Foreword

Chapter 1. Moosie      4
Chapter 2. Camel    9
Chapter 3. How Camel Met Moosie    14
Chapter 4. Building the Ship    19
Chapter 5. Captain Wolf    24
Chapter 6. Getting the Name    32
Chapter 7. First Adventures    36
Chapter 8. The Pitfall    45
Chapter 9. Low Tide    54
Chapter 10.Buffalo    62
Chapter 11. Pirates    73
Chapter 12. Deliverance    83
Chapter 13. The Sargasso Sea    93
Chapter 14. The Flying Dutchman    102
Chapter 15. An Uncharted Island    114
Chapter 16. The Aborigines    122
Chapter 17. The Higher Primate    136
Chapter 18. The New Member of the    143
Chapter 19. Saving Isolde    151
Chapter 20. Frau Sichel    165
Chapter 21. Hare’s Tricks    175
Chapter 22. A Cold Snap    185
Chapter 23. Shipwreck    192
Chapter 24. Hard Times    200

Chapter 25. In The Bear’s Den     210
Chapter 26. A Tempest in a Teacup    217
Chapter 26. Polar Truffles    227
Chapter 27. Parting    236
Afterword    244 

Illustrations by Alexander Volosenko

Translation by Thomas O’Gara, ilinguistic.us

Chapter 1. Moosie

Moosie had always lived in the house. Mike didn’t remember how he got there or where he came from. Moosie himself said he came from the North.
“And where is the North?” little Mike would ask.
“It’s that way!” Moosie said, pointing behind him with his paw, so that north was always behind his back.
Moosie had long soft horns. Moosie called them his ‘handlers’. Mike would explain to him that they’re not ‘handlers’, but ‘antlers’, but Moosie would answer that other animals may have antlers, but he had ‘handlers’.  He had soft little hooves at the end of his legs. Moose usually have four hooves, but Moosie had only two, so he walked on his hind legs. His front legs had short paws that barely reached around his belly. And he had a long, soft nose. Moosie loved to stick his nose about and smell everything around him. 
Moosie had white fur, especially in his younger days. He got a little greyer as he got older, but when he talked about himself he still said “I’m little white Moosie”, even though he was hardly little; together with his ‘handlers’, he reached Mike’s nose.
Moosie wore a blue hooded jacket that hardly reached the middle of his belly. The jacket had white fur on the cuffs and bottom, and Moosie was quite fond of it. He almost never took it off, except when he took a bath. And Moosie didn’t like to take baths. He was afraid that he would get wet all through and never dry off. So he only took a bath once a month, and even then he didn’t dip himself

all the way in the water, but rubbed himself down with a soft white sponge using baby shampoo. And then he would spend all day drying off on the radiator, wrapped in a clean bath towel.
Generally speaking, Moosie was nice fellow, but a worrywart. He was always worrying about catching cold and getting sick. As soon as it started to rain outside, Moosie would crawl under a blanket and say that he would not go out, since his ‘handlers’ might catch a chill and his hooves would get all wet. Mike was used to him acting like that and he never asked Moosie to go out when it was raining.
Mike and Moosie were very good friends and never quarrelled. Well, almost never. Whenever Moosie got upset with Mike, he would puff up his cheeks, climb on the sofa and hide under a throw blanket, horns and all. Mike would go to him right away to apologize, saying: “Moosie please forgive me!” And Moosie would stick his nose out from under the blanket, thrust out his lower lip and grumble “You hurt my feelings – me, so little and so white! And I’m not Moosie, I’m Theodorus Moosovich.”
That was is full name. But Moosie almost never used it. That is, he kept it in reserve for when somebody hurt his feelings, or when he felt like showing off. How he ever got that name Mike never knew. What’s more, Moosie couldn’t properly explain how he got it either, and would say “That’s my name, that’s all.”
Moosie ate only lichen. That is, he ate everything – vegetables and fruit, but he called it all lichen. For example, apples were “apple lichen”; carrots were “carrot lichen”. And when he saw a melon on the table, he cried “That’s lichen. Melon lichen!” Then he would add “Only Moosie eats lichen, so it’s for me!” But Moosie wasn’t

greedy; he always shared a piece of “lichen” with Mike, and sometimes he gave him two or three pieces.
Mike wondered why Moosie called all the food lichen. After all, reindeer eat lichen, and Moosie wasn’t a reindeer, he was a moose. And his horns were almost like the kind a real moose has.
One day, Mike decided to get Moosie to tell him what he did before he came to live at the house. That evening, after Mike washed up and brushed his teeth, Moosie went to bed with him, as usual.
“Moosie, tell me a story”, Mike asked.
“I don’t know any stories”, Moosie said.
“Then tell me something about yourself”, Mike suggested. “What did you do before you came here?”
“I migrated”, Moosie said, rather unhelpfully.
“And where did you migrate?” Mike asked.
That way, up North”, with his paw, Moosie pointed behind himself, at the closet.
“And what was there around there up North?” Mike pressed on.
“Up North there was the tundra”, Moosie said, adding “I migrated around the tundra!”
“And what did you do there?” Mike asked.
“I dug up lichen”, Moosie explained.
“And how did you dig it up?” Mike asked
“I dug under the snow with my hoof, pushed the snow away and ate up the lichen under it”.
“Did you migrate by yourself?”
“No”, Moosie said, “I was with a pack.”
“A pack of moose?”

“No, a pack of reindeer.”
And you were Moosie then?”
“No”, Moosie said, “I was a reindeer then.”
This surprised Mike. “Moosie, how did you change from a reindeer into a moose?
“I didn’t change”, Moosie said, “I just grew up and became Moosie.”
Mike thought this over and then asked “So, are you going to change into somebody else?”
Moosie sat silent for a moment.
“No”, he said, “probably not.”
Mike thought about this. He thought about whether one type of animal could really turn into another type. He wondered if Moosie might keep growing and become an elephant. How big would he be, and how could we put him up here? And then he imagined Moosie digging his soft hooves into the sharp crusty ice, getting to the lichen, wandering around the tundra in the Arctic night and not being afraid of his “handlers” catching a chill. And then he decided to think about who Moosie’s mommy and daddy were. But he never quite did, because he fell asleep.

Chapter 2. Camel

On the very day before Christmas, a camel showed up at the house. He was sitting on the floor under the Christmas tree and attentively scrutinizing the room with his tiny eyes under his frizzy brows. He sported a small knit cap, with clumps of ruddy fur sticking out from underneath.
Mike came into the living room. It was dark; the only light came from the string of lights on the Christmas tree, and the star on top.
“Mommy, daddy!” Mike cried. “Come quick, look at what Santa Claus brought me!”
But mommy and daddy were in no hurry to come to the living room. Instead, the camel started to talk. His voice was singsong and nasally, as if he was memorizing what he was saying.
“First of all, young man, I’m not a ‘what’, but a ‘who’”.
“Secondly, by your leave I shall blandly ignore your speculation regarding Santa Claus”.
“Now then, allow me to introduce myself: Dromedary Camel, which would signify a ‘one-humped camel’. You may call me Dromedary”.
Mike stood there popeyed with his mouth hanging open. He understood almost nothing of what the Camel had said to him.
“Your name is Dreama what? Mike asked.
“Hmpf…,” the Camel sniffed. “Young man, I can see that you are as of yet not conversant with complex lexical constructions. Hence, I am obliged to repeat that my name is Dromedary Camel”.
“Camel”, Mike said, “I didn’t quite understand everything you said.

Can I just call you “Dreamer”?
The camel put all four of his hooves in front of himself, put his head on them and thought for a moment.
“On one hand”, Camel began, “addressing me as “Dreamer” smacks of a certain familiarity. On the other hand, if one wishes to remain in a home and to make a favourable impression, it won’t do to be too fastidious in such matters. Hence, I have no objection to you calling me ‘Dreamer’, young man”.
Mike was beginning to understand some of what Camel was saying.
“And I’m Mike!” Mike said. “You can call me Mike.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mike”, Dreamer said, “however, allow me to observe that the use of nicknames is somewhat questionable in a formal relationship”.
“You don’t need to be questionable with me”, Mike said. “I’m still a kid”.
“Very well”, Camel said. “We shall refer to each other on intimate terms, even though such forms of address presuppose an amicable relationship between the parties involved”.
“There’s no need for us to be amicable either. We can be friends instead”, Mike said. “We’re all friends here in this house. Let’s be friends!”
Camel considered this briefly. “I am afraid that you’re not taking my meaning precisely, young man.
“However, although a proposal such as yours may be somewhat premature, it is nonetheless quite gratifying for a lonely camel. Therefore”, Camel said, raising his head to Mike, “I am pleased to accept it. And allow me to mark the commencement of our

friendship by referring to you as ‘my young friend’”.
“You can call me that, if you want to,” Mike said. “It’s okay with me”.
Mike took Camel in his arms and sat him on the sofa.
“Dreamer,” said Mike, “why do you talk so funny?”
“And what is it that you find humorous about my speech, my young friend?” Camel asked.
“Well, it’s not easy to understand what you say. Can you say things a little simpler?”
Once again Camel stopped to think this over.
“I shall try,” he said, “but I can’t promise”.
Mike wanted to know as much as he could about his new acquaintance.
“Where do you come from, Dreamer?” Mike asked.
“I come from Africa, from the desert”.
“And what did you do there?”
“I once worked in a caravan as a camel.”
“And what kind of work did you do as a camel?”
“I busted my hump carrying lots of heavy things across the desert”, Camel said.
“And where did you learn to talk like that?”
“I subsequently studied for a long time and completed the curriculum in applied linguistics at the University of Alexandria, where I graduated with a first.”
“With a first what?” Mike asked.
“First honours,” Camel said patiently. “Summa cum laude.”
“Ah!” Mike said. “So you went to summer school.”

“My young friend”, Camel said, “it is no simple thing to conduct a conversation with you, given your primitive command of the language. Furthermore, I am quite tired from my journey. Would you happen to have some saksaul sprigs for your new friend?”
“What’s six-all?” Mike asked.
“Not six-all, saksaul”, the camel corrected. “It is a plant of the Amaranthaceae family, a shrub or small tree with forked branches and segmented shoots, which camels use for food.”
Mike thought about this and said:
“It sounds like you’re hungry, Dreamer. But we only have one tree in the house, and that’s the Christmas tree, and you can’t eat that now. There are ornaments on it. And we don’t have any saksaul, either.”
“Perhaps you have some camel thorn in the house?” asked Camel.
“No”, Mike said sadly. “We only have thorns on the cactus”.
“Very well”, Camel sighed. “Bring on the cactus. One must adapt one’s self to a new environment”, as Darwin said.

Chapter 2. How Camel Met Moosie

One morning Mike started off on a walk, while Camel stayed home. Camel fussed around the room, pacing back and forth, and just couldn’t get comfortable. Sometimes he stopped, sat down on the rug, stretched out his hooves in front of himself and laid his head on them. Then he would stretch out one hoof from the bunch, scratch behind his ear, sigh deeply, grunt and let out a sustained “Hmmmmmmm...pf!” And after Camel let out his fifth “hmpf!” and scratched himself behind his ear for the third time, a rustling noise came from behind the arm chair. A large plaid throw blanket moved on the floor and Moosie popped out from underneath. He had just woken up and he was trying to scratch his nose with his short little paws, but without much success. He thought the matter over, and began rubbing his nose on the leg of the arm chair, when all at once he saw Camel.  The two animals stared at each other.
“Who are you?” Moosie was the first to speak. Camel took his time carefully examining Moosie, at length letting loose his usual “hmpf” and articulating:
“I see that I have not yet made the acquaintance of all the residents of this household. It would seem that other species of cloven hoofed fauna are harbouring here.”
“What did you call my hoofs?” Moosie asked.
“I said nothing about your hoofs”, Camel answered, “I merely observed that there are various herbivorous creatures of the cloven hoofed order residing in this house, the existence of which I was

not previously cognizant.”
“Yes”, Moosie said, “I live here, but how did you get here?”
“Let us relegate as parenthetical the actual facts of my arrival in this house and maintain the hypothesis of Christmas and Santa Claus”, Camel said.
“Ah!” said Moosie, calming down. “So Santa Claus brought you. So where’s Relegate, his parents and Hypo? Did they all come together with you?”
Camel wiggled his ears, raised his brows and gave Moosie a disapproving look.
“Yeeees, I see!” he drawled, “Lovely company we have here, I must say!”
“Yeah? Where is this lovely company?” Moosie asked. But Camel didn’t answer him. Then Moosie asked:
“So it’s Christmas already?”
“Allow me to inform you”, Camel said, “I beg your pardon, I don’t have the pleasure of your acquaintance, and hence I do not know your name – that Christmas arrived exactly two days, eleven hours and twenty-five minutes ago. And you, I take it, have been slumbering?”
“Slobbering?”Moosie asked, wiping his mouth.
“I merely observed that you were asleep”, Camel answered.
“Yeah”, Moosie said, “I fell asleep for a while. I wanted to sit in the arm chair, but I fell behind the back and went to sleep. And nobody woke me up. And now I missed Christmas and everything!”
“No great loss”, Camel said. “Another year over, a new one just begun. Life goes on, everything changes! ‘Sic transit Gloria mundi’,

which translated from the Latin means ‘thus passeth earthly glory’.
Moosie wanted to say something else, but he couldn’t get it out, so he asked:
“So what’s your name?”
Camel slowly raised his brows at Moosie. “I do beg your pardon, I have forgotten to introduce myself”, Camel said, my name is Camel Dromedary, although I have recently acquired the new name ‘Dreamer’. Allow me to inquire as to your name.”
“My name is Moosie”, Moosie said, “I’m little white Moosie”.
Camel’s eyebrows rose even higher. He stood up, walked around Moosie, carefully scrutinizing him from horns to hoofs, and then back the other way. Then he unhurriedly returned to his former position, sat on the rug and said:
“The ancient Roman philosopher Seneca once observed ‘Errare humanum est’, which in Latin means ‘To err is human’, although in that particular case he was not alluding to moose. Possibly, I can now expand the application of that statement: ‘Errare mammali est’, which means ‘To err is mammalian’8.  A silence descended on the room.
“Dreamer”, Moosie said after some moments, “do you mind if I sniff you?”
“Why would you do that?” Camel asked. “Allow me to be more specific: to what purpose?”
“Well, so I can get to know you better and we can be friends.”
“I already have one friend in this house”, Camel said, “Nevertheless, if you wish, by all means sniff as much as you like.”
Moosie stuck his big nose into Camel’s face and carefully sniffed

him. Camel couldn’t resist and started sniffing Moosie too. Then Moosie happily snuffed right in Camel’s nose to show he had finished sniffing him.
“There”, Moosie said, “we’ve sniffed each other all over. That means that now we’re friends!”
”Right!” Dreamer offered, “Right on the nose, I dare say!”

Chapter 4. Building the Ship

Mike climbed up on the sofa and said:
“We’re taking a trip around the world!”
“And what about me?” Moosie asked. “Will I have to stay home all alone?”
“No”, Mike said, “We’ll build a ship and we’ll sail on it all together. Me, you and Dreamer.”
“You wish to involve me in a trip around the world on a ship?” Camel asked. “But let me inform you that the camel is a terrestrial animal. We don’t swim and we have no affinity for it. Sometimes they call me a ship, but they mean a ship of the desert, as opposed to a typical oceangoing vessel.”
“Don’t worry, Dreamer,” Mike said “we’ll go on a ship. You won’t have to swim...”
“Until such time as we suffer a shipwreck”, Camel concluded to Mike, “an intriguing prospect, don’t you agree? In any case,” he continued, “I am not refusing, I am merely giving a timely warning, and I strongly urge you to take it into consideration.”
“So you agree, Dreamer? Hooray!” Mike cried.
“And what about me” Moosie said. “I can’t swim either. I could fall in the water, get waterlogged and drown!”
“It’s okay, Moosie, don’t worry, I’ll save you, I promise!” Mike said.
“Moosie will have to have his horns fastened to an unsinkable object, such as a life saver. It will improve his buoyancy,” Camel added.

“No”, Moosie said, “that’s a bad idea. If I fall in the water with a life saver on my horns, my nose will be underwater, and I’ll drown.”
“It would appear that our antlered friend is showing a germ of intelligence,” murmured Camel.
“Germs? What germs? You see germs on me?” Moosie said frightened, turning his head around and trying to look at himself from every angle.
“He means that you’ve started thinking smarter,” Mike said for Camel, “but let’s get to work on the ship!”
“But what are we going to build the ship out of?” Moosie asked.
“Out of the sofa,” Mike answered quickly, “and we’ll make masts out of hockey sticks. We’ll have a sailing ship!”
“While you are planning the construction of the ship, it would behove you to carefully consider the material side,” Camel looked attentively at Mike and added “we must know what it will consist of.”
“Of course,” Mike said. “I’ve got a big book about sailing ships, and it’s got everything in it.” Mike ran to his room and brought the book. The book really was quite big. Mike put the book on the carpet and started flipping through it. Moosie and Camel moved closer to him.
“Here it is!” Mike cried. The chapter on ‘Types of Sailing Ships’. What kind of ship will we have?”
“Seeing as we have only two hockey sticks,” Dreamer said, “it will have to be a two-master. So what is left to determine is whether it will be a schooner, a brig or a brigantine.”
“And how do we find out?” Mike asked.

“Look carefully in the book, my young friend,” said Camel, “it says here,” Dreamer pointed at the page with his hoof, “that a brig is square-rigged, a schooner is gaff-rigged and a brigantine is mixed, which is to say that it has various types of rigging.”
Mike lay on the carpet and began examining the pictures attentively. Then he got up and stuck the two hockey sticks into the sofa with the blades facing up, one at the sofa’s “stern” and the other at its “bow”.
“I can hang a t-shirt on each stick,” Mike said, “so then it will be square rigged. So the ship will be a brig!”
Dreamer looked at the sticks sticking out of the sofa and shook his head.
“I would advise you, my young friend,” he said, “to use some other material for the masts. Hockey sticks will hardly hold square rigging.”
“But what else can we put there instead?”
“I have an idea,” Dreamer said, “but I am not prepared to share responsibility for the consequences of its implementation.”
Moosie, who by this point had lost the thread of the conversation, raised his head and asked:
“I don’t understand. What aren’t you prepared to share with who?
Camel turned his head to Moosie and said:
“My antlered friend, allow me to give you a small piece of advice, so that you will – how can I put it gently? – appear... a bit smarter.
“What advice?”
“If you don’t understand some word, then don’t ask display your ignorance by asking naive questions. Just say ‘Uh-huh’. I will try to

explain to you.”
“And what if I don’t understand two or three words?” Moosie asked next.
“Then say ‘uh-huh uh-huh’ or uh-huh uh-huh uh-huh!” Dreamer explained. “Agreed?”
“Uh-huh,” Moosie said.
“So what don’t you understand now?” Camel inquired.
“I understand everything,” Moosie said, “I just said ‘uh-huh’ because I understand everything.
Camel sighed deeply, and then continued:
Very well, I propose the use of the mop that we use to wash the floors as the foremast, and for the mainmast the big broom we use for sweeping. But if the application of these measures results in an altercation8 with your parents, I would not wish to suffer any complaints and accusations.”
“Uh-huh,” said Moosie.
“I understand,” Mike added, “don’t worry, nobody will blame you!”
“I merely wished to say,” Dreamer concluded, “that all must be shipshape before we cast off.”
“Of course,” Mike said, “We’ll settle everything ashore, before we’re on the high seas.”

Chapter 5. Captain Wolf

The ship was ready. It had masts, yardarms, sails and two anchors made out of shoehorns. Mike fitted out two cabins inside the sofa – crew quarters and the galley. Then he built a captain’s bridge and set up the helm there, made from the front wheel of his scooter, which he managed to unscrew.
Food and water were loaded aboard: a jerry can, pots and pans, a tea kettle, salt, sugar, macaroni and bags of rice and flour. Mike brought in lots of canned food – potted meat from his mother’s supplies – a whole twenty cans. He brought along a Swiss Army knife, a compass, matches, a flashlight and a box of batteries too. It would be enough for a long time.
But Mike paid particular attention to weapons. To defend the ship, he requisitioned two cannons from his set of tin soldiers, three antique pistols, a short sword, a sabre, a dagger and a hammer for pounding meat.
All that remained was dividing responsibilities on the ship and setting sail.
“I’ll be the captain!” Mike said, and after thinking about it, added “Does anybody else want to be captain?”
Moosie clearly didn’t want to be. However, once more Camel complicated matters.
“My young friend,” Dreamer said, “The responsibilities of captain of a seagoing vessel require specialized knowledge and the mastery of specific skills. Allow me to inquire - have you ever studied

geography, piloting or navigation, either of the terrestrial or celestial variety? Do you know how to take coordinates from the sun and stars on the high seas using a sextant and an astrolabe? Do you know how to tack and how to raise sails? How to...”
“Stop, enough!” Mike answered, “I don’t know how to do any of that yet. Do you?”
“Well,” Camel said, “I have a certain amount of theoretical knowledge. But I have no practical experience. Hence, I would not be in a position to take such a responsibility upon myself.”
“So you can’t!” concluded Mike. “So what are we going to do? Maybe we won’t go on a cruise around the world after all.”
“My young friend,” Dreamer answered, “first of all, I would advise you to find an experienced captain to take command of the vessel.”
Mike said nothing. The idea of finding another commander was clearly not to his liking. But finally he said:
“But where will we find a captain like that?”
“I have already given the matter some thought and I have located suitable material,” Camel replied.
“Material? What do you mean? You want to make a captain?” Mike said, surprised.
“No, no,” Creamer repeated, “I mean somebody that could be captain, if nobody has any objections.”
“And where is this captain of yours?” Mike asked. “We’ve got no captains here in the house!”
“You are sorely mistaken, my young friend!” Camel replied. “In my investigations of our surroundings, I came across a cupboard. Upon examining its contents, I encountered someone that fully satisfies

the requirements of our search.”
“Stop showing off how smart you are!” Mike said angrily. “Just tell me – who did you find?”
Dreamer stuck out his lower lip and said nothing. Then he chewed on some invisible saksaul and continued:
“I am not showing off, as you put it, my young friend, I am simply laying out the facts of the situation. If you object...”
Mike started getting angry again, but all of a sudden Moosie spoke up.
“Mike,” Moosie said in a frightened voice, “I think I know who he found! But if it’s HIM, then I’m not sailing with you at all!”
“So who is he?” Mike asked.
Moosie hid himself down in the berthing behind the sofa pillow, stuck out his nose and whispered:
“He’s a WOLF!”
“Who?” Mike asked again. “A Wolf?”
“Yes, it’s a wolf,” Dreamer said, “an old Sea Wolf. Just the person we all need now.”
“Not me! I don’t need a wolf,” Moosie cried, “I don’t want a wolf, I don’t like wolves, I’m afraid of wolves, I’m little white Moosie and the wolf will eat me all up!”
“Calm down!” Mike said. “I remember, he’s an old wolf that lives in the cupboard. You’re the one who asked me to stick the wolf in the cupboard, Moosie.”
“He would have eaten me a long time ago, because I’m little white Moosie!” Moosie snivelled.
“Don’t be silly,” Mike said. “Wolves are dangerous only when

they’re hungry. But our wolf is never dangerous, because he’s a sea wolf. And sea wolves don’t eat land moose. I’ll introduce you two now.”
Mike went out to the hallway. The cupboard door creaked, a box grated, and then a hoarse, raspy growl was heard:
“Ten thousand sharks and five points to port! I’ve been sniffing mothballs enough for a hundred thousand years to go. Now all moths will die when they hear my name.”
Mike brought Wolf into the room. He was wearing a short green frock coat with shiny buttons and a white sash over his shoulder with a sword hanging from it. Wolf had a black cocked hat on his head and a big curved calabash pipe in his left hand.
When he saw the ship, Wolf cried in a hoarse voice:
“I’ll be deep sixed! What manner of old hulk is that? I swear by Davy Jones that she’ll sink before she leaves the harbour!”
“Allow me to observe, my dear sir,” said Camel, “that such expressions are inadmissible in polite society. This ship was built by ourselves, the genial crew. In making such rude observations, you offend all here.”
Wolf opened his muzzle, then closed it, then opened it again and said “eeeeh”. But since words didn’t come to him, he had to close it again.
Mike said, helping Wolf out:
“Don’t swear, Wolf, just tell us what we need to do!”
In a half hour, the ship took on a completely new look. The masts changed places. The high one became the main mast and was moved astern, while the low one became the foremast and was

moved forward.  The helm was moved back, closer to the stern. White ropes, which Wolf called sheets, braces and lines, were run from the sails. And the anchor was fastened to a real anchor chain made from Mike’s father’s watch chain.
Wolf carefully inspected the ship, looking at every corner. He sucked on his pipe and growled “Double down on that snatch block!” It looked as if the inspection would wrap up peacefully. But then Wolf opened up the pillow hatch, looked in the hold, pulled his pipe from his mouth and rumbled “Shiver me timbers! What’s a great big horned beast doing on my ship?”
Terrified, Moosie stuck his nose out from the hold, and whispered “I’m not a beast, I’m Moosie”.
Wolf barked:
“Who? Squids in me bilge! Speak up, mate! I can’t hear you!”
“Moose, I’m a m-m-moose,” Moosie murmured almost inaudibly.
Wolf dropped his pipe from his paw, rolled his eyes and guffawed:
“A moose? You’re a moose? Well, skewer me with a swordfish! This is a moose? Ha ha ha!”
“What do you find so humorous about our horned friend?” Camel stepped up on Moosie’s behalf. “He’s a typical example of a young moose. What is it about him that you find unsatisfactory?”
But Wolf couldn’t answer Camel because he was still laughing. Finally he got tired and dropped on the deck.
“And what manner of beast are you to be sailing the high seas?”
“I’m little white Moosie,” Moosie said, shivering from fright.
Stick a horn on me nose and call me a narwhal! I know what a REAL moose looks like. Before I went to sea, I lived with my pack in the

forest. I saw moose all the time. They were big and brave, and dangerous in a fight! Even we wolves respected them. But this beast looks more like a horned rabbit than any moose I ever saw!”
Moosie’s horns drooped. “I’m little white Moosie”, he repeated, barely audible.

Dreamer came to Moosie’s defence.
“Honourable captain,” he began unhurriedly, “it may very well be that our antlered friend is not prototypical of his breed.  However, that does not give you the right to deride and abuse his animalistic dignity.”
Mike came to Moosie’s support too. “Mr. Wolf”, he said, “we respect you as a brave and wise captain, but don’t make fun of my friends again, or I’ll have to put you back in the cupboard.”
At a loss of what to say, Wolf opened his mouth and then closed it, just like before, and then he opened it again and wheezed:
“A fid in me ear, if I meant to insult him! I’ve seen hundreds of moose, but I never saw a moose like this one. I didn’t even know they existed!”
“If one is uncertain about something, it is best to be reserved in displays of emotion!” Dreamer said. “Furthermore, our antlered friend fears that he may become the object of your gastronomic preferences. You should categorically dispel his misgivings.
“What does he fear?” Wolf asked, confused.
“Moosie is afraid that you’ll eat him!” Mike explained.
Pop-eyed, Wolf twisted his muzzle and cried:
“May a swordfish stab me in the ribs, and the sharks eat me liver!

What do you take me for? I’m an old Sea Wolf, a veteran of Trafalgar and Livorno, a knight of the Legion of Horror. I’m a captain, and I don’t devour my shipmates! If I’m a wolf that still doesn’t mean I..., I...well, I’m a vegetarian, if you want to know!
“What?!” Mike, Camel and Moosie said all together. “A vegetarian wolf?!”
Wolf felt that he had already said too much. But he gathered himself up with feeling and dignity, and said:
“Yes, it’s my rule of life! I don’t eat anybody!”
“That’s great!” Moosie exclaimed. “A vegetarian wolf is the best wolf in the world! Now I’m not afraid to sail with you.”
“Yes...” pronounced Camel, “’O tempora! O mores!’, which translated from the Latin means ‘Oh, the times! Oh, the morals!’ I hope at least that Wolf doesn’t eat cactus yet.”

Chapter 6. Getting the Name

“Wait!” Mike said, “what are we going to name our ship?”
“Indeed!” wheezed Captain Wolf, “you mean she hasn’t got a name?”
“No ship can exist without a name!” Camel observed.
Mike thought about it. He had read a lot of books about ships and the sea that had names of lots of different ships, but none of them seemed to fit.
“Maybe we should name her Poseidon?” Mike suggested. “After all, he’s the god of the sea!”
“Such a name is hardly suitable for a small brig”, Camel retorted.
“Then let’s call her Fair Wind!” Mike said.
“Fair winds in me gob!” Captain Wolf said, disagreeing. “With a name like that ye’ll have to whistle for a fair wind!”
“But that’s just a superstition!” Mike retorted.
“You can think what ye like, but I’m not setting sail on no ship named Fair Wind!” Wolf said, unexpectedly adding: “And by the way, ships are often named in honour of famous captains. Why don’t we call her the Sea Wolf?”
“No!” Moosie said, terrified, “I’m not sailing on a wolf, even if it’s a sea wolf. It’s too scary!”
“The name does indeed sound exceedingly rapacious,” Camel said, supporting Moosie, “furthermore, in the event of any untoward incident, we would look foolish. Think of the newspaper headlines: ‘Sea Wolf Loses Control, Founders on Reef off South America.’”

