sweet as cowslips or clover, ornewly-made hay; and the bun was beautiful!"
"The what?" said Ralph.
"Don't tell him?" cried Allan; "don't tell him!"
"And the green ginger!" said Rory, smacking his lips. "Ah, yes! thegreen ginger," said Allan; "I never tasted anything like that in all myborn days!"
"Hi, you, Freezing Powders!" cried Rory, "take my coat and out-o'-doorsgear. D'ye hear? Look sharp?"
"I'm coming, sah; and coming plenty quick!"
"De-ah me!" from Cockie.
"Now bring my fiddle, you young rascal, into my cabin;" for Rory,reader, had that young-sealing scene on his brain, and he would not behappy till he had played it away. And a wild, weird lilt it was, too,that he did bring forth. Extempore, did you ask? Certainly, for heplayed as he thought and felt; all his soul seemed to enter the cremona,and to well forth again from the beautiful instrument, now in tones ofplaintive sorrow, now in notes of wrath; and then it stopped all at onceabruptly. That was Rory's way; he had pitched fiddle and bow on thebed, and presently he returned to the saloon.
"Are you better?" inquired Allan. Rory only gave a little laugh, andsat down to read. It had taken McBain nearly a fortnight to get clearaway from the Isle of Jan Mayen, for the frost had set in sharp andhard, and the great ice-saws had to be worked, and the aid of dynamitecalled in to blast the pieces. They were now some ten miles to thenorth and east of the island, but, so far as he knew on the day of hisvisit to the _Scotia_, he had bidden it farewell for ever.
It had not been for the mere sake of sport or adventure he had called inthere, he had another reason. Old Magnus, before the sailing--ay, oreven the building--of the _Arrandoon_, had heard that the island wasinhabited by a party of wandering Eskimos. Wherever Eskimos were McBainhad thought there must be dogs, and that was just what was wanting tocomplete the expedition--a kennel of sleigh-dogs. But, as we have seen,the Eskimo encampment was deserted, so McBain had to leave itdisappointed. But, as it turned out, it was only temporarily desertedafter all, and on the very day on which they had arranged to dine withSkipper Grig, two daring men, chiefs of a tribe of Eskimos, drawn in arude sledge, were making their way towards the island. Their teamconsisted of over a dozen half-wild dogs, harnessed with ropes of skinand untanned leather. They seemed to fly across the sea of ice. Hardlycould you see the dogs for the powdery snow that rose in clouds aroundthem. Well might they hurry, for clouds were banking up in the west, alow wind came moaning over the dreary plain, and a storm was brewing,and if it burst upon them ere they reached the still distant island,then--
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
SILAS GRIG'S DINNER-PARTY--A NEW MEMBER OF THE MALACOPTERYGII--THE STORMON 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 ofdogs across the sea of ice eastwards, ever eastwards, with the cloudsrising behind them, with the wind whispering and moaning around them,and sometimes raising the powdery snow in little angry eddies, thatalmost hid the plunging dogs from their view, honest Silas Grig, thoughsomewhat uneasy in his mind as to what kind of weather was brewing,busied himself nevertheless in preparing what he considered a splendiddinner for his coming guests.
"But," he said to his mate, "it will just be like my luck, you know, ifit comes on to blow big guns, and we've got to leave good cheer and putout 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 onscrubbing decks and cleaning brass-work, and how the cook was getting onwith that mighty sirloin of beef. He took many a ran forward as the dayadvanced, often pausing, though, to give an uneasy glance windward, andat the sun, not yet hidden by the rising clouds. And often as he did sohe 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 thespots in the sun? Why, he is holed through and through like an oldDutch cheese. Something's brewin'. But, talking of brewin', I wonderhow the soup is getting on?" [In Greenland these sunspots are quiteeasily seen by the naked eye.]
Silas's face was more the colour of a new flower-pot than ever, whenMcBain and our three heroes came alongside in their dashing gig, withits 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'ssweep.
"Why, she's going away past us!" cried Silas; "no, she ain't. It is thebow-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. Therewas no shouting of "Easy sta'board!" or "Easy port!" as when a lubber iscoxswain.
Next moment they were all on deck, shaking hands with the skipper andhis mate. The latter remained on deck; he didn't care for the companyof "quality;" besides, he had to loosen sails, and have all ready to getin 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 passed offentirely to his satisfaction. The pea-soup was excellent, neither toothick nor too thin, and the sippets done to a turn. Then came whatSilas called the whitebait.
"Which is only my fun, gentlemen," he observed, "seeing that they arebigger than sprats. Where do I get them? Hey? Why, turn up a piece ofpancake-ice, and there they be sticking in the clear in hundreds, likebees 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 seenthem at work. Maybe they melt the ice with their noses; they can't makethe 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 forwarmth. 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. Thinkof the small bones; and McFlail isn't here, you know."
"Of which," continued Rory, "the _Clupeidae_" [Ralph groaned] "form oneof the families, belonging to which are the herring, the sardine, thewhitebait, and sprat."
"They may be sprats, or they may be young sperm-whales, for anything Icare," said Ralph; "but I do know they are jolly good eating. CaptainGrig, may I trouble you again?"
With the pudding came the green ginger, that Ralph was so anxious totaste.
"The peculiarity of that pudding, gentlemen, is this," saidSilas--"eaten hot it _is_ a pudding, eaten cold it is a bun. Thepeculiarity of the green--"
What more he meant to have said will never be known, for at that momentthe _Canny Scotia_ gave an angry cant to leeward, and away--extemporisedseat and all--went the skipper down upon the sta'board bulkheads; thecoalscuttle, the water-bucket, and the big armchair followed suit, andthere was consequently some little confusion, and a speedy break-up ofthe 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 riggingand 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 thelee of the ice and partly sheltered, otherwise they never would haveregained the _Arrandoon_. As it was, the men were almost exhausted whenthey got alongside.
Her anchors were well fast, and her cables were strong; there was littlefear of dragging for some time, so the order was given to at once get upsteam, and that, too, with all speed, for the force of the wind seemedto increase almost momentarily. On the _Arrandoon's_ decks you couldscarcely have seen anything, for the snow blew blindingly from off theice; there was little to be heard either, for the shrill, harshwhi
stling of the wind. Men flitted hither and thither like uneasyghosts, making things snug, and battening down the principal hatches; onthe bridge, dimly descried, was McBain, speaking-trumpet under arm, andbeside him Stevenson.
Down below, from fore to aft, everybody was engaged. In the stoke-holethey were busy, and making goodly use of the American hams; in theengine-room the engineers were looking well to their gear, with bits ofgreasy "pob" in their hands, humming songs as they gave a rub here and anib there, though to what end or purpose I couldn't