Although the boys’ fathers had painted a picture of long and dreary months in the Arctic with the ship frozen in, and only the whalemen and Eskimos for company, the boys found it far from dull.

To be sure there were many days when snowstorms raged and the wind howled, and no one stirred from the long house on the deck. But even then there were things to amuse and interest the boys. A number of the native Eskimos were usually there, as well as those from Hebron, and the two lots of tribesmen were never tired of holding competitions of skill or strength. Gathered in a circle about the contestants, the whalemen and the boys would clap and applaud, shout encouragement and roar with laughter as the stocky natives struggled and strained in friendly, good-natured contests. Often a prize of tobacco, knives, clothes, or hatchets would be offered to the winner.

Many of the contests were wonderfully novel and amusing and sometimes the two boys would try their hands at them, much to the merriment of the assembled men.

One game which was a favorite with the Eskimos was a sort of tug of war. Kneeling on the deck with heads close together, the competitors would have their friends tie their necks together by a rope or thong, and then, at a signal, would strain and tug and heave, each trying his utmost to drag the other over a chalk line on the deck. Evidently there was a knack in it, aside from strength of neck muscles; for very often the smaller and weaker man would win. The boys after one or two trials decided this was too strenuous a contest.

Another game consisted of two Eskimos locking arms and legs together while perched on a third man’s back, and then trying to see who could dismount the other. Hard bumps and thumps always resulted, but the men’s heads were well padded with their mops of coarse black hair, and they always rose grinning and as good-natured as ever.

The greatest sport was to see the Eskimos attempt to box. The whalemen were always boxing, and after watching the white men for some time, the Eskimos wanted to try their skill. At their antics as they struck blindly at each other, dodged blows, ki-yied and shouted, twisted and turned, and often fell sprawling, the boys and the assembled whalemen roared until they almost choked.

But the Eskimos were apt imitators, they had unlimited perseverance, and gradually several of them began to develop skill in the use of the gloves and before long there were acknowledged champions among them. The sport-loving whalemen matched them up as lightweights, welterweights, and featherweights; for not a native could be found who, by any stretch of imagination, could be classed as a heavyweight. So interested did the crew become that several of the whalemen took to training their favorites; arguments over their respective merits grew heated, and the men bet recklessly on the results of the bouts. They even nicknamed the Eskimos, and Tom and Jim roared until their sides ached as Cap’n Pem would get excited and leaping up would pound his wooden leg on the deck and shout, “Wallop him, Dempsey! That’s a good one!” while Mike, whose favorite was a bull-necked, fat-faced, bow-legged man from Hebron whom he called Sullivan, would shout derogatory remarks about “Dempsey” and would dance wildly about the improvised ring, urging his man to the utmost.

While such things served to pass the time in bad weather and at night, the boys found far more pleasure with their dogs and their Eskimo friends ashore. Day after day they went hunting, always accompanied by Unavik or some other Eskimo. They were woefully disappointed in not finding musk oxen or another bear, but they often secured reindeer; and the pile of fox, wolf and seal skins which they reserved for themselves increased rapidly. The crew, too, went hunting, each man accompanied by an Eskimo, and each week the Narwhal’s cargo increased in value by many hundreds of dollars. Very often also the men had better luck than the boys, and several fine bearskins were brought in which spurred the boys to still greater efforts and longer trips. At last they were rewarded. They had traveled much farther than they had ever been before, following the valley of the river, and had reached a district of low, sharp hills, narrow ravines and small, rock-strewn valleys. Suddenly Unavik, who was with them, halted his dogs, peered intently at the snow, and pointed to a trampled trail leading across the valley.

“Musk ox!” he exclaimed. “Me say him feller near. Mebbe shootum.”

“Gosh, do you think we can?” cried Tom.

“Sure, Mike, mebbe,” replied the Eskimo as he unharnessed his dogs.

Cautioning the boys to be silent, Unavik crept to the top of the nearest ridge and peered about. No living thing was in sight. Then, with eyes on the tracks of the animals, he descended the ridge while the dogs, sniffing and whimpering, strained at their thongs, and the boys, thrilled with excitement, followed at the Eskimo’s heels. Along the little defile the trail led, over another ridge, through another valley, and up a third hill. “Him feller near,” declared Unavik, pointing to bare patches of rock and moss where the animals had scraped away the snow.

Very cautiously the three crawled among the ice-covered bowlders up the hill. The boys could scarcely restrain a cry of delight as they peered between the rocks and saw a dozen big, shaggy beasts pawing in the snow and nuzzling in the moss beneath.

