Chapter Nineteen.The Northern Party—A Narrow Escape, and a Great Discovery—Esquimaux again, and a Joyful Surprise.It is interesting to meditate, sometimes, on the deviousness of the paths by which men are led in earthly affairs—even when the starting-point and object of pursuit are the same. The two parties which left theDolphinhad for their object the procuring of fresh food. The one went south and the other north, but their field was the same—the surface of the frozen sea and the margin of the ice-girt shore. Yet how different their experiences and results were the sequel will show.As we have already said, the northern party was in command of Bolton, the first mate, and consisted of ten men, among whom were our hero Fred, Peter Grim, O’Riley, and Meetuck, with the whole team of dogs, and the large sledge.Being fine weather when they set out, they travelled rapidly, making twenty miles, as near as they could calculate, in the first six hours. The dogs pulled famously, and the men stepped out well at first, being cheered and invigorated mentally by the prospect of an adventurous excursion and fresh meat. At the end of the second day they buried part of their stock of provisions at the foot of a conspicuous cliff, intending to pick it up on their return, and, thus lightened, they advanced more rapidly, keeping farther out on the floes, in hopes of falling in with walrus or seals.Their hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment. They got only one seal, and that was a small one—scarcely sufficient to afford a couple of meals to the dogs.They were “misfortunate entirely”, as O’Riley remarked, and, to add to their misfortunes, the floe-ice became so rugged that they could scarcely advance at all.“Things grow worse and worse,” remarked Grim, as the sledge, for the twentieth time that day, plunged into a crack in the ice, and had to be unloaded ere it could be got out. “The sledge won’t stand much o’ sich work, and if it breaks—good-bye to it, for it won’t mend without wood, and there’s none here.”“No fear of it,” cried Bolton encouragingly; “it’s made of material as tough as your own sinews, Grim, and won’t give way easily, as the thumps it has withstood already prove. Has it never struck you, Fred,” he continued, turning to our hero, who was plodding forward in silence,—“has it never struck you that when things in this world get very bad, and we begin to feel inclined to give up, they somehow or other begin to get better.”“Why, yes, I have noticed that; but I have a vague sort of feeling just now that things are not going to get better. I don’t know whether it’s this long-continued darkness, or the want of good food, but I feel more downcast than I ever was in my life before.”Bolton’s remark had been intended to cheer, but Fred’s answer proved that a discussion of the merits of the question was not likely to have a good effect on the men, whose spirits were evidently very much cast down, so he changed the subject.Fortunately at that time an incident occurred which effected the mate’s purpose better than any efforts man could have made. It has frequently happened that when Arctic voyagers have, from sickness and long confinement during a monotonous winter, become so depressed in spirits that games and amusements of every kind failed to rouse them from their lethargic despondency, sudden danger has given to their minds the needful impulse, and effected a salutary change, for a time at least, in their spirits. Such was the case at the present time. The men were so worn with hard travel and the want of fresh food, and depressed by disappointment and long-continued darkness, that they failed in their attempts to cheer each other, and at length relapsed into moody silence. Fred’s thoughts turned constantly to his father, and he ceased to remark cheerfully, as was his wont, on passing objects. Even O’Riley’s jests became few and far between, and at last ceased altogether. Bolton alone kept up his spirits, and sought to cheer his men, the feeling of responsibility being, probably, the secret of his superiority over them in this respect. But even Bolton’s spirits began to sink at last.While they were thus groping sadly along among the hummocks, a large fragment of ice was observed to break off from a berg just over their heads.“Look out! follow me, quick!” shouted the first mate in a loud, sharp voice of alarm, at the same time darting in towards the side of the berg.The startled men obeyed the order just in time, for they had barely reached the side of the berg when the enormous pinnacle fell, and was shattered into a thousand fragments on the spot they had just left. A rebounding emotion sent the blood in a crimson flood to Fred’s forehead, and this was followed by a feeling of gratitude to the Almighty for the preservation of himself and the party. Leaving the dangerous vicinity of the bergs, they afterwards kept more inshore.“What can yonder mound be?” said Fred, pointing to an object that was faintly seen at a short distance off upon the bleak shore.“An Esquimaux hut, maybe,” replied Grim. “What think’ee, Meetuck?”Meetuck shook his head and looked grave, but made no reply.“Why don’t you answer?” said Bolton; “but come along, we’ll soon see.”Meetuck now made various ineffectual attempts to dissuade the party from examining the mound, which turned out to be composed of stones heaped upon each other; but, as all the conversation of which he was capable failed to enlighten his companions as to what the pile was, they instantly set to work to open a passage into the interior, believing that it might contain fresh provisions, as the Esquimaux were in the habit of thus preserving their superabundant food from bears and wolves. In half an hour a hole large enough for a man to creep through was formed, and Fred entered, but started back with an exclamation of horror on finding himself in the presence of a human skeleton, which was seated on the ground in the centre of this strange tomb with its head and arms resting on the knees.“It must be an Esquimaux grave,” said Fred, as he retreated hastily; “that must be the reason why Meetuck tried to hinder us.”“I should like to see it,” said Grim, stooping and thrusting his head and shoulders into the hole.“What have you got there?” asked Bolton, as Grim drew back and held up something in his hand.“Don’t know exactly. It’s like a bit o’ cloth.” On examination the article was found to be a shred of coarse cloth, of a blue or black colour, and, being an unexpected substance to meet with in such a place, Bolton turned round with it to Meetuck in the hope of obtaining some information. But Meetuck was gone. While the sailors were breaking into the grave, Meetuck had stood aloof with a displeased expression of countenance, as if he were angry at the rude desecration of a countryman’s tomb; but the moment his eye fell on the shred of cloth an expression of mingled surprise and curiosity crossed his countenance, and without uttering a word he slipped noiselessly into the hole, from which he almost immediately issued bearing several articles in his hand. These he held up to view, and with animated words and gesticulations explained that this was the grave of a white man, not of a native.The articles he brought out were a pewter plate and a silver table-spoon.“There’s a name of some kind written here,” said Bolton, as he carefully scrutinised the spoon. “Look here, Fred, your eyes are better than mine; see if you can make it out.”Fred took it with a trembling hand, for a strange feeling of dread had seized possession of his heart, and he could scarcely bring himself to look upon it. He summoned up courage, however, but at the first glance his hand fell down by his side, and a dimness came over his eyes, for the word “Pole Star” was engraven on the handle. He would have fallen to the ground had not Bolton caught him.“Don’t give way, lad, the ship may be all right. Perhaps this is one o’ the crew that died.”Fred did not answer, but, recovering himself with a strong effort, he said: “Pull down the stones, men.”The men obeyed in silence, and the poor boy sat down on a rock to await the result in trembling anxiety. A few minutes sufficed to disentomb the skeleton, for the men sympathised with their young comrade, and worked with all their energies.“Cheer up, Fred,” said Bolton, coming and laying his hand on the youth’s shoulder, “it’snotyour father. There is a bit ofblackhair sticking to the scalp.”With a fervent expression of thankfulness Fred rose and examined the skeleton, which had been placed in a sort of sack of skin, but was destitute of clothing. It was quite dry, and must have been there a long time. Nothing else was found, but from the appearance of the skull, and the presence of the plate and spoon, there could be no doubt that it was that of one of thePole Star’screw.It was now resolved that they should proceed along the coast and examine every creek and bay for traces of the lost vessel.“Oh, Bolton, my heart misgives me!” said Fred, as they drove along; “I fear that they have all perished.”“Niver a bit sir,” said O’Riley in a sympathising tone, “yon chap must have died and been buried here be the crew as they wint past.”“You forget that sailors don’t bury men under mounds of stone, with pewter plates and spoons beside them.”O’Riley was silenced, for the remark was unanswerable.“He may ha’ bin left or lost on the shore, and been found by the Esquimaux,” suggested Peter Grim.“Is that not another tomb?” enquired one of the men, pointing towards an object which stood on the end of a point or cape towards which they were approaching.Ere anyone could reply, their ears were saluted by the well-known bark of a pack of Esquimaux dogs. In another moment they dashed into the midst of a snow village, and were immediately surrounded by the excited natives. For some time no information could be gleaned from their interpreter, who was too excited to make use of his meagre amount of English. They observed, however, that the natives, although much excited, did not seem to be so much surprised at the appearance of white men amongst them as those were whom they had first met with near the ship. In a short time Meetuck apparently had expended all he had to say to his friends, and turned to make explanations to Bolton in a very excited tone; but little more could be made out than that what he said had some reference to white men. At length, in desperation, he pointed to a large hut which seemed to be the principal one of the village, and, dragging the mate towards it, made signs to him to enter.Bolton hesitated an instant.“He wants you to see the chief of the tribe, no doubt,” said Fred; “you’d better go in at once.”A loud voice shouted something in the Esquimaux language from within the hut. At the sound Fred’s heart beat violently, and pushing past the mate he crept through the tunnelled entrance and stood within. There was little furniture in this rude dwelling. A dull flame flickered in a stone lamp which hung from the roof, and revealed the figure of a large Esquimaux reclining on a couch of skins at the raised side of the hut.The man looked up hastily as Fred entered, and uttered a few unintelligible words.“Father!” cried Fred, gasping for breath, and springing forward.Captain Ellice, for it was indeed he, started with apparent difficulty and pain into a sitting posture, and, throwing back his hood, revealed a face whose open, hearty, benignant expression shone through a coat of dark brown which long months of toil and exposure had imprinted on it. It was thin, however, and careworn, and wore an expression that seemed to be the result of long-continued suffering.“Father!” he exclaimed in an earnest tone; “who calls me father?”“Don’t you know me, Father?—don’t you remember Fred?—look at—”Fred checked himself, for the wild look of his father frightened him.“Ah! these dreams,” murmured the old man, “I wish they did not come so—”Placing his hand on his forehead he fell backwards in a state of insensibility into the arms of his son.
It is interesting to meditate, sometimes, on the deviousness of the paths by which men are led in earthly affairs—even when the starting-point and object of pursuit are the same. The two parties which left theDolphinhad for their object the procuring of fresh food. The one went south and the other north, but their field was the same—the surface of the frozen sea and the margin of the ice-girt shore. Yet how different their experiences and results were the sequel will show.
As we have already said, the northern party was in command of Bolton, the first mate, and consisted of ten men, among whom were our hero Fred, Peter Grim, O’Riley, and Meetuck, with the whole team of dogs, and the large sledge.
Being fine weather when they set out, they travelled rapidly, making twenty miles, as near as they could calculate, in the first six hours. The dogs pulled famously, and the men stepped out well at first, being cheered and invigorated mentally by the prospect of an adventurous excursion and fresh meat. At the end of the second day they buried part of their stock of provisions at the foot of a conspicuous cliff, intending to pick it up on their return, and, thus lightened, they advanced more rapidly, keeping farther out on the floes, in hopes of falling in with walrus or seals.
Their hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment. They got only one seal, and that was a small one—scarcely sufficient to afford a couple of meals to the dogs.
They were “misfortunate entirely”, as O’Riley remarked, and, to add to their misfortunes, the floe-ice became so rugged that they could scarcely advance at all.
“Things grow worse and worse,” remarked Grim, as the sledge, for the twentieth time that day, plunged into a crack in the ice, and had to be unloaded ere it could be got out. “The sledge won’t stand much o’ sich work, and if it breaks—good-bye to it, for it won’t mend without wood, and there’s none here.”
“No fear of it,” cried Bolton encouragingly; “it’s made of material as tough as your own sinews, Grim, and won’t give way easily, as the thumps it has withstood already prove. Has it never struck you, Fred,” he continued, turning to our hero, who was plodding forward in silence,—“has it never struck you that when things in this world get very bad, and we begin to feel inclined to give up, they somehow or other begin to get better.”
