Chapter Sixteen.Silas Grig’s Dinner-Party—A New Member of the Malacopterygii—The Storm on the Sea of Ice—Break-up of the Main Pack—Roughing it at Sea.While those two chiefs of the Eskimo Indians were hurrying their team of dogs across the sea of ice eastwards, ever eastwards, with the clouds rising behind them, with the wind whispering and moaning around them, and sometimes raising the powdery snow in little angry eddies, that almost hid the plunging dogs from their view, honest Silas Grig, though somewhat uneasy in his mind as to what kind of weather was brewing, busied himself nevertheless in preparing what he considered a splendid dinner for his coming guests.“But,” he said to his mate, “it will just be like my luck, you know, if it comes on to blow big guns, and we’ve got to leave good cheer and put out to sea.”“Ah! sir,” said the mate, “don’t forget luck has turned, you know.”“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Silas, “really, matie, Ihada’most forgotten.”And away forward he hurried, to see how the men were getting on scrubbing decks and cleaning brass-work, and how the cook was getting on with that mighty sirloin of beef. He took many a ran forward as the day advanced, often pausing, though, to give an uneasy glance windward, and at the sun, not yet hidden by the rising clouds. And often as he did so he shook his head and made some remark to his mate.“I tell ye, matie,” he said once, “I don’t quite like the looks o’ ’t. Those clouds ain’t natural this time o’ the year, and don’t you see the spots in the sun? Why, he is holed through and through like an old Dutch cheese. Something’s brewin’. But, talking of brewin’, I wonder how the soup is getting on?” (In Greenland these sunspots are quite easily seen by the naked eye.)Silas’s face was more the colour of a new flower-pot than ever, when McBain and our three heroes came alongside in their dashing gig, with its beautiful paint and varnish, snow-white oars, flag trailing astern, and rudder-ribbons, all complete.Rory was steering, and he brought her alongside with a regular admiral’s sweep.“Why, she’s going away past us!” cried Silas; “no, she ain’t. It is the bow-and-bow business the young ’un’s after.”“In bow?” cried Rory. “Way enough—oars!”These were the only three orders Rory needed to give to his men. There was no shouting of “Easy sta’board!” or “Easy port!” as when a lubber is coxswain.Next moment they were all on deck, shaking hands with the skipper and his mate. The latter remained on deck; he didn’t care for the company of “quality;” besides, he had to loosen sails, and have all ready to get in anchors at a minute’s notice and put out to sea.The skipper of theCanny Scotiahad contrived another seat at table, so there was no such thing as crowding, and the dinner passed off entirely to his satisfaction. The pea-soup was excellent, neither too thick nor too thin, and the sippets done to a turn. Then came what Silas called the whitebait.“Which is only my fun, gentlemen,” he observed, “seeing that they are bigger than sprats. Where do I get them? Hey? Why, turn up a piece of pancake-ice, and there they be sticking in the clear in hundreds, like bees in a honeycomb, and nothing out but their bits of tails.”“It is curious,” said Rory. “How do they bore the holes, I wonder?”“That, young gentleman,” replied Silas, “I can’t say, never having seen them at work. Maybe they melt the ice with their noses; they can’t make the holes with their teeth, their bows are too blunt and humble like. Perhaps, after all, they find the holes ready-made, and just go in for warmth. Queer, ain’t it?”“I believe,” said Rory, “they belong to the natural orderMalacopterygii.”“The what?” cried Ralph; “but, pray, Row, don’t repeat the word. Think of the small bones; and McFlail isn’t here, you know.”“Of which,” continued Rory, “theClupeidae” (Ralph groaned) “form one of the families, belonging to which are the herring, the sardine, the whitebait, and sprat.”“They may be sprats, or they may be young sperm-whales, for anything I care,” said Ralph; “but I do know they are jolly good eating. Captain Grig, may I trouble you again?”With the pudding came the green ginger, that Ralph was so anxious to taste.“The peculiarity of that pudding, gentlemen, is this,” said Silas—“eaten hot itisa pudding, eaten cold it is a bun. The peculiarity of the green—”What more he meant to have said will never be known, for at that moment theCanny Scotiagave an angry cant to leeward, and away—extemporised seat and all—went the skipper down upon the sta’board bulkheads; the coalscuttle, the water-bucket, and the big armchair followed suit, and there was consequently some little confusion, and a speedy break-up of the dinner-party.McBain’s boat was called away, for the ship had slipped her ice-anchors, and was drifting seaward, with the wind roaring wildly through rigging and cordage. The gale had come upon them as sudden as a thunderclap. Good-byes were hastily said, and away pulled the gig. She was in the lee of the ice and partly sheltered, otherwise they never would have regained theArrandoon. As it was, the men were almost exhausted when they got alongside.Her anchors were well fast, and her cables were strong; there was little fear of dragging for some time, so the order was given to at once get up steam, and that, too, with all speed, for the force of the wind seemed to increase almost momentarily. On theArrandoon’sdecks you could scarcely have seen anything, for the snow blew blindingly from off the ice; there was little to be heard either, for the shrill, harsh whistling of the wind. Men flitted hither and thither like uneasy ghosts, making things snug, and battening down the principal hatches; on the bridge, dimly descried, was McBain, speaking-trumpet under arm, and beside him Stevenson.Down below, from fore to aft, everybody was engaged. In the stoke-hole they were busy, and making goodly use of the American hams; in the engine-room the engineers were looking well to their gear, with bits of greasy “pob” in their hands, humming songs as they gave a rub here and a nib there, though to what end or purpose I couldn’t tell you, but evidently on the best of terms with themselves and their beautiful engine. The doctor was busy stowing his bottles away, and the steward was making the pantry shipshape, and our heroes themselves were stowing away all loose gear in their cabins. Presently they entered the saloon again, where was Freezing Powders making the cockatoo’s cage fast with a morsel of lanyard.“Here’s a pretty to-do!” the bird was saying, half choking on a billful of hemp. “Call the steward!—call the steward!—call the steward!”“You jus’ console yourse’f,” said the boy, “and don’t take sich big mou’fuls o’ hemp. Mind, you’ll be sea-sick p’esently.”“De-ah me!”“Yes, ye will—dreffully sea-sick. Den you wants to call de steward plenty quick.”One ice-anchor came on board; the other—the bow—was cut adrift as the ship’s stern swung round seaward. Almost at the same moment an explosion was heard close alongside, as if one of the boilers had burst. The great berg to which they had been anchored had parted company with the floe, and was evidently bent on going to sea along with theArrandoon.Once they were a little way clear of the ice they could look about them, the snow no longer blowing over the vessel. The scene was peculiar, and such as can only be viewed in Greenland under like circumstances.The whole field of ice, as far as it was visible, was a smother of whirling drift; the lofty cone of Jan Mayen, which though miles to the south’ard and west, had been so well-defined an object against the blue of the sky, was now blurred and indistinct, and the grey, driving clouds every now and again quite hid the top of it from view. All along the edge of the pack the snow was being blown seaward like smoke, or like the white spray on the rocks where billows break. The eastern horizon was a chaos of dark, shifting billows, as tall as houses, and foam-tipped; but near by the ice, although the wind blew already with the force of a gale, and the surface of the water was churned into froth, there was not a wave bigger than you would see on a farmer’s mill-pond.What a pity it seemed to leave this comparatively smooth water and steam away out into the centre of yonder mighty conflict ’twixt wind and wave. But well every one on board knew that to remain where they were was but to court destruction, for the noise that proceeded from the ice-fields told them the pack was breaking up. Ay, and bergs were already forging ahead of them, and surrounding them. Ere they were a mile from the floes they found this out, and the danger from the floating masses of ice was very real indeed. Every minute the pieces were hurtled with all the force of the waves against the sturdy vessel’s weather-side, threatening to stave her; nor could McBain, who never left the bridge until the vessel was well out to sea, avoid at times stemming the bergs that appeared ahead of him. For often two would present themselves at one time, and one must be stemmed—the smaller of the twain; for to have come in collision bow on, would have meant foundering.But at length the danger was past as far as the ice was concerned, though now the seas were mountains high, and of Titanic force; so after an hour or two theArrandoonlay to, and having seen the lights all properly placed, and extra hands put on the look-out—having, in fact, done everything a sailor could do for the safety of his ship, McBain came down below.In shining oil-skins and dripping sou’-wester, he looked like some queer sea-monster that had just been caught and hauled on board.He looked a trifle more human, however, when the steward had marched off with his outer garments.“Is she snug?” asked Allan.“Ay, lads, as snug as she is likely to be to-night,” replied McBain; “but she doesn’t like it, I can tell you, and the gale seems increasing to hurricane force. How is the glass, Rory?”“Not so very low,” said Rory; “not under twenty-nine degrees.”“But concave at the top?”“Yes, sir.”“Well, well,” said McBain, “content yourselves, boys, for I think we’ll have days of it. I for one don’t want to see much more of the ice while this blow lasts. But what a splendid fire you have! Steward, mind you put on the guard last thing to-night.”“Why the guard?” asked Rory.“Because,” explained McBain, “I feel certain that many a good ship has been burned at sea by the fire falling out of the grate; a wave or a piece of ice hits her on the bows, the fire flies out of the stove, no one is below, and so, and so—”“Yes,” said Ralph, “that is very likely, and pray don’t let us speak of anything very dreadful to-night. List! how the wind roars, to be sure! But to change the subject—Peter.”“Ay, ay, sir.”“Is supper ready?”“Very nearly, sir.”“Well, tell Seth to come, and Magnus.”“Ho! ho!” said McBain, “that’s it, is it?”“What a comfort on a night like this,” Allan remarked, “it is to be shipmates with two such fellows as Ray and Row, the epicure and the poet—the one to cater for the corporeal, the other for the mental man.”The ship was pitching angrily, dipping her bows deep down under the solid seas and raising them quickly again, but not neglecting to ship tons of water every time, which found its way aft, so that down in the saloon they could hear it washing about overhead and pouring past the ports into the sea.