Kit and I followed.
"Now be very careful about firing in this fog," the captain called after us.

"We are going off to the right, round the edge of the floe on that side.

You keep off on the left to see that he don't escape that way.

Head him up toward the schooner if you can; but look out how you shoot." Old Trull and Corliss, each with a gun, had been stationed at the rail to shoot the bear from the deck if he should come out in sight.
Thus arranged, we pulled away, veering in and out among the ice-patches, and keeping about twenty yards from the floe.

We could just see the edge of it rising a few feet from the water.
"Guess the bear run from Don after all his fright," said Weymouth when we had gone a hundred yards or more.
He was not on our side, we felt pretty sure; and, a few minutes later, Guard barked, and we heard the captain shouting from across the field.
"Here he is over here!" And a moment after, "Gone over towards your side! Look out for him!" We _looked out_ as sharply as we could for fog: nevertheless, the first notice we got of his arrival in our vicinity was a splash into the water several rods farther on.
"Give way sharp," shouted Kit, "or we shall lose him!" The boat leaped under the strong stroke; and, a moment after, we saw the bear climbing out on to a cake, which tipped up as he got on to it.
"Give him your shot, Wash!" Kit exclaimed.
We were not more than fifty feet away.