The first night on Home-in-sight Island was not so undisturbed as might have been expected. The noisy gulls did indeed go to sleep at their proper bed-time, which, by the way, they must have ascertained by instinct, for the sun could be no certain guide, seeing that he shone all night as well as all day, and it would be too much to expect that gulls had sufficient powers of observation to note the great luminary’s exact relation to the horizon. Polar bears, like the Eskimo, had forsaken the spot. All nature, indeed, animate and inanimate, favoured the idea of repose when the explorers lay down to sleep on a mossy couch that was quite as soft as a feather bed, and much more springy.

 

The cause of disturbance was the prolonged absence of Alf Vandervell. That enthusiastic naturalist’s failure to appear at supper was nothing uncommon. His non-appearance when they lay down did indeed cause some surprise, but little or no anxiety, and they all dropped into a sound sleep which lasted till considerably beyond midnight. Then the Captain awoke with a feeling of uneasiness, started up on one elbow, yawned, and gazed dreamily around. The sun, which had just kissed his hand to the disappointed horizon and begun to re-ascend the sky, blinded the Captain with his beams, but did not prevent him from observing that Alf’s place was still vacant.

 

“Very odd,” he muttered, “Alf didn’t use to—to—w’at’s ’is name in—this—way—”

 

The Captain’s head dropped, his elbow relaxed, and he returned to the land of Nod for another half-hour.

 

Again he awoke with a start, and sat upright.

 

“This’ll never do,” he exclaimed, with a fierce yawn, “something must be wrong. Ho! Benjy!”

 

“Umph!” replied the boy, who, though personally light, was a heavy sleeper.

 

“Rouse up, Ben, Alf’s not come back. Where did you leave him?”

 

“Don’ know, Burrerface saw ’im las’—.” Benjy dropped off with a sigh, but was re-aroused by a rough shake from his father, who lay close to him.

 

“Come, Ben, stir up Butterface! We must go look for Alf.”

 

Butterface lay on the other side of Benjy, who, only half alive to what he was doing, raised his hand and let it fall heavily on the negro’s nose, by way of stirring him up.

 

“Hallo! massa Benjamin! You’s dreamin’ drefful strong dis mornin’.”

 

“Yer up, ol’ ebony!” groaned the boy.

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