“Steady, sir, steady,” cried Magnus, entering the saloon. He was speaking to Seth, who had preceded him. He didn’t walk in, he came in head first, and was now lying all his length on the saloon floor.But Rory and Allan lifted him tenderly up again and seated him on the couch, amid such remarks as, “No bones broken, I do hope,” “Gently does it, Seth, old man,” “Have you really left your sea-legs forward?” “Call the steward,” the last remark being the cockatoo’s.“I reckon,” said the old trapper, rubbing his elbows and knees, “there ain’t any bones given way this time, but that same is more chance than good management.”After supper—which was of Ralph’s own choosing, I need not say more—a general adjournment was made to the after-cabin, or snuggery, and here every one adopted attitudes of comfort around the blazing stove, in easy-chairs, on sofas, or on rugs and skins on the deck; there they sat, or lounged, or lay. The elders had their pipes, the youngsters coffee. But with the pitching and rolling of the ship it was not very easy either to sit, or lounge, or lie, nor was it advisable to leave the coffee in the cup for any length of time; nevertheless everybody was happy, for wondrous little care had they on their minds. Oh! how wild and tempestuous the night was, and how madly the seas leapt and tossed around them! But they had a ship they could trust, and, better by far, a Power above them which they had learned to put confidence in.Seth, to-night, was in what Ralph called fine form. His stories of adventure, told in his dry, droll, inimitable way, were irresistible. De Vere’s face never once lacked a smile on it; he loved to listen though he could not talk.Old Magnus also had some queer tales to tell, his relation of them affording Seth breathing space. Several times during the evening Rory played, and the doctor tooted, as he called it.Thus merrily and pleasantly sped the time—every one doing his best to amuse his neighbours—until eight bells rang out, then all retired.It is on such a night as this that the soundest sleep visits the pillow of your thorough sailor—the roar of the wind overhead, the rocking of the ship, and the sound of the waves close by the ear, all conduce to sweetest slumber.There was little if any improvement in the weather next day, nor for several days; but cold and stormy though it was, to be on the bridge, holding on—figuratively speaking—by the eyelids, was a glorious treat for our sailor heroes. The masts bent like fishing-rods beneath the force of the gale. At times the good ship heeled until her yard-ends ploughed the waves, and if a sea struck her then, the spray leapt higher than the main-truck, and the green water made a clean breach over her. On the second day the clouds were all blown away, but the wind retained its force, and the waves their power and magnitude. Every wave threatened to come inboard, and about one out of ten did. Those that didn’t went singing astern, or got in under theArrandoon, and tossed her all they could. The frost was intense, and in some way or other, I think, accounted for the strange singing noise emitted by those waves that went past without breaking. But it was when one great sea followed swiftly on the heels of another that the good ship suffered most, because she would probably be down by the head when she received salute number two. It was thus she had her bulwarks smashed, and one good boat rent into matchwood and cast away.It was no easy task to reach the bridge, nor to rush therefrom and regain the saloon companion. You had to watch the seas, and were generally pretty safe if you made use of arms and legs just after one or two big waves had done their worst; but Allan once, and Rory three times, were washed into the scuppers, and more bruised than they cared to own. Ralph seldom came on deck, and the doctor just once got his head above the companion; for this piece of daring he received a sea in the teeth, which he declared nearly cut his head off. He went down below to change his clothes, and never came up again.On the third day, in the dog-watch, the wind fell, and the sea went down considerably. Had the gale blown from the east, the sea would have been in no such hurry to go down, but it had continued all the time to blow steadily from off the ice. What a strange sight theArrandoonnow presented! She was a ship of glass and snow. Funnel, masts, and rigging were, or seemed to be, composed of frosted crystal. The funnel, Rory declared, looked like a stalactite from “the cave of a thousand winters.” Her bows were lumbered with ice feet thick, and from stem to stern there was no more liveliness in the goodArrandoonthan there is in a Dutch collier.As soon as the wind fell a man was sent up aloft, and the order was given,—“All hands clear ship of ice.”But hark! there is a shout from the crow’s-nest.“Large ship down to leeward, sir, apparently in distress.”
While those two chiefs of the Eskimo Indians were hurrying their team of dogs across the sea of ice eastwards, ever eastwards, with the clouds rising behind them, with the wind whispering and moaning around them, and sometimes raising the powdery snow in little angry eddies, that almost hid the plunging dogs from their view, honest Silas Grig, though somewhat uneasy in his mind as to what kind of weather was brewing, busied himself nevertheless in preparing what he considered a splendid dinner for his coming guests.
“But,” he said to his mate, “it will just be like my luck, you know, if it comes on to blow big guns, and we’ve got to leave good cheer and put out to sea.”
“Ah! sir,” said the mate, “don’t forget luck has turned, you know.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed Silas, “really, matie, Ihada’most forgotten.”
And away forward he hurried, to see how the men were getting on scrubbing decks and cleaning brass-work, and how the cook was getting on with that mighty sirloin of beef. He took many a ran forward as the day advanced, often pausing, though, to give an uneasy glance windward, and at the sun, not yet hidden by the rising clouds. And often as he did so he shook his head and made some remark to his mate.
“I tell ye, matie,” he said once, “I don’t quite like the looks o’ ’t. Those clouds ain’t natural this time o’ the year, and don’t you see the spots in the sun? Why, he is holed through and through like an old Dutch cheese. Something’s brewin’. But, talking of brewin’, I wonder how the soup is getting on?” (In Greenland these sunspots are quite easily seen by the naked eye.)
Silas’s face was more the colour of a new flower-pot than ever, when McBain and our three heroes came alongside in their dashing gig, with its beautiful paint and varnish, snow-white oars, flag trailing astern, and rudder-ribbons, all complete.
Rory was steering, and he brought her alongside with a regular admiral’s sweep.
“Why, she’s going away past us!” cried Silas; “no, she ain’t. It is the bow-and-bow business the young ’un’s after.”
“In bow?” cried Rory. “Way enough—oars!”
These were the only three orders Rory needed to give to his men. There was no shouting of “Easy sta’board!” or “Easy port!” as when a lubber is coxswain.
Next moment they were all on deck, shaking hands with the skipper and his mate. The latter remained on deck; he didn’t care for the company of “quality;” besides, he had to loosen sails, and have all ready to get in anchors at a minute’s notice and put out to sea.
The skipper of theCanny Scotiahad contrived another seat at table, so there was no such thing as crowding, and the dinner passed off entirely to his satisfaction. The pea-soup was excellent, neither too thick nor too thin, and the sippets done to a turn. Then came what Silas called the whitebait.
“Which is only my fun, gentlemen,” he observed, “seeing that they are bigger than sprats. Where do I get them? Hey? Why, turn up a piece of pancake-ice, and there they be sticking in the clear in hundreds, like bees in a honeycomb, and nothing out but their bits of tails.”
“It is curious,” said Rory. “How do they bore the holes, I wonder?”
“That, young gentleman,” replied Silas, “I can’t say, never having seen them at work. Maybe they melt the ice with their noses; they can’t make the holes with their teeth, their bows are too blunt and humble like. Perhaps, after all, they find the holes ready-made, and just go in for warmth. Queer, ain’t it?”
“I believe,” said Rory, “they belong to the natural orderMalacopterygii.”
“The what?” cried Ralph; “but, pray, Row, don’t repeat the word. Think of the small bones; and McFlail isn’t here, you know.”
“Of which,” continued Rory, “theClupeidae” (Ralph groaned) “form one of the families, belonging to which are the herring, the sardine, the whitebait, and sprat.”
“They may be sprats, or they may be young sperm-whales, for anything I care,” said Ralph; “but I do know they are jolly good eating. Captain Grig, may I trouble you again?”
With the pudding came the green ginger, that Ralph was so anxious to taste.
“The peculiarity of that pudding, gentlemen, is this,” said Silas—“eaten hot itisa pudding, eaten cold it is a bun. The peculiarity of the green—”
What more he meant to have said will never be known, for at that moment theCanny Scotiagave an angry cant to leeward, and away—extemporised seat and all—went the skipper down upon the sta’board bulkheads; the coalscuttle, the water-bucket, and the big armchair followed suit, and there was consequently some little confusion, and a speedy break-up of the dinner-party.
McBain’s boat was called away, for the ship had slipped her ice-anchors, and was drifting seaward, with the wind roaring wildly through rigging and cordage. The gale had come upon them as sudden as a thunderclap. Good-byes were hastily said, and away pulled the gig. She was in the lee of the ice and partly sheltered, otherwise they never would have regained theArrandoon. As it was, the men were almost exhausted when they got alongside.
Her anchors were well fast, and her cables were strong; there was little fear of dragging for some time, so the order was given to at once get up steam, and that, too, with all speed, for the force of the wind seemed to increase almost momentarily. On theArrandoon’sdecks you could scarcely have seen anything, for the snow blew blindingly from off the ice; there was little to be heard either, for the shrill, harsh whistling of the wind. Men flitted hither and thither like uneasy ghosts, making things snug, and battening down the principal hatches; on the bridge, dimly descried, was McBain, speaking-trumpet under arm, and beside him Stevenson.
Down below, from fore to aft, everybody was engaged. In the stoke-hole they were busy, and making goodly use of the American hams; in the engine-room the engineers were looking well to their gear, with bits of greasy “pob” in their hands, humming songs as they gave a rub here and a nib there, though to what end or purpose I couldn’t tell you, but evidently on the best of terms with themselves and their beautiful engine. The doctor was busy stowing his bottles away, and the steward was making the pantry shipshape, and our heroes themselves were stowing away all loose gear in their cabins. Presently they entered the saloon again, where was Freezing Powders making the cockatoo’s cage fast with a morsel of lanyard.
“Here’s a pretty to-do!” the bird was saying, half choking on a billful of hemp. “Call the steward!—call the steward!—call the steward!”
“You jus’ console yourse’f,” said the boy, “and don’t take sich big mou’fuls o’ hemp. Mind, you’ll be sea-sick p’esently.”
“De-ah me!”
“Yes, ye will—dreffully sea-sick. Den you wants to call de steward plenty quick.”
