Chapter V: The Ship’s Bears: Gruff, and Growley, and Grumpey, and Meg

The surprise was this: no fewer than four young Greenland bears[C] were led forth, and attached or harnessed to a hugely large sledge, and seemed so perfectly quiet and well broken, that neither Charlie nor Walt hesitated for a moment to take their seats.

This sleigh could accommodate as many as ten men.

But these bears, although they moved not with half the rapidity of a team of dogs, never varied their pace, and never needed rest until they had covered a distance of not less than twelve miles.

Both the Newfoundlands had been shut up in an igloo. This was a precautionary measure, for although the bears never attempted to molest the Yak-dogs, they might not have objected to a mouthful or two of fine, fresh Newfoundland.

And the end of it all was that Captain Mayne Brace considered himself quite justified in purchasing these noble animals, for if anything came of the proposed Antarctic expedition, there was no reason why they should not be taken south with the force.

The days grew longer and longer now, fresh snow fell, softer winds began to blow, and at long last, with noises that are indescribable, the ice all around began to crack and break with the force of great waves that rolled in beneath them from the Eastern ocean.

Previous to this, however, peace had been established between the Yak-Yaks and the Teelies. The former had encamped close to the bay, and plenty of provisions and necessaries having been landed, Humpty Dumpty himself was left in charge of the whole--a kind of white king, in fact, who considered himself of no small importance. He had orders to keep the peace until the _Walrus_ should return after the spring fishing.

The sun was now shining nineteen hours out of the twenty-four, and soon it would rise not to set again for months; and so one glorious morning sail was set, and the _Walrus_, scorning the lesser baybergs, went ploughing her way slowly seawards, and in good time reached the whaling grounds.

If Captain Mayne Brace had come to these northern seas merely for sport and pleasure, he might have had plenty of both. There were seals enough, though rather scattered; there were bears in abundance, strolling defiantly on their native ice, or buffeting the billows in search of pastures new; there were bladder-noses, sharks in scores--oh, in shoals sometimes--walruses on the ice and in the water, lonely unicorns, and those marvellous narwhals that go plunging about, and always seem to be going somewhere on particular business, but never getting there. Yet glorious times of it the beasts have for all that when they reach shoal water, and can spear with their wonderful weapons the flat fish and skates that there do dwell. For my own part I should rather like to be a narwhal for a month or two in summer. Hammer-headed sharks, too, there were, those hideous zygænas, and birds in millions; but, alas, for Brace’s pretty barque and her greedy owners, hardly ever was a true Greenland whale seen or tackled.

And so when the season was waxing to a close, and these monster whales had babies of their own with which they departed southward to warmer seas, for their children’s sake, Captain Brace determined one morning that it was time to bear up once more for Britain’s shores.

Of course the men were down-hearted, because many of them had families to provide for, and did not want to return with empty pockets. But “better luck next” is the motto of your Arctic sailor; and when Brace, their well-beloved skipper, told them that there was considerable probability that many of them--if they chose to volunteer--would be engaged for an expedition to the Southern Pole, they regained heart, and made the welkin ring with their lusty cheers.

When the _Walrus_ arrived at last at Incognita Bay, and the anchor was let go in a cosy corner, as near to the shore as they could venture with safety, preparations were immediately commenced, first, for the shipment of huge blocks of fresh-water ice, and afterwards, for the embarkation of the dogs and Yak-Yaks they were to take southwards with them.

The bears were going to be the great difficulty. They were splendidly trained, it is true. But then they were but young; and who could say that they might not, when at sea, kick over the traces, eat their Yak-Yak keepers, and become frantically unmanageable?

The whole of the fo’cas’le was turned into a huge bear-den for their accommodation, and seal-meat in abundance was lowered into an ice-tank, that, during their long voyage, they might not starve.

It was a happy thought of Slap-dash, a brave Innuit and chief keeper of the bears, to have trained three of the Yak-dogs to sleep with his monster pets. The bears had become very fond of these, and growled a good deal at each other over them at night, but never actually fought.

But for these honest dogs the shipment of the Bruins would have presented far greater difficulties.

I must describe how this shipment was actually effected. To have roped the poor beasts would have rendered them savage, and this would have been rather indiscreet, to say the least. So a large raft was constructed, as well as a sort of inclined plane of wood, similar to a horse’s ladder. This last was made fast to the fo’cas’le bulwark above, while the other end was held in its place, on the sea below, by means of floats and beams from the ship’s water-line.

The three pet dogs, the bears’ favourites, were easily got on to the raft, and the Bruins followed. The Innuit himself kept feeding them as they were being towed all the way to the ship, and while the raft was made fast to the inclined plane. Then up sprang Slap-dash, and called the dogs to follow.

“Oh,” said the biggest bear, whose name was Gruff, “if that’s your game, here’s for after.”

And up he went.

In less time than it takes me to write these lines all the lot were comfortably caged.

They were not quite satisfied with their lot to begin with, however.

They had never been to sea or on board ship before in their lives, though they had been permitted to swim about the bay many times and oft, and even to stalk seals for themselves. But to be placed in a den with strong iron stanchions before it, was a trifle more than they had bargained for.

Slap-dash was a very good master to them, however, and tried to comfort them in every way that he could. And so did the dogs.

