelings. At the mention of the timid one's name, Oolichuk covered his face with his hands and wept aloud. Poor Alf and Benjy felt an almost irresistible desire to join him. All the fun and frolic had gone completely out of the latter, and as for Alf, he went about like a man half asleep, with a strange absent look in his eyes and a perfect blank on his expressionless face. No longer did he roam the hills of Poloeland with geological hammer and box. He merely went fishing when advised or asked to do so, or wandered aimlessly on the sea-shore. The Captain and Benjy acted much in the same way. In the extremity of their grief they courted solitude. The warm hearts of Chingatok and the negro beat strong with sympathy. They longed to speak words of comfort, but at first delicacy of feeling, which is found in all ranks and under every skin, prevented them from intruding on sorrow which they knew not how to assuage. At last the giant ventured one day to speak to Alf. "Has the Great Spirit no word of comfort for His Kablunet children?" he asked. "Yes, yes," replied Alf quickly. "He says, `Call upon me in the time of trouble and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.'" "Have you not called?" asked Chingatok with a slight look of surprise. "No; I say it to my shame, Chingatok. This blow has so stunned me that I had forgotten my God." "Call now," said the giant earnestly. "If He is a good and true God, He must keep His promise." Alf did call, then and there, and the Eskimo stood and listened with bowed head and reverent look, until the poor youth had concluded his prayer with the name of Jesus. The negro's line of argument with Benjy was different and characteristically lower toned. "You muss keep up de heart, Massa Benjy. Nobody nebber knows wot may come for to pass. P'r'aps Massa Leo he go to de Nort Pole by hisself. He was allers bery fond o' takin' peepil by surprise. Nebber say die, Massa Benjy, s'long's der's a shot in de locker." At any other time Benjy would have laughed at the poor cook's efforts to console him, but he only turned away with a sigh. Two days after that the Eskimos of Poloe were assembled on the beach making preparations to go off on a seal hunt. "Is that a whale on the horizon or a walrus!" asked the Captain, touching Chingatok on the arm as they stood on the edge of the sea, ready to embark. "More like a black gull," said Benjy, "or a northern diver." Chingatok looked long and earnestly at the object in question, and then said with emphasis--"A kayak!" "One of the young men returning from a hunt, I suppose," said Alf, whose attention was aroused by the interest manifested by the surrounding Eskimos. "Not so," said Amalatok, who joined the group at the moment, "the man paddles like a man of Flatland." "What! one of your enemies?" cried the Captain, who, in his then state of depression, would have welcomed a fight as a sort of relief. Evidently Butterface shared his hopes, for he showed the whites of his eyes and grinned amazingly as he clenched his horny hands. "Yes--our enemies," said Amalatok. "The advanced guard of the host," said the Captain, heartily; "come, the sooner we get ready for self-defence the better." "Yis, dat's de word," said the negro, increasing his grin for a moment and then collapsing into sudden solemnity; "we nebber fights 'cep' in self-defence--oh no--_nebber_!" "They come not to attack," said Chingatok quietly. "Flatlanders never come except in the night when men sleep. This is but one man." "Perhaps he brings news!" exclaimed Benjy, with a sudden blaze of hope. "Perhaps," echoed Alf, eagerly. "It may be so," said Chingatok. It was not long before the question was set at rest. The approaching kayak came on at racing speed. Its occupant leaped on shore, and, panting from recent exertion, delivered his thrilling message. "Prisoners in Flatland," said the Captain at the council of war which was immediately summoned, "but alive and well. Let us be thankful for that good news, anyhow; but then, they ask us to help them, _quickly_. That means danger." "Yes, danger!" shouted Oolichuk, who, at the thought of Oblooria in the hands of his foes, felt an almost irresistible desire to jump at some of the youths of his own tribe, and kill them, by way of relieving his feelings. "Rest content, Oolichuk," cried Amalatok, with a horrible grinding of his teeth; "we will tear out their hearts, and batter in their skulls, and--" "But," resumed the Captain hastily, "I do not think the danger so great. All I would urge is that we should not delay going to their rescue--" "Ho! huk! hi!" interrupted the whole band of assembled warriors, leaping up and going through sundry suggestive actions with knives and spears. "Does my father wish me to get the kayaks ready?" asked Chingatok, who, as usual, retained his composure. "Do, my son. Let plenty of blubber be stowed in them, and war-spears," said the old chief; "we will start at once." The promptitude with which these northern Eskimos prepared for war might be a lesson to the men of civilised communities. We have already said that the sun had by that time begun to set for a few hours each day. Before it had reached the deepest twilight that night a hundred and fifty picked warriors, with their kayaks and war material, were skimming over the sea, led by the fiery old chief and his gigantic but peace-loving son. Of course Captain Vane, Benjy, Alphonse Vandervell, and Butterface accompanied them, but none of the women were allowed to go, as it was expected that the war would be a bloody one. These, therefore, with the children, were left in charge of a small body of the big boys of the tribe, with the old men. The weather was fine, the sea smooth, and the arms of the invading host strong. It was not long before the sea that separated Poloe Island from Flatland was crossed. Towards sunset of a calm and beautiful day they sighted land. Gently, with noiseless dip of paddle, they glided onward like a phantom fleet. That same evening Leo and Oblooria sat by the couch of Grabantak, nursing him. The injury received by the chief from the whale had thrown him into a high fever. The irritation of enforced delay on his fiery spirit had made matters worse, and at times he became delirious. During these paroxysms it required two men to hold him down, while he indulged in wild denunciations of his Poloe foes, with frequent allusions to dread surgical operations to be performed on the body of Amalatok-- operations with which the Royal College of Surgeons is probably unacquainted. Leo, whose knowledge of the Eskimo tongue was rapidly extending, sought to counteract the patient's ferocity by preaching forgiveness and patience. Being unsuccessful, he had recourse to a soporific plant which he had recently discovered. To administer an overdose of this was not unnatural, perhaps, in a youthful doctor. Absolute prostration was not the precise result he had hoped for, but it _was_ the result, and it had the happy effect of calming the spirit of Grabantak and rendering him open to conviction. Fortunately the Flatlanders were on the look-out when the men of Poloe drew near. One of the Flatland braves was returning from a fishing expedition at the time, saw the advancing host while they were yet well out at sea, and came home at racing speed with the news. "Strange that they should come to attack _us_," said Teyma to Leo at the council of war which was immediately called. "It has always, up to this time, been our custom to attack _them_." "Not so strange as you think," said Anders, who now, for the first time, mentioned the sending of the message to Poloeland. Black looks were turned on the interpreter, and several hands wandered towards boots in search of daggers, when the prime minister interfered. "You did not well, Unders, to act without letting us know," he said with grave severity. "We must now prepare to meet the men of Poloe, whether they come as friends or foes. Let the young men arm. I go to consult with our chief." "You must not consult with Grabantak," said Leo firmly. "He lies limp. His backbone has no more strength than a piece of walrus line. His son must act for him at present." "Boo!" exclaimed one of the warriors, with a look of ineffable contempt, "Koyatuk is big enough, but he is brainless. He can bluster and look fierce like the walrus, but he has only the wisdom of an infant puffin. No, we will be led by Teyma." This sentiment was highly applauded by the entire council, which included the entire army, indeed the whole grown-up male part of the nation; so that Koyatuk was deposed on the spot, as all incompetents ought to be, and one of the best men of Flatland was put in his place. "But if I am to lead you," said the premier firmly, "it shall be to peace, not to war!" "Lead us to what you like; you have brains," returned the man who had previously said "boo!" "We know not what is best, but we can trust you." Again the approval was unanimous. "Well, then, I accept the command until my chief's health is restored," said Teyma, rising. "Now, the council is at an end. To your huts, warriors, and get your spears ready; and to your lamps, girls. Prepare supper for our warriors, and let the allowance of each be doubled." This latter command caused no small degree of surprise, but no audible comment was made, and strict obedience was rendered. Leo returned to Grabantak's hut, where he found that fiery chief as limp as ever, but with some of the old spirit left, for he was feebly making uncomfortable references to the heart, liver, and other vital organs of Amalatok and all his band. Soon afterwards that band came on in battle array, on murderous deeds intent. The Flatlanders assembled on the beach to receive them. "Leave your spears on the ground behind you," shouted Teyma to his host; "advance to the water's edge, and at my signal, throw up your arms." "They have been forewarned," growled Amalatok, grinding his teeth in disappointment, and checking the advance of his fleet by holding up one hand. "No doubt," said Captain Vane, who, with Benjy, Alf, and Butterface, was close to the Poloe chief in one of the india-rubber boats, "no doubt my young countryman, having sent a message, expected us. Surely--eh! Benjy, is not that Leo standing in front of the rest with another man?" The Captain applied his binocular telescope to his eyes as he spoke. "Yes, it's him--thank God! and I see Anders too, quite plainly, and Oblooria!" "Are they bound hand and foot?" demanded Amalatok, savagely. "No, they are as free as you are. And the Eskimos are unarmed, apparently." "Ha! that is their deceit," growled the chief. "The Flatlanders were always sly; but they shall not deceive us. Braves, get ready your spears!" "May it not be that Leo has influenced them peacefully, my father?" suggested Chingatok. "Not so, my son," said the chief savagely. "Grabantak was always sly as a white fox, fierce as a walrus, mean as a wolf, greedy as a black gull, contemptible as--" The catalogue of Grabantak's vices was cut short by the voice of Teyma coming loud and strong over the sea. "If the men of Poloe come as friends, let them land. The men of Flatland are about to feed, and will share their supper. If the men of Poloe come as foes, still I say let them land. The braves of Flatland have sharpened their spears!" Teyma threw up both hands as he finished, and all his host followed suit. For a moment or two the Poloese hesitated. They still feared deception. Then the voice of Leo was heard loud and clear. "Why do you hesitate? come on, uncle, supper's getting cold. We've been waiting for you a long time, and are all very hungry!" This was received with a shout of laughter by the Englishmen, high above which rose a wild cheer of joy from Benjy. Amalatok swallowed his warlike spirit, laid aside his spear, and seized his paddle. Chingatok gave the signal to advance, and, a few minutes later, those warriors of the north--those fierce savages who, probably for centuries, had been sworn hereditary foes--were seated round the igloe-lamps, amicably smearing their fingers and faces with fat, as they feasted together on chops of the walrus and cutlets of the polar bear. