318 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
speaking-trumpet with, his hands, shrieked—rather than 
shouted, “ If you please, my Lord ! ”—(as I have already 
said, Wilson never forgot les convenances )—“ If you 
please, my Lord, there’s a b-e-a-a-a-a-r!” prolonging 
the last word into a polysyllable of fearful import. 
Concluding by the enthusiasm he was exhibiting, that 
the animal in question was at his heels,—hidden from 
us probably by the inequality of the ground,—I cocked 
my rifle, and prepared to roll him over the moment he 
should appear in sight. But what was my disappoint¬ 
ment, when, on looking towards the schooner, my eye 
caught sight of our three boats fastened in a row, and 
towing behind them a white floating object, which my 
glass only too surely resolved the next minute into the 
dead bear! 
♦ 
On descending to the shore, I learned the whole 
story. 
As Mr. Wyse was pacing the deck, his attention was 
suddenly attracted by a white speck in the water, swim¬ 
ming across from Prince Charles’s Foreland,—the long 
island which lies over against English Bay. When 
first observed, the creature, whatever it might be, was 
about a mile and a half off,—the width of the channel 
