Within half a mile of the berg, the Narwhal was hove to and lay resting motionless, gently rising and falling to the swell. Towering like a mountain peak, the mass of ice shimmered and scintillated like a gigantic gem against the sky.

Rapidly the boat sped towards the ice; and the boys shivered and buttoned their coats and turned up their collars as they drew near the immense ice mountain that chilled the air for a mile or more.

The bear still squatted upon a hummock in front of the deep green cavern in the side of the berg. As they drew close and the men rowed more slowly, the two boys crept to the bow of the boat and loaded their rifles. Nearer and nearer they came. The air was like the interior of a refrigerator. Still the huge white bear sat motionless, as if awaiting the boat, and wondering why he was to receive visitors on his drifting ice home.

Now a scant one hundred yards of open water lay between the boat and the berg. In low tones, Mr. Kemp ordered the men to cease rowing and as the boat lost headway, he spoke to the excited boys. “Aim for his breast and shoot,” he said. “He’s a fair mark and you ought to get him first crack.”

Kneeling in the bow of the boat, Tom and Jim rested their rifles on the gunwale, took steady aim, and pulled triggers. At the dual report a shower of ice splinters flew up from beside the bear. The big creature reared up on his hind legs, roared out a growl that echoed from the cavern behind him, pawed wildly at the air and toppled backwards out of sight.

“Got him,” shouted Mr. Kemp. “Give way, lads!”

“Hurrah!” yelled Jim. “Gee, won’t he make a fine skin for a trophy. Say, I wonder which of us hit him.”

“We can tell when we get him,” replied Tom. “One of us missed and hit the ice; but your rifle’s a .30-.30 and mine’s a .45 so we can tell by the bullet hole in him.”

A moment later the boat grated on the shelving ice. The boys leaped on to the berg, and Jim, being the first to land, rushed up the rough hummocky ice towards where the bear had fallen.

As he reached the spot where the bear had stood, he uttered a terrified yell, leaped back, slipped on the ice and came rolling and tumbling down the slope towards Tom. Rearing gigantic at the summit of the ridge was the bear, his lips drawn back over his huge white teeth, blood dribbling from his mouth, his long neck stretched out, and his wicked-looking head swaying from side to side.

Instantly Tom threw his rifle to his shoulder and took hasty aim at the bear’s breast.

“Hey, look out!” yelled Mr. Kemp. “Don’t——”

But his warning was too late. The roar of the rifle cut his words short. There was a stunning, rending, thunderous crash, the solid ice reeled and tossed like the deck of a ship in a heavy sea, and the boys and Mr. Kemp staggered drunkenly and fell sprawling.

“Wha—what happened?” cried Jim picking himself up with a dazed expression on his face.

“Berg’s goin’ to pieces!” yelled the second officer. “Come on back to the boat! That shot started the darned ice to slippin’! It’s rotten as punk. Come on, the whole blamed thing’s likely to go any minute!”

“But, but, where’s the bear?” gasped Tom, still unable to fully grasp what had occurred.

“Blast the bear!” ejaculated the second mate. “Get a move on!”

Urging the boys forward, Mr. Kemp rushed down the slope. As the boat drew in to the edge of the ice, the three scrambled aboard.

“Lift her, lads!” cried the excited officer as the boat shoved off, and the men bent to the long ash oars with a will. Hardly had they cleared the berg when there was a terrific, ripping, splintering roar. The overhanging summit of the berg moved bodily forward, hesitated an instant and then, with the deafening roar of thunder, came plunging, crashing down upon the spot where the three had been but a few moments before.

“Gosh!” exclaimed Tom. “Gosh! I’m glad we got away.”

“Gee Whitaker! yes,” cried Jim. “That old bear must be squashed flat as a pancake.”

Everywhere about the berg, huge detached masses of ice were floating, bobbing and turning and twisting about. Constantly more and more of the ice mountain was crashing down to the berg’s base, falling with prodigious splashes into the sea. Once started by the reverberations of Tom’s shot, the berg, softened, full of holes, and rotten, was going to pieces before the boys’ wondering eyes. It was a marvelous, fascinating, awe-inspiring sight to see the huge avalanches of gleaming ice, the jewel-tinted spires, the needlelike pinnacles, and the great overhanging precipices rending and tumbling. And as each mass dashed itself to pieces upon the base of the berg, or plunged into the waves, sending great mountains of spray into the air, the vibrations and shock of the blow loosened other masses. Then, as those in the boat gazed upon the dissolution of the mighty berg, Tom uttered an excited cry.

“Look!” he yelled. “The berg’s moving!”

It was true. The towering summit of the iceberg was swaying. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, it swung to one side. More and more it leaned and then, with a sudden rush, the mountain of ice toppled over. Vast billows of green sea rose high and, with the noise of a mighty cataract, the berg capsized. Where the sharp, sky-piercing berg had loomed, only a low hummocky stretch of ice tossed and heaved upon the waves.

