ing to the dockyard, Cyrus Harding conceived the
idea of fabricating certain machines, which greatly excited the
curiosity of his companions. He took a dozen of the whale's bones, cut
them into six equal parts, and sharpened their ends.

"This machine is not my own invention, and it is frequently employed
by the Aleutian hunters in Russian America. You see these bones, my
friends; well, when it freezes, I will bend them, and then wet them
with water till they are entirely covered with ice, which will keep
them bent, and I will strew them on the snow, having previously
covered them with fat. Now, what will happen if a hungry animal
swallows one of these baits? Why, the heat of his stomach will melt
the ice, and the bone, springing straight, will pierce him with its
sharp points."

"Well! I do call that ingenious!" said Pencroft.

"And it will spare the powder and shot," rejoined Cyrus Harding.

"That will be better than traps!" added Neb.

In the meanwhile the boat-building progressed, and towards the end of
the month half the planking was completed. It could already be seen
that her shape was excellent, and that she would sail well.

Pencroft worked with unparalleled ardour, and only a sturdy frame
could have borne such fatigue; but his companions were preparing in
secret a reward for his labours, and on the 31st of May he was to meet
with one of the greatest joy's of his life.

On that day, after dinner, just as he was about to leave the table,
Pencroft felt a hand on his shoulder.

It was the hand of Gideon Spilett, who said,--

"One moment, Master Pencroft, you mustn't sneak off like that! You've
forgotten your dessert."

"Thank you, Mr. Spilett," replied the sailor, "I am going back to my
work."

"Well a cup of coffee, my friend?"

"Nothing more."

"A pipe, then?"

Pencroft jumped up, and his great good-natured face grew pale when he
saw the reporter presenting him with a ready-filled pipe, and Herbert
with a glowing coal.

The sailor endeavoured to speak, but could not get out a word, so,
seizing the pipe, he carried it to his lips, then applying the coal,
he drew five or six great whiffs. A fragrant blue cloud soon arose,
and from its depths a voice was heard repeating excitedly,--

"Tobacco! real tobacco!"

"Yes, Pencroft," returned Cyrus Harding, "and very good tobacco too!"

"O divine Providence! sacred Author of all things!" cried the sailor.
"Nothing more is now wanting to our island."