"Why, just turn your glass off to the main, beyond the islands; right over the ice-field; on that lofty brown headland that juts out from the main! There they are!"
There they were, sure enough,—a grimy, bare-headed crowd, swinging their arms, and gesticulating wildly. It could not have been less than five miles; but the faint "Ta-yar-r-r!" still came to our ears.
"Suppose they are calling to us?" cried Raed.
"Yes; looks like that," replied the captain.
"Heard the guns, you see," said Kit; "those we fired at the bear."
"Port the helm!" ordered the captain. "We'll beat up through this channel to the north side of the ice-field."
"Perhaps we had best not go up too near them at first," remarked Raed, "till we find out what sort of folks they are."
"No: two miles will be near enough. They will come off to us,—as many of them as we shall want on board at one time, I dare say."
The schooner bore up through the channel, and wore along the ice-field on the north side at a distance of a few hundred yards from it. We saw the bear running off round to the south-east side to keep away from us; though, as may readily be supposed, our attention was mainly directed to the strange people on the headland, whose discordant cries and shouts could now be plainly heard. We could see them running down to the shore; and immediately a score of canoes shot out, and came paddling towards us.
"You don't doubt that their coming off is from friendly motives, captain?" Kit asked.