One ice-anchor came on board; the other—the bow—was cut adrift as the ship’s stern swung round seaward. Almost at the same moment an explosion was heard close alongside, as if one of the boilers had burst. The great berg to which they had been anchored had parted company with the floe, and was evidently bent on going to sea along with theArrandoon.
Once they were a little way clear of the ice they could look about them, the snow no longer blowing over the vessel. The scene was peculiar, and such as can only be viewed in Greenland under like circumstances.
The whole field of ice, as far as it was visible, was a smother of whirling drift; the lofty cone of Jan Mayen, which though miles to the south’ard and west, had been so well-defined an object against the blue of the sky, was now blurred and indistinct, and the grey, driving clouds every now and again quite hid the top of it from view. All along the edge of the pack the snow was being blown seaward like smoke, or like the white spray on the rocks where billows break. The eastern horizon was a chaos of dark, shifting billows, as tall as houses, and foam-tipped; but near by the ice, although the wind blew already with the force of a gale, and the surface of the water was churned into froth, there was not a wave bigger than you would see on a farmer’s mill-pond.
What a pity it seemed to leave this comparatively smooth water and steam away out into the centre of yonder mighty conflict ’twixt wind and wave. But well every one on board knew that to remain where they were was but to court destruction, for the noise that proceeded from the ice-fields told them the pack was breaking up. Ay, and bergs were already forging ahead of them, and surrounding them. Ere they were a mile from the floes they found this out, and the danger from the floating masses of ice was very real indeed. Every minute the pieces were hurtled with all the force of the waves against the sturdy vessel’s weather-side, threatening to stave her; nor could McBain, who never left the bridge until the vessel was well out to sea, avoid at times stemming the bergs that appeared ahead of him. For often two would present themselves at one time, and one must be stemmed—the smaller of the twain; for to have come in collision bow on, would have meant foundering.
But at length the danger was past as far as the ice was concerned, though now the seas were mountains high, and of Titanic force; so after an hour or two theArrandoonlay to, and having seen the lights all properly placed, and extra hands put on the look-out—having, in fact, done everything a sailor could do for the safety of his ship, McBain came down below.
In shining oil-skins and dripping sou’-wester, he looked like some queer sea-monster that had just been caught and hauled on board.
He looked a trifle more human, however, when the steward had marched off with his outer garments.
“Is she snug?” asked Allan.
“Ay, lads, as snug as she is likely to be to-night,” replied McBain; “but she doesn’t like it, I can tell you, and the gale seems increasing to hurricane force. How is the glass, Rory?”
“Not so very low,” said Rory; “not under twenty-nine degrees.”
“But concave at the top?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, well,” said McBain, “content yourselves, boys, for I think we’ll have days of it. I for one don’t want to see much more of the ice while this blow lasts. But what a splendid fire you have! Steward, mind you put on the guard last thing to-night.”
“Why the guard?” asked Rory.
“Because,” explained McBain, “I feel certain that many a good ship has been burned at sea by the fire falling out of the grate; a wave or a piece of ice hits her on the bows, the fire flies out of the stove, no one is below, and so, and so—”
“Yes,” said Ralph, “that is very likely, and pray don’t let us speak of anything very dreadful to-night. List! how the wind roars, to be sure! But to change the subject—Peter.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Is supper ready?”
“Very nearly, sir.”
“Well, tell Seth to come, and Magnus.”
“Ho! ho!” said McBain, “that’s it, is it?”
“What a comfort on a night like this,” Allan remarked, “it is to be shipmates with two such fellows as Ray and Row, the epicure and the poet—the one to cater for the corporeal, the other for the mental man.”
The ship was pitching angrily, dipping her bows deep down under the solid seas and raising them quickly again, but not neglecting to ship tons of water every time, which found its way aft, so that down in the saloon they could hear it washing about overhead and pouring past the ports into the sea.
“Steady, sir, steady,” cried Magnus, entering the saloon. He was speaking to Seth, who had preceded him. He didn’t walk in, he came in head first, and was now lying all his length on the saloon floor.
But Rory and Allan lifted him tenderly up again and seated him on the couch, amid such remarks as, “No bones broken, I do hope,” “Gently does it, Seth, old man,” “Have you really left your sea-legs forward?” “Call the steward,” the last remark being the cockatoo’s.
“I reckon,” said the old trapper, rubbing his elbows and knees, “there ain’t any bones given way this time, but that same is more chance than good management.”
After supper—which was of Ralph’s own choosing, I need not say more—a general adjournment was made to the after-cabin, or snuggery, and here every one adopted attitudes of comfort around the blazing stove, in easy-chairs, on sofas, or on rugs and skins on the deck; there they sat, or lounged, or lay. The elders had their pipes, the youngsters coffee. But with the pitching and rolling of the ship it was not very easy either to sit, or lounge, or lie, nor was it advisable to leave the coffee in the cup for any length of time; nevertheless everybody was happy, for wondrous little care had they on their minds. Oh! how wild and tempestuous the night was, and how madly the seas leapt and tossed around them! But they had a ship they could trust, and, better by far, a Power above them which they had learned to put confidence in.
Seth, to-night, was in what Ralph called fine form. His stories of adventure, told in his dry, droll, inimitable way, were irresistible. De Vere’s face never once lacked a smile on it; he loved to listen though he could not talk.
Old Magnus also had some queer tales to tell, his relation of them affording Seth breathing space. Several times during the evening Rory played, and the doctor tooted, as he called it.
Thus merrily and pleasantly sped the time—every one doing his best to amuse his neighbours—until eight bells rang out, then all retired.
It is on such a night as this that the soundest sleep visits the pillow of your thorough sailor—the roar of the wind overhead, the rocking of the ship, and the sound of the waves close by the ear, all conduce to sweetest slumber.
There was little if any improvement in the weather next day, nor for several days; but cold and stormy though it was, to be on the bridge, holding on—figuratively speaking—by the eyelids, was a glorious treat for our sailor heroes. The masts bent like fishing-rods beneath the force of the gale. At times the good ship heeled until her yard-ends ploughed the waves, and if a sea struck her then, the spray leapt higher than the main-truck, and the green water made a clean breach over her. On the second day the clouds were all blown away, but the wind retained its force, and the waves their power and magnitude. Every wave threatened to come inboard, and about one out of ten did. Those that didn’t went singing astern, or got in under theArrandoon, and tossed her all they could. The frost was intense, and in some way or other, I think, accounted for the strange singing noise emitted by those waves that went past without breaking. But it was when one great sea followed swiftly on the heels of another that the good ship suffered most, because she would probably be down by the head when she received salute number two. It was thus she had her bulwarks smashed, and one good boat rent into matchwood and cast away.
It was no easy task to reach the bridge, nor to rush therefrom and regain the saloon companion. You had to watch the seas, and were generally pretty safe if you made use of arms and legs just after one or two big waves had done their worst; but Allan once, and Rory three times, were washed into the scuppers, and more bruised than they cared to own. Ralph seldom came on deck, and the doctor just once got his head above the companion; for this piece of daring he received a sea in the teeth, which he declared nearly cut his head off. He went down below to change his clothes, and never came up again.
On the third day, in the dog-watch, the wind fell, and the sea went down considerably. Had the gale blown from the east, the sea would have been in no such hurry to go down, but it had continued all the time to blow steadily from off the ice. What a strange sight theArrandoonnow presented! She was a ship of glass and snow. Funnel, masts, and rigging were, or seemed to be, composed of frosted crystal. The funnel, Rory declared, looked like a stalactite from “the cave of a thousand winters.” Her bows were lumbered with ice feet thick, and from stem to stern there was no more liveliness in the goodArrandoonthan there is in a Dutch collier.
As soon as the wind fell a man was sent up aloft, and the order was given,—
“All hands clear ship of ice.”
But hark! there is a shout from the crow’s-nest.
“Large ship down to leeward, sir, apparently in distress.”
