The _Canny Scotia_, then, avoided these point-ends; she kept well out to sea, well away from the pack, for there was not over-much wind, and Silas Grig had no wish to be beset again. But the _Arrandoon_, on the other hand, steamed, as I have said, in a straight line. She scorned to double a point, but went steadily on her course, ploughing her way through the bergs. There was one advantage in this: she could the more easily discover the seals, for in the month of May these animals, having done their duty by their young, commence their return journey to the north, the polar regions being their home _par excellence_. They are in no hurry getting back, however. They like to enjoy themselves, and usually for every one day's progress they make, they lie two or three on the ice. The capes, or point-ends, are favourite positions with them, and on the bergs they may be seen lying in scores, nor if the sun be shining with any degree of strength are they at all easily disturbed.

It is their summer, and they try to make the best of it. Hark now to that shout from the crow's-nest of the _Arrandoon_.

"A large patch of seals in sight, sir."

Our heroes pause in their walk, and gaze upwards; from the deck nothing is visible to windward save the great ice-pack.

"Where away?" cries Stevenson.

"On the weather bow, sir, and a good mile in through the pack."

"What do you think, sir?" says Stevenson, addressing his commander.

"Shall we risk taking the ice again?"

"Risk, Stevenson?" is the reply. "Why, man, yes; we'll risk anything to do old Silas a good turn. We'll risk more yet, mate, before the ship's head is turned homewards."

Then the ship is stopped, and signals are made to Silas, who instantly changes his course, and, after a vast deal of tacking and half-tacking, bears down upon them, and being nearly alongside, gets his main-yard aback, and presently lowers a boat and comes on board the _Arrandoon_.

Our heroes crowd around him.

"Why," they say, "you are a perfect stranger; it is a whole week since we've seen you."

"Ay," says Silas, "and a whole week without seeing a seal--isn't it astonishing?"

"Ah! but they're in sight now," says McBain. "I'm going to take the ice, and I'll tow you in, and if you're not a b.u.mper ship before a week, then this isn't the _Arrandoon_, that's all."

Silas is all smiles; he rubs his hands, and finally laughs outright, then he claps his hand on his leg, and,--

"I was sure of it," says Silas, "soon as ever I saw your signal.

'Matie,' says I, 'yonder is a signal from the _Arrandoon_. I'm wanted on board; seals is in sight, ye maybe sure. Matie,' says I, 'luck's turned again;' and with that I gives him such a dig in the ribs that he nearly jumped out of the nest."

"Make the signal to the _Scotia_, Stevenson," says McBain, "to clew up, and to get all ready for being taken in tow. Come below, Captain Grig, lunch is on the table."

Fairly seated at the table, honest Silas rubbed his hands again and looked with a delighted smile at each of his friends in turn. There was a bluff heartiness about this old sailor which was very taking.

"I declare," he said, "I feel just like a schoolboy home for a holiday?"

Rory and Silas were specially friendly.

"Rory, lad," he remarked, after a pause, "we won't be long together now."

"No," replied Rory; "and it isn't sorry I am, but really downright _sad_ at the thoughts of your going away and leaving us. I say, though--happy thought!--send Stevenson home with your ship and you stay with us in place of him."

Silas laughed. "What _would_ my owners say, boy? and what about my little wife, eh?"

"Ah! true," said Rory; "I had forgotten." Then, after a pause, he added, more heartily, "But we'll meet again, won't we?"

"Please G.o.d!" said Silas, reverently. "I think," Rory added, "I would know your house among a thousand, you have told me so much about it--the blue-grey walls, the bay windows, the garden, with its roses and--and--"

"The green paling," Silas put in. "Ah, yes! the green paling, to be sure; how could I have forgotten that? Well, I'll come and see you; and won't you bring out the green ginger that day, Silas!"

"_And_ the bun," added Silas. "_And_ the bun," repeated Rory after him.

"And won't my little wife make you welcome, too! you may bet your fiddle on that!"

Then these two sworn friends grasped hands over the table, and the conversation dropped for a time.

