ged to the fort by that slowest of creatures, an
ox. Nevertheless there _was_ water. In the warmest corner of the
kitchen--at that hour about zero--there stood a water-barrel.

"Run, cook--fetch a bucketful!" cried our chief.

Cook, who had "lost his head," obediently ran, seized a big earthenware
jug, dipped it into the barrel, and smashed it to atoms on a cake of
thick ice! This had the effect of partially recovering his head for
him. He seized an axe, shattered the cake, caught up a bucket, dipped
it full and rushed out spilling half its contents as he ran. The
spillings became icicles before they reached the flaming chimney, but
the frost, keen as it was, could not quite solidify the liquid in so
short a space of time.

Blondin, the principal bearer of the winter packet who was a heroic man
and chief actor in this scene, received the half-empty bucket.

"Bah!" he exclaimed, tossing bucket as well as water contemptuously down
the wide chimney. "Bring shuvill, an' blunkits."

Blondin was a French-Canadian half-caste, and not a good linguist.

A shovel was thrown up to him. He seized it and shovelled volumes of
snow from the house-top into the chimney. A moment later and two
blankets were thrown up. Blondin spread one over the flames. It was
shrivelled up instantly. He stuffed down the remains and spread the
second blanket over them, while he shouted for a third. The third came,
and, another bucket of water arriving at the same moment, with a large
mass of snow detached from the roof, the whole were thrust down the
chimney _en masse_, the flames were quenched and the house was saved.

During this exciting scene, I had begun to realise the great danger of
fire in the chimney of a wooden house, and, with the aid of my comrades,
had been throwing the contents of Bachelors' Hall out into the snow. We
now ceased this process, and began to carry them back again, while the
men crowded round the iron author of all the mischief to warm their
half-frozen bodies. I now observed for the first time that Blondin had
a black patch on the end of his nose. It was a handsome feature
usually, but at that time it was red, swelled, and what may be termed
blobby.

"What's the matter with it, Blondin?" I asked.

"My noz was froz," he replied curtly.

"You'd better have it looked to, or it'll be worse than froz, my man,"
said Lumley.

Blondin laughed and went off to attend to his nose in the men's house,
accompani