s,
was making for the Southern Lane--the highway of spring traffic. And,
crouched in the stern-sheets of this boat was a moaning, praying woman,
who cried and screamed at intervals, for husband and baby, and would not
be comforted, even when one of the brass-buttoned officers assured her
that her child was safe in the care of John Rowland, a brave and trusty
sailor, who was certainly in the other boat with it. He did not tell
her, of course, that Rowland had hailed from the berg as she lay
unconscious, and that if he still had the child, it was with him
there--deserted.

CHAPTER VIII

Rowland, with some misgivings, drank a small quantity of the liquor, and
wrapping the still sleeping child in the coat, stepped out on the ice.
The fog was gone and a blue, sailless sea stretched out to the horizon.
Behind him was ice--a mountain of it. He climbed the elevation and
looked at another stretch of vacant view from a precipice a hundred
feet high. To his left the ice sloped to a steeper beach than the one
behind him, and to the right, a pile of hummocks and taller peaks,
interspersed with numerous canyons and caves, and glistening with
waterfalls, shut out the horizon in this direction. Nowhere was there a
sail or steamer's smoke to cheer him, and he retraced his steps. When
but half-way to the wreckage, he saw a moving white object approaching
from the direction of the peaks.

His eyes were not yet in good condition, and after an uncertain scrutiny
he started at a run; for he saw that the mysterious white object was
nearer the bridge than himself, and rapidly lessening the distance. A
hundred yards away, his heart bounded and the blood in his veins felt
cold as the ice under foot, for the white object proved to be a traveler
from the frozen North, lean and famished--a polar bear, who had scented
food and was seeking it--coming on at a lumbering run, with great red
jaws half open and yellow fangs exposed. Rowland had no weapon but a
strong jackknife, but this he pulled from his pocket and opened as he
ran. Not for an instant did he hesitate at a conflict that promised
almost certain death; for the presence of this bear involved the safety
of a child whose life had become of more importance to him than his own.
To his horror, he saw it creep out of the opening in its white covering,
just as the bear turned the corner of the bridge.

"Go back, baby, go back," he shouted, as he bounded down the slope. The
bear reached the c