“Bite yer tongue!” Captain Wolf swore, but he didn’t insist on the name any longer.
“Then let’s name the ship the Sea Moose!” Moosie said. “I’m not afraid of anybody laughing at me, as long as we don’t drown!”
“You may as well call her the Sea Camel,” Captain Wolf parried, “at least then we’ll win a prize for the silliest name.”
“It appears to me that we are forgetting our young friend,” said Camel, pointing his hoof at Mike, “the construction of the ship was his idea.”
Mike felt his cheeks turn red.
“If anybody is worthy of the honour to have the ship named after him, it is our young friend,” Camel continued.
All the animals agreed to this proposal, but they got no further; they couldn’t call her Captain Mike, because Mike wasn’t the captain. A number of exotic names were suggested: Floating Mike, Mike and Company, Young Friend of Animals, but none of them seemed right.
“Hold on!” Camel said. “This reminds me of something! In my youth I read a quite illuminating book. A man gathered a collection of various animals on his ship so that they wouldn’t drown.”
“And they didn’t drown?” Mike asked.
“No,” Camel answered, “as far as I can recall, the story had a happy ending. But I’ve forgotten the name of the ship.”
“Was it a frigate, a battleship, a yacht, a cruiser, a destroyer, a steamship, a schooner, a launch or a barge?” Captain Wolf suggested, ticking off the names. “Maybe it was a submarine?”
“Nothing like that,” Camel said, “it was a long time ago, when ships

like that didn’t exist.”
Mike was getting bored with thinking about a name for the ship. He went over to the window and moved the curtains apart. “Wow”, he said looking out the window. “Look at the beautiful rainbow. I’ve never seen one in wintertime before.”
“Ah, an arc en ciel, as they say in French,” Camel replied, “an arc in the sky.”
“That means good luck for our voyage”, Wolf added.
“Yes...” Camel said, thinking. “Of course!” he exclaimed suddenly. “An ark! That’s what we’ll call the ship. Just like in the book!”
“That’s a strange name,” Captain Wolf said, surprised. “I’ve been to sea on twenty seven different types of ships, but I’ve never gone on an ark!”
“So the ship will be named Mike’s Ark?” Moosie asked.
Everybody liked the name. But Mike said:
“Thanks, everybody. But if the ship is going to have my name, it should be my grown-up name.”
“What do you mean, my young friend?” Camel inquired.
“It’s like this,” Mike said, “My daddy calls me Michael, like an adult. A ship should have a grown-up name. Let’s call our ship Michael’s Ark.”
“A wise proposal,” Camel observed. Let’s write that on the side. ’Vox emissa volat, litera scripta manet’ which in Latin means ‘the spoken word flies away, the written remains’, concluded Camel, adding: “’Ita fiat! Dixi!’”

Chapter 7. First Adventures

“Weigh anchor, cast off all lines!” Wolf cried, “Steady on two points to port! Secure the jib!”
Michael’s Ark slid away from the pier and gaily flew from the harbour.
The place that the ship set sail from had a very pretty, but long name: ‘Newfoundland’. Why it was ‘Newfoundland’ Mike really didn’t know. He had spun and spun the globe, checking the names of the seas and oceans, and finally found this island with the beautiful name. Dreamer approved of the choice.
“’Newfoundland’”, said Camel, “means a new-found-land, which in this case is in complete consonance with the facts, given that you were the first to find it on the globe I concur with the development of...”
But Mike didn’t care to listen to one of Camel’s long-winded speeches. He wanted voyages and adventure, so he went forward, all the way to the ship’s bow.
Moosie stood at the brig’s helm. Captain Wolf had taught him how to steer the ship – that is, how to tell port from starboard. Moosie was very pleased and proud of himself. He even asked to be called Theodorus Moosovich, but Wolf flatly refused.
“Squids in me craw!” he said. “I’ll run us up on a reef before I’ll call you such a silly name! I’ll call you either seaman, or seamoose!”
“No,” Moosie said, “I want you to call me Seamoosie.”
Moosie liked that name so much that he didn’t call himself ‘little’

white Moosie’ any more, but would repeat to himself “I’m Moosie, Seamoosie”. Moosie gladly agreed to be the helmsman, but he absolutely refused to climb up in the rigging and lines. In any case, Wolf didn’t insist; after looking Moosie over, he wheezed “Can’t use you aloft, you’ll get them horns fouled in the rigging.” Camel wasn’t suited for the work either, since he had hooves on all four legs.
“By St. Elmo’s fire,” Wolf croaked, “what use are ye on a ship?”
“I have analyzed my capabilities,” Camel said, “and I have come to the conclusion that the best position for me would to be lookout. Camels are known for their excellent sight and hearing.”
“With hearing that good, you ought to be a hearout,” Wolf croaked, slightly confusing even himself, “anyway, all right, be a lookout. Just be brief in your reports, or else we’ll be stuck on a reef before you shut your gob!”
Wolf made Mike the cabin boy and assigned all the other work on board to him. At first Mike was a bit upset:
“I wanted to be captain, or at least first lieutenant, and now I’m only going to be a cabin boy?”
“Better to start off as cabin boy and end up as captain than to start as captain and end up at the bottom of the sea,” Wolf said.
“A sage observation,” Camel agreed.
“There’ll be no favourites on my ship,” the captain concluded, “stand your watch, boy!”
But Mike wasn’t downhearted. First he had to be the cook for the animals and for himself. He had stocked the galley and laid in supplies for the purpose. In addition, Mike learned how to raise and lower the sails, tie sailor’s knots and drop the anchor. True,

sometimes he confused the mainsail with the mainbrace, and Wolf loudly dressed him down. But the cabin boy bravely withstood Wolf’s criticism, and didn’t resent his captain.
Their first days at sea were tranquil. A fair warm wind filled the sails. The friends enjoyed the views of the faraway shores, the fresh sea air and the sunny sky above the sails.
“It’s so great that we’ve started off on this voyage!” Mike thought. “It’s so terrific!”
Moosie manned the helm. Camel dreamed, dozing on the brig’s bow, occasionally raising his eyebrows and looking off into the distance. Wolf paced up and down the ship importantly, sucking on his pipe and barking comments at Mike and Moosie.
“Just how in Davy Jones’s locker are you securing that jib, boy? Can’t you tie a sailor’s knot? You’re not tying your shoes! And as for you, don’t you know yet how to come about, you horned beast? You’re gonna lower the boom on them horns of yours! You’re not driving a streetcar!”
At first Moosie was afraid of Wolf and he winced every time he heard his hoarse yells, but then he got used to it and just lightly flapped his ears.
On their third day at sea, the weather took a nasty turn. The sky was filled with rain clouds, a fine rain was falling and a blustery wind blew.
“Of course, I am not a meteorologist,” Camel said, “but the weather no longer favours us. Preventive measures are called for!”
Wolf ordered lowering half the sails, and Mike had to climb up the pitching, rolling mast right into the rain.

By the morning of the fourth day the bad weather had turned into a real storm. Gigantic waves tossed Mikey’s Ark up and down, and the brig creaked and rolled from side to side. Rain came down in torrents. You couldn’t even see the sky, only clumps of gray clouds hanging over the rolling masts.
Moosie could barely control the helm with his short paws. He was soaked all through, his hooded coat stuck to his body, his horns waving back and forth in the wind. But to Mike’s surprise, he wouldn’t abandon his post for anything.
“I’m Seamoosie, and I’m steering the ship,” he would say.
“You should put up your hood, Moosie!” Mike suggested.
“I can’t,” Moosie said, “my handlers won’t fit in my hoodie.”
“Then go below and dry off, I’ll take your place. Your paws must be all rough and raw!”
“Yes,” Moosie said, “they are, look!”
Moosie let go of the helm and showed his paws to Mike.
Just at that moment, a gust of wind made the ship lurch; the helm spun around and a grip hit Moosie right in the nose. The helmsman lost his footing and fell on the deck, floundered around on the wet boards, flipped over the railing and landed straight in the boiling sea.
“Moosie!” Mike cried, “Moosie fell overboard!”
“What?!” roared Captain Wolf. “Fell overboard?!”
“Yes!” Mike cried, despairingly. “Over there!”
“Moose overboard!” Wolf bellowed. “Cast a line!”
Mike didn’t understand what Wolf meant, but there was no time to ask questions. So he jumped in after Moosie, without taking off his shirt, trousers or sandals.

For a moment, Mike was struck blind and deaf in the cold water. The waves slapped him from side to side, and he couldn’t figure out where he needed to swim to.
“Swim more to your left, ten thousand moose in me craw!” bawled Wolf from the deck.
Mike started working his hands and feet and swam to his left. Suddenly, in the trough between the waves, two brown branches appeared on the surface that looked like a moose’s horns from a distance. But waves immediately engulfed them, and the horns disappeared in the depths.
Mike took a deep breath and dived. He opened his eyes, but he couldn’t see anything. The water was murky and burned his eyes. Mike fumbled around with his hands everywhere, as if he was playing blind man’s bluff, and finally got hold of something soft that reminded him of the hood on Moosie’s coat. He grabbed onto it tight and started working his legs with all his might, tugging the hood to the surface. Judging from how heavy the coat was, his horned friend was still in it.
“Aah!” Mike’s head popped up between the waves, and he gratefully gulped the salty sea air.
“Grab the line!” Wolf’s voice called out from somewhere up above.
There was a splash next to him, and a red donut was tossing around on the waves. Mike grabbed the life saver with one hand.
“Hold on! We’ll pull you out!” Wolf wheezed.
“I’ve got the moose under water,” Mike yelled.
Just at that moment a wave hit him in the face. Mike coughed, but he didn’t let go of either the moose or the life saver.

“Pull him up and stick him in the life saver!” Wolf ordered.
Mike pulled the hood inside the life saver and yanked Moosie up. First his horns popped up, then his ears, and finally his terrified, bulging eyes. But that is where matters ground to a halt. Moosie’s long nose just refused to fit inside the life saver. Mike pressed down on Moosie’s nose and pushed it through the hole. His nose squeezed through and popped back into its normal shape, and his antlered friend was securely ensconced in the life saver.
“Pull!” Mike yelled.
“We can’t pull both of you!” Wolf growled. That moose has taken on a bilgeful of water!”
“Okay,” Mike agreed, “I’ll let go!”
Wolf and Camel hauled on the line with the life saver, and Moosie crawled up alongside the ship, sea water cascading off of him in torrents. Finally he got his waterlogged body over the railing and plopped himself down on the ship.
“Hooray!” Mike wanted to say, but he felt unexpectedly that his mouth, neck, legs and arms were getting numb and didn’t obey him. Mike looked up, but he couldn’t see Wolf or Camel at the edge of the deck.
“Heeeeeelp!” Mike weakly whispered.
And as if in answer to that weak, unheeded sound amid the stormy ocean, Captain Wolf appeared on the pitching deck. With a short motion of his paw, the life saver flew out and almost hit Mike in the head.
Mike reached out for the life saver and just barely managed to stick his head and arms in it...

He came around because he felt something warm in his face. Mike opened his eyes and saw a big shaggy nose in front of him.
“Apparently our young friend has regained consciousness,” Camel pronounced.
“Let’s get our cabin boy below right away, change his clothes, warm him up, get him some tea and lay him in his bunk!” Wolf ordered.
“A most opportune idea,” Camel replied, “but what shall we do with the moose?”
“Hang the moose!” the Captain said dismissively.
“I beg your pardon! I don’t think I quite heard you correctly,” Dreamer said, “are you proposing that we hang our antlered friend?”
“I said, hang him out to dry!” Wolf growled.
“Don’t hang me!” whined Moosie, who had also come around and was now lying on the deck, rivulets of salt water running off of him. “I’m little white Seamoosie, my handlers are all wet, and if you hang me out to dry they’ll get all droopy.”
“I fully support the apprehensions of our antlered friend,” Came said, “a moose must be washed down with fresh water, and then hung out to dry with its hooves upward.
“Well, scrub me down with a holystone!” Captain Wolf said, “All right, we’ll hang him to dry on the yardarm, hooves up. The rain’s almost stopped.”
“One may observe with some satisfaction that meteorological conditions are noticeably improving,” Dreamer said, “we have successfully braved our first ordeal.”

Chapter 8. The Pitfall

“If you will permit me the observation, it appears that there is land on the horizon. In my opinion, it is the mainland. However, I may be mistaken.”
“Mainland?” growled Wolf. “Blow me down! It can’t be the mainland! By my calculations we should be somewhere between Trinidad and Tobago.”
“All the same, I suggest that you glance through your long glass,” insisted Camel, “two humps are better than one’, as the wisdom of my people would have it.”
“Don’t tell me what to do! I know where I should be looking!” Wolf snapped, all the same pulling his long glass from his belt and training it on the horizon.
“Well, call me Captain Bligh and throw me overboard! It is the mainland! It looks like we were badly set west during the storm, and we’re off course.”
“That is a totally logical explanation,” Camel said, “however, I would not rule out...”
“Avast yer palaver!” barked Wolf, “helmsman, come two points to starboard! We’ll head for that bay and drop anchor there.”
Mike obediently turned the helm right.
After the business with Moosie, Captain Wolf assigned Mike to the helm. When Mike needed to go aloft to furl or unfurl the sails, Wolf took the helm himself. Deep down, Mike was glad for the promotion, even though he felt sorry for Moosie being demoted.

“Reef the mainsail!” Wolf ordered. “Dead slow. Three points to starboard. Look alive up forward, watch out for reefs!”
Camel hung his nose over the ship’s prow, diligently scrutinizing the calm water of the gulf, but he didn’t see any reefs.
When the shore didn’t look more than a cable length away, Wolf ordered all sails lowered and then dropped anchor. The anchor hit bottom in a few seconds; the gulf wasn’t deep.
“Launch the small boat, boy!” Wolf commanded. “Moose, Camel, cabin boy – head for shore and find fresh water!”
Moosie was not exactly dying of curiosity to set foot on the unfamiliar shore.
“Maybe there are wild animals there,” he said, “maybe they’ll eat me. Let me stay on the boat!”
“Palaver! And she’s a ship, not a boat!” wheezed Wolf, but looking at Moosie’s droopy horns, he changed his mind. “All right, Antlers, stay on board, keep a sharp eye on the ladder and don’t climb anywhere with those hooves of yours. Batten down the hatches and don’t start any fires!”
“Yes, yes!” Moosie said gratefully. “I won’t burn anything. I’ll close everything and not open up for anybody.”
Wolf, Camel and Mike climbed down into the boat and headed for shore. Soon the boat’s bow nosed into the coastal rocks. The voyagers jumped out onto the shore.  The air on dry land carried aromas of cliffs in the sunshine, warm grass and other smells that they had never sniffed before. There was no smell of predators in the air.
“We’ll split into two groups!” Wolf ordered. “Boy and camel, you go

 right, and I’ll go left. If anybody finds water, start yelling, and if you run into any danger, start howling.”
“May I be so bold as to observe, Dreamer said, “that camels do not howl; they generate a sound like...”
Wolf started to get angry, and Mike hastened to calm him down.
“It’s okay,” he said, “I can howl almost like a wolf.”
He crouched down, lifted his face up and let loose a mournful, lingering howl. Camel unconsciously shrunk back to one side, and Wolf chuckled, pleased.
“Well done, boy, you’re making progress! We’ll make a real Sea Wolf out of you yet!”
Camel wanted to ask whether it was mandatory for Sea Wolves to howl so frighteningly, but he thought the better of it. They had to hurry; night was falling, and the shore was getting dark.
The friends split up each their own ways, expecting to find some spring or stream running into the ocean. Mike and Camel moved in silence, stepping around the boulders and avoiding the deep holes on the shore.
“My impression is that the topography of the area...” Camel began, but he didn’t manage to finish the sentence. They heard a blood-curdling, wild howl from behind them on the beach.
Mike felt goose bumps break out all over his body, from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet.
“What’s that? Who’s that?” he stammered.
But Dreamer didn’t even wince. He turned his head in the direction of the howl, sniffed the air and said:
“The noise appears to be coming from our most honourable

captain. I believe that he is in need of help.”
“Let’s go!” Mike cried, and started running as fast as they could, stumbling and scraping feet and hooves on the rocks.
The howling stopped; it turned into a kind of deep-throated rumble.
“Maybe wild animals attacked Wolf?” Mike said, gasping.
“High-highly unlikely,” Camel managed to get out on the run, “He’s qu-quite inedible.”
They stopped. The howl came from somewhere below, as if it were underground.
“Be careful, my young friend!” Camel said, catching his breath, “it might be some kind of trap!”
He began carefully sniffing the rocks on the shore. Finally, Dreamer stopped.
“Come over here, my young friend,” Camel called to Mike, “mind that you step carefully!”
Mike could see a deep black crevice between the rocks. Hoarse bawling and curses were coming from it.
“It would appear that our captain has fallen into a wolf trap!” Camel stated. “Do you have a torch or matches?”
Mike regretted leaving his torch on the ship. But he had matches, of course, and he had wrapped them twice in a waterproof wrapper to boot.
Mike pulled out the box, crawled up on his stomach to the crevice and lit a match. He saw a narrow hole with sheer walls, and something pacing around and swearing down at the bottom.
“Wolf, Wolf!” Mike called into the darkness of the hole. “Are you alive?”

The grumbling stopped, but then Mike heard the saltiest expressions he’d ever heard from the captain.
“An albatross round me neck and thrash me with a thieves cat if I ever go ashore again without a light!”
“Are you okay, Wolf? Mike asked. “Where are you hurt?”
“Right in me pride!” the captain howled. “How can an old Sea Wolf like me fall in this blasted HOLE?”
“Pride is hardly the most serious trauma under such circumstances!” Camel observed. “What’s more, a Sea Wolf is not necessarily well-versed in terrestrial ways.”
The response from the crevice was a more mournful “oooh”.
“Don’t cry, Wolf,” Mike said, “we’ll get you out of there right now!”
“The task at hand is clearly defined,” Camel said, “all that remains is to effectuate its completion. And that is never a simple affair.”
“Dreamer,” Mike begged, “you’re smart! Figure out how we can get Wolf out of the hole!”
“I have been considering this problem for a minute and a half, but all this hue and cry is impeding my thought processes.”
“We’ll keep quiet,” Mike promised, although vouching for Wolf was a somewhat unreliable promise to make under the circumstances.
“We need rope,” Camel said profoundly, "but it’s on the ship. To make the circuit there and back in total darkness is risky. I propose that we make a fire and wait until morning.”
“But what about Wolf?” Mike asked. “Do you mean that he’ll be sitting in that hole all night?”
“That is hardly the most fearful prospect in life, my young friend!” Dreamer said. “In any case, the operation for his extraction should take place in daylight.”

Camel lowered his nose to the ground, sniffed around the area, disappeared and a little while later appeared with a big piece of rotten bark in his teeth. Then he disappeared again and returned with a dried out bramble bush.
Mike pulled his Swiss Army knife from his pocket, cut some kindling, collected it in a pile and carefully lit it with a match. The flame took, and it lit up the shore. The smell of the camp fire filled the air, making things comfortable and pleasant. Camel broke up the rotten bark with his hooves. Mike laid the pieces around the fire so that they would dry out.
The ship’s boat, tied to the rocks, was visible in the light of the fire. Mike dug around in the box in the stern and found their Emergency Supplies there: three cans of potted meat and half a jerry can of water. Mike dragged the items over to the fire.
"I’m sorry, Dreamer,” Mike said, “there’s nothing for you to eat!”
“No matter,” Camel said, “I can go without food and water for over a month. A short fast would only do me good. Better to consider our captain and how to raise his fighting spirit.”
“What can we feed him with? Mike asked.
“You should open a can and throw the meat into the hole,” Camel said.
“But Wolf doesn’t eat meat, he’s a vegetarian,” Mike fretted.
“We shall test that right now,” Camel answered.
Mike went up to the crevice, where hoarse growling could be heard.
“Wolf, ah, how are you doing?” Mike inquired.
“Grrrr! Aah! Grrr!” came from below.

“You’re probably hungry, do you want to eat?” Mike asked.
“Aah! Yeees!” Came the voice from the hold.
“Will you eat meat?”
“Yeeeeesssss!” Wolf howled again.
Mike threw half a can of meat into the hole. A juicy “plop” was heard, followed by hearty munching.
“As I assumed,” Camel pronounced, “the rumours of lupine vegetarian tendencies were somewhat exaggerated. As camel proverbial wisdom would have it, “No matter how much cabbage you feed a wolf, he still wants meat!”
“I don’t think we should tell Moosie about this,” Mike observed.
“I suppose not,” Dreamer agreed.

Chapter 9. Low Tide

The cold woke Mike up; the fire had gone out. A crimson dawn broke over the sea. Dreamer peacefully dreamed on, all four legs tucked up under himself. Mike snuggled against Camel’s warm side and tried to warm up. But he was still cold.
“Dreamer! Dreamer! Wake up!” Mike said, poking Camel in the side, “it’s time to get Wolf out!”
Camel smacked his lips and answered in a calm, peaceful voice, as if he wasn’t asleep at all.
“It is my impression that the weather favours our plans. Return to the ship for a longer rope. And I will check on our captain and inquire into his physical and mental well-being.”
Mike looked toward the sea and was dumbfounded. The sea had disappeared! Instead of the gulf, there stretched a field of dirt, mud and rocks sticking up. Seaweed glistened greenly in between them. Michael’s Ark sat lonely on the bottom, listing slightly to port. The anchor chains sagged limply, and the masts tilted dejectedly.
“Dreamer!” Mike cried. “The sea is gone!”
Camel turned his head back and forth, sniffed the air and thoughtfully pronounced:
“It is my impression, my young friend, that we are experiencing a classic example of a neap tide, which reaches significant proportions in this part of the world. It is surprising, however, that our highly experienced captain failed to take that factor into account.”

“What kind of tide?” Mike asked. “A leap tide?”
“Neap tide, my young friend,” Dreamer replied. “You are of course familiar with the fact that high and low tides are related to the gravitational pull of the sun and moon. When their effects are combined, unusually strong high and low tides occur, which are called spring and neap tides.”
“I understand,” Mike said, but how will we get out of here now?”
“Seeing as high tide occurred last evening, the water should regain its previous level by evening today. The most important thing is that our ship’s hull should not sustain any puncture by sharp rocks, or else there is a chance that it will remain on the bottom when the tide comes in, just as it did when the tide went out.”
“So we’ll have no tide until this evening?” Mike clarified.
“Quite likely,” Camel responded, “but then, now you can walk out to the ship.”
Mike had no desire whatsoever to walk out over the soggy bottom. He remembered that his daddy told him that in any dilemma there are at least two solutions. And one of them immediately came to his mind.
“Dreamer,” Mike said carefully, “Could you help me?”
Camel raised his left eyebrow and studied Mike.
“How can I help you, my young friend?” Camel asked.
“Are you the ship of the desert?” Mike obliquely suggested.
“That is how our proud tribe is sometimes described!” Camel agreed.
“And the bottom here looks like the desert, doesn’t it?” Mike said.
Camel laid back his ears, chewed his lip and wiggled his brows,

grumbling:
“I have laid aside the labours of a beast of burden in order to devote my life to intellectual pursuits for some time now.”
“Please carry me to the ship and back, please!” Mike asked.
Camel sighed deeply and dropped to his knees.
“All right, climb on!” he said. “But remember, my young friend, that I am a dromedary, not a Bactrian camel, so try not to slide down on my head!”
Camel worked his way across the ocean bottom toward the ship. Mike had never ridden on the back of a camel, and it wasn’t comfortable. He laid his stomach on the hump so as not to slide down on Camel’s neck, and he started looking down. The exposed ocean floor was teeming with life. Bug-eyed little crabs swarmed around in the mud and fish swam in the puddles, and on the rocks seagulls were perched, springing up right under Camel’s hooves.
Camel plodded on silently, only grunting when Mike fidgeted on his back.
After five minutes they made it to the ship.
“Let’s check to see if there are any holes in the hull,” Mike suggested.
They walked around the ship. Fortunately, the sea bottom at that spot was fairly even, without any stones. The starboard side was fully visible, but the port side was sunk in sea mud.
“The likelihood of penetration appears to me to be minimal!” Camel said. “However, my young friend, enough riding on my hump. Climb aboard the ship!”
Mike looked around and noticed that the rope ladder had

disappeared. Apparently Moosie had pulled it up.
“Moosie!” Mike called, “let down the ladder for me!”
He waited a bit, but Moosie didn’t appear on deck.
“He’s probably asleep,” Mike thought, pulling a pistol from his pocket and tapping on the hull with the handle.
The sound echoed around the gulf. And then there was silence. Not a rustle or a murmur was heard on the Ark.
“It would appear that our antlered friend has hoofed it!” Camel said.
Mike cried as loud as he could:
“Moose, I know you’re in there! Drop the ladder or else we’re sailing away!”
The clopping of hooves was heard from the depths of the ship. Slipping along the listing deck, Moosie managed with great difficulty to reach the edge and hold on to the railing with his nose. He was terrified. His horns and ears hung at different angles, while the crest on his head was all knotted and twisted. “H-how can you sail away?” Moosie stammered. We can’t sail anywhere! The sea is all dried up, and the boat is gone all sideways.”
“Gone all sideways...” Mike taunted. “Throw down the ladder!”
Moosie looked around, but didn’t go for the ladder.
“Where’s Wolf?” Moosie asked, hiding behind the railing. “Was he the one howling all night on the shore?” “My antlered friend”, Camel said to Moosie, “May we please postpone this narrative for a more opportune time? If you please, help my young friend climb aboard!” 

Moosie took the end of the rope ladder in his teeth and threw it over the side. The ladder fell on Mike’s head and painfully whipped his face.
“Moosie! Can’t you watch what you’re doing?” Mike cried.
There was no response, and Mike climbed up.
When he finally was on deck, he saw that Moosie had disappeared again.
“I hurt his feelings!” Mike thought, immediately regretting that he had yelled at his friend.
However, there was no time for apologies. Walking along the listing deck turned out to be very difficult; you could fall down and go over the side at any time. Grabbing on to the railing, Mike got hold of a mooring line, worked it into a circle and hung it around his neck. Going back with the line looped around his neck was even harder. Fortunately, Camel was standing under the rope ladder, just as before.
“Well, Dreamer, shall we go back? You’re not too tired?” Mike tried to cheer up his means of transportation.
“That is of no significance!” Camel dignifiedly observed. “As the great commanders would say, “Gaudet patientia duris!” which in the Latin means ‘Patience rejoices in adversity!’ Let’s be off!”
They were back on the shore next to Wolf’s hole in twenty minutes.
Wolf had recovered somewhat; he didn’t howl any more, he just cursed.“We’ll get you out now, Wolfie!” Mike cried happily. “We brought a rope.”
“It’s not a rope, it’s a line!” Wolf growled.

It was time to start the rescue operation. Mike tied one end of the line to Camel, and dropped the other carefully into the crevice.
“Okay, Wolf, wrap the line around you!” Mike cried. “We’ll pull you out now.”
Wolf tied the line around his waist, and then took it in his teeth.
“Okay!” Mike called to Camel. “Pull!”
Camel walked along the shore, moving away from the hole. The line took a strain, but immediately hung up by a rock on the edge of the hole and got stuck. Mike tried to work it loose, but he wasn’t strong enough.
“Halt!” Mike cried. “This won’t work.”
Camel took a step back, and Wolf plopped down on the bottom of the hole.
The friction is preventing any movement,” Camel observed. “We need to somehow enhance the lubricity of the line.”
“What?” Mike asked. “Just tell me simply, what do we have to do?”
“We need to place something slippery, right here,” Camel explained, pointing with his hoof at the edge of the hole, as for example a piece of wood soaked in water.”
“We need to find one.” Mike said.
“That is a reasonable conclusion, my young friend,” said Camel, “but I advise you to be careful. If you should fall into a hole as well, it would be necessary to extract you both, which would significantly complicate the task.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t fall in!” Mike said and went off to search along the shore.