“Why, yes, I have noticed that; but I have a vague sort of feeling just now that things are not going to get better. I don’t know whether it’s this long-continued darkness, or the want of good food, but I feel more downcast than I ever was in my life before.”
Bolton’s remark had been intended to cheer, but Fred’s answer proved that a discussion of the merits of the question was not likely to have a good effect on the men, whose spirits were evidently very much cast down, so he changed the subject.
Fortunately at that time an incident occurred which effected the mate’s purpose better than any efforts man could have made. It has frequently happened that when Arctic voyagers have, from sickness and long confinement during a monotonous winter, become so depressed in spirits that games and amusements of every kind failed to rouse them from their lethargic despondency, sudden danger has given to their minds the needful impulse, and effected a salutary change, for a time at least, in their spirits. Such was the case at the present time. The men were so worn with hard travel and the want of fresh food, and depressed by disappointment and long-continued darkness, that they failed in their attempts to cheer each other, and at length relapsed into moody silence. Fred’s thoughts turned constantly to his father, and he ceased to remark cheerfully, as was his wont, on passing objects. Even O’Riley’s jests became few and far between, and at last ceased altogether. Bolton alone kept up his spirits, and sought to cheer his men, the feeling of responsibility being, probably, the secret of his superiority over them in this respect. But even Bolton’s spirits began to sink at last.
While they were thus groping sadly along among the hummocks, a large fragment of ice was observed to break off from a berg just over their heads.
“Look out! follow me, quick!” shouted the first mate in a loud, sharp voice of alarm, at the same time darting in towards the side of the berg.
The startled men obeyed the order just in time, for they had barely reached the side of the berg when the enormous pinnacle fell, and was shattered into a thousand fragments on the spot they had just left. A rebounding emotion sent the blood in a crimson flood to Fred’s forehead, and this was followed by a feeling of gratitude to the Almighty for the preservation of himself and the party. Leaving the dangerous vicinity of the bergs, they afterwards kept more inshore.
“What can yonder mound be?” said Fred, pointing to an object that was faintly seen at a short distance off upon the bleak shore.
“An Esquimaux hut, maybe,” replied Grim. “What think’ee, Meetuck?”
Meetuck shook his head and looked grave, but made no reply.
“Why don’t you answer?” said Bolton; “but come along, we’ll soon see.”
Meetuck now made various ineffectual attempts to dissuade the party from examining the mound, which turned out to be composed of stones heaped upon each other; but, as all the conversation of which he was capable failed to enlighten his companions as to what the pile was, they instantly set to work to open a passage into the interior, believing that it might contain fresh provisions, as the Esquimaux were in the habit of thus preserving their superabundant food from bears and wolves. In half an hour a hole large enough for a man to creep through was formed, and Fred entered, but started back with an exclamation of horror on finding himself in the presence of a human skeleton, which was seated on the ground in the centre of this strange tomb with its head and arms resting on the knees.
“It must be an Esquimaux grave,” said Fred, as he retreated hastily; “that must be the reason why Meetuck tried to hinder us.”
“I should like to see it,” said Grim, stooping and thrusting his head and shoulders into the hole.
“What have you got there?” asked Bolton, as Grim drew back and held up something in his hand.
“Don’t know exactly. It’s like a bit o’ cloth.” On examination the article was found to be a shred of coarse cloth, of a blue or black colour, and, being an unexpected substance to meet with in such a place, Bolton turned round with it to Meetuck in the hope of obtaining some information. But Meetuck was gone. While the sailors were breaking into the grave, Meetuck had stood aloof with a displeased expression of countenance, as if he were angry at the rude desecration of a countryman’s tomb; but the moment his eye fell on the shred of cloth an expression of mingled surprise and curiosity crossed his countenance, and without uttering a word he slipped noiselessly into the hole, from which he almost immediately issued bearing several articles in his hand. These he held up to view, and with animated words and gesticulations explained that this was the grave of a white man, not of a native.
The articles he brought out were a pewter plate and a silver table-spoon.
“There’s a name of some kind written here,” said Bolton, as he carefully scrutinised the spoon. “Look here, Fred, your eyes are better than mine; see if you can make it out.”
Fred took it with a trembling hand, for a strange feeling of dread had seized possession of his heart, and he could scarcely bring himself to look upon it. He summoned up courage, however, but at the first glance his hand fell down by his side, and a dimness came over his eyes, for the word “Pole Star” was engraven on the handle. He would have fallen to the ground had not Bolton caught him.
“Don’t give way, lad, the ship may be all right. Perhaps this is one o’ the crew that died.”
Fred did not answer, but, recovering himself with a strong effort, he said: “Pull down the stones, men.”
The men obeyed in silence, and the poor boy sat down on a rock to await the result in trembling anxiety. A few minutes sufficed to disentomb the skeleton, for the men sympathised with their young comrade, and worked with all their energies.
“Cheer up, Fred,” said Bolton, coming and laying his hand on the youth’s shoulder, “it’snotyour father. There is a bit ofblackhair sticking to the scalp.”
With a fervent expression of thankfulness Fred rose and examined the skeleton, which had been placed in a sort of sack of skin, but was destitute of clothing. It was quite dry, and must have been there a long time. Nothing else was found, but from the appearance of the skull, and the presence of the plate and spoon, there could be no doubt that it was that of one of thePole Star’screw.
It was now resolved that they should proceed along the coast and examine every creek and bay for traces of the lost vessel.
“Oh, Bolton, my heart misgives me!” said Fred, as they drove along; “I fear that they have all perished.”
“Niver a bit sir,” said O’Riley in a sympathising tone, “yon chap must have died and been buried here be the crew as they wint past.”
“You forget that sailors don’t bury men under mounds of stone, with pewter plates and spoons beside them.”
O’Riley was silenced, for the remark was unanswerable.
“He may ha’ bin left or lost on the shore, and been found by the Esquimaux,” suggested Peter Grim.
“Is that not another tomb?” enquired one of the men, pointing towards an object which stood on the end of a point or cape towards which they were approaching.
Ere anyone could reply, their ears were saluted by the well-known bark of a pack of Esquimaux dogs. In another moment they dashed into the midst of a snow village, and were immediately surrounded by the excited natives. For some time no information could be gleaned from their interpreter, who was too excited to make use of his meagre amount of English. They observed, however, that the natives, although much excited, did not seem to be so much surprised at the appearance of white men amongst them as those were whom they had first met with near the ship. In a short time Meetuck apparently had expended all he had to say to his friends, and turned to make explanations to Bolton in a very excited tone; but little more could be made out than that what he said had some reference to white men. At length, in desperation, he pointed to a large hut which seemed to be the principal one of the village, and, dragging the mate towards it, made signs to him to enter.
Bolton hesitated an instant.
“He wants you to see the chief of the tribe, no doubt,” said Fred; “you’d better go in at once.”
A loud voice shouted something in the Esquimaux language from within the hut. At the sound Fred’s heart beat violently, and pushing past the mate he crept through the tunnelled entrance and stood within. There was little furniture in this rude dwelling. A dull flame flickered in a stone lamp which hung from the roof, and revealed the figure of a large Esquimaux reclining on a couch of skins at the raised side of the hut.
The man looked up hastily as Fred entered, and uttered a few unintelligible words.
“Father!” cried Fred, gasping for breath, and springing forward.
Captain Ellice, for it was indeed he, started with apparent difficulty and pain into a sitting posture, and, throwing back his hood, revealed a face whose open, hearty, benignant expression shone through a coat of dark brown which long months of toil and exposure had imprinted on it. It was thin, however, and careworn, and wore an expression that seemed to be the result of long-continued suffering.
“Father!” he exclaimed in an earnest tone; “who calls me father?”
“Don’t you know me, Father?—don’t you remember Fred?—look at—”
Fred checked himself, for the wild look of his father frightened him.
“Ah! these dreams,” murmured the old man, “I wish they did not come so—”
Placing his hand on his forehead he fell backwards in a state of insensibility into the arms of his son.
Chapter Twenty.Keeping it Down—Mutual Explanations—Death—New-Year’s Day.It need scarcely be said that the sailors outside did not remain long in ignorance of the unexpected and happy discovery related in the last chapter. Bolton, who had crept in after Fred, with proper delicacy of feeling retired the moment he found how matters stood, and left father and son to expend, in the privacy of that chamber of snow, those feelings and emotions which can be better imagined than described.The first impulse of the men was to give three cheers, but Bolton checked them in the bud.“No, no, lads. We must hold on,” he said in an eager but subdued voice. “Doubtless it would be pleasant to vent our feelings in a hearty cheer, but it would startle the old gentleman inside. Get along with you, and let us get ready a good supper.”“Oh morther!” exclaimed O’Riley, holding on to his sides as if he believed what he said, “me biler’ll bust av ye don’t let me screech.”“Squeeze down the safety-valve a bit longer, then,” cried Bolton, as they hurried along with the whole population to the outskirts of the village. “Now, then, ye may fire away; they won’t hear ye—Huzza!”A long enthusiastic cheer distantly burst from the sailors, and was immediately followed by a howl of delight from the Esquimaux, who capered round their visitors with uncouth gestures and grinning faces.Entering one of the largest huts, preparations for supper were promptly begun. The Esquimaux happened to be well supplied with walrus flesh, so the lamps were replenished, and the hiss of the frying steaks and dropping fat speedily rose above all other sounds.Meanwhile Fred and his father, having mutually recovered somewhat of their wonted composure, began to tell each other the details of their adventures since they last met, while the former prepared a cup of coffee and a steak for their mutual comfort.“But, Father,” said Fred, busying himself at the lamp, “you have not yet told me how you came here, and what has become of thePole Star, and how it was that one of your men came to be buried in the Esquimaux fashion, and how you got your leg broken?”“Truly, Fred, I have not told you all that; and to give it you all in detail will afford us many a long hour of converse hereafter, if it please God, whose tenderness and watchful care of me has never failed. But I can give you a brief outline of it thus:—“I got into Baffin’s Bay and made a good fishing of it the first year, but was beset in the ice and compelled to spend two winters in these regions. The third year we were liberated, and had almost got fairly on our homeward voyage, when a storm blew us to the north, and carried us up here. Then our good brig was nipped and went to the bottom, and all the crew were lost except myself and one man. We succeeded in leaping from one piece of loose ice to another until we reached the solid floe and gained the land, where we were kindly received by the Esquimaux. But poor Wilson did not survive long. His constitution had never been robust, and he died of consumption a week after we landed. The Esquimaux buried him after their own fashion, and, as I afterwards found, had buried a plate and a spoon along with him. These, with several other articles, had been washed ashore from the wreck. Since then I have been living the life of an Esquimaux, awaiting an opportunity of escape, either by a ship making its appearance or a tribe of natives travelling south. I soon picked up their language, and was living in comparative comfort when, during a sharp fight I chanced to have with a Polar bear, I fell and broke my leg. I have lain here for many months and have suffered much, Fred; but, thank God, I am now almost well, and can walk a little, though not yet without pain.”“Dear Father,” said Fred, “howterribly you must have felt the want of kind hands to nurse you during those dreary months, and how lonely you must have been!”It were impossible here to enter minutely into the details of all that Captain Ellice related to Fred during the next few days, while they remained together in the Esquimaux village. To tell of the dangers, the adventures, and the hairbreadth escapes that the crew of thePole Starwent through before the vessel finally went down would require a whole volume. We must pass it all over, and also the account of the few days that followed, during which sundry walrus were captured, and return to theDolphin, to which Captain Ellice had been conveyed on the sledge, carefully wrapped up in deer-skins and tended by Fred.A party of the Esquimaux accompanied them, and as a number of the natives from the other village had returned with Saunders and his men to the ship, the scene she presented, when all parties were united, was exceedingly curious and animated.The Esquimaux soon built quite a little town of snow-huts all round theDolphin, and the noise of traffic and intercourse was peculiarly refreshing to the ears of those who had long been accustomed to the death-like stillness of an Arctic winter. The beneficial effect of the change on men and dogs was instantaneous. Their spirits rose at once, and this, with the ample supply of fresh meat that had been procured, soon began to drive scurvy away.There was one dark spot, however, in this otherwise pleasant scene—one impending event that cast a gloom over all. In his narrow berth in the cabin Joseph West lay dying. Scurvy had acted more rapidly on his delicate frame than had been expected. Despite Tom Singleton’s utmost efforts and skill the fell disease gained the mastery, and it soon became evident that this hearty and excellent man was to be taken away from them.During the last days of his illness Captain Ellice was his greatest comfort and his constant companion.It was on Christmas-day that West died.Next day the body of Joseph West was put in a plain deal coffin and conveyed to Store Island, where it was placed on the ground. They had no instruments that could penetrate the hard rock, so were obliged to construct a tomb of stones, after the manner of the Esquimaux, under which the coffin was laid and left in solitude.New-year’s Day came, and preparations were made to celebrate the day with the usual festivities. But the recent death had affected the crew too deeply to allow them to indulge in the unrestrained hilarity of that season. Prayers were read in the morning, and both Captain Guy and Captain Ellice addressed the men feelingly in allusion to their late shipmate’s death and their own present position. A good dinner was also prepared, and several luxuries served out, among which were the materials for the construction of a large plum-pudding. But no grog was allowed, and they needed it not. As the afternoon advanced, stories were told, and even songs were sung, but these were of a quiet kind, and the men seemed, from an innate feeling of propriety, to suit them to the occasion. Old friends were recalled, and old familiar scenes described. The hearths of home were spoken of with a depth of feeling that showed how intense was the longing to be seated round them again, and future prospects were canvassed with keen interest and with hopeful voices. New year’s Day came and went, and when it was gone the men of theDolphindid not say, “What a jolly day it was!” Theysaidlittle or nothing, but, long after, theythoughtof it as a bright spot in their dreary winter in the Bay of Mercy—as a day in which they had enjoyed earnest, glad, and sober communings of heart.