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. THE GREAT DISCOVERY. Friendly relations having been established between the Flatlanders and the Poloese, both nations turned their attention to the arts of peace. Among other things, Captain Vane and his party devoted themselves once more, with renewed energy, to the pursuit of discovery and scientific investigation. An expedition was planned to _Great Isle_, not now for the purpose of consulting Makitok, the oracle, as to the best time for going to war, but to gratify the wishes of Captain Vane, who had the strongest reason for believing that he was in the immediate neighbourhood of the Pole. "Blackbeard says he must be very near nothing now," observed Chingatok to Anders the day after their arrival. "Near _nothing_!" exclaimed Teyma, who was sitting close by. Of course the giant explained, and the premier looked incredulous. "I wish I had not left my sextant behind me in the hurry of departure," said the Captain that evening to Leo. "But we came off in such hot haste that I forgot it. However, I'll ask Amalatok to send a young man back for it. I'm persuaded we cannot now be more than a few miles distant from our goal." "I quite agree with you, uncle, for when I looked at the north star last night it seemed to me as directly in the zenith as it was possible to imagine." "Ay, lad; but the unaided eye is deceptive. A few miles of difference cannot be distinguished by it. When did the Pole star become visible?" "Only last night; I fancied I had made it out the night before, but was not quite sure, the daylight, even at the darkest hour, being still too intense to let many of the stars be seen." "Well, we shall see. I am of opinion that we are still between twenty and forty miles south of the Pole. Meanwhile, I'll induce Teyma to get up an expedition to the island of this Maki-what?" "Tok," said Leo; "Makitok. Everything almost ends in _tok_ or _tuk_ hereabouts." "Who, and what, is this man?" asked the Captain. "No one seems to know precisely. His origin has been lost in the mists of antiquity. His first forefather--so tradition styles him--seems, like Melchisedec, to have had no father or mother, and to have come from no one knows where. Anyhow he founded a colony in _Great Isle_, and Makitok is the present head of all the families." Leo then explained about the mystery-thing called _buk_, which was wrapped up in innumerable pieces of sealskin. "Strange," said the Captain, "passing strange. All you tell me makes me the more anxious to visit this man of the valley. You say there is no chance of Grabantak being able to take the reins of government again for a long time?" "None. He has got a shake that will keep him helpless for some time to come. And this is well, for Teyma will be ready to favour any project that tends towards peace or prosperity." Now, while preparations for the northern expedition were being made, our friend Oolichuk went a-wooing. And this is the fashion in which he did it. Arraying himself one day, like any other lovesick swain, in his best, he paid a ceremonial visit to Oblooria, who lived with Merkut, the wife of Grabantak, in a hut at the eastern suburb of the village. Oolichuk's costume was simple, if not elegant. It consisted of an undercoat of bird-skins, with the feathers inwards; bearskin pantaloons with the hair out; an upper coat of the grey seal; dogskin socks and sealskin boots. That young Eskimo did not visit his bride empty-handed. He carried a bundle containing a gift--skins of the young eider-duck to make an undergarment for his lady-love, two plump little auks with which to gratify her palate, and a bladder of oil to wash them down and cause her heart to rejoice. Good fortune favoured this brave man, for he met Oblooria at a lonely part of the shore among the boulders. Romance lies deep in the heart of an Eskimo--so deep that it is not perceptible to the naked eye. Whatever the Poloe warrior and maiden felt, they took care not to express in words. But Oolichuk looked unutterable things, and invited Oblooria to dine then and there. The lady at once assented with a bashful smile, and sat down on a boulder. Oolichuk sat down beside her, and presented the bundle of under-clothing. While the lady was examining this with critical eyes, the gentleman prepared the food. Taking one of the auks, he twisted off its head, put his forefinger under the integuments of the neck, drew the skin down backwards, and the bird was skinned. Then he ran his long thumb-nail down the breast and sliced off a lump, which he presented to the lady with the off-hand air of one who should say, "If you don't want it you may let it alone!" Raw though the morsel was, Oblooria accepted it with a pleased look, and ate it with relish. She also accepted the bladder, and, putting it to her lips, pledged him in a bumper of oil. Oolichuk continued this process until the first auk was finished. He then treated the second bird in the same manner, and assisted his lady-love to consume it, as well as the remainder of the oil. Conversation did not flow during the first part of the meal, but, after having drunk deeply, their lips were opened and the feast of reason began. It consisted chiefly of a running commentary by the man on the Kablunets and their ways, and appreciative giggles on the part of the woman; but they were interrupted at the very commencement by the sudden appearance of one of the Kablunets sauntering towards them. They rose instantly and rambled away in opposite directions, absorbed in contemplation--the one of the earth, and the other of the sky. Three days after that, Captain Vane and his party approached the shores of _Great Isle_. It was low like the other islands of Flatland, but of greater extent, insomuch that its entire circumference could not be seen from its highest central point. Like the other islands it was quite destitute of trees, but the low bush was luxuriantly dense, and filled, they were told, with herds of reindeer and musk-oxen. Myriads of wild-fowl--from the lordly swan to the twittering sandpiper--swarmed among its sedgy lakelets, while grouse and ptarmigan were to be seen in large flocks on its uplands. The land was clothed in mosses and grasses of the richest green, and decked with variegated wild-flowers and berries. The voyagers were received with deep interest and great hospitality by the inhabitants of the coast, who, it seemed, never quarrelled with the neighbouring islanders or went to war. Makitok dwelt in the centre of the island. Thither they therefore went the following day. It was afternoon when they came to the valley in which dwelt the angekok, or, as Red Indians would have styled him, the medicine-man. It was a peculiar valley. Unlike other vales it had neither outlet or inlet, but was a mere circular basin or depression of vast extent, the lowest part of which was in its centre. The slope towards the centre was so gradual that the descent was hardly perceived, yet Captain Vane could not resist the conviction that the lowest part of the vale must be lower than the surface of the sea. The rich luxuriance of herbage in Great Isle seemed to culminate in this lovely vale. At the centre and lowest part of the valley, Makitok, or rather Makitok's forefathers, had built their dwelling. It was a hut, resembling the huts of the Eskimos. No other hut was to be seen. The angekok loved solitude. Beside the hut there stood a small truncated cone about fifteen feet high, on the summit of which sat an old white-bearded man, who intently watched the approaching travellers. "Behold--Makitok!" said Teyma as they drew near. The old man did not move. He appeared to be over eighty years of age, and, unlike Eskimos in general, had a bushy snow-white beard. The thin hair on his head was also white, and his features were good. Our travellers were not disappointed with this strange recluse, who received them with an air of refinement and urbanity so far removed from Eskimo manners and character, that Captain Vane felt convinced he must be descended from some other branch of the human family. Makitok felt and expressed a degree of interest in the objects of the expedition which had not been observed in any Eskimo, except Chingatok, and he was intelligent and quick of perception far before most of those who surrounded him. "And what have you to say about yourself?" asked the captain that evening, after a long animated conversation on the country and its productions. "I have little to say," replied the old man, sadly. "There is no mystery about my family except its beginning in the long past." "But is not _all_ mystery in the long past?" asked the Captain. "True, my son, but there is a difference in _my_ mystery. Other Eskimos can trace back from son to father till they get confused and lost, as if surrounded by the winter-fogs. But when I trace back--far back--I come to one man--my _first father_, who had no father, it is said, and who came no one knows from where. My mind is not confused or lost; it is stopped!" "Might not the mystery-bundle that you call _buk_ explain matters?" asked Alf. When this was translated, the old man for the first time looked troubled. "I dare not open it," he said in an undertone, as if speaking to himself. "From father to son we have held it sacred. It must grow-- ever grow--never diminish!" "It's a pity he looks at it in that light," remarked Leo to Benjy, as they lay down to sleep that night. "I have no doubt that the man whom he styles first father wrapped up the thing, whatever it is, to keep it safe, not to make a mystery of it, and that his successors, having begun with a mistaken view, have now converted the re-wrapping of the bundle by each successive heir into a sacred obligation. However, we may perhaps succeed in overcoming the old fellow's prejudices. Good-night, Benjy." A snore from Benjy showed that Leo's words had been thrown away, so, with a light laugh, he turned over, and soon joined his comrade in the land of dreams. For two weeks the party remained on _Great Isle_, hunting, shooting, fishing, collecting, and investigating; also, we may add, astonishing the natives. During that period many adventures of a more or less exciting nature befell them, which, however, we must pass over in silence. At the end of that time, the youth who had been sent for the Captain's sextant and other philosophical instruments arrived with them all--thermometers, barometers, chronometers, wind and water gauges, pendulums, etcetera, safe and sound. As the instruments reached _Cup Valley_, (so Benjy had styled Makitok's home), in the morning, it was too early for taking trustworthy observations. The Captain therefore employed the time in erecting an observatory. For this purpose he selected, with Makitok's permission, the truncated cone close to the recluse's dwelling. Here, after taking formal possession and hoisting the Union Jack, he busied himself, in a state of subdued excitement, preparing for the intended observations. "I'll fix the latitude and longitude in a few hours," he said. "Meantime, Leo, you and Benjy had better go off with the rifle and fetch us something good for dinner." Leo and Benjy were always ready to go a-hunting. They required no second bidding, but were soon rambling over the slopes or wading among the marshes of the island in pursuit of game. Leo carried his repeater; Benjy the shot-gun. Both wore native Eskimo boots as long as the leg, which, being made of untanned hide, are, when soaked, thoroughly waterproof. (See Note.) Oolichuk and Butterface carried the game-bags, and these were soon filled with such game as was thought best for food. Sending them back to camp with orders to empty the bags and return, Leo and Benjy took to the uplands in search of nobler game. It was not difficult to find. Soon a splendid stag was shot by Leo and a musk-ox by Benjy. Not long after this, the bag-bearers returned. "You shoots mos' awful well, Massas," said Butterface; "but it's my 'pinion dat you bof better go home, for Captain Vane he go mad!" "What d'you mean, Butterface?" asked Leo. "I mean dat de Capp'n he's hoed mad, or suffin like it, an' Massa Alf not mush better." A good deal amused and surprised by the negro's statement, the two hunters hastened back to Makitok's hut, where they indeed found Captain Vane in a state of great excitement. "Well, uncle, what's the news?" asked Leo; "found your latitude higher than you expected?" "Higher!" exclaimed the Captain, seizing his nephew by both hands and shaking them. "Higher! I should think so--couldn't be _higher_. There's neither latitude nor longitude here, my boy! I've found it! Come--come up, and I'll show you the exact spot--the _North Pole itself_!" He dragged Leo to the top of the truncated cone on which he had pitched his observatory. "There, look round you," he cried, taking off his hat and wiping the perspiration from his brow. "Well, uncle, where is it?" asked Leo, half-amused and half-sceptical. "Where! why, don't you see it? No, of course you don't. You're looking _all round it_, lad. Look down,--down at your feet. Leonard Vandervell," he added, in sudden solemnity, "you're _on it_! you're standing on the North Pole _now_!" Leo still looked incredulous. "What I you don't believe? Convince him, Alf." "Indeed it is true," said Alf; "we have been testing and checking our observations in every possible manner, and the result never varies more than a foot or two. The North Pole is at this moment actually under our feet." As we have now, good reader, at last reached that great _point_ of geographical interest which has so long perplexed the world and agitated enterprising man, we deem this the proper place to present you with a map of Captain Vane's discoveries. "And so," said Benjy with an injured look, "the geography books are right after all; the world _is_ `a little flattened at the Poles like an orange.' Well, I never believed it before, and I don't believe _yet_ that it's like an orange." "But it is more than flattened, Benjy," said Leo; "don't you see it is even hollowed out a little, as if the spinning of the world had made a sort of whirlpool at the North Pole, and no doubt there is the same at the South." Chingatok, who was listening to the conversation, without of course understanding it, and to whom the Captain had made sundry spasmodic remarks during the day in the Eskimo tongue, went that night to Amalatok, who was sitting in Makitok's hut, and said-- "My father, Blackbeard has found it!" "Found what, my son?