Jim was about to raise his rifle, for the musk oxen were within easy range, when Unavik stopped him with a gesture and rapidly slipped the thongs that bound the dogs together. The next instant the huskies were bounding towards the surprised musk oxen who threw up their heads, armed with huge broad horns, snorted, and with one accord tore off up the valley.

“Gee, now we’ve lost them!” exclaimed Tom in disgust. “Why didn’t you let us shoot, Unavik?”

The Eskimo grinned but said nothing. Beckoning to the boys he turned and ran rapidly along the ridge in the direction the animals had gone. Presently, to the boys’ ears, came the barks, yelps, and growls of the dogs. Rounding a rocky hillock they came in sight of the pack, nipping and snapping at the musk oxen who had formed in a close ring with lowered threatening horns towards their enemies.

With their long, shaggy, black hair, their wild, reddened eyes and great recurved needle-pointed horns, the creatures looked very savage indeed and the dogs knew full well that death lurked in that ring of broad heads and sharp horns. These were no timid reindeer and, though the wolflike huskies now and then took chances and dashed at the snorting, stamping creatures before them, none dared approach too closely.

Suddenly one of the oxen uttered a low bellow, plunged forward and, before the dogs could retreat, the wicked horns swung to right and left, and a howling husky was tossed high in air to fall dead and bleeding on the snow.

“Golly, they’re some fighters!” exclaimed Jim in a low voice. “Come on, Tom, let’s shoot!”

But before the boys could fire, the musk oxen had scented them. Forgetting the dogs in their greater fear of human beings, they dashed off in a close-packed bunch with the huskies at their heels. Once more Unavik and the boys raced after them, and once more the dogs brought the animals to bay. This time Unavik led the way behind bowlders and snowdrifts down the wind. All unsuspected by the wild cattle, the three approached within easy range and picking out two of the biggest bulls, the boys fired.

At the double report the musk oxen again dashed off and, confused by the dogs, they came galloping, plunging, directly towards the three hunters. Before the astonished boys realized what had occurred, the great shaggy beasts were upon them. There was no time to reload and fire, no time to rise and run. Like an avalanche the stampeded creatures bore down upon the frightened boys. With lowered heads, rolling eyes, steaming nostrils and swinging horns they came. With terrified yells the boys threw themselves to one side, rolled among the rocks, and buried their heads, faces down, in the snow. All about them pounded the galloping hoofs. Tom screamed as he was struck a terrific blow and hurled aside. Over them they heard the panting breaths, the loud snorts and the low bellows of the creatures. Each second they expected to feel the sharp hooked horns ripping through their garments and their flesh.

But in an instant it was over. The musk oxen had passed; the boys were unhurt, and slowly, and with wondering expressions, they cautiously raised themselves as the pack of dogs raced by.

“Jiminy crickets!” exclaimed Jim, “I thought we were goners that time.”

“Gosh, yes!” assented Tom. “One of ’em stepped on me, but I guess these furs saved me. Say, what’s the matter with us? We didn’t kill a single one.”

“Search me,” replied Jim, “I don’t see how we missed.”

“Me say hitum, sure Mike!” cried Unavik who was searching the trampled snow where the beasts had passed.

The boys hurried to his side and glancing down, saw big splashes of crimson on the snow. Evidently they had not missed. Racing after the Eskimo they hurried as fast as they could travel towards the distant barking of the dogs. As they leaped the crest of a hummock, Unavik uttered a sharp cry, and the boys shouted with delight as they saw a big black bull lying half buried in a snow drift where he had fallen.

“We got one anyway!” cried Tom as they hurried on. “Say, we are in luck!”

Once again they found the oxen at bay and, this time when they fired, two of the creatures were left behind when the herd galloped off.

“Gee, that’s enough!” declared Jim, as panting and utterly exhausted the boys seated themselves on one of the dead oxen. “I’m all in. These clothes were never made for sprinting.”

“Get the dogs, Unavik,” said Tom. “No use in killing more. We can’t even get these three in to the village. We’ll wait here for you.”

The Eskimo started off, but there was no need for him to recall his pack. The musk oxen were thoroughly frightened and demoralized and had fled over hill and dale into the vast white waste, and the dogs, realizing that the creatures could not be brought to bay again with the scent of blood behind them, came trotting back towards the dead oxen.

It was, as Tom said, impossible to carry the three creatures to the village and so, having regained their breaths, the two boys and Unavik set to work skinning the two oxen. It was a hard slow job, but at last it was done and the boys straightened their aching backs and eased their cramped muscles.

“Well, that’s over!” exclaimed Jim. “But how on earth can we carry those skins and heads back? They weigh pretty near a ton, I’ll bet.”