It need scarcely be said that the sailors outside did not remain long in ignorance of the unexpected and happy discovery related in the last chapter. Bolton, who had crept in after Fred, with proper delicacy of feeling retired the moment he found how matters stood, and left father and son to expend, in the privacy of that chamber of snow, those feelings and emotions which can be better imagined than described.
The first impulse of the men was to give three cheers, but Bolton checked them in the bud.
“No, no, lads. We must hold on,” he said in an eager but subdued voice. “Doubtless it would be pleasant to vent our feelings in a hearty cheer, but it would startle the old gentleman inside. Get along with you, and let us get ready a good supper.”
“Oh morther!” exclaimed O’Riley, holding on to his sides as if he believed what he said, “me biler’ll bust av ye don’t let me screech.”
“Squeeze down the safety-valve a bit longer, then,” cried Bolton, as they hurried along with the whole population to the outskirts of the village. “Now, then, ye may fire away; they won’t hear ye—Huzza!”
A long enthusiastic cheer distantly burst from the sailors, and was immediately followed by a howl of delight from the Esquimaux, who capered round their visitors with uncouth gestures and grinning faces.
Entering one of the largest huts, preparations for supper were promptly begun. The Esquimaux happened to be well supplied with walrus flesh, so the lamps were replenished, and the hiss of the frying steaks and dropping fat speedily rose above all other sounds.
Meanwhile Fred and his father, having mutually recovered somewhat of their wonted composure, began to tell each other the details of their adventures since they last met, while the former prepared a cup of coffee and a steak for their mutual comfort.
“But, Father,” said Fred, busying himself at the lamp, “you have not yet told me how you came here, and what has become of thePole Star, and how it was that one of your men came to be buried in the Esquimaux fashion, and how you got your leg broken?”
“Truly, Fred, I have not told you all that; and to give it you all in detail will afford us many a long hour of converse hereafter, if it please God, whose tenderness and watchful care of me has never failed. But I can give you a brief outline of it thus:—
“I got into Baffin’s Bay and made a good fishing of it the first year, but was beset in the ice and compelled to spend two winters in these regions. The third year we were liberated, and had almost got fairly on our homeward voyage, when a storm blew us to the north, and carried us up here. Then our good brig was nipped and went to the bottom, and all the crew were lost except myself and one man. We succeeded in leaping from one piece of loose ice to another until we reached the solid floe and gained the land, where we were kindly received by the Esquimaux. But poor Wilson did not survive long. His constitution had never been robust, and he died of consumption a week after we landed. The Esquimaux buried him after their own fashion, and, as I afterwards found, had buried a plate and a spoon along with him. These, with several other articles, had been washed ashore from the wreck. Since then I have been living the life of an Esquimaux, awaiting an opportunity of escape, either by a ship making its appearance or a tribe of natives travelling south. I soon picked up their language, and was living in comparative comfort when, during a sharp fight I chanced to have with a Polar bear, I fell and broke my leg. I have lain here for many months and have suffered much, Fred; but, thank God, I am now almost well, and can walk a little, though not yet without pain.”
“Dear Father,” said Fred, “howterribly you must have felt the want of kind hands to nurse you during those dreary months, and how lonely you must have been!”
It were impossible here to enter minutely into the details of all that Captain Ellice related to Fred during the next few days, while they remained together in the Esquimaux village. To tell of the dangers, the adventures, and the hairbreadth escapes that the crew of thePole Starwent through before the vessel finally went down would require a whole volume. We must pass it all over, and also the account of the few days that followed, during which sundry walrus were captured, and return to theDolphin, to which Captain Ellice had been conveyed on the sledge, carefully wrapped up in deer-skins and tended by Fred.
A party of the Esquimaux accompanied them, and as a number of the natives from the other village had returned with Saunders and his men to the ship, the scene she presented, when all parties were united, was exceedingly curious and animated.
The Esquimaux soon built quite a little town of snow-huts all round theDolphin, and the noise of traffic and intercourse was peculiarly refreshing to the ears of those who had long been accustomed to the death-like stillness of an Arctic winter. The beneficial effect of the change on men and dogs was instantaneous. Their spirits rose at once, and this, with the ample supply of fresh meat that had been procured, soon began to drive scurvy away.
There was one dark spot, however, in this otherwise pleasant scene—one impending event that cast a gloom over all. In his narrow berth in the cabin Joseph West lay dying. Scurvy had acted more rapidly on his delicate frame than had been expected. Despite Tom Singleton’s utmost efforts and skill the fell disease gained the mastery, and it soon became evident that this hearty and excellent man was to be taken away from them.
During the last days of his illness Captain Ellice was his greatest comfort and his constant companion.
It was on Christmas-day that West died.
Next day the body of Joseph West was put in a plain deal coffin and conveyed to Store Island, where it was placed on the ground. They had no instruments that could penetrate the hard rock, so were obliged to construct a tomb of stones, after the manner of the Esquimaux, under which the coffin was laid and left in solitude.
New-year’s Day came, and preparations were made to celebrate the day with the usual festivities. But the recent death had affected the crew too deeply to allow them to indulge in the unrestrained hilarity of that season. Prayers were read in the morning, and both Captain Guy and Captain Ellice addressed the men feelingly in allusion to their late shipmate’s death and their own present position. A good dinner was also prepared, and several luxuries served out, among which were the materials for the construction of a large plum-pudding. But no grog was allowed, and they needed it not. As the afternoon advanced, stories were told, and even songs were sung, but these were of a quiet kind, and the men seemed, from an innate feeling of propriety, to suit them to the occasion. Old friends were recalled, and old familiar scenes described. The hearths of home were spoken of with a depth of feeling that showed how intense was the longing to be seated round them again, and future prospects were canvassed with keen interest and with hopeful voices. New year’s Day came and went, and when it was gone the men of theDolphindid not say, “What a jolly day it was!” Theysaidlittle or nothing, but, long after, theythoughtof it as a bright spot in their dreary winter in the Bay of Mercy—as a day in which they had enjoyed earnest, glad, and sober communings of heart.
