Their astonishment as well as horror may be imagined when, on entering the hut, they found a scene of utter confusion. The fire still burned, it is true, and yonder hung the ham; but the table and chairs were overturned, and the contents of even the rude bookcase scattered about the floor.

_And Freezing Powders was gone_!

He had been carried off by a bear. Of this there was plenty of testimony, if only in the huge footprints of the monster, which he had left in the snow. Not very distinct were they, however, for the surface of the snow was crisp and hard. But Seth was equal to the occasion, and at once--walking in a bee line, the trapper leading--they set out to track the bear, if possible, to his lair. The footprints led them southwards and west, through a region far more wild than that which they had already traversed.

For a whole hour they walked in silence, until they found themselves at the top of a ravine, the rocks of which joined to form a sort of triangle. Half-roofed over was this triangle with a balcony of frozen snow, from which descended immense icicles, on which the roof leant, forming a kind of verandah.

Seth paused, and pointed upwards. "The b'ar is yonder!" he whispered.

"Stay here; the old trapper's feet are moccasined, he won't be heard.

Gentlemen, Seth means to have that b'ar, or he won't come back alive!"

So leaving his companions, onwards, all alone, steals Seth. A bear itself could not have crept more silently, more cautiously along than the trapper does.

Those left behind waited in a fever of almost breathless suspense. The doctor stretched out his arm and took gentle hold of Rory's wrist. His pulse was over a hundred; so was the doctor's own, and he could easily hear his heart beat.

How slowly old Seth seems to move. He is on hands and knees now, and many a listening pause he makes. Now he has reached the edge of the icy verandah, and peers carefully over. The bear is there, undoubtedly, for, see, he gives one anxious glance at his rifle--it is a double-barrelled bone-crusher.

Crang-r-r-r! goes the rifle, and every rock in the island seems to re-echo the sound. The reverberation has not ceased, however, when there mingles with it a roar--a blood-curdling roar--that seems to shake the very ground. "Wah-o-ah! waugh! waugh! wah-o?" and a great pale-yellow bear springs from the cave, then falls, quivering and bleeding, on his side in the snow.

Our heroes rush up now.

"Any more of them?" cries Rory.

"Wall, I guess not," said the old trapper. "Yonder lies the master; I've given him a sickener; and the missus ain't at home. But there is suthin' black in thar, though!"

"Why," cried Allan, "I declare it is Freezing Powders himself!" and out into the bright light stalked the poor n.i.g.g.e.r boy, staring wildly round about, and seemingly in a dream.

"Ah, gem'lams!" he said, slowly, "so you have come at last! What a drefful, _drefful_ fright dis poor chile have got! 'Spect I'll nebber get ober it; nebber no more!"

"Come along," said Ralph. "Get on top of my shoulder. That's the style! You can tell us all about it when we reach the village."

"Now," cried Allan, "look alive, lads, and whip old Bruin out of his skin, and bring along his jacket and paws!"

When they did get back to the hut, and poor Freezing Powders had warmed himself and discussed a huge slice of broiled ham and a captain's biscuit, the boy got quite cheery again, and proceeded to relate his terrible adventure.

"You see, gem'lams," he said, "soon as ebber you leave me I begin for to watch de ham, and turn he round and round plenty much, and make de fire blaze like bobbery. Mebbe one whole hour pa.s.s away. De flames dey crack, and de ham he frizzle. Den all to once I hear somebody snuff-snuffing like, and I look round plenty quick, and dere was--oh!

dat great big awful bear--bigger dan a gator [alligator]. Didn't I scream and run jus'! And de bear he knock down de chairs and de tables, and den he catchee me in his mouf, all de same I one small mouse and he one big cat. You see, gem'lam, he smell de ham. 'Dat bery nice,' he tink, 'but de n.i.g.g.a boy better.' So he take dis chile. He nebber have take one n.i.g.g.a boy before dis, praps. Den he run off wid me ober de mountains. He no put one tooth in me all de time. When he come to de cave he put me down and snuff me. Den he say to himself, 'I want some fun; I make play wid dis n.i.g.g.a boy befoh I gobbles 'im up.' So he make me run wid his big foot, and when I run away den he catchee me again, and he keep me run away plenty time, till I so tired I ready to drop.

[Greenland bears have been known to play this cat-and-mouse game with seals before devouring them.] All de same, I not want to be gobble up too soon, gem'lams, so I make all de fun I can. I stand on my head, and I run on my four feet. I jump and I kick, and I dance, and I sing to de tune ob--

"'Plenty quick, n.i.g.g.a boy, Plenty fast you run, De bear will nebber gobble you up So long's you make de fun.'

"Den de big, ugly yellow bear he berry much tickled, and he tink to hisself, 'Well,' he tink, "pon my word and honah! I nebber see nuffin like dis before--not in all my born days! I not eat dis n.i.g.g.a boy up till my mudder come home.' And all de time I make dance and sing--

"'Quicker, quicker, n.i.g.g.a boy, Faster, faster go, Amoosin' ob de ole bear, Among de Ahtic snow.