But there perhaps never was a much happier Greenland skipper than Silas Grig, when he found his ship lying secure among the ice, with thousands on thousands of old seals all around him. The weather continued extremely fine for a whole week. The little wind there had been, died all away, and the sun shone more warmly and brightly than it had done since the _Arrandoon_ came to the country. The seals were so cosy that they really did not seem to mind being shot, and those that were scared off one piece of ice almost immediately scrambled on to another. "Fire away!" they seemed to say; "we are so numerous that we really won't miss a few of us. Only don't disturb us more than you can help."

So the seals hugged the ice, basking in the bright sunshine, either sleeping soundly or gazing dreamily around them with their splendid eyes, or scratching their woolly ribs with their flippers for want of something to do.

And bang, bang, bang! went the rifles; they never seemed to cease from the noon of night until mid-day, nor from mid-day until the noon of night again.

The draggers of skins went in pairs for safety, and thus many a poor fellow who tumbled into the sea between the bergs, escaped with a ducking when otherwise he would have lost his life.

Ralph--long-legged, brawny-chested Saxon Ralph--was among "the ducked,"

as Rory called the unfortunates. He came to a s.p.a.ce of water which was too wide even for him. He would not be beaten, though, so he pitched his rifle over first by way of beginning the battle. Then he thought, by swinging his heavy cartridge-bag by its shoulder-strap the weight would help to carry him over. He called this jumping from a tangent.

It was a miserable failure. But the best of the fun--so Rory said, though it could not have been fun to Ralph--was this: when he found himself floundering in the water he let go the bag of cartridges, which at once began to sink, but in sinking caught his heel, and pulled him for the moment under water. Poor Ralph! his feelings may be better imagined than described.

"I made sure a shark had me!" he said, quietly, when by the help of his friend Rory, he had been brought safely to bank.

It was not very often that Ralph had a mishap of any kind, but, having come to grief in this way, it was not likely that Rory would throw away so good a chance of chaffing him.

He suddenly burst out laughing at luncheon that day, at a time when n.o.body was speaking, and when apparently there was nothing at all to laugh about.

"What now, Rory? what now, boy?" said McBain, with a smile of antic.i.p.ation.

"Oh!" cried Rory, "if you had only seen my big English brother's face when he thought the shark had him!"

"Was it funny?" said Allan, egging him on.

"Funny!" said Rory. "Och I now, funny is no name for it. You should have seen the eyes of him!--and his jaw fall!--and that big chin of his.

You know, Englishmen have a lot of chin, and--"

"And Irishmen have a lot of cheek," cried Ralph. "Just wait till I get you on deck, Row boy."

"I'd make him whustle," suggested the doctor.

"Troth," Rory went on, "it was very nearly the death o' me. And to see him kick and flounder! Sure I'd pity the shark that got one between the eyes from your foot, baby Ralph."

"Well," said Ralph, "it was nearly the death of me, anyhow, having to take off all my clothes and wring them on top of the snow."

"Oh! but," continued Rory, a.s.suming seriousness, and addressing McBain, "you ought to have seen Ralph just then, sir. That was the time to see my baby brother to advantage. Neptune is n.o.body to him. Troth, Ray, if you'd lived in the good old times, it's a gladiator they'd have made of you entirely."

Here came a low derisive laugh from c.o.c.kie's cage, and Ralph pitched a crust of bread at the bird, and shook his fingers at Rory.

But Rory kept out of Ralph's way for a whole hour after this, and by that time the storm had blown clean away, so Rory was safe.

Allan had his turn next day. The danger in walking on the ice was chiefly owing to the fact that the edges of many of the bergs had been undermined by the waves and the recent swell, so that they were apt to break off and precipitate the unwary pedestrian into the water.

Here is Allan's little adventure, and it makes one shudder to think how nearly it led him to being an actor in a terrible tragedy. He was trudging on after the seals with rifle at full c.o.c.k, for he expected a shot almost immediately, when, as he was about to leap, the snowy edge of the berg gave way, and down he went. Instinctively he held his rifle out to his friend, who grasped it with both hands, the muzzle against his breast, and thus pulled him out. It seemed marvellous that the rifle did not go off.