Under the Great Bear | Page 7

interested was he in watching the many
lights that were pointed out by his new acquaintance. The next morning
found the ship threading her way amid the shoals of Nantucket Sound,
after which came the open sea; and for the first time in his life Cabot
lost sight of land. Halifax was reached on the following day, and here
the steamer remained twenty-four hours discharging freight.
The capital of Nova Scotia marks the half-way point between New
York and St. Johns, Newfoundland, which name Cabot was already
learning to pronounce as do its inhabitants--Newfund-land--and after
leaving it the ship was again headed for the open across the wide mouth
of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Thus far the weather had been fine, the sea
smooth, and nothing had occurred to break the pleasant monotony of
the voyage. Its chief interests lay in sighting distant sails, the tell-tale
smoke pennons of far-away steamers, the plume-like spoutings of
sluggishly moving whales, the darting of porpoises about the ship's
fore-foot, the wide circling overhead of gulls, or the dainty skimming
just above the wave crests of Mother Carey's fluffy chickens.
"Who was Mother Carey," asked Cabot, "and why are they her
chickens?"
"I have been told that she was the Mater Cara of devout Portuguese
sailors," replied Captain Phinney, "and that these tiny sea-fowl are
supposed to be under her especial protection, since the fiercest of gales
have no power to harm them."
"How queerly names become changed and twisted out of their original
shape," remarked Cabot meditatively. "The idea of Mater Cara
becoming Mother Carey!"
"That is an easy change compared with some others I have run across,"
laughed the captain. "For instance, I once put up at an English seaport
tavern called the 'Goat and Compasses,' and found out that its original
name, given in Cromwell's time, had been 'God Encompasseth Us.'
Almost as curious is the present name of that portion of the
Newfoundland coast nearest us at this minute. It is called 'Ferryland,'

which is a corruption of 'Verulam,' the name applied by its original
owner, Lord Baltimore, in memory of his home estate in England. In
fact, this region abounds in queerly twisted names, most of which were
originally French. Bai d'espair, for instance, has become Bay Despair.
Blanc Sablon and Isle du Bois up on the Labrador coast have been
Anglicised as Nancy Belong and Boys' Island. Cape Race, which is
almost within sight, was the Capo Razzo of its Portuguese discoverer.
Cape Spear was Cappo Sperenza, and Pointe l'Amour is now Lammer's
Point."
While taking part in conversations of this kind both Cabot and Mrs.
Phinney, who were the only passengers now left on the ship, kept a
sharp lookout for icebergs, which, as they had learned, were apt to be
met in those waters at that season. Finally, during the afternoon of the
last day they expected to spend on shipboard, a distant white speck
dead ahead, which was at first taken for a sail, proved to be an iceberg,
and from that moment it was watched with the liveliest curiosity.
Before their rapid approach it developed lofty pinnacles, and proved of
the most dazzling whiteness, save at the water line, where it was
banded with vivid blue. It was exquisitely chiselled and carved into
dainty forms by the gleaming rivulets that ran down its steep sides and
fell into the sea as miniature cascades. So wonderfully beautiful were
the icy details as they were successively unfolded, that the bride begged
her husband to take his ship just as close as possible, in order that she
might obtain a perfect photograph. Anxious to gratify her every wish,
Captain Phinney readily consented, and the ship's course was slightly
altered, so as to pass within one hundred feet of the glistening monster,
which was now sharply outlined against a dark bank of fog rolling
heavily in from the eastward.
Both cameras had been kept busy from the time the berg came within
range of their finders, but just as the best point of view was reached,
and when they were so near that the chill of the ice was distinctly felt,
Cabot discovered that he had exhausted his roll of films. Uttering an
exclamation of disgust, he ran aft and down to his stateroom, that
opened from the lower saloon, to secure another cartridge. As he
entered the room, he closed its door to get at his dress-suit case that lay

behind it.
Recklessly tossing the contents of the case right and left, he had just
laid hands on the desired object and was rising to his feet when,
without warning, he was flung violently to the floor by a shock like that
of an earthquake. It was accompanied by a dull roar and an awful sound
of crashing