The boys, overwhelmed with the wondrous spectacle, clung to the boat’s gunwales as the tiny craft bobbed and rocked on the great combers from the berg’s final plunge.

“Whew!” cried Jim when at last the seas subsided and the men pulled towards the schooner. “Wasn’t that a sight though? Say, that was worth seeing.”

“You bet!” agreed Tom. “But just the same I’m mighty sorry we lost that bear.”

Mr. Kemp grinned. “You ought to be glad you didn’t lose your own hides,” he declared. “I never seen a berg so plumb rotten or go to pieces so blessed fast.”

“Jiminy, I’d hate to be drifting south on one the way Eskimo Joe did,” said Tom, “if that’s the way they act.”

“’Twouldn’t be no picnic,” agreed Mr. Kemp, “but even a berg’s a heap better’n nothin’.”

“Thank Heaven you’re all safe!” cried Captain Edwards as the boat reached the Narwhal’s side. “When I saw that first slip, I thought ’twas all over with you.”

“Waall, I reckon a miss’s good as a mile,” commented Cap’n Pem. “But I swan, if you two young scallawags ain’t everlastin’ly gittin’ inter more close shaves than ever I heerd of afore.”

Tom winked at the skipper. “I suppose the black cat started that!” he remarked.

“Drat that there cat!” cried the old whaleman petulantly. “Jes the same I wish t’ blazes she was a-settin’ over to that there berg ’stead o’ on this here ship.”

For several days after the boys’ adventure on the iceberg the Narwhal bore steadily on. Several times she passed tiny rocky islets over which were clouds of screaming sea birds, and through their glasses the boys could make out the thousands and thousands of black and white birds that covered the rocks from sea to summit. There were great white gannets, big gray-and-white gulls, shining black cormorants, acres of swallow-tailed terns, row after row of closely packed auks, puffins, and guillemots. Even though the schooner was a mile or more from the rookeries, the harsh cries and screams of the countless birds came to the boys’ ears in raucous chorus.

“Say, I thought there were a lot of birds down at Tristan da Cunha,” said Jim. “But they weren’t a patch on these.”

“Why, there must be millions of them!” agreed Tom. “Wouldn’t it be fun to climb up there among ’em?”

Constantly in the schooner’s wake also were flocks of birds and many of these were strange to the boys. Some—big gray fellows with pearly white breasts and enormously long wings—Mr. Kemp told them were shearwaters. Others, that seemed constantly attacking the gulls and terns, and that looked like swift-winged hawks with spiked tails, they learned were jaegers and the captain told the boys these lived by robbing the other birds, and a few snowy white creatures that Tom thought were sheathbills were fulmar petrels, he was told.

By now the weather was cold, cheerless, and chilly and the boys were glad to don their winter clothes. Though the sun shone brightly, the wind was raw and had winter’s bite and sting to it and the spray felt like ice water as it dashed into the boys’ faces.

“Whew, but it’s cold!” cried Tom as he came on deck one morning, and buttoned his reefer and oilskins tighter. “Feels like midwinter. I wonder—oh, say, Jim! Look here!”

Fascinated, the two boys gazed about. On every hand, some within a few hundred yards, others a mile or two distant, still others mere ghostly forms upon the horizon, were scores of gleaming, shimmering, rainbow-tinted icebergs.

“Reckon there’s enough bergs to suit you!” exclaimed Captain Edwards. “I never seen so pesky many of ’em so far south this time o’ year. Must ha’ been a mighty cold winter up this way.”

“Is that what makes it so cold?” asked Jim.

“Yes,” replied the skipper, “a sailor can feel ice long before he sees it, and there’s enough ’round us to keep all the whales in the sea in cold storage for a million years.”

All through the day the Narwhal navigated slowly through the berg-filled sea. Throughout the night the boys were constantly aroused by shouts, the creaking of tackle, and the rushing feet of the crew as the schooner turned, and tacked, and picked her perilous course among the mountains of ice. But the next morning only a few distant bergs and scattered masses of honeycombed floe ice were visible, and before noon the gray shores of Labrador were sighted, with the little port of Hebron straight ahead.

To the boys it was a wonderfully novel experience to gaze shoreward at this out-of-the-world village in the Arctic. They cried out in delight when tiny, sharp-ended kayaks came dancing towards the Narwhal, with their Eskimo occupants paddling furiously. But as the tiny, skin-covered craft drew near, the boys were disappointed.

“Oh pshaw!” cried Tom, “they don’t look like Eskimos. They’re not dressed in furs, but are wearing dirty overalls and caps. They look like Chinese dressed up like whalemen.”

“Shure ’tis that they do!” agreed Mike, who stood near. “B’glory they do be wan an’ the same specie with the haythen Chinee, I do be thinkin’.”