Chapter Seventeen.The Storm—The “Canny Scotia” in Distress—Rum, Mutiny, Anarchy, and Death—Saved—Adventure with a She-Bear—Capture of the Young.Has it not been said that the greatest pleasure on earth is felt on the sudden surcease of severe pain? I am inclined, though, to doubt the truth of this statement, and I think that nothing can equal the feeling of quiet, calm joy that is instilled into the heart on the instant one is plucked from the jaws of impending death. When the King of Terrors comes speedily, while the blood is up and the heart beating high, as he does to those who fall in the field of battle, his approach does not seem anything like so terrible as when he lags in his march towards his victim. One needs to have a hope that leads his thoughts beyond this world, to be brave and calm at such a moment.When theCanny Scotiaslipped her ice-anchors and was driven out to sea, to encounter all the fury of the gale that had so suddenly sprung up, she had not the advantages of theArrandoon. She had no steam power, nor was she so well manned. She could therefore only scud under bare poles, or lie to with about as much canvas spread as would make a mason’s apron.Silas didn’t mean to be caught napping, however, and, as quickly as he could, he got the tarpaulins down over the hatches, took in all spare canvas, and did all he could for the best. Alas! the best was bad. TheScotiamade fearful weather, and twenty-four hours after it had come on to blow, she had not a topmast standing, two of her best boats had been carried away, her bulwarks looked like a badly-built farmer’s paling, and, worse than all, she was stove amidships on the weather-side and under the water-line. When this last disaster was reported to Silas Grig, he called all hands to “make good repairs,” and stem the flow of the water, which was rushing inboard like a mill-stream through the ugly hole in the vessel’s side. Had it been calm weather, this might have been done effectually enough, but, under the circumstances, it was simply an impossibility. Everything was done, however, that could be done, but still the seas poured in at every lurch to windward.Then it was “All hands to the pumps.” The men worked in relays, and cheerily, too, and for a time the water was sent overboard faster than it came in, albeit there were times when the green seas poured over the ship like mountain cataracts. But after some hours, either through the men flagging, or from the hole in the ship’s side getting larger, the water in the hold began to gain rapidly on them.“Bring up black-jack!” cried the skipper to the steward, “and we’ll splice the main-brace.”“Now hurrah! lads!” he exclaimed, addressing the men after a liberal allowance of rum had been handed round. “Hurrah! heave round again. The storm has about spent itself and the sea is going down. We can keep her afloat if we try. Hurrah then, hurrah!”“Hurrah!” echoed the men in response, and, flushed with artificial strength, they once more set themselves with redoubled energy to keep the water under. There was no danger now from ice. The piece that had wrought them so much mischief was about the last they had seen. So for a time all went well, and if the water did not decrease it certainly did not rise. An hour went by, then a deputation came aft to beg for more rum, and the fate of this vessel, like that of many another lost at sea, seemed sealed by the awful drink curse.“It’s hardly judicious,” said Silas to his mate, “but I suppose they must have it.”Ah! Silas Grig, it was not judicious to serve them with the first allowance. When hard work is over and finished, and men are worn out and tired, then is the time, if ever, to splice the main-brace; but when work has to be done that needs clear heads, and when danger is all around a ship, the farther away the rum is the better.They had it, though, and presently they were singing as they pumped—singing, but not working half so hard as before. Then even the singing itself ceased; they were getting tired and drowsy, and yet another allowance of rum was asked and granted.The water rose higher in the hold.When the men heard this report they would work no more. With one accord they desisted from their labours, and a deputation of the boldest found their way aft.“It is no use, Captain Silas Grig,” they said, addressing their skipper; “the ship is going down, and we mean to die jolly. Bring up the rum.”“This is mutiny,” cried the captain, pulling out a revolver. “I’ll shoot the first man dead that dares go down that cabin staircase.”“Captain,” said one of the men, stepping forward, “will you let me speak to you? I’ve nothing but friendly feelings towards you.”“Well,” replied the skipper, “what have you to say?”“This,” said the man; “let us have no murder. Put up your shooting-irons. It is all in vain. The menwillhave rum. Hark! d’ye hear that?”“I heard a knocking below,” said the skipper. “What does it mean?”Before the man could reply there was a wild shout from the half-deck.“It means,” replied the man, “that the men have broken through the cabin bulkheads and supplied themselves.”“Then Heaven help us!” said poor bewildered Silas.He staggered to the seat beside the skylight and sat down, holding on by the brass glass-guards.A moment after the mate joined him.“You haven’t been drinking, matie,” said Silas, glancing gloomily upwards, “have you?”“No, sir, nor the second mate, nor the steward, nor the spectioneer,” was the mate’s reply. “Give us your hand, sir. We’ve had words together often; let us forgive each other now. God bless you, sir, and if die together we must, we won’t die like pigs, at all events.”There was anarchy forward, anarchy and wild revelry, and cruel brawls and fighting, but the five men aft stuck together, and tried to comfort each other, though there was hardly a hope in their hearts that their vessel would be saved. A long evening wore away, a kind of semi-darkness settled over the sea, but this short night soon gave place once more to-day. Then down forward all was quiet; the revellers were sleeping the stertorous sleep of the drunkard.But the wind had fallen considerably, and the seas had gone down; the broken waves no longer sung in the frosty air, but the ship rolled like a half-dead thing in the trough of the sea. She was water-logged.With infinite difficulty the mates, with the steward’s assistance, stretched more canvas, while the captain took the helm. She heeled over to it, and looked as if she hardly cared to right again. But this brought the hole in her side into view. Then they got heavy blankets up, and, working as they had never worked before, they managed in an hour and a half to staunch the leak from the outside.Hope began to rise in their hearts, and, at the bidding of the skipper, the steward went below and brought up a large tin of preserved soup.“Ah! men,” said poor Silas, “this is better than all the rum in the world.”And it was, for it gave them strength and heart. They went away down below next to the galley and half-deck, and tried to rouse some of the men. They found five of them stark and stiff, and from the others came nothing but groans and oaths.So they went to the pumps themselves, and worked away for hours for dear life itself.Oh! what a joyful sight it was for them when, in answer to their signal of distress, they saw the good shipArrandooncoming steaming down towards them.Then the grim raven Death, who had been hovering over the seemingly doomed ship, flapped his ragged wings and flew slowly away.They were saved!Oil was pumped upon the water between theArrandoonandScotia, to round off the curling, comb-like peaks of the waves, and a boat was lowered from the steamer and sent to the assistance of the distressed vessel.The ship was pumped out, and next day, the weather becoming once more fine, she was towed towards the island of Jan Mayen, and made fast to a floe. She was next heeled over and the repairs completed. TheArrandoonspared them a few spars, and plenty of willing hands to hoist them, so that in a few days the Greenland sealer was as strong as ever.Silas Grig was a very happy man now. The unfortunate wretches who had flown to meet their fate were sunk in the dark waters of the sea of ice, but this rough but kindly-hearted skipper never let one upbraiding word escape him towards his men, and the men knew they were forgiven, and liked their skipper none the less for his extreme forbearance.“Do you know what I have done?” said Silas to McBain.“You have forgiven your men, haven’t you?” replied McBain.“Ay, that I have,” said Silas, “but I have staved every cask of rum on board, and black-jack is thrown overboard.”All along the west coast or shore of the island of Jan Mayen our heroes, on their re-arrival there, found that the water was comparatively clear, the bergs having been driven away out to sea on the wings of the wind, so that by breaking the light bay ice the boats could approach quite close to the snow-clad cliffs.Our three boys—for boys we must continue to call them for the sake of the days of “auld lang syne”—were glad to set foot on shore again, and with them went old Seth and the doctor. Freezing Powders was also invited, but his reply was, “No, sah! thank you all de same. But only dis chile not want anoder bad winter wid a yellow bear!”“‘Adventure’ you mean, don’t you?” said Rory.“Dat is him, sah!” replied the boy. “I not want no more dancin’ for de dear life.”“But the yellow bear was killed, Freezing Powders,” persisted Allan.“But him’s moder not killed,” said the lad, with round, open eyes. “You seem to hab ’tirely forgotten dat, sah; and p’raps de moder is much worse dan de son.”So they went without him. Well armed were they, and provisioned for a day at all events.Somewhat to their surprise, they found smoke issuing from the once deserted huts, while a whole pack of dogs started up from where they had been lying and attempted to bar their progress. But the same two hardy chiefs of the Eskimos whom we last saw speeding along over the sea of ice, with the snow-wind roaring around them, came forth, quieted the dogs, and bade them kindly welcome.In their broken English they told them the tale of their adventurous journey across the pack from the far-off western land of Greenland, and of the narrow escape they had had from the violence of the sudden storm.Then they led the way, not into one of the small huts, but into the large central one.“We are making him fit and warm and good,” they explained, “for our big ’Melican masta. He come directly. To-day we see his boat not far off—a two-stick boat, with plenty mooch sail.”The “two-stick boat” which the chiefs referred to was a saucy little Yankee yacht, that on this very morning was cruising off the island.Our heroes spent several hours in the hut, seated by the blazing logs, listening delightedly to a description of the strange country these chiefs called their home—a country that few white men have ever yet visited, and where certainly none have ever wintered.But I cannot repeat all the strangers told them about the manners and customs of their countrymen, the dress of the men and women, their fishing and hunting exploits, their fierce though petty wars with other tribes, and the wonderful life they lead throughout the summer and during the long, drear, sunless season of winter.“Ah!” said Rory, with a bit of a sigh, “I do like to hear these men talk about their wild land in the Far West. We must come again and make them tell us a deal more. I’ve half a mind to set out with them when they return, and live among them for some months. I say, Ray, wouldn’t it be glorious to go surging over the ice-fields drawn by a hundred fleet-footed hounds?”“Drawn by a hundred hounds!” cried Allan, laughing. “Draw it mild, Rory.”“Well,” said Rory, “more or less, you know.”“Besides,” Ralph put in, “these are not hounds, Rory; there is more of the wolf about them than the hound.”“Och, botheration?” replied Rory; “you’re too particular. But if I went with these men, and dwelt among their tribes for a time, then I’d go to press when I came back to old England.”“A book of adventure?” said Allan.“Ah, yes!” said Rory; “a book, if you please, but not dry-as-dust prose, my boys! I’d write an epic poem.”Talking thus, away they went on an exploring expedition, Rory riding the high horse, building any number of castles in the air, and giving the reins to his wonderful imagination.“I reckon, Mr Rory,” said Seth, “that you’d make the fortune of any publisher that liked to take you up. You try New York, I guess that’d suit you; and, if you like, you shall write the life of old trapper Seth.”“Glorious!” cried Rory; “‘A Life in the Forests of the Far West.’ Hurrah! I’ll do it! You wait a bit. Look, look! What is that?”“It’s a white fox,” said Seth, bowling the animal over before the others had time to draw a bead on it.But that white fox, with a few loons, and five guillemots—which, by the way, when skinned, are excellent eating—were all they bagged that day.McBain and Stevenson had better luck though, they had seen a gigantic bear prowling around among the rough ice beneath the cliffs, and had called away a boat and gone after it.“O! sah!” cried Freezing Powders, running up to McBain as he was going over the side. “Don’t go, sah! I can see de yellow bear’s moder and two piccaninnies on de ice. She is one berry bad woman. She make you dance to please de piccaninnies, den she gobble your head off. Don’t you go, sah! You not look nice widout a head. Dat am my impression, sah.”There was nothing of the sensational about McBain’s adventure with the bear, but something of the sad. The captain of theArrandoonwas not the man to take the life of even a bear while in company of her young ones, but he well knew how terrible and how bloodthirsty such an animal is, and how cunning in her ferocity. He shuddered as he thought of Allan or Rory heedlessly passing the cave or crevasse in the rocks where she lay concealed, and being pounced upon and dragged in to be torn limb from limb. So he determined she must die.Once landed, they almost immediately sighted her, and gave chase. Alone she might have escaped; but in dread terror the young ones leapt on her back and thus hampered her movements. (She-bears with young ones are easily got up to and killed on this account.) She then turned fiercely at bay, coming swiftly on to the attack, bent upon a fearful vengeance if she could only accomplish it.“Stand by, Stevenson,” cried McBain, dropping on one knee, “to fire if I don’t kill at once.”The monster held her head low as she advanced, and a less experienced hunter would have made this the target. McBain knew better. He aimed at the lower part of the neck, and the bear fell pierced through the great artery of the heart. Yet so near had he allowed the animal to come before firing, that Stevenson, trembling for his safety, had brought his own rifle to the shoulder.Then those two poor young bears stood up to fight for their dead dam, giving vent to growls of grief and rage.“We can take them alive, sir,” said Stevenson. “Come along, lads.” This last sentence was addressed to the boat’s crew. “Come along quick, and bring the ropes.”Had old Seth been there, these young Bruins would soon have been lassoed. But McBain’s men were not over expert at such work. They did manage to rope one in a few minutes, but the other gave them a deal of trouble—sport one man erroneously called it. He invariably flew at the man who tried to throw the rope, and the man invariably made his feet his friends, thus giving another man a chance to try his skill. If he failed he had to run next, and so on until at long last one more adroit or more fortunate than his fellow succeeded in throwing the lasso over the young bear’s neck, and brought it half strangled to the ice.“A present for you, Captain Grig,” cried McBain, pulling alongside theCanny Scotiawith his double capture.Silas was delighted when he saw the two live bears. “Heaven bless you, sir!” he exclaimed. “Why, sir, they’ll fetch forty pounds each in the Londontoo. Forty pounds, sir! Think o’ that. Eighty pounds for the two o’ them. Keep my little wife and all the family for a month o’ Sundays. Hurrah! matie, luck’s turned.”