Chapter Twenty One.First Gleam of Light—Trip to welcome the Sun—Bears and Strange Discoveries—O’Riley is Reckless—First View of the Sun.The wisest of men has told us that, “it is a pleasant thing for the eyes to behold the sun,” but only those who spend a winter in the Arctic regions can fully appreciate the import of that inspired saying.It is absolutely essential to existence that the bright beams of the great luminary should fall on animal as well as plant. Most of the poor dogs died for want of this blessed light, and had it been much longer withheld, doubtless our navigators would have sunk also.About the 20th of January a faint gleam of light on the horizon told of the coming day. It was hailed with rapture, and, long before the bright sun himself appeared on the southern horizon, the most of the men made daily excursions to the neighbouring hill-tops to catch sight of as much as possible of his faint rays. Day by day those rays expanded, and at last a sort ofdawnenlightened a distant portion of their earth, which, faint though it was at first, had much the appearance in their eyes of a bright day. But time wore on, andrealday appeared! The red sun rose in all its glory, showed a rim of its glowing disc above the frozen sea, and then sank, leaving a long gladsome smile of twilight behind. This great event happened on the 19th of February, and would have occurred sooner but for the high cliffs to the southward, which intervened between the ship and the horizon.On the day referred to a large party was formed to go to the top of the cliffs at Red Snow Valley to welcome back the sun.“There’s scarce a man left behind,” remarked Captain Guy, as they started on this truly joyous expedition.“Only Mizzle, sir,” said Buzzby, slapping his hands together, for the cold was intense; “he said as how he’d stop and have dinner ready agin our return.”There was a general laugh from the men, who knew that the worthy cook had other reasons for not going—namely, his shortness of wind and his inveterate dislike to ascend hills.“Come, Fred,” cried Captain Ellice, who had completely recovered from his accident, “I shall be quite jealous of your friend Singleton if you bestow so much of your company on him. Walk with me, sirrah, I command you, as I wish to have a chat.”“You are unjust to me,” replied Fred, taking his father’s arm, and falling with him a little to the rear of the party; “Tom complains that I have quite given him up of late.”“Och! isn’t it a purty sight,” remarked O’Riley to Mivins, “to see us all goin’ out like good little childers to see the sun rise of a beautiful mornin’ like this?”“So ithis,” answered Mivins, “but I wish it wasn’t quite so cold.”It was indeed cold—so cold that the men had to beat their hands together, and stamp their feet, and rush about like real children, in order to keep their bodies warm. This month of February was the coldest they had yet experienced. Several times the thermometer fell to the unexampled temperature of 75 degrees below zero, or 107 degrees below the freezing-point of water. When we remind our young readers that the thermometer in England seldom falls so low as zero, except in what we term weather of the utmost severity, they may imagine—or, rather, they may try to imagine—what 75 degreesbelowzero must have been.It was not quite so cold as that upon this occasion, otherwise the men could not have shown face to it.“Let’s have leap-frog,” shouted Davie; “we can jump along as well as walk along. Hooray!hup!”The “hup” was rather an exclamation of necessity than of delight inasmuch as that it was caused by Davie coming suddenly down flat on the ice in the act of vainly attempting to go leap-frog over Mivins’s head.“That’s your sort,” cried Amos Parr; “down with you, Buzzby.”Buzzby obeyed, and Amos, being heavy and past the agile time of life, leaped upon, instead of over, his back, and there stuck.“Not so high, lads,” cried Captain Guy. “Come, Mr Saunders, give us a back.”“Faix, he’d better go on his hands an’ knees.”“That’s it! over you go; hurrah, lads!”In five minutes nearly the whole crew were panting from their violent exertions, and those who did not, or could not, join, panted as much from laughter. The desired result, however, was speedily gained. They were all soon in a glow of heat, and bade defiance to the frost.An hour’s sharp climb brought the party almost to the brow of the hill, from which they hoped to see the sun rise for the first time for nearly five months. Just as they were about to pass over a ridge in the cliffs, Captain Guy, who had pushed on in advance with Tom Singleton, was observed to pause abruptly and make signals for the men to advance with caution. He evidently saw something unusual, for he crouched behind a rock and peeped over it. Hastening up as silently as possible, they discovered that a group of Polar bears were amusing themselves on the other side of the cliffs, within long gunshot. Unfortunately not one of the party had brought firearms. Intent only on catching a sight of the sun, they had hurried off, unmindful of the possibility of their catching sight of anything else. They had not even a spear, and the few oak cudgels that some carried, however effectual they might have proved at Donnybrook, were utterly worthless there.There were four large bears and a young one, and the gambols they performed were of the most startling as well as amusing kind. But that which interested and surprised the crew most was the fact that these bears were playing with barrels, and casks, and tent-poles, and sails! They were engaged in a regular frolic with these articles, tossing them up in the air, pawing them about, and leaping over them like kittens. In these movements they displayed their enormous strength several times. Their leaps, although performed with the utmost ease, were so great as to prove the iron nature of their muscles. They tossed the heavy casks, too, high in the air like tennis-balls; and in two instances, while the crew were watching them, dashed a cask in pieces with a slight blow of their paws. The tough canvas yielded before them like sheets of paper, and the havoc they committed was wonderful to behold.“Most extraordinary!” exclaimed Captain Guy, after watching them for some time in silence. “I cannot imagine where these creatures can have got hold of such things. Were not the goods at Store Island all right this morning, Mr Bolton?”“Yes, sir, they were.”“Nothing missing from the ship!”“No, sir, nothing.”“It’s most unaccountable.”“Captain Guy,” said O’Riley, addressing his commander with a solemn face, “haven’t ye more nor wance towld me the queer thing in the deserts they calls themirage?”“I have,” answered the captain with a puzzled look.“An’ didn’t ye say there was something like it in the Polar seas, that made ye see flags, an’ ships, an’ things o’ that sort when there was no sich things there at all?”“True, O’Riley, I did.”“Faix, then, it’s my opinion that yon bears is a mirage, an’ the sooner we git out o’ their way the better.”A smothered laugh greeted this solution of the difficulty.“I think I can give a better explanation—begging your pardon, O’Riley,” said Captain Ellice, who had hitherto looked on with a sly smile. “More than a year ago, when I was driven past this place to the northward, I took advantage of a calm to land a supply of food, and a few stores and medicines, to be a stand-by in case my ship should be wrecked to the northward. Ever since the wreck actually took place I have looked forward to thiscacheof provisions as a point of refuge on my way south. As I have already told you, I have never been able to commence the southward journey, and now I don’t require these things, which is lucky, for the bears seem to have appropriated them entirely.”“Had I known of them sooner, Captain,” said Captain Guy, “the bears should not have had a chance.”“That accounts for the supply of tobacco and sticking-plaster we found in the bear’s stomach,” remarked Fred, laughing.“True, boy, yet it surprises me that they succeeded in breaking into mycache, for it was made of heavy masses of stone, many of which required two and three men to lift them, even with the aid of handspikes.”“What’s wrong with O’Riley?” said Fred, pointing to that eccentric individual, who was gazing intently at the bears, muttering between his teeth, and clenching his cudgel nervously.“Shure, it’s a cryin’ shame,” he soliloquised in an undertone, quite unconscious that he was observed, “that ye should escape, ye villains; av’ I only had a musket now—but I han’t. Arrah, av’ it was only a spear! Be the mortial! I think I could crack the skull o’ the small wan! Faix, then; I’ll try!”At the last word, before anyone was aware of his intentions, this son of Erin, whose blood was now up, sprang down the cliffs towards the bears, flourishing his stick, and shouting wildly as he went. The bears instantly paused in their game, but showed no disposition to retreat.“Come back, you madman!” shouted the captain; but the captain shouted in vain.“Stop! halt! come back!” chorused the crew.But O’Riley was deaf; he had advanced to within a few yards of the bears, and was rushing forward to make a vigorous attack on the little one.“He’ll be killed!” exclaimed Fred in dismay.“Follow me, men,” shouted the captain, as he leaped the ridge; “make all the noise you can.”In a moment the surrounding cliffs were reverberating with the loud halloos and frantic yells of the men, as they burst suddenly over the ridge, and poured down upon the bears like a torrent of maniacs!Bold though they were they couldn’t stand this. They turned tail and fled, followed by the disappointed howls of O’Riley, and also by his cudgel, which he hurled violently after them as he pulled up.Having thus triumphantly put the enemy to flight the party continued their ascent of the hill and soon gained the summit.“There it is!” shouted Fred, who, in company with Mivins, first crossed the ridge and tossed his arms in the air.The men cheered loudly as they hurried up, and one by one emerged into a red glow of sunshine. It could not be termedwarm, for it had no power in that frosty atmosphere, and only a small portion of the sun’s disc was visible. But hislightwas on every crag and peak around; and as the men sat down in groups, and, as it were, bathed in the sunshine, winking at the bright gleam of light with half-closed eyes, they declared that itfeltwarm, and wouldn’t hear anything to the contrary, although Saunders, true to his nature, endeavoured to prove to them that the infinitely small degree of heat imparted by such feeble rays could not by any possibility befeltexcept in imagination. But Saunders was outvoted. Indeed, under the circumstances, he had not a chance of proving his point; for the more warm the dispute became the greater was the amount of animal heat that was created, to be placed, falsely, to the credit of the sun.Patience, however, is a virtue which is sure to meet with a reward. The point which Saunders failed to prove by argument was pretty well proved to everyone (though not admitted) by the agency of John Frost. That remarkably bitter individual nestled round the men as they sat sunning themselves, and soon compelled them to leap up and apply to other sources for heat. They danced about vigorously, and again took to leap-frog. Then they tried their powers at the old familiar games of home. Hop-step-and-jump raised the animal thermometer considerably; and the standing leap, running leap, and high leap sent it up many degrees. But a general race brought them almost to a summer temperature, and at the same time, most unexpectedly, secured to them a hare. This little creature, of which very few had yet been procured, darted in an evil hour out from behind a rock right in front of the men, who having begun the race for sport now continued it energetically for profit. A dozen sticks were hurled at the luckless hare, and one of these felled it to the ground.After this they returned home in triumph, keeping up all the way an animated dispute as to the amount of heat shed upon them by the sun, and upon that knotty question:“Who killed the hare?”Neither point was settled when they reached theDolphin, and, we may add, for the sake of the curious reader, neither point is settled yet.
The wisest of men has told us that, “it is a pleasant thing for the eyes to behold the sun,” but only those who spend a winter in the Arctic regions can fully appreciate the import of that inspired saying.
It is absolutely essential to existence that the bright beams of the great luminary should fall on animal as well as plant. Most of the poor dogs died for want of this blessed light, and had it been much longer withheld, doubtless our navigators would have sunk also.
About the 20th of January a faint gleam of light on the horizon told of the coming day. It was hailed with rapture, and, long before the bright sun himself appeared on the southern horizon, the most of the men made daily excursions to the neighbouring hill-tops to catch sight of as much as possible of his faint rays. Day by day those rays expanded, and at last a sort ofdawnenlightened a distant portion of their earth, which, faint though it was at first, had much the appearance in their eyes of a bright day. But time wore on, andrealday appeared! The red sun rose in all its glory, showed a rim of its glowing disc above the frozen sea, and then sank, leaving a long gladsome smile of twilight behind. This great event happened on the 19th of February, and would have occurred sooner but for the high cliffs to the southward, which intervened between the ship and the horizon.
On the day referred to a large party was formed to go to the top of the cliffs at Red Snow Valley to welcome back the sun.
“There’s scarce a man left behind,” remarked Captain Guy, as they started on this truly joyous expedition.
“Only Mizzle, sir,” said Buzzby, slapping his hands together, for the cold was intense; “he said as how he’d stop and have dinner ready agin our return.”
There was a general laugh from the men, who knew that the worthy cook had other reasons for not going—namely, his shortness of wind and his inveterate dislike to ascend hills.
“Come, Fred,” cried Captain Ellice, who had completely recovered from his accident, “I shall be quite jealous of your friend Singleton if you bestow so much of your company on him. Walk with me, sirrah, I command you, as I wish to have a chat.”
“You are unjust to me,” replied Fred, taking his father’s arm, and falling with him a little to the rear of the party; “Tom complains that I have quite given him up of late.”
“Och! isn’t it a purty sight,” remarked O’Riley to Mivins, “to see us all goin’ out like good little childers to see the sun rise of a beautiful mornin’ like this?”
“So ithis,” answered Mivins, “but I wish it wasn’t quite so cold.”
It was indeed cold—so cold that the men had to beat their hands together, and stamp their feet, and rush about like real children, in order to keep their bodies warm. This month of February was the coldest they had yet experienced. Several times the thermometer fell to the unexampled temperature of 75 degrees below zero, or 107 degrees below the freezing-point of water. When we remind our young readers that the thermometer in England seldom falls so low as zero, except in what we term weather of the utmost severity, they may imagine—or, rather, they may try to imagine—what 75 degreesbelowzero must have been.
It was not quite so cold as that upon this occasion, otherwise the men could not have shown face to it.
“Let’s have leap-frog,” shouted Davie; “we can jump along as well as walk along. Hooray!hup!”
The “hup” was rather an exclamation of necessity than of delight inasmuch as that it was caused by Davie coming suddenly down flat on the ice in the act of vainly attempting to go leap-frog over Mivins’s head.
“That’s your sort,” cried Amos Parr; “down with you, Buzzby.”
Buzzby obeyed, and Amos, being heavy and past the agile time of life, leaped upon, instead of over, his back, and there stuck.
“Not so high, lads,” cried Captain Guy. “Come, Mr Saunders, give us a back.”
“Faix, he’d better go on his hands an’ knees.”
“That’s it! over you go; hurrah, lads!”
In five minutes nearly the whole crew were panting from their violent exertions, and those who did not, or could not, join, panted as much from laughter. The desired result, however, was speedily gained. They were all soon in a glow of heat, and bade defiance to the frost.
An hour’s sharp climb brought the party almost to the brow of the hill, from which they hoped to see the sun rise for the first time for nearly five months. Just as they were about to pass over a ridge in the cliffs, Captain Guy, who had pushed on in advance with Tom Singleton, was observed to pause abruptly and make signals for the men to advance with caution. He evidently saw something unusual, for he crouched behind a rock and peeped over it. Hastening up as silently as possible, they discovered that a group of Polar bears were amusing themselves on the other side of the cliffs, within long gunshot. Unfortunately not one of the party had brought firearms. Intent only on catching a sight of the sun, they had hurried off, unmindful of the possibility of their catching sight of anything else. They had not even a spear, and the few oak cudgels that some carried, however effectual they might have proved at Donnybrook, were utterly worthless there.
