THE WORLD OF ICE

OR

The Whaling Cruise of "The Dolphin"

AND

The Adventures of Her Crew in the Polar Regions

By

Robert Michael Ballantyne

Author of "The Dog Crusoe and his Master," "The Young Fur-Traders,"
"The Gorilla-Hunters," "Ungava," "The Coral Island," &c.

1893






PREFACE


Dear Reader, most people prefer a short to a long preface. Permit me,
therefore, to cut this one short, by simply expressing an earnest hope
that my book may afford you much profit and amusement.

R.M. BALLANTYNE.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.
Some of the "dramatis personæ" introduced--Retrospective
glances--Causes of future effects--Our hero's early life at sea--A
pirate--A terrible fight and its consequences--Buzzby's helm lashed
amidships--A whaling-cruise begun.

CHAPTER II.
Departure of the "Pole Star" for the Frozen Seas--Sage reflections of
Mrs. Bright, and sagacious remarks of Buzzby--Anxieties, fears,
surmises, and resolutions--Isobel--A search proposed--Departure of the
"Dolphin" for the Far North.

CHAPTER III.
The voyage--The "Dolphin" and her crew--Ice ahead--Polar
scenes--Masthead observations--The first whale--Great excitement.

CHAPTER IV.
The chase and the battle--The chances and dangers of whaling
war--Buzzby dives for his life and saves it--So does the whale and loses
it--An anxious night, which terminates happily, though with a heavy
loss.

CHAPTER V.
Miscellaneous reflections--The coast of Greenland--Upernavik--News of
the "Pole Star"--Midnight-day--Scientific facts and fairy-like
scenes--Tom Singleton's opinion of poor old women--In danger of a
squeeze--Escape.

CHAPTER VI.
The gale--Anchored to a berg which proves to be a treacherous
one--Dangers of the "pack"--Beset in the ice--Mivins shows an inquiring
mind--Walruses--Gale freshens--Chains and cables--Holding on for
life--An unexpected discovery--A "nip" and its terrible
consequences--Yoked to an iceberg.

CHAPTER VII.
New characters introduced--An old game under novel
circumstances--Remarkable appearances in the sky--O'Riley meets with a
mishap.

CHAPTER VIII.
Fred and the doctor go on an excursion in which, among other strange
things, they meet with red snow and a white bear, and Fred makes his
first essay as a sportsman.

CHAPTER IX.
The "Dolphin" gets beset in the ice--Preparations for wintering in the
ice--Captain Guy's code of laws.

CHAPTER X.
Beginning of winter--Meetuck effects a remarkable change in the men's
appearance--Mossing, and working, and plans for a winter campaign.

CHAPTER XI.
A hunting-expedition, in the course of which the hunters meet with many
interesting, dangerous, peculiar, and remarkable experiences, and make
acquaintance with seals, walruses, deer, and rabbits.

CHAPTER XII.
A dangerous sleep interrupted--A night in a snow-hut, and an unpleasant
visitor--Snowed up.

CHAPTER XIII.
Journey resumed--The hunters meet with bears and have a great fight, in
which the dogs are sufferers--A bear's dinner--Mode in which Arctic
rocks travel--The ice-belt.

CHAPTER XIV.
Departure of the sun--Effects of darkness on dogs--Winter arrangements
in the interior of the "Dolphin."

CHAPTER XV.
Strangers appear on the scene--The Esquimaux are hospitably entertained
by the sailors--A spirited traffic--Thieving propensities and summary
justice.

CHAPTER XVI.
The Arctic Theatre enlarged upon--Great success of the first play--The
Esquimaux submit, and become fast friends.

CHAPTER XVII.
Expeditions on foot--Effects of darkness on dogs and men--The first
death--Caught in a trap--The Esquimau camp.

CHAPTER XVIII.
The hunting-party--Reckless driving--A desperate encounter with a
walrus, etc.

CHAPTER XIX.
The northern party--A narrow escape, and a great discovery--Esquimaux
again, and a joyful surprise.

CHAPTER XX.
Keeping it down--Mutual explanations--The true
comforter--Death--New-Year's day.

CHAPTER XXI.
First gleam of light--Trip to welcome the sun--Bears and strange
discoveries--O'Riley is reckless--First view of the sun.

CHAPTER XXII.
The "Arctic Sun"--Rats! rats! rats!--A hunting-party--Out on the
floes--Hardships.

CHAPTER XXIII.
Unexpected arrivals--The rescue party--Lost and found--Return to the
ship.

CHAPTER XXIV.
Winter ends--The first insect--Preparations for departure--Narrow
escape--Cutting out--Once more afloat--Ship on fire--Crew take to the
boats.

CHAPTER XXV.
Escape to Upernavik--Letter from home--Meetuck's grandmother--Dumps and
Poker again.

CHAPTER XXVI.
The return--The surprise--Buzzby's sayings and doings--The
narrative--Fighting battles o'er again--Conclusion.





CHAPTER I.

_Some of the "dramatis personæ" introduced--Retrospective
glances--Causes of future effects--Our hero's early life at sea--A
pirate--A terrible fight and its consequences--Buzzby's helm lashed
amidships--A whaling-cruise begun._


Nobody ever caught John Buzzby asleep by any chance whatever. No weasel
was ever half so sensitive on that point as he was. Wherever he happened
to be (and in the course of his adventurous life he had been to nearly
all parts of the known world) he was the first awake in the morning and
the last asleep at night; he always answered promptly to the first call;
and was never known by any man living to have been seen with his eyes
shut, except when he winked, and that operation he performed less
frequently than other men.

John Buzzby was an old salt--a regular true-blue Jack tar of the old
school, who had been born and bred at sea; had visited foreign ports
innumerable; had weathered more storms than he could count, and had
witnessed more strange sights than he could remember. He was tough, and
sturdy, and grizzled, and broad, and square, and massive--a first-rate
specimen of a John Bull, and according to himself, "always kept his
weather-eye open." This remark of his was apt to create confusion in the
minds of his hearers; for John meant the expression to be understood
figuratively, while, in point of fact, he almost always kept one of his
literal eyes open and the other partially closed, but as he reversed the
order of arrangement frequently, he might have been said to keep his
lee-eye as much open as the weather one. This peculiarity gave to his
countenance an expression of earnest thoughtfulness mingled with humour.
Buzzby was fond of being thought old, and he looked much older than he
really was. Men guessed his age at fifty-five, but they were ten years
out in their reckoning; for John had numbered only forty-five summers,
and was as tough and muscular as ever he had been--although not quite so
elastic.

John Buzzby stood on the pier of the sea-port town of Grayton watching
the active operations of the crew of a whaling-ship which was on the
point of starting for the ice-bound seas of the Frozen Regions, and
making sundry remarks to a stout, fair-haired boy of fifteen, who stood
by his side gazing at the ship with an expression of deep sadness.

"She's a trim-built craft and a good sea-boat, I'll be bound, Master
Fred," observed the sailor; "but she's too small by half, accordin' to
my notions, and I _have_ seen a few whalers in my day. Them bow-timbers,
too, are scarce thick enough for goin' bump agin the ice o' Davis'
Straits. Howsom'iver, I've seen worse craft drivin' a good trade in the
Polar Seas."

"She's a first-rate craft in all respects; and you have too high an
opinion of your own judgment," replied the youth indignantly. "Do you
suppose that my father, who is an older man than yourself and as good a
sailor, would buy a ship, and fit her out, and go off to the
whale-fishery in her, if he did not think her a good one?"

"Ah! Master Fred, you're a chip of the old block--neck or nothing--carry
on all sail till you tear the masts out of her! Reef the t'gallant sails
of your temper, boy, and don't run foul of an old man who has been all
but a wet-nurse to ye--taught ye to walk, and swim, and pull an oar, and
build ships, and has hauled ye out o' the sea when ye fell in--from the
time ye could barely stump along on two legs, lookin' like as if ye was
more nor half-seas-over."

"Well, Buzzby," replied the boy, laughing, "if you've been all that to
me, I think you _have_ been a _wet_-nurse too! But why do you run down
my father's ship? Do you think I'm going to stand that? No! not even
from you, old boy."

"Hallo! youngster," shouted a voice from the deck of the vessel in
question, "run up and tell your father we're all ready, and if he don't
make haste he'll lose the tide, so he will, and that'll make us have to
start on a Friday, it will, an' that'll not do for me, nohow it won't;
so make sail and look sharp about it, do--won't you?"

"What a tongue he's got!" remarked Buzzby. "Before I'd go to sea with a
first mate who jawed like that I'd be a landsman. Don't ever you git to
talk too much, Master Fred, wotever ye do. My maxim is--and it has
served me through life, uncommon--'Keep your weather-eye open and your
tongue housed 'xcept when you've got occasion to use it.' If that
fellow'd use his eyes more and his tongue less, he'd see your father
comin' down the road there, right before the wind, with his old sister
in tow."

"How I wish he would have let me go with him!" muttered Fred to himself
sorrowfully.

"No chance now, I'm afeard," remarked his companion. "The gov'nor's as
stiff as a nor'-wester. Nothin' in the world can turn him once he's made
up his mind but a regular sou'-easter. Now, if you had been _my_ son,
and yonder tight craft _my_ ship, I would have said, 'Come at once.' But
your father knows best, lad; and you're a wise son to obey orders
cheerfully, without question. That's another o' my maxims, 'Obey orders,
an' ax no questions.'"

Frederick Ellice, senior, who now approached, whispering words of
consolation into the ear of his weeping sister, might, perhaps, have
just numbered fifty years. He was a fine, big, bold, hearty Englishman,
with a bald head, grizzled locks, a loud but not harsh voice, a rather
quick temper, and a kind, earnest, enthusiastic heart. Like Buzzby, he
had spent nearly all his life at sea, and had become so thoroughly
accustomed to walking on an unstable foundation that he felt quite
uncomfortable on solid ground, and never remained more than a few months
at a time on shore. He was a man of good education and gentlemanly
manners, and had worked his way up in the merchant service step by step
until he obtained the command of a West India trader.

A few years previous to the period in which our tale opens, an event
occurred which altered the course of Captain Ellice's life, and for a
long period plunged him into the deepest affliction. This was the loss
of his wife at sea under peculiarly distressing circumstances.

At the age of thirty Captain Ellice had married a pretty blue-eyed girl,
who resolutely refused to become a sailor's bride unless she should be
permitted to accompany her husband to sea. This was without much
difficulty agreed to, and forthwith Alice Bremner became Mrs. Ellice,
and went to sea. It was during her third voyage to the West Indies that
our hero Fred was born, and it was during this and succeeding voyages
that Buzzby became "all but a wet-nurse" to him.

Mrs. Ellice was a loving, gentle, seriously-minded woman. She devoted
herself, heart and soul to the training of her boy, and spent many a
pleasant hour in that little, unsteady cabin in endeavouring to instil
into his infant mind the blessed truths of Christianity, and in making
the name of Jesus familiar to his ear. As Fred grew older his mother
encouraged him to hold occasional intercourse with the sailors--for her
husband's example taught her the value of a bold, manly spirit, and she
knew that it was impossible for her to instil _that_ into him--but she
was careful to guard him from the evil that he might chance to learn
from the men, by committing him to the tender care of Buzzby. To do the
men justice, however, this was almost unnecessary, for they felt that a
mother's watchful eye was on the child, and no unguarded word fell from
their lips while he was romping about the forecastle.

When it was time for Fred to go to school, Mrs. Ellice gave up her
roving life and settled in her native town of Grayton, where she resided
with her widowed sister, Amelia Bright, and her niece Isobel. Here Fred
received the rudiments of an excellent education at a private academy.
At the age of twelve, however, Master Fred became restive, and during
one of his father's periodical visits home, begged to be taken to sea.
Captain Ellice agreed; Mrs. Ellice insisted on accompanying them; and in
a few weeks they were once again on their old home, the ocean, and Fred
was enjoying his native air in company with his friend Buzzby, who stuck
to the old ship like one of her own stout timbers.

But this was destined to be a disastrous voyage. One evening, after
crossing the line, they descried a suspicious-looking schooner to
windward, bearing down upon them under a cloud of canvas.

"What do you think of her, Buzzby?" inquired Captain Ellice, handing
his glass to the seaman.

Buzzby gazed in silence and with compressed lips for some time; then he
returned the glass, at the same time muttering the word, "Pirate."

"I thought so," said the captain in a deep, unsteady voice. "There is
but one course for us, Buzzby," he continued, glancing towards his wife,
who, all unconscious of their danger, sat near the taffrail employed
with her needle; "these fellows show no mercy, because they expect none
either from God or man. We must fight to the last. Go, prepare the men
and get out the arms. I'll tell my wife."

Buzzby went forward; but the captain's heart failed him, and he took two
or three rapid, hesitating turns on the quarter-deck ere he could make
up his mind to speak.

"Alice," he said at length abruptly, "yonder vessel is a pirate."

Mrs. Ellice looked up in surprise, and her face grew pale as her eye met
the troubled gaze of her husband.

"Are you quite sure, Frederick?"

"Yes, quite. Would God that I were left alone to--but--nay, do not be
alarmed; perhaps I am wrong, it may be a--a clipper-built
trading-vessel. If not, Alice, we must make some show of fighting, and
try to frighten them. Meanwhile you must go below."

The captain spoke encouragingly as he led his wife to the cabin; but his
candid countenance spoke too truthfully, and she felt that his look of
anxious concern bade her fear the worst.

Pressing her fervently to his heart, Captain Ellice sprang on deck.

By this time the news had spread through the ship, and the crew,
consisting of upwards of thirty men, were conversing earnestly in knots
of four or five while they sharpened and buckled on cutlasses, or loaded
pistols and carbines.

"Send the men aft, Mr. Thompson," said the captain, as he paced the deck
to and fro, casting his eyes occasionally on the schooner, which was
rapidly nearing the vessel. "Take another pull at these
main-topsail-halyards, and send the steward down below for my sword and
pistols. Let the men look sharp; we've no time to lose, and hot work is
before us."

"I will go for your sword, father," cried Fred, who had just come on
deck.

"Boy, boy, you must go below; you can be of no use here."

"But, father, you know that I'm not _afraid_."

"I know that, boy--I know it well; but you're too young to fight--you're
not strong enough. Besides, you must comfort and cheer your mother; she
may want you."

"I'm old enough and strong enough to load and fire a pistol, father; and
I heard one of the men say we would need all the hands on board, and
more if we had them. Besides, it was my mother who told me what was
going on, and sent me on deck to _help you, to fight._"

A momentary gleam of pride lit up the countenance of the captain as he
said hastily, "You may stay, then," and turned towards the men, who now
stood assembled on the quarter-deck.

Addressing the crew in his own blunt, vigorous style, he said, "Lads,
yon rascally schooner is a pirate, as you all know well enough. I need
not ask you if you are ready to fight; I see by your looks you are. But
that's not enough--you must make up your minds to fight _well_. You know
that pirates give no quarter. I see the decks are swarming with men. If
you don't go at them like bull-dogs, you'll walk the plank before sunset
every man of you. Now, go forward, and double-shot your muskets and
pistols, and stick as many of the latter into your belts as they will
hold. Mr. Thompson, let the gunner double-shot the four big guns, and
load the little carronade with musket-balls to the muzzle. If they do
try to board us, they'll get a warm reception."

"There goes a shot, sir," said Buzzby, pointing towards the piratical
schooner, from the side of which a white cloud burst, and a round shot
ricochetted over the sea, passing close ahead of the ship.

"Ay, that's a request for us to lay-to," said the captain bitterly, "but
we won't. Keep her away a point."

"Ay, ay, sir," sung out the man at the wheel. A second and a third shot
were fired, but passed unheeded, and the captain, fully expecting that
the next would be fired into them, ordered the men below.

"We can't afford to lose a man, Mr. Thompson; send them all down."

"Please, sir, may I remain?" said Buzzby, touching his hat.

"Obey orders," answered the captain sternly. The sailor went below with
a sulky fling.

For nearly an hour the two vessels cut through the water before a steady
breeze, during which time the fast-sailing schooner gradually overhauled
the heavy West Indiaman, until she approached within speaking distance.
Still Captain Ellice paid no attention to her, but stood with compressed
lips beside the man at the wheel, gazing alternately at the sails of his
vessel and at the windward horizon, where he fancied he saw indications
that led him to hope the breeze would fail ere long.

As the schooner drew nearer, a man leaped on the hammock-nettings, and,
putting a trumpet to his mouth, sang out lustily, "Ship ahoy! where are
you from, and what's your cargo?"

