And pulling out the bunch of rigging, he fastened one of its ends to his pigtail—for he did not like the taste of tar sufficiently to put the strands in his mouth—and proceeded to scramble to the top of the ice, which he finally gained with much difficulty. Peering through the mouth of the rift, he saw the upturned face of Marline, toward which he now lowered the disengaged end of the piece of rigging. It was soon in the young man’s hand, and Stump was about to unfasten the other end from the pendent mass of hair, so as to secure it to one of the rough projections of ice, when his foot slipped, causing him to descend half way down the frozen declivity, which he had mounted with so much trouble, and where he now hung suspended by his pigtail to the rope; for the young harpooner, believing that his corpulent chum was clinging to it with his hands, and that he was doing him a good service by holding on to the piece of rigging, had not allowed it to escape his grasp!
So there hung the stout little shipkeeper, kicking his legs, and vociferating in an excited manner, until at length he succeeded in turning himself and grasping the rope with both hands.
“You sarved me a bad trick, Marline, without knowing it,” he said, as soon as he had regained the top of the berg. “Blast me if I think my pigtail will ever recover from the effects of it.”
And he then proceeded to explain the predicament in which he had been placed. The harpooner expressed his sympathy and regret, after which Stump proceeded very carefully to fasten the rope to an icy projection near the mouth of the crevice.
Assured that the rope was perfectly secure, Harry clambered hand over hand, until he had gained the top of the berg, and then expressed his intention of continuing his search for the boats.
“As for you, Stump,” he added, “you had better make your way back to Alice, as speedily as possible, so as to calm her fears on my account.”
“Willingly enough will I do that,” replied the shipkeeper, gently smoothing his ruffled pigtail, “for I’m mightily tired of this ice-cruising business—I’ll give you my word for that.”
The two men separated, soon afterward, but not until Stump had presented the pocket-compass to his chum and delivered a long tirade upon its merits.
“You are sure you can find your way back—are you not?” shouted Harry, after he had gone a few paces.
“Ay, ay,” responded Stump, “there isn’t a doubt upon that p’int. All I have to do is to follow my nose, which won’t twist either to the right or the left, seeing as its parfectly flat.”