There were four large bears and a young one, and the gambols they performed were of the most startling as well as amusing kind. But that which interested and surprised the crew most was the fact that these bears were playing with barrels, and casks, and tent-poles, and sails! They were engaged in a regular frolic with these articles, tossing them up in the air, pawing them about, and leaping over them like kittens. In these movements they displayed their enormous strength several times. Their leaps, although performed with the utmost ease, were so great as to prove the iron nature of their muscles. They tossed the heavy casks, too, high in the air like tennis-balls; and in two instances, while the crew were watching them, dashed a cask in pieces with a slight blow of their paws. The tough canvas yielded before them like sheets of paper, and the havoc they committed was wonderful to behold.
“Most extraordinary!” exclaimed Captain Guy, after watching them for some time in silence. “I cannot imagine where these creatures can have got hold of such things. Were not the goods at Store Island all right this morning, Mr Bolton?”
“Yes, sir, they were.”
“Nothing missing from the ship!”
“No, sir, nothing.”
“It’s most unaccountable.”
“Captain Guy,” said O’Riley, addressing his commander with a solemn face, “haven’t ye more nor wance towld me the queer thing in the deserts they calls themirage?”
“I have,” answered the captain with a puzzled look.
“An’ didn’t ye say there was something like it in the Polar seas, that made ye see flags, an’ ships, an’ things o’ that sort when there was no sich things there at all?”
“True, O’Riley, I did.”
“Faix, then, it’s my opinion that yon bears is a mirage, an’ the sooner we git out o’ their way the better.”
A smothered laugh greeted this solution of the difficulty.
“I think I can give a better explanation—begging your pardon, O’Riley,” said Captain Ellice, who had hitherto looked on with a sly smile. “More than a year ago, when I was driven past this place to the northward, I took advantage of a calm to land a supply of food, and a few stores and medicines, to be a stand-by in case my ship should be wrecked to the northward. Ever since the wreck actually took place I have looked forward to thiscacheof provisions as a point of refuge on my way south. As I have already told you, I have never been able to commence the southward journey, and now I don’t require these things, which is lucky, for the bears seem to have appropriated them entirely.”
“Had I known of them sooner, Captain,” said Captain Guy, “the bears should not have had a chance.”
“That accounts for the supply of tobacco and sticking-plaster we found in the bear’s stomach,” remarked Fred, laughing.
“True, boy, yet it surprises me that they succeeded in breaking into mycache, for it was made of heavy masses of stone, many of which required two and three men to lift them, even with the aid of handspikes.”
“What’s wrong with O’Riley?” said Fred, pointing to that eccentric individual, who was gazing intently at the bears, muttering between his teeth, and clenching his cudgel nervously.
“Shure, it’s a cryin’ shame,” he soliloquised in an undertone, quite unconscious that he was observed, “that ye should escape, ye villains; av’ I only had a musket now—but I han’t. Arrah, av’ it was only a spear! Be the mortial! I think I could crack the skull o’ the small wan! Faix, then; I’ll try!”
At the last word, before anyone was aware of his intentions, this son of Erin, whose blood was now up, sprang down the cliffs towards the bears, flourishing his stick, and shouting wildly as he went. The bears instantly paused in their game, but showed no disposition to retreat.
“Come back, you madman!” shouted the captain; but the captain shouted in vain.
“Stop! halt! come back!” chorused the crew.
But O’Riley was deaf; he had advanced to within a few yards of the bears, and was rushing forward to make a vigorous attack on the little one.
“He’ll be killed!” exclaimed Fred in dismay.
“Follow me, men,” shouted the captain, as he leaped the ridge; “make all the noise you can.”
In a moment the surrounding cliffs were reverberating with the loud halloos and frantic yells of the men, as they burst suddenly over the ridge, and poured down upon the bears like a torrent of maniacs!
Bold though they were they couldn’t stand this. They turned tail and fled, followed by the disappointed howls of O’Riley, and also by his cudgel, which he hurled violently after them as he pulled up.
Having thus triumphantly put the enemy to flight the party continued their ascent of the hill and soon gained the summit.
“There it is!” shouted Fred, who, in company with Mivins, first crossed the ridge and tossed his arms in the air.
The men cheered loudly as they hurried up, and one by one emerged into a red glow of sunshine. It could not be termedwarm, for it had no power in that frosty atmosphere, and only a small portion of the sun’s disc was visible. But hislightwas on every crag and peak around; and as the men sat down in groups, and, as it were, bathed in the sunshine, winking at the bright gleam of light with half-closed eyes, they declared that itfeltwarm, and wouldn’t hear anything to the contrary, although Saunders, true to his nature, endeavoured to prove to them that the infinitely small degree of heat imparted by such feeble rays could not by any possibility befeltexcept in imagination. But Saunders was outvoted. Indeed, under the circumstances, he had not a chance of proving his point; for the more warm the dispute became the greater was the amount of animal heat that was created, to be placed, falsely, to the credit of the sun.
Patience, however, is a virtue which is sure to meet with a reward. The point which Saunders failed to prove by argument was pretty well proved to everyone (though not admitted) by the agency of John Frost. That remarkably bitter individual nestled round the men as they sat sunning themselves, and soon compelled them to leap up and apply to other sources for heat. They danced about vigorously, and again took to leap-frog. Then they tried their powers at the old familiar games of home. Hop-step-and-jump raised the animal thermometer considerably; and the standing leap, running leap, and high leap sent it up many degrees. But a general race brought them almost to a summer temperature, and at the same time, most unexpectedly, secured to them a hare. This little creature, of which very few had yet been procured, darted in an evil hour out from behind a rock right in front of the men, who having begun the race for sport now continued it energetically for profit. A dozen sticks were hurled at the luckless hare, and one of these felled it to the ground.
After this they returned home in triumph, keeping up all the way an animated dispute as to the amount of heat shed upon them by the sun, and upon that knotty question:
“Who killed the hare?”
Neither point was settled when they reached theDolphin, and, we may add, for the sake of the curious reader, neither point is settled yet.
Chapter Twenty Two.“The Arctic Sun”—Rats! Rats! Rats!—A Hunting-Party—Out on the Floes—Hardships.Among the many schemes that were planned and carried out for lightening the long hours of confinement to their wooden home in the Arctic regions, was the newspaper started by Fred Ellice, and named, as we have already mentioned,The Arctic Sun.It was so named because, as Fred stated in his first leading article, it was intended to throw light on many things at a time when there was no other sun to cheer them. We cannot help regretting that it is not in our power to present a copy of this well-thumbed periodical to our readers; but being of opinion thatsomethingis better thannothing, we transcribe the following extract as a specimen of the contributions from the forecastle. It was entitled—“John Buzzby’s Oppinyuns o’ Things in Gin’ral.”“Mr Editer,—As you was so good as to ax from me a contribootion to your waluable peeryoddical, I beg heer to stait that this heer article is intended as a gin’ral summery o’ the noos wots agoin’. Your reeders will be glad to no that of late the wether’s bin gittin’ colder, but they’ll be better pleased to no that before the middle o’ nixt sumer it’s likely to git a long chawk warmer. There’s a gin’ral complaint heer that Mivins has bin eatin’ the shuger in the pantry, an’ that’s wot’s makin’ it needfull to put us on short allowance. Davie Summers sais he seed him at it, and it’s a dooty the guvermint owes to the publik to have the matter investigated. It’s gin’rally expected, howsever, that the guvermint won’t trubble its hed with the matter. There’s bin an onusual swarmin’ o’ rats in the ship of late, an’ Davie Summers has had a riglar hunt after them. The lad has becum more than ornar expert with his bow an’ arrow, for he niver misses now—exceptin’ always, when he dusn’t hit—an’ for the most part takes them on the pint on the snowt with his blunt-heded arow, which he drives in—the snowt, not the arow. There’s a gin’ral wish among the crew to no whether the north poleisa pole or a dot. Mizzle sais it’s a dot and O’Riley swears (no, he don’t do that, for we’ve gin up swearin’ in the fog-sail); but he sais that it’s a real post ’bout as thick again as the main-mast, an’ nine or ten times as hy. Grim sais it’s nother wun thing nor anuther, but a hydeear thatissumhow or other a fact, but yit don’t exist at all. Tom Green wants to no if there’s any conexshun between it an’ the pole that’s connected with elections. In fact, we’re all at sea, in a riglar muz abut this, an’ as Dr Singleton’s a syentiffick man, praps he’ll give us a leadin’ article in your nixt—so no more at present from—“Yours to command, John Buzzby.”This contribution was accompanied with an outline illustration of Mivins eating sugar with a ladle in the pantry, and Davie Summers peeping in at the door—both likenesses being excellent.Some of the articles in theArctic Sunwere grave, and some were gay, but all of them were profitable, for Fred took care that they should be charged either with matter of interest or matter provocative of mirth. And, assuredly, no newspaper of similar calibre was ever looked forward to with such expectation, or read and reread with such avidity. It was one of the expedients that lasted longest in keeping up the spirits of the men.The rat-hunting referred to in the foregoing “summery” was not a mere fiction of Buzzby’s brain. It was a veritable fact. Notwithstanding the extreme cold of this inhospitable climate, the rats in the ship increased to such a degree that at last they became a perfect nuisance. Nothing was safe from their attacks; whether substances were edible or not, they were gnawed through and ruined, and their impudence, which seemed to increase with their numbers, at last exceeded all belief. They swarmed everywhere—under the stove, about the beds, in the lockers, between the sofa-cushions, amongst the moss round the walls, and inside the boots and mittens (when empty) of the men. And they became so accustomed to having missiles thrown at them that they acquired to perfection that art which Buzzby described as “keeping one’s weather-eye open.”You couldn’t hit one if you tried. If your hand moved towards an object with which you intended to deal swift destruction, the intruder paused and turned his sharp eyes towards you as if to say: “What! going to try it again?—come, then, here’s a chance for you.” But when you threw, at best you could only hit the empty space it had occupied the moment before. Or if you seized a stick, and rushed at the enemy in wrath, it grinned fiercely, showed its long white teeth, and then vanished with a fling of its tail that could be construed into nothing but an expression of contempt.At last an expedient was hit upon for destroying these disagreeable inmates. Small bows and arrows were made, the latter having heavy, blunt heads, and with these the men slaughtered hundreds. Whenever anyone was inclined for a little sport he took up his bow and arrows, and, retiring to a dark corner of the cabin, watched for a shot. Davie Summers acquired the title of Nimrod, in consequence of his success in this peculiar field.At first the rats proved a capital addition to the dogs’ meals, but at length some of the men were glad to eat them, especially when fresh meat failed altogether, and scurvy began its assaults. White or Arctic foxes, too, came about the ship, sometimes in great numbers, and proved an acceptable addition to their fresh provisions; but at one period all these sources failed, and the crew were reduced to the utmost extremity, having nothing to eat except salt provisions. Notwithstanding the cheering influence of the sun, the spirits of the men fell as their bodily energies failed. Nearly two-thirds of the ship’s company were confined to their berths. The officers retained much of their wonted health and vigour, partly in consequence, no doubt, of their unwearied exertions in behalf of others. They changed places with the men at last, owing to the force of circumstances—ministering to their wants, drawing water, fetching fuel, and cooking their food,—carrying out, in short, the divine command, “by love serve one another.”During the worst period of their distress a party was formed to go out upon the floes in search of walrus.“If we don’t get speedy relief,” remarked Captain Guy to Tom Singleton in reference to this party, “some of us will die. I feel certain of that. Poor Buzzby seems on his last legs, and Mivins is reduced to a shadow.”The doctor was silent, for the captain’s remark was too true.“You must get up your party at once, and set off after breakfast, Mr Bolton,” he added, turning to the first mate. “Who can accompany you?”