Has it not been said that the greatest pleasure on earth is felt on the sudden surcease of severe pain? I am inclined, though, to doubt the truth of this statement, and I think that nothing can equal the feeling of quiet, calm joy that is instilled into the heart on the instant one is plucked from the jaws of impending death. When the King of Terrors comes speedily, while the blood is up and the heart beating high, as he does to those who fall in the field of battle, his approach does not seem anything like so terrible as when he lags in his march towards his victim. One needs to have a hope that leads his thoughts beyond this world, to be brave and calm at such a moment.
When theCanny Scotiaslipped her ice-anchors and was driven out to sea, to encounter all the fury of the gale that had so suddenly sprung up, she had not the advantages of theArrandoon. She had no steam power, nor was she so well manned. She could therefore only scud under bare poles, or lie to with about as much canvas spread as would make a mason’s apron.
Silas didn’t mean to be caught napping, however, and, as quickly as he could, he got the tarpaulins down over the hatches, took in all spare canvas, and did all he could for the best. Alas! the best was bad. TheScotiamade fearful weather, and twenty-four hours after it had come on to blow, she had not a topmast standing, two of her best boats had been carried away, her bulwarks looked like a badly-built farmer’s paling, and, worse than all, she was stove amidships on the weather-side and under the water-line. When this last disaster was reported to Silas Grig, he called all hands to “make good repairs,” and stem the flow of the water, which was rushing inboard like a mill-stream through the ugly hole in the vessel’s side. Had it been calm weather, this might have been done effectually enough, but, under the circumstances, it was simply an impossibility. Everything was done, however, that could be done, but still the seas poured in at every lurch to windward.
Then it was “All hands to the pumps.” The men worked in relays, and cheerily, too, and for a time the water was sent overboard faster than it came in, albeit there were times when the green seas poured over the ship like mountain cataracts. But after some hours, either through the men flagging, or from the hole in the ship’s side getting larger, the water in the hold began to gain rapidly on them.
“Bring up black-jack!” cried the skipper to the steward, “and we’ll splice the main-brace.”
“Now hurrah! lads!” he exclaimed, addressing the men after a liberal allowance of rum had been handed round. “Hurrah! heave round again. The storm has about spent itself and the sea is going down. We can keep her afloat if we try. Hurrah then, hurrah!”
“Hurrah!” echoed the men in response, and, flushed with artificial strength, they once more set themselves with redoubled energy to keep the water under. There was no danger now from ice. The piece that had wrought them so much mischief was about the last they had seen. So for a time all went well, and if the water did not decrease it certainly did not rise. An hour went by, then a deputation came aft to beg for more rum, and the fate of this vessel, like that of many another lost at sea, seemed sealed by the awful drink curse.
“It’s hardly judicious,” said Silas to his mate, “but I suppose they must have it.”
Ah! Silas Grig, it was not judicious to serve them with the first allowance. When hard work is over and finished, and men are worn out and tired, then is the time, if ever, to splice the main-brace; but when work has to be done that needs clear heads, and when danger is all around a ship, the farther away the rum is the better.
They had it, though, and presently they were singing as they pumped—singing, but not working half so hard as before. Then even the singing itself ceased; they were getting tired and drowsy, and yet another allowance of rum was asked and granted.
The water rose higher in the hold.
When the men heard this report they would work no more. With one accord they desisted from their labours, and a deputation of the boldest found their way aft.
“It is no use, Captain Silas Grig,” they said, addressing their skipper; “the ship is going down, and we mean to die jolly. Bring up the rum.”
“This is mutiny,” cried the captain, pulling out a revolver. “I’ll shoot the first man dead that dares go down that cabin staircase.”
“Captain,” said one of the men, stepping forward, “will you let me speak to you? I’ve nothing but friendly feelings towards you.”
“Well,” replied the skipper, “what have you to say?”
“This,” said the man; “let us have no murder. Put up your shooting-irons. It is all in vain. The menwillhave rum. Hark! d’ye hear that?”
“I heard a knocking below,” said the skipper. “What does it mean?”
Before the man could reply there was a wild shout from the half-deck.
“It means,” replied the man, “that the men have broken through the cabin bulkheads and supplied themselves.”
“Then Heaven help us!” said poor bewildered Silas.
He staggered to the seat beside the skylight and sat down, holding on by the brass glass-guards.
A moment after the mate joined him.
“You haven’t been drinking, matie,” said Silas, glancing gloomily upwards, “have you?”
“No, sir, nor the second mate, nor the steward, nor the spectioneer,” was the mate’s reply. “Give us your hand, sir. We’ve had words together often; let us forgive each other now. God bless you, sir, and if die together we must, we won’t die like pigs, at all events.”
There was anarchy forward, anarchy and wild revelry, and cruel brawls and fighting, but the five men aft stuck together, and tried to comfort each other, though there was hardly a hope in their hearts that their vessel would be saved. A long evening wore away, a kind of semi-darkness settled over the sea, but this short night soon gave place once more to-day. Then down forward all was quiet; the revellers were sleeping the stertorous sleep of the drunkard.
But the wind had fallen considerably, and the seas had gone down; the broken waves no longer sung in the frosty air, but the ship rolled like a half-dead thing in the trough of the sea. She was water-logged.
With infinite difficulty the mates, with the steward’s assistance, stretched more canvas, while the captain took the helm. She heeled over to it, and looked as if she hardly cared to right again. But this brought the hole in her side into view. Then they got heavy blankets up, and, working as they had never worked before, they managed in an hour and a half to staunch the leak from the outside.
Hope began to rise in their hearts, and, at the bidding of the skipper, the steward went below and brought up a large tin of preserved soup.
“Ah! men,” said poor Silas, “this is better than all the rum in the world.”
And it was, for it gave them strength and heart. They went away down below next to the galley and half-deck, and tried to rouse some of the men. They found five of them stark and stiff, and from the others came nothing but groans and oaths.
So they went to the pumps themselves, and worked away for hours for dear life itself.
Oh! what a joyful sight it was for them when, in answer to their signal of distress, they saw the good shipArrandooncoming steaming down towards them.
Then the grim raven Death, who had been hovering over the seemingly doomed ship, flapped his ragged wings and flew slowly away.
They were saved!
Oil was pumped upon the water between theArrandoonandScotia, to round off the curling, comb-like peaks of the waves, and a boat was lowered from the steamer and sent to the assistance of the distressed vessel.
The ship was pumped out, and next day, the weather becoming once more fine, she was towed towards the island of Jan Mayen, and made fast to a floe. She was next heeled over and the repairs completed. TheArrandoonspared them a few spars, and plenty of willing hands to hoist them, so that in a few days the Greenland sealer was as strong as ever.
Silas Grig was a very happy man now. The unfortunate wretches who had flown to meet their fate were sunk in the dark waters of the sea of ice, but this rough but kindly-hearted skipper never let one upbraiding word escape him towards his men, and the men knew they were forgiven, and liked their skipper none the less for his extreme forbearance.
“Do you know what I have done?” said Silas to McBain.
“You have forgiven your men, haven’t you?” replied McBain.
“Ay, that I have,” said Silas, “but I have staved every cask of rum on board, and black-jack is thrown overboard.”
All along the west coast or shore of the island of Jan Mayen our heroes, on their re-arrival there, found that the water was comparatively clear, the bergs having been driven away out to sea on the wings of the wind, so that by breaking the light bay ice the boats could approach quite close to the snow-clad cliffs.
Our three boys—for boys we must continue to call them for the sake of the days of “auld lang syne”—were glad to set foot on shore again, and with them went old Seth and the doctor. Freezing Powders was also invited, but his reply was, “No, sah! thank you all de same. But only dis chile not want anoder bad winter wid a yellow bear!”
“‘Adventure’ you mean, don’t you?” said Rory.
“Dat is him, sah!” replied the boy. “I not want no more dancin’ for de dear life.”
“But the yellow bear was killed, Freezing Powders,” persisted Allan.
“But him’s moder not killed,” said the lad, with round, open eyes. “You seem to hab ’tirely forgotten dat, sah; and p’raps de moder is much worse dan de son.”
So they went without him. Well armed were they, and provisioned for a day at all events.
Somewhat to their surprise, they found smoke issuing from the once deserted huts, while a whole pack of dogs started up from where they had been lying and attempted to bar their progress. But the same two hardy chiefs of the Eskimos whom we last saw speeding along over the sea of ice, with the snow-wind roaring around them, came forth, quieted the dogs, and bade them kindly welcome.
In their broken English they told them the tale of their adventurous journey across the pack from the far-off western land of Greenland, and of the narrow escape they had had from the violence of the sudden storm.