Chapter 10. Buffalo

Mike walked rather far, but he couldn’t find a suitable piece of wood. He had already decided to turn back, when all at once he saw something like a copse in the distance, stretching from far away inland to the shoreline. Mike picked up his pace.
It took Mike about ten minutes to reach the copse. He heard water flowing behind the trees. Pushing aside the branches, he saw a stream trickling along the stones and flowing into the sea.
“Fresh water!” Mike thought.
He worked his way through the bushes, jumped across the stones among the sedge and got to the edge of the stream. Mike crouched down and scooped up some water in his hands. The water was very tasty and smelled of fresh grass.
Mike turned back to find some piece of wood, made a step and...froze in his tracks.
Some unknown animal with sharp, curved horns stood where Mike was standing a minute before, staring at him with a steady gaze. From a distance, the animal looked like a bull, but his foreparts were covered with thick curly wool, while his hind parts were normal, like a cow.
“Hello,” Mike said cautiously, not expecting anything good to result from the meeting.
The animal said nothing, just flicking its tail.
Mike thought it would be best to run from the beast, but the stream was behind him, and his path to Wolf and Camel was cut off.

He had to resort to discussion.
“I’m Mike,” Mike said, loudly and clearly pronouncing each word, “I’m travelling through here. My friend got in trouble, and I’m trying to help him.”
It was hard to know whether the animal understood Mike. He stood silently, just flicking his tufted tail.
Mike carefully moved toward the beast, but the animal dipped his head, pointing his sharp curved horns forward.
“I...” Mike began, but he didn’t manage to finish.
“Do you butt heads?” the animal asked unexpectedly.
“Butt heads?” Mike said, dumbfounded. “I can’t butt heads, I’m not a bull, I’m a boy. My name is Mike.”
“And I’m a buffalo – a bison,” the animal said, “my name is Bruiser.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Mike replied, although so far it hadn’t been much of a pleasure.
“Butting is a pleasure,” said the buffalo Bruiser, “nothing else matters! I’m looking for somebody that I can butt with. Have you met anybody I can butt with?”
“No,” Mike said, “I’m here with Wolf and Camel.”
“Can’t expect anything good from a wolf,” the buffalo said.
“This is a very different wolf,” Mike retorted, “he doesn’t bite, and what’s more, he’s a Sea Wolf, not a land wolf. He’s...” Mike wanted to say that he was a vegetarian, but after the canned meat on the previous night he thought the better of it.
“A wolf is a wolf everywhere,” the buffalo said, flicking his tail, “where is he now?”
“He fell down a hole by the shore, and Camel and I are trying to

rescue him.”
“And this camel – is he a big animal?” The bison asked. “Can he butt heads?”
Mike could not imagine Dreamer butting with anybody, but he decided to play it smart.
“He’s pretty big,” Mike answered, “as for butting, ask him yourself!”
“Good!” the buffalo said happily, “take me to the camel!”
“Okay,” Mike said, “but I have to find a piece of wood.”
“What kind of wood?” the buffalo asked, “how about this?” He nodded at a dried up tree trunk sticking out from the side of the stream.
Mike looked at the trunk and thought it was just what they needed.
“It will do, but...” Mike began uncertainly.
He never had a chance to finish. The bison disappeared in the bushes. He heard loud breathing, splashing of hooves in the water, a rustle of branches, and a brown figure with its head lowered dashed in front of Mike.
“Ker-bang!” the buffalo dashed against the dry stump with his forehead. The stump tipped over as if it were cut down with an axe. The buffalo bobbed his head, shook himself and said:
“Rotten all the way through. Not much fun in that!”
“Bruiser,” Mike said, “since you already helped me break off the stump, maybe you could carry it to Camel?
“Sure,” Bruiser said, “put it on my back! Take me to your camel.”
Mike loaded the stump on bison’s back and walked next to him, managing to keep it on the buffalo’s back only with a lot of

difficulty.
And so they arrived at Wolf’s hole.
On seeing the buffalo with the wood on its back, Camel was not in the least surprised.
“I thank you, esteemed bison, for the service you have rendered us,” Dreamer began his speech.
“Huh?” bison asked, staring at Camel.
“Dreamer,” Mike hastened to intervene, “this is my new friend – a buffalo, named Bruiser. He wants to butt heads with somebody very much, and I thought that maybe you...”
Mike stopped. But Camel was not at all confused.
“It would be my great pleasure to participate with you, most esteemed buffalo Bruiser, in your worthy endeavour.”
“What?” the buffalo mumbled. “I don’t get it. Are we going to butt heads?”
Dreamer raised his right eyebrow, scrutinizing the buffalo.
“Of course we shall, have no fear of that,” he said, “just allow us to set the conditions of the duel.”
“Any conditions,” the bison was breathing heavily, pawing the sand with his hooves.
“As I am somewhat higher than you in the hump, “Camel said, drawing out each word, “I fear that that you may leave the field of battle, or to state it bluntly, you may bolt before we’re through.”
Mike, his mouth hanging open, looked at Dreamer, not understanding what he was getting at.
“And as I am not so young so as to be chasing after you across the prairies, allow me to tie you up.”

The buffalo’s eyes took on a chestnut colour and he began to look like a Minotaur that Mike had seen in a cartoon.
“Me? Tie ME up? So I won’t run away?” the buffalo wheezed. He looked now as if flames were shooting out of his nostrils.
“If you are afraid, then you may withdraw,” Camel continued calmly and even drily, “I don’t consort with cowards!”
“Tie me up!” the buffalo grunted heavily.
“Ah! Excellent!” Camel said, disingenuously pushing the wood to the edge of Wolf’s hole.
“My young friend,” he said, turning to Mike, “I would like to ask you to be my second. Lay this rope over the stump and tie it to my worthy opponent.”
Mike made a loop in the rope, carefully approached the furious buffalo, put the loop around his neck and pulled it taut.
“A bit tighter, if you please, there you are,” Dreamer directed.
“A distance of one hundred paces,” Camel continued, “the rope is fifty paces long, hence each of us will cross exactly half the distance before collision. We will commence moving on the command of the second, you from this hole and I from that boat. Are the terms understood?”
The buffalo bobbed his head and kept pawing at the ground with his hooves.
Camel stood between the buffalo and the boat and lowered his head, as if he really meant to butt heads.
Mike bent over the hole where Wolf was.
“Hold on, captain, brace yourself!” he whispered.
Mike moved away a bit, squatted down and cried “Start!”

The rope whistled over the tree stump. Tossing up sand and stones with his hooves, the buffalo threw himself at his opponent, picking up speed. Camel started at him, but at the very last moment before running into him, with incredible agility he jumped up and got out of the way.
“Boing!”
Wolf flew into the air, like a ballistic missile out of a silo.
“Bang!”
The buffalo dug a trench with his hooves and rammed his horns right into the prow of the boat.
“Plop!”
Dashing Captain Wolf landed right on the back of bison.
There was a cry, a roar, a howl and then everything was silent. Camel trotted over to the boat and carefully scrutinized the field of battle.
“Allow me to congratulate you on your release from captivity, my dear captain!” Dreamer said.  “You can let go of my opponent, he won’t run away now.”
Wolf unclenched his jaws and plopped down on the ground.
“There are damages to the hull, but fortunately they are above the waterline,” Camel said. “The horns are stuck fast, but we can push them out with an oar. In any case, there’s no rush.”
Mike went over to bison. He wasn’t struggling, but just stood there quietly with head down, breathing deeply.
“My worthy opponent,” Camel addressed himself to the buffalo, “allow me to consider our skirmish to be a tie. I didn’t hit you, and you didn’t hit me. We’re quits, if I may so express it.”

“All right,” the buffalo said suddenly.
“What’s all right?” Camel stressed. “You accept a truce?”
“That was a good head-butt!” the buffalo said. “It’s been a long time since I had one that good. Thank you!”
Just in case, they left the buffalo to cool his horns in the boat. Mike looked Wolf over. The captain had no visible injuries.
“Does anything hurt?” Mike asked.
Wolf moved his jaws.
“My teeeeth hurt,” Wolf moaned quietly.
“Your teeth?” Mike said, surprised. Why your teeth?”
“Wolf held the rope in his teeth so he wouldn’t disintegrate at launching,” Camel explained, “a most wise decision!”
“Do you have any grass to browse on? I’m starving!” Bison said unexpectedly. He looked completely calm and composed, like a domestic cow.
“It would seem that it is time to liberate our new acquaintance,” Dreamer said, “he no longer appears to be a menace to society.”
Mike grabbed an oar and knocked the buffalo’s horns out of the hull of the boat.
“Where are you sailing?” Bison asked, on gaining his freedom.
“We’re making a trip around the world and setting course for the south-east,” Mike answered.
“What way?” bison asked, not understanding.
“That way!” Mike gestured toward the ocean.
“Ah!” said bison, “I get it! Is there anybody to butt heads with there?”
“I don’t know,” Mike said, “but seek and you shall find.”

“Take me with you,” Bruiser asked, “I’ve butted heads with everybody on the prairie. I need some more!”
“Bucking buffaloes!” Wolf said, “we’re not taking that animal on my ship. He’ll run around butting into everything!”
“I am totally in agreement with our esteemed captain,” Camel said in support. “A buffalo on board presents a danger to both the ship and the crew.”
“Isn’t there any way we can take him?” Mike asked. “I want him to come.”
“I won’t butt anybody on the ship,” Bison promised.
Camel raised his right brow and attentively looked at the buffalo.
“This scheme is possible exclusively in the event that we construct a lockable stall in the hold for our passenger,” he said.
“I’ll make him a stall,” Mike said, “just please let’s take him!”
“The decision lies with the captain in such matters,” Camel pronounced, eying Wolf.
“Bah! Do as you like,” Wolf said, “just let’s get back to the ship on the double.”
“Esteemed captain,” Camel answered, “unfortunately, you failed to take into consideration that this area experiences significant high and low tides. Our vessel is lying on the bottom. And although it appears to have not been damaged, we cannot sail out before evening! Debito tempore! In due time!”

Chapter 11. Pirates

The friends loaded up on fresh water and gathered fresh grass for Bruiser while waiting for the tide.
By evening, the gulf began filling up with water. The waves lapped across the muddy bottom, taking up Michael’s Ark, and she floated on the surface once again. When the sea reached the shoreline, the voyagers got in the boat and rowed to the side of the ship. This time the rope ladder was hanging over the side. Moosie was glancing anxiously over the rails.
“Who’s that with you?” Moosie cried.
“It’s our new friend,” Mike answered, “his name is buffalo Bruiser.”
“But what do we need him for?” Moosie asked.
Mike started to answer, but at that point the boat tied up to the ship.
Lifting Bruiser on board turned out to be no small job. He had never climbed a rope ladder and absolutely refused to learn. They had to tie up the buffalo with a line again and use all their strength to lift him aboard. Once Bruiser saw Moosie, he got very excited.
“Ah! Beautiful horns you’ve got! If I had horns like that I would be butting everybody on earth! What’s your name? Do you like to butt heads?” Bruiser went on, talking to Moosie.
“No,” said Moosie, looking worried. “I’m little white Moosie. I like to eat lichen, and I don’t like to butt heads at all.”
Bruiser started to get disappointed.
“What do you have those antlers for, then?” Bruiser asked.

“I have handlers because they look nice,” Moosie answered.
“I submit that you temporarily set aside the idea of butting heads and lay below,” Camel said, interrupting.
Bruiser grudgingly headed for the crew’s quarters. Mike had made a stall for him out of chairs, a table and rigging and laid down a layer of sweet-smelling grass. Now all the rest of the crew could get something to eat too.
After chowing down, the voyagers weighed anchor and sailed off to the open ocean.
Several days passed uneventfully. They held a south-east course. The wind was steady and fair, and Mike rarely had to climb aloft to raise or lower the sails.
In truth, Mike was getting tired of doing everything himself. Captain Wolf only commanded. Dreamer stared ahead and expostulated. Moosie wasn’t much good for anything. And Bruiser was always in his stall, chewing on grass and dreaming of future head butts. But Mike had learned how to tack, man the yards and even measure their speed using a lead line. Captain Wolf rarely praised Mike, but he became distinctly more even-tempered, rarely yelling at him, and sometimes there was a glint in his yellow eyes that Mike took as hidden approval.
One fine day, Mike was on deck, enjoying the warm tropical sun. There wasn’t much work. Wolf, who had manned the helm all morning, went off to his cabin for a rest. Moosie and Bruiser were peacefully snoring in the hold. Only Mike and Camel were left on deck. Dreamer looked into the distance peacefully, his eyes half closed. The sky was a clear, bright blue. The wind filled the sails and

tickled Mike’s cheeks. The ship rolled on the waves, and Mike dozed off at the helm...
He opened his eyes and... dead ahead he saw something that made his heart skip a beat and drop to his feet. It was a black PIRATE ship, with black sails.
Mike ran over to Camel and shook him by the ears:
“Dreamer! Dreamer! Are you asleep? Look, pirates!”
Camel imperturbably blinked his eyes, raised his head and said:
“You are most likely right, my young friend!”
“So why didn’t you say something?” Mike cried.
“I’m telling you right now, my young friend!” Camel responded sanguinely.
Mike ran to the ship’s bell and pulled on the rope with all his strength. The riotous sound broke the still tropical day.
“Alert! Alert! Pirates!” Mike cried.
Captain Wolf leapt out on deck, straightening his cocked hat on the run.
“Where? Who? What pirates?”
Wolf grabbed his long glass from his belt and pointed it at the black ship.
“Shiver me timbers! They ARE pirates! I see the pirate flag on their mast – the ‘Jolly Rodger’. And where were you two looking, you dreamy-headed dunces? They’re no more than a mile away! We have no time to change course!” Wolf yelled.
“Come left!” Wolf kept on yelling, jumping to the helm himself and turning left. Not expecting that, Mike fell on the deck like a sack of potatoes and found himself nose to nose with Moosie, who was

climbing out of the hold.
“Pirates? Will they eat us?” Moosie stammered. “Will they eat me? Me, little white Moosie?”
Nobody had time to listen to Moosie’s whimpering.
“Raise all sails!” Wolf hollered.
Mike ran to the mast and climbed up, skinning his knees and scraping the skin on his palms.
In a minute, all the sails on all masts were raised. Michael’s Ark set a sharp course windward, turning to port. They could hear the hiss and splash of the oncoming waves. The pirate ship was abaft the starboard beam. Even without a long glass, Mike could see their masts and black gaff sails, and the black flag with the skull and crossbones.
“Look alive! Cannons at the ready!” Captain Wolf cried.
Mike and Wolf rolled the cannons to starboard.
“Load!” Wolf commanded.
Mike poured in the powder, wrapped the cannon ball in a handkerchief and pushed it down the barrel with a rammer. He did the same with the second cannon, although Mike couldn’t find a second handkerchief. He trained the cannon on the pirate ship and took aim.
“Hold your fire!” Wolf yelled. “They’re out of range!”
The pirates bore down on Michael’s Ark, but they had to approach from the windward side, which made it difficult to approach her.
Mike trained the long glass on the pirate ship. He espied golden letters on the bow, and read “Black Medusa”. He saw figures milling around above on deck wearing strange fancy dress. One

pirate with a red bandana on his head drew his sabre and brandished it at Mike. Another pirate with a black eye patch was climbing up the rigging. A third one, the pirate captain, in a lacy doublet, wasn’t running anywhere. He stood on the captain’s bridge and gave commands into a loud hailer. The commands couldn’t be heard, but the pirates ran past the captain particularly fast.
Mike looked and saw their cannon aimed directly at the Ark. He started counting the cannon, but kept losing count because of the ship’s roll.
“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight... eight! And we only have two,” Mike thought bitterly, “and I asked my daddy to buy me another cannon. And he said ‘why one more? You already have two!’”
“By Davy Jones’ locker!” Wolf’s husky voice interrupted Mike’s thoughts. “That’s a topsail schooner, the fastest vessel in these seas! What can we do against her in this tub of ours?”
“Fight it out!” Mike snapped back. “We’ll fight it out!”
And as if in response to Mike’s words, the pirates started firing on them, engulfing the pirate ship in thick smoke.
“Get down!” Captain Wolf cried, in an unwolfish voice.
Mike needed no lengthy persuasion, not like the way his mother used to have to cajole him to go to bed. He collapsed face down on the deck. The whistle of cannon balls tore the air above his head. You could hear the crash of breaking boards and rip of tearing canvas. One of the cannon balls tore a sail on the main mast, another hit the stern, and yet another fell on the fantail and

crashed through the deck. But fortunately, most of the cannon balls didn’t reach the ship. They fell in the sea, sending up gushes of water.
“Raise the barrels higher!” Wolf cried. “Fire on them!”
Mike aimed higher, struck a match, lit the tar on the linstock and touched it to the small hole on the barrel.
“Bam!” roared the first cannon. The deck was flooded with smoke. A savage ‘bang’ echoed back to Mike. As soon as the smoke cleared, Mike grabbed the long glass.
He saw a smoking hole and pirates running around where one of the enemy cannons had stood.
“Hooray!” Mike cried. “We hit them!”
“Fire the second one!” Wolf roared.
Bam! The second cannon jumped and rolled back. But no second ‘bang’ followed. The cannon ball flew through the pirate ship, just doing a little damage to its rigging.
Mike saw the pirates reloading their weapons. Their next volley promised to be the last one for Michael’s Ark.
“Don’t shoot!” An ugly, nasal voice carried over to Mike.
“We’ll take her afloat, don’t sink her! Prepare the grappling hooks!”
The Black Medusa approached from starboard. The pirates ran around on deck and paid off lines with hooks on the ends. The sound of metal on wood filled the air, and a black three-pronged hook dug into the Ark.
“Look sharp!” Wolf cried, drawing his sword. “All hands on deck, weapons at the ready!”
Mike whipped out his sabre and pistol. He looked around for

everybody else, but he saw that there was nobody on deck except for him and the captain. Even Camel had disappeared. Mike was afraid that perhaps Dreamer fell overboard. But then, the wise Camel most likely hid himself in the hold, in hopes of waiting out the danger. But it was too late to think of that.
“Thwack, thwack,” another two grappling hooks latched onto the side. The lines went taut, and the black hulk of the pirate ship bore down on Michael’s Ark.
“Crash!” the gangway fell down onto Michael’s Ark – three wide planks lashed together.
Mike saw the red, hot faces of the pirates, their curved sabres and shining pistols, knives and lines in their hands. The pirates cried and guffawed loudly, as if they were at some kind of funny comedy.
“Grab the boy!” called a nasal voice from a pipe. “And that ugly geezer with the tail - throw him overboard!”
The first pirate, with the red bandana on his head, grinning at Mike, climbed onto the bridge.
“Step back!” Mike cried to Wolf, cocked his pistol and shot the pirate in the belly.
“Bam!”
The pirate doubled over, howled and fell into the hands of his comrades.
“Back, to the mast!” Wolf cried from behind Mike’s back.
With a furious cry and grimacing faces, the pirates fell on the bridge. Mike ran back to the main mast, dropped his sabre and reached for a guy line, but at that moment he felt somebody grab
him by his trousers. He turned around and saw a pirate with a

shaved head and an open, gap-toothed mouth. The pirate yanked Mike toward him, so he could barely hold on to the mast.
But just then there was another ‘bang’. The gap-toothed pirate let go of Mike’s trousers, threw up his hands and slowly dropped backwards. Captain Wolf was not a bad shot.
Mike climbed up. When he reached the mainsail yardarm he turned around. A gaudily dressed bunch of pirates were swarming around something greenish-brown. Hoarse cursing and howling could be heard from the middle of the bunch. Mike realized that the pirates had knocked Wolf off his feet and were tying him up with rope to throw him in the sea.
“Avast!” Mike cried the first thing that came into his head. “He’s got gold!”
The pirates froze and turned to Mike.
A silence fell.

Chapter 12. Deliverance

“Mooo!” A low, deep noise rolled across the water. Mike looked around. The buffalo Bruiser stood at the far end of the deck, rolling his head from side to side and contentedly flicking his tail.
“Buffalo!” Mike called from the yardarm. “Save us, butt the pirates!”
But the buffalo was in no hurry to comply. He shook himself and, clattering his hooves, walked toward the band of pirates.
“What do you say, fellas?” the buffalo said to the pirates happily, and even cordially, in Mike’s opinion, “Wanna butt heads?”
The pirates stared at the buffalo, dumbfounded.
“Hey, over there on deck!” came the nasal voice from the pirate ship, “kill that beast, it’ll make a fine roast for our supper!”
Bruiser acted as if he didn’t hear the frightening words. He continued to peacefully make his way over to the pirates.
“What do you say, guys? Wanna butt?” Bruiser repeated.
A red-nosed, bowlegged pirate wearing a black bandana on his head was the first one to shake off his surprise.
“Hack up the beast, mates!” He cried, “shoot him!”
He pulled out his pistol and shot the buffalo in the head.
“Ping!”
The bullet caught Bruiser in the right horn and ricocheted onto the mast. The buffalo flinched, sensing damage to his work tool. His eyes flashed crimson; he lowered his head and his hooves clattered and skid over the slippery deck like a car on an icy road. But it only

took him a moment to find his feet. And in the next second Bruiser was able to get up as much speed as a cavalry attack.
The pirates never got off a second shot.
Like a cannon ball from a fairy tale cannon landing in the enemy camp, exploding and scattering everything around, the buffalo named Bruiser slammed into the band of pirates on the deck of Michael’s Ark. The pirates never knew what hit them.
“Crash!”
The red-nosed, bowlegged pirate with the black bandana on his head flew about fifty feet in the air and began to fall back to the sea in a complex ballistic curve.
“Boom!”
And the beefy, barrel-chested pirate flew off Michael’s Ark and ended up stuck upside down in the gangplank between the ships.
The buffalo sharply turned, stood on his fore legs and kicked in two directions simultaneously with his hind legs, like a black belt in an action movie. Another pirate with rings in his ears flew head first down an open hatch into the hold, while a pirate with a scimitar in his hand but with no chance to use it flew all the way to the bowsprit, getting caught in the jib sail like a fly in a spider’s web.
The buffalo powerfully swung his head from side to side.
“Smack, smack!”
Another two pirates found themselves helplessly hanging on the forward yardarm, like Christmas tree ornaments.
“Come on, guys!” the buffalo happily mooed, “this is great, let’s do it again!”
But the battlefield was empty. The buffalo looked around, starting

to get bored.
“Boarders avast! We’re getting underway!” came the nasal, strangled voice from the Black Medusa.
“Hey! You’re back?” Bruiser said, cheering up.
Two pirates pulling away the boarding gangway didn’t manage to finish the job. The buffalo flew between them, and his powerful sides knocked them into the sea.
“Let’s do it again, boys!” Bruiser gave a throaty, happy roar, scattering the pirates in his way and smashing up the Black Medusa.
“Glory, glory hallelujah!” he sang. “This is the best day of my life! I never ‘bang, bang’...never, I’m tellin’ you, ever butted like that! Thank you, gents!”
Black sails covered the battlefield. All Mike saw were the bodies of pirates flying through the air, and he heard the sound of gunfire. He was afraid that the pirates would shoot Bruiser. But a second later he heard the victory song ‘Glory, glory hallelujah’ again, and the next robber flew into the ocean.
Bruiser took off after one of the last pirates. The little robber dexterously turned away from Bruiser’s horns, manoeuvring between the wooden debris. Bruiser pursued his opponent, often missing with his horns, and apparently in no hurry to end the fray.
Bruiser ran off to the stern of the Black Medusa so he could build up speed, and threw himself into the attack at full tilt. The little pirate, flapping a snatch of sail like a bullfighter waving his cape, jumped aside and hid behind the foremast.
And just then Mike saw the pirate captain in the lacy doublet with the black patch over his eye. He was up the mast of the Medusa,

almost opposite Mike and aiming two pistols right at the buffalo.
“Bruiser, look out from above!” Mike cried.
Apparently, this distracted the buffalo from the chase. He couldn’t manoeuvre, and he rammed his forehead into the mast at full speed.
The sounds of the fearsome collision of the buffalo’s head with the thick mast and the shots from the pistols happened at the same time. The air was clouded with smoke. Then the sound of grating and gnashing was heard. With horror, Mike saw the foremast of the pirate ship waver, move from place and begin to fall backwards onto the main mast, breaking it and tearing off bits of rigging and sails.
Its masts destroyed, the sails covered the battlefield like a black shroud, and silence fell. The lifeless black pirate ship, covered with motionless black sheeting, look like a ghastly floating coffin.
Mike waited a bit and started to cry. He thought that Bruiser was dead. Maybe the pirate captain shot him; maybe he split his head on the mast; maybe the falling yardarms fell on top of him. But then, what does it matter how he died?  What matters is that he died a hero, saving his new friends.
Swallowing his tears, Mike climbed down from the mast. He had to untie Wolf and find Moosie and Camel.
Suddenly, the head of the pirate with the rings in his ears and a gigantic black eye stuck out from a hatch on the Ark. The buccaneer looked around warily and listened. He pulled a knife from his belt, put it between his teeth, climbed out on all fours and crawled across the deck of Michael’s Ark to the starboard side, the side

where the Black Medusa was.
Mike crouched down, hiding behind the mast. Just then Moosie’s terrified head popped up from another hatch. He stuck out his nose, sniffing the air, listened attentively and began to carefully climb out on deck, looking at the Medusa.
The pirate and Moosie got closer to each other. Suddenly a board creaked under Moosie. The pirate turned around and saw another horned beast in front of him. Moosie saw the pirate at the same time and screamed so loud that it was as if he wanted to tear the pirate into pieces. The buccaneer howled, dropped the knife from his mouth, sprung to his feet and threw himself on the gangplank, but he stumbled on the edge of the deck and still howling, flew into the ocean.
“Splash!”
And it was silent again.
“Moosie! Moosie, you’re alive, I’m so happy to see you!” Mike said, throwing his arms around his friend. Come on, let’s untie Wolf. But where’s Dreamer?”
“I didn’t see him!” Moosie answered. “So there are no more pirates here?”
“No,” Mike said, “it looks as if they’re all gone.”
They found their captain on the deck and untied him. Wolf was in a pretty sorry state. His doublet was all torn up, and his tail hung lifelessly, like a stump. But the captain’s spirit was not broken.
“By Captain Kidd’s bones,” Wolf wheezed, “if that second pistol hadn’t missed, they never would have gotten to me.”
“Wolf,” Mike said, “I saw the whole thing, you fought like a real Sea

Wolf.”
“Which in fact it was quite reasonable to expect,” a familiar droning tenor voice pronounced behind the friends.
Camel!
“But of course,” Camel said, after freeing himself from the hugs of his friends, “it is I, Camel. Did you expect to see someone else here?”
“Camel, we’re so happy you’re alive!” Mike said, Now we’re all here...except Bruiser. I think he’s dead. He probably split his head on the mast.”
“That latter hypothesis seems highly unlikely to me,” Camel said, looking at the Black Medusa.
And as if in response to those words, the black sail on the deck of the Medusa stirred, rose up, took on the silhouette of a large ruminating beast, and Bruiser appeared on deck. There were no damages visible on Bruiser, but he swayed a bit from side to side.
“He’s alive!” Mike cried. “Hooray!”
The friends ran to meet Bruiser and helped him get across to Michael’s Ark.
“Where does it hurt, Bruiser? Mike asked. “Are you wounded?”
“Drink!” Bruiser demanded.
He took a long, greedy drink from a trough, and then lifted his head and said:
“Rotten!”
“What’s ‘rotten’?” Mike asked. “The water?”
“Their mast was rotten,” Bruiser replied.
“It would seem that we can congratulate ourselves on our victory.

The pirates have been laid prostrate,” Camel concluded, and scratching behind his ear with his hoof, added ‘Finita la commedia!’”

Chapter 13. The Sargasso Sea

Using a net, Wolf and Camel pulled out the pirates that fell in the water. Mike treated their wounds with disinfectant and iodine, and then wrapped their sores with bandages. They laid the robbers on the deck of the Black Medusa, after throwing their sabres and pistols in the sea.
“Maybe we should take some of their cannon for ourselves?” Mike asked camel.
“Such trophies1will hardly bring us luck!” Dreamer said. They threw the cannon overboard as well.
“So long, pirates,” Mike said on leaving, “I hope you will straighten up and never rob again. Do you promise?”
“We promise!” they replied in an inharmonious chorus.
Michael’s Ark pushed away from the Black Medusa and set course to the east. The crew were busy for several days, repairing the ship from the damages caused by the fray. Then, when everything was finished, they rested and enjoyed the warm southern sun. The friends were happy and often recounted the details of the battle. Only the captain looked gloomy. Mike attributed this to the nature of wolves, as well as the blow to his self-esteem that Wolf experienced in being captured. However, as it turned out, that was not the only reason.
It was a peaceful, clear evening; not a cloud disturbed the freshness of the tropical sky, the sea glinted in the rays of the setting sun, and a weak wind barely swelled the sails of Michael’s Ark.