“There’s Peter Grim, sir, he’s tough yet, and not much affected by scurvy, and Mr Saunders, I think, may—”“No,” interrupted the doctor, “Saunders must not go. He does not look very ill, and I hope is not, but I don’t like some of his symptoms.”“Well, Doctor, we can do without him. There’s Tom Green and O’Riley. Nothing seems able to bring down O’Riley. Then there’s—”“There’s Fred Ellice,” cried Fred himself, joining the group; “I’ll go with you if you’ll take me.”“Most happy to have you, sir; our healthy hands are very short, but we can muster sufficient, I think.”The captain suggested Amos Parr and two or three more men, and then dismissed his first mate to get ready for an immediate start.“I don’t half like your going, Fred,” said his father. “You’ve not been well lately, and hunting on the floes, I know from experience, is hard work.”“Don’t fear for me, Father; I’ve quite recovered from my recent attack, which was but slight after all, and I know full well that those who are well must work as long as they can stand.”“Ho, lads, look alive there! are you ready?” shouted the first mate down the hatchway.“Ay, ay, sir!” replied Grim, and in a few minutes the party were assembled on the ice beside the small sledge, with their shoulder-belts on, for most of the dogs were either dead or dying of that strange complaint to which allusion has been made in a previous chapter.They set out silently, but ere they had got a dozen yards from the ship Captain Guy felt the impropriety of permitting them thus to depart.“Up, lads, and give them three cheers,” he cried, mounting the ship’s side and setting the example.A hearty, generous spirit, when vigorously displayed, always finds a ready response from human hearts. The few sailors who were on deck at the time, and one or two of the sick men who chanced to put their heads up the hatchway, rushed to the side, waved their mittens—in default of caps—and gave vent to three hearty British cheers. The effect on the drooping spirits of the hunting-party was electrical. They pricked up like chargers that had felt the spur, wheeled round, and returned the cheer with interest. It was an apparently trifling incident, but it served to lighten the way, and make it seem less dreary for many a long mile.“I’m tired of it entirely,” cried O’Riley, sitting down on a hummock, on the evening of the second day after setting out on the hunt; “here we is, two days out, and not a sign o’ life nowhere.”“Come, don’t give in,” said Bolton cheerfully, “we’re sure to fall in with a walrus to-day.”“I think so,” cried Fred; “we have come so far out upon the floes that there must be open water near.”“Come on, then,” cried Peter Grim; “don’t waste time talking.”Thus urged, O’Riley rose, and, throwing his sledge-strap over his shoulder, plodded on wearily with the rest.Their provisions were getting low now, and it was felt that if they did not soon fall in with walrus or bears they must return as quickly as possible to the ship in order to avoid starving. It was, therefore, a matter of no small satisfaction that, on turning the edge of an iceberg, they discovered a large bear walking leisurely towards them. To drop their sledge-lines and seize their muskets was the work of a moment. But unfortunately, long travelling had filled the pans with snow, and it required some time to pick the touch-holes clear. In this extremity Peter Grim seized a hatchet and ran towards it, while O’Riley charged it with a spear. Grim delivered a tremendous blow at its head with his weapon, but his intention was better than his aim, for he missed the bear and smashed the corner of a hummock of ice. O’Riley was more successful. He thrust the spear into the animal’s shoulder, but the shoulder-blade turned the head of the weapon, and caused it to run along at least three feet, just under the skin. The wound, although not fatal, was so painful that Bruin uttered a loud roar of disapproval, wheeled round, and ran away!—an act of cowardice so unusual on the part of a Polar bear that the whole party were taken by surprise. Several shots were fired after him, but he soon disappeared among the ice-hummocks, having fairly made off with O’Riley’s spear.The disappointment caused by this was great; but they had little time to think of it, for, soon after, a stiff breeze of wind sprang up, which freshened into a gale, compelling them to seek the shelter of a cluster of icebergs, in the midst of which they built a snow-hut. Before night a terrific storm was raging, with the thermometer 40 degrees below zero. The sky became black as ink; drift whirled round them in horrid turmoil; and the wild blast came direct from the north, over the frozen sea, shrieking and howling in its strength and fury.All that night and the next day it continued. Then it ceased; and for the first time that winter a thaw set in, so that ere morning their sleeping-bags and socks were thoroughly wetted. This was of short duration, however. In a few hours the frost set in again as intense as ever, converting all their wet garments and bedding into hard cakes of ice. To add to their misfortunes their provisions ran out, and they were obliged to abandon the hut and push forward towards the ship with the utmost speed. Night came on them while they were slowly toiling through the deep drifts that the late gale had raised, and to their horror they found they had wandered out of their way, and were still but a short distance from their snow-hut. In despair they returned to pass the night in it, and, spreading their frozen sleeping-bags on the snow, they lay down, silent and supperless, to rest till morning.
Among the many schemes that were planned and carried out for lightening the long hours of confinement to their wooden home in the Arctic regions, was the newspaper started by Fred Ellice, and named, as we have already mentioned,The Arctic Sun.
It was so named because, as Fred stated in his first leading article, it was intended to throw light on many things at a time when there was no other sun to cheer them. We cannot help regretting that it is not in our power to present a copy of this well-thumbed periodical to our readers; but being of opinion thatsomethingis better thannothing, we transcribe the following extract as a specimen of the contributions from the forecastle. It was entitled—
“John Buzzby’s Oppinyuns o’ Things in Gin’ral.”
“Mr Editer,—As you was so good as to ax from me a contribootion to your waluable peeryoddical, I beg heer to stait that this heer article is intended as a gin’ral summery o’ the noos wots agoin’. Your reeders will be glad to no that of late the wether’s bin gittin’ colder, but they’ll be better pleased to no that before the middle o’ nixt sumer it’s likely to git a long chawk warmer. There’s a gin’ral complaint heer that Mivins has bin eatin’ the shuger in the pantry, an’ that’s wot’s makin’ it needfull to put us on short allowance. Davie Summers sais he seed him at it, and it’s a dooty the guvermint owes to the publik to have the matter investigated. It’s gin’rally expected, howsever, that the guvermint won’t trubble its hed with the matter. There’s bin an onusual swarmin’ o’ rats in the ship of late, an’ Davie Summers has had a riglar hunt after them. The lad has becum more than ornar expert with his bow an’ arrow, for he niver misses now—exceptin’ always, when he dusn’t hit—an’ for the most part takes them on the pint on the snowt with his blunt-heded arow, which he drives in—the snowt, not the arow. There’s a gin’ral wish among the crew to no whether the north poleisa pole or a dot. Mizzle sais it’s a dot and O’Riley swears (no, he don’t do that, for we’ve gin up swearin’ in the fog-sail); but he sais that it’s a real post ’bout as thick again as the main-mast, an’ nine or ten times as hy. Grim sais it’s nother wun thing nor anuther, but a hydeear thatissumhow or other a fact, but yit don’t exist at all. Tom Green wants to no if there’s any conexshun between it an’ the pole that’s connected with elections. In fact, we’re all at sea, in a riglar muz abut this, an’ as Dr Singleton’s a syentiffick man, praps he’ll give us a leadin’ article in your nixt—so no more at present from—
“Yours to command, John Buzzby.”
This contribution was accompanied with an outline illustration of Mivins eating sugar with a ladle in the pantry, and Davie Summers peeping in at the door—both likenesses being excellent.
Some of the articles in theArctic Sunwere grave, and some were gay, but all of them were profitable, for Fred took care that they should be charged either with matter of interest or matter provocative of mirth. And, assuredly, no newspaper of similar calibre was ever looked forward to with such expectation, or read and reread with such avidity. It was one of the expedients that lasted longest in keeping up the spirits of the men.
The rat-hunting referred to in the foregoing “summery” was not a mere fiction of Buzzby’s brain. It was a veritable fact. Notwithstanding the extreme cold of this inhospitable climate, the rats in the ship increased to such a degree that at last they became a perfect nuisance. Nothing was safe from their attacks; whether substances were edible or not, they were gnawed through and ruined, and their impudence, which seemed to increase with their numbers, at last exceeded all belief. They swarmed everywhere—under the stove, about the beds, in the lockers, between the sofa-cushions, amongst the moss round the walls, and inside the boots and mittens (when empty) of the men. And they became so accustomed to having missiles thrown at them that they acquired to perfection that art which Buzzby described as “keeping one’s weather-eye open.”
You couldn’t hit one if you tried. If your hand moved towards an object with which you intended to deal swift destruction, the intruder paused and turned his sharp eyes towards you as if to say: “What! going to try it again?—come, then, here’s a chance for you.” But when you threw, at best you could only hit the empty space it had occupied the moment before. Or if you seized a stick, and rushed at the enemy in wrath, it grinned fiercely, showed its long white teeth, and then vanished with a fling of its tail that could be construed into nothing but an expression of contempt.
At last an expedient was hit upon for destroying these disagreeable inmates. Small bows and arrows were made, the latter having heavy, blunt heads, and with these the men slaughtered hundreds. Whenever anyone was inclined for a little sport he took up his bow and arrows, and, retiring to a dark corner of the cabin, watched for a shot. Davie Summers acquired the title of Nimrod, in consequence of his success in this peculiar field.
At first the rats proved a capital addition to the dogs’ meals, but at length some of the men were glad to eat them, especially when fresh meat failed altogether, and scurvy began its assaults. White or Arctic foxes, too, came about the ship, sometimes in great numbers, and proved an acceptable addition to their fresh provisions; but at one period all these sources failed, and the crew were reduced to the utmost extremity, having nothing to eat except salt provisions. Notwithstanding the cheering influence of the sun, the spirits of the men fell as their bodily energies failed. Nearly two-thirds of the ship’s company were confined to their berths. The officers retained much of their wonted health and vigour, partly in consequence, no doubt, of their unwearied exertions in behalf of others. They changed places with the men at last, owing to the force of circumstances—ministering to their wants, drawing water, fetching fuel, and cooking their food,—carrying out, in short, the divine command, “by love serve one another.”
During the worst period of their distress a party was formed to go out upon the floes in search of walrus.
“If we don’t get speedy relief,” remarked Captain Guy to Tom Singleton in reference to this party, “some of us will die. I feel certain of that. Poor Buzzby seems on his last legs, and Mivins is reduced to a shadow.”
The doctor was silent, for the captain’s remark was too true.
“You must get up your party at once, and set off after breakfast, Mr Bolton,” he added, turning to the first mate. “Who can accompany you?”
“There’s Peter Grim, sir, he’s tough yet, and not much affected by scurvy, and Mr Saunders, I think, may—”
“No,” interrupted the doctor, “Saunders must not go. He does not look very ill, and I hope is not, but I don’t like some of his symptoms.”
“Well, Doctor, we can do without him. There’s Tom Green and O’Riley. Nothing seems able to bring down O’Riley. Then there’s—”
“There’s Fred Ellice,” cried Fred himself, joining the group; “I’ll go with you if you’ll take me.”
“Most happy to have you, sir; our healthy hands are very short, but we can muster sufficient, I think.”
The captain suggested Amos Parr and two or three more men, and then dismissed his first mate to get ready for an immediate start.
“I don’t half like your going, Fred,” said his father. “You’ve not been well lately, and hunting on the floes, I know from experience, is hard work.”
“Don’t fear for me, Father; I’ve quite recovered from my recent attack, which was but slight after all, and I know full well that those who are well must work as long as they can stand.”
“Ho, lads, look alive there! are you ready?” shouted the first mate down the hatchway.
“Ay, ay, sir!” replied Grim, and in a few minutes the party were assembled on the ice beside the small sledge, with their shoulder-belts on, for most of the dogs were either dead or dying of that strange complaint to which allusion has been made in a previous chapter.
They set out silently, but ere they had got a dozen yards from the ship Captain Guy felt the impropriety of permitting them thus to depart.