Captain Ellice made no reply, but ordered four of his men on deck to
point one of the stern-chasers.

Again the voice came harshly across the waves, as if in passion, "Heave
to, or I'll sink you." At the same moment the black flag was run up to
the peak, and a shot passed between the main and fore masts.

"Stand by to point this gun," said the captain in a subdued voice.

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"Fetch a red-hot iron; luff, luff a little--a little more steady--so."
At the last word there was a puff and a roar, and an iron messenger flew
towards the schooner. The gun had been fired more as a reply of
defiance to the pirate than with the hope of doing him any damage; but
the shot had been well aimed--it cut the schooner's main-sail-yard in
two and brought it rattling down on deck. Instantly the pirate yawed and
delivered a broadside; but in the confusion on deck the guns were badly
aimed, and none took effect. The time lost in this manoeuvre, added to
the crippled condition of the schooner, enabled the West Indiaman to
gain considerably on her antagonist; but the pirate kept up a
well-directed fire with his bow-chasers, and many of the shots struck
the hull and cut the rigging seriously. As the sun descended towards the
horizon the wind fell gradually, and ceased at length altogether, so
that both vessels lay rolling on the swell with their sails flapping
idly against the masts.

"They're a-gittin' out the boats, sir," remarked John Buzzby, who,
unable to restrain himself any longer, had crept upon deck at the risk
of another reprimand; "and, if my eyes be'n't deceiving me, there's a
sail on the horizon to wind'ard--leastways, the direction which _wos_
wind'ard afore it fell calm."

"She's bringing a breeze along with her," remarked the captain, "but I
fear the boats will come up before it reaches us. There are three in the
water and manned already. There they come. Now, then, call up all
hands."

In a few seconds the crew of the West Indiaman were at their stations
ready for action, and Captain Ellice, with Fred at his elbow, stood
beside one of the stern-chasers. Meanwhile, the boats of the pirate,
five in number, pulled away in different directions, evidently with the
intention of attacking the ship at different points. They were full of
men armed to the teeth. While they rowed towards the ship the schooner
resumed its fire, and one ball cut away the spanker-boom and slightly
wounded two of the men with splinters. The guns of the ship were now
brought to bear on the boats, but without effect, although the shot
plunged into the water all round them. As they drew nearer a brisk fire
of musketry was opened on them, and the occasional falling of an oar and
confusion on board showed that the shots told. The pirates replied
vigorously, but without effect, as the men of the ship were sheltered by
the bulwarks.

"Pass the word to load and reserve fire," said the captain; "and hand me
a musket, Fred. Load again as fast as I fire." So saying, the captain
took aim and fired at the steersman of the largest boat, which pulled
towards the stern. "Another, Fred--"

At this moment a withering volley was poured upon the boat, and a savage
yell of agony followed, while the rowers who remained unhurt paused for
an instant as if paralyzed. Next instant they recovered, and another
stroke would have brought them almost alongside, when Captain Ellice
pointed the little carronade and fired. There was a terrific crash; the
gun recoiled violently to the other side of the deck; and the pirate
boat sank, leaving the sea covered with dead and wounded men. A number,
however, who seemed to bear charmed lives, seized their cutlasses with
their teeth, and swam boldly for the ship. This incident, unfortunately,
attracted too much of the attention of the crew, and ere they could
prevent it another boat reached the bow of the ship, the crew of which
sprang up the side like cats, formed on the forecastle, and poured a
volley upon the men.

"Follow me, lads!" shouted the captain, as he sprang forward like a
tiger. The first man he reached fell by a ball from his pistol; in
another moment the opposing parties met in a hand-to-hand conflict.
Meanwhile Fred, having been deeply impressed with the effect of the shot
from the little carronade, succeeded in raising and reloading it. He had
scarcely accomplished this when one of the boats reached the larboard
quarter, and two of the men sprang up the side. Fred observed them, and
felled the first with a handspike before he reached the deck; but the
pirate who instantly followed would have killed him had he not been
observed by the second mate, who had prevented several of the men from
joining in the _mêlée_ on the forecastle in order to meet such an
emergency as this. Rushing to the rescue with his party, he drove the
pirates back into the boat, which was immediately pulled towards the
bow, where the other two boats were now grappling and discharging their
crews on the forecastle. Although the men of the West Indiaman fought
with desperate courage, they could not stand before the increasing
numbers of pirates who now crowded the fore part of the ship in a dense
mass. Gradually they were beaten back, and at length were brought to bay
on the quarter-deck.

"Help, father!" cried Fred, pushing through the struggling crowd,
"here's the carronade ready loaded."

"Ha! boy, well done!" cried the captain, seizing the gun, and, with the
help of Buzzby, who never left his side, dragging it forward. "Clear the
way, lads!"

In a moment the little cannon was pointed to the centre of the mass of
men, and fired. One awful shriek of agony rose above the din of the
fight, as a wide gap was cut through the crowd; but this only seemed to
render the survivors more furious. With a savage yell they charged the
quarter-deck, but were hurled back again and again by the captain and a
few chosen men who stood around him. At length one of the pirates, who
had been all along conspicuous for his strength and daring, stepped
deliberately up, and pointing a pistol at the captain's breast, fired.
Captain Ellice fell, and at the same moment a ball laid the pirate low;
another charge was made; Fred rushed forward to protect his father, but
was thrown down and trodden under foot in the rush, and in two minutes
more the ship was in possession of the pirates.

Being filled with rage at the opposition they had met with, these
villains proceeded, as they said, to make short work of the crew, while
several of them sprang into the cabin, where they discovered Mrs.
Ellice almost dead with terror. Dragging her violently on deck, they
were about to cast her into the sea, when Buzzby, who stood with his
hands bound, suddenly burst his bonds and sprang towards her. A blow
from the butt of a pistol, however, stretched him insensible on the
deck.

"Where is my husband? my boy?" screamed Mrs. Ellice wildly.

"They've gone before you, or they'll soon follow," said a savage
fiercely, as he raised her in his powerful arms and hurled her
overboard. A loud shriek was followed by a heavy plunge. At the same
moment two of the men raised the captain, intending to throw him
overboard also, when a loud boom arrested their attention, and a
cannon-shot ploughed up the sea close in front of their bows.

While the fight was raging, no one had observed the fact that the breeze
had freshened, and a large man-of-war, with American colours, at her
peak, was now within gunshot of the ship. No sooner did the pirates make
this discovery than they rushed to their boats, with the intention of
pulling to their schooner; but those who had been left in charge, seeing
the approach of the man-of-war, and feeling that there was no chance of
escape for their comrades, or, as is more than probable, being utterly
indifferent about them, crowded all sail and slipped away, and it was
now hull-down on the horizon to leeward. The men in the boats rowed
after her with the energy of despair; but the Americans gave chase, and
we need scarcely add that, in a very short time, all were captured.

When the man-of-war rejoined the West Indiaman, the night had set in and
a stiff breeze had arisen, so that the long and laborious search that
was made for the body of poor Mrs. Ellice proved utterly fruitless.
Captain Ellice, whose wound was very severe, was struck down as if by a
thunderbolt, and for a long time his life was despaired of. During his
illness Fred nursed him with the utmost tenderness, and in seeking to
comfort his father, found some relief to his own stricken heart.

Months passed away. Captain Ellice was conveyed to the residence of his
sister in Grayton, and, under her care, and the nursing of his little
niece Isobel, he recovered his wonted health and strength. To the eyes
of men Captain Ellice and his son were themselves again; but those who
judge of men's hearts by their outward appearance and expressions, in
nine cases out of ten judge very wide of the mark indeed. Both had
undergone a great change. The brilliancy and glitter of this world had
been completely and rudely dispelled, and both had been led to inquire
whether there was not something better to live for than mere present
advantage and happiness--something that would stand by them in those
hours of sickness and sorrow which must inevitably, sooner or later,
come upon all men. Both sought, and discovered what they sought, in the
_Bible_, the only book in all the world where the jewel of great price
is to be found.

But Captain Ellice could not be induced to resume the command of his
old ship, or voyage again to the West Indies. He determined to change
the scene of his future labours and sail to the Frozen Seas, where the
aspect of every object, even the ocean itself, would be very unlikely to
recall the circumstances of his loss.

Some time after his recovery, Captain Ellice purchased a brig and fitted
her out as a whaler, determined to try his fortune in the Northern Seas.
Fred pleaded hard to be taken out, but his father felt that he had more
need to go to school than to sea; so he refused, and Fred, after sighing
very deeply once or twice, gave in with a good grace. Buzzby, too, who
stuck to his old commander like a leech, was equally anxious to go; but
Buzzby, in a sudden and unaccountable fit of tenderness, had, just two
months before, married a wife, who might be appropriately described as
"fat, fair, and forty," and Buzzby's wife absolutely forbade him to go.
Alas! Buzzby was no longer his own master. At the age of forty-five he
became--as he himself expressed it--an abject slave, and he would as
soon have tried to steer in a slipper-bath right in the teeth of an
equinoctial hurricane, as have opposed the will of his wife. He used to
sigh gruffly when spoken to on this subject, and compare himself to a
Dutch galliot that made more leeway than headway, even with a wind on
the quarter. "Once," he would remark, "I was clipper-built, and could
sail right in the wind's eye; but ever since I tuck this craft in tow,
I've gone to leeward like a tub. In fact, I find there's only one way of
going ahead with my Poll, and that is right before the wind! I used to
yaw about a good deal at first, but she tuck that out o' me in a day or
two. If I put the helm only so much as one stroke to starboard, she guv'
a tug at the tow-rope that brought the wind dead aft again; so I've gi'n
it up, and lashed the tiller right amid-ships."

So Buzzby did not accompany his old commander; he did not even so much
as suggest the possibility of it; but he shook his head with great
solemnity, as he stood with Fred, and Mrs. Bright, and Isobel, at the
end of the pier, gazing at the brig, with one eye very much screwed up,
and a wistful expression in the other, while the graceful craft spread
out her canvas and bent over to the breeze.



CHAPTER II.

_Departure of the "Pole Star" for the Frozen Seas--Sage reflections of
Mrs. Bright, and sagacious remarks of Buzzby--Anxieties, fears,
surmises, and resolutions--Isabel--A search proposed--Departure of the
"Dolphin" for the Far North_.


Digressions are bad at the best, and we feel some regret that we should
have been compelled to begin our book with one; but they are necessary
evils sometimes, so we must ask our reader's forgiveness, and beg him,
or her, to remember that we are still at the commencement of our story,
standing at the end of the pier, and watching the departure of the _Pole
Star_ whale-ship, which is now a scarcely distinguishable speck on the
horizon.

As it disappeared Buzzby gave a grunt, Fred and Isobel uttered a sigh in
unison, and Mrs. Bright resumed the fit of weeping which for some time
she had unconsciously suspended.

"I fear we shall never see him again," sobbed Mrs. Bright, as she took
Isobel by the hand and sauntered slowly home, accompanied by Fred and
Buzzby, the latter of whom seemed to regard himself in the light of a
shaggy Newfoundland or mastiff, who had been left to protect the family.
"We are always hearing of whale-ships being lost, and, somehow or
other, we _never_ hear of the crews being saved, as one reads of when
ships are wrecked in the usual way on the seashore."

Isobel squeezed her mother's hand, and looked up in her face with an
expression that said plainly, "Don't cry so, mamma; I'm _sure_ he will
come back," but she could not find words to express herself, so she
glanced towards the mastiff for help.

Buzzby felt that it devolved upon him to afford consolation under the
circumstances; but Mrs. Bright's mind was of that peculiar stamp which
repels advances in the way of consolation unconsciously, and Buzzby was
puzzled. He screwed up first the right eye and then the left, and smote
his thigh repeatedly; and assuredly, if contorting his visage could have
comforted Mrs. Bright, she would have returned home a happy woman, for
he made faces at her violently for full five minutes. But it did her no
good, perhaps because she didn't see him, her eyes being suffused with
tears.

"Ah! yes," resumed Mrs. Bright, with another burst, "I _know_ they will
never come back, and your silence shows that you think so too. And to
think of their taking two years' provisions with them _in case of
accidents!_--doesn't that prove that there are going _to be_ accidents?
And didn't I hear one of the sailors say that she was a crack ship, a
number one? I don't know what he meant by A number one, but if she's a
cracked ship I _know_ she will never come back; and although I told my
dear brother of it, and advised him not to go, he only laughed at me,
which was very unkind, I'm sure."

Here Mrs. Bright's feelings overcame her again.

"Why, aunt," said Fred, scarce able to restrain a laugh, despite the
sadness that lay at his heart, "when the sailor said it was a crack
ship, he meant that it was a good one, a first-rate one."

"Then why did he not say what he meant? But you are talking nonsense,
boy. Do you think that I will believe a man means to say a thing is good
when he calls it cracked? and I'm sure nobody would say a cracked
tea-pot was as good as a whole one. But tell me, Buzzby, do you think
they ever _will_ come back?"

"Why, ma'am, in coorse I do," replied Buzzby, vehemently; "for why, if
they don't, they're the first that ever, went out o' this port in my day
as didn't. They've a good ship and lots o' grub, and it's like to be a
good season; and Captain Ellice has, for the most part, good luck; and
they've started with a fair wind, and kep' clear of a Friday, and what
more could ye wish? I only wish as I was aboard along with them, that's
all."

Buzzby delivered himself of this oration with the left eye shut and
screwed up, and the right one open. Having concluded, he shut and
screwed up the right eye, and opened the left--he reversed the engine,
so to speak, as if he wished to back out from the scene of his triumph
and leave the course clear for others to speak. But his words were
thrown away on Mrs. Bright, who was emphatically a weak-minded woman,
and never exercised her reason at all, except in a spasmodic, galvanic
sort of way, when she sought to defend or to advocate some unreasonable
conclusion of some sort, at which her own weak mind had arrived somehow.
So she shook her head, and sobbed good-bye to Buzzby, as she ascended
the sloping avenue that led to her pretty cottage on the green hill that
overlooked the harbour and the sea beyond.

As for John Buzzby, having been absent from home full half-an-hour
beyond his usual dinner-hour, he felt that, for a man who had lashed his
helm amid-ships, he was yawing alarmingly out of his course; so he
spread all the canvas he could carry, and steered right before the wind
towards the village, where, in a little whitewashed, low-roofed,
one-doored, and two little-windowed cottage, his spouse (and dinner)
awaited him.

To make a long story short, three years passed away, but the _Pole Star_
did not return, and no news of her could be got from the various
whale-ships that visited the port of Grayton. Towards the end of the
second year Buzzby began to shake his head despondingly; and as the
third drew to a close, the expression of gloom never left his honest,
weather-beaten face. Mrs. Bright, too, whose anxiety at first was only
half genuine, now became seriously alarmed, and the fate of the missing
brig began to be the talk of the neighbourhood. Meanwhile, Fred Ellice
and Isobel grew and improved in mind and body; but anxiety as to his
father's fate rendered the former quite unable to pursue his studies,
and he determined at last to procure a passage in a whale-ship, and go
out in search of the brig.

It happened that the principal merchant and shipowner in the town, Mr.
Singleton by name, was an intimate friend and old school-fellow of
Captain Ellice, so Fred went boldly to him and proposed that a vessel
should be fitted out immediately, and sent off to search for his
father's brig. Mr. Singleton smiled at the request, and pointed out the
utter impossibility of his agreeing to it; but he revived Fred's sinking
hopes by saying that he was about to send out a whaler to the Northern
Seas at any rate, and that he would give orders to the captain to devote
a _portion_ of his time to the search, and, moreover, agreed to let Fred
go as a passenger in company with his own son Tom.

Now, Tom Singleton had been Fred's bosom friend and companion during his
first year at school; but during the last two years he had been sent to
the Edinburgh University to prosecute his medical studies, and the two
friends had only met at rare intervals. It was with unbounded delight,
therefore, that he found his old companion, now a youth of twenty, was
to go out as surgeon of the ship, and he could scarce contain himself as
he ran down to Buzzby's cottage to tell him the good news, and ask him
to join.

Of course Buzzby was ready to go, and, what was of far greater
importance in the matter, his wife threw no obstacle in the way. On the
contrary, she undid the lashings of the helm with her own hand, and told
her wondering partner, with a good-humoured but firm smile, to steer
where he chose, and she would content herself with the society of the
two young Buzzbys (both miniature fac-similes of their father) till he
came back.

