theynever appear in these seas without bringing a big slice o' ill-luck intheir wake. That is unless you catches them, and sometimes that doesn'tsave the ship. When I was skipper o' the _Penelope_, and that is morethan ten years ago, there wasn't a lazier chap in the crew than snuffySandy Foster. He wasn't a deal o' use down below, he did nothing ondeck, and he never went aloft. He had two favourite positions: one wassitting before a joint of junk, with a knife in his hand; t'other wasleaning against the bulwarks with a pipe in his mouth, and we nevercould make out which he liked best.
"`Did ever you do anything clever in your life, Sandy?' I asked oneday.
"Sandy took his pipe out of his mouth and eyed the mainmast for fullyhalf a minute. Then he brought his eyes round to my face, and said,--
"`Not that I can remember o', sir.'
"`The first time, Sandy,' says I, `that you do anything clever, I'llgive you a pair of the best canvas trousers in the ship.'
"Sandy's eyes a kind of sparkled; I'd never seen them sparkle before.
"`I'll win them,' said Sandy, `wait till ye see.'
"And, indeed, gentlemen, I hadn't long to wait. One day the brig wasdead before the wind under a crowd o' cloth, for there wasn't much wind,but a nasty rumble-tumble sea; there was no doubt, gentlemen, from thelooks o' that sea, that we had just come through a gale o' wind, andthere was evidence enough to go to jury on that there was another notfar away. Well, it was just in the dusk o' the evening--we were prettyfar south--that the cry got up,--
"`Man overboard.'
"It was our bo's'n's boy, a lad of fourteen, who had gone by the run.Singing out to the mate to lay to, I ran forward, and if ever I forgetthe expression of the poor bo's'n's face as he wrung his hands andcried, `Oh, save my laddie! Oh, save my laddie!' my name will change tosomething else than Silas.
"`I'll save him,' cried a voice behind me. Some one rushed past. Therewas a splash in the water next moment, and I had barely time to see itwas Sandy. Before the boat reached the spot they were a quarter of amile astern, but they were saved; they found the bo's'n's laddie riding`cockerty-coosie' on Sandy's shoulder, and Sandy spitting out themouthfuls of salt water, laughing and crying,--
"`I've won the breeks! I've won the canvas breeks, boys!'
"He had won them, and that right nobly, too. Well, after he had wornthem for over a month, it became painfully evident even to Sandy thatthey sorely needed washing; but, woe is me! Sandy was too lazy to put ahand to them. But he thought of a plan, nevertheless, to save trouble.He steeped them in a soda ley, attached a strong line to them, andpitched them overboard to tow.
"When, after two hours' towing, Sandy went to haul them up, great washis astonishment to find a great hammer-head spring half out of thewater and seize them. Sandy had never seen so awful a monster before;he put it down as an evil spirit.
"`Let go,' he roared; `let go my breeks, ye beast.'
"Now, maybe, with those hooked teeth of his, the shark could not let go;anyhow, he did not.
"`I dinna ken who ye are, or what ye are,' cried Sandy, `but ye'll noget my breeks. Ah! bide a wee.'
"Luckily the dolphin-striker lay handy, Sandy made a grab at it, andnext minute it was hard and fast in the hammer-head's neck. To see howthat monster wriggled and fought, more like a fiend than a fish, when wegot him on deck, would have--but look--look--r--"
Seth had not been idle while his companions were talking. He had cutoff choice pieces of blubber and thrown them into the sea; he had coiledhis rope on the ice close by; then, harpoon in hand, he knelt ready tostrike. Nor had he long to wait. The bait took, the bait was taken,the harpoon had left the trapper's hand and gone deep into the monster'sbody.
I will not attempt to describe the scene that followed--it was adeath-scene that no pen could do justice to--the wild struggle of thegiant shark in the water, his mad and frantic motions ere clubbed todeath on the ice, and his terrible appearance as he snapped his dreadfuljaws at everything within reach; but here is a fact, strange and weirdthough it may read--fully half an hour after the creature seemed dead,and lying on its side, while our heroes stood silently round it, withthe wild birds wheeling and screaming closely overhead, the zugaenasuddenly threw itself on its stomach as if about to swim away. It wasthe last of its movements, and a mere spasmodic and painless one, thoughvery distressing to witness.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
RORY'S REVERIE--SILAS ON THE SCYMNUS BOREALIS--THE BATTLE WITH THESHARKS--RORY GETS IN FOR IT AGAIN--THROWN AMONG THE SHARKS.