Unavik grinned. “Me say plenty easy,” he remarked and rolling the skins in a bundle with the hair inside he lashed them firmly with the tough sinews from the creatures’ legs, attached his dogs to the whole and with a sharp command sent the huskies galloping over the snow with the bundle of skins sliding like a sled behind them.

“Golly, that’s easy!” cried Tom. “But I’d never have thought of it.”

With the musk ox trail to guide them, the three had no difficulty in locating the sledge and having harnessed the dogs they drove the team back to the first ox they had killed. This Unavik dressed and, after a deal of hard work, the body was loaded on the sled and the triumphant and elated boys turned towards the distant village. It was a long, hard tramp, the boys were tired, and except when traveling down a steep slope, they could not rest by leaping on to the sledge, for the dogs had all they could do to haul the vehicle with its load. But the boys did not complain. With three musk oxen to their credit they could well afford to undergo some hardship; but over and over again they were forced to halt and rest. As a result, it was nearly midnight when they at last saw the rounded igloos and the ghostly outline of the schooner in the flickering light of the aurora, and with heartfelt thanks, they reached the end of their journey.

“Where’n tarnation ye been?” demanded Cap’n Pem, who was the first to see them. “I swan, ye’ll have us all plumb crazy worryin’ over ye.”

“You needn’t have worried,” declared Tom, “Unavik was with us.”

“Shucks, he’s jes’ as bad as ye be,” declared the old whaleman. “H’ain’t got no sense ’tall. What——”

“Hello!” cried Captain Edwards, interrupting the old whaleman. “You boys are late. Just beginning to think we’d have t’ start out to search for you. Have any luck?”

“Three musk oxen,” replied Jim. “We’re pretty near starved.”

“I’ll bet ye be,” cried Cap’n Pem. “Blow me if ye ain’t reg’lar hunters. Fetched in three o’ the critters, eh? Waall, I’ll be sunk!”

As the half-famished boys ate ravenously, they told their story of the hunt to the men and officers and then, having been unanimously acclaimed the champion hunters of the ship, they crawled into their bunks, snuggled among their furs, and were instantly sound asleep.

So rapidly had the time passed that the boys could scarcely believe that half the winter was over. As Tom, on the morning after their musk ox hunt, started to write down the events of the preceding day in his diary, he uttered a surprised ejaculation.

“Gosh, Jim, it’s only two weeks till Christmas!”

“No!” exclaimed Jim. “Gee, I didn’t realize it. We’ll have to have a celebration. I wonder what they do up here.”

“Of course we celebrate,” the captain assured them when they spoke to him about the holidays. “Reckon we’d better be gettin’ ready pretty quick.”

So for the next ten days every one aboard the Narwhal was busy. There was the same delightful mystery in the air as at home; preparations for the Christmas festivities proceeded rapidly; and the boys were amazed to discover what resources the men and the schooner possessed. Mike and the carpenter worked early and late at building a miniature whaling ship to serve in place of a Christmas tree. The grinning black cook labored from morning until night—or rather from breakfast until bedtime—baking cakes and pies, making mysterious dishes, and boiling great kettles of molasses for candy, and from dinner until nearly midnight, the boys and men had glorious fun pulling the molasses candy, roasting quarts and pecks of peanuts, and popping hundreds of ears of corn. Half shyly the rough whalemen brought out clumsily wrapped packages and placed them on the pile of gifts on the chart table. Even the Eskimos seemed to catch the spirit of Christmas, and grinned and clucked and chuckled as they saw the preparations going on, for they had seen Christmas celebrations before and knew what a fine time was in store.

Two days before the great day, the completed model of the ship was set up in the deck house, and all hands busied themselves stringing the pop corn in its rigging, hanging the presents to the yards and masts, piling candy wrapped in bright-colored paper on the decks, and attaching colored candles along the bulwarks, up the shrouds, and along the yards.

“Say,” cried Jim, as the boys surveyed the completed substitute for a tree with approval. “Every one’ll have to hang up his stocking. Look at that heap of presents!”

At first the men demurred, trying to laugh off their embarrassment, but the boys insisted, the captain seconded them, Mr. Kemp added his pleas, and old Pem chuckled.

“’Spec’ I’m a ol’ fool!” he exclaimed. “But I rec’on we kin all ’ford to be kids, come Christmas. I’m a-goin’ fer to hang my stockin’!”

Stumping to his cabin, the old whaleman returned carrying a huge rabbit skin under-boot. “On’y stockin’ I got,” he declared as all burst out laughing.

“Well, b’gorra, ’tis lucky for ould Santa that yez have but wan lig thin!” cried Mike. “Faith an’ wid two av thim there’d not be a prisint for the rist av us.”