Captain Wolf was at the brig’s helm himself, sucking on his black pipe. Mike came up and stood next to Wolf.
“I don’t care for these parts,” Wolf said unexpectedly.
“What parts?” Mike asked, surprised. “There are no parts here, just ocean.”
“The Bermuda Triangle,” Wolf said, “have you ever heard anything about the Bermuda Triangle?”
“I’ve read about it,” Mike responded, “but the books say that the stories about the Bermuda Triangle are all just made up. You mean we’re in the Bermuda Triangle right now?”
“Almost,” Wolf said gloomily.
“But why are we going there?” Mike asked. “If it’s dangerous there, we ought to go around it.”
“You can’t go around it,” Wolf growled, “there’s almost no wind, and what wind there is will push us right into the Triangle.”
Mike began to feel a bit worried, but he decided to try and cheer up Wolf anyway.
“Well, I hope that it’s not as scary as getting attacked by pirates!” Mike said.
“I hope not,” Wolf said, “but who knows?”
Mike stood stayed on deck a little longer and then went below to sleep.
He woke up with the strange sensation that the ship was standing still. He had never experienced such an uneasy feeling in all his time on the ship. The roll of the ship or even a storm wouldn’t make Mike feel so worried.
A strange sight awaited him when he went up on deck. Although

the sun was already high above the horizon, the sea was all red. Mike was used to the sea being blue, azure, even black, but he had never seen it red. There was no wind at all. The sails hung lifeless on the yardarms. Although it was early morning, there was an oppressive dampness in the air, like in a steam bath. The dampness was mixed with some strange smell, like the smell of rotten hay. Mike felt as if he had smelled it somewhere before, but he couldn’t remember exactly where.
The first one that Mike ran into on deck was Moosie. He stood right next to the helm, although he didn’t touch it. Moosie had a very apprehensive look on this face.
“We’re stuck,” Moosie said.
“What do you mean, stuck?” Mike replied, “stuck in what?”
“In the Sargasso Sea,” Moosie said in a frightened whisper, “look – do you see that the sea is red? Wolf said that it’s seaweed that grows here, and there may not be wind for a whole week.”
“And where’s Wolf?” Mike said, getting worried.
“Wolf went to sleep,” Moosie said, “he said that there was nothing for him to do on deck. And he assigned me to the helm again,” Moosie said with a touch of pride in his voice, “while we’re becalmed.”
“I see,” Mike said, “and what orders did he leave?”
“None,” Moosie replied, “he told me to ring the ship’s bell if the wind picks up, and for you to furl the sails if it doesn’t.”
Mike climbed up the masts to furl the sails. When he came down he saw Camel cosily ensconced in an easy chair in the bow of the ship.
“The Sargasso Sea,” Camel said deliberately and ploddingly, as if

continuing an interrupted lecture, “has an area of approximately six million square kilometres. It is the largest region of calm water in the North Atlantic Ocean, almost completely covered with Sargassum seaweed, which has a characteristic reddish-brown colour. The volume of Sargassum is estimated to be between 4 to 11 million tons, permitting...
“Dreamer,” Mike interrupted, “why are you telling us all this? We’re not planning to eat the seaweed! Tell us how to get out if it instead!”
“As of yet, I have no fully satisfactory solution in that regard,” Camel responded, “However, sailing directions are entrusted to our highly esteemed captain, I dare say.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Moosie said, “we have to wake up Wolf and ask him!”
However, they didn’t need to wake up Wolf. He was already on deck and was looking around with a most annoyed look.
“Eleven million tons of seaweed under me keel!” Wolf grumbled, “if ever again I sail through this cursed sea! We’ll be stuck here for a long time. And there’s nothing to be done for it. We just have to sit and wait for the wind.”
“A most wise decision,” Camel said, “albeit not extremely constructive.”
Meanwhile, the sun had climbed high and the deck had gotten unbearably hot. The smell of the seaweed made you dizzy, and the light reflecting off the sea was blinding. The friends moved below deck, but it was almost as bad there. Even Camel, used to the desert, hid in the shade of the bridge.

The day went on in somnolent lassitude. The heat subsided a little at night, but it was just as close and sultry. They were thirsty all the time.
At first light the next day, Mike went with a mug to the water crock and saw that it was empty. Mike decided to check how much fresh water they had left. He found the plastic jerry can from his dad’s car, the big canister for milk and two one-litre juice packs. There was a little water left in the tea kettle too. Mike figured that even if they rationed it, it would last about a week.
Banging around with the pots and pans, Mike didn’t notice that Camel had come up behind him.
“The situation is becoming critical,” Camel said in his usual deliberate tone, which nevertheless contained not a hint of anxiety, “if the problem of drinking is practically nonexistent for me, the rest of you must be concerned about running out of water.”
Although the problem of drinking didn’t exist for Camel, he nevertheless sipped a half litre of water from the canister, after which he continued.
“On this sultry night, I have thought long and hard, and I have come to some discomfiting conclusions.
The only guaranteed method of exiting the Sargasso Sea is to convert our sailing brig into a galley.”
“What do you mean, convert the brig into a galley?” Mike said, not understanding.
“My young friend!” Camel said, “Do you remember how once we were planning to use hockey sticks as masts?”
“Yes,” Mike said embarrassedly.

“So,” Camel continued, “now we are in dire need of them. How many hockey sticks do you have all total?”
“Two,” Mike said, but then added: “no, four – two for field hockey and two for ice hockey!”
“Out-stand-ing!” Camel said, enunciating each syllable. “That is precisely what we need!” We shall poke the sticks, or rather the oars, through the port holes, two on each side. We shall make oar locks from scrap metal for each oar, one per rower. Four of us will row, and one will command and steer.”
Mike thought about it. He remembered the book Spartacus, all about galley slaves and their pitiful fate. The thought made him sad. And what’s more, he didn’t feel like rowing in this heat. Still, it was better than sitting and dying of thirst with no certainty of rescue.
“Okay,” Mike sighed, “I agree.”
Everything went smoothly at first. Bruiser and Dreamer sat at one pair of oars, and Mike and Moosie at the other. Captain Wolf stoutly assumed command. Although it was uncomfortable holding the oars with their hooves, after a few tries Dreamer, Bruiser and Moosie got used to it. They each grabbed their oars with one hoof on top, the other on the bottom.
“Aaaand one! Wolf commanded, “aaaand two!”
The friends lowered their oars into the water several times, but after the second stroke they couldn’t pull them from the water. Seaweed got tangled up in the oars and made them unwieldy.
Captain Wolf had to leave the bridge and go below.
“Do this,” Wolf wheezed, “make one stroke, lift the oar, turn the oar slightly so that the seaweed slides off, and then start the next

stroke. Practice makes perfect – that’s the thing!”
Little by little, the friends got used to rowing through the seaweed.
Michael’s Ark started making headway and slowly headed south-east. But not for long. Moosie was the first to complain.
“I can’t do this anymore,” Moosie said to Mike, “my little white paws are all rough and raw!”
“Stick with it,” Mike replied, “you’re Seamoosie, a real Sea Moose.”
“No, I can’t anymore,” Moosie whined, “my poor little white paws aren’t suited for rowing.”
Wolf had to relieve Moosie. Moosie went up on the captain’s bridge, very pleased with his liberation from galley slavery, and began commanding.
“Aaaaaaaaand one!” Moosie drawled. “And two!” followed right after.
“Bermuda Triangle in me ear!” Captain Wolf cursed. Who gives commands like that? You have to be consistent!”
But consistency was never Moosie’s strong suit. Wolf had to both row and command, while Moosie just held lightly on to the helm, steering the ship on a whimsical, twisted course.
Michael’s Ark travelled only three miles to the south-east the first day. The friends were exhausted. They drank half of all the remaining water. When Wolf commanded “Avast! Ship oars!” Mike, Wolf, Camel and even Bruiser literally dropped into their bunks. Moosie also laid below and fell on Camel. He was incredibly tired, from nervous exhaustion.

Chapter 14. The Flying Dutchman

Mike slept deeply and heavily. He dreamt about living sargassum seaweed crawling out of the sea and entwining the ship in their long, clinging tentacles. Mike asked them to stand off and let the ship go, but all they did was laugh in Mike’s face with noiseless laughter. One of them reached its long red arms high out of the water, grabbing Moosie by the tail and pulling him off into the sea. Moosie screamed and started to struggle. Mike pulled an oar out of its oarlock and started beating the tendrils of the seaweed, but it wouldn’t let go of Moosie’s tail, only hissing, twisting and stretching. And Moosie’s tail began to stretch until it was as long as the anchor chain. And then all the seaweed grabbed the tail and pulled the ship deep into the ocean.
Mike woke up in terror. He was covered with sweat, and he badly needed something to drink. He went over to the canister, poured half a mug and drank it. He wanted more, but they had to conserve water. It was stuffy below deck. The buffalo snored like a bulldozer, Moosie sighed and wheezed, Camel mumbled something in his sleep, and Wolf cursed hoarsely.
Mike left the hold and climbed out on deck. A bright full moon bathed the ocean with its light. It seemed as if the ocean was lit from below by a faint phosphorescent radiance as well. It was quiet all around, as if the whole world had perished and there were no more cities, or countries, or mainland or islands; no more animals or people, no more buses or trains or cars. Only Michael’s Ark was

hovering in infinity between the eternal moon and the eternal ocean, alone in the midst of the universe, a tiny inhabited helpless little world. The thought made him want to cry.
Tears rose in his eyes, and the moonlight played, gleamed and dispersed into hundreds of different hues. Mike rubbed his eyes and the light cleared up, but not quite. Instead of one bright spot of moonlight, Mike saw two. The second one rose from the ocean on the horizon. Mike rubbed his eyes again, but the bright spot in the distance didn’t go away. Blundering in the darkness, Mike flew headlong into the hold, pulled the long glass from the sleeping Wolf’s pocket and ran up on deck again. He was afraid that the light would disappear. But not only didn’t it disappear, it got nearer and brighter. Mike pointed the long glass at the spot and saw... a ship.
Yes, it was a big three-masted ship or frigate. But...the ship beamed with some kind of strange flickering light of its own. The outline of the vessel shone, the bowsprit shone, and strange shining strands extended out from the ends of the masts and yardarms. But the strangest thing was that although it was dead calm, the sails on the frigate looked as if they were filled with wind. They didn’t flutter or quiver like regular sails in regular wind, but stood springily, as if held there by a motionless wind. And the strange ship was gaining rapidly on Michael’s Ark.
Mike grabbed the line to the ship’s bell and began ringing it crazily.
The sound reverberated across the ocean, the moon and the twilight radiance. Stumbling and muttering, the animals poured out from the hold onto the deck and started looking around.
“Look there!” Mike pointed at the strange ship, which was already

quite clear to the naked eye.
“The Flying Dutchman! It’s the Flying Dutchman!” said Wolf in an oddly strangled voice. “We’re done for!”
At these words, Mike began to shiver all over, the tingling running up all over his body to the crown of his head, even making his hair stand on end. Bruiser’s fur stood on end too. Moosie was riveted to the deck, petrified, not even able to move his ears. Wolf’s mouth hung open, not saying a word. Camel alone appeared unruffled.
“The appearance of the Flying Dutchman in the area of the Bermuda Triangle has been described on numerous occasions in the historical record,” Camel drawled, “and consequently, it cannot be considered extraordinary. While it is true that the appearance of phantom ships is not a scientifically established fact, nevertheless...”
The friends all at once began to breathe easier on hearing his calm, even and familiar voice. Bruiser’s fur lay down again back to normal, Mike stopped shivering, and Wolf closed his muzzle.  Only Moosie alone remained rooted to his spot, transfixed.
“... nowhere is it proven that an encounter with the Flying Dutchman means danger to seafarers,” said Camel, concluding his dissertation.
“But... why are the masts lit up?” asked Mike.
“There is nothing mystical about the phenomenon that we are observing; it is referred to as Saint Elmo’s Fire. It appears when there is a highly intense electrical field in the atmosphere, which happens most often during storms or when storms are in the vicinity. Saint Elmo’s Fire is a specific from of electric coronal effect

in its physical nature.”
After hearing these words from Camel, Moosie came to his senses too.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh,” Moosie said, “An electric carnival sounds like fun. But I don’t want any more storms.”
“So over there they got these, what do you call them, Dutchmen?” Bruiser asked.
“What do you need Dutchmen for?” Wolf wheezed.
“What do I need ‘em for?” Bruiser answered, surprised. “To butt heads!”
“Haven’t you done enough of that already?” Wolf said, surprised.
“High-ly unlikely!” Dreamer answered.
“What’s highly unlikely? Wolf demanded.
“It’s highly unlikely that there’s anybody to butt heads with over there,” Camel replied.
Meanwhile, the Flying Dutchman came alongside Michael’s Ark, and the friends could see her in all her magnificence. Her white, taut sails billowed perfectly over the ocean’s surface. The white, lifeless deck was lit by moonlight, where her spotlessly clean bronze cannon gleamed. Her golden helm turned precisely from side to side, as if guided by an unseen hand. But there was not a soul on deck.
The friends were frozen in place, awed by the strange, magnificent sight. The Flying Dutchman lightly and noiselessly touched Michael’s Ark. Both decks were on the same level.
“Should we go aboard and have a look around?” Mike suggested.
“Oh, why? No, don’t!” Moosie whined.

“Risks related to visiting the Flying Dutchman...” Camel began, but Bruiser interrupted him.
“Hey,” he said, “let’s go take a look and see where they’re hiding.”
“Shiver me timbers,” Wolf wheezed, “I’m the captain, and I won’t abandon my ship in the open ocean. You lot can go, if you fancy it!”
Mike, Camel and Bruiser grappled two mooring lines to the Flying Dutchman, hauled the gangway left by the pirates from the hold, pulled it out on deck and laid it across to the mystery ship.
“So who will go first?” Camel asked.
“How about me?” Bruiser asked.
“No you don’t,” Camel answered, “you’ll be like a bull in a china shop!”
“No I won’t,” Bruiser replied, “I’ll be quiet.”
“A very unrealistic assumption,” Camel doubted.
Mike was the first one across the gangway, Bruiser pushed across behind him and Camel came last. They carefully walked around the deck, but nobody appeared. The door to the ladder going below was open.
“Ahoy! Is anybody aboard?” Mike cried into the darkness of the hold.
There was no answer. Mike got his torch from his pocket and slowly went below. The first place he encountered was the captain’s cabin. You could tell it was by its size and the navigational instruments lying on the table. The table was covered by an enormous map. Mike came closer and shined his torch on it. There was something unusual on the map. Four chubby figures blowing into trumpets were drawn on the four sides. All the continents and islands on the

map were drawn upside down. Even with his meagre knowledge of geography, Mike could see the errors: There was a gigantic strait between Asia and North America, half the width of the Pacific Ocean, and Antarctica wasn’t on the map at all.
“Dreamer, come here, look at this map I found,” Mike called in a loud whisper.
Camel squeezed into the cabin, stepped up to the table and carefully scrutinized the map.
“This is an antique map from the seventeenth century. And the navigational instruments are from the same era,” Camel said.
They moved on further. The friends found signs of disorder in the next cabin. Things had been pulled out of trunks and thrown around on the deck. Mike found an elegant doublet, a matchlock pistol, several gold coins and an open golden snuff box with snuff spilled around. Camel stuck his nose in the snuff, sniffed it and sneezed resonantly.
“The snuff is quite fresh,” Camel said, “it doesn’t appear to have been lying about for four hundred years.”
The galley and the mess deck were at the end of the passageway. By the light of his torch, Mike saw clay mugs on the table, full of a foamy yellow liquid.
“Dreamer, what were they drinking?” Mike asked.
Camel sniffed the foam, and then he licked it.
“It’s beer, Dutch beer,” Camel said, “note that the foam in the mugs still hasn’t settled.”
Looking around, Mike saw uncorked bottles and pieces of dark but still soft bread. A sword was propped up against one stool in its

scabbard, as if its owner had just sat down at the table and put it there so it wouldn’t be in his way. The oven in the galley was still warm. There was a big cast iron pot in the oven. Mike carefully stuck one hand in to touch the pot and quickly pulled it back. The pot was piping hot.
“That’s strange,” Mike said, “it’s as if the crew were here a minute ago, and yet there’s nobody on board. Where could they all have gone?”
“Scientists have been struggling with that riddle for hundreds of years!” Camel said, “the disappearance of people in the Bermuda Triangle without a trace and the phenomenon of the Flying Dutchman...”
Suddenly, there was a formidable clatter and crash on the ship. Mike’s heart fell to his feet for the umpteenth time that day.
“The crew! The Dutchmen! They’re here!” Mike cried noiselessly.
Mike and Camel ran from the galley and headed for the noise. The door to the starboard cabin was wide open. Sounds of struggling emanated from within.
Dreamer and Mike pushed in, and in the uncertain light of the moon streaming through the porthole they saw an enormous black shadow rushing about in the cabin. Mike turned on his torch and the shadow assumed the outline of Bruiser. The shadow stopped short when it saw the light of the torch.
Mike and Dreamer looked around the cabin, but nobody else was there. Everything all around was turned all topsy-turvy, and the floor was littered with broken furniture and shards of broken glass.
“What happened here, Bruiser?” Mike asked.

“I beat him!” Bruiser trumpeted victoriously.
“Who? Who did you see? Who did you beat? Tell us!” Mike asked quickly.
“The Dutch buffalo!” Bruiser said proudly.
“Where did you see him? What did he look like and where did he go? Mike pressed on.
“He was enormous, fearsome, with a stupid, ferocious face and one horn a little out of line. I went in, and he saw me right away in the darkness! I threw myself on him, and he threw himself on me. We smashed into each other, and all of a sudden everything came crashing down. And then it fell right on me! I jumped aside, twisted my horns and went after him, but I lost his trail!”
“It would appear that our butting friend just demolished a Dutch mirrored cupboard that was the work of an unknown master of the seventeenth century, together with an elegant Venetian set of dinnerware,” Camel thoughtfully pronounced, looking at the debris on the floor, “Our friend has not only smashed up chinaware, he’s produced a quantity of scrap lumber to boot!”
“What?” Bruiser bellowed. “What cupboard?”
“What did you do, Bruiser?!” Mike bemoaned. “What will we tell the ship’s crew now?”
“The appearance of the crew strikes me as unlikely,” Camel said, “the ship is unoccupied.”
“But what about the snuff, and the beer, and the hot oven?” Mike asked, astonished.
“Perhaps we are observing a disturbance in the space-time continuum, or to state it more simply, a time hole.”

“And so what then?” Mike said, not understanding, “The whole crew fell into the hole?”
“Rather the contrary,” Camel clarified, “the Flying Dutchman fell through the hole, while the crew stayed where they were. In the seventeenth century.”
Mike, Camel and Bruiser looked around the phantom ship again, and then returned to the Ark. Once they had gathered all together, the voyagers held a small campaign conference, where it was decided not to take anything on board Michael’s Ark from the Flying Dutchman.
“We can’t remove museum pieces,” Mike said, “and the food and water could spoil over four hundred years. Then all of our stomachs would be upset!”
“I fully concur with the worthy arguments of our young friend,” Camel said, supporting Mike.
“And why did we have to stumble on this Flying Dutchman?” wheezed Wolf, annoyed, “it’s as much use to us as a blasted white elephant!”
“We need to think,” Mike said, then adding: “Here’s how it is. We’re totally becalmed. We’re stranded in the Sargasso Sea, and the Flying Dutchman is sailing, and very fast.”
“Sailing nowhere,” grumbled Wolf.
“So why don’t we hitch our ship to the Dutchman?” Mike continued. “Maybe it can pull us out of here.”
“It won’t pull us out, it’ll pull us in,” Wolf, grumbled again, “into this time hole you’re talking about! And we’ll all end up in the seventeenth century.”

“No! I don’t want to go to the seventeenth century!” Moosie chimed in. “Maybe they’ll eat me there!”
“Everything’s possible,” Mike said, “we can’t rule out anything, but at least it will give us a chance.”
“I propose that we table this pointless discussion,” Camel interrupted, “right now we are firmly moored to the Flying Dutchman. “Let us simply retire for the night. As folk wisdom would have it, “Dies diem docet” which from the Latin means “night brings counsel!”
The friends decided to leave it at that. They went below and almost immediately fell asleep.

Chapter 15. Uncharted Island

Now Mike slept peacefully. Strangely enough, he didn’t dream of Dutchmen or phantoms. Instead, he had sweet dreams, about his mom making Sunday breakfast and stroking his hair lightly to wake him up. He didn’t want to wake up, it was so light and sweet and gentle. And that feeling woke him up. And although his mom wasn’t there with him, the feeling of peaceful happiness didn’t desert him. Something had changed in the world around him. Mike rubbed his eyes, lifted his head and all at once he realized what it was. It wasn’t stuffy in the hold. A fresh wind was blowing through the portholes and rustling Mike’s hair. And the ship wasn’t standing still as if it was stuck, but was lightly rolling on the waves.
Mike looked around and realized that he was alone in the hold. He ran up on deck, his heart missing a beat, but all at once he saw all his friends there crowded around the starboard side. They were puzzling intently over something on the deck. Mike pushed in between Dreamer and Wolf.
What is it? Mike asked, alarmed. “What happened?”
“The mooring lines”, Camel answered cryptically. “The lines are coiled.”
“And the gangway”, Wolf said, “it’s stowed properly, here on deck.”
And then Mike remembered! THE FLYING DUTCHMAN! It was gone! Disappeared! But it couldn’t have been a dream!
And as if in response to Mike’s thoughts, Camel spoke up:

“We pulled the gangway from the hold yesterday, and now it’s on deck – that’s first! The lines are laid out very neatly, not like Mike, Wolf or least of all Moosie ever coiled them. This means that everything that happened was not a collective hallucination. But the Flying Dutchman has disappeared, even though it was tightly moored to our ship. These are facts for which we have no explanation, but which we must accept as they are.”
“The cursed seaweed is gone!” Wolf said. “I wonder where it could have gone overnight?”
“The wind is blowing,” Moosie said, “maybe it was all blown away by the wind?”
“Hold on a bit,” Wolf wheezed and ran off below to the hold. He was back in a minute with the ship’s chronometer and a sextant.
“Look!” Wolf cried. “The clock shows just seven o’clock in the morning, but the sun is already high! Moosie, do you remember what time the sun rose yesterday?”
“I remember,” Moose said, “it was seven o’clock, I was eating lichen just then!”
Captain Wolf pointed the sextant at the sun, looked at the clock again, calculated something in his head and solemnly pronounced:
“Fair winds and following seas! Last night we moved three thousand nautical miles east!”
“’Facta sunt potentiora verbis’, which means ‘facts are more powerful than words’” Camel sagely observed, “which once again proves...”
“Land!” Moosie cried unexpectedly. “I see land! There’ll be lots of water and fresh lichen there.”

The friends ran to the ship’s bow. There really was a flat stretch of land in front of them, with mountains visible behind. Wolf scrutinized the shore with the long glass.
“I’ll be harpooned! It’s an island!” He said, commanding “unfurl the sails, full speed ahead!”
In less than two hours, Michael’s Ark dropped anchor in a small, cosy bay. The island was picturesque. Thick evergreen forests grew practically right down to the ocean. A snowy white stretch of sandy beach separated the forest from the water. A silvery stream ran across the sand, emptying into the ocean.
The voyagers’ spirits were uplifted. All of them, even Moosie, couldn’t wait to get onto dry land. Camel alone did not share the general happiness.
“Perhaps this island is inhabited,” Camel said, “who knows whether there are savage beasts or savage peoples lurking there? We must be cautious!”
“It’s all right, Dreamer!” Mike said. “We have weapons – three pistols, a sword, a sabre, a rapier, a dagger and a hammer for pounding meat! And we have Bruiser too! What do we need to be afraid of?”
“I didn’t say ‘afraid’”, Camel drawled, “I said ‘cautious’. They are by no means the same thing!”
The friends furled the sails, battened down the hatches and dropped the anchor. Then they lowered the boat, loaded it with provisions, containers for water, weapons and clothing and went to the island.
Camel’s warning was to prove fateful. As soon as the boat’s bow

touched land, the friends pulled her up onto the sand and started reconnoitring the area. Mike stuck the pistols in his belt and held his sabre in his hand. There was nobody on the beach. The travellers turned toward the stream. The stream looked clean, and Mike took a handful of water.
“My young friend,” Dreamer said, “I advise you not to drink raw surface water. Especially in a tropical environment!”
Mike agreed. The whole group moved along the stream into the depths of the jungle.
An ocean of sound engulfed the voyagers. The songs of birds, the sound of the wind in the branches and snapping, whistling, creaking and murmuring surrounded them on all sides.
Mike went in front, clearing the liana from the path with his sabre. Buffalo followed him, ready to butt any foe. Camel kept nudging the back of Moosie, who was constantly glancing around. Wolf brought up the rear, snapping his maw every time an unusually curious parrot flew too close.
Despite the lush vegetation, they could find nothing edible. The ground was carpeted with a yellow mat of fallen leaves and festooned with wildly patterned ferns. True, sometimes they found some bright red berries among them, the name of which even Camel didn’t know.
“If they grow like that right under our feet and nobody eats them, they are quite likely poisonous,” he observed.
“I think we should go back to the shore,” Mike said, “there’s nothing to eat here.”
The procession turned back, with Wolf now in the lead, and Mike at

the rear. They had only gone a few paces when suddenly something whistled right by Camel’s head, and a gigantic coconut fell to the ground. The friends turned their heads upwards, but saw nobody in the tangle of branches and liana.
“Thanks for the present,” Camel said, “but I think that we should get moving!”
The friends hurried to the shoreline.
The sun was already starting to set. Mike made a fire from dry driftwood and put the tea kettle on to boil. Bruiser hauled water from the stream. Dreamer put up something resembling a tent from sticks and blankets. Wolf laid out the meagre provisions that they brought from the ship on a bedspread. Moosie snuggled closer to Mike, sticking his nose everywhere and asking when it was time to eat lichen. Mike cut a hole in the coconut with a knife and poured out draughts of the coconut milk into mugs.
The voyagers sat around a blanket, drinking tea, chewing on coconut meat and looking at the sun slowly sinking into the ocean.
“We need to set up watches for the night,” Wolf said, “we don’t know who lives in this jungle.”
“Of course,” Mike said, “we’ll take turns on watch. Who wants to be first?”
“I have no objection,” Dreamer responded, “I have trouble getting to sleep, and I would be glad to be first. Here’s the chronometer. We’ll set the watch for every two hours, that way we can all get exactly eight hours sleep.”
It was agreed that Dreamer would be first, Bruiser second, Wolf third, Moosie fourth and Mike fifth. Camel took the chronometer

and the friends went to sleep in the tent. Mike lay between Bruiser and Moosie. The animals pleasantly warmed him from both sides, the flickering light from the camp fire could be seen from the tent and the night time noises of the forest weren’t frightening, reminding Mike that they were not in the middle of the ocean, but on warm, hard firm land. He sweetly fell asleep.

Chapter 16. The Aborigines

Mike woke up early. The first rays of the sun were already coming through the tent, and a light wind was fluttering the blankets. Moosie wasn’t next to him. That didn’t surprise Mike. Moosie had to go on watch before dawn. But it was odd that Moosie hadn’t woken Mike up by now. ‘I wonder what time it is.’ He thought.
Mike climbed out of the tent and looked around. Moosie wasn’t outside either, and neither was the chronometer. Mike checked in the tent again, hoping to see Moosie sleeping in another spot, but he didn’t find his antlered friend there either.
Mike carefully scrutinized the sand around the tent. He saw two deep furrows stretching from the tent toward the forest. Then he saw the tracks of two pairs of bare feet with their toes wide apart, and these also led into the depths of the forest. Mike realized what had happened right away.
“We’ve got trouble! Everybody up!” Mike yelled. “Savages kidnapped Moosie!”
The animals jumped from the tent.
Camel scrupulously inspected the scene of the crime, sniffed the tracks and gravely pronounced: “The criminal activity involved can be reasonably accurately described. At about four o’clock this morning Wolf woke Moosie, and went to sleep himself. Moosie was sitting right here – see the marks of his tail in the sand? – and then here is the imprint of his jacket; he dropped on his side and fell asleep.