--his nothing--his Nort Pole?" "Yes, my father, he has found his Nort Pole." "Is he going to carry it away with him in his soft wind-boat?" asked the old chief with a half-humorous, half-contemptuous leer. "And," continued Chingatok, who was too earnest about the matter to take notice of his father's levity, "his Nort Pole is _something_ after all! It is not nothing, for I heard him say he is standing on it. No man can stand on nothing; therefore his Nort Pole which he stands on must be something." "He is standing on my outlook. He must not carry _that_ away," remarked Makitok with a portentous frown. "Boh!" exclaimed Amalatok, rising impatiently. "I will not listen to the nonsense of Blackbeard. Have I not heard him say that the world stands on nothing, spins on nothing, and rolls continually round the sun? How can anything spin on nothing? And as to the sun, use your own eyes. Do you not see that for a long time it rolls round the world, for a long time it rolls in a circle above us, and for a long time it rolls away altogether, leaving us all in darkness? My son, these Kablunets are ignorant fools, and you are not much better for believing them. Boo! I have no patience with the nonsense talk of Blackbeard." The old chief flung angrily out of the hut, leaving his more philosophic son to continue the discussion of the earth's mysteries with Makitok, the reputed wizard of the furthest possible north. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Note. The writer has often waded knee-deep in such boots, for hours at a time, on the swampy shores of Hudson's Bay, without wetting his feet in the slightest degree. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. TELLS, AMONG OTHER THINGS, OF A NOTABLE DISCOVERY. Soon after this, signs of approaching winter began to make their appearance in the regions of the North Pole. The sun, which at first had been as a familiar friend night and day, had begun to absent himself not only all night, but during a large portion of each day, giving sure though quiet hints of his intention to forsake the region altogether, and leave it to the six months' reign of night. Frost began to render the nights bitterly cold. The birds, having brought forth and brought up their young, were betaking themselves to more temperate regions, leaving only such creatures as bears, seals, walruses, foxes, wolves, and men, to enjoy, or endure, the regions of the frigid zone. Suddenly there came a day in October when all the elemental fiends and furies of the Arctic circle seemed to be let loose in wildest revelry. It was a turning-point in the Arctic seasons. By that time Captain Vane and his party had transported all their belongings to Great Isle, where they had taken up their abode beside old Makitok. They had, with that wizard's permission, built to themselves a temporary stone hut, as Benjy Vane facetiously said, "on the very top of the North Pole itself;" that is, on the little mound or truncated cone of rock, in the centre of the Great Isle, on which they had already set up the observatory, and which cone was, in very truth, as nearly as possible the exact position of that long-sought-for imaginary point of earth as could be ascertained by repeated and careful observations, made with the best of scientific instruments by thoroughly capable men. Chingatok and his father, with a large band of their followers and some of their women, had also encamped, by permission, round the Pole, where, in the intervals of the chase, they watched, with solemn and unflagging interest, the incomprehensible doings of the white men. The storm referred to began with heavy snow--that slow, quiet, down-floating of great flakes which is so pleasant, even restful, in its effect on the senses. At first it seemed as if a golden haze were mixed with the snowfall, suggesting the idea that the sun's rays were penetrating it. "Most beautiful!" said Leo, who sat beside the Captain and his friends on the North Pole enjoying the view through the open doorway of the hut, and sipping a cup of coffee. "It reminds me," said Alf, "of Buzzby's lines:-- "`The snowflakes falling softly In the morning's golden prime, Suggestive of a gentle touch And the silent flight of Time.'" "Behold a more powerful reminder of the flight of Time!" said Benjy, pointing to the aged Makitok, who, with white beard and snow-besprinkled person, came slowly towards them like the living embodiment of "Old Father Christmas." "Come," said Leo, hastening to assist the old man, "let me help you up the Pole." Leo, and indeed all the party, had fallen in with Benjy's humour, and habitually referred thus to their mound. "Why comes the ancient one here through the snow?" said Captain Vane, rising and offering Makitok his seat, which was an empty packing-case. "Surely my friend does not think we would forget him? Does not Benjy always carry him his morning cup of coffee when the weather is too bad for him to come hither?" "Truly," returned the old man, sitting down with a sigh, "the Kablunets are kind. They never forget. Bunjee never fails to bring the cuffy, though he does sometimes pretend to forget the shoogre, till I have tasted it and made a bad face; then he laughs and remembers that the shoogre is in his pouch. It is his little way. But I come not to-day for cuffy; I come to warn. There is danger in the air. Blackbeard must take his strange things," (thus he referred to the philosophical instruments), "away from here--from--ha!--from Nort Pole, and put them in my hut, where they will be safe." The Captain did not at once reply. Turning to his companions he said-- "I see no particular reason to fear this `danger in the air.' I'll go and consult Chingatok or his father on the point." "The ancient one, as you call him," said Benjy, "seems to be growing timid with age." "The youthful one," retorted the Captain, "seems to be growing insolent with age. Go, you scamp, and tell Amalatok I want to speak with him." Whatever faults our young hero had, disobedience was not one of them. He rose promptly, and soon returned with the chief of Poloeland. Amalatok confirmed the wizard's opinions, and both opinions were still more powerfully confirmed, while he was speaking, by a gust of wind which suddenly came rushing at them as if from all points of the compass, converging at the Pole and shooting upwards like a whirlwind, carrying several hats of the party with volumes of the now wildly agitated snow up into the sky. There was no room for further hesitation. "Why, Massa Bunjay, I thought my woolly scalp he hoed up 'long wid my hat!" cried Butterface, leaping up in obedience to the Captain's hurried order to look sharp and lend a hand. In a short time all the instruments were removed from the observatory and carefully housed in Makitok's hut. Even while they were thus engaged the storm burst on them with excessive violence. The snow which had been falling so softly, was caught up by the conflicting winds and hurled high into the air, or driven furiously over the valley in all directions, for the gale did not come from any fixed quarter; it rose and swooped and eddied about, driving the snow-drift now here, now there, and shrieking as if in wild delight at the chaotic havoc it was permitted to play. "Confusion worse confounded!" gasped Leo, as he staggered past Alf with the last load on his shoulder. "And yet there must be order _everywhere_," observed Chingatok, when, after all were safely housed in Makitok's hut that evening, he heard Leo repeat that sentiment. "Why do you think so, Chingatok?" asked the Captain with some curiosity. "Because there is order even in my hut," returned the giant. "Pingasuk, (referring to his wife), keeps all things in perfect order. Is the World-Maker less wise than Pingasuk? Sometimes, no doubt, when Pingasuk is cooking, or arranging, things may seem in disorder to the eye of my little boy Meltik and the small one, (referring to baby), but when Meltik and the small one grow older and wiser, they will see that it is not so." While Chingatok was speaking, a gust of wind more furious than ever struck the hut and shook it to its foundations. At the same time a loud rumbling sound was heard outside. Most of the men leaped up, caught hold of spears or knives, and rushed out. Through the driving drift they could just see that the observatory, which was a flimsy structure, had been swept clean away, and that the more solid hut was following it. Even as they gazed they saw its roof caught up, and whirled off as if it had been a scroll of paper. The walls fell immediately after, and the stones rolled down the rocky cone with a loud rattling, which was partially drowned by the shrieking of the tempest. For three days the storm lasted. During that time it was almost impossible to show face in the open air. On the night of the third day the fury of the wind abated. Then it suddenly became calm, but when Butterface opened the door, and attempted to go out, he found himself effectually checked by a wall of snow. The interior of the hut was pitch dark, and it was not until a lamp had been lighted that the party found they were buried alive! To dig themselves out was not, however, a difficult matter. But what a scene presented itself to their view when they regained the upper air! No metamorphosis conceived by Ovid or achieved by the magic lantern; no pantomimic transformation; no eccentricity of dreamland ever equalled it! When last seen, the valley was clothed in all the rich luxuriance of autumnal tints, and alive with the twitter and plaintive cry of bird-life. Now it was draped in the pure winding-sheet of winter, and silent in the repose of Arctic death. Nothing almost was visible but snow. Everything was whelmed in white. Only here and there a few of the sturdier clumps of bushes held up their loads like gigantic wedding-cakes, and broke the universal sameness of the scene. One raven was the only living representative of the birds that had fled. It soared calmly over the waste, as if it were the wizard who had wrought the change, and was admiring its work. "Winter is upon us fairly now, friends," said Captain Vane as he surveyed the prospect from the Pole, which was itself all but buried in the universal drift, and capped with the hugest wedding-cake of all; "we shall have to accommodate ourselves to circumstances, and prepare for the campaign." "I suppose the first thing we shall have to do is to build a snow-house," said Benjy, looking ruefully round, for, as usual, he was depressed by first appearances. "Just so, Benjy; and the sooner we go to work the better." Now, the reader must not hastily conclude that we are about to inflict on him or her a detailed narrative of a six months' residence at the North Pole. We have no such fell design. Much though there is to tell,--much of suffering, more of enjoyment, many adventures, numerous stirring incidents, and not a few mishaps--we shall pass over the most of