290 WHALING AND BEAR-HUNTING 



Gisbert snores, and the steward coughs alarmingly, and 

 the bear shouts, so Archie says he has not slept a wink for 

 nights. "Nay, nay," said Pedersen, "no mans can sleep, 

 der is Gisbare, he go snore, snore, und dem fordumna ice- 

 bears dey go roar, roar, all de nights no man can sleep 

 noddings ! " 



At night we are in the open sea, rolling south-east, and try 

 to hit off the north of Norway somewhere. The sun almost 

 sets now, there is at any rate the warm glow of sunset, it 

 pours into our two cabin ports from the north, making two 

 golden discs wave up and down on the white walls that look 

 quite green in contrast. 



The guitar is mended, the glue gave way with the fog 

 in the ice and the heat of the stove combined. So again 

 we have music, Gisbert the principal performer, the writer 



fi*neilengulo5ojosWsjuelo5)a . . _ - bios 



causing some surprise at his remembering part of a Spanish 

 love song picked up in Southern Spain. Gisbert sings a 

 number of these queer folk-songs, with their strange airs 

 and unexpected intervals and the beat of Africa in the 

 heart of them. 



I insert the scrap referred to above. It is not everyone 

 who cares for this minor music, but it draws tears to a 

 Spaniard's eyes ; and it appeals to the writer, inexplicably, 

 for we have no music like it in our country. 



The words amount to this : that in love, the eyes are as 

 eloquent as the lips. 



We have to play and hum tunes to keep our minds off 

 the deep sea roll, that after the stillness of the ice comes 

 as almost too much of a good thing. 