The aborigines came up from the sea, seeing how at the time the wind was blowing from the shore, so they would be upwind. In fact, they needn’t have bothered; Moosie was asleep in any case. They threw a rope around his nose so that he couldn’t call out, and then they tied up our antlered friend and dragged him into the woods. They pulled the moose by his hooves, so his horns trailed along in the sand, leaving two deep furrows. The savages took away the chronometer with them too. They could hardly have perceived its intended use, however...
“Stop talking about the chronometer!” Mike yelled, “they carried off our Moosie to eat him! Maybe they already have!”
“Quite unlikely,” Camel responded, “aborigines are not in the habit of taking meals at dawn. They normally do so nearer to the end of the day.”
“We have to get going and save Moosie!” Mike cried. “We’ll find him by the trail they left.”
“We’ll butt ‘em!” trumpeted Bruiser joyfully.
“Ten thousand savages having me for dinner,” Wolf growled, “I’ll remember my own benighted past, and then the savages are in for trouble!”
“I’ll shoot them and fight them!” Mike said.
“It won’t do to make hasty decisions about how to plan our campaign before reconnoitring the situation,” Camel said.
“Re... what?” Mike asked. “Make everything simple, we’re not up to big words right now!”
“I merely wished to say that we need to start off by searching for the moose, then clarify who stole him and plan how we can fight

them,” Dreamer stated.
The friends ran into the woods, following the trail of Moosie’s horns. When the first trees and liana surrounded the voyagers, they lost the trail.
“It would seem that they hung the moose on a stick and carried him. That was a quite practical decision on their part,” Camel said, “nevertheless, with a good sense of smell tracks are unnecessary. I can easily follow their trail by the scent.”
“So can I,” Wolf wheezed, “Moose on a griddle! My native instincts are coming alive. I’ll find the savage blighters even if they’re underground!”
“I would imagine that digging that deep will not be necessary,” Dreamer said. “Let’s be off!”
The friends pressed on through impassable jungle for about an hour. Sometimes Camel lost the trail, and then Wolf would come to his assistance; sometimes Bruiser tore ahead and barrelled straight into the brush. Mike chopped down the liana with his sabre so fiercely that it was if he was fighting with a whole army of savages.
Suddenly Wolf stopped.
“Avast,” he wheezed. “I can smell them! There’s a clearing ahead, and there are people there, lots of them. They’ve lit a fire in the clearing. The moose is there too.”
“Yes, I hear them,” Camel said, pricking up his ears, “I hear the sound of some kind of percussion instruments. I think they’re djembes.”
“You know the name of their tribe?” Mike asked, not understanding.

“I meant the name of the musical instrument,” Camel said, “they’re called djembes, and they’re playing them there!”
Camel pointed with his hoof into the thick of the forest.
The friends spread out and began carefully working their way forward. Soon even Mike could hear the sound of the djembes. A large clearing opened up through the tangle of liana, and a fire really was burning there.  A big brown hut that looked like a cowshed stood in the clearing. Its roof was made of dried tree bark. Black, half-naked people were jumping and jostling around the fire. They wore bunches of palm leaves around their waists and colourful beads around their necks. They were tossing wood on the fire, all the time dancing around it. The aborigines that were not occupied with feeding the fire were holding spears and bows with arrows. Some others were beating multi-coloured drums with a frenzy. Mike understood that they were djembes. Then Mike saw two wooden poles on each side of the fire. The two poles were brightly painted an ominous, reddish-brown colour.
Wolf looked at the clearing through his long glass.
They’re idols,” he explained, “the natives plan to sacrifice our moose to their ancestors.”
Mike took the long glass from Wolf. The poles weren’t really poles, but statues, with ferocious faces carved on them. The ancestors of the aborigines looked terrifying. They had horns on their heads just like Bruiser. Their eyes bulged out and their mouths grimaced, showing their teeth.
“But where’s Moosie?” Mike asked, worried. “Did they already eat him?”

“The moose is on the other side of the hut, we can’t see him,” Wolf said, “but my nose tells me that he’s still alive.”
“Let’s butt ‘em!” Bruiser roared.
“First of all, I beg you to dampen your roar!” said Camel. “It’s a good thing that we’re upwind, and that there’s a lot of commotion in the clearing. Otherwise, they would have discovered us long ago. Aborigines have highly developed senses of hearing and smell. Secondly, a frontal attack strikes me as highly risky. Unlike the pirates, these natives are a brave, decisive group. They have a great deal of experience hunting wild animals. Furthermore, more than half of the tribe is armed with bows and spears. I fear that we would never be able to hoof it out of here.”
“So what will we do?” mooed Bruiser, much quieter. “We can’t just let the savages eat him for dinner!”
“By no means,” Dreamer replied, “our antlered friend must be saved, whatever the cost. But it behoves us to be clever, and to exploit the primitive superstitions of the local populace.”
“We must wait,” Camel continued, “I presume that the aborigines plan to sacrifice the moose after darkness. That will present us with the most advantageous moment for the liberation of our antlered friend.”
Dreamer began laying out a plan for the group.
The friends spent all day around the clearing, risking being found out. Meanwhile, it gradually got darker. A full moon appeared in the sky, and the tropical stars gleamed. The fire in the clearing burned ever brighter and brighter. Mike’s nerves were as strained as the lanyards on the masts in a heavy wind.

Finally, the friends saw a fat, black-skinned native step out to the centre of the clearing by the fire, clad from head to foot with some kinds of beads and strings. He wore a crown decorated with ram’s horns.
The fat savage held a tambourine in his hand and kept constantly beating it and jingling it in time to the djembes.
“That’s their ju-ju man,” whispered Wolf, but Mike had already guessed that.
“It would appear that he will be performing some ritual before the sacrifice,” said Camel, “which means that H-hour is drawing near.”
The ju-ju man took a swig of some kind of herbal potion from a bottle, beat the tambourine harder, shook his enormous frame and started shrieking, or rather intoning, some sort of incantation.
“A-a-a mahe-mahe-mahe i-i-i am-sam-tapum ma-ma-cho!” he howled, shaking in a trance before one of the idols.
He swerved and swayed better than a professional gymnast that Mike had seen on television.
“A-a-a mahe-mahe-mahe i-i-i am-sam-tapum pa-pa-cho!” He repeated his incantation before the other image.
“To the extent that I could understand the chanting of the priest,” Dreamer said, “he is now addressing himself to their deities, one of which is called Mamacho, and the other Papacho.”
Meanwhile, the activity by the fire was nearing its culmination. The friends saw that the natives had pulled out a third pole into the clearing, and Moosie was fastened to it. His mouth was tied shut with rope. Only his wild, crazy eyes showed that their antlered friend was still among the living.

The ju-ju man took up an enormous white knife and started brandishing it in front of the idols, as if he was threatening them. The rhythm of the djembes picked up. The natives surrounded him, the fire and hapless Moosie in a circle. They squatted, bobbed, shook their spears and also started to chant:
“A-a-a mahe-mahe-mahe i-i-i am-sam-tapum pa-pa-cho! - A-a-a mahe-mahe-mahe i-i-i am-sam-tapum pa-pa-cho!”
The ju-ju man collapsed on the ground. He started convulsing and foaming at the mouth. He looked as if he had already crossed over into the land of the ancestors, but through all that he never let go of the bone knife from his right hand.
Mike turned and looked at his friends. Their fur was on end and their eyes burning, as if they were seeing something terrible that Mike himself hadn’t noticed. Still, Dreamer got a grip on himself, and in his usual deliberate tone pronounced:
“The rite of the invocation of the forces of darkness has been completed,” Camel said, adding “it is time! Let’s move into our assigned positions. We act on signal. I hope that we will provide an unforgettable meeting for the aborigines with their new Mamacho and Papacho.”
The drums boomed, the tambourines jangled and the beads jingled around the necks of the natives in the clearing. And suddenly, as if by command, everything fell silent all at once. The ju-ju man jumped up from the ground, raised his hand with the knife above his head and then...
A fearful, prolonged howl arose from the depths of the forest. It was a mournful, bleak and despairing howl, like only lone, hungry

wolves would make on a moonlit, snowless night. The aborigines stood stock still, thunderstruck.
And all at once, in response to the howl, the rustle of branches being torn apart came from the other side of the clearing. In the hazy light of the moon and the flickering fire, for the first time the aborigines saw with their own eyes the ancestors they had been calling upon for so long. 
Mamacho looked like a giant ruminating beast remotely resembling a bull. He had real horns on his head, like the idol. He was wrapped in a mantle of palm leaves that shone in the moonlight.
Papacho was even more fearsome. He was also wrapped in liana and palm leaves that also shone and shimmered. Although Papacho had no horns, he sported a formidable hump on his back. But most of all, Papacho had only one eye in his forehead, and it shone with a yellow flickering light.
(‘Darn! I should have brought spare batteries with me!’ Mike thought.)
Papacho and Mamacho jumped into the middle of the clearing right up to the fire. Either the ju-ju man’s medicine was not powerful enough that day, or maybe the sacrifice was too puny for the idols, but Mamacho let loose with a deep-chested roar, vaguely resembling the bellowing of an enormous bull. After that, Papacho confirmed his own dissatisfaction with the proceedings. He bellowed, yelled and cried the way wild camels sometimes do in early spring.
Papacho and Mamacho began scattering the primitive juju paraphernalia and trampling it with their hooves in confirmation of

their dissatisfaction. Mamacho leaped to his wooden image and threw the idol into the fire with his horns. He did the same thing with the image of his friend Papacho. At the same time, Papacho skipped around the fire in a frenzy, kicking out in every direction with his rear hooves.
And then the ju-ju man himself fell under Papacho’s furious hoof. Taking a kick to the jaw, the servant of the primordial cult rolled whining around the clearing, and his horned crown flew into the fire too.
The aborigines started screaming, shrieking and squirming. Half of them ran off straight away, throwing down their bows and spears at the clearing, while the other half dropped to the ground, beseeching the great Papacho and Mamacho to forgive them for their unfervent idolatry.
While the aborigines remained entranced, Mike quietly came up from behind to the pole where Moosie was tied up, and cut the ropes with his sabre.
“Moosie, you’re free, let’s run!” Mike whispered urgently.
But Moosie stayed rooted to the spot, as if he was still tied to the pole. Mike lightly shook Moosie by the shoulder. At his touch, the moose slowly began to tilt to one side and collapsed on the ground like a telephone pole.
Moosie, what’s wrong?” Mike leaned over his senseless friend.
But Moosie only twitched his hooves, and showed no other signs of life.
Mike grabbed Moosie by the hoofs and dragged him into the woods.

It was clear that fate had not left the moose any other forms of propulsion on that day.
Suddenly something shone on the ground. Mike let go of the moose’s hooves and bent over. He glimpsed a golden ringlet in the bright light. What luck – it was the chronometer! Mike picked up the clock and put it in his pocket.
After he reached the jungle, Mike stopped to catch his breath. He was sweating profusely. Despite all that Moosie had been through, he was still a well-fed animal. Suddenly Captain Wolf popped up beside him.
“Well, how goes it?” Wolf asked. “Is all in order?”
“Not quite,” Mike replied, “Moosie lost consciousness and can’t do anything. But I found the chronometer!”
“We need to hoof it out of here on the double,” Wolf said, “the natives may come to their senses.”
Mike piled Moosie on Wolf’s back, and tied them together with the remnants of the rope.
“Carrying him on my back like a fairy tale prince! Some pudgy prince he makes!" Wolf grumbled.
“Let’s run back to the boat!” Mike urged.
Mike and Wolf with Moosie on his back ran headlong into the jungle, stumbling over roots and getting snagged in liana. When they were certain that Moosie and Mike were not in the clearing, Papacho and Mamacho galloped off into the forest in the other direction.
“As the ancient Romans would say,” Camel said to Bruiser, tearing off the remnants of his liana camouflage, “’Audaces fortuna juvat’,

which in the Latin means ‘fortune favours the brave’. Nonetheless, I would not care to participate in such a masquerade ever again.”

Chapter 17. The Higher Primate

Mike and Wolf, with Moosie on his back, worked their way through the jungle. Camel still had the torch. The light of the moon barely penetrated the thick overgrowth of the tropical forest.
“We won’t get lost, will we, Wolf?” Mike asked. “How will we find our way back to our boat?”
“I swear by Magellan’s binnacle, boy,” Wolf replied, “I never get lost in a forest. I can sniff the path!”
This mollified Mike somewhat. He cut the liana in front of him, clearing a path. It was hard work, and the friends moved forward slowly. To make matters worse, with Moosie tied to Wolf his horns kept getting hooked and snarled on things. They would have to stop and untangle Moosie from the branches and liana.
After a while Mike was exhausted.
“Can we stop and rest for a while?” he suggested.
“You’re better off not stopping in the jungle at night,” Wolf wheezed, “all the wild beasts are on the prowl at night, I know that for sure.”
All the same, they had to stop. Wolf was obviously tired too; the ropes were digging into his back. They came to the trunk of a gigantic tree, and Mike reached around to untie the rope. Moosie dropped to the ground like a sack.
“Hang an albatross around me neck,” Wolf growled, “but we have to bring the moose around to marching order. I’m no beast of burden to be lugging him all night through the woods.”

Mike took the canteen fastened to his belt, poured some water in his mouth and sprayed it on Moosie’s face. Moosie stirred, whimpered and shook his head.
“Where am I?” Moosie asked in a weak voice. “Who am I? Did they eat me up already?”
“They will now,” Wolf growled, “If you don’t get up on your legs and get those hoofs of yours moving.”
“Don’t be afraid, Moosie,” Mike said, “we saved you from the savages, we’re in the jungle, Wolf and I are here.”
“But where are the savages?” Moosie asked. “Won’t they catch up with us?”
“No, they won’t,” Mike replied. “They’re far away! But you have to get up on your own two legs and go to the boat.”
Moosie tried to raise himself up, but he couldn’t, his hooves refused to cooperate.
“Swat me with a mackerel,” Wolf growled, “it looks like we have to spend the night here. Not the best place for it.”
“We’ll be protecting Moosie so that nobody will carry him off again!” Mike said. “Wolf, you sniff in all directions, so that no predators can sneak up on us, and I’ll shoot and slash if anybody comes.”
“You won’t see much in the dark,” Wolf muttered, “mind you don’t slash up yourself, or us.”
Mike propped Moosie up against the log, and lay against Moosie himself, as if he were a big pillow. Mike held his sabre in his right hand and a loaded pistol in his left. Wolf lay down at Mike’s feet, like a dog. He regularly stuck his nose out in all directions, so as not

to miss any predators. Mike was asleep in less than a minute.
He woke up from a sharp pain in his head. It felt as if something had stung him in the forehead. Mike started, rubbed the sore spot and looked around himself.
The sun was already up, winking through the dense treetops. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Moosie was sleeping peacefully at Mike’s back; Wolf was stretched out with his muzzle on his front paws. But Mike’s head still hurt.
Mike turned his head to all sides, and suddenly he saw a broad, toothy face that seemed to be hanging in midair ten feet in front of him. Mike wanted to cry out, but he was struck dumb.
“Shut your mouth!” The face said, “you’ll wake up the whole jungle! What’s the big deal? You got a nut dropped on your head.”
Mike realized that the face belonged to a big monkey sitting on a nearby liana, as if on a swing.
“You...who are you?” Mike said, swallowing his saliva and finding his voice. “Are you a monkey?”
“Who are you calling a monkey?!” the face replied. “It’s you that’s a monkey, and an ugly one to boot! I’m a higher primate! Higher! You underthtand?”
The monkey was apparently quite annoyed. What’s more, she lisped when she talked, which is why she said ‘underthtand’ instead of ‘understand’.
Mike didn’t get scared; on the contrary, he found it amusing.
“I underthtand,” Mike said, smiling, “you’re a higher primate. What’s your name?”
“What are you thmiling at, boy?” the monkey said, taking offense.

“Just look at you, you homo sapiens pisant!”
“Who?” Mike said, surprised. “What did you call me?”
“Thtupid child,” the monkey replied, “I said: Homo thapiens, and that means “wise man”. Some ‘wise man’ you are!” the monkey lisped, “with a boobie on your head!”
And the monkey started to giggle.
Mike got really angry, but then he realized that the monkey meant “with a booboo”, that is, a bump on his head. He began to feel it was funny again.
On hearing Mike laughing, Wolf rolled over, stretched and yawned, opening wide his toothy maw. He lifted his head and stared at the monkey.
The monkey wasn’t at all afraid of Wolf. She started giggling nastily again.
“Oh, I can’t take it!” the monkey mocked. “Have a look at this wild beatht, see what he looks like! A regular thcarecrow! Look at all the doo-dads he’s got on! And what’s that you got on your head? A hat?” and the monkey began jumping and swinging around the liana with delight.
Wolf jumped up, hopped around flapping his jaws in the air, trying to catch the monkey. But the monkey deftly jumped from side to side, continuing to mock him.
All the fuss and noise woke Moosie up. He came out from behind Mike’s back. Moosie didn’t look very well; his horns and ears were all droopy. Bits of rope, leaves and thorns clung to his jacket and hoofs.
On seeing Moosie, the monkey erupted in delight.

“And who’s the freak with the horns? Where did you get him from? Did you use him to thweep up the jungle?
“No, I’m Moosie,” Moosie answered, “I’m little white Moosie, and the savages stole me and wanted to eat me up!”
At Moosie’s words the monkey went ecstatic with laughter. But she dropped her guard. Unobserved, Mike grabbed the nut from the ground that the monkey had thrown at him. With a quick, deft move, Mike threw the nut back at her, trying to hit her open, laughing mouth. And he did.
The laughter died, and the monkey choked and started coughing.
“What are you doing?” the monkey yelped, as soon as she managed to spit the nut out. “What are you doing, you little skunk?”
“And why are you picking on us?” Mike said calmly. “You can see that we’re travellers, we’ve had some trouble, and we need help!”
The monkey calmed down all at once.
“Some travellers! Where are you travelling?” She asked.
“We’re looking for the path to the shore, to the bay where our ship is.”
“Ship?” the monkey said, all ears. “You’re travelling on a ship across the sea?”
“Yes,” Mike answered proudly, “on a ship, across the sea. And this is our captain!” Mike said, pointing at Wolf.
Wolf dusted off up his doublet and hat at this point, and straightened out his belt and the sword he had stuck in it.
“May the baboons eat me for supper,” Wolf said, “if I’m not the captain of our ship!”
Apparently the monkey didn’t hold Wolf’s observations about

baboons against him.
“And what are you doing here, in the middle of the jungle?” the monkey asked.
“We’re lost,” Mike honestly acknowledged.
“Oh, I can’t take it! How’d you end up like this?-!” the monkey started, but abruptly changed her tone. “Okay, travellers, follow me, I’ll show you the way!”

Chapter 18. The New Member of the Crew

Camel and Bruiser gathered everything into the boat and wandered back and forth along the shore, not knowing what to do.
“I’ll go find them,” Bruiser said, “and if I don’t, I’ll butt heads with everybody.”
“Who will you butt heads with?” Camel asked. “You can’t go about butting the whole jungle! And what’s more important, how is that going to help find them?”
“I don’t know,” Bruiser said, “but we gotta do something!”
“There are occasions when doing nothing is in itself a pro-active attitude,” Camel replied, “our friends could not have just disappeared. Sooner or later, they will extricate themselves from the jungle, and we should be right on the spot for them. Possibly they will require urgent extraction.”
“Ex... what kind of ‘traction’ are you talking about?” said Bruiser, not understanding.
At that moment, the branches of the trees across from the boat parted, and Mike, Wolf and Moosie appeared on the beach. They looked bedraggled but brave. A big, humanlike monkey stumbled along on all fours in front of them.
Camel and Bruiser ran to meet them. The greetings were hearty but brief.
“You shouldn’t hang around too long on the beach here,” said the monkey, interrupting the friends’ happy reunion, “you’ve already met the savages. They may come back here any time.”

Camel ceremoniously turned to the monkey and said:
“My dear representative of quadrumane order! Allow us to introduce ourselves. My name is Camel Dromedary, and this is my comrade the buffalo, called Bruiser. We sincerely thank you for providing invaluable assistance to our lost friends! And who might you be?”
“I’m a higher primate,” the monkey said,” I’ve lived in these parts all my life. My name’s Clarissa.”
“It is an overwhelming pleasure to make your acquaintance, dearest Clarissa,” Camel said. “How can we thank you for your assistance?”
Clarissa thought for a second, and then said:
“Take my son with you on your ship, please! As a sailor or whatever you need! He’s a good youngster, he loves to travel, he’s a great climber through the trees, and he’ll be a natural hanging about those things you’ve got sticking out of your ship...
“The masts,” Captain Wolf chimed in.
“Yeah, and those too,” Clarissa said.
The friends were a bit surprised at the request.
“But where is your son?” Wolf asked. “And why doesn’t he speak for himself?”
“He’s bashful,” Clarissa answered, “he’s such a shy boy.”
“My dearest Clarissa,” Camel said, “Before we make a final decision regarding accepting your offspring into our ship’s company, we must at a minimum acquaint ourselves with him personally and conduct, shall we say, an interview...”
“Sure thing!” Clarissa said, “not a problem!”

She let out a booming, hooting sound, and all at once a hefty, shaggy monkey jumped out of the forest onto the beach. Hopping forward on all fours, he quickly raced across the beach and jumped over to the group.
‘Hello, folks!” the hefty primate cried. “My name’s Simeon, what’s yours? These three,” Simeon indicated Mike, Wolf and Moosie, “I already saw in the woods, so we’re already almost friends!”
The voyagers were surprised by the sudden and eager appearance of the new candidate for the crew.
“Uh... how did you find us so fast?” Captain Wolf asked.
“I’ve been right nearby all the time,” Simeon replied, “I’m always right behind my momma.”
“He’s a very good boy, and he never strays far from me,” Clarissa explained.
“My dear Simeon,” Camel said, addressing the young primate, “pray tell me, why would you like to sail on our ship?”
“But I don’t want to,” Simeon answered, “what’s there for me out there? I’m happy in the forest!”
The friends stared at him pop-eyed.
“That’ll do, Simeon!” Clarissa cried. “I’ll explain everything to you!” She said, hastily addressing the travellers. “You see, I’m the one who wants him to travel off somewhere. There has been such a breakdown in moral values here in this forest! You’ve seen the savages?
Well, here’s what happened! They overran this place five thousand years ago, bringing their ways. They eat animals! They attack us higher primates! You’d think they would have learned a thing or

two after all those years.
They’re not even any good at climbing through the trees! Really!” the monkey jabbered. “We’re living among savages. In a word, it’s a jungle in there! I even went to school before, graduated and everything, but now it’s closed. What’s a young monkey supposed to learn here? Hanging around from branch to branch? Tearing bananas off the trees? Any gibbon can do that. But my Simeon is a clever, impressionable young boy; he needs a change of scenery and to learn a good trade. So I thought that...”
“I’m not going anywhere without my momma!” Simeon bawled unexpectedly in a deep voice. “I love my momma!”
“In truth, he’s still very much a baby,” Clarissa smiled, “but he has a good heart, and he’s not a bit like those baboons and marmosets! He can be a great benefit to you. Simeon is the island junior champion for climbing liana. You won’t find a better sailor than him!”
“Momma! Don’t leave me!” the young ape wailed again.
“I know, I know, he won’t go anywhere without me,” Clarissa said, “he loves his momma so! And although I hate the sea, I’m prepared to make the ultimate self-sacrifice for my son.”
“And what might that be?” Wolf asked, uncomprehending.
“If you mean what I can give you,” the monkey quickly said, “don’t worry, I have the biggest supply of dates, figs and dried bananas in this jungle. You could say that I’ve prepared a dowry for my sonny boy. Saved it from the parrots and the baboons. Take us on the ship, and we’ll bring it all over here by evening. I’ve got about five hundred pounds ...”

“Most esteemed Clarissa,” Camel spoke up first, as always in delicate situations, “we thank you for your most gracious offer; however, we do not in any manner associate the possibility of your voyage on our ship with the size of your material contribution to our provisions. I am, however, somewhat bemused by the fact that you are willing to abandon your homeland and set off on a dangerous voyage across the sea, which to the best of my knowledge is not your native element...”
The monkey fell silent and looked intently at Camel.
“Well, they call you the ship of the desert, and look at you, you’re sailing the seven seas! So why can’t we higher primates do it?” She said.
Camel, taken aback, fell silent.
“We need a body to work aloft!” Wolf said, unexpectedly breaking in on the conversation. “Our boy Mike here is totally exhausted. And here for one pair of mouths we get four pairs of hands. And the provisions will do us no harm.”
Suddenly Mike let out a loud yell. Everybody turned to look. Mike and Simeon were rolling on the sand, one on top of the other.
“That’s not fair,” Mike cried, “I tripped you under your hand, and you tripped me under my foot! But you’re not getting away from me!”
Dreamer studied the two youngsters.
“I deem that it will do no harm for our young friend to have a lively relationship with a boy his own age,” Camel said.
“Break out your bananas, monkey,” Captain Wolf wheezed, “we’ve had a bilgeful of the tropics; we’ll set course for the

north-northeast!”

Chapter 19. Saving Isolde

The course across the ocean did not skirt too close along the shores of Africa. But for Mike, life on board the ship had gotten much easier. He didn’t have to climb up and down the masts any more. Simeon took the job, although for Simeon you couldn’t call it work. He jumped around the yardarms so contentedly that it was all that Clarissa could do to make him come down.
What’s more, Mike was promoted. Captain Wolf made him a seaman, and Simeon became the cabin boy. Wolf fully trusted Mike with the management of the brig, and took the helm himself only in very heavy seas or to let Mike get some rest.
Moosie wasn’t allowed to take the helm. This offended him somewhat, but his sadness was relieved by the surfeit of ‘date lichen’ and ‘banana lichen’ that the ship had loads of now.
Clarissa took up the job of cook; she prepared and served the meals. It was true that her menus were somewhat monotonous – dates, figs and bananas prepared in various ways. At first the friends were delighted with such sweet repast, but after three days they grew weary of it. They wanted potatoes, and macaroni, and pickles – but unfortunately, the supply of these things was already exhausted.
Bruiser spent most of his days below deck, sharpening his horns on the bulkheads.
“Swordfish in me side”, Captain Wolf said one day to Bruiser, “you’re wearing down all the bulkheads!”

“Swordfish?” Bruiser asked, unruffled, “can you butt heads with them?”
Captain Wolf cursed in frustration and went on deck to check the rigging.
Meanwhile, Camel stretched out in the bow like before as lookout, either dozing or staring out at the endless ocean.
On the morning of the fifth day, Dreamer raised his left eyebrow and said in a totally expressionless voice:
“There appears to be some sort of wooden log sailing up right in our path!”
“Blast your landlubbing eyes,” Wolf wheezed, “this is no watering hole! Logs don’t sail across the ocean!”
The friends all gathered at the bow of the ship and began looking forward.
“No, it’s not a log!” Captain Wolf said, taking the long glass away from his eye. “It could be flotsam from a sunken ship.”
Mike took the long glass and saw a strange structure consisting of a tangle of rope, branches and sticks. Some sort of tent was stuck on top of it, covered with different coloured pieces of faded cloth.
The unrecognizable construction slowly drifted across the path of Michael’s Ark.
“Let’s see what it is!” Mike suggested.
“What’s there to look at?” Wolf growled. “It’s probably some cattle pen carried off by the sea!” But then all the same he ordered “furl the sails, come two points to port, dead slow, prepare the life boat!”
Mike, Camel and Simeon had the boat in the water in a minute.

They quickly rowed over to the floating timber.
“Ahoy! Is anybody alive there?” Mike cried loudly.
There was no answer.
“I believe that the colourful fabrics on the surface of this phantasmagoria,” said Camel, “at one time belonged to living creatures. It would be proper to confirm that none of them are any longer aboard.”
With one swoop, Simeon jumped on the floating structure and stuck his head in the tangle of branches. The shrill cry of the young primate was heard a second later. Simeon jumped out, grimaced, and whooping loudly started beating himself with his curled fingers on his head and chest.
“What? What is it, Simeon baby?!” Clarissa cried desperately from the deck of the Ark.
But the hefty youngster didn’t answer his momma, he just kept beating himself on the head and chest, yelling and jumping up and down.
“There’s somebody in there!” Clarissa cried from the deck. “Get in there and help my baby, you knuckleheads, or I’ll jump in and swim over there myself!”
Mike pulled his sabre from its sheath and working his way through the branches, carefully made his way into the ‘phantasmagoria’. He pulled aside the faded matting that covered the entrance to the tent, and...was dumbstruck.
Three lifeless bodies, one with ruddy fur and two with stripes, were lying amongst scattered scraps of cloth and overturned dishes.
Swallowing his fear, Mike climbed in.