it in total silence, and touch only on those points which are worthy of special notice. Let us leap, then, into the very middle of the Arctic winter. It is continuously dark now. There is no day at all at the Pole; it is night all round. The last glimmer of the departing sun left them months ago; the next glimmer of his return will not reach them for months to come. The northern Eskimos and their English visitors were well aware of that, nevertheless there was nothing of gloom or depressed spirits among them. They were too busy for that. Had not meat to be procured, and then consumed? Did not the procuring involve the harnessing of dogs in sledges, the trapping of foxes and wolves, the fighting of walruses, the chasing of polar bears; and did not the consuming thereof necessitate much culinary work for the women, much and frequent attention and labour on the part of the whole community, not to mention hours, and sometimes days, of calm repose? Then, as to light, had they not the Aurora Borealis, that mysterious shimmering in the northern sky which has puzzled philosophers from the beginning of time, and is not unlikely to continue puzzling them to the end? Had they not the moon and the stars, which latter shone with a brilliancy almost indescribable, and among them the now doubly interesting Pole star, right overhead, with several new and gorgeous constellations unknown to southern climes? Besides all this, had not Captain Vane his scientific investigations, his pendulum experiments, his wind-gauging, his ozone testing, his thermometric, barometric, and chronometric observations, besides what Benjy styled his kiteometric pranks? These last consisted in attempts to bring lightning down from the clouds by means of a kite and cord, and in which effort the Captain managed to knock himself down, and well-nigh shattered the North Pole itself in pieces! Moreover, had not Leo to act the part of physician and surgeon to the community? a duty which he fulfilled so well that there never had been before that time such a demand for physic in Flatland, and, it is probable, there never will be so many sick people there again. In addition to this, Leo had to exercise his marvellous powers as a huntsman. Benjy, of course, played his wonted _role_ of mischief-maker and jack-of-all-trades to the entire satisfaction of everybody, especially on that great occasion when he succeeded in killing a polar bear single-handed, and without the aid of gun or spear or any lethal weapon whatever;--of which great event, more hereafter. Anders, the southern Eskimo, made himself generally agreeable, and Butterface became a prime favourite, chiefly because of his inexhaustible fund of fun and good humour, coupled with his fine musical qualities. We have not said much on this latter point hitherto, because we have been unwilling to overwhelm the reader with too sudden a disclosure of that marvellous magazine of power which was latent in our band of heroes; but we feel it to be our duty now to state that the negro sang his native melodies with such pathos that he frequently reduced, (perhaps we should say elevated), the unsophisticated Eskimos to floods of tears, and sometimes to convulsions of laughter. As, at Benjy's suggestion, he sometimes changed his moods abruptly, the tears often mingled with the convulsions, so as to produce some vivid illustrations of Eskimo hysteria. But Butterface's strong point was the flute! No one who had not witnessed it could adequately conceive the poutings of thick red lips and general contortions of black visage that seemed necessary in order to draw the tones out of that simple instrument. The agonies of expression, the hissing of wind, and the turning up of whites of large black eyes,--it is past belief! The fruitless efforts of the Eskimos to imitate him were as nothing to the great original, and their delight at the sound was only equalled by their amazement at the sight. Alf assisted the Captain scientifically and otherwise. Of course he was compelled, during the long winter, to lay aside his geological hammer and botanical box; but, then, had he not the arrangement and naming of his specimens? His chief work, however, was to act the unwonted, and, we may add, unexpected work of a lawgiver. This duty devolved on him thus: When Grabantak recovered health--which he was very long in doing--his spirit was so far subdued that he agreed--somewhat sulkily, it is true-- to all that his prime minister had done while he held the reins of government. Then he was induced to visit Great Isle, where he was introduced to his mortal foe Amalatok, whom he found to be so much a man after his own heart that he no longer sighed for the extraction of his spinal marrow or the excision of his liver, but became a fast friend, and was persuaded by Alf to agree to a perpetual peace. He also took a great fancy to Chingatok, who begged of Alf to read to the chief of Flatland some of the strange and new ideas contained in his little book. Alf willingly complied, and for hours these northern savages sat in rapt attention listening to the Bible story. "My son," said Grabantak one evening to Chingatok, "if we are henceforth to live in peace, why not unite and become one nation?" "Why not?" echoed Chingatok. When Amalatok and Makitok heard the question propounded, they also said, "Why not?" and, as nobody objected, the thing was settled off-hand then and there. "But," said the prime minister of Flatland, starting a difficulty, "who is to be _greatest_ chief?" Amalatok, on whose mind the spirit of Christianity had been gradually making an impression, said promptly, "Let Grabantak be chief. He is wise in council and brave in war." Grabantak had instantly jumped to the conclusion that _he_ ought to be _greatest_ chief, and was about to say so, when Amalatok's humility struck him dumb. Recovering himself he replied-- "But there is to be no mere war! and I have been a warrior. No, let Amalatok be great chief. He is old, and wisdom lies with age." "I am not so sure of _that_!" muttered Captain Vane to himself in English; then to the giant in Eskimo, "What says Chingatok?" "May I speak, my father?" said the giant, dutifully, to Amalatok. "You may speak, my son." "Then," continued Chingatok, "I would advise that there should be three chiefs, who shall be equal--my father, Grabantak, and Makitok. Let these consult about our affairs. Let the people appoint twelve men to hold council with them, and what the most of them agree to shall be done." After some further talk this compromise was agreed to. "But the laws of Poloeland and those of Flatland are different," said Amalatok, starting another objection. "We must have the same laws." "My brother chief is wise," said Grabantak. "Let us have new laws, and let that wise young Kablunet, Alf, make them." "Both my brother chiefs are wise," said Makitok. "Let it be done, and let him take the laws out of the little thing that speaks to him." (Thus they referred to the Bible, having no word in their language by which to name it.) Great was the surprise of Alf at the honour and labour thus thrust upon him, but he did not shrink from it. On the contrary, he set to work at once with notebook and pencil, and set down the two "Great Commandments:" "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind;" and, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," as the first law in the new code. He set down as the second the golden rule, "Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them." Proceeding from these as a basis, he worked his way gradually down the code till he had embraced nearly all the possibilities of Eskimo life--a work which kept him busy all the winter, and was not quite finished when "time and tide" obliged him and his companions to quit the land. Now, not long after this eventful council, Benjy Vane burst rather irreverently into his father's hut with excited looks, holding what looked like an old book in his hand. "What have you got there, lad?" "I've got it at last, father! You know I've been trying to wheedle old Makitok into letting me open his mysterious bundle. Well, I prevailed on him to let me do it this afternoon. After unrolling bundle after bundle, I came at last to the centre, and found that it contained nothing whatever but this book, wrapped up in an old cotton pocket-handkerchief. The book is _very_ old, father. See, 1611 on the first page. I did not take time to glance at more than that, but brought it straight away to you." "Hand it over, Benjy," said the Captain eagerly. "This accounts for the mysterious `buk' that we've heard so much about." He received the little book with a look of tender curiosity and opened it carefully, while Leo, Alf, and his son looked on over his shoulder. "1611, sure enough," he said, "though not very legible. The characters are queer, too. Try, Alf, what you can make of it." Alf took the book. As he did so old Makitok entered, somewhat anxious as to what they were doing with his treasure. Being quieted by the Captain with a draught of cold tea, and made to sit down, the examination of the book proceeded. "It is much worn, and in places is almost illegible, as might be expected," said Alf. "Let me see. `Coast of Labrador, (something illegible here), 1611. This day the mutineers took possess ... (can't make out what follows), and put Captain Hudson, with his son, myself, the carpenter, and five sick men into the dinghy, casting us, (blank), with some, (blank), and one cask of water. I begin this diary to-day. It may never be seen by man, but if it does fall into the hands of any one who can read it, he will do a service to ... by conveying ... England.--John Mackintosh, _seaman_.' "Can it be possible?" said Alf, looking up from the relic with an expression of deep solemnity, "that we have found a record of that great Arctic explorer, the unfortunate Henry Hudson?" "It seems like it, Alf; read on," said Leo, eagerly. We will not further trouble the reader with Alf's laboured deciphering of this curious and ancient notebook, which was not only stained and worn, but in many places rudely torn, as if its owner had seen much hard service. We will merely run over a few of the chief points which it cleared up. Unfortunately, it threw no additional light on the fate of poor Hudson. Many of the first pages of the book which no doubt treated of that, had been destroyed and the legible portion began in the middle of a record of travelling with a sledge-party of Eskimos to the north of parallel 85 degrees 20 minutes--a higher northern latitude, it will be observed, than had been reached by any subsequent explorer except Captain Vane. No mention being made of English comrades, the presumption remained that they had all been killed or had died--at all events that Mackintosh had been separated from them, and was the only survivor of the party travelling with the Eskimos. Further on the journal, which was meagre in detail, and kept in the dry form of a log-book, spoke of having reached a far northern settlement. Reference was also made to a wife and family, leading to the conclusion that the seaman had permanently cast in his lot with the savages, and given up all hope of returning to his native land. One sentence near the end caused a considerable sensation, and opened their eyes to a fact which they might have guessed if they had not been too much taken up with the spelling out of the faded pencilling to think of it at first. Alf read it with difficulty. It ran thus:-- "Another boy born to-day. His name is Igluk. It is only the eldest boy of a family, in this tribe, who bears his father's surname. My eldest alone goes by the name of Mackintosh. His eldest will bear the same name, and so on. But these Eskimos make a sad mess of it. I doubt if my Scotch kinsmen would recognise us under the name of Makitok which is the nearest--" "Makitok!" shouted Benjy, gazing open-eyed at the white-bearded wizard, who returned the gaze with some astonishment. "Why, old boy," cried the boy, jumping up and seizing the wizard's hand, "you're a Scotsman!" "So he is," said the Captain with a look of profound interest. "And I say," continued Benjy, in a tone so solemn that the eyes of all the party were turned on him, "we _did_ find him _sitting on the North Pole_!" "And what of that, you excitable goose?" said the Captain. "Goose, father! Am I a goose for recognising the fulfilment of an ancient prophecy? Has it not been a familiar saying, ever since I was born, that when the North Pole was discovered, a Scotsman