Then they led the way, not into one of the small huts, but into the large central one.
“We are making him fit and warm and good,” they explained, “for our big ’Melican masta. He come directly. To-day we see his boat not far off—a two-stick boat, with plenty mooch sail.”
The “two-stick boat” which the chiefs referred to was a saucy little Yankee yacht, that on this very morning was cruising off the island.
Our heroes spent several hours in the hut, seated by the blazing logs, listening delightedly to a description of the strange country these chiefs called their home—a country that few white men have ever yet visited, and where certainly none have ever wintered.
But I cannot repeat all the strangers told them about the manners and customs of their countrymen, the dress of the men and women, their fishing and hunting exploits, their fierce though petty wars with other tribes, and the wonderful life they lead throughout the summer and during the long, drear, sunless season of winter.
“Ah!” said Rory, with a bit of a sigh, “I do like to hear these men talk about their wild land in the Far West. We must come again and make them tell us a deal more. I’ve half a mind to set out with them when they return, and live among them for some months. I say, Ray, wouldn’t it be glorious to go surging over the ice-fields drawn by a hundred fleet-footed hounds?”
“Drawn by a hundred hounds!” cried Allan, laughing. “Draw it mild, Rory.”
“Well,” said Rory, “more or less, you know.”
“Besides,” Ralph put in, “these are not hounds, Rory; there is more of the wolf about them than the hound.”
“Och, botheration?” replied Rory; “you’re too particular. But if I went with these men, and dwelt among their tribes for a time, then I’d go to press when I came back to old England.”
“A book of adventure?” said Allan.
“Ah, yes!” said Rory; “a book, if you please, but not dry-as-dust prose, my boys! I’d write an epic poem.”
Talking thus, away they went on an exploring expedition, Rory riding the high horse, building any number of castles in the air, and giving the reins to his wonderful imagination.
“I reckon, Mr Rory,” said Seth, “that you’d make the fortune of any publisher that liked to take you up. You try New York, I guess that’d suit you; and, if you like, you shall write the life of old trapper Seth.”
“Glorious!” cried Rory; “‘A Life in the Forests of the Far West.’ Hurrah! I’ll do it! You wait a bit. Look, look! What is that?”
“It’s a white fox,” said Seth, bowling the animal over before the others had time to draw a bead on it.
But that white fox, with a few loons, and five guillemots—which, by the way, when skinned, are excellent eating—were all they bagged that day.
McBain and Stevenson had better luck though, they had seen a gigantic bear prowling around among the rough ice beneath the cliffs, and had called away a boat and gone after it.
“O! sah!” cried Freezing Powders, running up to McBain as he was going over the side. “Don’t go, sah! I can see de yellow bear’s moder and two piccaninnies on de ice. She is one berry bad woman. She make you dance to please de piccaninnies, den she gobble your head off. Don’t you go, sah! You not look nice widout a head. Dat am my impression, sah.”
There was nothing of the sensational about McBain’s adventure with the bear, but something of the sad. The captain of theArrandoonwas not the man to take the life of even a bear while in company of her young ones, but he well knew how terrible and how bloodthirsty such an animal is, and how cunning in her ferocity. He shuddered as he thought of Allan or Rory heedlessly passing the cave or crevasse in the rocks where she lay concealed, and being pounced upon and dragged in to be torn limb from limb. So he determined she must die.
Once landed, they almost immediately sighted her, and gave chase. Alone she might have escaped; but in dread terror the young ones leapt on her back and thus hampered her movements. (She-bears with young ones are easily got up to and killed on this account.) She then turned fiercely at bay, coming swiftly on to the attack, bent upon a fearful vengeance if she could only accomplish it.
“Stand by, Stevenson,” cried McBain, dropping on one knee, “to fire if I don’t kill at once.”
The monster held her head low as she advanced, and a less experienced hunter would have made this the target. McBain knew better. He aimed at the lower part of the neck, and the bear fell pierced through the great artery of the heart. Yet so near had he allowed the animal to come before firing, that Stevenson, trembling for his safety, had brought his own rifle to the shoulder.
Then those two poor young bears stood up to fight for their dead dam, giving vent to growls of grief and rage.
“We can take them alive, sir,” said Stevenson. “Come along, lads.” This last sentence was addressed to the boat’s crew. “Come along quick, and bring the ropes.”
Had old Seth been there, these young Bruins would soon have been lassoed. But McBain’s men were not over expert at such work. They did manage to rope one in a few minutes, but the other gave them a deal of trouble—sport one man erroneously called it. He invariably flew at the man who tried to throw the rope, and the man invariably made his feet his friends, thus giving another man a chance to try his skill. If he failed he had to run next, and so on until at long last one more adroit or more fortunate than his fellow succeeded in throwing the lasso over the young bear’s neck, and brought it half strangled to the ice.
“A present for you, Captain Grig,” cried McBain, pulling alongside theCanny Scotiawith his double capture.
Silas was delighted when he saw the two live bears. “Heaven bless you, sir!” he exclaimed. “Why, sir, they’ll fetch forty pounds each in the Londontoo. Forty pounds, sir! Think o’ that. Eighty pounds for the two o’ them. Keep my little wife and all the family for a month o’ Sundays. Hurrah! matie, luck’s turned.”
Chapter Eighteen.A New Arrival—The Dogs—Trapper Seth Becomes Kennel-Man—Preparations for a Great Seal Hunt—The Greenland Bear.On the very day that McBain shot the great she-bear—for it was one of the largest that ever fell before a sportsman’s gun—on that day, and on the afternoon of that day, just as our heroes were about to leave the island and re-embark on theArrandoon, there landed from off that saucy “little two-stick yacht” one of the tallest Yankees that ever stepped in boots.Seth squeezed the hand of this countryman of his till tears sprang into the stranger’s eyes; and they were not tears of emotion, nor sentiment either, but of downright pain.“I say, siree?” cried the newcomer, shaking his hand and looking at the tips of his fingers, “patriotism and brotherly love are both beautiful things in their way, but when it comes to squeezing the blood out from under a fellow’s finger-nails, then I say, bother brotherly love.”“I’m proud to meet you, sir,” exclaimed Seth, “let us shake hands once more.”“Never a shake, old man,” said the stranger; “let us admire each other at a respectable distance. But come, gentlemen all,” he continued, turning to the others, “you ain’t going on board just yet. Come up with me to my house. I daresay you’ve been there already; but come back and break bread with Nathaniel Cobb, sometimes called the Little Wonder, because I ain’t much more’n seven feet high.”Nat Cobb’s boat’s crew were Norwegians every one of them, short, somewhat squat, fair-haired fellows, but as active and bustling as a corresponding number of well-bred fox-terriers. A couple of them were moving on ahead now, with an immense basket between them.“That’s the dinner,” said the Little Wonder; “and you’ll find there’s enough for all hands, too.”“Well, gentlemen,” Nat said, when everybody had done justice to the good things placed before them, “let us drink each other’s healths in a cup of fragrant mocha, for that’s the wine for Greenland weather. Gentlemen, I look around me at your smiling faces, and I pledge you and bid you welcome to my island of Jan Mayen.”“Hallo!” thought Rory, “yourisland.”“Yes, gentlemen,” continued Nat, looking as if he really read Rory’s thoughts, “myisland. Six months and more ago I annexed it, and to-morrow once again the stars and stripes will proudly flutter from yonder flagstaff, and the bird o’ freedom will soar over this wild mountain land.”Apart from his queer, half-boastful speech, Nat Cobb was a very agreeable companion.He was very frank at all events.After looking at Rory for the space of half a minute, he suddenly stretched out his hand.“I like you,” he said, “muchly, and I like you all. It is from men like you that the mightiest republic in the world has been built. But why don’t you speak more, Rory, as your messmates call you?”“Ach! troth?” said Rory, “and sure I’m drivingtandemwith the thinking.”“And you’re wondering,” said Nat, “where a piece of elongated mortality like myself stretches himself of a night on board theHighflier?”“Seeing,” replied Rory, laughing, “that you’re about as long as the keel, and maybe a bit longer, I may well wonder that same; and unless you lean against a mast, I don’t quite see how you can stretch yourself.”“Well, young sir, I’ll tell you how I do it. I double up into four, and lie on my back! that is how it’s done.”The Little Wonder went off with our party to theArrandoon; and as Yankees are ever ready to trade, he had not been long on board when McBain had purchased from him a dozen of his best dogs. They were to be kept until the ship returned from a week’s sport among the old seals, then taken on board just before theArrandoonleft for the extreme north. Old Seth was duly told off to superintend the erection of kennels, forward near the bows, and old Seth was in his glory in consequence.“I’ll feel myself o’ some kind o’ use now,” he said. “Kennel-man in ordinary to theArrandoon, a free house and victuals found, I guess it ain’t half a bad sitivation.”About a week after this—the Greenland sealer having been made as good as new again—the Jan Mayen fleet sailed away from the island, and directed its course about north-and-by-east. First on the line went the nobleArrandoonsailing, not steaming, for a nice beam wind was blowing; next came theCanny Scotiawith her tall, tapering spars; and the saucyHighflier, with her fore-and-aft canvas, brought up the rear.Nathaniel Cobb was Arctic meteorologist to a private company of American scientists, but his time was pretty much his own, and he didn’t mind spending a week or a fortnight of it among the old seals. He wanted a skin or two anyhow, he said, to make a warm carpet for his “house,” and some oil to burn for fuel, but promised that everything beyond what he really wanted which happened to fall to his gun should be given to Silas.Silas Grig was never happier in his life than he was now. Luck had indeed turned, fortune was about to favour him for once in a way. His would be a bumper ship, full to the hatches, with a bing of skins on deck that he wouldn’t be able to find room for below. And when he returned to Peterhead, flags would fly and bands would play, and his little wife and he would live happy ever after.McBain wanted to show his young companions a little genuine sport, and at the same time do a good turn to honest Silas, by helping him to a voyage; while the former, on the other hand, were all excitement and bustle, for theArrandoonwas about to be transformed into a sealer; and the idea being such a perfectly new one, was correspondingly appreciated.The little fleet kept well together; it would not have suited them to part company, although, even on a wind, without the aid of her boilers, theArrandooncould easily have shown her consorts a pair of clean heels. The doctor himself was led away with enthusiasm, and longed to draw a bead, as Seth called it, on a bear itself. He had chosen a rifle from the box, cleaned and polished it, and called it his own.