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Sunday Nov. 12

The 13th & 14th being the annual periods
of the meteoric shower- I make the watch
report regularly the condition of the sky and
have made arrangements for careful
observation throughout the 48 hours- which
perhaps we alone, of all looking out for
the display, can have of continued
darkness.

While at my traps to day, fortunate=
=ly not two miles from the brig - I heard
what I supposed to be a walrus bellowing
from the floe ice. "Hark these Hands!"
The words were scarcely uttered before a
second roar of unmistakable note.
Caused me to jump to the ice foot.
Bear! Bear! We had no arms,
the day although but 30 minutes older than
noon was so dark that we could not
see 200 yards into the rough ice. Strange
as it may sound both the Esquimaux and
myself were afraid to run. We knew
very well that the sight of a runner would
be the signal of a chase- and judging
by experience we felt tolerably safe in
the [brag?] game of intimidation- on the
other hand to lose this godsend of
beef went to our hearts, and a
second roar, quite a "Come and eat
me sound" determined me to let Hans
- a fine runner - start for the brig - while
I attempted to play decoy- Off
went Hans- "Roar again good Lion",
and so he did close aboard- No
matter- said I- mentally for I did not
feel like raising my voice. No matter
he's all right- Hans was already out
of sight.

Now I may as well say, what you