would be found sitting on the top of it?" "Unfortunately, Ben," returned Alf with a laugh, "the same prophecy exists in other lands. Among the Germans, I believe, it is held that a Bohemian and a Jew will be found on the top of it." "That only confirms the correctness of prophecy in general," retorted Benjy, "for this man unites all these in his own person. Does not this notebook prove him to be a Scot? Have we not just _found_ him? which proves him to be one of a `lost tribe'--in other words, a Jew; and, surely, you'll admit that, in appearance at least, he is Bohemian enough for the settlement of any disputed question. Yes, he's a Scotch Bohemian Jew, or I'm a Dutchman." This discovery seemed almost too much for Benjy. He could not think or talk of anything else the remainder of that day. Among other things he undertook to explain to Makitok something of his origin and antecedents. "Ancient one," he said earnestly, through the medium of Anders, when he had led the old man aside privately, "you come of a grand nation. They are called Scots, and are said to be remarkably long-headed and wonderfully cautious. Great warriors, but greater at the arts of peace. And the fellow you call your _first father_ was a Mackintosh, (probably chief of all the Mackintoshes), who sailed nearly 270 years ago to search for this very `North Pole' that _we_ have got hold of at last. But your first father was not the leader, old boy. He was only a seaman. The leader was Henry Hudson--a man who ranks among the foremost of Arctic explorers. He won't be able to understand what that means, Anders, but no matter--translate it the best way you can. This Henry Hudson was one of the most thorough and extensive searchers of these regions that ever sailed the northern seas. He made many important discoveries, and set out on his last voyage intending to sail right over the North Pole to China, which I daresay he would have done, had not his rascally crew mutinied and cast him and his little son, with seven other men, adrift in a little boat--all of whom perished, no doubt, except your first father, Makitok, my ancient tulip!" He wound up this summary by grasping and shaking the wizard's hand, and then flung off, to expend his feelings on other members of the community. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. A RUNAWAY JOURNEY AND A TREMENDOUS EXPERIMENT. As winter advanced, Captain Vane continued to keep up the interest of the Eskimos, and to increase their respect for the Kablunets, by gradually unfolding the various sources of power which were at his command. He did this judiciously, just giving them a taste of the marvellous now and then to whet their appetites. He was particularly careful, however not to practise on their credulity or to pass himself off as a conjuror. He distinctly stated that all his powers were derived from God,--_their_ father and _his_,--and that he only excelled them in some matters because of having had better opportunities of acquiring knowledge. Among other things, he effected an adaptation of his kites which produced results so surprising that we feel bound to describe them particularly. During the winter he found, as he had expected, that the average temperature at the Pole was not nearly so cold as that experienced in lower latitudes. As far as mere feeling went, indeed, the cold seemed severe enough; nevertheless it was not sufficiently intense to freeze the great ocean, which remained an "open basin" all the year round,--a result which was doubtless owing to the upflow of the warm under-currents from the equator, referred to in a previous chapter. This, however, did not apply to the waters lying directly around the Poloe and Flatland groups. In these archipelagos the waters being shallow, the frost was quite intense enough to cool them to the bottom. Hence the sea immediately round the islands was covered with a thick coat of solid ice, which resembled in all respects the ordinary Arctic sea-ice, being hummocky in some places, comparatively smooth in others, with a strong iceberg here and there caught and imprisoned amongst it. As this ice surrounded all the Polar land, and stretched out to sea far beyond the reach of vision, it followed that there was little or no difference between the winter experience of our discoverers and that of all other Arctic voyagers. This realm of what we may style island-ice stretched away, all round, in the direction of the Arctic circle, getting thinner and thinner towards its outer margin, until at last it became sludgy, and, finally, melted away into the open sea. This open sea, in its turn, stretched southward, all round, to the known Arctic regions. Thus the Arctic basin was found to be a zone of open water, surrounded by ice on the south, and with a patch of ice and land in its centre. Now, it was a strong desire on the part of Captain Vane to visit the southern edge of this central ice-patch on which he dwelt, that induced him to try the kite adaptation before referred to. "Benjy, my boy," said he, one fine winter day, when the galaxy of stars, the full moon, and an unusually brilliant aurora, diffused a strong light over the undulations of Cup Valley, "I have a notion of taking a trip to the s'uth'ard soon." "Which s'uth'ard d'you think of going to, father?" asked the boy. In case any reader should hastily exclaim, "What a ridiculous question; there can be only _one_ southward!" we beg leave to point out that at the North Pole _every_ direction lies to the southward, and that, as there is necessarily no east or west at all, there is therefore no possibility of stating by compass to what part of the south one intends to go. Of course it was open to the Captain to have said he intended to descend south on one of the degrees of longitude, or between any two of them, and then, immediately on quitting the Pole the old familiar east and west would, as it were, return to him. But he found it more convenient, on the whole, having got beyond all latitude, to indicate his intended route by well-known objects of the land. "I'm going to steer for the starboard side of Poloeland," he said, "pay a short visit to Grabantak and Amalatok in passing, and then carry on south to the open water." "It'll be a longish trip, father." "Not so long as you expect, my boy, for I mean to go by express." Benjy's eyes twinkled, for he knew that some new device was working in his father's brain, which brain never failed to bring its plans to maturity. "What is it to be, father?" "You go and fetch two of the kites, Benjy, and you'll soon find out. Overhaul them well and see that everything is taut and shipshape. Let Butterface help you, and send Alf and Chingatok to me. I suppose Leo is off after musk-oxen, as usual." "Yes; he pretends that the camp wants a supply of fresh meat. He'd pretend that as an excuse for hunting even if we were all dying of surfeit." Soon afterwards the Captain was seen, followed by his usual companions and a company of Eskimos, dragging two sledges to the upper ridge of Cup Valley. One sledge was lightly, the other heavily, laden. "You've brought plenty of supplies, I hope, Alf?" asked the leader. "Yes, enough for three weeks. Will that do?" "Quite enough, lad; but it may not be wanted, as I'm going south in a direction we've not yet tried, where I expect to find the open water close to us. It's well, however, to have enough of meat at all times." "No fear of its being too much, father," said Benjy. "When Butterface goes with us, a three weeks' allowance usually disappears in a fortnight." "Nebber mind, Massa," said the negro seriously. "You've plenty for tree weeks dis time, 'cause I's off my feed. Got Polar dimspepsy, or suffin' o' dat sort, I tink." "You've brought the electrical machine, of course, and the dynamite, Alf?" asked the Captain. "Of course. I never prepare for a trip without these. There's no saying, you see, when we may require them--either to blow up obstructions or astonish the natives." "The natives are past astonishing now," remarked Benjy; "nothing short of a ten thousand jar battery would astonish Chingatok, and I'm quite sure that you couldn't rouse a sentiment of surprise in Oolichuk, unless you made him swallow a dynamite cartridge, and blew him inside out. But, I say, daddy, how long are you going to keep us in the dark about your plans? Don't you see that we are in agonies of suspense?" "Only till we gain the ridge, Benjy. It will be down-hill after that, and the snow-crust comparatively smooth as well as hard." Arrived at the ridge, one of the kites was unfolded and sent up. The breeze was steady, and sufficiently strong. It took twenty Eskimos to hold it when allowed full play, and even these it jerked about in a manner that highly diverted them. These Eskimos were very fond of kite-flying, for its own sake, without reference to utility! "I knew you were going to try it on the sledge," exclaimed Benjy, with sparkling eyes. "Why did you ask me about it, then?" returned the Captain. "Do let _me_ make the first trial, father!" Captain Vane was fastening the drag-line to the fore part of the light sledge, and refused, at first, to listen to the boy's entreaties, fearing that some accident might befall him. "You know how accustomed I am to manage the kites, father. There's not the least fear; and I'll be superhumanly cautious." There was no resisting Benjy's tone and eyes. He was allowed to take his place on the sledge as manager. Butterface sat behind to steer. Steering was to be managed by means of a stout pole, pressed varyingly on the snow on either side. "Don't go more than a mile or so, my boy," said the Captain, in a serious tone. "It's only a trial, you know. If it succeeds, we'll divide the loading of the sledges, and make a fair start in company." Benjy promised to manipulate the check-string with care. The struggling natives were ordered to let the kite straighten the slack of the line gradually. "Are you ready, Ben?" "All right, father." "Got your hand on the check-string? Mind, it will pull hard. Now--let go!" The natives obeyed. Benjy at the same instant hauled sharply on the check-string, intending to tilt the kite well forward, and start in a slow, stately manner, but there was a hitch of some sort somewhere, for the string would not act. The kite acted, however, with its full force. Up went the fore part of the sledge as it flew off like an arrow from a bow, causing Butterface to throw a back somersault, and leaving him behind. Benjy held on to the head of the sledge, and made violent efforts to free the check-string. Fortunately, the surface of the snow was smooth. "After him, lads," roared the Captain, setting a brave example, and for some time heading the natives in the chase; but a few moments sufficed to prove the hopelessness of the race. Tug as Benjy would at the regulator, it refused to act. Fortunately, being made of silk, it did not break. By this time the kite had attained its maximum speed, equal, as the Captain said, to a twenty-knot breeze. At first the surface of the snow was so smooth and hard, that Benjy, being busy with the obdurate regulator, did not appreciate the speed. When he gave up his attempts with a sigh of despair, he had leisure to look around him. The sledge was gliding on with railway speed. One or two solitary hummocks that looked like white sentinels on the level plain, went past him with an awful rush, and several undulations caused by snow-drift were crossed in a light leap which he barely felt. Benjy was fully aware of his danger. To meet with a hummock no bigger than a wheelbarrow, would, in the circumstances, have entailed destruction; he therefore seized a pole which formed part of the sledge-gear, and tried steering. It could be done, but with great difficulty, as he had to sit in the front of the sledge to keep it down. Recklessly jovial though he was, the boy could not contemplate his probable fate without misgiving. Nothing was visible in all the white illimitable plain save a hummock here and there, with a distant berg on the horizon. He could not expect the level character of the ice to extend far. Whither was he going? South he knew; but in that direction, his father had often told him, lay the open sea. The moon seemed to smile on him; the aurora appeared to dance with unwonted vigour, as if in glee; the very stars winked at him! "What if a chasm or a big hummock should turn up?" thought Benjy. The thought seemed to produce the dreaded object, for next moment a large hummock appeared right ahead. Far away though