The returned party had their adventure with a bear to tell. They had all lain down to sleep in their tent after a wearisome day of travel. The midnight hour had passed when Bonsall felt something scratching at the snow near his head, and, starting up, ascertained that a huge bear was making careful observations around the outside of the tent. He had, in looking round, already observed, no doubt, the important fact that the guns, and every thing like a defensive weapon, were left on the sledge some distance off, though perhaps the importance to him of this fact he did not appreciate. There was consternation, of course, in the camp, and a council of war was called. It had hardly convened before bruin, as a party concerned, thrust his head into the tent door. A volley of lucifer matches was fired at him, and a paper torch was thrust into his face. Without minding these discourteous acts, the bear deliberately sat down and commenced eating a seal which had been shot the day before and happened to be in his way. By the laws of arctic hospitality this should have been considered fair by the tent's company, for strangers are expected to come and go as they please, and eat what they find, not even saying, "By your leave." But the stranger did not conform to the usage of the country. Tom Hickey cut a hole in the back of the tent, seized a boat-hook, which made one of its supporters, and attacked the enemy in the rear. He turned on his assailant and received a well-aimed blow on his nose, by which he was persuaded to retire beyond the sledge and there to pause and consider what to do next. While the bear was thus in council with himself, Hickey sprang forward, seized a rifle from the sledge, almost under the nose of the enemy, and fell back upon his companions. Bonsall took the deadly weapon and sent a ball through and through the bear, and the disturber of the rest of our explorers afforded them many bountiful repasts. CHAPTER VI. THE OPEN SEA. MORTON and Hans returned to the brig on the tenth of July, after having been on their separate exploration three weeks and a half. Their story is full of thrilling incidents and important results. The first day they made twenty-eight miles, and were greatly encouraged. The next day the arctic enemies of exploration appeared on the field, skirmishing with deep snow through which dogs and men had to wade. Next came a compact host of icebergs. They were not the surface-worn, dingy-looking specimens of Baffin Bay, but fresh productions from the grand glacier near which they lay. Their color was bluish white, and their outlines clearly and beautifully defined. Some were square, often a quarter of a mile each side. Others were not less than a mile long, and narrow. Now and then one of colossal size lifted its head far above its fellows, like a grand observatory. Between these giant bergs were crowded smaller ones of every imaginable size and form.