Once again a whale-ship prepared to sail from the port of Grayton, and
once again Mrs. Bright and Isobel stood on the pier to see her depart.
Isobel was about thirteen now, and as pretty a girl, according to
Buzzby, as you could meet with in any part of Britain. Her eyes were
blue and her hair nut-brown, and her charms of face and figure were
enhanced immeasurably by an air of modesty and earnestness that went
straight home to your heart, and caused you to adore her at once. Buzzby
doated on her as if she were his only child, and felt a secret pride in
being in some indefinable way her protector. Buzzby philosophized about
her, too, after a strange fashion. "You see," he would say to Fred,
"it's not that her figurehead is cut altogether after a parfect
pattern--by no means, for I've seen pictur's and statues that wos
better--but she carries her head a little down, d'ye see, Master Fred?
and there's where it is; that's the way I gauges the worth o' young
women, jist accordin' as they carry their chins up or down. If their
brows come well for'ard, and they seems to be lookin' at the ground they
walk on, I knows their brains is firm stuff, and in good workin' order;
but when I sees them carryin' their noses high out o' the water, as if
they wos afeard o' catchin' sight o' their own feet, and their chins
elewated, so that a little boy standin' in front o' them couldn't see
their faces nohow, I make pretty sure that t'other end is filled with a
sort o' _mush_ that's fit only to think o' dress and dancing."

On the present occasion Isobel's eyes were red and swollen, and by no
means improved by weeping. Mrs. Bright, too, although three years had
done little to alter her character, seemed to be less demonstrative and
much more sincere than usual in her grief at parting from Fred.

In a few minutes all was ready. Young Singleton and Buzzby having
hastily but earnestly bade Mrs. Bright and her daughter farewell, leaped
on board. Fred lingered for a moment.

"Once more, dear aunt," said he, "farewell. With God's blessing we shall
come back soon.--Write to me, darling Isobel, won't you? to Upernavik,
on the coast of Greenland. If none of our ships are bound in that
direction, write by way of Denmark. Old Mr. Singleton will tell you how
to address your letter; and see that it be a long one."

"Now then, youngster, jump aboard," shouted the captain; "look sharp!"

"Ay, ay," returned Fred, and in another moment he was on the
quarter-deck, by the side of his friend Tom.

The ship, loosed from her moorings, spread her canvas, and plunged
forward on her adventurous voyage.

But this time she does not grow smaller as she advances before the
freshening breeze, for you and I, reader, have embarked in her, and the
land now fades in the distance, until it sinks from view on the distant
horizon, while nothing meets our gaze but the vault of the bright blue
sky above, and the plane of the dark blue sea below.



CHAPTER III.

_The voyage--The "Dolphin" and her crew--Ice ahead--Polar
scenes--Masthead observations--The first whale--Great excitement_.


And now we have fairly got into blue water--the sailor's delight, the
landsman's dread,--

  "The sea! the sea! the open sea;
  The blue, the fresh, the ever free."

"It's my opinion," remarked Buzzby to Singleton one day, as they stood
at the weather gangway watching the foam that spread from the vessel's
bow as she breasted the waves of the Atlantic gallantly--it's my opinion
that our skipper is made o' the right stuff. He's entered quite into the
spirit of the thing, and I heard him say to the first mate yesterday
he'd made up his mind to run right up into Baffin's Bay and make
inquiries for Captain Ellice first, before goin' to his usual
whalin'-ground. Now that's wot I call doin' the right thing; for, ye
see, he runs no small risk o' getting beset in the ice, and losing the
fishin' altogether by so doin'."

"He's a fine fellow," said Singleton; "I like him better every day, and
I feel convinced he will do his utmost to discover the whereabouts of
our missing friend; but I fear much that our chances are small, for,
although we know the spot which Captain Ellice intended to visit, we
cannot tell to what part of the frozen ocean ice and currents may have
carried him."

"True," replied Buzzby, giving to his left eye and cheek just that
peculiar amount of screw which indicated intense sagacity and
penetration; "but I've a notion that, if they are to be found, Captain
Guy is the man to find 'em."

"I hope it may turn out as you say. Have you ever been in these seas
before, Buzzby?"

"No, sir--never; but I've got a half-brother wot has bin in the
Greenland whale-fishery, and I've bin in the South Sea line myself."

"What line was that, Buzzby?" inquired David Summers, a sturdy boy of
about fifteen, who acted as assistant steward, and was, in fact, a
nautical maid-of-all-work. "Was it a log-line, or a bow-line, or a
cod-line, or a bit of the equator, eh?"

The old salt deigned no reply to this passing sally, but continued his
converse with Singleton.

"I could give ye many a long yarn about the South Seas," said Buzzby,
gazing abstractedly down into the deep. "One time when I was about fifty
miles to the sou'-west o' Cape Horn, I--"

"Dinner's ready, sir," said a thin, tall, active man, stepping smartly
up to Singleton, and touching his cap.

"We must talk over that some other time, Buzzby. The captain loves
punctuality." So saying, the young surgeon sprang down the companion
ladder, leaving the old salt to smoke his pipe in solitude.

And here we may pause a few seconds to describe our ship and her crew.

The _Dolphin_ was a tight, new, barque-rigged vessel of about three
hundred tons burden, built expressly for the northern whale-fishery, and
carried a crew of forty-five men. Ships that have to battle with the ice
require to be much more powerfully built than those that sail in
unencumbered seas. The _Dolphin_ united strength with capacity and
buoyancy. The under part of her hull and sides were strengthened with
double timbers, and fortified externally with plates of iron, while,
internally, stanchions and crossbeams were so arranged as to cause
pressure on any part to be supported by the whole structure; and on her
bows, where shocks from the ice might be expected to be most frequent
and severe, extra planking, of immense strength and thickness, was
secured. In other respects, the vessel was fitted up much in the same
manner as ordinary merchantmen. The only other peculiarity about her
worthy of notice was the crow's-nest, a sort of barrel-shaped structure
fastened to the fore-mast-head, in which, when at the whaling-ground, a
man is stationed to look out for whales. The chief men in the ship were
Captain Guy, a vigorous, earnest, practical American; Mr. Bolton, the
first mate, a stout, burly, off-hand Englishman; and Mr. Saunders, the
second mate, a sedate, broad-shouldered, raw-boned Scot, whose opinion
of himself was unbounded, whose power of argument was extraordinary, not
to say exasperating, and who stood six feet three in his stockings.
Mivins, the steward, was, as we have already remarked, a tall, thin,
active young man, of a brisk, lively disposition, and was somewhat of a
butt among the men, but being in a position of power and trust, he was
respected. The young surgeon, Tom Singleton, whom we have yet scarcely
introduced to the reader, was a tall, slim, but firmly-knit youth, with
a kind, gentle disposition. He was always open, straightforward, and
polite. He never indulged in broad humour, though he enjoyed it much,
seldom ventured on a witticism, was rather shy in the company of his
companions, and spoke little; but for a quiet, pleasant _tête-à-tête_
there was not a man in the ship equal to Tom Singleton. His countenance
was Spanish-looking and handsome, his hair black, short, and curling,
and his budding moustache was soft and dark as the eyebrow of an
Andalusian belle.

It would be unpardonable, in this catalogue, to omit the cook, David
Mizzle. He was round, and fat, and oily, as one of his own "duff"
puddings. To look at him you could not help suspecting that he purloined
and ate at least half of the salt pork he cooked, and his sly, dimpling
laugh, in which every feature participated, from the point of his broad
chin to the top of his bald head, rather tended to favour this
supposition. Mizzle was prematurely bald--being quite a young man--and
when questioned on the subject, he usually attributed it to the fact of
his having been so long employed about the cooking coppers, that the
excessive heat to which he was exposed had stewed all the hair off his
head! The crew was made up of stout, active men in the prime of life,
nearly all of whom had been more or less accustomed to the
whale-fishing, and some of the harpooners were giants in muscular
development and breadth of shoulder, if not in height.

Chief among these harpooners was Amos Parr, a short, thick-set, powerful
man of about thirty-five, who had been at sea since he was a little boy,
and had served in the fisheries of both the Northern and Southern Seas.
No one knew what country had the honour of producing him--indeed, he was
ignorant of that point himself; for, although he had vivid recollections
of his childhood having been spent among green hills, and trees, and
streamlets, he was sent to sea with a strange captain before he was old
enough to care about the name of his native land. Afterwards he ran away
from his ship, and so lost all chance of ever discovering who he was;
but, as he sometimes remarked, he didn't much care who he was, so long
as he was _himself_; so it didn't matter. From a slight peculiarity in
his accent, and other qualities, it was surmised that he must be an
Irishman--a supposition which he rather encouraged, being partial to the
sons, and particularly partial to the daughters, of the Emerald Isle,
one of which last he had married just six months before setting out on
this whaling expedition.

Such were the _Dolphin_ and her crew, and merrily they bowled along
over the broad Atlantic with favouring winds, and without meeting with
anything worthy of note until they neared the coast of Greenland.

One fine morning, just as the party in the cabin had finished breakfast,
and were dallying with the last few morsels of the repast, as men who
have more leisure than they desire are wont to do, there was a sudden
shock felt, and a slight tremor passed through the ship as if something
had struck her.

"Ha!" exclaimed Captain Guy, finishing his cup of chocolate, "there goes
the first bump."

"Ice ahead, sir," said the first mate, looking down the skylight.

"Is there much?" asked the captain, rising and taking down a small
telescope from the hook on which it usually hung.

"Not much, sir--only a stream; but there is an ice-blink right ahead all
along the horizon."

"How's her head, Mr. Bolton?"

"Nor'-west and by north, sir."

Before this brief conversation came to a close, Fred Ellice and Tom
Singleton sprang up the companion ladder, and stood on the deck gazing
ahead with feelings of the deepest interest. Both youths were well read
in the history of Polar Seas and Regions; they were well acquainted, by
name at least, with floes, and bergs, and hummocks of ice, but neither
of them had seen such in reality. These objects were associated in their
young minds with all that was romantic and wild, hyperborean and polar,
brilliant and sparkling, and light and white--emphatically _white_. To
behold ice actually floating on the salt sea was an incident of note in
their existence; and certainly the impressions of their first day in the
ice remained sharp, vivid, and prominent, long after scenes of a much
more striking nature had faded from the tablets of their memories.

At first the prospect that met their ardent gaze was not calculated to
excite excessive admiration. There were only a few masses of low ice
floating about in various directions. The wind was steady, but light,
and seemed as if it would speedily fall altogether. Gradually the
_blink_ on the horizon (as the light haze always distinguishable above
ice, or snow-covered land, is called) resolved itself into a long white
line of ice, which seemed to grow larger as the ship neared it, and in
about two hours more they were fairly in the midst of the pack, which
was fortunately loose enough to admit of the vessel being navigated
through the channels of open water. Soon after, the sun broke out in
cloudless splendour, and the wind fell entirely, leaving the ocean in a
dead calm.

"Let's go to the fore-top, Tom," said Fred, seizing his friend by the
arm and hastening to the shrouds.

In a few seconds they were seated alone on the little platform at the
top of the fore-mast, just where it is connected with the fore-top-mast,
and from this elevated position they gazed in silent delight upon the
fairy-like scene.

Those who have never stood at the mast-head of a ship at sea in a dead
calm cannot comprehend the feeling of intense solitude that fills the
mind in such a position. There is nothing analogous to it on land. To
stand on the summit of a tower and look down on the busy multitude below
is not the same, for there the sounds are quite different in _tone_, and
signs of life are visible all over the distant country, while cries from
afar reach the ear, as well as those from below. But from the mast-head
you hear only the few subdued sounds under your feet--all beyond is
silence; you behold only the small, oval-shaped platform that is your
_world_--beyond lies the calm desolate ocean. On deck you cannot realize
this feeling, for there sails and yards tower above you, and masts, and
boats, and cordage intercept your view; but from above you _take in_ the
intense minuteness of your home at a single glance--you stand aside, as
it were, and in some measure comprehend the insignificance of the
_thing_ to which you have committed your life.

The scene witnessed by our friends at the masthead of the _Dolphin_ on
this occasion was surpassingly beautiful. Far as the eye could stretch
the sea was covered with islands and fields of ice of every conceivable
shape. Some rose in little peaks and pinnacles, some floated in the form
of arches and domes, some were broken and rugged like the ruins of old
border strongholds, while others were flat and level like fields of
white marble; and so calm was it, that the ocean in which they floated
seemed like a groundwork of polished steel, in which the sun shone with
dazzling brilliancy. The tops of the icy islets were pure white, and the
sides of the higher ones of a delicate blue colour, which gave to the
scene a transparent lightness that rendered it pre-eminently fairy-like.

"It far surpasses anything I ever conceived," ejaculated Singleton after
a long silence. "No wonder that authors speak of scenes being
indescribable. Does it not seem like a dream, Fred?"

"Tom," replied Fred earnestly, "I've been trying to fancy myself in
another world, and I have almost succeeded. When I look long and
intently at the ice, I get almost to believe that these are streets, and
palaces, and cathedrals. I never felt so strong a desire to have wings
that I might fly from one island to another, and go floating in and out
and round about those blue caves and sparkling pinnacles."

"It's a curious fancy, Fred, but not unnatural."

"Tom," said Fred after another long silence, "has not the thought
occurred to you that God made it all?"

"Some such thought did cross my mind, Fred, for a moment, but it soon
passed away. Is it not _very_ strange that the idea of the Creator is so
seldom and so slightly connected with his works in our minds?"

Again there was a long silence. Both youths had a desire to continue the
conversation, and yet each felt an unaccountable reluctance to renew it.
Neither of them distinctly understood that the natural heart is enmity
against God, and that, until he is converted by the Holy Spirit, man
neither loves to think of his Maker nor to speak of him.

While they sat thus musing, a breeze dimmed the surface of the sea, and
the _Dolphin_, which had hitherto lain motionless in one of the numerous
canals, began slowly to advance between the islands of ice. The breeze
freshened, and rendered it impossible to avoid an occasional collision
with the floating masses; but the good ship was well armed for the
fight, and, although she quivered under the blows, and once or twice
recoiled, she pushed her way through the pack gallantly. In the course
of an hour or two they were once more in comparatively clear water.

Suddenly there came a cry from the crow's-nest--"There she blows!"

Instantly every man in the ship sprang to his feet as if he had received
an electric shock.

"Where away?" shouted the captain.

"On the lee-bow, sir," replied the look-out.

From a state of comparative quiet and repose the ship was now thrown
into a condition of the utmost animation, and, apparently, unmeaning,
confusion. The sight of a whale acted on the spirits of the men like
wild-fire.

"There she blows!" sang out the man at the masthead again.

"Are we keeping right for her?" asked the captain.

"Keep her away a bit; steady!" replied the lookout.

"Steady it is!" answered the man at the wheel.

"Call all hands and get the boats out, Mr. Bolton," said the captain.

"All hands ahoy!" shouted the mate in a tempestuous voice, while the men
rushed to their respective stations.

"Boat-steerers, get your boats ready."

"Ay, ay, sir."

"There go flukes," cried the look-out, as the whale dived and tossed its
flukes--that is, its tail--in the air, not more than a mile on the
lee-bow; "she's heading right for the ship."

"Down with the helm!" roared the captain. "Mr. Bolton, brace up the
mizzen-top-sail! Hoist and swing the boats! Lower away!"

In another moment three boats struck the water, and their respective
crews tumbled tumultuously into them. Fred and Singleton sprang into the
stern-sheets of the captain's boat just as it pushed off, and, in less
than five minutes, the three boats were bounding over the sea in the
direction of the whale like race-horses. Every man did his best, and the
tough oars bent like hoops as each boat's crew strove to outstrip the
others.



CHAPTER IV.

_The chase and the battle--The chances and dangers of whaling
war--Buzzby dives for his life and saves it--So does the whale and loses
it--An anxious night, which terminates happily, though with a heavy
loss._


The chase was not a long one, for, while the boats were rowing swiftly
towards the whale, the whale was, all unconsciously, swimming towards
the boats.

"Give way now, lads, give way," said the captain in a suppressed voice;
"bend your backs, boys, and don't let the mate beat us."

The three boats flew over the sea, as the men strained their muscles to
the utmost, and for some time they kept almost in line, being pretty
equally matched; but gradually the captain shot ahead, and it became
evident that his harpooner, Amos Parr, was to have the honour of
harpooning the first whale. Amos pulled the bow-oar, and behind him was
the tub with the line coiled away, and the harpoon bent on to it. Being
an experienced whaleman, he evinced no sign of excitement, save in the
brilliancy of his dark eye and a very slight flush on his bronzed face.
They had now neared the whale and ceased rowing for a moment, lest they
should miss it when down.

