"Ay, ay, sir," I replied, in true nautical
style, and once more clambered the rocks. I
invited Schlafenwohl to accompany me, but he
declined. On reaching "the mast-head," as Tom
styled it, I selected a valley to which the
descent was sloping and easy, the sides being
deeply covered with snow. Down the surface
of this, I glided quite comfortably, and in a few
seconds reached the bottom.

At first no human being was visible, but on
turning an angle of the cliff, I beheld a singular
sight.

Mrs. Robinson, the old lady, who on the
previous evening had wished that the icebergs
would all sink to the bottom in the night-time,
and only come up by daylight, was seated
crouching on the ground in a state of the
utmost terror, holding a large green umbrella
over her head. Close beside her, reposed an
enormous walrus, at least twelve feet long,
blinking sleepily at the frightened dame, and
looking as little inclined for mischief as a
domestic cat on a hearth-rug. Laying my finger
on my lips to enjoin silence, I fastened a rope
(which I had brought with me) round Mrs.
Robinson's waist, and then proceeded to toil up the
slope. I should never have reached the top
with her dead weight behind me, but for the
umbrella, which I used as an alpenstock. On
gaining the summit, Mrs. Robinson vowed that
she could never go down "them slippery steps,"
so, aided by Bill Atkins, to whom I made signals
for assistance, we lowered her safely by a
long cable into the women and children's valley.

"Mr. Monkhouse," said Bill, "we must have
that walrus. Even if we can't eat his flesh, we
can make a roaring bonfire of his blubber, and the
poor women and children are perishing with cold."

"Ay, ay, sir."

So, up three or four of us climbed again,
armed with knives and cask-staves. We
reached the summit and descended into the
valley safely. The walrus was seated as placidly
as before. He seemed to be making a journey
northward to visit some of his Falkland Island
acquaintance, and to look upon the iceberg as
an admirable species of public conveyance—
cheap, swift, and comfortable. He was,
however, apparently fonder of the society of ladies
than of gentlemen. As soon as he saw us
approach, flourishing our weapons, he turned over
on his side and quietly rolled into the sea.
Our party, chagrined at the cool manner in which
he had given us the slip, returned slowly and
disconsolately, communicating the result of our
proceedings to Tom White.

"Never mind the walrus, boys," said that
energetic commander, who was in high spirits.
"She's going fifteen knots, if she's going an
inch. Mr. Monkhouse," he continued, in a
whisper, "you ain't seen the skipper?"

"No, there are no signs of him."

"Well, if he was aboard, I'd guarantee to
bring him in safe. And he couldn't do better nor
what I'm doing now."

What Tom White was doing to assist our
progress, it would be hard to say; though he
himself firmly believed that everything depended
on his exertions.

Evening was coming on. "Mr. Monkhouse,"
said Tom, "you're the best hand I've got aboard
the ship. How do you feel about the legs?"

"Rather stiff."

"Bill Atkins," said Tom, "serve out a tot
of grog to Mr. Monkhouse. It's very precious
liquor, for we've only one bottle aboard; but
he deserves a drop."

I swallowed the proffered refreshment, when
Tom said:

"Now, I want you to go aloft again, to look
out for land."

"Ay, ay, sir," I replied, cheerfully, and
clambered up like a chamois.

"Land ho!" I called. My distance from Tom
was upwards of three hundred feet; but ice must
be an excellent conductor of sound, for I could
hear Tom's answer quite distinctly, above the
whistling of the wind, and the roaring of the
waves.

"Where away?"

"On the weather bow, sir."

"All right. Stop aloft, and say what it looks
like as we get nearer."

A furious gale was now blowing from sou'-sou'-
west, and I was obliged to crouch on my hands
and knees, to avoid being hurled into one of the
chasms beneath. Our gallant iceberg churned
through the dark water at railroad speed,
leaving a long white track of foam, miles astern.
My fear now was, that, at the rate we were
going—which could be little short of twenty
miles an hour—we should be dashed on the
rocks. To my great joy, as we neared the land,
I perceived an extensive opening in the cliffs.
I described it as accurately as I could, to the
watchful commander below. He presently came
aloft, and stood at my side.

"Port Stephen's!" he exclaimed, "by all
that's merciful! It lies in the sou'-west corner
of the main island. Now comes the ticklish
time. If we touch the rocks on either side,
we shall be knocked to splinters."

The excitement on board the iceberg was
intense. I will not attempt to describe it. Just
as night fell, we entered the harbour. Had our
gallant craft been steered by the most skilful
helmsman in the British Navy she could not
have kept a better course. Tom White rubbed
his hands with delight, and appropriated all the
honour and glory to himself. As soon as we
were fairly inside the harbour, and under the
shelter of the cliffs, the force of the wind abated.
Fortunately, too, there was a strong current
setting out of the harbour, right in the teeth
of the wind. We hove the log, and found she
was going five knots; we hove it again, a few
minutes later, and she was barely making two
knots; in a quarter of an hour from that time,
a low grinding noise was heard, and we grounded
on an extensive sand-bank in the centre of the
harbour. We were obliged to remain there
patiently during the night, as we had no means
of communicating, by signal or otherwise, with
the shore. We had matches, but the whole of