To see a white bear prowling in his native ice-fastnesses was, therefore, a novel spectacle for us.
They were distant from the schooner, at a rough guess, five hundred yards, and seemed to have a good deal of business about a hole, or chasm, among the loose ice at some distance up the arm.
"Seal or a dead finner in there, I'll be bound," said the captain.
"Now, boys, there's a chance for a bear-hunt!" "Suppose we give 'em a shot from my cannon-rifle," I suggested.
"Better take the howitzer," said Raed.

"Load it with a grist of those bullets." "That'll be the most likely to fetch 'em," laughed the captain.
Wade ran down after the powder and balls.

The rest of us unlashed the gun, got off the rubber-cloth, and trundled it along to point it over the starboard rail.

Raed then swabbed it out; Kit poured in the powder; while Wade and I rammed down a wad of old newspaper.
"Now, put in a good dose of these blue-pills," advised the captain, scooping up both hands full from the bag in which we kept them.
"Ef you war ter jest tie 'em up, or wrop 'em in a bit of canvas, they'd go straighter, and wouldn't scatter round so bad," remarked old Trull, who was not an uninterested spectator of the proceedings.
"Make them up sort of grape or canister shot fashion, you mean," said Raed.
"Yes; that's what I mean,--ter keep 'em frum scatterin'." "Not a bad idea," said Capt.Mazard.

"Weymouth, bring a piece of old canvas and a bit of manila-yarn." About a quart of the ounce balls were hastily wrapped in the canvas, and lashed up with the hempen twine.