it was, the awful pace brought it quickly near. The poor boy struggled--he absolutely agonised--with the pole. His efforts were successful. The hummock went past like a meteor, but it was a horribly close shave, and Benjy felt his very marrow shrink, while he drew himself up into the smallest possible compass to let it go by. A bump soon after told that the ice was getting more rugged. Then he saw a ridge before him. Was it large or small? Distance, the uncertain light, and imagination, magnified it to a high wall; high as the wall of China. In wild alarm our hero tugged at the regulator, but tugged in vain. The wall of China was upon him--under him. There was a crash. The sledge was in the air. Moments appeared minutes! Had the vehicle been suddenly furnished with wings? No! Another crash, which nearly shut up his spine like a telescope, told him that there were no wings. His teeth came together with a snap. Happily his tongue was not between them! Happily, too, the sledge did not overturn, but continued its furious flight. "Oh, you villain!" exclaimed Benjy, shaking his fist at the airy monster which was thus dragging him to destruction. If Benjy had been asked to state the truth just then, he would have found it hard to say whether consternation or delight were uppermost. It _was_ such a glorious rush! But then, how was it to end? Well, he did not dare to think of that. Indeed he had not time to think, for troubles came crowding on him. A violent "swish!" and a sudden deluge told him that what he had taken for glassy ice was open water. It was only a shallow pool, however. Next moment he was across it, and bumping violently over a surface of broken ice. The water suggested the fear that he must be nearing the open sea, and he became supernaturally grave. Fortunately, the last crash had been passed without dislocating the parts of either sledge or rider. A long stretch of smooth ice followed, over which he glided with ever-increasing speed. Thus he continued to rush over the frozen sea during a considerable part of that night. Poor Benjy! he became half-mad with excitement at last. The exaltation of his little spirit at the risky neck-or-nothing dash, coupled with horror at the certainty of a terrible climax, was almost too much for him. He gave vent to his feelings in a wild cheer or yell, and, just then, beheld an iceberg of unusual size, looming up on the horizon before him. Knowing by experience that he would soon be up to it, he used his pole with all his might, hoping to steer clear of it. As he drew nearer, he saw a dark line on either side of the berg. A feeling of deadly alarm filled him. It was the open sea! and he had to choose between being plunged into it or dashed against the berg. It occurred to him then, for the first time, that a third resource was open--he might cut the rope, and let the kite go free! Amazed at his stupidity in not thinking of this before, he took out his clasp-knife, but before applying it, made a last effort to move the regulator. Strange to say, the silken cord yielded to the first pull, as if nothing had been wrong with it at all! The head of the runaway kite was thrown forward, and it came wavering down in eccentric gyrations, while the sledge gradually lost way, and came to a standstill not fifty yards from the berg. Up to this point what may be termed the northern island-ice continued unbroken, but beyond the berg it was broken up into floes, and, not six hundred yards out, it tailed away to the southward in what whalers term stream-ice. The berg itself was obviously aground. The first object that met Benjy's eyes, after coming to a halt, was an enormous polar bear. This was no strange sight to the boy by that time, but it was awkward in the circumstances, for he had neither gun nor spear. Even if he had possessed the latter he was too young and light to cope successfully with the shaggy white king of Arctic beasts. From the attitude of the animal it appeared to be watching something. In truth, it was so intently engaged with a sleeping seal that it had not observed the approach of the sledge. Profiting by this, Benjy quietly moved away round a colossal buttress of the berg, and took refuge in an ice-cave. But such refuge, he knew, could avail him nothing if the bear should scent him out and search for him. Looking hastily round and up into the dark blue cavern, he espied a projecting ledge of ice about thirteen feet above the level of the floor. On this he resolved to perch himself. His first care was to examine the contents of the sledge. We have said it had been lightly laden at starting, which was the reason of the tremendous pace at which it travelled. Although there was neither spear nor gun, the anxious boy was somewhat comforted to find an axe strapped in its accustomed place; also a blanket, sleeping-bag, and musk-ox skin, besides a mass of frozen blubber, but there was nothing else of an eatable nature. There was, however, a box containing the captain's sextant, the electrical machine, and a packet of dynamite cartridges. Regarding these latter objects with a sigh of disappointment, Benjy seized the axe and hastened towards the ledge of ice, muttering to himself in a confidential tone-- "You see, old boy, if that bear takes a fancy to call on you, it will be as well to be able to say, `Not at home,' for he could make short work of you, much though you think of yourself. Yes, this ledge is high enough to bid you defiance, mister bear, and it's long and broad enough to hold me and my belongings. The knobs by which to climb to it, too, are easy--too easy--but I'll soon rectify that. Now, then, look alive, Benjy, boy, for if that bear don't catch that seal he'll be sure to look you up." Ceasing to speak, he actively conveyed the contents of the sledge to his shelf of refuge. Then he cut away the knobs by which he climbed to it, until there was barely sufficient for his own tiny toes to rest on. That done, he went to the mouth of the cavern to look about him. What he saw there may be guessed from the fact that he returned next moment, running at full speed, stumbling over ice lumps, bumping his shins and knees, dropping his axe, and lacerating his knuckles. He had met the bear! Need we add that he gained his perch with the agility of a tree-squirrel! The bear, surprised, no doubt, but obviously sulky from the loss of the seal, entered the cave sedately with an inquiring look. It saw Benjy at once, and made prodigious efforts to get at him. As the monster rose on its hind legs and reached its paws towards his shelf, the poor boy's spirit seemed to melt, indeed his whole interior felt as if reduced to a warm fluid, while a prickly heat broke out at his extremities, perspiration beaded his brow, and his heart appeared to have settled permanently in his throat. These distressing symptoms did not, however, last long, for he quickly perceived that the bear's utmost stretch did not reach nearer than three or four feet of him. Some of the alarm returned, however, when the creature attempted to climb up by his own ladder. Seven or eight times it made the attempt, while the boy watched in breathless anxiety, but each time it slipped when half-way up, and fell with a soft heavy thud on the ice below, which caused it to gasp and cough. Then it sat down on its haunches and gazed at its little foe malignantly. "Bah! you brute!" exclaimed Benjy, whose courage was returning, "I'm not a bit afraid of you!" He leant against the wall of his refuge, notwithstanding this boast, and licked the ice to moisten his parched lips. After a rest the bear made another trial, and twice it succeeded in planting the claws of one huge paw on the edge of the shelf, but Benjy placed his heel against the claws, thrust them off, and sent the bear down each time howling with disappointment. Sailing softly among the constellations in the aurora-lighted sky, the moon sent a bright ray into the cavern, which gleamed on the monster's wicked eyes and glistening teeth; but Benjy had begun to feel comparatively safe by that time, and was becoming "himself again." "Don't you wish you may get me?" he asked in a desperately facetious spirit. The bear made no reply, but turned to examine the contents of the ice-cave. First he went to the hatchet and smelt it. In doing so he cut his nose. With a growl he gave the weapon an angry pat, and in so doing cut his toes. We fear that Benjy rejoiced at the sight of blood, for he chuckled and made the sarcastic remark, "That comes of losing your temper, old fellow!" That bear either understood English, or the very sound of the human voice caused it irritation, for it turned and rushed at the ice-ledge with such fury that Benjy's heart again leaped into his throat. He had, however, recovered sufficiently to enable him to act with promptitude and discretion. Sitting down with his right foot ready, and his hands resting firmly on the ice behind him, he prepared to receive the charge in the only available manner. So fierce was the onset that the monster ran up the ice-cliff like a cat, and succeeded in fixing the terrible claws of both feet on the edge of the shelf, but the boy delivered his right heel with such force that the left paw slipped off. The left heel followed like lightning, and the right paw also slipped, letting the bear again fall heavily on the ice below. This was more than even a bear could bear. He rushed savagely about the cavern, growling hideously, dashing the sledge about as if it had been a mere toy, and doing all the mischief he could, yet always avoiding the axe with particular care--thus showing that polar bears, not less than men, are quite awake to personal danger, even when supposed to be blind with rage! At last he lay down to recover himself, and lick his bloody nose and paw. While Benjy sat contemplating this creature, and wondering what was to be the end of it all, a bright idea occurred to him. He rose quickly, took the electrical machine out of its box, and happily found it to be in good working order--thanks to Alf, who had special charge of the scientific instruments, and prided himself on the care with which he attended to them. The bear watched him narrowly with its wicked little eyes, though it did not see fit to cease its paw-licking. Having arranged the machine, Benjy took the two handles in his left hand, pressed his knee on the board of the instrument to hold it steady, and with his right hand caused it to revolve. Then he held down the handles as if inviting the bear to come and take them. The challenge was accepted at once. Bruin cantered up, rose on his hind legs, and stretched his neck to its utmost, but could not reach the handles, though the boy stretched downward as far as possible to accommodate him. The dirty-white monster whined and snickered with intense feeling at thus finding itself so near, and yet so far, from the attainment of its object. Sympathising with its desires, Benjy changed his posture, and managed just to touch the nose of his enemy. The bear shrank back with a sort of gasp, appalled--at least shocked--by the result! After a little, not feeling much the worse for it, the brute returned as if to invite another electric shock--perhaps with some sinister design in view. But another and a brighter idea had entered Benjy's brain. Instead of giving the bear a shock, he tore off a small bit of seal-blubber from the mass at his side, which he dropped into its mouth. It swallowed that morsel with satisfaction, and waited for more. Benjy gave it more. Still it wanted more. "You shall have it, my boy," said Benjy, whose eyes assumed that peculiar glare of glee which always presaged some desperate intention. He opened another small box, and found what he wanted. It was a small object scarcely a couple of inches in length. He fastened the wires of the electric machine quickly to it, and then imbedded it in a small piece of blubber which he lowered, as before, to the bear. "You'll probably break the wires or smash the machine, but I'll risk that," muttered Benjy through his set teeth. "I only hope you won't chew it, because dynamite mayn't be palatable. There--down with it!" The bear happily bolted the morsel. The wires seemed to perplex him a little, but before he had time to examine the mystery, the boy gave the instrument a furious turn. Instantly there was a stupendous crash like a very thunderbolt. The bear burst like an overcharged cannon! Benjy and the berg collided, and at that moment everything seemed to the former to vanish away in smoke, leaving