"'Jing-a-ring, a-ring-a-ring, Sich somersaults I frow, In all his life dis n.i.g.g.e.r chile Ne'er danced like dis befoh.'

"But now, gem'lams, I notice dat de bear he begin to make winkee-winkee wid both his two eyes. Den I dance all de same, but I begin to sing more slow and plaintive, gem'lams--

"'Oh! I'm dreaming 'bout my mudder dear Dat I leave on Afric's shoh, And de little hut among de woods Dat I ne'er shall see no moh.

"'Sierra-lee-le-ohney, Sierra-lee-leon, Ah! who will feed de c.o.c.katoo When I is dead and gone?'

"Dat song fix de yellow bear, gem'lams. He no winkee no more now; he sleep sound and fast, wid his big head on his big paws. Den I sing one oder verse, and I sleep, too, and I not hear nuffin more until de rifles make de bobbery and de yellow bear begin to cough."

"Bravo!" cried Ralph, when Freezing Powders had finished his story.

"Now, Allan, lad, cut us all another slice of that glorious ham, and let us be moving."

"Yes," said Allan. "Here goes, then, for night is falling already, and the captain will be longing to hear of our adventures."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

MORE ABOUT FREEZING POWDERS--"PERSEVERANDO"--DINING IN THE SKY--THE DESCENT OF THE CRATER.

A black man in a barrel of treacle is said by some to be emblematical of happiness. So situated, a black man without doubt enjoys a deal of bliss, but I question very much if it equals the joy poor Freezing Powders felt when he found himself once more safe on board the _Arrandoon_, and cuddled down in a corner with his old c.o.c.katoo. [It may be as well to state here that neither the negro boy nor the c.o.c.katoo is a character drawn at random; both had their counterparts in real life.] What a long story he had to tell the bird, to be sure!--what a "terrible tale," I might call it!

As usual, when greatly engrossed in listening, the bird was busily engaged helping himself to enormous mouthfuls of hemp-seed, spilling more than he swallowed, c.o.c.king his head, and gazing at his little black master, with many an interjectional and wondering "Oh!" and many a long-drawn "De-ah me!" just as if he understood every word the boy said, and fully appreciated the dangers he had come through.

"Well, duckie?" said the bird, fondly, when Freezing Powders had concluded.

"Oh! der ain't no moh to tell, c.o.c.kie," said the boy; "but I 'ssure you, when I see dat big yellow bear wid his big red mouf, I tink I not hab much longer to lib in dis world, c.o.c.kie--I 'ssure you I tink so."

Freezing Powders was the hero for one evening at all events. McBain made him recite his story and sing his daft, wild songs more than once, and the very innocence of the poor boy heightened the general effect.

He was a favourite all over the ship from that day forth. Everybody in a manner petted him, and yet it was impossible to spoil him, for he took the petting as a matter of course, but always kept his place. His duties were multifarious, though light--he cleaned the silver and shined the boots, and helped to lay the cloth and wait at table. He went by different names in different parts of the ship. Ralph called him his cup-bearer, because he brought that young gentleman's matutinal coffee, without which our English hero would not have left his cabin for the world. Freezing Powders was message-boy betwixt steward and cook, and bore the viands triumphantly along the deck, so the steward called him "Mustard and Cress," and the cook "Young Shallots," while Ted Wilson dubbed him "Boss of the Soup Tureen;" but the boy was entirely indifferent as to what he was called.

"Make your games, gem'lams," he would say; "don't be afraid to 'ffend dis chile. He nebber get angry I 'ssure you."

When Freezing Powders had nothing in his hand his method of progression forward was at times somewhat peculiar. He went cart-wheel fashion, rolling over and over so quickly that you could hardly see him, he seemed a mist of legs, or something like the figure you see on a Manx penny.

At other times "the doctor," as the cook was invariably called by the crew, would pop up his head out of the fore-hatch and bawl out,--

"Pa.s.s young Shallots forward here."

"Ay, ay, doctor," the men would answer. "Shalots! Shalots! Shalots!"

Then Freezing Powder's curly head would beam up out of the saloon companion.

"Stand by, men!" the sailor who captured him would cry; and the men would form themselves into a line along the deck about three yards apart, and Freezing Powders would be pitched from one to the other as if he had been a ball of spun-yarn, until he finally fell into the friendly arms of the cook.

About a week after the bear adventure De Vere, the aeronaut, was breakfasting in the saloon, as he always did when there was anything "grand in the wind," as Rory styled the situation.

"Dat is von thing I admire very mooch," said the Frenchman, pointing to a beautifully-framed design that hung in a conspicuous part of the saloon bulkhead.

"Ah," said Allan, laughing, "that was an idea of dear foolish boy Rory.

He brought it as a gift to me last Christmas. The coral comes from the Indian Ocean; Rory gathered it himself; the whole design is his."

"It's a vera judeecious arrangement," said Sandy McFlail, admiringly.