The Arctic Theatre enlarged upon—Great success of the first play—The Esquimaux submit, and become fast friends.

The 1st of December was a great day on board the Dolphin, for on that day it was announced to the crew that "The Arctic Theatre" would be opened, under the able management of Mr. F. Ellice, with the play of "Blunderbore; or, the Arctic Giant." The bill, of which two copies were issued gratis to the crew, announced that the celebrated Peter Grim, Esq., who had so long trodden the boards of the Dolphin, with unparalleled success, had kindly consented to appear in the character of Blunderbore for one winter only. The other parts were as follows:—Whackinta, a beautiful Esquimau widow, who had been captured by two Polar bears, both of which were deeply in love with her, by Frederick Ellice, Esq. First Bear, a big one, by Terrence O'Riley, Esq. Second Bear, a little one, by David Summers, Esq. Ben Bolt, a brave British seaman, who had been wrecked in Blunderbore's desolate dominions, all the crew having perished except himself, by John Buzzby, Esq. These constituted the various characters of the piece, the name of which had been kept a profound secret from the crew until the morning of the day on which it was acted.

Fred's duties, as manager and author, upon this occasion were by no means light, for his troop, being unaccustomed to study, found the utmost difficulty in committing the simplest sentences to memory. O'Riley turned out to be the sharpest among them, but having agreed to impersonate the First Bear, and having to act his part in dumb show—bears not being supposed capable of speech—his powers of memory had not to be exerted. Grim was also pretty good; but Davie Summers could not be got to remember even the general arrangements of the piece; and as for Buzzby, he no sooner mastered a line than he forgot the one before it, and almost gave it up in despair. But by dint of much study and many rehearsals in secret, under the superintendence of Fred, and Tom Singleton, who undertook to assist, they succeeded at last in going through it with only a few mistakes.

On the morning of the 1st December, while the most of the crew were away at Red-Snow Valley cutting moss, Fred collected his corps dramatique for a last rehearsal in the forecastle, where they were secure from interruption, the place being so cold that no one would willingly go into it except under the force of necessity. A dim lantern lit up the apartment faintly.

"We must do it without a mistake this time," said Fred Ellice, opening his book, and calling upon Grim to begin.

"'Tis cold," began Grim.

"Stop, you're wrong."

"Oh! so I am," cried Grim, slapping his thigh, "I'll begin again."

It may be remarked here, that although Blunderbore was supposed to be an Esquimau monarch, he was compelled to speak English, being unfortunately ignorant—if we may so speak—of his native tongue!

"Oh! 'tis a dismal thing," began Grim again, "to dwell in solitude and cold! 'Tis very cold [Grim shuddered here tremendously], and—and—(what's next?)"

"Hunger," said Fred.

"Hunger gnaws my vitals. My name is Blunderbore. 'Twere better had I been born a Blunderbuss, 'cause then I'd have gone off and dwelt in climes more shootable to my tender constitoosion. Ha! is that a bear I sees before me?"

"It's not sees," interrupted Fred.

At this moment a tremendous roar was heard, and O'Riley bounded from behind a top-sail, which represented an iceberg, dressed from head to foot in the skin of a white bear which had been killed a few days before.

"Stop, O'Riley," cried Fred; "you're too soon, man. I have to come on first as an Esquimau woman, and when Grim says to the woman he wishes he could see a bear, then you are to come."

"Och! whirra, but me brains is confuged intirely wid it all," said O'Riley, rising on his hind legs, and walking off with his tail, literally as well as figuratively, between his legs.

"Now, Buzzby, now; it's your time. When you hear the word 'misery,' come on and fight like a Trojan with the bears. The doctor will remind you."

Fred was remarkably patient and painstaking, and his pupils, though not apt scholars, were willing, so that the morning rehearsal was gone through with fewer mistakes than might have been expected; and when the crew came back to dinner about mid-day, which, however, was as dark as midnight, their parts were sufficiently well got up, and nothing remained to be done but to arrange the stage and scenery for the evening's entertainment—it having been resolved that the performance should commence after supper. The stage was at the after part of the cabin, and raised about a foot above the deck; and its management had been intrusted to the doctor, who, assisted by Peter Grim, transformed that portion of the ship into a scene so romantically beautiful that the first sight of it petrified the crew with surprise. But until the curtain should rise all arrangements were carefully concealed from every one except the dramatis personæ. Even the captain and officers were forbidden to peep behind the sail that formed a curtain to the stage; and this secrecy, besides being necessary, was extremely useful, inasmuch as it excited the curiosity of the men, and afforded them food for converse and speculation for a week before the great day arrived.

The longed-for hour came at last. The cabin tables having been removed, and rows of seats placed in front of the stage, the men were admitted from the deck, to which they had been expelled an hour previous in order not to impede preliminary arrangements. There was great joking, of course, as they took their seats and criticised the fittings up. David Mizzle was of opinion that the foot-lights "wos oncommon grand," which was an unquestionable fact, for they consisted of six tin lamps filled with seal-oil, from the wicks of which rose a compound of yellow flame and smoke that had a singularly luminous effect. Amos Parr guessed that the curtain would be certain sure to get jammed at the first haul, and several of the others were convinced that O'Riley would stick his part in one way or another. However, an end was put to all remarks and expectation raised on tip-toe by the ringing of a small hand-bell, and immediately thereafter a violent pulling at the curtain which concealed the stage. But the curtain remained immovable (they always do on such occasions), and a loud whispering was heard behind the scenes.