Now that Cap’n Pem had started the fun, the men quickly caught the spirit. Shouts of merriment, roars of laughter and good-natured chaffing floated over the frozen wastes from the schooner as the whalemen brought out socks, fur boots and heavy woolen stockings, and hung them in a long row along one side of the deck house, while the captain and the boys hurried back and forth filling them with bundles and packages.

Christmas day dawned clear and cold. Not a breath of wind stirred the frost filled air. The thermometer registered 45° below zero and the boys noted that the sun rose above the frozen plain of the bay at 9.30. Jumping from their bunk, the two boys ran hither and thither, wishing a “Merry Christmas” to every one. Presently the men came trooping in and seated themselves at the long table loaded with the Christmas breakfast.

The meal over, the Eskimos began to arrive, for all had been invited to spend the day aboard the schooner. Soon the deck house was packed with the grinning men and laughing girls and women all decked out in their richest furs and most elaborate costumes, every one carrying some bundle of fur or skin.

Then peanuts and pop corn were passed around, which the Eskimos munched and enjoyed hugely. Presently the captain jumped upon a chair and announced that there would be a dance. Swanson appeared with a much battered concertina, the carpenter brought out a wheezy fiddle, the ebony-skinned cook arrived with a banjo, and, to complete the orchestra, Nate produced a mouth organ.

Whatever the tune was—if tune it could be called—the boys never knew, but the men cared not a jot and seemed perfectly satisfied. Presently the deck was covered with couples, each dancing a different step, all laughing and all as happy as a crowd of youngsters. Tom and Jim roared with merriment as old Cap’n Pem seized a stout Eskimo woman and started to waltz with her. Mike took the center of the deck and executed a weird hornpipe which brought down thunderous applause, and Mr. Kemp, with blackened face and with a strip of gaudy calico wrapped about his long legs and a gay bandanna on his head, pranced up and down in a cakewalk.

Then the Eskimos had their turn. The skin drums throbbed and boomed, a man with a curious tambourinelike instrument, like a thin drum filled with pebbles, added to the din, and the natives pranced around and around, chanting a weird song, stepping high, twisting and turning and moving in intricate figures.

Then came games, followed by boxing matches, and the fun waxed fast and furious. Finally there was a tug of war, Eskimos against whalemen, and when, with wild shouts and yells, the Eskimos had pulled their rivals an inch over the chalk line and were declared the victors, Captain Edwards announced that the presents would be given out.

As he ceased speaking, there was a shout from the companionway and every one turned and gaped in astonishment, for there, pushing his way through the narrow entrance was Santa Claus! Even the boys were surprised, for Santa had been kept a profound secret. Clad in a suit of brown wolfskin with ermine trimming, and with big sealskin boots on his feet, the fat little fellow beamed upon all through his voluminous white whiskers of bearskin, and entering the deck house, tossed down his heavily loaded pack and brushed the snow from his sleeves and shoulders.

At first no one recognized him, but at his first words a roar of merriment burst from every one’s lips. “Had a everlastin’ tough time a-gettin’ to ye, clean up here!” he cried, striving ludicrously to disguise his voice. “But I reckon I brung presents fer all.”

“B’ the saints, ’tis the fursst toime Oi iver see a wan-ligged Santa!” chuckled Mike. “But sure ’tis a foine wan he do be afther makin’ at that.”

Rapidly the presents were distributed. There were comfort bags for each member of the crew, every bag containing buttons, thread, wax, combs salve, thimbles, pins and a small mirror. Every Eskimo woman received a bundle of bright-colored cloth and a little package of beads. The girls were given bead necklaces and gold plated rings. Each native boy got a shiny new jackknife, and every Eskimo man received a file and a plug of tobacco. Then the presents piled around the ship were distributed, and finally the men, sheepishly and flushing like children, received their well filled stockings and giggled and snickered like schoolgirls as they unwrapped the packages.

The Eskimos had done their part also. The men and boys were fairly loaded down with moccasins, fur boots, carved ivory curios, selected skins and similar things, while the natives were mad with delight over the powder and lead, the matches, the hatchets and knives, and the brass and iron they received.

Then came dinner, and such a dinner! There was a roast haunch of reindeer, bear chops, musk ox steaks, roast ptarmigan and potted hare. Even the cranberry sauce was there, with mince and pumpkin pies, and to cap the climax, a great steaming plum pudding which the grinning cook brought triumphantly in with its brandy sauce ablaze.

And the Eskimos at their table also had a feast. The dainties so appreciated by the white men held no attractions for the natives, and so their feast consisted of canned fruits, thick tinned milk, and, to their minds best of all, vast quantities of lard and oleomargarine. Not until midnight did the celebration end. When the last Eskimo had departed and eight bells pealed through the night, all vowed that this Christmas in the Arctic was the jolliest one they had ever known.