“I’ve never shot a wild beast,” he explained to Rory, “but, man, if I get the chance, I’ll have a try.”“Bravo!” cried Rory, “and you’re sure to get the chance, you know.”The ice was loose, although the weather was clear and very frosty. There was a heaving motion in the main pack that prevented the bergs from getting frozen together, but for all that the fleet kept well clear of it, for fear of getting beset. Patches of old seals might, it is true, have been found far in among the ice, but the risk was too great to run, so McBain kept to the outside edge, and the others followed his example.Silas Grig was invited on board theArrandoon; and proud he was when the captain told him that he could choose five-and-twenty of his best men, and superintend their preparations for going after the seals. The third mate might be one of the number, but neither Stevenson nor Mitchell was to be allowed to go, although McBain did not object to these officers, or even the engineers, having a day’s sport now and then.It was a glorious morning—for Greenland—when Captain McBain called all hands, in order that Silas might choose the men who were to assist him in making his fortune. The sun was shining as brightly as ever it does in England, and there wasn’t too much wind to blow the cold through and through one. Either of the officers might have passed for old men, if white hairs make men look old, for their hair, whiskers, and moustachios were coated with hoar-frost ice. Our heroes had just finished breakfast, all of them having had a cold sea-bath to give them a glow before they sat down, and were now walking briskly up and down the quarter-deck, talking merrily and laughing.TheScotiahad her foreyard aback, and theArrandoonhad also stopped her way, and yonder was Silas in his boat coming rapidly over the rippling water towards the steamer, the skipper himself standing like a gondolier and steering with an oar in true whaler fashion.“Now, lads,” cried Silas, when the men of theArrandoonlay aft in obedience to orders. “You’re a fine lot, I must say; every man Jack o’ ye is better than the other; but I just want the men that have been to the country before. The men among ye that know a seal-club from a toastin’-fork, or a lowrie-tow from a bell-rope, just elevate a hand, will ye?”(Lowrie-tow—the rope with which the men drag the skins to the ship’s side.)No less than fifteen gloved hands were waved aloft. Silas was delighted, and did not take long to choose the remaining ten.“You’ll go on the ice by twos, you know, men,” he continued, “and when one o’ ye tumbles into the water, why, the other’ll simply pull him out. Nothing easier.”All these hands were to be clubsmen and draggers, while “the guns,” as they were called, comprised the following: Ralph, Rory, Allan, Sandy the surgeon, De Vere the aeronaut, Seth trapper, and the third mate, seven in all, and warranted to give a good account of the seals, and keep the men steadily on drag if the sport was anything like good.Having made these preliminary arrangements, the men were dismissed, and Silas spent the rest of the day forward with old Ap the carpenter and the sail-maker. And very busy the whole four of them were, too, for three dozen daggers or seal-knives had to be fitted with sheaths of leather, and belts to go round the men’s waists, and three dozen lowrie-tows, with the same number of seal-clubs, had to be got ready.I saw the other day an engraving of a sealing scene in Greenland, evidently done by an artist who had never been in the Arctic regions in his life, and who had therefore trusted to his imagination, which had led him far from the truth. In this picture there is a ship under canvas: error Number 1, for sealers always clue or brail up before the men go over the side. The ice is tall and pinnacled: error Number 2, for the ice the old seals lie on is either flat or hummocky. The men on the ice are leaping madly from berg to berg and clubbingoldseals: error Number 3, for unless old seals get positively frozen out of the water by the pieces becoming fast together, they will not wait to be clubbed. You may catch a weasel asleep, but never an old seal. Lastly, in this picture, the men are wielding clubs that have evidently been borrowed from some gymnasium: this constitutes error Number 4, for seal-clubs are nothing like these. They are more like an ancient battle-axe; the shaft is about four or five feet long and made of strong, tough wood, while through the top of this terrible weapon is run the part that does the execution—a square piece of iron or steel—sharpened at one end, hammer-like at the other, and nearly a foot long. With this instrument a strong man has been known to lay a Greenland bear dead with one blow. No one of course would dare to attack a bear armed with a club alone, but instances have occurred where the bear has been the aggressor, and where the man had to defend himself as best he could.One word parenthetically about the great Polar or ice bear. Until I had first seen the carcass of one lying flensed on the ice, I could not have believed that any wild beast could attain such gigantic proportions. The footprints of this monster were as large as an ordinary pair of kitchen bellows. The pastern, or ankle, seemed as wide as the paw, and as near as I could guess about thirty inches round; the forearms and hind-legs were of tremendous strength; so too were the shoulders and loin. An animal like this with one stroke can slay the largest seal in Greenland, and could serve the biggest lion that ever roared in an African jungle precisely the same. As to the voice, it is hardly so fearful as the lion’s, but heard, as I heard it one night on the pack, within two yards of me, it is sufficiently appalling, to say the least of it. It is a sort of half-cough, half roar. As trapper Seth described it after his adventure at the cave in Jan Mayen, when little Freezing Powders so nearly lost the number of his mess:“The roar of a healthy Greenland bear, when the owner of it is so close ye could kick him, is a kind o’ confusin’; it shakes your innards considerable, and makes ye think the critter has swallowed the thick end of a thunderstorm and is tryin’ to work it up again.”An elephant—a tusker—is no joke when he loses his temper and comes after you, nor is a lion or tiger when he thinks he can do you a mischief, but I would rather face either of them twice over than I would an ice bear with his back up, if I myself were unarmed. I was very young, by the way, when I found myself confronted with my first Greenland bear, but I well remember both what my thoughts were at the time, and what were my feelings. The truth is, I had made the captain promise he would give me a chance to go and fight one of these terrible giants of the ice. He did so in good time, and I confess that as the boat neared the pack—I being in the bows—I suddenly discovered that I was not half so brave as I had previously imagined. The bear did not run away, as I fear I had almost wished that he would. He simply waited, looking at us somewhat inquiringly; and when I landed, all alone, mind you, he came along to meet me, and inquire what I wanted, and I hated him while I envied him for his coolness. He seemed to say, “Why, you’re only a boy; just wait till I get alongside you, and I’ll show you how I treat boys. I’ll turn you inside out.” I had to wait. Wild horses couldn’t have tom me from the spot, where I had dropped on one knee. Oh! I can assure you, I would have liked, well enough, to run away, but with all the ship’s crew looking at me—? No; death rather than live a coward. On came Bruin, much to my disgust; I would have felt as brave as a lion had he only shown me his heels. Then these questions chased each other through my brain: “How near will I let the beggar come before I fire? Shall I hit him on the head, or shoot him in the chest? and, What shall I do if the rifle misses fire?”Bruin still advanced at a shambling trot. Then I brought my rifle to the shoulder and took aim, glancing along the glimmering barrel till I could only see theviséat the end, and immediately beyond that Bruin’s yellow breast. Bang, bang! I dare say it really was myself who pulled those two triggers of my double-barrelled rifle, but at the time I felt as if I had nothing at all to do with it. Then there was a shout from the boat, and a shout from the ship. Bruin was dead, and I was the hero; but somehow I did not feel that I deserved the praise which I received. Yet, after all, I daresay I only felt in this encounter as most boys would have felt. Doing anything dangerous is always nasty at first, but when one gains confidence in himself, then is the time one knows—“That strange joy that warriors feelIn foemen worthy of their steel.”
On the very day that McBain shot the great she-bear—for it was one of the largest that ever fell before a sportsman’s gun—on that day, and on the afternoon of that day, just as our heroes were about to leave the island and re-embark on theArrandoon, there landed from off that saucy “little two-stick yacht” one of the tallest Yankees that ever stepped in boots.
Seth squeezed the hand of this countryman of his till tears sprang into the stranger’s eyes; and they were not tears of emotion, nor sentiment either, but of downright pain.
“I say, siree?” cried the newcomer, shaking his hand and looking at the tips of his fingers, “patriotism and brotherly love are both beautiful things in their way, but when it comes to squeezing the blood out from under a fellow’s finger-nails, then I say, bother brotherly love.”
“I’m proud to meet you, sir,” exclaimed Seth, “let us shake hands once more.”
“Never a shake, old man,” said the stranger; “let us admire each other at a respectable distance. But come, gentlemen all,” he continued, turning to the others, “you ain’t going on board just yet. Come up with me to my house. I daresay you’ve been there already; but come back and break bread with Nathaniel Cobb, sometimes called the Little Wonder, because I ain’t much more’n seven feet high.”
Nat Cobb’s boat’s crew were Norwegians every one of them, short, somewhat squat, fair-haired fellows, but as active and bustling as a corresponding number of well-bred fox-terriers. A couple of them were moving on ahead now, with an immense basket between them.
“That’s the dinner,” said the Little Wonder; “and you’ll find there’s enough for all hands, too.”
“Well, gentlemen,” Nat said, when everybody had done justice to the good things placed before them, “let us drink each other’s healths in a cup of fragrant mocha, for that’s the wine for Greenland weather. Gentlemen, I look around me at your smiling faces, and I pledge you and bid you welcome to my island of Jan Mayen.”
“Hallo!” thought Rory, “yourisland.”
“Yes, gentlemen,” continued Nat, looking as if he really read Rory’s thoughts, “myisland. Six months and more ago I annexed it, and to-morrow once again the stars and stripes will proudly flutter from yonder flagstaff, and the bird o’ freedom will soar over this wild mountain land.”
Apart from his queer, half-boastful speech, Nat Cobb was a very agreeable companion.
He was very frank at all events.
After looking at Rory for the space of half a minute, he suddenly stretched out his hand.
“I like you,” he said, “muchly, and I like you all. It is from men like you that the mightiest republic in the world has been built. But why don’t you speak more, Rory, as your messmates call you?”
