94 
IN FORBIDDEN SEAS 
and a gooseberry tart, we made up a very fair 
Christmas feast. 
Our indoor amusements consisted chiefly of 
reading and chess. We had also cards and draughts. 
All our reading matter—about 120 volumes—had, 
fortunately, been saved, and proved one of our 
greatest boons. It would have been difficult to 
pass the time without them. On fine days I usually 
went out with my gun, but there was very little to 
shoot, nearly all the birds having migrated to warmer 
climes. Occasionally we got a sea-duck of a sort, 
or a merganser, or a peregrine falcon, and, needless 
to say, they all went into the pot. Falcon makes 
excellent curry, quite as good as chicken. One 
day, in following up a fox, I nearly met with an 
accident in trying to climb a cliff. The slope was 
covered with ice and snow, and from below looked 
negotiable, so I worked my way up by zigzagging, 
and nearly got to the top, when I began to slip. 
Right below me, at a short distance, was a perpen¬ 
dicular drop of about 60 feet or more to the beach. 
I was carrying my shot-gun, both barrels at full 
cock, as I expected to get a shot at the fox the 
moment I put my head above the top of the bluff. 
As I slipped I threw the gun across my arms, and, 
lying on my stomach, dug my fingers, knees, and 
toes, into the ground ; still I slipped, tearing my 
knees out, and also my gloves, and breaking off 
my finger-nails down to the quick. Within two or 
three feet of the edge I luckily held on, and, edging off 
sideways, I got to where it sloped again, and let 
myself slide down to the beach. The fox took a 
look at me over the edge of the bluff, but I concluded 
I had no use for him. 