not even a wrack behind! CHAPTER THIRTY. LEO IN DANGER NEXT! A NOVEL MODE OF RESCUE. When the catastrophe described in the last chapter occurred, Captain Vane and his friends, following hard on the heels of the runaway, chanced to be within two miles of the berg in the bosom of which Benjy had found refuge. "There he is!" shouted the Captain joyfully, as the flash of the explosion reached his eyes and the roar of the report his ears. "Blessed evidence! He's up to mischief of some sort still, and that's proof positive that he's alive." "But he may have perished in this piece of mischief," said Alf, anxiously glancing up at the kite, which was dragging the heavily-laden sledge rather slowly over the rough ice. "I hope not, Alf. Shake the regulator, Butterface, and see that it's clear." "All right, Massa. Steam's on de berry strongest what's possible." "Heave some o' the cargo overboard, Alf. We must make haste. Not the meat, lad, not the meat; everything else before that. So. Mind your helm, Chingatok; she'll steer wildish when lightened." Captain Vane was right. When Alf had tumbled some of the heavier portions of lading off the sledge, it burst away like a wild-horse let go free, rendering it difficult at first for Chingatok to steady it. In a few minutes, however, he had it again under control, and they soon reached the berg. "The dynamite must have gone off by accident," said the Captain to Alf, as they stumbled over masses of ice which the explosion had brought down from the roof of the cavern. "It's lucky it didn't happen in summer, else the berg might have been blown to atoms. Hallo! what's this? Bits of a polar bear, I do believe--and--what! not Benjy!" It was indeed Benjy, flat on his back like a spread-eagle, and covered with blood and brains; but his appearance was the worst of his case, though it took a considerable time to convince his horrified friends of that fact. "I tell you I'm all right, father," said the poor boy, on recovering from the state of insensibility into which his fall had thrown him. "But you're covered from head to foot with blood," exclaimed the anxious father, examining him all over, "though I can't find a cut of any sort about you--only one or two bruises." "You'll find a bump on the top of my head, father, the size of a cocoa-nut. That's what knocked the senses out o' me, but the blood and brains belong to the bear. I lay no claim to them." "Where _is_ the bear?" asked Alf, looking round. "Where is he?" echoed Benjy, bursting into a wild laugh. "Oh! Massa Benjy, don't laugh," said Butterface solemnly; "you hab no notion wot a awful look you got when you laugh wid sitch a bloody face." This made Benjy laugh more than ever. His mirth became catching, and the negro's solemn visage relaxed into an irrepressible grin. "Oh, you japan-jawed porpoise!" cried Benjy, "you should have seen that bear go off--with such a crack too! I only wish I'd been able to hold up for two seconds longer to see it properly, but my shelf went down, and I had to go along with it. Blown to bits! No--he was blown to a thousand atoms! Count 'em if you can." Again Benjy burst into uproarious laughter. There was indeed some ground for the boy's way of putting the case. The colossal creature had been so terribly shattered by the dynamite cartridge, that there was scarcely a piece of him larger than a man's hand left to tell the tale. "Well, well," said the Captain, assisting his son to rise, "I'm thankful it's no worse." "Worse, father! why, it _couldn't_ be worse, unless, indeed, his spirit were brought alive again and allowed to contemplate the humbling condition of his body." "I don't refer to the bear, Benjy, but to yourself, lad. You might have been killed, you know, and I'm very thankful you were not--though you half-deserve to be. But come, we must encamp here for the night and return home to-morrow, for the wind has been shifting a little, and will be favourable, I think, in the morning." The wind was indeed favourable next morning, we may say almost too favourable, for it blew a stiff breeze from the south, which steadily increased to a gale during the day. Afterwards the sky became overcast and the darkness intense, rendering it necessary to attend to the kite's regulator with the utmost care, and advance with the greatest caution. Now, while the Captain and his friends were struggling back to their Polar home, Leo Vandervell happened to be caught by the same gale when out hunting. Being of a bold, sanguine, and somewhat reckless disposition, this Nimrod of the party paid little attention to the weather until it became difficult to walk and next to impossible to see. Then, having shot nothing that day, he turned towards the Pole with a feeling of disappointment. But when the gale increased so that he could hardly face it, and the sky became obliterated by falling and drifting snow, disappointment gave place to anxiety, and he soon realised the fact that he had lost his direction. To advance in such circumstances was out of the question, he therefore set about building a miniature hut of snow. Being by that time expert at such masonry, he soon erected a dome-shaped shelter, in which he sat down on his empty game-bag after closing the entrance with a block of hard snow. The position of our hunter was not enviable. The hut was barely high enough to let him sit up, and long enough to let him lie down--not to stretch out. The small allowance of pemmican with which he had set out had long ago been consumed. It was so dark that he could not see his hand when close before his eyes. He was somewhat fatigued and rather cold, and had no water to drink. It was depressing to think of going to bed in such circumstances with the yelling of an Arctic storm for a lullaby. However, Leo had a buoyant spirit, and resolved to "make the best of it." First of all he groped in his game-bag for a small stove lamp, which he set up before him, and arranged blubber and a wick in it, using the sense of touch in default of sight. Then he struck a light, but not with matches. The Englishmen's small stock of congreves had long since been exhausted, and they were obliged to procure fire by the Eskimo method, namely, a little piece of wood worked like a drill, with a thong of leather, against another piece of wood until the friction produced fire. When a light had been thus laboriously obtained, he applied it to the wick of his lamp, and wished fervently for something to cook. It is proverbial that wishing does not usually achieve much. After a deep sigh, therefore, Leo turned his wallet inside out. Besides a few crumbs, it contained a small lump of narwhal blubber and a little packet. The former, in its frozen state, somewhat resembled hard butter. The latter contained a little coffee--not the genuine article, however. That, like the matches, had long ago been used up, and our discoverers were reduced to roasted biscuit-crumbs. The substitute was not bad! Inside of the coffee-packet was a smaller packet of brown sugar, but it had burst and allowed its contents to mingle with the coffee. Rejoiced to find even a little food where he had thought there was none, Leo filled his pannikin with snow, melted it, emptied into it the compound of coffee and sugar, put it on the lamp to boil, and sat down to watch, while he slowly consumed the narwhal butter, listening the while to the simmering of the pannikin and the roaring of the gale. After his meagre meal he wrapped himself in his blanket, and went to sleep. This was all very well as long as it lasted, but he cooled during the night, and, on awaking in the morning, found that keen frost penetrated every fibre of his garments and every pore of his skin. The storm, however, was over; the moon and stars were shining in a clear sky, and the aurora was dancing merrily. Rising at once he bundled up his traps, threw the line of his small hand-sledge over his shoulder, and stepped out for home. But cold and want of food had been telling on him. He soon experienced an unwonted sense of fatigue, then a drowsy sensation came over him. Leo was well aware of the danger of giving way to drowsiness in such circumstances, yet, strange to say, he was not in the least afraid of being overcome. He would sit down to rest, just for two minutes, and then push on. He smiled, as he sat down in the crevice of a hummock, to think of the frequent and needless cautions which his uncle had given him against this very thing. The smile was still on his lips when his head drooped on a piece of ice, and he sank into a deep slumber. Ah, Leonard Vandervell! ill would it have been for thee if thou hadst been left to thyself that day; but sharp eyes and anxious hearts were out on the icy waste in search of thee! On arriving at his winter quarters, and learning that Leo had not yet returned, Captain Vane at once organised an elaborate search-expedition. The man who found him at last was Butterface. "Oh, Massa Leo!" exclaimed that sable creature on beholding the youth seated, white and cold, on the hummock; but he said no more, being fully alive to the danger of the situation. Rushing at Leo, he seized and shook him violently, as if he had been his bitterest foe. There was no response from the sleeping man. The negro therefore began to chafe, shake, and kick him; even to slap his face, and yell into his ears in a way that an ignorant observer would have styled brutal. At last there was a symptom of returning vitality in the poor youth's frame, and the negro redoubled his efforts. "Ho! hallo! Massa Leo, wake up! You's dyin', you is!" "Why--what's--the--matter--Butterf--" muttered Leo, and dropped his head again. "Hi! hello! ho-o-o!" yelled Butterface, renewing the rough treatment, and finally hitting the youth a sounding slap on the ear. "Ha! I be tink dat vakes you up." It certainly did wake him up. A burst of indignation within seemed to do more for him than the outward buffetings. He shut his fist and hit Butterface a weak but well intended right-hander on the nose. The negro replied with a sounding slap on the other ear, which induced Leo to grasp him in his arms and try to throw him. Butterface returned the grasp with interest, and soon quite an interesting wrestling match began, the only witness of which sat on a neighbouring hummock in the form of a melancholy Arctic fox. "Hi! hold on, Massa Leo! Don't kill me altogidder," shouted Butterface, as he fell beneath his adversary. "You's a'most right now." "Almost right! what do you mean?" "I mean dat you's bin a'most froze to deaf, but I's melted you down to life agin." The truth at last began to dawn on the young hunter. After a brief explanation, he and the negro walked home together in perfect harmony. CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. THE LAST. In course of time the long and dreary winter passed away, and signs of the coming spring began to manifest themselves to the dwellers in the Polar lands. Chief and most musical among these signs were the almost forgotten sounds of dropping water, and tinkling rills. One day in April the thermometer suddenly rose to eighteen above the freezing-point of Fahrenheit. Captain Vane came from the observatory, his face blazing with excitement and oily with heat, to announce the fact. "That accounts for it feeling so like summer," said Benjy. "Summer, boy, it's like India," returned the Captain, puffing and fanning himself with his cap. "We'll begin this very day to make arrangements for returning home." It was on the evening of that day that they heard the first droppings of the melting snow. Long before that, however, the sun had come back to gladden the Polar regions, and break up the reign of ancient night. His departure in autumn had been so gradual, that it was difficult to say when night began to overcome the day. So, in like manner, his return was gradual. It was not until Captain Vane observed stars of the sixth magnitude shining out at noon in November, that he had admitted the total absence of day; and when spring returned, it was not until he could read the smallest print at midnight in June that he admitted there was "no night there." But neither the continual day of summer, nor the perpetual night of winter, made so deep an impression on our explorers as the gushing advent of spring. That season did not come gradually back like the light, but rushed upon them suddenly with a warm embrace, like an enthusiastic friend after a long absence. It plunged, as it were, upon the region, and overwhelmed it. Gushing waters thrilled the ears with the sweetness