for success on his almost superhuman activity. His tall,
slight frame could not stand the shocks of his comrades, but no one
could equal or come near to him in speed, and he was quite an adept at
dodging a _charge_, and allowing his opponent to rush far past the ball
by the force of his own momentum. Such a charge did Peter Grim make at
him at this moment.

"Starboard hard!" yelled Davie Summers, as he observed his master's
danger.

"Starboard it is!" replied Mivins, and, leaping aside to avoid the
shock, he allowed Grim to pass. Grim knew his man, however, and had
held himself in hand, so that in a moment he pulled up and was following
close on his heels.

"It's an ill wind that blows no good," cried one of the crew, towards
whose foot the ball rolled, as he quietly kicked it into the centre of
the mass of men. Grim and Mivins turned back, and for a time looked on
at the general make that ensued. It seemed as though the ball must
inevitably be crushed among them as they struggled and kicked hither and
thither for five minutes, in their vain efforts to get a kick; and
during those few exciting moments many tremendous kicks, aimed at the
ball, took effect upon shins, and many shouts of glee terminated in
yells of anguish.

"It can't last much longer!" screamed the cook, his face streaming with
perspiration, and beaming with glee, as he danced round the outside of
the circle. "There it goes!"

As he spoke, the ball flew out of the circle, like a shell from a
mortar. Unfortunately it went directly over Mizzle's head. Before he
could wink he went down before them, and the rushing mass of men passed
over him like a mountain torrent over a blade of grass.

Meanwhile Mivins ran ahead of the others, and gave the ball a kick that
nearly burst it and down it came exactly between O'Riley and Grim, who
chanced to be far ahead of the others. Grim dashed at it. "Och! ye big
villain," muttered the Irishman to himself, as he put down his head and
rushed against the carpenter like a battering-ram.

Big though he was, Grim staggered back from the impetuous shock, and
O'Riley, following up his advantage, kicked the ball in a side
direction, away from everyone except Buzzby, who happened to have been
steering rather wildly over the field of ice. Buzzby, on being brought
thus unexpectedly within reach of the ball, braced up his energies for a
kick, but seeing O'Riley coming down towards him like a runaway
locomotive, he