"There she goes!" cried Fred in a tone of intense excitement, as he
caught sight of the whale not more than fifty yards ahead of the boat.

"Now, boys," cried the captain, in a hoarse whisper, "spring hard--lay
back hard, I say--_stand up_!"

At the last word Amos-Parr sprang to his feet and seized the harpoon,
the boat ran right on to the whale's back, and in an instant Parr sent
two irons to the hitches into the fish.

"Stern all!" The men backed their oars with all their might, in order to
avoid the flukes of the wounded monster of the deep, as it plunged down
headlong into the sea, taking the line out perpendicularly like
lightning. This was a moment of great danger. The friction of the line
as it passed the loggerhead was so great that Parr had to keep
constantly pouring water on it to prevent its catching fire. A hitch in
the line at that time, as it flew out of the tub, or any accidental
entanglement, would have dragged the boat and crew right down: many such
fatal accidents occur to whalers, and many a poor fellow has had a foot
or an arm torn off, or been dragged overboard and drowned, in
consequence of getting entangled. One of the men stood ready with a
small hatchet to cut the line in a moment, if necessary; for whales
sometimes run out all that is in a boat at the first plunge, and should
none of the other boats be at hand to lend a second line to attach to
the one nearly expended, there is nothing for it but to cut. On the
present occasion, however, none of these accidents befell the men of the
captain's boat. The line ran all clear, and long before it was
exhausted the whale ceased to descend, and the _slack_ was hauled
rapidly in.

Meanwhile the other boats pulled up to the scene of action, and prepared
to strike the instant the fish should rise to the surface. It appeared,
suddenly, not twenty yards from the mate's boat, where Buzzby, who was
harpooner, stood in the bow ready to give it the iron.

"Spring, lads, spring!" shouted the mate, as the whale spouted into the
air a thick stream of water. The boat dashed up, and Buzzby planted his
harpoon vigorously. Instantly the broad flukes of the tail were tossed
into the air, and, for a single second, spread like a canopy over
Buzzby's head. There was no escape. The quick eye of the whaleman saw at
a glance that the effort to back out was hopeless. He bent his head, and
the next moment was deep down in the waves. Just as he disappeared the
flukes descended on the spot which he had left, and cut the bow of the
boat completely away, sending the stern high into the air with a
violence that tossed men, and oars, and shattered planks, and cordage,
flying over the monster's back into the seething caldron of foam around
it. It was apparently a scene of the most complete and instantaneous
destruction, yet, strange to say, not a man was lost. A few seconds
after, the white foam of the sea was dotted with black heads as the men
rose one by one to the surface, and struck out for floating oars and
pieces of the wrecked boat.

"They're lost!" cried Fred Ellice in a voice of horror.

"Not a bit of it, youngster; they're safe enough, I'll warrant," replied
the captain, as his own boat flew past the spot, towed by the
whale.--"Pay out, Amos Parr; give him line, or he'll tear the bows out
of us."

"Ay, ay, sir," sang out Amos, as he sat coolly pouring water on the
loggerhead round which a coil of the rope was whizzing like lightning;
"all right. The mate's men are all safe, sir; I counted them as we shot
past, and I seed Buzzby come up last of all, blowin' like a grampus; and
small wonder, considerin' the dive he took."

"Take another turn of the coil, Amos, and hold on," said the captain.

The harpooner obeyed, and away they went after the whale like a rocket,
with a tremendous strain on the line and a bank of white foam gurgling
up to the edge of the gunwale, that every moment threatened to fill the
boat and sink her. Such a catastrophe is of not unfrequent occurrence,
when whalemen thus towed by a whale are tempted to hold on too long; and
many instances have happened of boats and their crews being in this way
dragged under water and lost. Fortunately the whale dashed horizontally
through the water, so that the boat was able to hold on and follow, and
in a short time the creature paused and rose for air. Again the men bent
to their oars, and the rope was hauled in until they came quite close to
the fish. This time a harpoon was thrown and a deep lance-thrust given
which penetrated to the vital parts of its huge carcass, as was
evidenced by the blood which it spouted and the convulsive lashing of
its tremendous tail.

While the captain's crew were thus engaged, Saunders, the second mate,
observing from the ship the accident to the first mate's boat, sent off
a party of men to the rescue, thus setting free the third boat, which
was steered by a strapping fellow named Peter Grim, to follow up the
chase. Peter Grim was the ship's carpenter, and he took after his name.
He was, as the sailors expressed it, a "grim customer," being burnt by
the sun to a deep rich brown colour, besides being covered nearly up to
the eyes with a thick coal-black beard and moustache, which completely
concealed every part of his visage except his prominent nose and dark,
fiery-looking eyes. He was an immense man, the largest in the ship,
probably, if we except the Scotch second mate Saunders, to whom he was
about equal in all respects--except argument. Like most big men, he was
peaceable and good-humoured.

"Look alive now, lads," said Grim, as the men pulled towards the whale;
"we'll get a chance yet, we shall, if you give way like tigers. Split
your sides, boys--do--that's it. Ah! there she goes right down. Pull
away now, and be ready when she rises."

As he spoke the whale suddenly _sounded_--that is, went perpendicularly
down, as it had done when first struck--and continued to descend until
most of the line in the captain's boat was run out.

"Hoist an oar!" cried Amos Parr, as he saw the coil diminishing. Grim
observed the signal of distress, and encouraged his men to use their
utmost exertions. "Another oar!--another!" shouted Parr, as the whale
continued its headlong descent.

"Stand by to cut the line," said Captain Guy with compressed lips. "No!
hold on, hold on!"

At this moment, having drawn down more than a thousand fathoms of rope,
the whale slackened its speed, and Parr, taking another coil round the
loggerhead, held on until the boat was almost dragged under water. Then
the line became loose, and the slack was hauled in rapidly. Meanwhile
Grim's boat had reached the spot, and the men now lay on their oars at
some distance ahead, ready to pull the instant the whale should show
itself. Up it came, not twenty yards ahead. One short, energetic pull,
and the second boat sent a harpoon deep into it, while Grim sprang to
the bow and thrust a lance with deadly force deep into the carcass. The
monster sent up a stream of mingled blood, oil, and water, and whirled
its huge tail so violently that the sound could be heard a mile off.
Before it dived again, the captain's boat came up, and succeeded in
making fast another harpoon, while several additional lance-thrusts were
given with effect, and it seemed as if the battle were about to
terminate, when suddenly the whale struck the sea with a clap like
thunder, and darted away once more like a rocket to windward, tearing
the two boats after it as if they had been egg-shells.

Meanwhile a change had come over the scene. The sun had set, red and
lowering, behind a bank of dark clouds, and there was every appearance
of stormy weather; but as yet it was nearly calm, and the ship was
unable to beat up against the light breeze in the wake of the two boats,
which were soon far away on the horizon. Then a furious gust arose and
passed away, a dark cloud covered the sky as night fell, and soon boats
and whale were utterly lost to view.

"Wae's me!" cried the big Scotch mate, as he ran up and down the
quarter-deck wringing his hands, "what _is_ to be done noo?"

Saunders spoke a mongrel kind of language--a mixture of Scotch and
English--in which, although the Scotch words were sparsely scattered,
the Scotch accent was very strong.

"How's her head?"

"Nor'-nor'-west, sir."

"Keep her there, then. Maybe, if the wind holds stiddy, we may overhaul
them before it's quite dark."

Although Saunders was really in a state of the utmost consternation at
this unexpected termination to the whale-hunt, and expressed the
agitation of his feelings pretty freely, he was too thorough a seaman to
neglect anything that was necessary to be done under the circumstances.
He took the exact bearings of the point at which the boats had
disappeared, and during the night, which turned out gusty and
threatening, kept making short tacks, while lanterns were hung at the
mast-heads, and a huge torch, or rather a small bonfire, of tarred
materials was slung at the end of a spar and thrust out over the stern
of the ship. But for many hours there was no sign of the boats, and the
crew of the _Dolphin_ began to entertain the most gloomy forebodings
regarding them.

At length, towards morning, a small speck of light was noticed on the
weather-beam. It flickered for a moment, and then disappeared.

"Did ye see yon?" said Saunders to Mivins in an agitated whisper, laying
his huge hand on the shoulder of that worthy. "Down your helm" (to the
steersman).

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"Stiddy!"

"Steady it is, sir."

Mivins's face, which for some hours had worn an expression of deep
anxiety, relaxed into a bland smile, and he smote his thigh powerfully,
as he exclaimed, "That's them, sir, _and_ no mistake! What's your
opinion, Mr. Saunders?"

The second mate peered earnestly in the direction in which the light had
been seen; and Mivins, turning in the same direction, screwed up his
visage into a knot of earnest attention so complicated and intense, that
it seemed as if no human power could evermore unravel it.

"There it goes again!" cried Saunders, as the light flashed distinctly
over the sea.

"Down helm; back fore-top-sails!" he shouted, springing forward; "lower
away the boat there!"

In a few seconds the ship was hove to, and a boat, with a lantern fixed
to an oar, was plunging over the swell in the direction of the light.
Sooner than was expected they came up with it, and a hurrah in the
distance told that all was right.

"Here we are, thank God," cried Captain Guy, "safe and sound. We don't
require assistance, Mr. Saunders; pull for the ship."

A short pull sufficed to bring the three boats alongside, and in a few
seconds more the crew were congratulating their comrades with that
mingled feeling of deep heartiness and a disposition to jest which is
characteristic of men who are used to danger, and think lightly of it
after it is over.

"We've lost our fish, however," remarked Captain Guy, as he passed the
crew on his way to the cabin; "but we must hope for better luck next
time."

"Well, well," said one of the men, wringing the water out of his wet
clothes as he walked forward, "we got a good laugh at Peter Grim, if we
got nothin' else by our trip."

"How was that, Jack?"

"Why, ye see, jist before the whale gave in, it sent up a spout o' blood
and oil as thick as the main-mast, and, as luck would have it, down it
came slap on the head of Grim, drenchin' him from head to foot, and
makin' him as red as a lobster."

"'Ow did you lose the fish, sir?" inquired Mivins, as our hero sprang up
the side, followed by Singleton.

"Lost him as men lose money in railway speculations now-a-days. We
_sank_ him, and that was the last of it. After he had towed us I don't
know how far--out of sight of the ship at any rate--he suddenly stopped,
and we pulled up and gave him some tremendous digs with the lances,
until he spouted jets of blood, and we made sure of him, when all at
once down he went head-foremost like a cannon ball, and took all the
line out of both boats, so we had to cut, and he never came up again. At
least, if he did it became so dark that we never saw him. Then we pulled
to where we thought the ship was, and, after rowing nearly all night,
caught sight of your lights; and here we are, dead tired, wet to the
skin, and minus about two miles of whale-line and three harpoons."



CHAPTER V.

_Miscellaneous reflections--The coast of Greenland--Upernavik--News of
the "Pole Star"--Midnight-day--Scientific facts and fairy-like
scenes--Tom Singleton's opinion of poor old women--In danger of a
squeeze--Escape._


In pursuance of his original intention, Captain Guy now proceeded
through Davis' Straits into Baffin's Bay, at the head of which he
intended to search for the vessel of his friend Captain Ellice, and
afterwards prosecute the whale-fishery. Off the coast of Greenland many
whalers were seen actively engaged in warfare with the giants of the
Polar Seas, and to several of these Captain Guy spoke, in the faint hope
of gleaning some information as to the fate of the _Pole Star_, but
without success. It was now apparent to the crew of the _Dolphin_ that
they were engaged as much on a searching as a whaling expedition; and
the fact that the commander of the lost vessel was the father of "young
Mr. Fred," as they styled our hero, induced them to take a deep interest
in the success of their undertaking.

This interest was further increased by the graphic account that honest
John Buzzby gave of the death of poor Mrs. Ellice, and the enthusiastic
way in which he spoke of his old captain. Fred, too, had, by his frank,
affable manner and somewhat reckless disposition, rendered himself a
general favourite with the men, and had particularly recommended himself
to Mivins the steward (who was possessed of an intensely romantic
spirit), by stating once or twice very emphatically that he (Fred) meant
to land on the coast of Baffin's Bay, should the captain fail to find
his father, and continue the search on foot and alone. There was no
doubt whatever that poor Fred was in earnest, and had made up his mind
to die in the search rather than not find him. He little knew the
terrible nature of the country in which for a time his lot was to be
cast, and the hopelessness of such an undertaking as he meditated. With
boyish inconsiderateness he thought not of how his object was to be
accomplished; he cared not what impossibilities lay in the way; but,
with manly determination, he made up his mind to quit the ship and
search for his father through the length and breadth of the land. Let
not the reader smile at what he may perhaps style a childish piece of
enthusiasm. Many a youth at his age has dreamed of attempting as great
if not greater impossibilities. All honour, we say, to the boy who
_dreams_ impossibilities, and greater honour to him who, like Fred,
_resolves to attempt them!_ James Watt stared at an iron tea-kettle till
his eyes were dim, and meditated the monstrous impossibility of making
that kettle work like a horse; and men might (perhaps did) smile at
James Watt _then_, but do men smile at James Watt _now?_--now that
thousands of iron kettles are dashing like dreadful comets over the
length and breadth of the land, not to mention the sea, with long tails
of men and women and children behind them!

"That's 'ow it is, sir," Mivins used to say, when spoken to by Fred on
the subject; "I've never bin in cold countries myself, sir, but I've bin
in 'ot, and I knows that with a stout pair o' legs and a will to work, a
man can work 'is way hanywhere. Of course there's not much of a
pop'lation in them parts, I've heerd; but there's Heskimos, and where
one man can live so can another, and what one man can do so can
another--that's bin my hexperience, and I'm not ashamed to hown it, I'm
not, though I _do_ say it as shouldn't, and I honour you, sir, for your
filleral detarmination to find your father, sir, and--"

"Steward!" shouted the captain down the cabin skylight.

"Yes, sir!"

"Bring me the chart."

"Yes, sir," and Mivins disappeared like a Jack-in-the-box from the cabin
just as Tom Singleton entered it.

"Here we are, Fred," he said, seizing a telescope that hung over the
cabin door, "within sight of the Danish settlement of Upernavik; come on
deck and see it."

Fred needed no second bidding. It was here that the captain had hinted
there would, probably, be some information obtained regarding the _Pole
Star_, and it was with feelings of no common interest that the two
friends examined the low-roofed houses of this out-of-the-way
settlement.

In an hour afterwards the captain and first mate with our young friends
landed amid the clamorous greetings of the entire population, and
proceeded to the residence of the governor, who received them with great
kindness and hospitality; but the only information they could obtain was
that, a year ago, Captain Ellice had been driven there in his brig by
stress of weather, and after refitting and taking in a supply of
provisions, had set sail for England.

Here the _Dolphin_ laid in a supply of dried fish, and procured several
dogs, besides an Esquimau interpreter and hunter, named Meetuck.

Leaving this little settlement, they stood out once more to sea, and
threaded their way among the ice, with which they were now well
acquainted in all its forms, from the mighty berg, or mountain of ice,
to the wide field. They passed in succession one or two Esquimau
settlements, the last of which, Yotlik, is the most northerly point of
colonization. Beyond this all was _terra incognita_. Here inquiry was
again made through the medium of the Esquimau interpreter who had been
taken on board at Upernavik, and they learned that the brig in question
had been last seen beset in the pack, and driving to the northward.
Whether or not she had ever returned they could not tell.

A consultation was now held, and it was resolved to proceed north, as
far as the ice would permit, towards Smith's Sound, and examine the
coast carefully in that direction.

For several weeks past there had been gradually coming over the aspect
of nature a change, to which we have not yet referred, and which filled
Fred Ellice and his friend, the young surgeon, with surprise and
admiration. This was the long-continued daylight, which now lasted the
whole night round, and increased in intensity every day as they advanced
north. They had, indeed, often heard and read of it before, but their
minds had utterly failed to form a correct conception of the exquisite
calmness and beauty of the _midnight-day_ of the north.

Every one knows that, in consequence of the axis of the earth not being
perpendicular to the plane of its orbit round the sun, the poles are
alternately directed more or less _towards_ that great luminary during
one part of the year, and _away_ from it during another part. So that
far north the days during the one season grow longer and longer until at
last there is _one long day_ of many weeks' duration, in which the sun
does not set at all; and during the other season there is _one long
night_, in which the sun is never seen. It was approaching the height of
the summer season when the _Dolphin_ entered the Arctic Regions, and,
although the sun descended below the horizon for a short time each
night, there was scarcely any diminution of the light at all, and, as
far as one's sensations were concerned, there was but one long
continuous day, which grew brighter and brighter at midnight as they
advanced.