"Clap on extra tackle and call all hands to hoist away," suggested one of the audience.

The laugh with which this advice was received was checked in the bud by the sudden rising of the curtain with such violence that the whole framework of the theatre shook again.

For a few seconds a dead silence reigned, for the men were stricken dumb with genuine amazement at the scene before them. The stage was covered with white sheets arranged in such a manner as to represent snow, and the more effectually to carry out the idea several huge blocks of real ice and a few patches of snow were introduced here and there, the cold in the after part of the cabin being too great to permit of their melting. A top-gallant-sail, on which were painted several blue cracks, and some strong white lights did duty for an iceberg, and filled up the whole back of the scene. In front of this, in the centre of the stage, on an extemporized hummock, sat Peter Grim, as the Giant Blunderbore. His colossal proportions were enhanced by the addition of an entire white bear-skin to his ordinary hairy dress, and which was thrown round his broad shoulders in the form of a tippet. A broad scarlet sash was tied round his waist, and a crown of brown paper painted in alternate diamonds of blue, red, and yellow sat upon his brow. Grim was in truth a magnificent-looking fellow, with his black beard and moustache; and the mock-heroic frown with which he gazed up (as one of the audience suggested) at the aurora borealis, while he grasped an enormous club in his right hand, became him well.

The first few seconds of dead silence with which this was received were succeeded by a long and loud burst of applause, the heartiness of which plainly showed that the scene far exceeded the expectations of the men.

"Bravo!" cried the captain, "excellent! nothing could be better."

"It beats natur', quite," said one.

"All to sticks," cried another.

"And wot a tree-mendous giant he makes. Three cheers for Peter Grim, lads!"

Three cheers were promptly given with right goodwill, but the giant did not move a muscle. He was far too deeply impressed with the importance of playing his part well to acknowledge the compliment. Having gazed long enough to enable the men to get rid of their first flow of enthusiasm, Blunderbore rose majestically, and coming forward to the foot-lights, looked straight over the heads of the men, and addressed himself to the opposite bulk-head.

"Oh! 'tis a dismal thing," he began, and continued to spout his part with flashing eyes and considerable energy, until he came to the word Blunderbuss, when, either from a mistaken notion as to when it was his time to go on, or nervous forgetfulness of the plan of the piece, the Little Bear sprang over the edge of the iceberg and alighted on the middle of the stage.

"Oh! bad luck to yees intirely," said the Big Bear from behind the scenes in an angry whisper, which was distinctly heard by the audience, "ye've gone and spoiled it all, ye have. Come off, will ye, and take yer turn at the right time, won't ye?"

In the midst of the shout of delight caused by this mistake, O'Riley, forgetting that he was a bear, rushed on the stage on his hind legs, seized the Little Bear by the fore leg, and dragged him off at the other side amid loud applause. Blunderbore, with admirable self-possession, resumed his part the instant there was a calm, and carried it successfully to a close.

Just as he ended, Fred waddled on, in the guise of an Esquimau woman; and so well was he got up that the crew looked round to see if Aninga (who, with her husband, had been allowed to witness the play) was in her place. Fred had intentionally taken Aninga as his model, and had been very successful in imitating the top-knot of hair. The baby, too, was hit off to perfection, having been made by Mivins, who proved himself a genius in such matters. Its head was a ball of rags covered with brown leather, and two white bone buttons with black spots in the centre did duty for its eyes.

The first thing Whackinta did on coming forward was to deposit the baby on the snow with its head downwards by mistake, whereat it began to scream vociferously. This scream was accomplished by Davie Summers creeping below the stage and putting his mouth to a hole in the flooring close to which the baby's head lay. Davie's falsetto was uncommonly like to a child's voice, and the effect was quite startling. Of course Whackinta tried to soothe it, and failing in this she whipped it, which caused it to yell with tenfold violence. Thereafter losing all patience, she covered its face and stuffed its mouth with a quantity of snow, and laying it down on its back, placed a large block of ice on its head. This, as might be expected, had the desired effect, and the baby was silenced—not, however, until Whackinta had twice called down the hole in a hoarse whisper, "That'll do, Davie; stop, man, stop!" Then, sitting down on the hummock which Blunderbore had just left—and from behind which he was now eagerly watching her—she began to weep.

Having given full vent to her feelings in a series of convulsive sobs, Whackinta addressed a lengthened harangue, in a melancholy tone of voice, to the audience, the gist of which was that she was an unfortunate widow; that two bears had fallen in love with her, and stolen her away from her happy home in Nova Zembla; and, although they allowed her to walk about as much as she chose, they watched her closely and prevented her escaping to her own country. Worst of all, they had told her that she must agree to become the wife of one or other of them, and if she did not make up her mind and give them an answer that very day, she was to be killed and eaten by both of them. In order the more strongly to impress the audience with her forlorn condition, Whackinta sang a tender and touching ditty, composed by herself expressly for the occasion, and sang it so well that it was encored twice.

To all this Blunderbore listened with apparent rapture, and at length ventured to advance and discover himself; but the instant Whackinta saw him she fell on her knees and trembled violently.

"Spare me, good king," she said; "do not slay me. I am a poor widow, and have been brought here by two bears against............