“We must do it for scientific reasons,” says the doctor. “Out with him, men!”

There was no help for it, so at it we went; and now our chaps got over some of their scared feelings, all but the doctor’s nevvy, who did nothing but shiver, and nearly jumped out of his ice-boots, when, after thawing, the rough figure we had got out of the ice sat up suddenly, and exclaimed—

“An’ did somebody say how did I get here?”

“We thought it,” said the doctor.

“Bedad! I heard ye,” said the figure. “Give’s a taste of rum, which is the best makeshift for poteen, and I’ll tell ye. But it’s very cowld.”

He cowered close over the lamp, trying to warm his hands; and I noticed that when they handed him some rum, he put it down by his side, going on talking like to the lamp, as he spun away at his story.


Chapter Three.

The Irish Sailor’s Yarn.