"McPherson, be ready to throw open the hatch the minute we are clear," commanded Dave. "All life belts on?" he asked.
"Aye, aye, sir!" came in chorus.
"Rifles?"
"At hand, sir."
"Ready then."
There came a sudden burst of light, the creak of hinges, the thud of the hatch, then the thud of feet as the men rushed for the deck.
In another moment the crew found themselves outside clinging to the tilted and unsteady craft, blinking in the sunlight, and seeing—? Principally white ice and dark water. Off in the distance, indeed, was an innocent-looking native skin-boat. There were, perhaps, ten natives aboard.
"Thought so," chuckled Dave.
"You thought what?" demanded the Doctor. Every eye was turned on the young commander.
"Thought we'd been shot by natives with a whale-gun. Took us for a whale, don't you see? Whale-gun throws a bomb that explodes inside the whale and kills him. In this case, it exploded against us and raised the very old dickens. Here they come. You'll see I'm right."