Before I go any further let me mention that bears are almost, if not quite, as sagacious, in their own way, as cats. Yet the ways of bears are a little peculiar, and as pets--well, they are not altogether satisfactory. The reason is this: they are treated without any tact on board ship, and teased and tormented for the pleasure of hearing them growl or cough or roar. On the ice a bear simply regards a man as something to eat--not so nice, of course, as a seal, but, anyhow, a change. And so they go for the human biped when hungry--I mean when the bear is hungry. Men chase bears and kill them for sport or for their skins and paws. Bears chase men because they are wholesome eating, especially if fat, and almost everybody does get fat in the Arctic regions.

As a parlour pet, a Greenland bear would hardly be suitable for a boy, and if the boy were to take him out for an airing, say, in a city park--well, there would be fewer city babies about before he got his pet back home again.

A young Polar bear, with whom I was shipmate once upon a time, pawed me in fun one day, and the barque giving a bit of a lee lurch, I fell. Instead of waiting till I got up out of the scuppers, the young rascal went for my leg, and I had to wriggle out of one sea-boot and skip. I never saw that boot again, so I imagine he devoured it. On the whole, then, if you hanker after a white ice-bear as a pet, you had better think of probable consequences, for his immense size makes him an awkward customer in many ways.

But, mind this, the Polar bear _is_ to be won by kindness, and when so won, he will never harm _you_, but always make a point of swallowing the other boy. And that is really very good of the bear, especially if the other boy has been nasty with you some time before this.

It took all the tact of which the brave Innuit was possessed to get those beautiful bears settled down in their quarters, but it was soon evident enough that they were going to be real ship’s pets.

A little doubtful at first they were as to Walter’s and Charlie’s intentions when the boys brought them biscuits and tit-bits from the cabin. Instinct seemed to account for this. Bears become much sooner attached to savages than they do to white men, for whenever the latter appear, their principal object seems to be to torment and torture or get fun out of the animals they subdue. Savages are, as a rule, far more kind to the animals than those creatures who call themselves Christians, but are not.

It was not long, however, before the bears began to take a different view of the pale-faces on board. They might, they seemed to think, turn out better than they looked, although tradition or something else told them that it was those very bipeds who had hunted and chased and killed with fire-sticks (guns) their ancestors from time immemorial, and who added insult to injury by placing them in barrels and casks with bars in front for men to torture and boys to tease during the long and terrible voyage to Britain.

Before a week was over, the bears had quite settled down in their quarters. They had come to the conclusion that nobody here intended to do them any harm. Perhaps they had heard kind and thoughtful Captain Brace give orders that no one should molest them. Over and above this, the wise animals had soon found out that the food was better than any they had ever had on shore, and that ship’s biscuit is even more toothsome than white-man steak.

Besides, every forenoon they were allowed out to have a run round the decks under the guardianship of the brave Innuit Slap-dash. A most fearless fellow was this same Innuit, and in intellect as well as in every manly quality infinitely above his fellows.

But whenever the bo’s’n piped, “Bears to dance and play. Out of the way all you lads as doesn’t want to be ’ugged,” most of the crew who weren’t on shore dived down below and pulled the hatches to. But several who wanted to see the fun, took to the rigging and to the main top or fore.

Nick also went below, and took his wife with him.

“There’s too much bear there for us to eat, Nora,” Nick seemed to say. “Besides, my dear, discretion is the better part of valour.”

The bears’ names were Gruff, and Growley, and Grumpey, and Meg.

And Growley was Gruff’s wife, and Grumpey had married Meg, so to speak.

But Gruff ruled the roost, and would have nailed the roast, too, had he got a chance.

Whenever they were let out of their den, they used to shuffle right away aft all in a row, with their noses in the air and sniffing--ten yards by two of solid bear.

The boys were already on top of the skylight, with bones and biscuits and all things good and tasty; and the bears stood alongside with great open mouths to be fed. It was Gruff’s privilege to have the very last bite, and then to take his wife away; but if Growley did not follow immediately, Gruff went back and gave Growley a wallop with his great paw that landed her in the lee-scuppers.

Then the fun began. All sorts of fun, in fact. They ran and they danced, and stood on end and played at leap-frog, coughing and roaring all the time like a dozen steam-hooters. Gruff had a habit of standing on his head and then rolling clean over. When his body came down with a thud on the deck, the ship shivered as if a green sea had struck her.

This was merely one of Gruff’s tricks, for the little darling thought of something fresh every morning, and some of these I shall take the liberty of mentioning further on.

In three weeks’ time the good ship was ready to take her leave, and a very sad parting it was indeed for the Yak-Yaks and Teelies left behind.

Brace gave them a banquet on shore, which went far to assuage their grief, however. It was a huge cauldron of thick pea-soup, with lumps of fat pork and beef in it, and flanked with biscuits. The dessert was a couple of barrels of red herrings and a barrel of raw potatoes. These were scattered broadcast among the crowd, and to witness that scrambling and tumbling match would have wrung the tears of laughter from a coal-carter’s horse.

When all sail was set and the _Walrus_ began to warm to her work under the influence of a ten-knot breeze, the rigging was manned, and three lusty cheers given for the simple, friendly savages they were leaving behind in the land of perpetual snow, and whom they could never expect to see again.

And down the wind from the tribes on shore came a long-drawn, falsetto cry of farewell. It was meant for a cheer, but sounded more like the moaning of a wintry wind.

END OF BOOK I