abundance all over the island, there was more than sufficient to stop up the crevices, which wooden houses must always be liable to. Repairs of this kind cost the unhappy men less trouble, as they were Russians; for all Russian peasants are known to be good carpenters—they build their own houses, and are very expert in handling the axe. The intense cold, which makes these climates habitable to so few species of animals, renders them equally unfit for the production of vegetables. No species of tree or even shrub is found in any of the islands of Spitzbergen—a circumstance of the most alarming nature to our sailors.
"Without fire it was impossible to resist the rigour of the climate, and, without wood, how was the fire to be produced or supported? However, in wandering along the beach, they collected plenty of wood, which had been driven ashore by the waves, and which at first consisted of the wrecks of ships, and afterwards of whole trees with their roots—the produce of some hospitable (but to them unknown) climate, which the overflowings of rivers or other accidents had sent into the ocean. Nothing proved of more essential service to these unfortunate men, during the first year of their exile, than some boards they found upon the beach, having a long iron hook, some nails of about five or six inches long, and proportionably thick, and other bits of old iron fixed in them—the melancholy relics of some vessels cast away in those remote parts. These were thrown ashore by the waves, at the time when the want of powder gave our men reason to apprehend that they must fall a prey to hunger, as they had nearly con
sumed those reindeer they had killed. This lucky circumstance was attended with another equally fortunate; they found on the shore the root of a fir-tree, which nearly approached to the figure of a bow. As necessity has ever been the mother of invention, so they soon fashioned this root to a good bow by the help of a knife; but still they wanted a string and arrows. Not knowing how to procure them at present, they resolved upon making a couple of lances, to defend themselves against the white bears, by far the most ferocious of their kind, whose attacks they had great reason to dread. Finding they could neither make the heads of their lances nor of their arrows without the help of a hammer, they contrived to form the above-mentioned large iron hook into one, by beating it, and widening a hole it happened to have about its middle with the help of one of their largest nails—this received the handle; a round button at one end of the hook served for the face of the hammer. A large pebble supplied the place of an anvil, and a couple of reindeer's horns made the tongs. By the means of such tools they made two heads of spears, and, after polishing and sharpening them on stones, they tied them as fast as possible, with thongs made of reindeer's skins, to sticks about the thickness of a man's arm, which they got from some branches of trees that had been cast on shore. Thus equipped with spears, they resolved to attack a white bear, and, after a most dangerous encounter, they killed the formidable creature, and thereby made a new supply of provisions. The flesh of this animal they relished exceedingly, as they thought it much resembled beef
in taste and flavour. The tendons, they saw with much pleasure, could, with little or no trouble, be divided into filaments of what fineness they thought fit. This, perhaps, was the most fortunate discovery these men could have made, for, besides other advantages, which will be hereafter mentioned, they were hereby furnished with strings for their bow.
"The success of our unfortunate islanders in making the spears, and the use these proved of, encouraged them to proceed, and forge some pieces of iron into heads of arrows of the same shape, though somewhat smaller in size than the spears above-mentioned. Having ground and sharpened these like the former, they tied them with the sinews of the white bears to pieces of fir, to which, by the help of fine threads of the same, they fastened feathers of sea-fowl, and thus became possessed of a complete bow and arrows. Their ingenuity in this respect was crowned with success far beyond their expectation; for, during the time of their continuance upon the island, with these arrows they killed no less than two hundred and fifty reindeer, besides a great number of blue and white foxes. The flesh of these animals served them also for food, and their skins for clothing and other necessary preservatives against the intense coldness of a climate so near the Pole. They killed, however, not more than ten white bears in all, and that not without the utmost danger; for these animals, being prodigiously strong, defended themselves with astonishing vigour and fury. The first our men attacked designedly; the other nine they slew in defending
themselves from their assaults, for [some of these creatures even ventured to enter the outer room of the hut, in order to devour them.] It is true that all the bears did not show (if I may be allowed the expression) equal intrepidity, either owing to some being less pressed by hunger, or to their being by nature less carnivorous than the others; for some of them which entered the hut immediately betook themselves to flight on the first attempt of the sailors to drive them away. A repetition, however, of these ferocious attacks threw the poor men into great terror and anxiety, as they were in almost a perpetual danger of being devoured."
"Some of these creatures even ventured to enter the outer room of the hut, in order to devour them."[P. 86.]
"Sure," exclaimed Tommy, "such a life as that must have been miserable and dreadful indeed." "Why so?" said Mr Barlow. Tommy.—Because, being always in danger of being devoured by wild beasts, those men must have been always unhappy. Mr B.—And yet they never were devoured. T.—No, sir; because they made weapons to defend themselves. Mr B.—Perhaps, then, a person is not unhappy merely because he is exposed to danger, for he may escape from it, but because he does not know how to defend himself. T.—I do not exactly understand you, sir. Mr B.—I will give you an instance. Were you not very unhappy when the snake coiled itself round your leg, because you imagined it would bite you? T.—Yes, sir. Mr B.—But Harry was not unhappy. T.—That is very true, sir. Mr B.—And yet he was in more danger of being bitten than yourself, because he took hold of it. T.—Indeed he did. Mr B.—But he knew that by boldly seizing it, and flinging it away, he
was in very little danger; had you, therefore, known the same, you probably would neither have feared so much nor have been so unhappy as you were. T.—Indeed, sir, that is true; and, were such an accident to happen again, I think I should have courage enough to do the same. Mr B.—Should you then be as unhappy now as you were the first time? T.—By no means, because I have a great deal more courage. Mr B.—Why, then, persons that have courage are not so unhappy as those that are cowardly when they are exposed to danger. T.—Certainly not, sir. Mr B.—And that must be equally true in every kind of danger. T.—Indeed, it must; for I have sometimes heard my mother shriek out when she was passing in a coach through a small stream of water, while my father only laughed at her. Mr B.—Why, then, if she had possessed as much courage, perhaps she would have laughed too. T.—Indeed, I believe she might; for I have sometimes seen her laugh at herself, when it was over, for being so cowardly. Mr B.—Why, then, it is possible that when these men found they were so well able to defend themselves against the bears, they might no longer be afraid of them; and, not being afraid, they would not be unhappy. T.—Indeed, I believe so. Mr B.—Let us now continue.