Silas Grig was a very happy man now. The unfortunate wretches who had flown to meet their fate were sunk in the dark waters of the sea of ice, but this rough but kindly-hearted skipper never let one upbraiding word escape him towards his men, and the men knew they were forgiven, and liked their skipper none the less for his extreme forbearance.
“Do you know what I have done?” said Silas to McBain.
“You have forgiven your men, haven’t you?” replied McBain.
“Ay, that I have,” said Silas, “but I have staved every cask of rum on board, and black-jack is thrown overboard.”
All along the west coast or shore of the island of Jan Mayen our heroes, on their re-arrival there, found that the water was comparatively clear, the bergs having been driven away out to sea on the wings of the wind, so that by breaking the light bay ice the boats could approach quite close to the snow-clad cliffs.
Our three boys—for boys we must continue to call them for the sake of the days of “auld lang syne”—were glad to set foot on shore again, and with them went old Seth and the doctor. Freezing Powders was also invited, but his reply was, “No, sah! thank you all de same. But only dis chile not want anoder bad winter wid a yellow bear!”
“‘Adventure’ you mean, don’t you?” said Rory.
“Dat is him, sah!” replied the boy. “I not want no more dancin’ for de dear life.”
“But the yellow bear was killed, Freezing Powders,” persisted Allan.
“But him’s moder not killed,” said the lad, with round, open eyes. “You seem to hab ’tirely forgotten dat, sah; and p’raps de moder is much worse dan de son.”