“Ye’ll be seein’ plenty on ’em in hides an’ furs afore ye’re done,” declared Cap’n Pem. “These here boys is whalin’ han’s, an’ is sort o’ civ’lized. But ye don’t expect ’em to be a-wearin’ o’ a everlastin’ lot o’ furs in this hot weather, do ye?”

“Hot weather!” cried Jim. “I call it cold.”

The old whaleman chuckled. “Waall, by cricky, ye don’t know what’s a-comin’ to ye, then!” he declared. “This here’s midsummer; but come ’long an’ meet these Eskimo lads.”

The kayaks were now alongside and the Eskimos were clambering over the schooner’s rails. They were a happy, good-natured-looking lot, with broad yellow faces, flat noses, little slant, beady black eyes, wide mouths, made still wider by a constant grin, and lank, stiff black hair hanging to their shoulders. All looked so much alike that the boys could not understand how any one could tell one from another, and all were identical in the matter of dirtiness.

“Whew, but they are dirty!” exclaimed Jim. “I’ll bet they haven’t ever taken a bath!”

“And aren’t they little!” added Tom. “Why, they’re no bigger than boys.”

But if the two boys were interested in the Eskimos, the latter were simply fascinated with the boys, and gathered about them talking and laughing and jabbering in their own tongue.

Mr. Kemp, Cap’n Pem and the skipper were also busy conversing with two of the Eskimos who appeared to be leaders or chiefs. When the second officer addressed one of them in his own dialect, the filthy little fellow fairly beamed with pleasure.

Presently one of the men approached Tom and held out a greasy, soot-blackened paw. “H’lo!” he exclaimed with a broad grin. “Me Unavik, plenty good whaler feller, betcher life!”

Tom laughed and shook hands gingerly. “Glad to know you, Unavik. My name’s Tom. This is Jim, my cousin. You going along with us?”

Unavik shook hands very cordially with Jim—far too cordially to suit him in fact—and rolled his tiny eyes as he looked over the schooner. “Betcher life!” he announced. “Gimme chew t’bac. How much feller you want?”

“Oh, Mr. Kemp, get us some tobacco,” cried Tom, “this boy wants some.”

“Boy!” exclaimed Mr. Kemp, as he tossed over some plugs of tobacco. “He’s an old man—great-grandfather, I expect.”

Unavik bit off a huge chunk of the plug, passed it to his companions, and nodded his big head. “You betcher!” he mumbled. “Me ol’ feller. Got fif’y year mebbe.”

Then the other Eskimos began talking, telling their names—which the boys could not remember or pronounce—jabbering away with their quaint broken English, and surrounding the boys, so that they were thankful when Captain Skinner broke up the party by inviting them to go ashore.

Accompanied by the flotilla of kayaks, the boat pulled to the beach. To the boys’ surprise they found that there were a number of white people in the settlement; which contained several good buildings, a tiny church, a little mission school, a post office, and a police station.

There was also a low, rambling trading-post, presided over by a red-faced, white-whiskered old Scotchman and this proved the most interesting spot to the boys.

Here was exactly the sort of place they had read about in stories—the low-ceiled, big room with shelves piled with blankets, sacks of meal, axes and knives, guns and ammunition, and great bales of furs. Antlers and heads decorated the walls. There was a huge open hearth, snowshoes and dog sledges were stacked in corners, polar bear skins covered the floor and the stocky Eskimos, and even a few tall, grave-faced Indians, were lounging about or dickering over a trade with the clerk.

Here Captain Edwards secured a number of fur garments as well as other supplies. Then with the boys he strolled about the village. The boys had never stopped to realize that Eskimos did not dwell in ice igloos all the time and they were greatly surprised to find them occupying roughly built huts and much-patched tents of old canvas and skin. They saw drying racks covered with thousands of salmon and other fish which the Eskimo women—even more unkempt and dirty than the men—were cleaning and splitting and suspending on the racks. They visited the church and talked with the good-natured, rotund priest. They looked at the school and watched the bright-eyed, broad-faced Eskimo kiddies striving to master the rudiments of English and arithmetic. They even stopped for a chat with the straight, clean-featured, bronzed-faced, military-looking representative of the law.

“Gosh, I never saw so many dogs!” exclaimed Tom as they walked back toward the boat. “They simply swarm here.”

Captain Edwards laughed and the police officer, who was with them, smiled.

“And I’ll warrant you never saw such pure bred mongrels!” he chuckled.

“But they’re mighty useful to the natives—they hunt with them, use them for teams and, if they’re hard up, eat them.”

“Well, they look as if there’d be mighty little to eat on them,” declared Jim.

Taken altogether, there was not much to be seen, while the overpowering smell of fish which filled the entire village almost nauseated the boys, and they were mighty glad to be once more aboard the Narwhal.

In the afternoon the boat again went ashore and returned packed with Eskimo hands who had been signed on. The bundles of garments and other things were hoisted aboard, and with the Eskimos helping the crew at the capstan, the Narwhal’s anchor was hoisted, the sails were spread, and Hebron was left astern.