“Ach! troth?” said Rory, “and sure I’m drivingtandemwith the thinking.”
“And you’re wondering,” said Nat, “where a piece of elongated mortality like myself stretches himself of a night on board theHighflier?”
“Seeing,” replied Rory, laughing, “that you’re about as long as the keel, and maybe a bit longer, I may well wonder that same; and unless you lean against a mast, I don’t quite see how you can stretch yourself.”
“Well, young sir, I’ll tell you how I do it. I double up into four, and lie on my back! that is how it’s done.”
The Little Wonder went off with our party to theArrandoon; and as Yankees are ever ready to trade, he had not been long on board when McBain had purchased from him a dozen of his best dogs. They were to be kept until the ship returned from a week’s sport among the old seals, then taken on board just before theArrandoonleft for the extreme north. Old Seth was duly told off to superintend the erection of kennels, forward near the bows, and old Seth was in his glory in consequence.
“I’ll feel myself o’ some kind o’ use now,” he said. “Kennel-man in ordinary to theArrandoon, a free house and victuals found, I guess it ain’t half a bad sitivation.”
About a week after this—the Greenland sealer having been made as good as new again—the Jan Mayen fleet sailed away from the island, and directed its course about north-and-by-east. First on the line went the nobleArrandoonsailing, not steaming, for a nice beam wind was blowing; next came theCanny Scotiawith her tall, tapering spars; and the saucyHighflier, with her fore-and-aft canvas, brought up the rear.
Nathaniel Cobb was Arctic meteorologist to a private company of American scientists, but his time was pretty much his own, and he didn’t mind spending a week or a fortnight of it among the old seals. He wanted a skin or two anyhow, he said, to make a warm carpet for his “house,” and some oil to burn for fuel, but promised that everything beyond what he really wanted which happened to fall to his gun should be given to Silas.
Silas Grig was never happier in his life than he was now. Luck had indeed turned, fortune was about to favour him for once in a way. His would be a bumper ship, full to the hatches, with a bing of skins on deck that he wouldn’t be able to find room for below. And when he returned to Peterhead, flags would fly and bands would play, and his little wife and he would live happy ever after.
McBain wanted to show his young companions a little genuine sport, and at the same time do a good turn to honest Silas, by helping him to a voyage; while the former, on the other hand, were all excitement and bustle, for theArrandoonwas about to be transformed into a sealer; and the idea being such a perfectly new one, was correspondingly appreciated.
The little fleet kept well together; it would not have suited them to part company, although, even on a wind, without the aid of her boilers, theArrandooncould easily have shown her consorts a pair of clean heels. The doctor himself was led away with enthusiasm, and longed to draw a bead, as Seth called it, on a bear itself. He had chosen a rifle from the box, cleaned and polished it, and called it his own.
“I’ve never shot a wild beast,” he explained to Rory, “but, man, if I get the chance, I’ll have a try.”
“Bravo!” cried Rory, “and you’re sure to get the chance, you know.”
The ice was loose, although the weather was clear and very frosty. There was a heaving motion in the main pack that prevented the bergs from getting frozen together, but for all that the fleet kept well clear of it, for fear of getting beset. Patches of old seals might, it is true, have been found far in among the ice, but the risk was too great to run, so McBain kept to the outside edge, and the others followed his example.
Silas Grig was invited on board theArrandoon; and proud he was when the captain told him that he could choose five-and-twenty of his best men, and superintend their preparations for going after the seals. The third mate might be one of the number, but neither Stevenson nor Mitchell was to be allowed to go, although McBain did not object to these officers, or even the engineers, having a day’s sport now and then.
It was a glorious morning—for Greenland—when Captain McBain called all hands, in order that Silas might choose the men who were to assist him in making his fortune. The sun was shining as brightly as ever it does in England, and there wasn’t too much wind to blow the cold through and through one. Either of the officers might have passed for old men, if white hairs make men look old, for their hair, whiskers, and moustachios were coated with hoar-frost ice. Our heroes had just finished breakfast, all of them having had a cold sea-bath to give them a glow before they sat down, and were now walking briskly up and down the quarter-deck, talking merrily and laughing.
TheScotiahad her foreyard aback, and theArrandoonhad also stopped her way, and yonder was Silas in his boat coming rapidly over the rippling water towards the steamer, the skipper himself standing like a gondolier and steering with an oar in true whaler fashion.
“Now, lads,” cried Silas, when the men of theArrandoonlay aft in obedience to orders. “You’re a fine lot, I must say; every man Jack o’ ye is better than the other; but I just want the men that have been to the country before. The men among ye that know a seal-club from a toastin’-fork, or a lowrie-tow from a bell-rope, just elevate a hand, will ye?”
(Lowrie-tow—the rope with which the men drag the skins to the ship’s side.)
No less than fifteen gloved hands were waved aloft. Silas was delighted, and did not take long to choose the remaining ten.
“You’ll go on the ice by twos, you know, men,” he continued, “and when one o’ ye tumbles into the water, why, the other’ll simply pull him out. Nothing easier.”
All these hands were to be clubsmen and draggers, while “the guns,” as they were called, comprised the following: Ralph, Rory, Allan, Sandy the surgeon, De Vere the aeronaut, Seth trapper, and the third mate, seven in all, and warranted to give a good account of the seals, and keep the men steadily on drag if the sport was anything like good.
Having made these preliminary arrangements, the men were dismissed, and Silas spent the rest of the day forward with old Ap the carpenter and the sail-maker. And very busy the whole four of them were, too, for three dozen daggers or seal-knives had to be fitted with sheaths of leather, and belts to go round the men’s waists, and three dozen lowrie-tows, with the same number of seal-clubs, had to be got ready.
I saw the other day an engraving of a sealing scene in Greenland, evidently done by an artist who had never been in the Arctic regions in his life, and who had therefore trusted to his imagination, which had led him far from the truth. In this picture there is a ship under canvas: error Number 1, for sealers always clue or brail up before the men go over the side. The ice is tall and pinnacled: error Number 2, for the ice the old seals lie on is either flat or hummocky. The men on the ice are leaping madly from berg to berg and clubbingoldseals: error Number 3, for unless old seals get positively frozen out of the water by the pieces becoming fast together, they will not wait to be clubbed. You may catch a weasel asleep, but never an old seal. Lastly, in this picture, the men are wielding clubs that have evidently been borrowed from some gymnasium: this constitutes error Number 4, for seal-clubs are nothing like these. They are more like an ancient battle-axe; the shaft is about four or five feet long and made of strong, tough wood, while through the top of this terrible weapon is run the part that does the execution—a square piece of iron or steel—sharpened at one end, hammer-like at the other, and nearly a foot long. With this instrument a strong man has been known to lay a Greenland bear dead with one blow. No one of course would dare to attack a bear armed with a club alone, but instances have occurred where the bear has been the aggressor, and where the man had to defend himself as best he could.
One word parenthetically about the great Polar or ice bear. Until I had first seen the carcass of one lying flensed on the ice, I could not have believed that any wild beast could attain such gigantic proportions. The footprints of this monster were as large as an ordinary pair of kitchen bellows. The pastern, or ankle, seemed as wide as the paw, and as near as I could guess about thirty inches round; the forearms and hind-legs were of tremendous strength; so too were the shoulders and loin. An animal like this with one stroke can slay the largest seal in Greenland, and could serve the biggest lion that ever roared in an African jungle precisely the same. As to the voice, it is hardly so fearful as the lion’s, but heard, as I heard it one night on the pack, within two yards of me, it is sufficiently appalling, to say the least of it. It is a sort of half-cough, half roar. As trapper Seth described it after his adventure at the cave in Jan Mayen, when little Freezing Powders so nearly lost the number of his mess:
“The roar of a healthy Greenland bear, when the owner of it is so close ye could kick him, is a kind o’ confusin’; it shakes your innards considerable, and makes ye think the critter has swallowed the thick end of a thunderstorm and is tryin’ to work it up again.”
An elephant—a tusker—is no joke when he loses his temper and comes after you, nor is a lion or tiger when he thinks he can do you a mischief, but I would rather face either of them twice over than I would an ice bear with his back up, if I myself were unarmed. I was very young, by the way, when I found myself confronted with my first Greenland bear, but I well remember both what my thoughts were at the time, and what were my feelings. The truth is, I had made the captain promise he would give me a chance to go and fight one of these terrible giants of the ice. He did so in good time, and I confess that as the boat neared the pack—I being in the bows—I suddenly discovered that I was not half so brave as I had previously imagined. The bear did not run away, as I fear I had almost wished that he would. He simply waited, looking at us somewhat inquiringly; and when I landed, all alone, mind you, he came along to meet me, and inquire what I wanted, and I hated him while I envied him for his coolness. He seemed to say, “Why, you’re only a boy; just wait till I get alongside you, and I’ll show you how I treat boys. I’ll turn you inside out.” I had to wait. Wild horses couldn’t have tom me from the spot, where I had dropped on one knee. Oh! I can assure you, I would have liked, well enough, to run away, but with all the ship’s crew looking at me—? No; death rather than live a coward. On came Bruin, much to my disgust; I would have felt as brave as a lion had he only shown me his heels. Then these questions chased each other through my brain: “How near will I let the beggar come before I fire? Shall I hit him on the head, or shoot him in the chest? and, What shall I do if the rifle misses fire?”
Bruin still advanced at a shambling trot. Then I brought my rifle to the shoulder and took aim, glancing along the glimmering barrel till I could only see theviséat the end, and immediately beyond that Bruin’s yellow breast. Bang, bang! I dare say it really was myself who pulled those two triggers of my double-barrelled rifle, but at the time I felt as if I had nothing at all to do with it. Then there was a shout from the boat, and a shout from the ship. Bruin was dead, and I was the hero; but somehow I did not feel that I deserved the praise which I received. Yet, after all, I daresay I only felt in this encounter as most boys would have felt. Doing anything dangerous is always nasty at first, but when one gains confidence in himself, then is the time one knows—
“That strange joy that warriors feelIn foemen worthy of their steel.”
“That strange joy that warriors feelIn foemen worthy of their steel.”