"How thoroughly splendid this is!" remarked Tom Singleton to Fred one
night, as they sat in their favourite outlook, the main-top, gazing down
on the glassy sea, which was covered with snowy icebergs and floes, and
bathed in the rays of the sun; "and how wonderful to think that the sun
will only set for an hour or so, and then get up as splendid as ever!"

The evening was still as death. Not a sound broke upon the ear save the
gentle cries of a few sea-birds that dipped ever and anon into the sea,
as if to kiss it gently while asleep, and then circled slowly into the
bright sky again. The sails of the ship, too, flapped very gently, and a
spar creaked plaintively, as the vessel rose and fell on the gentle
undulations that seemed to be the breathing of the ocean. But such
sounds did not disturb the universal stillness of the hour; neither did
the gambols of yonder group of seals and walruses that were at play
round some fantastic blocks of ice; nor did the soft murmur of the swell
that broke in surf at the foot of yonder iceberg, whose blue sides were
seamed with a thousand watercourses, and whose jagged pinnacles rose up
like needles of steel into the clear atmosphere.

There were many bergs in sight, of various shapes and sizes, at some
distance from the ship, which caused much anxiety to the captain,
although they were only a source of admiration to our young friends in
the main-top.

"Tom," said Fred, breaking a long silence, "it may seem a strange idea
to you, but, do you know, I cannot help fancying that heaven must be
something like this."

"I'm not sure that that's such a strange idea, Fred, for it has two of
the characteristics of heaven in it--peace and rest."

"True; that didn't strike me. Do you know, I wish that it were always
calm like this, and that we had no wind at all."

Tom smiled. "Your voyage would be a long one if that were to happen. I
daresay the Esquimaux would join with you in the wish, however, for
their kayaks and oomiaks are better adapted for a calm than a stormy
sea."

"Tom," said Fred, breaking another long silence, "you're very tiresome
and stupid to-night, why don't you talk to me?"

"Because this delightful dreamy evening inclines me to think and be
silent."

"Ah, Tom! that's your chief fault. You are always inclined to think too
much and to talk too little. Now I, on the contrary, am always--"

"Inclined to talk too much and think too little--eh, Fred?"

"Bah! don't try to be funny, man; you haven't it in you. Did you ever
see such a miserable set of creatures as the old Esquimau women are at
Upernavik?"

"Why, what put _them_, into your head?" inquired Tom laughing.

"Yonder iceberg! Look at it! There's the nose and chin exactly of the
extraordinary hag you gave your silk pocket-handkerchief to at parting.
Now, I never saw such a miserable old woman as that before, did you?"

Tom Singleton's whole demeanour changed, and his dark eyes brightened as
the strongly-marked brows frowned over them, while he replied, "Yes,
Fred, I have seen old women more miserable than that. I have seen women
so old that their tottering limbs could scarcely support them, going
about in the bitterest November winds, with clothing too scant to cover
their wrinkled bodies, and so ragged and filthy that you would have
shrunk from touching it--I have seen such groping about among heaps of
filth that the very dogs looked at and turned away from as if in
disgust."

Fred was inclined to laugh at his friend's sudden change of manner; but
there was something in the young surgeon's character--perhaps its deep
earnestness--that rendered it impossible, at least for his friends, to
be jocular when he was disposed to be serious. Fred became grave as he
spoke.

"Where have you seen such poor wretches, Tom?" he asked, with a look of
interest.

"In the cities, the civilized cities of our own Christian land. If you
have ever walked about the streets of some of these cities before the
rest of the world was astir, at gray dawn, you must have seen them
shivering along and scratching among the refuse cast out by the tenants
of the neighbouring houses. O Fred, Fred! in my professional career,
short though it has been, I have seen much of these poor old women, and
many others whom the world never sees on the streets at all,
experiencing a slow, lingering death by starvation, and fatigue, and
cold. It is the foulest blot on our country that there is no sufficient
provision for the _aged poor_."

"I have seen those old women too," replied Fred, "but I never thought
very seriously about them before."

"That's it--that's just it; people don't _think_, otherwise this
dreadful state of things would not continue. Just listen _now_, for a
moment, to what I have to say. But don't imagine that I'm standing up
for the poor in general. I don't feel--perhaps I'm wrong," continued Tom
thoughtfully--"perhaps I'm wrong--I hope not--but it's a fact, I don't
feel much for the young and the sturdy poor, and I make it a rule
_never_ to give a farthing to _young_ beggars, not even to little
children, for I know full well that they are sent out to beg by idle,
good-for-nothing parents. I stand up only for the _aged_ poor, because,
be they good or wicked, they _cannot_ help themselves. If a man fell
down in the street, struck with some dire disease that shrunk his
muscles, unstrung his nerves, made his heart tremble, and his skin
shrivel up, would you look upon him and then pass him by _without
thinking?_"

"No," cried Fred in an emphatic tone, "I would not! I would stop and
help him."

"Then, let me ask you," resumed Tom earnestly, "is there any difference
between the weakness of muscle and the faintness of heart which is
produced by disease, and that which is produced by old age, except that
the latter is incurable? Have not these women feelings like other women?
Think you that there are not amongst them those who have 'known better
times'? They think of sons and daughters dead and gone, perhaps, just as
other old women in better circumstances do. But they must not indulge
such depressing thoughts; they must reserve all the energy, the stamina
they have, to drag round the city--barefoot, it may be, and in the
cold--to beg for food, and scratch up what they can find among the
cinder heaps. They groan over past comforts and past times, perhaps, and
think of the days when their limbs were strong and their cheeks were
smooth; for they were not always 'hags.' And remember that _once_ they
had friends who loved them and cared for them, although they are old,
unknown, and desolate now."

Tom paused and pressed his hand upon his flushed forehead.

"You may think it strange," he continued, "that I speak to you in this
way about poor old women, but I _feel_ deeply for their forlorn
condition. The young can help themselves, more or less, and they have
strength to stand their sorrows, with _hope_, blessed hope, to keep
them up; but _poor_ old men and old women cannot help themselves, and
cannot stand their sorrows, and, as far as this life is concerned, they
have _no hope,_ except to die soon and easy, and, if possible, in summer
time, when the wind is not so very cold and bitter."

"But how can this be put right, Tom?" asked Fred in a tone of deep
commiseration. "Our being sorry for it and anxious about it (and you've
made me sorry, I assure you) can do very little good, you know."

"I don't know, Fred," replied Tom, sinking into his usual quiet tone.
"If every city and town in Great Britain would start a society, whose
first resolution should be that they would not leave one poor _old_ man
or woman unprovided for, _that_ would do it. Or if the Government would
take it in hand _honestly_, that would do it."

"Call all hands, Mr. Bolton," cried the captain in a sharp voice. "Get
out the ice-poles, and lower away the boats."

"Hallo! what's wrong?" said Fred, starting up.

"Getting too near the bergs, I suspect," remarked Tom. "I say, Fred,
before we go on deck, will you promise to do what I ask you?"

"Well--yes, I will."

"Will you promise, then, all through your life, especially if you ever
come to be rich or influential, to think _of_ and _for_ old men and
women who are poor?"

"I will," answered Fred; "but I don't know that I'll ever be rich, or
influential, or able to help them much."

"Of course you don't. But when a thought about them strikes you, will
you always _think it out_, and, if possible, _act it out_, as God shall
enable you?"

"Yes, Tom, I promise to do that as well as I can."

"That's right; thank you, my boy," said the young surgeon, as they
descended the shrouds and leaped on deck.

Here they found the captain walking up and down rapidly, with an anxious
expression of face. After taking a turn or two he stopped short, and
gazed out astern.

"Set the stun'-sails, Mr. Bolton. The breeze will be up in a little, I
think. Let the men pull with a will."

The order was given, and soon the ship was under a cloud of canvas,
advancing slowly as the boats towed her between two large icebergs,
which had been gradually drawing near to each other the whole afternoon.

"Is there any danger, Buzzby?" inquired Fred, as the sturdy sailor stood
looking at the larger berg, with an ice-pole in his hands.

"Danger? ay, that there is, lad, more nor's agreeable, d'ye see. Here we
are without a breath o' wind to get us on, right between two bergs as
could crack us like a walnut. We can't get to starboard of 'em for the
current, nor to larboard of 'em for the pack, as ye see, so we must go
between them, neck or nothing."

The danger was indeed imminent. The two bergs were within a hundred
yards of each other, and the smaller of the two, being more easily moved
by the current probably, was setting down on the larger at a rate that
bade fair to decide the fate of the _Dolphin_ in a few minutes. The men
rowed lustily, but their utmost exertions could move the ship but
slowly. Aid was coming, however, direct from the hand of Him who is a
refuge in the time of danger. A breeze was creeping over the calm sea
right astern, and it was to meet this that the studding-sails had been
set a-low and aloft, so that the wide-spreading canvas, projecting far
to the right and left, had, to an inexperienced eye, the appearance of
being out of all proportion to the little hull by which it was
supported.

With breathless anxiety those on board stood watching the two bergs and
the approaching breeze.

At last it came. A few cat's-paws ruffled the surface of the sea,
distending the sails for a moment, then leaving them flat and loose as
before. This, however, was sufficient; another such puff, and the ship
was almost out of danger; but before it came the projecting summit of
the smaller berg was overhanging the deck. At this critical moment the
wind began to blow steadily, and soon the _Dolphin_ was in the open
water beyond. Five minutes after she had passed, the moving mountains
struck with a noise louder than thunder; the summits and large portions
of the sides fell with a succession of crashes like the roaring of
artillery, just above the spot where the ship had lain not a quarter of
an hour before; and the vessel, for some time after, rocked violently to
and fro in the surges that the plunge of the falling masses had raised.



CHAPTER VI.

_The gale--Anchored to a berg which proves to be a treacherous
one--Dangers of the "pack"--Beset in the ice--Mivins shows an inquiring
mind--Walruses--Gale freshens--Chains and cables--Holding on for
life--An unexpected discovery--A "nip" and its terrible
consequences--Yoked to an iceberg_.


The narrow escape related in the last chapter was but the prelude to a
night of troubles. Fortunately, as we have before mentioned, _night_ did
not now add darkness to their difficulties. Soon after passing the
bergs, a stiff breeze sprang up off shore, between which and the
_Dolphin_ there was a thick belt of loose ice, or sludge, while outside,
the pack was in motion, and presented a terrible scene of crashing and
grinding masses under the influence of the breeze, which soon freshened
to a gale.

"Keep her away two points," said Captain Guy to the man at the wheel;
"we'll make fast to yonder berg, Mr. Bolton. If this gale carries us
into the pack, we shall be swept far out of our course, if, indeed, we
escape being nipped and sent to the bottom."

Being _nipped_ is one of the numberless dangers to which Arctic
navigators are exposed. Should a vessel get between two moving fields or
floes of ice, there is a chance, especially in stormy weather, of the
ice being forced together and squeezing in the sides of the ship; this
is called nipping.

"Ah!" remarked Buzzby, as he stood with folded arms by the capstan,
"many and many a good ship has been sent to the bottom by that same.
I've see'd a brig, with my own two eyes, squeezed together a'most flat
by two big floes of ice, and after doin' it they jist separated agin and
let her go plump down to the bottom. Before she was nipped, the crew
saved themselves by jumpin' on to the ice, and they wos picked up by our
ship that wos in company."

"There's no dependin' on the ice, by no means," remarked Amos Parr; "for
I've see'd the self-same sort of thing that ye mention happen to a small
steamer in Davis' Straits, only instead o' crushin' it flat, the ice
lifted it right high and dry out o' the water, and then let it down
again, without more ado, as sound as iver."

"Get out the warps and ice-anchors there!" cried the captain.

In a moment the men were in the boats and busy heaving and planting
ice-anchors, but it was not until several hours had been spent in this
tedious process that they succeeded in making fast to the berg. They had
barely accomplished this when the berg gave indications of breaking up,
so they cast off again in great haste, and not long afterwards a mass of
ice, many tons in weight, fell from the edge of the berg close to where
they had been moored.

The captain now beat up for the land in the hope of finding
anchoring-ground. At first the ice presented an impenetrable barrier,
but at length a lead of open water was found, through which they passed
to within a few hundred yards of the shore, which at this spot showed a
front of high precipitous cliffs.

"Stand by to let go the anchor!" shouted the captain.

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Down your helm! Let go!"

Down went the anchor to the music of the rattling chain-cable--a sound
which had not been heard since the good ship left the shores of Old
England.

"If we were only a few yards farther in, sir," remarked the first-mate,
"we should be better. I'm afraid of the stream of ice coming round
yonder point."

"So am I," replied the captain; "but we can scarcely manage it, I fear,
on account of the shore ice. Get out a boat, Mr. Saunders, and try to
fix an anchor. We may warp in a few yards."

The anchor was fixed, and the men strained at the capstan with a will,
but, notwithstanding their utmost efforts, they could not penetrate the
shore ice. Meanwhile the wind increased, and snow began to fall in large
flakes. The tide, too, as it receded, brought a stream of ice round the
point ahead of them, which bore right down on their bows. At first the
concussions were slight, and the bow of the ship turned the floes aside;
but heavier masses soon came down, and at last one fixed itself on the
cable, and caused the anchor to drag with a harsh, grating sound.

Fred Ellice, who stood beside the second mate near the companion hatch,
looked inquiringly at him.

"Ah! that's bad," said Saunders, shaking his head slowly; "I dinna like
that sound. If we're carried out into the pack there, dear knows where
we'll turn up in the long run."

"Perhaps we'll turn bottom up, sir," suggested the fat cook as he passed
at the moment with a tray of meat. Mizzle could not resist a joke--no
matter how unsuitable the time or dreadful the consequences.

"Hold your tongue, sir!" exclaimed Saunders indignantly. "Attend to your
business, and speak only when you're spoken to."

With some difficulty the mass of ice that had got foul of the cable was
disengaged, but in a few moments another and a larger mass fixed upon
it, and threatened to carry it away. In this extremity the captain
ordered the anchor to be hove up; but this was not easily accomplished,
and when at last it was hove up to the bow both flukes were found to
have been broken off, and the shank was polished bright with rubbing on
the rocks.

Ice now came rolling down in great quantities and with irresistible
force, and at last the ship was whirled into the much-dreaded pack,
where she became firmly embedded, and drifted along with it before the
gale into the unknown regions of the North all that night. To add to
their distress and danger a thick fog overspread the sea, so that they
could not tell whither the ice was carrying them, and to warp out of it
was impossible. There was nothing for it therefore but to drive before
the gale, and take advantage of the first opening in the ice that should
afford them a chance of escape.

Towards evening of the following day the gale abated, and the sun shone
out bright and clear; but the pack remained close as ever, drifting
steadily towards the north.

"We're far beyond the most northerly sea that has ever yet been
reached," remarked Captain Guy to Fred and Singleton, as he leaned on
the weather bulwarks, and gazed wistfully over the fields of ice in
which they were embedded.

"I beg your pardon for differing, Captain Guy, but I think that Captain
Parry was farther north than this when he attempted to reach the Pole,"
remarked Saunders, with the air of a man who was prepared to defend his
position to the last.

"Very possibly, Mr. Saunders; but I think we are at least farther north
in _this_ direction than any one has yet been; at least I make it out so
by the chart."

"I'm no sure o' that," rejoined the second mate positively; "charts are
not always to be depended on, and I've heard that whalers have been up
hereabouts before now."

"Perhaps you are right, Mr. Saunders," replied the captain, smiling;
"nevertheless, I shall take observations, and name the various
headlands, until I find that others have been here before me.--Mivins,
hand me the glass; it seems to me there's a water-sky to the northward."

"What is a water-sky, captain?" inquired Fred.

"It is a peculiar, dark appearance of the sky on the horizon, which
indicates open water; just the reverse of that bright appearance which
you have often seen in the distance, and which we call the ice-blink."

"We'll have open water soon," remarked the second mate authoritatively.

"Mr. Saunders," said Mivins, who, having just finished clearing away and
washing up the _débris_ and dishes of one meal, was enjoying in complete
idleness the ten minutes of leisure that intervened between that and
preparations for the next--"Mr. Saunders, sir, can you _h_inform me,
sir, 'ow it is that the sea don't freeze at 'ome the same as it does
_h_out 'ere?"