“Up, lads, and give them three cheers,” he cried, mounting the ship’s side and setting the example.
A hearty, generous spirit, when vigorously displayed, always finds a ready response from human hearts. The few sailors who were on deck at the time, and one or two of the sick men who chanced to put their heads up the hatchway, rushed to the side, waved their mittens—in default of caps—and gave vent to three hearty British cheers. The effect on the drooping spirits of the hunting-party was electrical. They pricked up like chargers that had felt the spur, wheeled round, and returned the cheer with interest. It was an apparently trifling incident, but it served to lighten the way, and make it seem less dreary for many a long mile.
“I’m tired of it entirely,” cried O’Riley, sitting down on a hummock, on the evening of the second day after setting out on the hunt; “here we is, two days out, and not a sign o’ life nowhere.”
“Come, don’t give in,” said Bolton cheerfully, “we’re sure to fall in with a walrus to-day.”
“I think so,” cried Fred; “we have come so far out upon the floes that there must be open water near.”
“Come on, then,” cried Peter Grim; “don’t waste time talking.”
Thus urged, O’Riley rose, and, throwing his sledge-strap over his shoulder, plodded on wearily with the rest.
Their provisions were getting low now, and it was felt that if they did not soon fall in with walrus or bears they must return as quickly as possible to the ship in order to avoid starving. It was, therefore, a matter of no small satisfaction that, on turning the edge of an iceberg, they discovered a large bear walking leisurely towards them. To drop their sledge-lines and seize their muskets was the work of a moment. But unfortunately, long travelling had filled the pans with snow, and it required some time to pick the touch-holes clear. In this extremity Peter Grim seized a hatchet and ran towards it, while O’Riley charged it with a spear. Grim delivered a tremendous blow at its head with his weapon, but his intention was better than his aim, for he missed the bear and smashed the corner of a hummock of ice. O’Riley was more successful. He thrust the spear into the animal’s shoulder, but the shoulder-blade turned the head of the weapon, and caused it to run along at least three feet, just under the skin. The wound, although not fatal, was so painful that Bruin uttered a loud roar of disapproval, wheeled round, and ran away!—an act of cowardice so unusual on the part of a Polar bear that the whole party were taken by surprise. Several shots were fired after him, but he soon disappeared among the ice-hummocks, having fairly made off with O’Riley’s spear.
The disappointment caused by this was great; but they had little time to think of it, for, soon after, a stiff breeze of wind sprang up, which freshened into a gale, compelling them to seek the shelter of a cluster of icebergs, in the midst of which they built a snow-hut. Before night a terrific storm was raging, with the thermometer 40 degrees below zero. The sky became black as ink; drift whirled round them in horrid turmoil; and the wild blast came direct from the north, over the frozen sea, shrieking and howling in its strength and fury.
All that night and the next day it continued. Then it ceased; and for the first time that winter a thaw set in, so that ere morning their sleeping-bags and socks were thoroughly wetted. This was of short duration, however. In a few hours the frost set in again as intense as ever, converting all their wet garments and bedding into hard cakes of ice. To add to their misfortunes their provisions ran out, and they were obliged to abandon the hut and push forward towards the ship with the utmost speed. Night came on them while they were slowly toiling through the deep drifts that the late gale had raised, and to their horror they found they had wandered out of their way, and were still but a short distance from their snow-hut. In despair they returned to pass the night in it, and, spreading their frozen sleeping-bags on the snow, they lay down, silent and supperless, to rest till morning.
Chapter Twenty Three.Unexpected Arrivals—The Rescue-Party—Lost and Found—Return to the Ship.The sixth night after the hunting-party had left the ship, Grim and Fred Ellice suddenly made their appearance on board. It was quite dark, and the few of the ship’s company who were able to quit their berths were seated round the cabin at their meagre evening meal.“Hallo, Fred!” exclaimed Captain Ellice, as his son staggered rather than walked in, and sank down on a locker. “What’s wrong, boy? where are the rest of you?”Fred could not answer; neither he nor Grim were able to utter a word at first. It was evident that they laboured under extreme exhaustion and hunger. A mouthful of hot soup administered by Tom Singleton rallied them a little, however.“Our comrades are lost, I fear.”“Lost!” exclaimed Captain Guy. “How so? Speak, my boy; but hold, take another mouthful before you speak. Where did you leave them, say you?”Fred looked at the captain with a vacant stare. “Out upon the ice to the north; but, I say, what a comical dream I’ve had!” Here he burst into a loud laugh. Poor Fred’s head was evidently affected, so his father and Tom carried him to his berth.All this time Grim had remained seated on a locker, swaying to and fro like a drunken man, and paying no attention to the numerous questions that were put to him by Saunders and his comrades.“This is bad!” exclaimed Captain Guy, pressing his hand on his forehead.“A search must be made,” suggested Captain Ellice. “It’s evident that the party have broken down out on the floes, and Fred and Grim have been sent to let us know.”“I know it,” answered Captain Guy; “a search must be made, and that instantly, if it is to be of any use; but in which direction are we to go is the question. These poor fellows cannot tell us. ‘Out on the ice to the north’ is a wide word. Fred, Fred, can you not tell us in which direction we ought to go to search for them?”“Yes, far out on the floes—among hummocks—far out,” murmured Fred half-unconsciously.“We must be satisfied with that. Now, Mr Saunders, assist me to get the small sledge fitted out. I’ll go to look after them myself.”“An’ I’ll go with ’ee, sir,” said the second mate promptly.“I fear you are hardly able.”“No fear o’ me, sir. I’m better than ’ee think.”“I must go too,” added Captain Ellice; “it is quite evident that you cannot muster a party without me.”“That’s impossible,” interrupted the doctor; “your leg is not strong enough, nearly, for such a trip; besides, my dear sir, you must stay behind to perform my duties, for the ship can’t do without a doctor, and I shall go with Captain Guy, if he will allow me.”“That he won’t,” cried the captain. “You say truly the ship cannot be left without a doctor. Neither you nor my friend Ellice shall leave the ship with my permission. But don’t let us waste time talking. Come, Summers and Mizzle, you are well enough to join, and Meetuck, you must be our guide; look alive and get yourselves ready.”In less than half an hour the rescue party were equipped and on their way over the floes. They were six in all—one of the freshest among the crew having volunteered to join those already mentioned.It was a very dark night, and bitterly cold, but they took nothing with them except the clothes on their backs, a supply of provisions for their lost comrades, their sleeping-bags, and a small leather tent. The captain also took care to carry with them a flask of brandy.The colossal bergs, which stretched like well-known landmarks over the sea, were their guides at first, but after travelling ten hours without halting they had passed the greater number of those with which they were familiar, and entered upon an unknown region. Here it became necessary to use the utmost caution. They knew that the lost men must be within twenty miles of them, but they had no means of knowing the exact spot, and any footprints that had been made were now obliterated. In these circumstances Captain Guy had to depend very much on his own sagacity.Clambering to the top of a hummock he observed a long stretch of level floe to the northward.“I think it likely,” he remarked to Saunders, who had accompanied him, “that they may have gone in that direction. It seems an attractive road among the chaos of ice-heaps.”“I’m no sure o’ that,” objected Saunders; “yonder’s a pretty clear road away to the west, maybe they took that.”“Perhaps they did, but as Fred said they had gone far out on the iceto the north, I think it likely they’ve gone inthatdirection.”“Maybe yer right sir, and maybe yer wrang,” answered Saunders, as they returned to the party. As this was the second mate’s method of intimating that hefeltthat he ought to give in (though he didn’t give in, and never would give in,absolutely), the captain felt more confidence in his own opinion.“Now, Meetuck, keep your eyes open,” he added, as they resumed their rapid march.After journeying on for a considerable distance, the men were ordered to spread out over the neighbouring ice-fields, in order to multiply the chances of discovering tracks; but there seemed to be some irresistible power of attraction which drew them gradually together again, however earnestly they might try to keep separate. In fact, they were beginning to be affected by the long-continued march and the extremity of the cold.This last was so great that constant motion was absolutely necessary in order to prevent them from freezing. There was no time allowed for rest—life and death were in the scale. Their only hope lay in a continuous and rapid advance, so as to reach the lost men ere they should freeze or die of starvation.“Holo! look ’eer!” shouted Meetuck, as he halted and went down on his knees to examine some marks on the snow.“These are tracks,” cried Captain Guy eagerly. “What think you, Saunders?”“They look like it.”“Follow them up, Meetuck. Go in advance, my lad, and let the rest of you scatter again.”In a few minutes there was a cry heard, and as the party hastened towards the spot whence it came, they found Davie Summers pointing eagerly to a little snow-hut in the midst of a group of bergs.With hasty steps they advanced towards it and the captain, with a terrible misgiving at heart, crept in.“Ah, then, is it yerself, darlint?” were the first words that greeted him.A loud cheer from those without told that they heard and recognised the words. Immediately two of them crept in, and, striking a light, kindled a lamp, which revealed the careworn forms of their lost comrades stretched on the ground in their sleeping-bags. They were almost exhausted for want of food, but otherwise they were uninjured.The first congratulations over, the rescue party immediately proceeded to make arrangements for passing the night. They were themselves little better than those whom they had come to save, having performed an uninterrupted march of eighteen hours without food or drink.It was touching to see the tears of joy and gratitude that filled the eyes of the poor fellows, who had given themselves up for lost as they watched the movements of their comrades while they prepared food for them; and the broken, fitful conversation was mingled strangely with alternate touches of fun and deep feeling, indicating the conflicting emotions that struggled in their breasts.“I knowed ye would come, Captain; bless you, sir,” said Amos Parr in an unsteady voice.“Come! Av coorse ye knowed it,” cried O’Riley energetically. “Och, but don’t be long wid the mate, darlints, me stummik’s shut up intirely.”“There won’t be room for us all here, I’m afraid,” remarked Bolton.This was true. The hut was constructed to hold six, and it was impossible that ten couldsleepin it, although they managed to squeeze in.“Never mind that,” cried the captain. “Here, take a drop of soup; gently, not too much at a time.”“Ah, then, it’s cruel of ye, it is, to give me sich a small taste!”It was necessary, however, to give men in their condition a “small taste” at first, so O’Riley had to rest content. Meanwhile the rescue party supped heartily, and, after a little more food had been administered to the half-starved men, preparations were made for spending the night. The tent was pitched, and the sleeping-bags spread out on the snow, then Captain Guy offered up fervent thanks to God for his protection thus far, and prayed shortly but earnestly for deliverance from their dangerous situation, after which they all lay down and slept soundly till morning—or at least as soundly as could be expected with a temperature at 55 degrees below zero.Next morning they prepared to set out on their return to the ship. But this was no easy task. The exhausted men had to be wrapped up carefully in their blankets, which were sewed closely round their limbs, then packed in their sleeping-bags and covered completely up, only a small hole being left opposite their mouths to breathe through, and after that they were lashed side by side on the small sledge. The larger sledge, with the muskets, ammunition, and spare blankets, had to be abandoned. Then the rescue party put their shoulders to the tracking-belts, and away they went briskly over the floes.But the drag was a fearfully heavy one for men who, besides having walked so long and so far on the previous day, were, most of them, much weakened by illness and very unfit for such laborious work. The floes, too, were so rugged that they had frequently to lift the heavy sledge and its living load over deep rents and chasms which, in circumstances less desperate, they would have scarcely ventured to do. Work as they would, however, they could not make more than a mile an hour, and night overtook them ere they reached the level floes. But it was of the utmost importance that they should continue to advance, so they pushed forward until a breeze sprang up that pierced them through and through.Fortunately there was a bright moon in the sky, which enabled them to pick their way among the hummocks. Suddenly, without warning, the whole party felt an alarming failure of their energies. Captain Guy, who was aware of the imminent danger of giving way to this feeling, cheered the men to greater exertion by word and voice, but failed to rouse them. They seemed like men walking in their sleep.“Come, Saunders, cheer up, man,” cried the captain, shaking the mate by the arm; but Saunders stood still, swaying to and fro like a drunken man. Mizzle begged to be allowed to sleep, if it were only for two minutes, and poor Davie Summers deliberately threw himself down on the snow, from which, had he been left, he would never more have risen.The case was now desperate. In vain the captain shook and buffeted the men. They protested that they did not feel cold—“they were quite warm, and only wanted a little sleep.” He saw that it was useless to contend with them, so there was nothing left for it but to pitch the tent.This was done as quickly as possible, though with much difficulty, and the men were unlashed from the sledge and placed within it. The others then crowded in, and, falling down beside each other, were asleep in an instant. The excessive crowding of the little tent was an advantage at this time, as it tended to increase their animal heat. Captain Guy allowed them to sleep only two hours, and then roused them in order to continue the journey; but short though the period of rest was, it proved sufficient to enable the men to pursue their journey with some degree of spirit. Still, it was evident that their energies had been overtaxed, for when they neared the ship next day, Tom Singleton, who had been on the lookout, and advanced to meet them, found that they were almost in a state of stupor, and talked incoherently; sometimes giving utterance to sentiments of the most absurd nature, with expressions of the utmost gravity.Meanwhile good news was brought them from the ship. Two bears and a walrus had been purchased from the Esquimaux, a party of whom—sleek, fat, oily, good-humoured, and hairy—were encamped on the lee side of theDolphin, and busily engaged in their principal and favourite occupation—eating!
