Besides, every forenoon they were allowed out to have a run round the decks under the guardianship of the brave Innuit Slap-dash. A most fearless fellow was this same Innuit, and in intellect as well as in every manly quality infinitely above his fellows.
But whenever the bo’s’n piped, “Bears to dance and play. Out of the way all you lads as doesn’t want to be ’ugged,” most of the crew who weren’t on shore dived down below and pulled the hatches to. But several who wanted to see the fun, took to the rigging and to the main top or fore.
Nick also went below, and took his wife with him.
“There’s too much bear there for us to eat, Nora,” Nick seemed to say. “Besides, my dear, discretion is the better part of valour.”
The bears’ names were Gruff, and Growley, and Grumpey, and Meg.
And Growley was Gruff’s wife, and Grumpey had married Meg, so to speak.
But Gruff ruled the roost, and would have nailed the roast, too, had he got a chance.
Whenever they were let out of their den, they used to shuffle right away aft all in a row, with their noses in the air and sniffing—ten yards by two of solid bear.
The boys were already on top of the skylight, with bones and biscuits and all things good and tasty; and the bears stood alongside with great open mouths to be fed. It was Gruff’s privilege to have the very last bite, and then to take his wife away; but if Growley did not follow immediately, Gruff went back and gave Growley a wallop with his great paw that landed her in the lee-scuppers.
Then the fun began. All sorts of fun, in fact. They ran and they danced, and stood on end and played at leap-frog, coughing and roaring all the time like a dozen steam-hooters. Gruff had a habit of standing on his head and then rolling clean over. When his body came down with a thud on the deck, the ship shivered as if a green sea had struck her.