The ruddy beast vaguely resembled a shabby looking lion, the second could have formerly been a tiger, and the third animal had hoofs like a horse, but had alternating white and black stripes all over its body.
Mike carefully poked the zebra with the point of his sabre, and all at once he saw that one of the animal’s hoofs moved.
Mike hopped outside and called with all his strength:
“Help! Come fast, we have injuries here, we need help!”
An hour later, the rescue operation was finished. The three unfortunate animals were transferred on board Michael’s Ark. As it turned out, they were alive, but in very bad condition. They took them below to the hold.
“Dehydration,” Camel said, “very dangerous for any living organism – death may come at any time. Unfortunately, we have no drip bottles to supply them intravenously.”
But Mike managed to set up an infusion for them all the same. He put straws in the mouths of each of the patients and started to pour water down them with a teaspoon. But the water wouldn’t flow through the straws. Then Mike started sucking water from a glass into the straws and blowing it out in turn into the mouths of each of the animals.
Everybody tried to help Mike. Moosie fussed around most of all. He sniffed the patients right in their noses and snorted noisily.
“What are you doing, Moosie?” Mike said, getting angry. “Can you see you’re not helping them?”
“I’m little white Moosie,” Moosie answered, “but I have a magic nose, whoever I sniff gets well right away!”

“No more nonsense,” Mike said, fending off Moosie, “bring damp cloths instead!”
“It’s not nonsense,” said Moosie, not to be put off, “when you were little and very sick, I used to sniff you all the time, and you got well soon. And look at how big and strong you are now!”
Mike couldn’t find anything to say to that.
Maybe Moosie did indeed have a ‘magic nose’, or maybe it was the water Mike poured into them that did the trick, but by evening the patients had started to recover.
The first to come around was zebra. With some difficulty, she fluttered her long eyelashes and looked around at everybody.
“Where am I?” the zebra said weakly, and then lost consciousness again.
Mike got no sleep that night. The lion and tiger broke into a high fever. They growled and thrashed around in their bunks. The damp cloths were drying up so quickly on the sick animals that Mike couldn’t change them fast enough.
Towards morning they calmed down and began snoring sonorously. Mike fell asleep too, tucking his head down on his knees.
He woke up in his bunk, lifted his head and saw that the whole ship’s company, except for Wolf, were crowded around the bunks where the rescued animals were.
The lion, tiger and zebra weren’t lying down any more; they were sitting up, their elbows dug into the pillows. They each had a cup of cold tea in their paws. Clarissa was combing the lion’s tangled mane.
“Just keep still, will you please, Mr King of Beasts,” she lisped, “you

look like a hyena, not a lion.”
The lion growled weakly, but kept still.
Simeon was picking over the tiger’s fur with his long fingers, plucking out and eating nonexistent fleas. The tiger was enjoying this very much, and purred like a cat after his lunch.
The zebra was sipping tea from a small glass, with one hoof thrown coquettishly to the side. Now and then, Camel wiped her mouth carefully with a damp towel. Moosie sat opposite, very proud and full of himself.
“I told you, I have a magic nose! Look, they all got well!”
“My goodness, that was dreadful!” zebra began, sipping her cold tea, “I prefer not to think about it! How could I have ever agreed to this misadventure?”
“Yes, it was dreadful,” the tiger agreed, “I told my Lord Leonidus that no good would come of this scheme!”
“You said nothing of the sort, Tigeran,” the lion demurred, “you were all in favour of the idea at first.”
“Yes, I was, sir, because I didn’t dare oppose it. After all, you’re the king of beasts, and I’m only your deputy.”
“These felines,” the zebra began, sighing, “they’re so impractical, so flighty! You simply can’t rely on them.”
“Yes, yes,” Tigeran added in support of the zebra, “we’re impractical, we’re romantics!”
“And who can you rely on now?” Leonidus disagreed. “Tell me, Isolde darling, who can you rely on? On crocodiles, rhinoceroses, or maybe hyenas? At least we didn’t eat you when things turned badly, my dear.”

The lion let loose with a booming laugh.
“Oh, spare me your barracks humour!” Zebra said. “Please don’t start on that! Or perhaps you think I should thank you?”
Mike understood from the conversation between the rescued animals that the lion was named Leonidus, the tiger Tigeran and the zebra Isolde. Isolde was a chanteuse, singing chansons in the Parisianstyle. Leonidus and Tigeran were well-disposed toward her. At first, Isolde was quite successful; she had a great many engagements, but then her reputation began to fade, a fact which Isolde did not wish to resign herself to. All Isolde’s former admirers deserted her; only the lion and tiger remained true. And Isolde decided that she needed to go on a world tour. The idea obsessed her day and night.
“I must conquer the whole world, or else I shall die!” she told Leonidus and Tigeran.
But she had no idea how to go about arranging the world tour. Then Leonidus proposed that they build a ship. He had read somewhere that his ancestors had crossed the ocean on reed boats and had conquered the New World.
Tigeran did not share this belief, but he didn’t want to argue with his master, the king of beasts, or more importantly, look like a coward in Isolde’s eyes.
In the course of constructing the boat, it became clear that reeds didn’t grow around where they lived, so they began collecting everything they could find – branches, brushwood and dried bushes.
As could be expected, the resulting ship was quite unseaworthy.

Their mast was ripped off in the first storm they encountered, and the animals drifted for three weeks in the open ocean. They used up all their water and food. The voyagers were dying of hunger and thirst and would have no doubt perished if Michael’s Ark hadn’t picked them up.
On recalling the story, the zebra began to cry. But all the same, in the depths of her soul she was happy that two mighty beasts had decided to embark on such a reckless scheme for her sake.
In the evenings, when the sun dropped below the horizon and the first stars began to shine, all the animals and Mike would gather on deck. They sat in a semicircle, and Isolde would come out to the centre, stand up on her hind hoofs and sing to the melody ‘Jamais’ by Alexander Vertinsky, in her lovely although somewhat saccharine voice:
And once again my soul, all tattered and asunder,
Seeks peace and solace in the Bois de Boulogne.
But past allures have all seemed to have died,
That glass already dried,
And one small tear wells up and falls and drops down in
The gloomy Paris darkness.
So when tomorrow comes, I’ll climb the Eiffel Tower
And look with pangs of heartache to the east.
And like a leaf in autumn, brown and dried,
I shall decide:
It’s on to Paris I will go, to Paris...but
So fearful is the prospect!
There in the light of the moon, the zebra’s song left a powerful

impression on the animals.
Leonidus and Tigeran turned red and lowered their eyes like schoolgirls. The mighty Captain Wolf snuffled and began howling, Moosie got scared and hid behind the mast, Bruiser bellowed like a ship’s siren, the monkeys clapped their palms and threw bananas around...and Camel was falling asleep.
During one of these concerts, Mike felt something gigantic and shaggy drop quietly down between him and the mast onto the deck. It turned out to be Leonidus.
“My boy, do you know what the most fearful thing on earth is?” the lion suddenly asked in a low voice, never taking his eyes off of the soloist.
“No,” Mike answered. “Some kind of monster or witch, or an explosion or a tornado?”
The lion smirked.
“To die for love and friendship is the greatest happiness on earth. At least, it is for us lions.”
“And the worst?” Mike demanded.
“Understand this, my boy, and if you don’t understand it now, just remember it for later. The most fearful thing on earth is to lose love or honour.”
“I can understand losing honour, but how can you lose love?” Mike queried.“Well, one way is that you can just lose a friend,” Leonidus said, “you come to the place where you always meet, and he’s not there.”
“Maybe he just went somewhere?” Mike said.
“Maybe,” Leo replied. “But it could be something worse!”

“Worse – like when your friend dies?”“Yes,” Leo answered, “when he dies, although that is not always the worst.”
Leo fell silent for a minute, and then shook his mane.
“Just imagine that you come with your friend to your favourite glade, where your favourite butterflies flutter along, and where your favourite brook babbles by. And like the year before, the sun goes down, and the same bumble bee settles on your nose, and you look each other in the eye and you realize that you don’t need each other. That is to say, you don’t need each other the way you did a year ago, or a month ago, or even an hour before. And there’s nothing to be done for it. Nothing! Do you understand, young man? That means that love has flown. And it’s as if your life has lost its meaning. Sometimes for a while, sometimes forever. But listen, you’re still young, and when something like this happens to you – and it happens to every beast, don’t lose heart – just remember the foolish old lion and smile for a second. The first time it will pass quite easily. Do you understand me, young man?
“Uh-huh,” Mike said, settling himself comfortably on the lion’s belly and dozing off. And a high wind filled the sails of Michael’s Ark, easing her on.

Chapter 20. Frau Sichel

The number of mouths to feed on the ship had increased, and before long the supplies of potted meat and dried fruit started to come to an end. The lion, tiger and zebra were almost all well. But Mike, Leonidus and Tigeran began bleeding at the gums.
“The lack of ascorbic acid, or stated simply, vitamin C, in our rations has brought on scorbutus, better known as scurvy,” Camel said, “vitamin C is found in great measure in fresh vegetables and fruits. We need to replenish our supply of fresh provisions.”
“By my reckoning,” Captain Wolf said, “land is another sixty miles to the east. “With fair winds, we do up to eleven knots. We should see land by dawn.”
Mike went below to give the good news to all the voyagers.
“Captain Wolf says that we’ll reach land tomorrow!”
The news was greeted by a chorus of roars and whinnies.
The next morning, Mike relieved the watch, took Wolf’s long glass and after looking through it closely, said:
“There’s land to port, land to starboard and water in between. It looks as if we’re going into some strait.”
“By Gibraltar and Malacca,” Captain Wolf said, “anything can happen when you go through straits! All hands on deck!” He ordered.
The animals poured out onto the deck.
“Bring her closer to the starboard shore,” Wolf ordered.
Mike turned the helm two points to starboard.

The ship moved to just a mile offshore. The voyagers could see tidy little homes, the bright little patterns of front gardens, straight roads and sandy beaches. The shore wasn’t just inhabited; it was thickly populated. You could see that the residents of the country liked comfort and order, and carefully tended each patch of earth.
The friends stood on the deck, deeply moved and quiet. Even Bruiser didn’t express any apparent desire to butt heads.
A whole hour went by before Mike asked Wolf: “Captain, will we keep going like this for long? Maybe we should disembark.”
“By Captain Bligh’s breeches!” Wolf said angrily, “every sailor wants to tell me what to do! I’ve been looking all this time for a bay where we can moor.”
“Why don’t we just drop anchor and lower the boat?” Mike asked circumspectly.
“Because, seaman, I see special markers over there on the shore!”
“What kind of markers?” Mike said, interested. “Markers for what?”
“Not for ‘what’, matey – navigational markers! And it’s high time that you learned them! Look!”
Mike took the long glass from Wolf’s paw and looked at the shore. He saw red and white signs with anchors drawn and crossed out on them.
“Do you see?” Wolf replied. “That means ‘don’t drop anchor, don’t stand in the roadstead! We need to move on!”
“And will we have to go far?” Mike asked.
“I’ll be switched if I know,” Wolf growled, “we need to find a port or a harbour.”
They kept sailing until they saw a cosy little bay with a well-kept pier

and a white house by the water.
“Well, Wolf, shall we heave to?” Mike asked once more.
“Oh, why not? Let’s do it. By Captain Ahab’s leg! Five points to starboard! All hands to their stations! Take in the sails!”
Simeon shot up the mast like a bullet.
It was decided to divide the crew into two groups. Camel advised their newly rescued friends to stay on board to build up their strength. In reality, he was afraid that the sudden appearance of such a large number of wild animals would strike panic in the local populace. The higher primates also stayed behind. They were charged with preparing containers to hold fresh provisions.
The brig slowly and majestically sidled up to the pier, nosed her starboard side up to the fenders and stopped.
“Get out all lines!” Wolf ordered.
Mike threw the lines on the bollards and tied up the ship carefully using a real sailor’s knot.
The friends went ashore and looked around. The little house on the shore didn’t look so little any more. It was a substantial two-storey residence with a high tiled roof. A weather vane that looked like a candy rooster stuck up from the top.
A path led up to the house, tightly paved with square white tiles and bordered with ornamental red bricks.
It seemed strange to the friends that nobody came out to meet them.
Wolf, Camel, Moosie, Bruiser and Mike began slowly walking up the path to the house. To their left was a well-kept vegetable garden, looking as if it was laid out with a ruler, and on their right was a plot

with apple, pear and plum trees perfectly arranged, with exactly the same distance between each tree. The friends tried to walk only on the path and not step in the dirt. Only Bruiser got carried away and snapped up a little yellow flower from the lawn that the lawn mower had missed.
They came up to the porch and stopped. There wasn’t a sound anywhere. Mike waited a moment and then went up on the porch and resolutely knocked on the door.
A moment later they heard a commotion from behind the door, and a weak, trembling voice bleated “Who-o-o’s there?”
“We’re voyagers from another land, we’ve come in peace and we’re looking for shelter!” Mike said, using a phrase he had memorized.
“A-a-and?” The same voice bleated.
“We need fresh water and fruit for our crew,” Mike continued.
“No-o-o,” came from behind the door, “I don’t have a-a-anything.”
“Palaver!” Wolf growled, “you’ve got plenty of everything here!”
“If you are going to qua-a-arrel with me and try to take my things, I’ll call the poli-i-ice,” the voice bleated in response.
Bruiser suddenly let loose with a deep, drawn-out noise like a steamship’s whistle when it leaves port:
“Moooo!”
The friends turned around, but Bruiser continued to chew on the flower with an expressionless air.
The door of the house suddenly opened, and the face of a sheep appeared, wearing a funny straw hat decorated with dried flowers.
“Ba-a-ah! A-a-all right, come in,” the sheep bleated.
The friends stepped warily into the house.

“Wipe your hoofs!” the mistress of the house said, “and your feet too,” she added on seeing Mike. Then the sheep turned her gaze on Wolf:
“Predators not allowed!”
“He isn’t a predator, he’s our captain, and he’s a vegetarian to boot,” Mike said, speaking up for Wolf.
“Ve-e-egetarianism is in style now, I’m a ve-e-egetarian myself,” the sheep said, mollified, “but this is the first wolf that was ever under my roof.”
The friends looked around. The whole house was filled with pictures showing lambs and kids in fields and meadows. Garlands of dried roses were entwined along the walls. Every sofa and chair sported bright, gaudy antimacassars. It was hard to see how you could sit on sofas or chairs like these. But the sheep didn’t offer for them to sit down.
“My name is Frau Sichel,” the sheep said, “why are you on my property?”
“My dearest Frau Sichel,” Camel said, assuming the initiative for opening negotiations, “We are undertaking a cruise around the world, for educational purposes. We are peaceful voyagers and will inflict no harm on anyone. We merely wish to replenish our provisions.”
“Pe-e-eaceful,” Frau Sichel grumbled, “and you dirty my path, stomp on my flower bed and pick my flowers!”
Camel was a bit nonplussed.
“Mooo!” Bellowed Bruiser, but not as loud as the first time, “isn’t there anybody to butt heads with here?”

Frau Sichel looked intently at Bruiser.
“Only bucks and rams but heads,” she replied, “and you will find not a few such specimens in our community, but for that you ha-a-ave to go elsewhere, not on my pro-o-operty.”
Mike decided to take the sheep by the horns, so to speak, although this sheep don’t have horns.
“Can we pick apples, pears and plums in your garden?” He asked.
“And what will you gi-i-ive me in return?” she bleated.
Mike was going to offer her potted meat, but all of a sudden he remembered what Frau Sichel said about vegetarianism.
“We can give you a ride on our ship!” he said.
“Inde-e-eed! That’s all I need! Why would I want tha-a-at?” Frau Sichel bleated.
“Do you want me to butt somebody for you?” Bruiser asked unexpectedly.
“That is strictly against the law, the police will take you away!” the sheep answered, although the idea appeared to interest her. “You have to register with a sporting club to legally butt heads!”
The conversation had reached a dead end.
“My dear Frau Sichel,” Dreamer began, trying to salvage the situation, “perhaps you have some sort of problem or task that you would find us useful in solving?”
“No-o-o, I have no problems,” Frau Sichel responded, “my only problem is that every goat that wants to comes into my garden and tramples it.”
Mike wanted to feel offended for his friends, but Wolf took her words literally.

“Let us guard your garden today,” he suggested, “and you’ll give us food and water in return.”
“The only ones that showed up in my garden today were you,” retorted Frau Sichel, “do you intend to guard my garden from yourselves?”
An awkward pause in the conversation ensued. The friends were planning to leave, when Frau Sichel herself broke the silence.
“A-a-all right,” she said, “I will make you a proposal, and you can either accept it or shove off. I have a pa-a-arty to go to tonight, a lot of ewes will be coming with their rams, and I kicked my ram out lo-o-ong ago. I ne-e-eed an escort. And one of you will fill the role quite we-e-ell.”
The sheep pointed her hoof at Bruiser.
“If he will behave himself, not butt anybody and do whatever I say,” Frau Sichel continued, “I’ll give each of you an apple and a pear, let you fill a barrel of water from my well and I won’t tell the police about you trespassing on my pro-o-operty.”
The friends were bemused by such a proposition and looked at Bruiser. But Bruiser seemed quite happy with it.
“Will there be grass to eat?” He asked.
“Each guest will be o-o-offered one dish of asparagus, but it is strictly forbidden to stick your muzzle into other animals’ dishes,” she answered.
“So what will I be doing there?” Bruiser asked.
“Nothing, absolu-u-utely nothing, just sit down and keep quiet,” Frau Sichel replied, “all the rams have to sit and be qui-i-iet while the ewes talk. It’s what we call emancipa-a-ation. Do you

understand?”
“I understand,” Bruiser said, “I know how to keep quiet, it wasn’t every day that we had somebody to talk to on the prairie! Will any bucks be there?”
“No-o-o!” Frau Sichel said. “Goats are not invited in our circle; bucks go to other parties with their does. So what do you say?”
“Okay,” Bruiser said, “I’m ready to even sit all night in a hole with coyotes for my friends.”
“Dearest Frau Sichel,” Camel began again, “would you not deem the other members of our crew to also be fit company for your lovely ladies?”
“There’ll be no lovely la-a-adies there, except for me-e-e. And they wouldn’t accept any male specimens without ho-o-orns at the party. You have to have horns!”
On hearing these words, Moosie suddenly perked up and spouted:
“And what about me? I’ve got handlers too. And I’m not just Moosie, I’m Seamoosie!”
The sheep looked Moosie over from horns to hoofs.
“Na-a-ah!” She bleated, “a weakling like you, with droopy horns like that. We can do without a buck like you!”
Moosie puffed out his cheeks, feeling hurt. Meanwhile, the sheep went on:
“You all stay in my yard and guard my garden while I’m gone. And don’t even think about pilfering anything! I’ll call the police. And remember, your confe-e-ederate will stay in my hoofs.”
The friends sighed deeply and started to go outside.

Chapter 21. Hare’s Tricks

Frau Sichel and Bruiser went out to the party, and the friends situated themselves on the porch of her locked house. Mike brought some dry rations from the ship and split them among all the animals. The friends chewed silently on the dried fruit and watched the sun drop into the ocean.
“I should think,” Camel said, breaking the silence, “that we could have found a more hospitable place to land.”
“By the black hole of Calcutta,” Wolf replied, taking a pit from a dried apricot out of his mouth, “I’d rather land on a shore surrounded by wolfhounds. If I weren’t a vegetarian, I’d...”
“There is no point in indulging in vindictive fantasies,” Camel said, interrupting him.  “Let us rather think of how to turn our current circumstances to our advantage.”
“By Nelson at Trafalgar,” Wolf said, “that ewe is having us on! And she’s taken our weapon with her to boot – Bruiser!”
“Under the circumstances, such a weapon would only be a drawback for us,” Dreamer observed, “so let him eat asparagus, at least.”
“I hope he has enough sense not to butt heads with the rams.” Wolf said.
“He will hardly have any interest in butting heads with the local rams,” Camel said.
Moosie chewed on a dry fig and glanced sadly at the glade of fresh clover surrounding the tidy little pond.

“Bored? Stuck in the doldrums?” An unfamiliar voice said from behind the fence.
The friends turned around and saw a pair of long ears.
Then the ears soared into the air, and landed on the glade along with their owner. A large, fawn-coloured jackrabbit stood in front of the voyagers. His two long front teeth stuck out from his mouth, making him look as if he was always smiling.
“Guarding the garden, eh?” The hare asked cheerfully. “So you’re travellers!” he asserted.
“We are guarding it indeed!” Wolf wheezed. “From the likes of you!”
“Don’t get huffy!” The hare said, without a tinge of offence in his voice. “I don’t take other people’s stuff. And I guess you guys are doing this for apples?”
The jackrabbit had sort of slanted, squinty eyes, making him look as if he was always scheming and laughing.
“How do you know, ya squint?” Wolf answered.
“What’s to know?” The hare replied cheerfully, settling himself down on the porch. “You won’t get nowhere with Frau Sichel! You’ll see the back of your ear before you’ll see one of her apples.”
The hare dropped his long ears over his eyes and started to laugh.
“Why shouldn’t we?” Wolf said, starting to get upset. “She promised...”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the hare said, his voice whistling, “but promising and getting ain’t the same thing, are they?”
The jackrabbit started laughing merrily again.
“My dear hare,” Camel said, addressing the long-eared creature, “I

beg you to explain your comments to us and describe the situation clearly. You see, we’re...”
“...sailing on a ship, you tied up here, you wanted to get a meal and you were told to hop it, and so now you’re guarding the garden? What’s not to see? It’s all perfectly clear! You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. That’s the way they are here.”
“The way they are?” Camel emphasized. “And what about you? Excuse me; I don’t yet have the pleasure of your acquaintance...”
“Hare,” said the jackrabbit, “just call me Hare! Us hares don’t have names here, everybody just says ‘hey you, hare, come here!’ or ‘hey you, hare, get out of here!’ That’s all! So you can call me that.”
“As far as I can understand, my dear Hare,” Camel said, “it would appear that you are not a local resident?”
“None of us hares are,” said Hare, “we came here from out of the forest because we were starving.”
He started laughing again.
“Why are you laughing, finding yourself in such an unfortunate situation?” Dreamer asked.
“What else is there to do?” The jackrabbit answered. “No point in crying! That’s the way we are – we’re a merry bunch!”
“Listen, Hare,” Mike said to their long-eared acquaintance, “can you please tell us how best to get out of here without ending up in jail, and getting a load of apples and pears too?”
“I get it,” The jackrabbit replied, “Lemmee think about it!”
“Camel is the smartest one here,” Mike said, “He’s been thinking about it but so far he’s come up with nothing.”
“He ain’t thinking the right way,” the jackrabbit said, glancing

at Camel, “you gotta be a little sneaky!” Hare fell silent, and then asked:
“Do I get a share?”
“A share of what?” Mike asked, not understanding.
“Do we split the apples and pears?” Hare explained.
“Of course!” Mike said. “If we had them, we’d share them right away.”
Hare eyed Mike with his slanty eyes mistrustfully.
“All right,” the jackrabbit said after thinking it over, “you seem to be a trustworthy bunch, I’ll help you, but you won’t cheat me later, right?”
Later that evening, when the moon was riding high in the sky and the multicoloured lamps in the streetlights were twinkling, Frau Sichel came home with Bruiser. She hadn’t yet gone through the gate when the jackrabbit passed in front of her, pushing a wheelbarrow full of dried dates and bananas. (They were the last supplies from Michael’s Ark). Hare pushed the wheelbarrow towards the ship, paying no attention to the sheep.
“Hey you, hare, come here,” Frau Sichel yelled at him, “what are you doing here on my property?”
“Oh, forgive me, Sichel, please forgive me, madam,” Hare stammered, “this is the last batch I’m taking to the ship, that’s all. I’ll get out of here!”
“Why are you taking fruit to the ship?” Sichel asked.
“Oh, I beg your pardon too much, missie! Them travellers hired me to bring them fruit from the market. They said they couldn’t do it themselves, ‘cause they were guarding the Frau’s garden.

The sheep thought this over, and then she asked:
“And what did they use for money to buy this in the market?”
“Oh, I’m sorry Sichel, forgive me, madam, but I’m not free to say!” The jackrabbit said, frightened. “It’s a big secret, you see.”
“Bruiser, go join your friends,” Frau Sichel said.
Bruiser obediently shuffled down the path to the porch.
“Listen to me ca-a-arefully, hare,” Frau Sichel said, bending down over the jackrabbit’s long ear, “you know me, don’t you? If you don’t te-e-ell me how they paid for it, I’ll call the police and you’ll end up back in the forest chewing bark! Understa-a-and?”
“Oh no! Please don’t, Frau Sichel, please don’t, madam,” the jackrabbit said quickly, glancing around. “I’ll tell you everything, madam; just don’t give me away to them!”
The jackrabbit glanced sideways toward the travellers on the porch.
“I got the whole story from them, madam,” the jackrabbit whispered, “they’re not just travellers!”
“Who are they then?” the sheep bleated timorously. “Spies?”
“Oh, why would they be spies, madam?” Hare said. “They’re, well...uh...merchants!”
The sheep cheered up somewhat.
“And so what did these merchants pay with?” she asked.
“Polar truffles!” Hare whispered.
“What kind of truffles?” the sheep said, not comprehending.
“Po-lar”, Hare whispered, breaking the word down, “do you see that funny looking animal with them, half deer and half moose?”
“What of him?” Frau Sichel said, looking uncertainly at Moosie.
“That’s the incredible Deermoose, a rare creature. He’s in the Red

Guinness Book of Records!”
“But what makes him so ra-a-are?” the sheep scoffed.
“Because, Frau Sichel, beggin’ your pardon, but I have heard it said that this is the only animal in the world that can find polar truffles under three feet of snow!”
“So the-e-en, how much are polar truffles in the market now?” the sheep queried. “I haven’t gotten any in a long time.”
“Well, see for yourself, Frau Sichel,” the jackrabbit replied, “I got three wheelbarrows full for a half truffle the size of a chestnut. And here’s a second half truffle,” he took a half of a fig from his pocket, “just don’t give me away to the travellers, they don’t know nothing about local prices. I’ll leave you a quarter of a truffle not to tell them.”
“Two-o-o thi-i-irds of a ha-a-alf,” the sheep said peremptorily. “That means one third of one truffle is mine, or else the police will be on you in ten minutes and you’ll have no truffle at all.”
“All right, all right, just don’t give me away,” the jackrabbit stammered abjectly, splitting the fig into two unequal parts, “us hares don’t take much, as you know.”
“All you ha-a-ares are thieves,” the sheep bleated, “all right. Take the wheelbarrow to the ship, and get out of my sight. I don’t want to see hide nor hair of you!”
The jackrabbit pushed the wheelbarrow with dried fruit to the ship, and the sheep ceremoniously approached the travellers.
“You didn’t fre-e-eze to death out here, my da-a-arlings?” the sheep bleated, coming closer, “but why are you sitting on the porch like poor re-e-elatives?”

The friends stared at her, flabbergasted.
“Well don’t just stand there, it gets chilly here at night!” Frau Sichel sweetly bleated. “Come in the house, we’ll have some supper now!”
The friends came in the house Indian file.
“What did you do with her?” Wolf wheezed in the buffalo’s ear.
“Ummmmooo, nothing,” Bruiser answered, “I sat like a ram, quiet all night, I didn’t butt heads with anybody, just chewed on stalks of asparagus.”
‘In-credible!” Camel pronounced in a low voice.
By dawn the next day, Michael’s Ark was loaded to the gills with the fruits of Frau Sichel’s garden. Apples, pears, plums, carrots, cabbages and beets were stowed away in crates in the hold. Every container that you could pour anything in was full of fresh water from her well.
Frau Sichel nuzzled up sweetly to Wolf, and looking in his yellow eyes trustfully bleated:
I’ve a-a-always dre-e-eamed of the sea, of tra-a-aveling, but the little comforts of life a-a-always kept me here, you see! The no-o-orth, sno-o-ow, it’s so beautiful! The polar...uh, that is, for a lady like me!”
The sheep made coquettish eyes at Wolf, making him wince and flop his ears in confusion.
“Listen, Camel,” Wolf said, when Frau Sichel finally stepped away for a minute, “I don’t care for this sheep, she’s clearly up to something. What’s made her suddenly change like this?”
“Quite li-i-ikely,” Camel responded, and then he stopped and spit on the ground (something that he had never done before), “ptui! I

meant to say, it’s quite likely, but we have no formal basis to refuse. The alternative creates substantial problems for us.”
“All right,” Wolf wheezed, “We’ll sort it out at sea! At least there’s no police out there.”
“’Alea jacta est’”, said Camel. “The die is cast, but we have to be on our guard with this sheep!”

