CHAPTER VIII. 



A WOLF WINTER. 



NOVEMBER 22 was Fosheim's birthday, and therefore, of course, a 

 day of mark in his existence ; but that it should also prove a day 

 of mark for us all was something quite beyond our expectations. 



The day was celebrated in the usual manner. We sat in the 

 fore-cabin, made speeches, drank hot grog, played cards, and 

 amused ourselves in various other ways until a little past eleven. 

 Bay had the meteorological watch that night. Half an hour 

 after the others had turned in he went up to take the mid- 

 night observations. But he came running down a great deal 

 quicker than he went up, calling out that there were two wolves 

 close by the ship's side. He seized his noted Buchsflinte and 

 rushed up again, about the same moment that Baumann also ran 

 up, though without his gun. 



There was a shot. I hurried up, and was just able to dis- 

 tinguish Baumann and Bay out on the ice. They were standing 

 close beside an animal which appeared to be as dead as according 

 to human notions it could possibly be ; but this was not enough for 

 Bay, who gave it another, not to say two shots more, before he was 

 satisfied. 



I thought the situation required rather more elucidation, and 

 so ran down to the 'tween decks after a lantern. By the time I 

 was up again the two were dragging their quarry up the ladder. 

 I was not a little surprised when I saw the animal they were 

 bringing up. It looked exactly as if ' Storlurven,' one of Stolz's 

 best dogs, had been made to ' bite the dust ' to satisfy Bay's love 

 of sport. But happily I was mistaken ; the wolf they were 

 dragging up was real enough, if only a young animal. 



ill 