The countenance of the second mate brightened, for he prided himself not
a little on his vast and varied stores of knowledge, and nothing pleased
him so much as to be questioned, particularly on knotty subjects.

"Hem! yes, Mivins, I can tell 'ee that. Ye must know that before fresh
water can freeze on the surface the whole volume of it must be cooled
down to 40 degrees, and _salt_ water must be cooled down to 45 degrees.
Noo, frost requires to be very long continued and very sharp indeed
before it can cool the deep sea from the top to the bottom, and until it
is so cooled it canna freeze."

"Oh!" remarked Mivins, who only half understood the meaning of the
explanation, "'ow very _h_odd. But can you tell me, Mr. Saunders, 'ow it
is that them 'ere _h_icebergs is made? Them's wot I don't comprehend
no'ow."

"Ay," replied Saunders, "there has been many a wiser head than yours,
puzzled for a long time about icebergs. But if ye'll use yer eyes you'll
see how they are formed. Do you see the high cliffs yonder away to the
nor'-east? Weel, there are great masses o' ice that have been formed
against them by the melting and freezing of the snows of many years.
When these become too heavy to stick to the cliffs, they tumble into the
sea and float away as icebergs. But the biggest bergs come from the foot
of glaciers. You know what glaciers are, Mivins?"

"No, sir, I don't."

The second mate sighed. "They are immense accumulations of ice, Mivins,
that have been formed by the freezings and meltings of the snows of
hundreds of years. They cover the mountains of Norway and Switzerland,
and many other places in this world, for miles and miles in extent, and
sometimes they flow down and fill up whole valleys. I once saw one in
Norway that filled up a valley eight miles long, two miles broad, and
seven or eight' hundred feet deep; and that was only a wee bit of it,
for I was told by men who had travelled over it that it covered the
mountains of the interior, and made them a level field of ice, with a
surface like rough, hard snow, for more than twenty miles in extent."

"You don't say so, sir!" said Mivins in surprise. "And don't they
_never_ melt?"

"No, never. What they lose in summer they more than gain in winter.
Moreover, they are always in motion; but they move so slow that you may
look at them ever so closely and so long, you'll not be able to observe
the motion--just like the hour hand of a watch--but we know it by
observing the changes from year to year. There are immense glaciers here
in the Arctic Regions, and the lumps which they are constantly shedding
off into the sea are the icebergs that one sees and hears so much
about."

Mivins seemed deeply impressed with this explanation, and would probably
have continued the conversation much longer, had he not been interrupted
by the voice of his mischievous satellite, Davie Summers, who touched
his forelock and said, "Please, Mr. Mivins, shall I lay the table-cloth?
or would it be better to slump dinner with tea this afternoon?"

Mivins started. "Ha! caught me napping! Down below, you young dog!"

The boy dived instantly, followed, first by a dish-clout, rolled tightly
up and well aimed, and afterwards by his active-limbed superior. Both
reached the region of smells, cruets, and crockery at the same moment,
and each set energetically to work at their never-ending duties.

Soon after this the ice suddenly loosened, and the crew succeeded, after
a few hours' hard labour, in warping the _Dolphin_ once more out of the
pack; but scarcely had this been accomplished when another storm, which
had been gradually gathering, burst upon them, and compelled them once
more to seek the shelter of the land.

Numerous walruses rolled about in the bays here, and they approached
much nearer to the vessel than they had yet done, affording those on
board a good view of their huge, uncouth visages, as they shook their
shaggy fronts and ploughed up the waves with their tusks. These enormous
creatures are the elephants of the Arctic Ocean. Their aspect is
particularly grim and fierce, and being nearly equal to elephants in
bulk they are not less terrible than they appear. In form they somewhat
resemble seals, having barrel-shaped bodies, with round, or rather
square, blunt heads and shaggy bristling moustaches, and two long ivory
tusks which curve downwards instead of upwards, serving the purpose
frequently of hooks, by means of which and their fore-flippers they can
pull themselves up on the rocks and icebergs. Indeed, they are sometimes
found at a considerable height up the sides of steep cliffs, basking in
the sun.

Fred was anxious to procure the skull of one of these monstrous animals,
but the threatening appearance of the weather rendered any attempt to
secure one at that time impossible. A dark sinister scowl overhung the
blink under the cloud-bank to the southward, and the dovkies which had
enlivened their progress hitherto forsook the channel, as if they
distrusted the weather. Captain Guy made every possible preparation to
meet the coming storm, by warping down under the shelter of a ledge of
rock, to which he made fast with two good hawsers, while everything was
made snug on board.

"We are going to catch it, I fear," said Fred, glancing at the black
clouds that hurried across the sky to the northward, while he walked the
deck with his friend, Tom Singleton.

"I suspect so," replied Tom, "and it does not raise my spirits to see
Saunders shaking his huge visage so portentously. Do you know, I have a
great belief in that fellow. He seems to know everything and to have
gone through every sort of experience, and I notice that most of his
prognostications come to pass."

"So they do, Tom," said Fred; "but I wish he would put a better face on
things till they _do_ come to pass. His looks are enough to frighten
one."

"I think we shall require another line out, Mr. Saunders," remarked the
captain, as the gale freshened, and the two hawsers were drawn straight
and rigid like bars of iron; "send ashore and make a whale-line fast
immediately."

The second mate obeyed with a grunt that seemed to insinuate that _he_
would have had one out long ago. In a few minutes it was fast; and not a
moment too soon, for immediately after it blew a perfect hurricane.
Heavier and heavier it came, and the ice began to drift more wildly than
ever. The captain had just given orders to make fast another line, when
the sharp, twanging snap of a cord was heard. The six-inch hawser had
parted, and they were swinging by the two others, with the gale roaring
like a lion through the spars and rigging. Half a minute more and
"twang, twang!" came another report, and the whale-line was gone. Only
one rope now held them to the land, and prevented them being swept into
the turmoil of ice, and wind, and water, from which the rocky ledge
protected them. The hawser was a good one--a new ten-inch rope. It sang
like the deep tones of an organ, loud above the rattle of the rigging
and the shrouds; but that was its death-song. It gave way with the noise
of a cannon, and in the smoke that followed its recoil they were dragged
out by the wild ice, and driven hither and thither at its mercy.

With some difficulty the ship was warped into a place of comparative
security in the rushing drift, but it was soon thrown loose again, and
severely squeezed by the rolling masses. Then an attempt was made to set
the sails and beat up for the land; but the rudder was almost
unmanageable owing to the ice, and nothing could be made of it, so they
were compelled to go right before the wind under close-reefed top-sails,
in order to keep some command of the ship. All hands were on deck
watching in silence the ice ahead of them, which presented a most
formidable aspect.

Away to the north the strait could be seen growing narrower, with heavy
ice-tables grinding up and clogging it from cliff to cliff on either
side. About seven in the evening they were close upon the piling
masses, to enter into which seemed certain destruction.

"Stand by to let go the anchor!" cried the captain, in the desperate
hope of being able to wind the ship.

"What's that ahead of us?" exclaimed the first mate suddenly.

"Ship on the starboard bow, right in-shore!" roared the look-out.

The attention of the crew was for a moment called from their own
critical situation towards the strange vessel which now came into view,
having been previously concealed from them by a large grounded berg.

"Can you make her out, Mr. Bolton?"

"Yes, sir; I think she's a large brig, but she seems much chafed, and
there's no name left on the stern, if ever there was one."

As he spoke, the driving snow and fog cleared up partially, and the brig
was seen not three hundred yards from them, drifting slowly into the
loose ice. There was evidently no one on board; and although one or two
of the sails were loose, they hung in shreds from the yards. Scarcely
had this been noted when the _Dolphin_ struck against a large mass of
ice, and quivered under the violence of the shock.

"Let go!" shouted the captain.

Down went the heaviest anchor they had, and for two minutes the chain
flew out at the hawse-hole.

"Hold on!"

The chain was checked, but the strain was awful. A mass of ice,
hundreds of tons weight, was tearing down towards the bow. There was no
hope of resisting it. Time was not even afforded to attach a buoy or log
to the cable, so it was let slip, and thus the _Dolphin's_ best bower
was lost for ever.

But there was no time to think of or regret this, for the ship was now
driving down with the gale, scraping against a lee of ice which was
seldom less than thirty feet thick. Almost at the same moment the
strange vessel was whirled close to them, not more than fifty yards
distant, between two driving masses of thick ice.

"What if it should be my father's brig?" whispered Fred Ellice, as he
grasped Singleton's arm and turned to him a face of ashy paleness.

"No fear of that, lad," said Buzzby, who stood near the larboard gangway
and had overheard the remark. "I'd know your father's brig among a
thousand--"

As he spoke, the two masses of ice closed, and the brig was nipped
between them. For a few seconds she seemed to tremble like a living
creature, and every timber creaked. Then she was turned slowly on one
side, until the crew of the _Dolphin_ could see down into her hold,
where the beams were giving way and cracking up as matches might be
crushed in the grasp of a strong hand. Then the larboard bow was
observed to yield as if it were made of soft clay, the starboard bow was
pressed out, and the ice was forced into the forecastle. Scarcely three
minutes had passed since the nip commenced; in one minute more the brig
went down, and the ice was rolling wildly, as if in triumph, over the
spot where she had disappeared.

The fate of this vessel, which might so soon be their own, threw a
momentary gloom over the crew of the _Dolphin_, but their position left
them no time for thought. One upturned mass rose above the gunwale,
smashed in the bulwarks, and deposited half a ton of ice on deck.
Scarcely had this danger passed when a new enemy appeared in sight
ahead. Directly in their way, just beyond the line of floe-ice against
which they were alternately thumping and grinding, lay a group of bergs.
There was no possibility of avoiding them, and the only question was,
whether they were to be dashed to pieces on their hard blue sides, or,
perchance, in some providential nook to find a refuge from the storm.

"There's an open lead between them and the floe-ice," exclaimed Bolton
in a hopeful tone of voice, seizing an ice-pole and leaping on the
gunwale.

"Look alive, men, with your poles," cried the captain, "and shove with a
will!"

The "Ay, ay, sir," of the men was uttered with a heartiness that showed
how powerfully this gleam of hope acted on their spirits; but a new damp
was cast over them when, on gaining the open passage, they discovered
that the bergs were not at rest, but were bearing down on the floe-ice
with slow but awful momentum, and threatening to crush the ship between
the two. Just then a low berg came driving up from the southward,
dashing the spray over its sides, and with its forehead ploughing up
the smaller ice as if in scorn. A happy thought flashed across the
captain's mind.

"Down the quarter boat," he cried.

In an instant it struck the water, and four men were on the thwarts.

"Cast an ice-anchor on that berg."

Peter Grim obeyed the order, and, with a swing that Hercules would have
envied, planted it securely. In another moment the ship was following in
the wake of this novel tug! It was a moment of great danger, for the
bergs encroached on their narrow canal as they advanced, obliging them
to brace the yards to clear the impending ice-walls, and they shaved the
large berg so closely that the port quarter-boat would have been crushed
if it had not been taken from the davits. Five minutes of such
travelling brought them abreast of a grounded berg, to which they
resolved to make fast. The order was given to cast off the rope. Away
went their white tug on his race to the far north, and the ship swung
round in safety under the lee of the berg, where the crew acknowledged
with gratitude their merciful deliverance from imminent danger.



CHAPTER VII.

_New characters introduced--An old game under novel
circumstances--Remarkable appearances in the sky--O'Riley meets with a
mishap_.


Dumps was a remarkably grave and sly character, and Poker was a wag--an
incorrigible wag--in every sense of the term. Moreover, although they
had an occasional fight, Dumps and Poker were excellent friends, and
great favourites with the crew.

We have not yet introduced these individuals to our reader, but as they
will act a conspicuous part in the history of the _Dolphin's_
adventurous career in the Arctic Regions, we think it right now to
present them.

While at Upernavik, Captain Guy had purchased a team of six good, tough
Esquimau dogs, being desirous of taking them to England, and there
presenting them to several of his friends who were anxious to possess
specimens of those animals. Two of these dogs stood out conspicuous from
their fellows, not only in regard to personal appearance, but also in
reference to peculiarities of character. One was pure white, with a
lively expression of countenance, a large shaggy body, two erect,
sharp-pointed ears, and a short projection that once had been a tail.
Owing to some cause unknown, however, his tail had been cut or bitten
off, and nothing save the stump remained. But this stump did as much
duty as if it had been fifty tails in one. It was never at rest for a
moment, and its owner evidently believed that wagging it was the true
and only way to touch the heart of man; therefore the dog wagged it, so
to speak, doggedly. In consequence of this animal's thieving
propensities, which led him to be constantly _poking_ into every hole
and corner of the ship in search of something to steal, he was named
_Poker_. Poker had three jet-black spots in his white visage--one was
the point of his nose, the other two were his eyes.

Poker's bosom friend, Dumps, was so named because he had the sulkiest
expression of countenance that ever fell to the lot of a dog. Hopelessly
incurable melancholy seemed to have taken possession of his mind, for he
never by any chance smiled--and dogs do smile, you know, just as
evidently as human beings do, although not exactly with their mouths.
Dumps never romped either, being old, but he sat and allowed his friend
Poker to romp round him with a sort of sulky satisfaction, as if he
experienced the greatest enjoyment his nature was capable of in
witnessing the antics of his youthful companion--for Poker was young.
The prevailing colour of Dumps's shaggy hide was a dirty brown, with
black spots, two of which had fixed themselves rather awkwardly round
his eyes, like a pair of spectacles. Dumps, also, was a thief, and,
indeed, so were all his brethren. Dumps and Poker were both of them
larger and stronger, and in every way better, than their comrades; and
they afterwards were the sturdy, steady, unflinching leaders of the team
during many a toilsome journey over the frozen sea.

One magnificent afternoon, a few days after the escape of the _Dolphin_
just related, Dumps and Poker lay side by side in the lee-scuppers,
calmly sleeping off the effects of a surfeit produced by the eating of a
large piece of pork, for which the cook had searched in vain for
three-quarters of an hour, and of which he at last found the bare bone
sticking in the hole of the larboard pump.

"Bad luck to them dogs," exclaimed David Mizzle, stroking his chin as he
surveyed the bone. "If I could only find out, now, which of ye it was,
I'd have ye slaughtered right off, and cooked for the mess, I would."

"It was Dumps as did it, I'll bet you a month's pay," said Peter Grim,
as he sat on the end of the windlass refilling his pipe, which he had
just smoked out.

"Not a bit of it," remarked Amos Parr, who was squatted on the deck
busily engaged in constructing a rope mat, while several of the men sat
round him engaged in mending sails, or stitching canvas slippers,
etc.--"not a bit of it, Grim; Dumps is too honest by half to do sich a
thing. 'Twas Poker as did it, I can see by the roll of his eye below the
skin. The blackguard's only shammin' sleep."

On hearing his name mentioned, Poker gently opened his right eye, but
did not move. Dumps, on the contrary, lay as if he heard not the base
aspersion on his character.

"What'll ye bet it was Dumps as did it?" cried Davie Summers, who passed
at the moment with a dish of some sort of edible towards the galley or
cooking-house on deck.

"I'll _bet_ you over the 'ead, I will, if you don't mind your business,"
said Mivins.

"You'd _better_ not," retorted Davie with a grin. "It's as much as your
situation's worth to lay a finger on me."

"That's it, youngster, give it 'im," cried several of the men, while the
boy confronted his superior, taking good care, however, to keep the
fore-mast between them.

"What do you mean, you young rascal?" cried Mivins with a frown.

"Mean!" said Davie, "why, I mean that if you touch me I'll resign
office; and if I do that, you'll have to go out, for every one knows you
can't get on without me."

"I say, Mivins," cried Tom Green, the carpenter's mate, "if you were
asked to say, '_H_old on _h_ard to this _h_andspike _h_ere, my
_h_earties,' how would ye go about it?"

"He'd 'it you a pretty 'ard crack _h_over the 'ead with it, 'e would,"
remarked one of the men, throwing a ball of yarn at Davie, who stood
listening to the conversation with a broad grin.

In stepping back to avoid the blow, the lad trod on Dumps's paw, and
instantly there came from the throat of that excellent dog a roar of
anguish that caused Poker to leap, as the cook expressed it, nearly out
of his own skin. Dogs are by nature extremely sympathetic and remarkably
inquisitive; and no sooner was Dumps's yell heard than it was vigorously
responded to by every dog in the ship, as the whole pack rushed each
from his respective sleeping-place and looked round in amazement.