Chapter 22. A Cold Snap

“To the north, only the north!” Frau Sichel was saying to Captain Wolf when Michael’s Ark safely made the open sea.
“Why should we go north?” Captain Wolf said, trying to resist. “Why north? I have five tropical animals on board, they’ll freeze to death.”
“We’ll ma-a-anage somehow, we’ll cover them with blankets and keep them in the hold,” the sheep insisted.
“I want to go north too,” Mike said, suddenly supporting the sheep, “I’ve never been up north!”
The sheep gave Mike a sly look.
“The-e-ere! The child never saw the no-o-orth,” Frau Sichel bleated, “can you, an old Sea Wolf, really refuse a lady and a child? I don’t belie-e-eve it!”
“Bringing down bad luck on us all!” Captain Wolf grumbled, after Frau Sichel stepped away, “three females on the ship – it’s three too many! And this one wants to run the ship too! Ah, do what you like! If it’s north to be, then we’ll sail north. Hey, boy, take in the brails, prepare to tack! Helmsman! Four points to port!” And Michael’s Ark turned into the seas and set course for the north.
Day followed day. The weather took a turn for the worse. Rain alternated with bouts of wet snow, and if the sun came out, it wasn’t for long. The landscape ashore changed too.
Flat, tidy shoals gave way to rough, weather-beaten cliffs. Pines and fir trees appeared on the shore instead of oaks and maples.

The voyagers rarely went out on deck now, spending most of the day in the hold. And the first serious signs of discontent began to appear. Mama Clarissa had taken a dislike to Frau Sichel, and the feeling was mutual, accompanied by profound contempt.
The origin of this feud was a trifling incident; when jumping down from the mast, Simeon stepped on Frau Sichel’s hoof with one of his rear hands.
“Watch where you jump around, you tailless baboon!” The sheep muttered.
Simeon didn’t take the comment amiss; he only beat his chest with his fist to show he was sorry. Unfortunately, Momma Clarissa was not far away.
“Who are you calling a baboon, goatface?” the monkey started, jumping up in a rush. “My little Simeon, a higher primate? I’ll make a golden fleece out of you, and use what’s left of you for mincemeat!”
Frau Sichel appeared unprepared for such a sharp development in the situation.
“Are you talking to me-e-e?” she bleated, confused.
“Yes, you. Who else, you shish kebab on the hoof!” Said Clarissa, not backing down.
“How da-a-are you! What right have you? This is unheard of!” Frau Sichel replied, choking on her indignation. “Poli-i-ice!”
“Yes, you’ll have the police,” Clarissa snapped back in earnest, “the lion and tiger will take care of you, and throw your bones in the sea!”
Of course, Clarissa was bluffing. The good-natured Leonidus and

kind-hearted Tigeran, although not vegetarians, never touched anything but potted meat and bunches of greens. Nevertheless, the threat made an indelible impression on Frau Sichel. She shrieked and collapsed senseless on the deck. The whole crew came running when they heard the noise. Clarissa got a strong tongue-lashing from Captain Wolf for disturbing the peace on an oceangoing vessel. She was sent to the crew’s quarters under house arrest, punished but undaunted. Frau Sichel soon woke up, and she was ordered to the hold as well, to the opposite compartment in the bow of the ship.
In a little while, Captain Wolf made Clarissa apologize to Frau Sichel, which she did with poorly concealed sarcasm. Frau Sichel pretended to accept the apology, but the offense festered in her heart.
Mike noticed that the morale on the ship changed after the incident. On the surface, everything was the same as before. The same watches, the same communal meals in the evening, but an invisible rift had developed in the crew.
The tropical animals made up the ‘southern party’ on the stern, keeping to themselves most of the day. Isolde would sing her songs for them and feverishly flirt with Leonidus and Tigeran.
Camel observed strict neutrality, occasionally mouthing general observations about maintaining harmony and order.
Wolf concentrated his attention on charts and navigation. Simeon hung about the masts, and Mike was at the helm. Frau Sichel ended up all alone. Only Moosie gladly conversed with her. For lack of other company, Frau Sichel had to listen to his pronouncements

about lichen and its benefits for moose. She carefully attempted to redirect his thoughts to polar truffles, but all Moosie said was that truffles were tasty and that truffle lichen was good for little white moose. Frau Sichel also tried to attract the attention of Bruiser, but he spent all day dozing in his stall or sharpening his horns on the bulkheads. Obviously, he had no interest in Frau Sichel because she had no horns.
Mike sadly remembered the first days of the voyage, when as totally untried seafarers at the time they struggled with pirates and seaweed, investigated the Flying Dutchman and saved Moosie from the savages.
And with just one incident, all the liveliness turned into drudgery. One day Clarissa planned to make vegetable soup, but she found that there were no more carrots in the pantry. She climbed through the hatch leading to the lowest deck on the ship where their provisions were kept in cold storage. She stuck her prehensile hand into a bunch of carrots, but instead of root vegetables she felt something warm and long. Clarissa grabbed the unknown object and pulled it up.
“Careful, careful, you’re gonna pull off my ears!” a whistling voice cried out in the darkness.
But Clarissa was not in the habit of letting go of what she caught, and soon the fawn-coloured jackrabbit appeared in the dusky light.
“What sort of imp is this?” Clarissa asked brusquely, “Is it you that’s been eating up all our carrots?”
“Guilty!” Hare said cheerfully and laughed, “after all, a hare’s gotta eat!”

“I’m taking you to the captain right now,” Clarissa threatened, “A hare on board – that’s all we need!”
“Captain Wolf is a good man,” the hare laughed, “he won’t eat me!”
A general council was held on the matter of the appearance of Hare in the hold. Captain Wolf chaired the council, leaving Simeon temporarily at the helm.
“Stowing away on board a chartered vessel is punishable under article 6 of the Admiralty Rules...” the captain wheezed when he saw the long-eared passenger.
“Wait, Wolf,” Mike interrupted the captain and then turned to the jackrabbit, “why did you climb down into the hold? After all, we did split the apples and pears with you!”
“What was I gonna do there?” the jackrabbit cheerfully explained. “What was I there? Just a hare! That’s all! But now I’m a hare on the road!”
“You’re a hare on a ship now, and we’ll get you off at our first port of call, and you’ll pay a fine for travelling without paying,” Captain Wolf snarled.
The hare started to laugh.
“No use in fining me, ‘cause I ain’t got anything!” He said. “Of course, you can kick me off if you want. But no place else is gonna be worse than where I came from!”
“Wait, Wolf,” Mike said, interrupting again, “we’re not fining anybody, or throwing anybody off the ship. Since he’s here, let him keep sailing with us.”
“Sailing...” Captain Wolf began, but he didn’t finish.

A fearful blow rocked Michael’s Ark. The animals flew around like candy from a busted bag. The ship creaked, groaned and wailed like a wounded beast and began to list to one side. Everything that wasn’t firmly fastened down – the chairs, the tables, cups, mugs and spoons – flew at the voyagers. The hull boards parted and icy water poured through a gap in the hold.
Captain Wolf was the first one on his paws.
“Batten down the hatches!” Wolf cried. “Shipwreck! All hands on deck!”

Chapter 23. Shipwreck

But there was no need to give the command. Once they extricated themselves from the furniture they all ran out on deck. The first thing that Mike saw was an icy white field on the port side. It stretched almost all the way to the horizon, with a band of open ocean glimmering only far out in the distance. Michael’s Ark was wedged into a gigantic ice floe, and having gotten stuck in it, she was listing to starboard.
“What blasted manner of monkey business is this? Where’s the helmsman?” Wolf bellowed in a crazed voice.
This time Clarissa chose to ignore the insult.
“Simeon, baby, where are you?” She yelled frantically.
The young primate was nowhere to be seen.
“No doubt the duffer is off snoozing somewhere below deck!” Wolf snarled.
“A-a-ah! O-o-oh! Help! We’re going to die, we’ll drown!” Moosie bawled.
“Wo-o-oe is us!” Frau Sichel bleated.
“Isolde, Isolde, never fear! I’m with you to the end!” Leonidus roared.
“Yes, yes, to the very end,” Tigeran said disconsolately, supporting the King of Beasts.
“I knew it! I foretold that I would perish!” The zebra said in a despairing voice, “but it is a glorious death! What do you think – will it be in the newspapers?”

Captain Wolf interrupted the lamentations.
“Mike, Camel, get back below, survey the damage and report back!” He ordered.
Mike hurtled downstairs, with Camel clumping behind him. Picking his way with difficulty between the scattered furniture, Mike made his way to the hole.
Water was gushing between the split boards of the hull, down on to the deck and to the lower level, where the provisions were stored. Fortunately, the boards themselves were intact, just pushed slightly inwards.
Mike stuck his hands in the icy water and pressed on the warped boards, but all that happened was that the sleeves of his jacket got thoroughly soaked.
“That’s futile,” Dreamer slowly pronounced, “the ice formation is pressing inwards on the hull and preventing the hole from being closed. We need to free the ship and take her into open water as soon as possible.”
Jumping up the steps two at a time, Mike rushed to report to Wolf. Camel hopped along behind him.
“We need to pry the ship loose from the ice with a lever of some kind,” Camel said after Mike finished his report, “our hockey stick oars would be ideal for the purpose, but somebody has to go down onto the ice.”
“Seaman! Lower the rope ladder and prepare the hockey sticks!” Wolf commanded.
The ladder was over the side and on the ice in a minute, and Mike clambered down it, holding the hockey sticks under one arm.

The rest of the crew crowded around on the deck and watched.
Carefully approaching the edge of the crevice, Mike stuck one stick between the ice floe and the ship and pushed hard with his chest on the lever. The stick bent a bit, but the ship didn’t budge.
“I can’t do it, I’m not strong enough!” Mike cried up above.
“Everybody down on the ice! Everybody help!” Captain Wolf wheezed.
But the order was easier to give than carry out.
“I can’t, I cannot bring myself,” Isolde moaned, “I am an artiste, not some circus clown to be scrambling about on ropes.”
“Isolde, my one-and-only, don’t be afraid, I’ll help you get down,” Leonidus rumbled.
“Yes, yes, we’ll help you, Isolde!” Tigeran added in support of his master.
But exactly how they would help the zebra nobody seemed to know. Finally, she had to be tied with a line and lowered onto the ice. The same was done for Frau Sichel. Moosie went down hanging on to Captain Wolf’s neck.
The others got down on their own. Leonidus jumped down on the ice heavily and majestically. Tigeran stomped around on the edge of the deck and then jumped too.
Bruiser thought briefly about it, lowered his horns and leapt forward. His hooves dug deeply into the snow, and Bruiser tumbled head over heels on the ice floe. Then he got up and shook his head a bit, as if nothing had happened.
The jackrabbit hurtled out with one leap, and Clarissa just slid down, holding the ladder with one hand.

“All icebergs be cursed! Look alive there!” Wolf ordered.
The tropical animals – Leonidus, Tigeran, Isolde and Clarissa – grouped around one oar, while everybody else – Mike, Camel, Bruiser and Hare – worked on the other.
Dashing Captain Wolf stood between them and commanded:
“Heave! Let off! All of you lay to! Easy, easy, don’t break the oars!”
The hockey sticks were wedged in the ice and bending, and Mike thought they might break at any time. And in fact, there was a crunching sound just at that moment.
The gap between the ice floe and the ship began to slowly increase. Just a little more, just a tiny bit...
And Michael’s Ark slowly separated from the ice. The ribbon of water between the ship and the ice floe quickly began to grow.
“Hooray! Hooray!” they all yelled and fell to hugging each other. Mike hugged Camel, and Hare hugged Moosie. Taking advantage of the situation, Leonidus and Tigeran started kissing Isolde. The zebra, feigning embarrassment, said:
“What are you doing? That will do now, if you please!”
Even Clarissa, all in a dilly, hugged Frau Sichel. Then she realized her blunder, but it was too late.
“All right, all right, don’t take offence, Frau Sichel,” Clarissa said, extricating herself from the awkward situation, “I’m a hot-blooded denizen of the tropics! What do you expect from a sick old monkey?”
“It’s all right, da-a-arling,” Frau Sichel bleated, “let’s let bygones be bygones, as they say...”
Bruiser didn’t hug Wolf. He stood for a while, shook his head, and

then let out a mighty roar.
Everybody stopped and looked at Bruiser.
“I was just wondering,” Bruiser said, “how do we get back on the ship?”
A deathly silence descended on the group. Michael’s Ark was rolling around on the icy ocean, had moved a good hundred feet away from the ice floe and was quietly drifting away.
Mike stood there with his arms open, Captain Wolf opened and closed his toothy muzzle, Moosie stared pop-eyed, and Hare’s ears went up.
The joy of victory was replaced with terror and desperation. It dawned on them that the ship was moving away and they had no way to get back to it, and they faced freezing and starving to death on the ice, lost in the northern ocean.
“Maybe I can swim to the ship and climb up the ladder?” Mike quietly asked Wolf.
“It’s useless,” Wolf whispered, “you won’t get even twenty feet in water this cold.”
Mike and the animals sat numbly on the ice and watched the ship float away. Even the Jackrabbit hid his long teeth in his mouth and stopped smiling.
And in the dismal silence the heart-rending cry of Mama Clarissa rang out:
“Where’s my baby Simeon?!”
All of a sudden, Simeon’s lusty hooting carried over from the deck of the Ark:
“Hoo-hoo-hoo!” I’m here, momma, don’t leave me, momma!”

Simeon, jumping up and down, was visible on the edge of the deck.
“A-a-ah!” a unanimous sigh of relief rang across the ice floe.
“Pipe down!” Captain Wolf roared. “Listen to me, son, take the mooring line, tie it to something heavy, climb up to the top of the mainsail and throw the line here onto the ice, if you want to see your momma again!”
Simeon didn’t need to be told twice.
“Will a life saver work?” Simeon yelled.
“Right you are!” Wolf cried. “That’s the best thing!”
Simeon tied the life saver to the end of the line, took it in his mouth and in a twinkling of an eye he lighted on the top of the mast. Then he made a ball of the line and grabbed the mast with his rear hands. Taking the line in his front left hand and the life saver in his right one, he bent like a young stalk of bamboo and threw the life saver at the ice floe. Eleven pairs of eyes attentively followed the flight of the red ring across the gray northern sky.
“Plop!”
The life saver fell on the ice only a few feet from the water.
“A-a-ah!” filled the air again. But there was no general glee following it. Wolf was the first to dart off to the life saver, taking it in his teeth, but then, digging in with his paws, he was slowly being dragged toward the edge of the ice.
“Grrrrr-aaab meeee!” Wolf wheezed, his voice muffled because he couldn’t let the life saver out of his mouth.
“What is he saying?” Isolde queried Leonidus.
But Mike replied instead of Leonidus.
“Everybody help!” he cried, jumping up to Wolf and grabbing his

wiggling tail.
Wolf slowed down, but he didn’t stop.
The animals crowded around Wolf and began pulling him from the edge of the ice floe. Leonidus grabbed Mike’s trousers with his teeth, Tigeran quickly took hold of Leonidus’s tail and the sheep latched on to Tigeran’s tail. The jackrabbit seized Frau Sichel with his paws, and Isolde took the jackrabbit’s fluffy little tail daintily in her mouth. Bruiser shook his head, stepped up and grabbed the zebra by the tail.
“Ah! Unhand me, you lout!” Isolde weakly tried to kick back.
Only Camel chose not to play ‘giant turnip’, going instead to the edge of the ice and taking the line in his mouth.
That left Wolf free to switch the life saver from his mouth to his paws!
“What a bevy of brainless boobs ye all are!” Captain Wolf wheezed, “don’t grab each other, grab the line! The life saver is breaking!”
The animals finally took hold of the line and pulled. Hoofs, claws and shoes strained against the icy mush.
Michael’s Ark slowly but surely got way on, and began to return to its crew.

Chapter 24. Hard Times

Mike, Camel and Captain Wolf got to work repairing the ship as soon as they were on board. The leak slowed, but it didn’t stop. It was discovered on close inspection that one of the frames was broken. It needed to be replaced, but there wasn’t a scrap of wood on the ship.
“The lever principle served us well once; it will probably do so a second time,” Camel said.
Using a tape measure, Mike checked the precise distance between the damaged frames. The friends joined together two hockey sticks so that they were a little longer than the distance. After that, they worked together inserting the sticks as a brace between the frames and wedged them in tightly. The hockey sticks pressed on the split boards of the frames and the leak stopped. Almost.
They stuffed the remaining chinks with turnip greens and clumps of hair, and covered the surface with fat from the potted meat. The water stopped leaking into the ship. But the whole lower deck, where their provisions were, was still flooded.
“We need something to remove the water,” Camel said.
Of course, the travellers had nothing like that. But Mike found an old bicycle pump. He sucked the water from the hold with a hose, and then dumped it over the side through a porthole. It was slow, but it worked. When Mike was exhausted, Simeon took his place, and then Captain Wolf. After that they put the jackrabbit to work. To everybody’s surprise, he worked quickly and skilfully.

By the following morning, all the water was gone from the lower deck. But the provisions, especially the grains, were damaged beyond retrieval by the salt water.
“Shiver me timbers,” Wolf wheezed, “no food, and the ship is damaged. The first pack ice will make a chowder out of us! And we’ll end up deep sixed either by drowning or starving! We have to head for the nearest shore.”
There had been no sun for several days, and Wolf couldn’t fix the exact coordinates of the ship. But judging by the chart, the coast was about a hundred miles to the south. The captain ordered a change of course.
Simeon was called to account for his wilful abandonment of the watch. However, his fault wasn’t so great. As an animal from the tropics, he had never seen ice or snow. When the first snowflakes settled on the deck, Mike taught Simeon how to make snowballs and throw them at each other. Simeon liked that game very much. When Captain Wolf left him alone as helmsman on deck, Simeon kept on making snowballs so he could have a really good snowball fight with Mike when he came up on deck. Simeon saw the ice in front of him, but he didn’t understand how dangerous it was; he thought that snow on the surface of the water was just as fluffy and soft as the snow that fell on the deck. When the ship wedged itself into the ice, Simeon got scared and ran down into the hold.
Opinions on Simeon’s actions were split. Frau Sichel demanded that the young primate be turned over to the administrative authorities for violation of the laws of the sea. Clarissa defended her baby as best she could.

“He’s such a good boy,” Clarissa said, “he could never do anything bad. And what’s more, if it wasn’t for my little Simeon, we’d be freezing on the ice right now.”
“I-i-if it wasn’t for your little Simeon,” Frau Sichel bleated, “we’d be on our original course, and we wouldn’t have lo-o-ost our provisions!”
In the end, most of them agreed that although Simeon was responsible for the accident, he was the involuntary saviour of the whole crew. They forgave him.
The crew dragged the provisions that were still intact on deck and dried them out. Hopefully the supplies would last another two weeks at sea. But the weather continued to get worse. A spell of wet snow settled in. After the snow, a serious freeze followed. The waterlogged sails were frozen stiff; they couldn’t be lowered or raised. A thick crust of ice formed on the masts and yardarms. The whole deck and everything exposed on it was covered with ice too. At first, Mike and Simeon tried to knock off the ice with a sabre and the meat hammer, but they gave up the task as hopeless.
“By the Northwest Passage,” Captain Wolf swore, “I’m surprised that the masts haven’t snapped!”
To make things worse, there was a layer of slush – small pieces of ice floating on the sea – impeding the ship. It slowed them down to two knots. An icy wind danced around the deck. The animals huddled together in the hold and rarely climbed topside.

“If this slush gets any thicker, we’ll be stuck here in the ice like Captain Franklin!” Wolf said quietly to Camel.  “You’re the smart

one! Can you come up with a plan?”
“My mental capacities do not permit me to control the caprices of the elements,” Camel replied, “the only thing that can help us under the circumstances is to make landfall as soon as possible.”
And then at last, on the third day the voyagers finally saw a narrow strip of land amid the icy fog. Nobody jumped for joy; they all realized that the unknown coast would be inhospitable. And in fact, as they got closer the friends could only make out gloomy, inaccessible cliffs. Not a tree or even a shrub grew on the harsh northern shore.
“For twenty years I’ve sailed the seven seas,” Captain Wolf said, “but never have I seen as bleak a shore as this!”
And then the friends had a stroke of luck. A small bay could be made out between two high cliffs. The shoreline along the bay seemed flat, or in any case it looked smooth under its coat of newly fallen snow.
“All hands on deck!” Wolf ordered.
It was only due to the skills of the captain that the friends managed to pilot the frozen ship into the bay. The life boats were lowered. A scouting detachment was the first ashore: Mike, Wolf, Camel and Moosie, with Hare tagging along. Soon the boat was scraping a sandy bottom. The scouts alighted from the boat onto the snowy bank.
“The bottom is flat here, there are no hidden rocks,” Wolf said, after spreading his paws, “the problem is that if we leave the ship here for the winter, she’ll be crushed by the ice.”
“I must admit that I agree with you, my dear captain,” Dreamer

answered, “we have no more than a week. There are thaws in this part of the world at the beginning of winter. That is our only chance to save the ship and emerge from here unscathed.”
“We need wood to repair the frame,” Captain Wolf said, “and I don’t see any forest hereabouts.”
“There’s a forest here,” Moosie said, unexpectedly breaking into the conversation.
“How do you know?” Mike said, surprised.
“I don’t know,” Moosie responded, “I don’t know how I know what I know.”
It was decided to bring the whole crew ashore. The ship stood at anchor, and the hatches were battened down. They took all the remaining provisions and warm things with them. They also brought the furniture that was smashed up in the accident to use as firewood.
While Mike worked on starting a fire, the tropical animals shivered in the cold wind; Simeon and Clarissa hugged each other, exposing only two backs to the wind. The zebra was pressed between Leonidus and Tigeran, who protected her against the cold with their bodies.
“Alas! To freeze here on this wild shore! So pointless! So unpoetic!” she said, “and no one, not a single soul in all the world will learn of my inglorious demise!”
“Isolde, dearest!” Leonidus replied, “I will warm you to the last beat of my ardent lion heart!”
“Yes, yes, Isolde, to the last beat,” Tigeran agreed, tucking in his tail from the cold.

“I’d sooner you’d cover me with a blanket!” Isolde said. “I would get more benefit from that than from your banalities.”
Only Bruiser felt completely at home in the cold. He stood to one side, chewing on sodden scraps of lettuce.
“Mo-o-o!” Bruiser said. “Another wilderness, nobody to butt heads with!”
In the meantime, the fire picked up on shore, the flames greedily consuming the table and chairs. The animals crowded around the fire.
“Fire in the hole!” Captain Wolf exclaimed. “Our fuel supply won’t last till morning. We need to find firewood, and fast!”
“There’s firewood in the forest,” Moosie said. “I feel it!”
“You feel firewood?” Mike said, surprised. “How can you feel it?”
“I feel a forest,” Moosie replied, wiggling his soft nose, “and there’s always firewood in a forest.”
Although hardly anybody gave any credence to Moosie’s words, it was decided to go out and look for firewood. It grew late. The bleak twilight of the short northern day fell on the shore. The same group went to look for firewood: Mike, Wolf, Camel, Moosie and Hare. Leonidus and Tigeran were tasked with protecting the others from possible attack by local predators, which they gladly agreed to do; they had no desire to leave the warm fire.
Mike took his Swiss Army knife, matches, rope and a torch with him. He also took the ship’s compass, even though he knew that the animals couldn’t really get lost in the woods.
The friends headed away from the shore. Mike trudged along, up to his knees in snow. Camel and Moosie walked lifting their legs high.

Wolf tried to move along on the frozen crusty surface of the snow. At times he managed to do this, but sometimes he fell belly deep into the snow, roundly swearing. Only the jackrabbit easily hopped around the rest of the group, leaving an intricate pattern of tracks in the snow.
Strangely enough, it turned out that Moosie was right. A strip of forest loomed in the distance under the dusky, dark gray sky.
It was already completely dark when the friends arrived at the forest. Mike switched on his torch. The snow was even thicker in the woods, but at least there was no wind. It got a bit warmer.
The voyagers began looking for trees blown down by the wind to take off to the shore. But they didn’t find any. All they came across were gigantic pine trees, uprooted from deep in the earth.
“Maybe we should break off branches?” Captain Wolf suggested. “Pine wood burns well!”
“It’ll be hard to carry the branches,” Mike said, “and they burn up too fast. Maybe we should look more.”
Walking through the winter forest sunk in snow was very rough going. Mike was exhausted.
“Let’s rest a little while,” he suggested, “see over there?” Mike said, pointing with the torch. “An uprooted fir tree. It’s like a wall!”
Moosie stuck his nose into the air and said:
“No, don’t go there!”
“Moosie, you always make such a fuss,” Mike replied, “’go there, don’t go here!’ I’m a big boy now and I know where I want to go.”
Mike resolutely headed toward the fallen fir tree.
“Might I suggest,” Camel started, “that the natural instincts of our

antlered friend are revealing...”
But Mike never found out what Moosie’s natural instincts revealed. He took one more step to the tree and flew down somewhere, swallowing a mouthful of fresh snow...

Chapter 25. In the Bear’s Den

Mike wasn’t hurt, because he fell on something warm and soft, like a heated mattress. It was totally dark in the hole. The torch rolled off into a corner and gave no light.
Suddenly the mattress under Mike began to move.
“My paunch is not army surplus, designed for large-scale jumping utilization,” boomed a hoarse, growling bass.
Mike jumped off the mattress and was about to get scared, but he didn’t. He was just dumbstruck.
“You can’t hide from those people, you shall be pursued to the ends of the earth, they’ll dig you up from underground,” said the same voice.
“A-a-ah, excuse me!” Mike managed to get out, “but who are you?”
“Who, who!” The growling bass mocked, “a galloping gnu, that’s who!”
“You’re not hurt?” Moosie called from up above. “There’s no bear in the lair?”
“What do you have there, an entire delegation?” the bass voice asked from the darkness. “And why shouldn’t there be a bear in the lair? Where do you think he would be at this time of year, at the beach getting a suntan?” Mike heard no malice in the voice, so he decided to ask:
“Can I get my torch and look around?”
“Go ahead, look,” the voice answered, “only don’t shine it in my eyes, they’re not army surplus.”

Mike carefully picked up the torch and shone it on the floor. A shaggy brown pelt arose from the darkness.
“You’re a bear?” Mike asked.
“No, I’m a gerbil,” the pelt quipped, “a gerbil that dug himself a den under a fir tree, lay down for a winter’s nap, and has a boy drop on his belly. And he brought a contingent with him to boot! There are no hunters among you, are there?” the bear queried.
“No, no hunters!” Mike hastened to assure the bear. “We’re just voyagers!”
“Seaman, are you alive?” Wolf wheezed from up above.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Mike replied.
“We’re sailing on a ship, are we?” the bear concluded, “and why did you decide to drop in on me?”
“We were looking for wood for a fire,” Mike explained, “and I just fell in on top of you.”
“Nothing happens just like that,” the bear said, “if you fell in, that was your fate. Are there a lot of you up there?”
“There are four here, and another seven on the beach.”
“That’s some platoon you have!” The bear grumbled.
“My young friend,” Camel’s voice came from above, “should we provide assistance or can you sort yourself out?”
“I’ll be right up!” Mike answered, and then he said to his new acquaintance:
“Mister Bear, we’re in a difficult situation, can we come down in your den and warm up?”
“Why should I let you all down here?” The bear said, looking put out.

“Since it was my fate to fall on your paunch, maybe it’s your fate to extend your hospitality to us in your den,” Mike said.
“No rest for the weary!” the bear muttered. “You just settle down for a winter’s nap, and all of a sudden visitors show up! Well, all right, climb down, but wipe your paws, my den isn’t a public facility!”
Mike climbed to the surface using the steps cut into the wall of the lair and said:
“There’s a bear down here, let’s all go down and rest a while.”
But the voyagers were in no hurry to climb down into the bear’s den.
“Bears pose a real danger to those around them in winter,” said Camel.
“He’ll eat us up!” Moosie exclaimed.
“An insomniac bear!” Wolf growled, “who knows what’s on his mind?”
“But he didn’t eat Mike,” the jackrabbit said, “there’s all kinda different bears, back in the forest...”
“Come on down,” Mike said, interrupting the jackrabbit, “he’s grumpy, but amiable.”
When the friends had climbed down into the den, a strange sight met their eyes. In fact, what they saw could hardly be called a lair.
A kerosene lamp burned on a large round table. The table was surrounded by rough but sturdy chairs. A cupboard with glass doors could be seen in the back, with dishes gleaming inside.
There was a strange object on the table resembling a brass ball, but with a stack on top like a steamship.

