Chapter Ten.

The Tale of a Kite—A Great Bear-Fight.

When Mr Mansell was left in charge of the brig a heavy weight lay on his heart, and he could by no means take part in the preparations for the theatricals which occupied the rest of the crew. He felt that life or death depended on the success of the captain in his search for fresh meat. Already most of the men were ill with scurvy, and some of them were alarmingly low. Nothing could save them but fresh meat, and when the first mate thought of the difficulties and dangers of a journey on the floes in such weather, and the uncertainty of the Eskimos being discovered, his heart misgave him.

About an hour after the departure of Captain Harvey on the Monday morning he took Davy Butts aside.

“Davy,” said he, “you've been at work on these kites a long time. Are they nearly finished?”

“Quite finished, sir,” answered Butts.

“Then get them up, for there is a good breeze. I shall try them on our small sledges. It will at least stir up and amuse the men.”

Ten minutes after this the crew were summoned on deck to witness an experiment. A small dog sledge lay on the hard snow beside the vessel, and near to this Davy Butts and Mr Dicey were holding on to a stout line, at the end of which an enormous kite was pulling.

This kite was square in shape, made of the thickest brown paper, and nearly six feet across. That its power was great was evident from the difficulty with which the two men held it. The end of the line was fastened to the sledge.

“Now, boys, ease off line till it is taut, and then wait for the word,” said Davy Butts, jumping on to the sledge. “Now! Let go!”

Away went the sledge over the hard snow at the rate of three miles an hour, which soon increased to double that rate. Davy cheered and waved his arms. The men gave one loud “hurrah” of surprise and delight, and set off in mad pursuit. They were soon left behind. “Hold on, Davy!” “Good-bye, Butts.” “Look out, mind the ridge!”

The last warning was needful. The sledge was rushing furiously toward a long ridge of ice which rose in a sharp slope to a height of three feet, and descended on the other side to an equal depth, but without any slope. Davy saw his danger, but he did not dare to put out foot or hand to check his progress. Even if he had it would have been of no use. Up the slope he went as a sea-gull skims over a wave; for one moment he was in the air—the next, he came down with a crash that nearly dislocated all his joints, and his teeth came together with a loud snap. (By good fortune his tongue was not between them!) The sledge was a strong one, and the thing was done so quickly and neatly that it did not upset. But now a large and rugged hummock lay right before him. To go against that would have been certain death, so Davy made up his mind at once, and jumped off at the smoothest part of the floe he could find. The lightened sledge sprang away like a rocket, and was brought up with a sudden jerk by the hummock.

Of course the line broke, and the kite commenced to descend. It twirled and circled violently round, and at last went crash into an ice-berg, where it was broken to pieces!

“Not so bad for a beginning,” said Mansell, as poor Davy came back, looking very crest-fallen. “Now, Butts, come below. You have proved that the thing will do. Mr Dicey, get yourself ready for a trip over the ice. Let three men prepare to accompany you. I shall send you off to-morrow.”

Dicey, much surprised, went off to obey these orders; and Mansell, with the assistance of Butts, fitted the second kite for the intended journey. He made a rough guess at the strength of its pull, and loaded the sledge accordingly. Two tail ropes were fastened to the last bar of the sledge for the men to hold on by and check its speed. A sort of anchor was made by which it could be stopped at any moment, and two stout poles, with iron claws at the end of them, were prepared for scraping over the snow and checking the pace.