st word Ben Bolt
nodded familiarly, thrust his hands into his pockets, and swaggered off
whistling "Yankee Doodle." It was a matter of uncertainty where he had
swaggered off to, but it was conjectured that he had gone on his journey
to anywhere that might turn up.

Meanwhile, Blunderbore had been bobbing his head up and down behind the
hummock in amazement at what he heard and saw, and when Ben Bolt made
his exit he came forward. This was the signal for the two bears to
discover him and rush on with a terrific roar. Blunderbore instantly
fetched them each a sounding whack on their skulls, leaped over both
their backs, and bounded up the side of the iceberg, where he took
refuge, and turned at bay on a little ice pinnacle constructed expressly
for that purpose.

An awful fight now ensued between the giant and the two bears. The
pinnacle on which Blunderbore stood was so low that the Big Bear, by
standing up on its hind legs, could just scratch his toes, which caused
the giant to jump about continually; but the sides of the iceberg were
so smooth that the bears could not climb up it. This difficulty, indeed,
constituted the great and amusing feature of the fight; for no sooner
did the Little Bear creep up to the edge of the pinnacle, than the
giant's tremendous club came violently down on its snout (which had been
made of hard wood on purpose to resist the blows), and sent it sprawling
back on the stage, where the Big Bear invariably chanced to be in the
way, and always fell over it. Then they both rose, and, roaring
fearfully, renewed the attack, while Blunderbore laid about him with the
club ferociously. Fortune, however, did not on this occasion favour the
brave. The Big Bear at last caught the giant by the heel and pulled him
to the ground; the Little Bear instantly seized him by the throat; and,
notwithstanding his awful yells and struggles, it would have gone ill
with Blunderbore had not Ben Bolt opportunely arrived at that identical
spot at that identical moment in the course of his travels.

Oh! it was a glorious thing to see the fear-nothing, dare-anything
fashion in which, when he saw how matters stood, Ben Bolt threw down his
stick and bundle, drew his cutlass, and attacked the two bears at once,
single-handed, crying, "Come on," in a voice of thunder. And it was a
satisfactory thing to behold the way in which he cut and slashed at
their heads (the heads having been previously prepared for such
treatment), a