of an old familiar song. Exhalations from the moistened earth, and, soon after, the scent of awakening vegetation, filled the nostrils with delicious fragrance. In May, the willow-stems were green and fresh with flowing sap. Flowers began to bud modestly, as if half afraid of having come too soon. But there was no cause to fear that. The glorious sun was strong in his might, and, like his Maker, warmed the northern world into exuberant life. Mosses, poppies, saxifrages, cochlearia, and other hardy plants began to sprout, and migratory birds innumerable--screaming terns, cackling duck, piping plover, auks in dense clouds with loudly whirring wings, trumpeting geese, eider-ducks, burgomasters, etcetera, began to return with all the noisy bustle and joyous excitement of a family on its annual visit to much-loved summer quarters. But here we must note a difference between the experience of our explorers and that of all others. These myriads of happy creatures--and many others that we have not space to name--did not pass from the south onward to a still remoter north, but came up from all round the horizon,--up all the meridians of longitude, as on so many railway lines converging at the Pole, and settling down for a prolonged residence in garrulous felicity among the swamps and hills and vales of Flatland. Truly it was a most enjoyable season and experience, but there is no joy without its alley here below--not even at the North Pole! The alloy came in the form of a low fever which smote down the stalwart Leo, reduced his great strength seriously, and confined him for many weeks to a couch in their little stone hut, and, of course, the power of sympathy robbed his companions of much of that exuberant joy which they shared with the lower animals at the advent of beautiful spring. During the period of his illness Leo's chief nurse, comforter, and philosophical companion, was the giant of the North. And one of the subjects which occupied their minds most frequently was the Word of God. In the days of weakness and suffering Leo took to that great source of comfort with thirsting avidity, and intense was his gratification at the eager desire expressed by the giant to hear and understand what it contained. Of course Alf, and Benjy, and the Captain, and Butterface, as well as Grabantak, Makitok, and Amalatok, with others of the Eskimos, were frequently by his side, but the giant never left him for more than a brief period, night or day. "Ah! Chingatok," said Leo one day, when the returning spring had begun to revive his strength, "I never felt such a love for God's Book when I was well and strong as I feel for it now that I am ill, and I little thought that I should find out so much of its value while talking about it to an Eskimo. I shall be sorry to leave you, Chingatok--very sorry." "The young Kablunet is not yet going to die," said the giant in a soft voice. "I did not mean that," replied Leo, with the ghost of his former hearty laugh; "I mean that I shall be obliged to leave Flatland and to return to my own home as soon as the season permits. Captain Vane has been talking to me about it. He is anxious now to depart, yet sorry to leave his kind and hospitable friends." "I, too, am sorry," returned Chingatok sadly. "No more shall I hear from your lips the sweet words of my Great Father--the story of Jesus. You will take your book away with you." "That is true, my friend; and it would be useless to leave my Bible with you, as you could not read it, but the _truth_ will remain with you, Chingatok." "Yes," replied the giant with a significant smile, "you cannot take _that_ away. It is here--and here." He touched his forehead and breast as he spoke. Then he continued:-- "These strange things that Alf has been trying to teach me during the long nights I have learned--I understand." He referred here to a syllabic alphabet which Alf had invented, and which he had amused himself by teaching to some of the natives, so that they might write down and read those few words and messages in their own tongue which formerly they had been wont to convey to each other by means of signs and rude drawings--after the manner of most savages. "Well, what about that?" asked Leo, as his companion paused. "Could not my friend," replied Chingatok, "change some of the words of his book into the language of the Eskimo and mark them down?" Leo at once jumped at the idea. Afterwards he spoke to Alf about it, and the two set to work to translate some of the most important passages of Scripture, and write them down in the syllable alphabet. For this purpose they converted a sealskin into pretty fair parchment, and wrote with the ink which Captain Vane had brought with him and carefully husbanded. The occupation proved a beneficial stimulus to the invalid, who soon recovered much of his wonted health, and even began again to wander about with his old companion the repeating rifle. The last event of interest which occurred at the North Pole, before the departure of our explorers, was the marriage of Oolichuk with Oblooria. The ceremony was very simple. It consisted in the bridegroom dressing in his best and going to the tent of his father-in-law with a gift, which he laid at his feet. He then paid some endearing Eskimo attentions to his mother-in-law, one of which was to present her with a raw duck, cleaned and dismembered for immediate consumption. He even assisted that pleased lady immediately to consume the duck, and wound up by taking timid little Oblooria's hand and leading her away to a hut of his own, which he had specially built and decorated for the occasion. As Amalatok had arrived that very day on a visit from Poloeland with his prime minister and several chiefs, and Grabantak was residing on the spot, with a number of chiefs from the surrounding islands, who had come to behold the famous Kablunets, there was a sort of impromptu gathering of the northern clans which lent appropriate dignity to the wedding. After the preliminary feast of the occasion was over, Captain Vane was requested to exhibit some of his wonderful powers for the benefit of a strange chief who had recently arrived from a distant island. Of course our good-natured Captain complied. "Get out the boats and kites, Benjy, boy," he said; "we must go through our performances to please 'em. I feel as if we were a regular company of play-actors now." "Won't you give them a blow-up first, father?" "No, Benjy, no. Never put your best foot foremost. The proverb is a false one--as many proverbs are. We will dynamite them afterwards, and electrify them last of all. Go, look sharp." So the Captain first amazed the visitor with the kites and india-rubber boats; then he horrified him by blowing a small iceberg of some thousands of tons into millions of atoms; after which he convulsed him and made him "jump." The latter experiment was the one to which the enlightened Eskimos looked forward with the most excited and hopeful anticipations, for it was that which gratified best their feeling of mischievous joviality. When the sedate and dignified chief was led, all ignorant of his fate, to the mysterious mat, and stood thereon with grave demeanour, the surrounding natives bent their knees, drew up elbows, expanded fingers, and glared in expectancy. When the dignified chief experienced a tremor of the frame and looked surprised, they grinned with satisfaction; when he quivered convulsively they also quivered with suppressed emotion. Ah! Benjy had learned by that time from experience to graduate very delicately his shocking scale, and thus lead his victim step by step from bad to worse, so as to squeeze the utmost amount of fun out of him, before inducing that galvanic war-dance which usually terminated the scene and threw his audience into fits of ecstatic laughter. These were the final rejoicings of the wedding day--if we except a dance in which every man did what seemed best in his own eyes, and Butterface played reels on the flute with admirable incapacity. But there came a day, at last, when the inhabitants of Flatland were far indeed removed from the spirit of merriment. It was the height of the Arctic summer-time, when the crashing of the great glaciers and the gleaming of the melting bergs told of rapid dissolution, and the sleepless sun was circling its day-and-nightly course in the ever-bright blue sky. The population of Flatland was assembled on the beach of their native isle--the men with downcast looks, the women with sad and tearful eyes. Two india-rubber boats were on the shore. Two kites were flying overhead. The third boat and kite had been damaged beyond repair, but the two left were sufficient. The Englishmen were about to depart, and the Eskimos were inconsolable. "My boat is on the shore,--" Said Benjy, quoting Byron, as he shook old Makitok by the hand-- "And my kite is in the sky, But before I go, of more, I will--bid you--all--good-b--" Benjy broke down at this point. The feeble attempt to be facetious to the last utterly failed. Turning abruptly on his heel he stepped into the _Faith_ and took his seat in the stern. It was the _Hope_ which had been destroyed. The _Faith_ and _Charity_ still remained to them. We must draw a curtain over that parting scene. Never before in human experience had such a display of kindly feeling and profound regret been witnessed in similar circumstances. "Let go the tail-ropes!" said Captain Vane in a husky tone. "Let go de ropes," echoed Butterface in a broken voice. The ropes were let go. The kites soared, and the boats rushed swiftly over the calm and glittering sea. On nearing one of the outer islands the voyagers knew that their tiny boats would soon be shut out from view, and they rose to wave a last farewell. The salute was returned by the Eskimos--with especial fervour by Chingatok, who stood high above his fellows on a promontory, and waved the parchment roll of texts which he grasped in his huge right hand. Long after the boats had disappeared, the kites could still be seen among the gorgeous clouds. Smaller and smaller they became in their flight to the mysterious south, until at last they seemed undistinguishable specks on the horizon, and then vanished altogether from view. One by one the Eskimos retired to their homes--slowly and sadly, as if loath to part from the scene where the word farewell had been spoken. At last all were gone save Chingatok, who still stood for hours on the promontory, pressing the scroll to his heaving chest, and gazing intently at the place on the horizon where his friends had disappeared. There was no night to bring his vigil or his meditations to a close, but time wore him out at last. With a sigh, amounting almost to a groan, he turned and walked slowly away, and did not stop until he stood upon the Pole, where he sat down on one of the Captain's stools, and gazed mournfully at the remains of the dismantled observatory. There he was found by old Makitok, and for some time the giant and the wizard held converse together. "I love these Kablunets," said Chingatok. "They are a strange race," returned the wizard. "They mingle much folly with their wisdom. They come here to find this Nort Pole, this nothing, and they find it. Then they go away and leave it! What good has it done them?" "I know not," replied Chingatok humbly, "but I know not everything. They have showed me much. One thing they have showed me--that behind all _things_ there is something else which I do not see. The Kablunets are wonderful men. Yet I pity them. As Blackbeard has said, some of them are too fond of killing themselves, and some are too fond of killing each other. I wish they would come here--the whole nation of them--and learn how to live in peace and be happy among the Eskimos. But they will not come. Only a few of their best men venture to come, and I should not wonder if their countrymen refused to believe the half of what they tell them when they get home." Old Makitok made no reply. He was puzzled, and when puzzled he usually retired to his hut and went to bed. Doing so on the present occasion he left his companion alone. "Poor, poor Kablunets," murmured Chingatok, descending from his position, and wandering away towards the outskirts of the village. "You are very clever, but you are somewhat foolish. I pity you, but I also love you well." With his grand head down, his arms crossed, and the scroll of texts pressed to his broad bosom, the Giant of the North wandered away, and finally disappeared among the flowering and rocky uplands of the interior. THE END.