was the mate's reply. "Give us your hand, sir. We've had words together often; let us forgive each other now. G.o.d 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 a.s.sistance, 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 ship _Arrandoon_ coming 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 the _Arrandoon_ and _Scotia_, to round off the curling, comb-like peaks of the waves, and a boat was lowered from the steamer and sent to the a.s.sistance 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. The _Arrandoon_ spared 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 sh.o.r.e 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 sh.o.r.e 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 the _Arrandoon_ was 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 pa.s.sing the cave or creva.s.se 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.