The sixth night after the hunting-party had left the ship, Grim and Fred Ellice suddenly made their appearance on board. It was quite dark, and the few of the ship’s company who were able to quit their berths were seated round the cabin at their meagre evening meal.
“Hallo, Fred!” exclaimed Captain Ellice, as his son staggered rather than walked in, and sank down on a locker. “What’s wrong, boy? where are the rest of you?”
Fred could not answer; neither he nor Grim were able to utter a word at first. It was evident that they laboured under extreme exhaustion and hunger. A mouthful of hot soup administered by Tom Singleton rallied them a little, however.
“Our comrades are lost, I fear.”
“Lost!” exclaimed Captain Guy. “How so? Speak, my boy; but hold, take another mouthful before you speak. Where did you leave them, say you?”
Fred looked at the captain with a vacant stare. “Out upon the ice to the north; but, I say, what a comical dream I’ve had!” Here he burst into a loud laugh. Poor Fred’s head was evidently affected, so his father and Tom carried him to his berth.
All this time Grim had remained seated on a locker, swaying to and fro like a drunken man, and paying no attention to the numerous questions that were put to him by Saunders and his comrades.
“This is bad!” exclaimed Captain Guy, pressing his hand on his forehead.
“A search must be made,” suggested Captain Ellice. “It’s evident that the party have broken down out on the floes, and Fred and Grim have been sent to let us know.”
“I know it,” answered Captain Guy; “a search must be made, and that instantly, if it is to be of any use; but in which direction are we to go is the question. These poor fellows cannot tell us. ‘Out on the ice to the north’ is a wide word. Fred, Fred, can you not tell us in which direction we ought to go to search for them?”
“Yes, far out on the floes—among hummocks—far out,” murmured Fred half-unconsciously.
“We must be satisfied with that. Now, Mr Saunders, assist me to get the small sledge fitted out. I’ll go to look after them myself.”
“An’ I’ll go with ’ee, sir,” said the second mate promptly.
“I fear you are hardly able.”
“No fear o’ me, sir. I’m better than ’ee think.”
“I must go too,” added Captain Ellice; “it is quite evident that you cannot muster a party without me.”
“That’s impossible,” interrupted the doctor; “your leg is not strong enough, nearly, for such a trip; besides, my dear sir, you must stay behind to perform my duties, for the ship can’t do without a doctor, and I shall go with Captain Guy, if he will allow me.”
“That he won’t,” cried the captain. “You say truly the ship cannot be left without a doctor. Neither you nor my friend Ellice shall leave the ship with my permission. But don’t let us waste time talking. Come, Summers and Mizzle, you are well enough to join, and Meetuck, you must be our guide; look alive and get yourselves ready.”
In less than half an hour the rescue party were equipped and on their way over the floes. They were six in all—one of the freshest among the crew having volunteered to join those already mentioned.
It was a very dark night, and bitterly cold, but they took nothing with them except the clothes on their backs, a supply of provisions for their lost comrades, their sleeping-bags, and a small leather tent. The captain also took care to carry with them a flask of brandy.
The colossal bergs, which stretched like well-known landmarks over the sea, were their guides at first, but after travelling ten hours without halting they had passed the greater number of those with which they were familiar, and entered upon an unknown region. Here it became necessary to use the utmost caution. They knew that the lost men must be within twenty miles of them, but they had no means of knowing the exact spot, and any footprints that had been made were now obliterated. In these circumstances Captain Guy had to depend very much on his own sagacity.
Clambering to the top of a hummock he observed a long stretch of level floe to the northward.
“I think it likely,” he remarked to Saunders, who had accompanied him, “that they may have gone in that direction. It seems an attractive road among the chaos of ice-heaps.”
“I’m no sure o’ that,” objected Saunders; “yonder’s a pretty clear road away to the west, maybe they took that.”
“Perhaps they did, but as Fred said they had gone far out on the iceto the north, I think it likely they’ve gone inthatdirection.”
“Maybe yer right sir, and maybe yer wrang,” answered Saunders, as they returned to the party. As this was the second mate’s method of intimating that hefeltthat he ought to give in (though he didn’t give in, and never would give in,absolutely), the captain felt more confidence in his own opinion.
“Now, Meetuck, keep your eyes open,” he added, as they resumed their rapid march.
After journeying on for a considerable distance, the men were ordered to spread out over the neighbouring ice-fields, in order to multiply the chances of discovering tracks; but there seemed to be some irresistible power of attraction which drew them gradually together again, however earnestly they might try to keep separate. In fact, they were beginning to be affected by the long-continued march and the extremity of the cold.
This last was so great that constant motion was absolutely necessary in order to prevent them from freezing. There was no time allowed for rest—life and death were in the scale. Their only hope lay in a continuous and rapid advance, so as to reach the lost men ere they should freeze or die of starvation.
“Holo! look ’eer!” shouted Meetuck, as he halted and went down on his knees to examine some marks on the snow.
“These are tracks,” cried Captain Guy eagerly. “What think you, Saunders?”
“They look like it.”
“Follow them up, Meetuck. Go in advance, my lad, and let the rest of you scatter again.”
In a few minutes there was a cry heard, and as the party hastened towards the spot whence it came, they found Davie Summers pointing eagerly to a little snow-hut in the midst of a group of bergs.
With hasty steps they advanced towards it and the captain, with a terrible misgiving at heart, crept in.
“Ah, then, is it yerself, darlint?” were the first words that greeted him.
A loud cheer from those without told that they heard and recognised the words. Immediately two of them crept in, and, striking a light, kindled a lamp, which revealed the careworn forms of their lost comrades stretched on the ground in their sleeping-bags. They were almost exhausted for want of food, but otherwise they were uninjured.
The first congratulations over, the rescue party immediately proceeded to make arrangements for passing the night. They were themselves little better than those whom they had come to save, having performed an uninterrupted march of eighteen hours without food or drink.
It was touching to see the tears of joy and gratitude that filled the eyes of the poor fellows, who had given themselves up for lost as they watched the movements of their comrades while they prepared food for them; and the broken, fitful conversation was mingled strangely with alternate touches of fun and deep feeling, indicating the conflicting emotions that struggled in their breasts.
“I knowed ye would come, Captain; bless you, sir,” said Amos Parr in an unsteady voice.
“Come! Av coorse ye knowed it,” cried O’Riley energetically. “Och, but don’t be long wid the mate, darlints, me stummik’s shut up intirely.”
“There won’t be room for us all here, I’m afraid,” remarked Bolton.
This was true. The hut was constructed to hold six, and it was impossible that ten couldsleepin it, although they managed to squeeze in.
“Never mind that,” cried the captain. “Here, take a drop of soup; gently, not too much at a time.”
“Ah, then, it’s cruel of ye, it is, to give me sich a small taste!”
It was necessary, however, to give men in their condition a “small taste” at first, so O’Riley had to rest content. Meanwhile the rescue party supped heartily, and, after a little more food had been administered to the half-starved men, preparations were made for spending the night. The tent was pitched, and the sleeping-bags spread out on the snow, then Captain Guy offered up fervent thanks to God for his protection thus far, and prayed shortly but earnestly for deliverance from their dangerous situation, after which they all lay down and slept soundly till morning—or at least as soundly as could be expected with a temperature at 55 degrees below zero.
Next morning they prepared to set out on their return to the ship. But this was no easy task. The exhausted men had to be wrapped up carefully in their blankets, which were sewed closely round their limbs, then packed in their sleeping-bags and covered completely up, only a small hole being left opposite their mouths to breathe through, and after that they were lashed side by side on the small sledge. The larger sledge, with the muskets, ammunition, and spare blankets, had to be abandoned. Then the rescue party put their shoulders to the tracking-belts, and away they went briskly over the floes.
But the drag was a fearfully heavy one for men who, besides having walked so long and so far on the previous day, were, most of them, much weakened by illness and very unfit for such laborious work. The floes, too, were so rugged that they had frequently to lift the heavy sledge and its living load over deep rents and chasms which, in circumstances less desperate, they would have scarcely ventured to do. Work as they would, however, they could not make more than a mile an hour, and night overtook them ere they reached the level floes. But it was of the utmost importance that they should continue to advance, so they pushed forward until a breeze sprang up that pierced them through and through.
Fortunately there was a bright moon in the sky, which enabled them to pick their way among the hummocks. Suddenly, without warning, the whole party felt an alarming failure of their energies. Captain Guy, who was aware of the imminent danger of giving way to this feeling, cheered the men to greater exertion by word and voice, but failed to rouse them. They seemed like men walking in their sleep.
“Come, Saunders, cheer up, man,” cried the captain, shaking the mate by the arm; but Saunders stood still, swaying to and fro like a drunken man. Mizzle begged to be allowed to sleep, if it were only for two minutes, and poor Davie Summers deliberately threw himself down on the snow, from which, had he been left, he would never more have risen.
The case was now desperate. In vain the captain shook and buffeted the men. They protested that they did not feel cold—“they were quite warm, and only wanted a little sleep.” He saw that it was useless to contend with them, so there was nothing left for it but to pitch the tent.
This was done as quickly as possible, though with much difficulty, and the men were unlashed from the sledge and placed within it. The others then crowded in, and, falling down beside each other, were asleep in an instant. The excessive crowding of the little tent was an advantage at this time, as it tended to increase their animal heat. Captain Guy allowed them to sleep only two hours, and then roused them in order to continue the journey; but short though the period of rest was, it proved sufficient to enable the men to pursue their journey with some degree of spirit. Still, it was evident that their energies had been overtaxed, for when they neared the ship next day, Tom Singleton, who had been on the lookout, and advanced to meet them, found that they were almost in a state of stupor, and talked incoherently; sometimes giving utterance to sentiments of the most absurd nature, with expressions of the utmost gravity.
Meanwhile good news was brought them from the ship. Two bears and a walrus had been purchased from the Esquimaux, a party of whom—sleek, fat, oily, good-humoured, and hairy—were encamped on the lee side of theDolphin, and busily engaged in their principal and favourite occupation—eating!