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, I _had_ a'most forgotten."

And away forward he hurried, to see how the men were getting on scrubbing decks and cleaning bra.s.s-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 c.o.xswain.

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 the _Canny Scotia_ had contrived another seat at table, so there was no such thing as crowding, and the dinner pa.s.sed 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 order _Malacopterygii_."

"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, "the _Clupeidae_" [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 it _is_ a 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 the _Canny Scotia_ gave 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 the _Arrandoon_. 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 the _Arrandoon's_ decks 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 princ.i.p.al 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 c.o.c.katoo'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 anch.o.r.ed had parted company with the floe, and was evidently bent on going to sea along with the _Arrandoon_.

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 circ.u.mstances.

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 ma.s.ses of ice was very real indeed. Every minute the pieces were hurtled with all the force of the waves against the st.u.r.dy 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 t.i.tanic force; so after an hour or two the _Arrandoon_ lay 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 gla.s.s, 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."