"Hallo! what's wrong there for'ard?" inquired Saunders, who had been
pacing the quarter-deck with slow giant strides, arguing mentally with
himself in default of a better adversary.

"Only trod on Dumps's paw, sir," said Mivins, as he hurried aft; "the
men are sky-larking."

"Sky-larking, are you?" said Saunders, going forward. "Weel, lads,
you've had a lot o' hard work of late, ye may go' and take a run on the
ice."

Instantly the men, like boys set free from school, sprang up, tumbled
over the side, and were scampering over the ice like madmen.

"Pitch over the ball--the football!" they cried. In a second the ball
was tossed over the ship's side, and a vigorous game was begun.

For two days past the _Dolphin_ had been sailing with difficulty through
large fields of ice, sometimes driving against narrow necks and tongues
that interrupted her passage from one lead or canal to another; at other
times boring with difficulty through compact masses of sludge; or
occasionally, when unable to advance farther, making fast to a large
berg or a field. They were compelled to proceed north, however, in
consequence of the pack having become fixed towards, the south, and thus
rendering retreat impossible in that direction until the ice should be
again set in motion. Captain Guy, however, saw, by the steady advance of
the larger bergs, that the current of the ocean in that place flowed
southward, and trusted that in a short time the ice which had been
forced into the strait by the late gales would be released, and open up
a passage. Meanwhile he pushed along the coast, examining every bay and
inlet in the hope of discovering some trace of the _Pole Star_ or her
crew.

On the day about which we are writing, the ship was beset by large
fields, the snow-white surfaces of which extended north and south to the
horizon, while on the east the cliffs rose in dark, frowning precipices
from the midst of the glaciers that encumber them all the year round.

It was a lovely Arctic day. The sun shone with unclouded splendour, and
the bright air, which trembled with that liquidity of appearance that
one occasionally sees in very hot weather under peculiar circumstances,
was vocal with the wild music of thousands of gulls, and auks, and other
sea-birds, which clustered on the neighbouring cliffs and flew overhead
in clouds. All round the pure surfaces of the ice-fields were broken by
the shadows which the hummocks and bergs cast over them, and by the
pools of clear water which shone like crystals in their hollows, while
the beautiful beryl blue of the larger bergs gave a delicate colouring
to the dazzling scene. Words cannot describe the intense _glitter_ that
characterized everything. Every point seemed a diamond, every edge sent
forth a gleam of light, and many of the masses reflected the rich
prismatic colours of the rainbow. It seemed as if the sun himself had
been multiplied in order to add to the excessive brilliancy, for he was
surrounded by _parhelia_, or _sun-dogs,_ as the men called them. This
peculiarity in the sun's appearance was very striking. The great orb of
day was about ten degrees above the horizon, and a horizontal line of
white passed completely through it, extending to a considerable distance
on either hand, while around it were two distinct halos, or circles of
light. On the inner halo were situated the mock-suns, which were four in
number--one above and one below the sun, and one on each side of him.

Not a breath of wind stirred the little flag that drooped from the
mizzen-peak, and the clamorous, ceaseless-cries of sea-birds, added to
the merry shouts and laughter of the men as they followed the restless
football, rendered the whole a scene of life, as it was emphatically one
of beauty.

"Ain't it glorious?" panted Davie Summers vehemently as he stopped
exhausted in a headlong race beside one of his comrades, while the ball
was kicked hopelessly beyond his reach by a comparatively fresh member
of the party.

"Ah! then, it bates the owld country intirely, it does," replied
O'Riley, wiping the perspiration from his forehead.

It is needless to say that O'Riley was an Irishman. We have not
mentioned him until now, because up to this time he had not done
anything to distinguish himself beyond his messmates; but on this
particular day O'Riley's star was in the ascendant, and fortune seemed
to have singled him out as an object of her special attention. He was a
short man, and a broad man, and a particularly _rugged_ man--so to
speak. He was all angles and corners. His hair stuck about his head in
violently rigid and entangled tufts, rendering it a matter of wonder how
anything in the shape of a hat could stick on. His brow was a countless
mass of ever-varying wrinkles, which gave to his sly visage an aspect of
humorous anxiety that was highly diverting--and all the more diverting
when you came to know that the man had not a spark of anxiety in his
composition, though he often said he had. His dress, like that of most
Jack tars, was naturally rugged, and he contrived to make it more so
than usual.

"An' it's hot, too, it is," he continued, applying his kerchief again to
his pate "If it warn't for the ice we stand on, we'd be melted down, I
do belave, like bits o' whale blubber."

"Wot a jolly game football is, ain't it?" said Davie seating himself on
a hummock, and still panting hard.

"Ay, boy, that's jist what it is. The only objiction I have agin it is,
that it makes ye a'most kick the left leg clane off yer body."

"Why don't you kick with your right leg, then, stupid, like other
people?" inquired Summers.

"Why don't I, is it? Troth, then, I don't know for sartin. Me father
lost his left leg at the great battle o' the Nile, and I've sometimes
thought that had somethin' to do wid it. But then me mother was lame o'
the _right_ leg intirely, and wint about wid a crutch, so I can't make
out how it was, d'ye see?"

"Look out, Pat," exclaimed Summers, starting up, "here comes the ball."

As he spoke, the football came skimming over the ice towards the spot on
which they stood, with about thirty of the men running at full speed and
shouting like maniacs after it.

"That's your sort, my hearties! another like that and it's home! Pitch
into it, Mivins. You're the boy for me! Now then, Grim, trip him up!
Hallo! Buzzby, you bluff-bowed Dutchman, luff! luff! or I'll stave in
your ribs! Mind your eye, Mizzle! there's Green, he'll be into your
larboard quarter in no time. Hurrah! Mivins, up in the air with it.
Kick, boy, kick like a spanker-boom in a hurricane!"

Such were a few of the expressions that showered like hail round the men
as they rushed hither and thither after the ball. And here we may remark
that the crew of the _Dolphin_ played football in a somewhat different
style from the way in which that noble game is played by boys in
England. Sides, indeed, were chosen, and boundaries were marked out, but
very little, if any, attention was paid to such secondary matters! To
kick the ball, and keep on kicking it in front of his companions, was
the ambition of each man; and so long as he could get a kick at it that
caused it to fly from the ground like a cannon-shot, little regard was
had by any one to the direction in which it was propelled. But, of
course, in this effort to get a kick, the men soon became scattered over
the field, and ever and anon the ball would fall between two men, who
rushed at it simultaneously from opposite directions. The inevitable
result was a collision, by which both men were suddenly and violently
arrested in their career. But generally the shock resulted in one of the
men being sent staggering backwards, and the other getting the _kick_.
When the two were pretty equally matched, both were usually, as they
expressed it, "brought up all standing," in which case a short scuffle
ensued, as each endeavoured to trip up the heels of his adversary. To
prevent undue violence in such struggles, a rule was laid down that
hands were not to be used on any account. They might use their feet,
legs, shoulders, and elbows, but not their hands.

In such rough play the men were more equally matched than might have
been expected, for the want of weight among the smaller men was often
more than counterbalanced by their activity, and frequently a sturdy
little fellow launched himself so vigorously against a heavy tar as to
send him rolling head over heels on the ice. This was not always the
case, however, and few ventured to come into collision with Peter Grim,
whose activity was on a par with his immense size. Buzzby contented
himself with galloping on the outskirts of the fight, and putting in a
kick when fortune sent the ball in his way. In this species of warfare
he was supported by the fat cook, whose oily carcass could neither stand
the shocks nor keep up with the pace of his messmates. Mizzle was a
particularly energetic man in his way, however, and frequently kicked
with such goodwill that he missed the ball altogether, and the
tremendous swing of his leg lifted him from the ice and laid him
sprawling on his back.

"Look out ahead!" shouted Green, the carpenter's mate; "there's a sail
bearing down on your larboard bow."

Mivins, who had the ball before him at the moment, saw his own
satellite, Davie, coming down towards him with vicious intentions. He
quietly pushed the ball before him for a few yards, then kicked it far
over the boy's head, and followed it up like an antelope. Mivins
depended for success on his almost superhuman activity. His tall, slight
frame could not stand the shocks of his comrades, but no one could equal
or come near to him in speed, and he was quite an adept at dodging a
_charge_, and allowing his opponent to rush far past the ball by the
force of his own momentum. Such a charge did Peter Grim make at him at
this moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Big though he was, Grim staggered back from the impetuous shock, and
O'Riley following up his advantage, kicked the ball in a side direction,
away from every one except Buzzby, who happened to have been steering
rather wildly over the field of ice. Buzzby, on being brought thus
unexpectedly within reach of the ball, braced up his energies for a
kick; but seeing O'Riley coming down towards him like a runaway
locomotive, he pulled up, saying quietly to himself, "Ye may take it all
yer own way, lad; I'm too old a bird to go for to make my carcass a
buffer for a madcap like you to run agin."

Jack Mivins, however, was troubled by no such qualms. He happened to be
about the same distance from the ball as O'Riley, and ran like a deer to
reach it first. A pool of water lay in his path, however, and the
necessity of going round it enabled the Irishman to gain on him a
little, so that it became evident that both would come up at the same
moment, and a collision be inevitable.

"Hold yer wind, Paddy," shouted the men, who paused for a moment to
watch the result of the race. "Mind your timbers, Mivins! Back your
top-sails, O'Riley; mind how he yaws!"

Then there was a momentary silence of breathless expectation. The two
men seemed about to meet with a shock that would annihilate both, when
Mivins bounded to one side like an indiarubber ball. O'Riley shot past
him like a rocket, and the next instant went head foremost into the pool
of water.

This unexpected termination to the affair converted the intended huzzah
of the men into a yell of mingled laughter and consternation as they
hastened in a body to the spot; but before they reached it, O'Riley's
head and shoulders reappeared, and when they came up he was standing on
the margin of the pool blowing like a walrus.

"Oh! then, but it _is_ cowld!" he exclaimed, wringing the water from his
garments. "Och! where's the ball? give me a kick or I'll freeze! so I
will."

As he spoke the drenched Irishman seized the ball from Mivins's hands
and gave it a kick that sent it high into the air. He was too wet and
heavy to follow it up, however, so he ambled off towards the ship as
vigorously as his clothes would allow him, followed by the whole crew.



CHAPTER VIII.

_Fred and the doctor go on an excursion in which, among other strange
things, they meet with red snow and a white bear, and Fred makes his
first essay as a sportsman_.


But where were Fred Ellice and Tom Singleton all this time? the reader
will probably ask.

Long before the game at football was suggested they had obtained leave
of absence from the captain, and, loaded with game-bag, a botanical box
and geological hammer, and a musket, were off along the coast on a
semi-scientific cruise. Young Singleton carried the botanical box and
hammer, being an enthusiastic geologist and botanist, while Fred carried
the game-bag and musket.

"You see, Tom," he said as they stumbled along over the loose ice
towards the ice-belt that lined the cliffs--"you see, I'm a great dab at
ornithology, especially when I've got a gun on my shoulder. When I
haven't a gun, strange to say, I don't feel half so enthusiastic about
birds!"

"That's a very peculiar style of regarding the science. Don't you think
it would be worth while communicating your views on the subject to one
of the scientific bodies when we get home again. They might elect you a
member, Fred."

"Well, perhaps I shall," replied Fred gravely; "but I say, to be
serious, I'm really going to screw up my energies as much as possible,
and make coloured drawings of all the birds I can get hold of in the
Arctic Regions. At least, I would like to try."

Fred finished his remark with a sigh, for just then the object for which
he had gone out to those regions occurred to him; and although the
natural buoyancy and hopefulness of his feelings enabled him generally
to throw off anxiety in regard to his father's fate, and join in the
laugh, and jest, and game as heartily as any one on board, there were
times when his heart failed him, and he almost despaired of ever seeing
his father again, and these feelings of despondency had been more
frequent since the day on which he witnessed the sudden and utter
destruction of the strange brig.

"Don't let your spirits down, Fred," said Tom, whose hopeful and earnest
disposition often reanimated his friend's drooping spirits; "it will
only unfit you for doing any good service. Besides, I think we have no
cause yet to despair. We know that your father came up this inlet, or
strait, or whatever it is, and he had a good stock of provisions with
him, according to the account we got at Upernavik, and it is not more
than a year since he was there. Many and many a whaler and discovery
ship has wintered more than a year in these regions. And then, consider
the immense amount of animal life all round us. They might have laid up
provisions for many months long before winter set in."

"I know all that," replied Fred, with a shake of his head; "but think of
yon brig that we saw go down in about ten minutes."

"Well, so I do think of it. No doubt the brig was lost very suddenly,
but there was ample time, had there been any one on board, to have
leaped upon the ice, and they might have got to land by jumping from one
piece to another. Such things have happened before frequently. To say
truth, at every point of land we turn, I feel a sort of expectation
amounting almost to certainty that we shall find your father and his
party travelling southward on their way to the Danish settlements."

"Perhaps you are right. God grant that it may be so!"

As he spoke, they reached the fixed ice which ran along the foot of the
precipices for some distance like a road of hard white marble. Many
large rocks lay scattered over it, some of them several tons in weight,
and one or two balanced in a very remarkable way on the edge of the
cliffs.

"There's a curious-looking gull I should like to shoot," exclaimed Fred,
pointing to a bird that hovered over his head, and throwing forward the
muzzle of his gun.

"Fire away, then," said his friend, stepping back a pace.

Fred, being unaccustomed to the use of fire-arms, took a wavering aim
and fired.

"What a bother! I've missed it!"

"Try again," remarked Tom with a quiet smile, as the whole cliff vomited
forth an innumerable host of birds, whose cries were perfectly
deafening.

"It's my opinion," said Fred with a comical grin, "that if I shut my
eyes and point upwards I can't help hitting something; but I
particularly want yon fellow, because he's beautifully marked. Ah! I see
him sitting on a rock yonder, so here goes once more."

Fred now proceeded towards the coveted bird in the fashion that is known
by the name of _stalking_--that is, creeping as close up to your game as
possible, so as to get a good shot; and it said much for his patience
and his future success the careful manner in which, on this occasion, he
wound himself in and out among the rocks and blocks of ice on the shore
in the hope of obtaining that sea-gull. At last he succeeded in getting
to within about fifteen yards of it, and then, resting his musket on a
lump of ice, and taking an aim so long and steadily that his companion
began to fancy he must have gone to sleep, he fired, and blew the gull
to atoms! There was scarcely so much as a shred of it to be found.

Fred bore his disappointment and discomfiture manfully. He formed a
resolution then and there to become a good shot, and although he did not
succeed exactly in becoming so that day, he nevertheless managed to put
several fine specimens of gulls and an auk into his bag. The last bird
amused him much, being a creature with a dumpy little body and a beak of
preposterously large size and comical aspect. There were also a great
number of eider-ducks flying about, but they failed to procure a
specimen.

Singleton was equally successful in his scientific researches. He found
several beautifully green mosses, one species of which was studded with
pale yellow flowers, and in one place, where a stream trickled down the
steep sides of the cliffs, he discovered a flower-growth which was rich
in variety of colouring. Amid several kinds of tufted grasses were seen
growing a small purple flower and the white star of the chickweed; The
sight of all this richness of vegetation growing in a little spot close
beside the snow, and amid such cold Arctic scenery, would have delighted
a much less enthusiastic spirit than that of our young surgeon. He went
quite into raptures with it, and stuffed his botanical box with mosses
and rocks until it could hold no more, and became a burden that cost him
a few sighs before he got back to the ship.

The rocks were found to consist chiefly of red sandstone. There was also
a good deal of green-stone and gneiss, and some of the spires of these
that shot up to a considerable height were particularly striking and
picturesque objects.

But the great sight of the day's excursion was that which unexpectedly
greeted their eyes on rounding a cape towards which they had been
walking for several hours. On passing this point they stopped with an
exclamation of amazement. Before them lay a scene such as the Arctic
Regions alone can produce.

In front lay a vast reach of the strait, which at this place opened up
abruptly and stretched away northward, laden with floes, and fields, and
hummocks, and bergs of every shade and size, to the horizon, where the
appearance of the sky indicated open water. Ponds of various sizes and
sheets of water whose dimensions entitled them to be styled lakes
spangled the white surface of the floes; and around these were sporting
innumerable flocks of wild-fowl, many of which, being pure white,
glanced like snow-flakes in the sunshine. Far off to the west the ice
came down with heavy uniformity to the water's edge. On the right there
was an array of cliffs whose frowning grandeur filled them with awe.
They varied from twelve to fifteen hundred feet in height, and some of
the precipices descended sheer down seven or eight hundred feet into the
sea, over which they cast a dark shadow.