The bear himself was nowhere to be seen in the lair.
“Wow!” Mike said quietly, “this isn’t a lair, it’s a whole house!”
The host appeared from the darkness of the far corner with a large pot in this front paws.
“Yes,” the bear said, putting the pot on the table, “do I have to live in a pigsty? A bear only goes around once in life, as they say... Well, since you won’t be washing your paws first, take a seat.”
The friends carefully sat down on the chairs.
“I’ll make you a spot of tea. Don’t be put out, it will take a while. In the meantime, have a bit of honey. Go ahead and eat it, don’t be afraid, it’s my own honey, not army surplus.”
Wolf fidgeted on his stool.
Excuse me, bear, I don’t know your name...” Wolf said.
“Mikhaylo Potapych”, said the host helpfully, “you can just call me Potapych. And what might your good name be?”
“I’m Captain Wolf, or Sea Wolf!” Said Wolf.
“A pleasure, I’m sure, Comrade Sea Wolf!” The bear extended an enormous paw to Wolf. “And I observe here an exotic animal with a hump... you are a camel, unless I am mistaken?” Mikhaylo Potapych asked.
“You are not mistaken! Camel Dromedary at your service!” Dreamer bowed ceremoniously.
“Welcome to our part of the world, Mister Dromedary,” the bear said loudly, “will you be with us long?”
“As long as necessary,” Camel replied evasively.
“And my name is Mike,” Mike said.
“Mike! A namesake! Excellent!” the bear said happily. “All right,

namesake! You almost caved in my belly!” He said, starting to laugh.
“I’m Hare,” the hare began, “but my name...”
“Yes, yes,” the bear said, “you can never remember all hares by name, there used to be so many hares in the woods here that...in short, lots of them!”
The jackrabbit decided not to ask the bear what “used to be” meant, or where the jackrabbits all went to.
“And my name is Seamoosie,” Moosie said.
“What is that, some kind of nickname?” The bear asked. “And do you have a regular name, as appears in your identification papers?”
“I do,” Moosie said, “my full name is Theodorus Moosovich, but...”
“So Teddy, then!” Mikhaylo Potapych said in a deep voice. “A fine name! I used to have a friend named Teddy, let me see, when was that...”
Captain Wolf moved restlessly in his chair.
“Excuse me for interrupting you, Potapych, but we have several other passengers at the shore. Most of them are tropical animals and not used to the freezing cold. May we invite them here?”
Mike felt ashamed. He was so warm and happy in the bear’s den that for a while he forgot about his freezing friends on the shore. But Captain Wolf didn’t forget!
Potapych sighed loudly in response to Wolf’s request.
“What do you think I have here, a gymnasium? There’s not enough space for them all!”
The bear fell silent for a while, scratched his belly and then added:
“Well all right, we can’t have them freeze on the shore! It might result in an international incident. The situation may become

critical... Let them come!”
“Thank you,” Wolf wheezed, “so... I’ll go and fetch them?”
“You’ll get lost in the forest, and we’ll have to look for you at night in the dark! Nothing but bother!” Mikhail Potapych said. “All right, you all stay here and enjoy the honey while Comrade Sea Wolf and I run out to the shore and bring in the international community!”
Wolf and the bear went off.
It didn’t feel right eating while the host was gone. To pass the time, Mike decided to look around the bear’s den. He found another room behind the “parlour”, where high, doorless cabinets stood along the walls. There were several pots or jars on each shelf. The pots and jars were neatly labelled in pencil.
“’Dried raspberries’, ‘pickled mushrooms’, ‘linden honey’”, Mike read the labels on the jars.
He shone the torch in a corner and saw a large brick stove, with a pile of firewood next to it going all the way to the ceiling.
“Mr Bear’s got quite a cosy place here,” Mike heard the cheerful, whistly voice of the jackrabbit behind his back.
“It would seem that our new acquaintance is well supplied for his hibernation,” said Dreamer.
“Uh-huh!” Moosie said.
“For the winter, I mean!” Camel explained, then adding: “Excuse me, but my nervous system requires some relaxation, would you mind if I dozed off in the corner?”
In two minutes, the whole group was peacefully snoring in various corners of the lair.

Chapter 26. A Tempest in a Teacup

The friends woke up because a pile of snow fell on their heads.
“Come on, come on, climb down fast,” Potapych bellowed from above, “you’ll let all the warm air out, and my firewood is not army surplus, you see.”
The freezing animals – the lion, the tiger, the zebra, the sheep and the two monkeys – looked around as they climbed down into the lair. Captain Wolf came in last.
“Your buffalo friend doesn’t want to come in. He says that he’s happy in the forest!” Potapych said, “I think he can stay out there, there are almost no wolves here. Excuse me,” he said, nodding at Captain Wolf, “I am not referring to present company.”
“Bruiser isn’t afraid of wolves,” Mike said, stretching sweetly, “he can butt them.”
The samovar was cheerfully whistling on the table. Steam rose off the fur of the frozen animals.
“Indeed! You were all se-e-ettled in here,” the sheep bleated, “while we were out there on the beach, freezing our hoofs off in the cold. The fire went out lo-o-ong ago!”
“Ooh! Ooh!” Simeon said, gleefully beating his chest. “It’s warm in here, just like at home in Africa!”
“My dearest Potapych, you are our saviour! If it weren’t for you, we would have perished in this icy waste!” The zebra sweetly sang. “If we get away from here, I shall without fail dedicate my next song to you!”

Leonidus and Tigeran gave desultory looks at the bear.
“Pointless,” Potapych said, “I have no radio, so I’ll never hear your song! Dedicate your song to somebody else. Don’t bother dedicating it to me. Please, everybody, have some tea!” the bear added.
Isolde pursed her lips petulantly, but she sat in her chair and took a cup of tea.
“What a ham-fisted lout!” Tigeran whispered in Leonidus’ ear.
“I agree with your first epithet, but not with the second!” Mikhaylo Potapych demurred, sipping tea from his saucer. “I am not a lout; I simply speak my mind. It is a principle for me.”
The tiger and lion lowered their eyes.
“I didn’t move here so I could dance to somebody else’s tune. I had that up to my ears before. I don’t want any more!”
“So does that mean that you didn’t live here all the time, Mikhaylo Potapych?” Mike asked.
“Namesake, there’s no need for formalities between us,” the bear said. Just call me Potapych
“Good”, Mike agreed, “Have you lived here long, Potapych?”
“Well, It’ll be three years soon”, the bear replied, “I was born in the capital.”
“From where, did you say?” Mike was surprised.
“From where the camels play,” Potapych replied, but immediately apologized, “Forgive me, I meant no insult to our African friend. I was born in a zoo! Grew up on army surplus, as they say!”
“Please allow me to satisfy my curiosity”, the African friend interrupted, “but how did you find yourself exiled to this remote

outpost?”
“Nothing there for me back in the capital, just a lot of fuss and nonsense,” Potapych replied, “so I decided to run away from the city up to the north. In search of harmony, and of myself, as they say.”
“Ama-a-azing”, bleated the sheep, “to willingly renounce the fruits of civilization and steal awa-a-ay to this lonely place?”
“Uh-huh!” Said Moosie, but nobody paid any attention to him.
“And what good are such fruits to me?” said the bear. “A life behind bars! True, they feed you, but with swill! And everybody’s at each other’s throats!”
The bear grew incensed, neglecting his tea and honey.
“Whereas here I am master of my fate. I depend on no one. I built my own lair, stocked it too! All organic! What use to me are these, as they say, gifts of civilization?”
“Uh-huh”, Moosie said again.
“Please allow me to satisfy my curiosity, my dear Mikhaylo Potapych,” said Dreamer, “but do you mean to say that you yourself made everything that you have here in your lair, all these cabinets, jars, mugs, the samovar?”
“In vain do you seek to entangle me with words, Mister Dromedary”, the bear replied, “as you manifest an interest in my kitchen furnishings, let me tell you frankly: no, I didn’t make them, but neither have I stolen them from anyone!”
“What are your me-e-eans of livelihood?” inquired Frau Sichel.
“My own, my own labour, Frau Sichel,” answered the bear, “I dragged it all here by myself. There are many abandoned villages in

these parts. What things you will find lying about! If you look thoroughly, you’d even find an airplane, but that wouldn’t be of much value to me. I need only what is of use in my household.”
“Quite so”, Dreamer conceded, “but please allow me to satisfy my curiosity, you also said that you found yourself. How did you do that?”
“All is well with that too”, Potapych said, “I came to appreciate the primary rule: we’re eternally seeking that for which we have no need. And this causes us to suffer. Here I have only what I need! And so I live in harmony with myself, as they say.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” said Moosie again, although nobody explained the big words to him.
“Teddy, you mock me in vain”, Mikhaylo Potapych said, turning to Moosie, “so tell me, you traverse the world on a ship, but can you tell me, what is the overriding purpose of it?”
“Uh-huh,” said Moosie.
“But to what end, pray tell me, Teddy?” the bear pressed.
Moosie lowered his horns and began poking at the dirt floor with his hoof. But Camel came to his rescue.
“We come to know the world, and we help our young friend to understand it better,” Camel said, pointing at Mike with his hoof, “Isn’t that a worthy goal?”
“But why?” said the bear, getting annoyed, “Why does he need to know it?”
“I beg your pardon, but I don’t understand what you are insinuating,” said Dreamer, “are you derogating the value of knowledge?”

“No!” replied Potapych, “I don’t derogate knowledge. For example, I know where to find honey, and where raspberries grow – one needs to know these things! And why are you off gallivanting around the world?”
“Knowledge is light”, said Mike, “that’s what they teach us in school!”
“And what of it?” asked the bear. “What good did school ever do anybody? Folks don’t know how to make anything with their own hands. Just how to press buttons!”
“You deign to say such un-pedagogical things in the presence of our young friend!” said the Camel.
“But why?” The bear asked heatedly. “Let my namesake think about what he’s doing and why he does it. Let him learn about himself, as they say. That’s more important than knowing what straits separate Europe from Africa.”
“You talk like a savage!” said Isolde, unexpectedly breaking into the conversation. “Enlightenment and science are exalted, and honourable.”
“My dear…ah, what is your name?” said the bear, hesitating.
“Isolde”, Tigeran said helpfully.
“My dear Isolde, I pulled you out of the barren, snowy wastes, where you were ready to turn hooves up, if you’ll pardon the expression, and now you sit here at my table, drink my tea and call me a savage. Why didn’t your enlightenment help you warm up? Then you could have stayed out there and sung songs to yourself on the cold wind!”
“How unseemly, how base, to chide me over a crust of bread!”

exclaimed Isolde.
“It is base,” Leonidus’ murmured through his snowy white teeth, “you’re addressing an artiste!”
“Yes, yes, how mean and base”, added Tigeran, supporting Leonidus.
“My respected foreign guests,” Mikhaylo Potapych said, “the door of my den is always open to friends, but if it’s too base in here for you, you can always go up outside, everything is frozen out there by the morning, no less than minus ten degrees Celsius. And I say to you, my dear Tigeran, that it’s even better to play the toady outside in the cold – the stakes are higher.”
Leonidus, Tigeran and Isolde looked at each other and sat silently. Everybody else felt uncomfortable too. The voyagers dropped their eyes. But suddenly Tigeran spoke up very quietly and clearly.
“Mikhaylo Potapych, why do you talk like that? Why do you offend us? So you think that to cross the ocean on a leaky raft, freeze in the snow, protect and cherish the lady of your heart – all this is just toadying, and you can say all that in exchange for a handout? But do you know, Mikhaylo Potapych, what honour is, what love is, what it means to serve in a royal house? You probably think that it’s foolish, totally ridiculous, to help your lovelorn sovereign travel the world for the lady of his heart, while entertaining your own illusory hopes as well. Of course it’s foolish, to be sure! It’s incomparably wiser to dry mushrooms and put up raspberry jam! But there are foolish animals like that who don’t know how to live differently, and they have a place on this earth too.”
Tigeran stopped talking. A weighty pause ensued.

As always, Momma Clarissa came to the rescue.
“Potapych, my goodness! You carry on like a broody hen! Really! A benefactor. You yourself let us in to get warm, gave us tea to drink, told us some cock-and-bull story, and now you’re taking your guests to task and telling us how to live our lives! Fancy that! We’ve got ourselves a home-grown philosopher, a regular Jean Jacques Rousseau!”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Moosie said.
Mikhaylo Potapych knit his brow, sat silent, and then said embarrassedly:
“Forgive me, dear guests! I got a bit worked up, as they say! The heat of the argument and all that! In a word, please don’t take it to heart! I never meant that you should… well, forgive me if I offended you, as they say! In a word, I was wrong!”
“It’s all right, Potapych, no need to go on like that,” Clarissa said, “let it be a lesson to you, think before you speak, you den-bound Demosthenes!”
“Uh-huh!” Moosie said, supporting Clarissa.
Clarissa lisped, so what she said didn’t come out like ‘Demosthenes’, but ‘Demothteneeth’. Mike couldn’t help laughing. Even Clarissa started giggling. Frau Sichel bleated a jerking laugh. Simeon looked at his momma and started hooting gleefully. “Hay-hay-hay!” the zebra neighed. After her, Leonidus and Tigeran broke into a booming laugh. The jackrabbit joined them with his whistly laugh “Tss-tss-tss!”. Wolf wheezed as if he was strangling a cough. Moosie looked around, pursed his lips and joined in: “hee-hee-hee”. Confused, Mikhaylo Potapych looked around at the laughing group,

and then he rocked with laughter: “Aaaah-ha-ha-ha!”
A sound like a ship’s horn came from outside. Bruiser joined in the general revelry.
“All right!” Potapych said, wiping away his tears with his hairy paw, “to bed! The night brings wisdom!”

Chapter 27. Polar Truffles

Night did indeed bring counsel. The wind shifted to the southwest. The forest warmed up. The sun peaked through breaks in the clouds. Melting snow dripped from the trees. You might even think that spring was coming.
“It’s like that here,” Potapych explained once everybody climbed out of the lair, “you just lie down to sleep and everything thaws, and water starts flowing into my lair! It’s a nightmare! Global warming, in a word.”
But our voyagers had nothing against warming, global or otherwise.
“If this weather holds for another three days,” Wolf said, “our sails will dry and we can get out of the bay. The most important thing is to repair the frame.”
With the help of the bear, the voyagers quickly found what they needed: some timber from an old pine tree, not too big, not too small, and most importantly, seasoned.
“That’s the ticket!” Wolf wheezed. “But a pen knife won’t do the job, we need the proper tool.”
“What would you do without me,” Potapych growled, “who travels anywhere without tools?”
He got a saw, axe, plane, hammer and chisel from the den.
“Just be careful there, don’t break them,” the bear warned, “they’re good tools, not army surplus!”
Mike got to work under the guidance of Wolf and Camel. The remaining crew had to take a rest. Bruiser nibbled on the bark of

the neighbouring trees. The jackrabbit and Simeon frolicked around, playing leapfrog in the snow banks, falling deep in the snow. Simeon hooted with satisfaction and Hare laughed happily ‘tss-tss-tss’!
Momma Clarissa kept an eye on their horseplay and from time to time yelled:
“Simeon baby, be careful, make sure the hare doesn’t jump on your hands.”
But Simeon paid no mind to his momma.
Isolde was working on a new ballad dedicated to their northern expedition.
“And once again my soul, all tattered and asunder, seeks peace and solace in the frozen north...” the zebra sang.
With delight and bated breath, Leonidus and Tigeran admired Isolde, not daring to interrupt the creative process.
When Simeon got tired of playing leapfrog with Hare, he started making snowballs, climbing the trees and launching a snowball attack on all the members of the crew. Then he discovered that the pine tree had its own weaponry. Soon the friends were getting pelted not with snowballs, but enormous pine cones.
“Careful, Simeon baby,” Clarissa said, getting concerned, “you’ll either fall down or hit somebody in the eye!”
Fortunately, Simeon missed everybody’s eyes. But one pine cone hit Potapych on his backside.
“Watch what you’re doing, you tailless baboon!” The bear roared. “My pelt is not army surplus! You won’t find one like it in the stores!”

Momma Clarissa didn’t dare openly attack Potapych.
“We’re not baboons, we’re not baboons,” she said quickly, “we’re higher primates! We have a developed intellect!”
“Then tell your primate to switch on his intellect! He needs to look where he’s throwing those pine cones!” the bear growled.
Moosie didn’t care to stay exposed to attack. He went off to one side and indulged in his favourite occupation – he began rooting around in the snow with his hoofs. He’d stick his soft nose down into each hole he dug, sniff carefully, snort loudly and keep on digging.
“Look, look what I found,” Moosie told the others, “here’s blueberry lichen, and this is cranberry lichen!”
Moosie ate his discoveries immediately. Nobody paid any attention to him. Only Frau Sichel eyed Moosie attentively.
Moosie gradually wandered off from the lair while he was digging up the snow with his hoofs. He ended up in a small rectangular opening in the forest. The area interested Moosie very much; he sniffed it all over, and then he started digging the snow in the middle with redoubled energy.
Frau Sichel hid behind the bushes bordering the area and didn’t take her eyes off Moosie. Moosie dug up a big hole in the snow, stuck his nose in, sniffed and loudly snorted, but apparently didn’t reach what he was after. He began scraping hard on the frozen earth with his hoof.
Then he stuck his nose in the snow all the way up to his eyeballs and pulled out something greyish-brown remotely resembling a beet or a frozen potato with his teeth.

Moosie sat down in the snow and began carefully sniffing his find. Immediately, the sheep was right on top of him.
“Dear Moosie,” Frau Sichel bleated, “can you tell sheepie what you dug up?”
“I don’t know,” Moosie replied, “I forgot what it is, I just know that it’s lichen, because I can eat it.”
“Maybe it’s truffle lichen?” Sichel went on sweetly. “Do you like it?”
“Yes,” Moosie said, “it probably is truffle lichen, we need to ask Camel, he knows everything.”
“No ne-e-eed to ask Camel,” the sheep bleated, “let’s look for more truffle lichen together. Will you let me taste the lichen?”
“All right,” Moosie said, “there’s plenty here, this whole glade, I can feel it.”
“Dearest, dearest Moosie,” Frau Sichel said as tenderly as she could manage, “show me where to dig for polar truffles..., I mean, truffle lichen, and I’ll help you clear the snow away.”
“All right,” Moosie agreed again, “look, dig here...” Moosie moved a step from the first hole and sniffed, “then here,” Moosie moved another step, “then here,” Moosie stepped exactly the same distance, “and here!”
“Incredible! This isn’t just the Klondike; it’s a real El Dorado!” the sheep whispered.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh!” Moosie said and set off digging another hole with his hoof.
By the time it started to get dark that evening, the frame was finally ready. Mike took off his hat, wiped his sweaty brow and sat down on what was left of the trunk of the pine tree.

“Excellent! Work is done – time for fun!” Potapych said. “Everybody to table! Dinner is served!”
Mike looked around and asked:
“But where’s Moosie?”
And then he looked around again and added:
“And Frau Sichel?”
“Moosie, Moosie, Frau Sichel!” they all began crying.
But there was no reply. “Potapych, do you have wolves in the area?” Mike asked the bear worriedly.
“No, there’s practically no wolves left hereabouts,” Potapych answered, “although there are a pair of wolves I know not far away, but they don’t come near my lair, much less eat my guests.”
“How do they know who your guests are, and who aren’t?!” Mike asked earnestly, getting alarmed. “Two of the tastiest members of our crew have gone missing!”
“Let’s go,” the bear said resolutely, “let’s go find them! Here are their tracks in the snow. These are moose tracks, and those are sheep tracks. Everybody follow me!” The whole crew followed in Indian file, hurrying to keep up with Potapych in the forest. But they didn’t have far to go.
The friends came out onto the opening and were dumbstruck. The whole glade was dug up, as if by a bulldozer. You could see identical holes two feet apart from each other in the snow.
A pile of dirty snow mixed with soil stood next to each hole. A mound of some kind of greyish brown root vegetable was piled up in the middle of the glade. In the distance, the nether parts of Moosie and Frau Sichel stuck out from two holes next to each

other. The sheep was happily singing:
“And it's blow, ye winds, heigh-go for Cal-i-i-for-ni-o; For there's plenty of gold so I've been told, on the banks of the Sacramento!”
On seeing that, Potapych roared like he had been shot, and plopped his ample rump down on the snowy ground.
“Why, oh why?” the bear roared in consternation, pulling out clumps of non-army surplus fur from his head, “My garden! My rutabaga! A year and a half of hard work, all for nothing!” the bear wailed.
Moosie and the sheep heard the roar. They pulled their dirty muzzles from the holes and looked at the others. “There!” the sheep cried triumphantly, “look at how many polar truffles we found! We’ll be milliona-a-aires! No – billion-a-a-a-a-aires!!!”
“Uh-huh,” Moosie said, trying to clean clumps of dirt off his muzzle. Dreamer dropped down on the snow next to the bear.
“O sancta simplicitas!” he said. “Oh blessed simplicity!”

Chapter 28. Parting

The jackrabbit had to face the music for his misdeeds in the bear’s den, while Frau Sichel lay on the bear’s couch with a cold dressing on her forehead.
When Bear and Camel tried to explain that there was no such thing as polar truffles, she refused to believe them.
“You’re ly-y-ying,” she bleated, “you want to take away all the polar truffles witho-o-out me-e-e, so you won’t have to share the profits!”
In the end, Hare admitted to the whole thing.
“I was joking,” Hare said, “I just wanted to keep Frau Sichel from hoarding all that stuff. So I made up the story about the polar truffles.”
When she heard about his prank, the sheep plopped senseless on the snow, four hoofs and belly up under the cold northern sky. They hastily took her down into the lair, where the bear plied the poor sheep with an infusion made from pine cones.
Frau Sichel became delirious and started ranting about calling the police. Finally she came around.
“You’re caught red-pawed this time, hare,” Frau Sichel said, “as soon as we get home, I’m turning you over to the police for fra-a-aud.”
“Yeah, right, I can’t wait to get back!” Hare said gleefully. “No, I ain’t going back! I decided I wanna stay here, with Mikhaylo Potapych.”
“Yes, let the little fellow stay here,” the bear said, “let him help

make up for the attrition in population here.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” Moosie said, agreeing with him.
It was decided to set sail the next day, while the sea still wasn’t frozen. The hull was repaired, the sails had dried out and the ice had melted from the masts and yardarms. The sun was peeking out from behind the clouds, and a fresh breeze brought the smell of spring.
“Fair winds and following seas,” Wolf wheezed, “I can feel that this weather won’t hold. Time to shake the snow of this place off our paws!”
The things and provisions were loaded on Michael’s Ark the next morning. Potapych gave the voyagers half of the rutabagas that were dug up. He gave Frau Sichel another quarter for her pain and suffering.
“Plant the rutabagas in the spring,” the bear told the sheep, “hopefully they’ pick up! In any case, you’ll have a new standing crop to cultivate. You won’t become a billionaire, but it will do for your household.”
“Tha-a-ank you, Potapych,” the sheep bleated, “even a crust of bread is welcome for a poor old sheep. Everybody deceives me, everybody tries to live off of me, you’re the only one who gave me something out of the kindness of your hea-a-art!”
“Tut, tut,” the bear said, “bon voyage!”
Potapych and Hare went out to see the ship off. Everybody crowded around on the shore.
“Well, goodbye, Bruiser,” Potapych said.
“Do you want to butt heads before we leave?” Bruiser suggested.

“No, we won’t butt heads, my sides are not army surplus,” the bear replied, “if you like, we’ll wrangle!”
“Say what?” Bruiser said, not understanding.
The bear took the buffalo by the horns with his paws.
“Come on, champ, pull your horns from my paws.”
The buffalo wrenched his head to the left and then to the right, but the bear held him firmly by the horns. Bruiser jerked back and then pushed forward, hoping to toss the bear into the air. But Potapych held him and pushed the horned head toward the ground. Bruiser turned sideways and tried to trample the bear with his hoofs, but the bear moved off to the side and kept pressing on the buffalo’s head.
“This isn’t like butting heads,” Bruiser bellowed, “you’re wracking my brain!”
“Are you sure you have a brain?” Potapych joked, loosening his grip a bit.
That was a mistake. Bruiser twisted and flicked his tail in Potapych’s eyes. The bear roared in pain and released the buffalo’s horns from his paws for a second. Bruiser leaped and lightly picked up Potapych with his horns, sending the bear flying thirty feet.
“Enough with the bullfighting,” Momma Clarissa said, “you’ll tear up each other’s hides, and they’re not army surplus.”
Potapych and Bruiser stopped and hugged each other.
“You pack a strong punch, brother!” The bear said respectfully, rubbing his side.
“And you’re not so bad yourself, bear!” the buffalo replied.
Frau Sichel said goodbye to Hare.

“I feel sorry for you, longears,” the sheep bleated, “you’ll be lost in the backwoods here! All right then, get on board, I won’t turn you over to the police. You can plant the rutabagas in my garden.”
“I’ll be okay,” the jackrabbit cheerfully replied, “us hares are nobody’s fools, and Potapych and me will have a great life together. No big bad wolf is gonna scare us.”
“All right”, Frau Sichel bleated, “if you change your mind, come back!”
“Ah, Hare! You’re a true hero!” The zebra said. “To stay here in the northern forest is truly an act of bravery! I’ll dedicate my next ballad to you.”
“Why would you wanna do that?” the hare said, smiling. “Nobody dedicates ballads to us hares!”
“Then I’ll dedicate a poem to you: ‘here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail...’”
“No, no, don’t!” The jackrabbit refused. “I don’t need it. There’s been enough said about me already!”
“Isolde, dearest, why dedicate verses to some jackrabbit, when you have a king of beasts?” Said Leonidus.
“Yes, yes, what’s the point of singing the praises of hares,” Tigeran said in support, “when there are more powerful animals...”
“Ah! Spare me your platitudes,” Isolde replied, as she climbed into the boat and wrapped herself in a blanket, “you make my head ache!”
Moosie sniffed Hare and Potapych one more time in farewell.
“Good-bye,” Moosie said, “I’ve sniffed you twice so we’ll remember each other better and be good friends. Because I’ll miss youse, or

miss you, I don’t know how to say it right, but I will!”
“Dearest Mikhaylo Potapych,” Camel said, chiming in on the conversation, “I would like to observe that despite the fact that we don’t see eye to eye in many respects, nevertheless, it has been a great pleasure for me to converse with you. Furthermore, on behalf of our multifarious group, allow me to thank you for your congenial reception and generous hospitality!”
“Yes, yes,” Potapych said, “come visit us again! It will always be a pleasure, as they say.”
Simeon came up to them and hugged hare by the shoulders.
“I’d like to stay here with you too, we could play tag,” the young primate whispered, “but momma won’t ever let me!”
“You can’t stay here,” the jackrabbit said, “you’ll freeze! Go on, get back to your bananas!”
“Come on, Simeon, get in the boat, you’ll get your hands wet!” Momma Clarissa said to her son.
“Goodbye, longears!” Simeon said.
“So long, four-hands!” Hare replied.
“Enough palaver, everybody in the boats!” Captain Wolf wheezed.
Everybody sat in place, and the boats shoved off from the shore to the ship. In five minutes, the wayfarers climbed on board Michael’s Ark.
Bear and Hare stood on the shore and waved at them with their paws.
The voyagers crowded on board the ship and waved back with their respective hands, hoofs and paws.
“Good bye!” Mike cried from the ship, “don’t forget us! Maybe we’ll

meet again!”
“The bear and the hare are good people, aren’t they?” He asked Camel. “It’s so great that we got to know each other!”
“Ut ameris, amabilis esto,” Camel commented deeply, and then translated: “’be lovable, and you will be loved!’”
The wind filled the sails. Michael’s Ark picked up speed, sailed out of the bay and headed for the open ocean.
“I’m getting tired of travelling,” Mike said, standing next to Wolf at the helm, “I want to go home!”
“We still haven’t sailed around the world!” Wolf said, surprised.
“All the same,” Mike said, I want to go back to my mom!”
“Well then, back we shall go!” The captain wheezed. “Six points to port, all hands to quarters!”
“We still have to take all the animals back to their homes,” Mike reminded him.
“What, back to ‘their’ homes?” Captain Wolf asked. “That’ll take some time! Let’s all go home, let them stay with us for a while!”
“Okay,” Mike said, “let’s take them all home with us, and then whatever they want.”
“Unfurl all sails!” Captain Wolf wheezed. “Full speed ahead!”

Afterword

“Michael, what have you done here?” Mike’s mom asked, coming into the room from the cold outside. “You’ve thrown all your toys around and scrunched up all the pillows. Shame on you! And why did you stick the mop in the sofa? It’s dirty! And what is this that you’ve hung on the broom? It was your new T-shirt, and look what did with it! Put everything back right now and go wash your hands! We’ll be eating soon!”
Mike wanted to tell his mom everything right away, but he realized that it would take a very long time.
The ship had to be taken apart. Mike put the mop and broom back where they belonged in the cupboard, threw his T-shirts in the basket for dirty laundry and rolled the string into a ball. He returned the dishes and food to the kitchen, and the clock, knife, matches and compass to his dad’s desk in the office. He stood all the animals on a shelf in his room. Now they had become ordinary stuffed toys, and it took Mike some time to make sure that they didn’t fall on top of each other.
“So,” Mike said, talking to his former crew, “is the story over?”
“That proposal requires additional verification,” a familiar voice said from somewhere in a corner.
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” came from another corner.
And Mike went to wash his hands.