Our friends calmly held their fire till within twenty-five yards when Don José began with his telescope-sighted mannlicher and hit the bear at his first shot! unfortunately rather near its tail. The bear, enraged, tore at itself. Then a sharp fusillade began from both rifles and by-and-by the bear succumbed. It had been hit not less than five times. It was only a small bear, but, as Don Luis senior remarked: “It was forte bien mieux de tirer from the ship than to go march, march, toujours sur la neige.” This is the way we speak on board, with a little Spanish thrown in.
CHAPTER XXX
Bright sun for once and away we have been steaming since early morning, south and east, hoping to get clear of the great floes that bar our way to the west. I long for mountains, the flat plains of ice-floe and snow grow very wearisome. Now, near land, these land-floes are like endless plaster ceiling that has dropped more or less in fragments. In the Antarctic the floes look as if a Greek temple had come to bits and lay floating on the sea. There is a considerable difference, therefore, in appearance; at least I speak for the southern ice which I have met south-east of Graham’s Land. There are no seals, therefore we hardly expect bears, and there is never a sign of the blow of a whale. Only one narwhal this morning, we almost ran into it. I wish it had driven its spear into us, it seems the only hope of getting a good one.
Floes extend in a line for miles north and south; we think it will be best now to wait for them to open, rather than to wander away south in hopes of getting an opening round them. Shannon Island, on the north-east of Greenland, is our aim.
... The floes are flatter, with fewer tombstones protruding from the level white; it gets monotonous. Mist comes at night. Hamilton and Gisbert play chess, Don José and the writer teach each other English and Spanish. Don Luis plays patience and Don José Herrero does nothing, with quiet dignity. This morning, after an hour at Spanish, I turned out first of our party for breakfast and found our starboard bear also on the point of coming out. It had its head and feet out and was only stopped by a single rope, a mere accident, but it puzzled the bear—rope was new to it. The she-cook and writer were the only people on deck. I tried to look not afraid and she certainly looked perfectly cool, and kept on wiping a dish, but went into the galley. I secured my revolver and told the man on the bridge. I took the wheel, whilst he dashed below and called for help, and there ensued a wild struggle; Bruin had lost a moment at the last trifle, the silly rope that was slightly elastic giving way to his pulling. Several of the crew turned up and got some thin wood battens, but one after another, as they were hastily banged across the front, he tore them to bits. And he has learned that shoving is also effective, and six men this morning went back at first, to a shove of his two great paws, till they got leverage. “With a long enough lever you can move the world”—that is where our men came in. Now he has about eight inches of timber in front of his nose. I will give him two days, not more, to get through that. Gisbert says he is sure to go overboard at once if he comes out. I think it is as well to have my pistol beside me at breakfast; we must at least have a chance of some shooting if it takes charge of the ship and does not go overboard as predicted.
Gisbert tells at breakfast this touching little tale, possibly a chestnut, above illustrated. “Once upon a time a hunter met a bear and said: ‘Here comes my new fur coat,’ and the bear said: ‘Here comes my breakfast,’ and both were right!” With such frivolity he soothes our nerves. But the deep, vibrating note of Starboard and the sound of industrious scraping keep one on edge for the rasping tearing that comes when he really sets to work to get out. Some great chains have now been found in the bottom of our little hold, and he is now really being treated as a wild animal; the chains are being fastened all round the woodwork, so I will allow him other two days to get free. All our wooden battens are done or nearly done, therefore this resort to iron.
We—that is, De Gisbert and I—made a small discovery this morning in rope-throwing—we practise it at odd times, with the prospect in view of tackling other bears alive, which is perhaps even higher sport than shooting or photographing them. For some time we have almost all been able to cast the ordinary running loop at short range, but are erratic with the half-hitch cast, such as you use after casting a loop over a bear’s head to secure its forefoot.