The ships still lay hard and fast in the ice-pack, many miles to thenor'ard and eastward of the Isle of Jan Mayen. There was as yet no signof the frost giving way. Day after day the bay ice between the bergsgot thicker and thicker, and the thermometer still stood steadily welldown below zero. But the wind never blew, and there never was a speckof cloud in the brilliant sapphire sky, nor even haze itself to shearthe sun of his beams; so the cold was hardly felt, and after a briskwalk or scamper over the ice our heroes felt so warm that they were inthe habit of throwing themselves down on the snow on the southern sideof a hummock of ice. Book in hand, Rory would sometimes lie thus forfully half an hour on a stretch. Not always reading, though; the factof Rory's having a book in his hand was no proof that he was reading,for just as often he was dreaming; and I'll tell you a little secret--there were a pair of beautiful eyes which were filled with tears whenlast he had seen them, there were two rosy lips that had quivered asthey parted to breathe the word "good-bye." These, and a soft, smallhand that had lain for a moment in his, haunted him by night and by day,and seemed ever present with him through all his wild adventures.
Ah! but they didn't make him unhappy, though; no, but quite the reverse.
He was reclining thus one day all by himself, about a quarter of a milefrom his ship, when Ralph and McBain came gently up behind him, walkingas silently as the crisp snow, that felt like powdered glass under theirfeet, would permit them.
"Hullo! Rory," cried McBain, in a voice of thunder.
Startled from his reverie, Rory sprang to his feet, and instinctivelygrasped his rifle.
His friends laughed at him.
"It is somewhat late to seize your rifle now, my boy," said McBain;"supposing now we'd been a bear, why, we would be eating you at thispresent moment."
"Or making a mouse of you," added Ralph, "as the yellow bear did of poorFreezing Powders; and at this very minute you'd be--
"`Dancin' for de dear life Among de Greenland snow.'"
"I was reading," said Rory, smiling, "that beautiful poem of Wordsworth,_We are seven_."
"Wordsworth's _We are seven_?" cried Ralph, laughing. "Oh! Row, Row,you'll be the death of me some day. Since when did you learn to readwith your book upside down?"
"Had I now?" said Rory, with an amused look of candour. "In troth Idaresay you are right."
"But come on, Row, boy," continued Ralph, "luncheon is all ready, Peteris waiting, and after lunch Silas Grig is going to show as some fun."
"What more malley-shooting?" asked Rory.
"No, Row, boy," was the reply; "he is going to lead us forth to battleagainst the sharks."
"Against the sharks!" exclaimed Rory, incredulous.
"I'm not in fun, really," replied Ralph. "Silas tells us they are inshoals of thousands at present under us; that the sea swarms with them,some fifteen feet long, others nearer twenty."
"Oh!" said Row; "this _is_ interesting. Come on; I'm ready."
While the trio stroll leisurely shipwards over the snow, let me try toexplain to my reader what Rory meant by malley-shooting, as taught themby Silas Grig. The term, or name, "malley," is that which is given byGreenlandmen to the Arctic gull. Although not so charming in plumage asthe snowbird, it is nevertheless a very handsome bird, and has manyqueer ways of its own which are interesting to the naturalist, and whichyou do not find described in books. These gulls build their nests earlyin the season on the cliffs of Faroe and Shetland, and probably, thoughI have never found
them, in sheltered caves of Jan Mayen and WesternGreenland as well. Despite the extreme cold, they manage to bring forthand rear their young successfully, and are always ready to followGreenland ships in immense flocks. Wherever work is going on, whereverthe crack of the rifle is heard on the pack, wherever the snow isstained crimson and yellow with blood, the malleys will be there indaring thousands. The most curious part of the thing is this: theypossess a power of either scent or sight, which enables them to discovertheir quarry, although scores of miles away from it. For
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