Just at the feet of our young discoverers--for such we may truly call
them--a deep bay or valley trended away to the right, a large portion of
which was filled with the spur of a glacier, whose surface was covered
with _pink snow_! One can imagine with what feelings the two youths
gazed on this beautiful sight. It seemed as if that valley, instead of
forming a portion of the sterile region beyond the Arctic Circle, were
one of the sunniest regions of the south, for a warm glow rested on the
bosom of the snow, as if the sun were shedding upon it his rosiest hues.
A little farther to the north the red snow ceased, or only occurred here
and there in patches; and beyond it there appeared another gorge in the
cliffs, within which rose a tall column of rock, so straight and
cylindrical that it seemed to be a production of art. The whole of the
back country was one great rolling distance of glacier, and, wherever a
crevice or gorge in the riven cliffs afforded an opportunity, this ocean
of land-ice sent down spurs into the sea, the extremities of which were
constantly shedding off huge bergs into the water.

"What a scene!" exclaimed Tom Singleton, when he found words to express
his admiration. "I did not think that our world contained so grand a
sight. It surpasses my wildest dreams of fairy-land."

"Fairy-land!" ejaculated Fred, with a slight look of contempt; "do you
know since I came to this part of the world, I've come to the conclusion
that fairy tales are all stuff, and very inferior stuff too! Why, this
reality is a thousand million times grander than anything that was ever
invented. But what surprises me most is the red snow. What can be the
cause of it?"

"I don't know," replied Singleton, "it has long been a matter of dispute
among learned men. But we must examine it for ourselves, so come along."

The remarkable colour of the snow referred to, although a matter of
dispute at the period of the _Dolphin's_ visit to the Arctic Seas, is
generally admitted now to be the result of a curious and extremely
minute vegetable growth, which spreads not only over its surface, but
penetrates into it sometimes to a depth of several feet. The earlier
navigators who discovered it, and first told the astonished world that
the substance which they had been accustomed to associate with the idea
of the purest and most radiant whiteness had been seen by them lying
_red_ upon the ground, attributed the phenomenon to innumerable
multitudes of minute creatures belonging to the order _Radiata_; but the
discovery of red snow among the central Alps of Europe, and in the
Pyrenees, and on the mountains of Norway, where _marine_ animalcula
could not exist, effectually overturned this idea. The colouring matter
has now been ascertained to result from plants belonging to the order
called _Algae_, which have a remarkable degree of vitality, and possess
the power, to an amazing extent, of growing and spreading with rapidity
even over such an ungenial soil as the Arctic snow.

While Singleton was examining the red snow, and vainly endeavouring to
ascertain the nature of the minute specks of matter by which it was
coloured, Fred continued to gaze with a look of increasing earnestness
towards the tall column, around which a bank of fog was spreading, and
partially concealing it from view. At length he attracted the attention
of his companion towards it.

"I say, I'm half inclined to believe that yon is no work of nature, but
a monument set up to attract the attention of ships. Don't you think
so?"

Singleton regarded the object in question for some time. "I don't think
so, Fred; it is larger than you suppose, for the fog-bank deceives us.
But let us go and see; it cannot be far off."

As they drew near to the tall rock, Fred's hopes began to fade, and soon
were utterly quenched by the fog clearing away, and showing that the
column was indeed of nature's own constructing. It was a single,
solitary shaft of green limestone, which stood on the brink of a deep
ravine, and was marked by the slaty limestone that once encased it. The
length of the column was apparently about five hundred feet, and the
pedestal of sandstone on which it stood was itself upwards of two
hundred feet high.

This magnificent column seemed the flag-staff of a gigantic crystal
fortress, which was suddenly revealed by the clearing away of the
fog-bank to the north. It was the face of the great glacier of the
interior, which here presented an unbroken perpendicular front--a sweep
of solid glassy wall, which rose three hundred feet above the
water-level, with an unknown depth below it. The sun glittered on the
crags and peaks and battlements of this ice fortress, as if the
mysterious inhabitants of the Far North had lit up their fires and
planted their artillery to resist further invasion.

The effect upon the minds of the two youths, who were probably the
first to gaze upon those wondrous visions of the Icy Regions, was
tremendous. For a long time neither of them could utter a word, and it
would be idle to attempt to transcribe the language in which, at length,
their excited feelings sought to escape. It was not until their backs
had been for some time turned on the scene, and the cape near the valley
of red snow had completely shut it out from view, that they could
condescend to converse again in their ordinary tones on ordinary
subjects.

As they hastened back over the ice-belt at the foot of the cliffs, a
loud boom rang out in the distance and rolled in solemn echoes along the
shore.

"There goes a gun," exclaimed Tom Singleton, hastily pulling out his
watch. "Hallo! do you know what time it is?"

"Pretty late, I suppose. It was afternoon, I know, when we started, and
we must have been out a good while now. What time is it?"

"Just two o'clock in the morning!"

"What! do you mean to say it was _yesterday_ when we started, and that
we've been walking all night, and got into _to-morrow morning_ without
knowing it?"

"Even so, Fred. We have overshot our time, and the captain is signalling
us to make haste. He said that he would not fire unless there seemed
some prospect of the ice moving, so we had better run, unless we wish to
be left behind; come along."

They had not proceeded more than half-a-mile when a Polar bear walked
leisurely out from behind a lump of ice, where it had been regaling
itself on a dead seal, and sauntered slowly out towards the icebergs
seaward, not a hundred yards in advance of them.

"Hallo! look there! what a monster!" shouted Fred, as he cocked his
musket and sprang forward. "What'll you do, Tom, you've no gun?"

"Never mind, I'll do what I can with the hammer. Only make sure you
don't miss. Don't fire till you are quite close to him."

They were running after the bear at top speed while they thus conversed
in hasty and broken sentences, when suddenly they came to a yawning
crack in the ice, about thirty feet wide, and a mile long on either
hand, with the rising tide boiling at the bottom of it. Bruin's pursuers
came to an abrupt halt.

"Now, isn't that disgusting?"

Probably it was, and the expression of chagrin on Fred's countenance as
he said so evidently showed that he meant it; but there is no doubt that
this interruption to their hunt was extremely fortunate, for to attack a
Polar bear with a musket charged only with small shot, and a geological
hammer, would have been about as safe and successful an operation as
trying to stop a locomotive with one's hand. Neither of them had yet had
experience of the enormous strength of this white monarch of the Frozen
Regions and his tenacity of life, although both were reckless enough to
rush at him with any arms they chanced to have.

"Give him a long shot--quick!" cried Singleton.

Fred fired instantly; and the bear stopped, and looked round, as much as
to say, "Did you speak, gentlemen?" Then, not receiving a reply, he
walked away with dignified indifference, and disappeared among the
ice-hummocks.

An hour afterwards the two wanderers were seated at a comfortable
breakfast in the cabin of the _Dolphin_, relating their adventures to
the captain and mates, and, although unwittingly, to Mivins, who
generally managed so to place himself, while engaged in the mysterious
operations of his little pantry, that most of the cabin talk reached his
ear, and travelled thence through his mouth to the forecastle. The
captain was fully aware of this fact, but he winked at it, for there was
nothing but friendly feeling on board the ship, and no secrets. When,
however, matters of serious import had to be discussed, the cabin door
was closed, and Mivins turned to expend himself on Davie Summers, who,
in the capacity of a listener, was absolutely necessary to the
comfortable existence of the worthy steward.

Having exhausted their appetites and their information, Fred and Tom
were told that, during their absence, a bear and two seals had been shot
by Meetuck, the Esquimau interpreter, whom they had taken on board at
Upernavik; and they were further informed that the ice was in motion to
the westward, and that there was every probability of their being
released by the falling tide. Having duly and silently weighed these
facts for a few minutes, they simultaneously, and as if by a common
impulse, yawned, and retired to bed.



CHAPTER IX.

_The "Dolphin" gets beset in the ice--Preparations for wintering in the
ice--Captain Guy's code of laws_.


An accident now befell the _Dolphin_ which effectually decided the fate
of the ship and her crew, at least for that winter. This was her getting
aground near the ravine of the giant flagstaff before mentioned, and
being finally beset by ice, from which all efforts on the part of the
men to extricate her proved abortive, and in which she was ultimately
frozen in, hard and fast.

The first sight the crew obtained of the red snow filled them with
unbounded amazement, and a few of the more superstitious amongst them
with awe approaching to fear. But soon their attention was attracted
from this by the wonderful column.

"Och, then! may I niver!" exclaimed O'Riley, the moment he caught sight
of it, "if there ben't the north pole at long last--_sure_ enough!"

The laugh that greeted this remark was almost immediately checked,
partly from the feelings of solemnity inspired by the magnificent view
which opened up to them, and partly from a suspicion on the part of the
more ignorant among the men that there might be some truth in O'Riley's
statement after all.

But their attention and energies were speedily called to the dangerous
position of the ship, which unexpectedly took the ground in a bay where
the water proved to be unusually shallow, and before they could warp her
off the ice closed round her in compact, immovable masses. At first
Captain Guy was not seriously alarmed by this untoward event, although
he felt a little chagrin in consequence of the detention, for the summer
was rapidly advancing, and it behoved him to return to Baffin's Bay and
prosecute the whale-fishing as energetically as possible; but when day
after day passed, and the ice round the ship still remained immovable,
he became alarmed, and sought by every means in his power to extricate
himself.

His position was rendered all the more aggravating by the fact that, a
week after he was beset, the main body of the ice in the strait opened
up and drifted to the southward, leaving a comparatively clear sea
through which he could have pushed his way without much difficulty in
any direction; but the solid masses in which they lay embedded were fast
to the ground for about fifty yards beyond the vessel, seaward, and
until these should be floated away there was no chance of escape.

"Get up some powder and canisters, Mr. Bolton," he exclaimed, one
morning after breakfast, "I'll try what can be done by blasting the
ice. The highest spring tide will occur to-morrow, and if the ship don't
move then we shall--"

He did not finish the sentence, but turned on his heel and walked
forward, where he found Buzzby and some of the men preparing the
ice-saws.

"Ay, ay," muttered the mate, as he went below to give the necessary
directions, "you don't need to conclude your speech, captain. If we
don't get out to-morrow, we're locked up for one winter, at least, if
not more."

"Ay, and ye'll no get oot to-morrow," remarked Saunders, with a shake of
his head as he looked up from the log-book in which he was making an
entry. "We're hard and fast, so we'll just have to make the best o't."

Saunders was right, as the efforts of the next day proved. The ice lay
around the vessel in solid masses, as we have said, and with each of the
last three tides these masses had been slightly moved. Saws and ice
chisels, therefore, had been in constant operation, and the men worked
with the utmost energy, night and day, taking it by turns, and having
double allowance of hot coffee served out to them. We may mention here
that the _Dolphin_ carried no spirits, except what was needed for
medicinal purposes, and for fuel to several small cooking lamps that had
been recently invented. It had now been proved by many voyagers of
experience that in cold countries, as well as hot, men work harder, and
endure the extremity of hardship better, without strong drink than with
it, and the _Dolphin's_ crew were engaged on the distinct understanding
that coffee, and tea, and chocolate were to be substituted for rum, and
that spirits were never to be given to any one on board, except in cases
of extreme necessity.

But, to return--although the men worked as only those can who toil for
liberation from long imprisonment, no impression worth mentioning could
be made on the ice. At length the attempt to rend it by means of
gunpowder was made.

A jar containing about thirty pounds of powder was sunk in a hole in an
immense block of ice which lay close against the stern of the ship.
Mivins, being light of foot, was set to fire the train. He did so, and
ran--ran so fast that he missed his footing in leaping over a chasm, and
had well-nigh fallen into the water below. There was a whiz and a loud
report, and the enormous mass of ice heaved upwards in the centre, and
fell back in huge fragments. So far the result was satisfactory, and the
men were immediately set to sink several charges in various directions
around the vessel, to be in readiness for the highest tide, which was
soon expected. Warps and hawsers were also got out and fixed to the
seaward masses, ready to heave on them at a moment's notice; the ship
was lightened as much as possible by lifting her stores upon the ice;
and the whole crew--captain, mates, and all--worked and heaved like
horses, until the perspiration streamed from their faces, while Mizzle
kept supplying them with a constant deluge of hot coffee. Fred and the
young surgeon, too, worked like the rest, with their coats off,
handkerchiefs bound round their heads, and shirt-sleeves tucked up to
their shoulders.

At last the tide rose--inch by inch, and slowly, as if it grudged to
give them even a chance of escape.

Mivins grew impatient and unbelieving under it. "I don't think it'll
rise another hinch," he remarked to O'Riley, who stood near him.

"Niver fear, boy. The capting knows a sight better than you do, and _he_
says it'll rise a fut yit."

"Does he?" asked Grim, who was also beginning to despond.

"Ov coorse he does. Sure he towld me in a confidintial way, just before
he wint to turn in last night--if it wasn't yisturday forenoon, for it's
meself as niver knows an hour o' the day since the sun became
dissipated, and tuck to sitting up all night in this fashion."

"Shut up yer tatie-trap and open yer weather-eye," muttered Buzzby, who
had charge of the gang; "there'll be time enough to speak after we're
off."

Gradually, as the tide rose, the ice and the ship moved, and it became
evident that the latter was almost afloat, though the former seemed to
be only partly raised from the ground. The men were at their several
posts ready for instant action, and gazing in anxious expectation at the
captain, who stood, watch in hand, ready to give the word.

"Now, then, fire!" he said in a low voice.

In a moment the ice round the ship was rent, and upheaved, as if some
leviathan of the deep were rising from beneath it, and the vessel swung
slowly round. A loud cheer burst from the men.

"Now, lads, heave with a will!" roared the captain.

Round went the capstan, the windlass clanked, and the ship forged slowly
ahead, as the warps and hawsers became rigid. At that moment a heavy
block of ice, which had been overbalanced by the motion of the vessel,
fell with a crash on the rudder, splitting off a large portion of it,
and drawing the iron bolts that held it completely out of the
stern-post.

"Never mind; heave away--for your lives!" cried the captain. "Jump on
board, all of you!"

The few men who had until now remained on the ice scrambled up the side.
There was a sheet of ice right ahead which the ship could not clear, but
which she was pushing out to sea in advance of her. Suddenly this took
the ground and remained motionless.

"Out there with ice-chisels! Sink a hole like lightning! Prepare a
canister, Mr. Bolton--quick!" shouted the captain in desperation, as he
sprang over the side and assisted to cut into the unwieldy obstruction.
The charge was soon fixed and fired, but it only split the block in two
and left it motionless as before. A few minutes after the ship again
grounded; the ice settled round her; the spring tide was lost, and they
were not delivered.

Those who know the bitterness of repeated disappointment and of hope
deferred, may judge of the feelings with which the crew of the _Dolphin_
now regarded their position. Little, indeed, was said, but the grave
looks of most of the men, and the absence of the usual laugh, and jest,
and disposition to skylark, which, on almost all other occasions
characterized them, showed too plainly how heavily the prospect of a
winter in the Arctic Regions weighed upon their spirits. They continued
their exertions to free the ship, however, for several days after the
high tide, and did not finally give in until all reasonable hope of
moving her was utterly annihilated. Before this, however, a reaction
began to take place; the prospects of the coming winter were discussed;
and some of the more sanguine looked even beyond the winter, and began
to consider how they would contrive to get the ship out of her position
into deep water again.

Fred Ellice, too, thought of his father, and this abrupt check to the
search, and his spirits sank again as his hopes decayed. But poor Fred,
like the others, at last discovered that it was of no use to repine, and
that it was best to face his sorrows and difficulties "like a man!"

Alas! poor human nature; how difficult do we find it to face sorrows and
difficulties _cheerfully_, even when we do conscientiously try! Well
would it be for all of us could we submit to such, not only because
they are inevitable, but because they are the will of God--of him who
has asserted in his own Word that "he afflicteth not the children of men
willingly."

Among so many men there were all shades of character, and the fact that
they were doomed to a year's imprisonment in the Frozen Regions was
received in very different ways. Some looked grave and thought of it
seriously; others laughed and treated it lightly; a few grumbled and
spoke profanely; but most of them became quickly reconciled, and in a
week or two nearly all forgot the past and the future in the duties, and
cares, and amusements of the present. Captain Guy and his officers,
however, and a few of the more sedate men, among whom were Buzzby and
Peter Grim, looked forward with much anxiety, knowing full well the
dangers and trials that lay before them.

It is true the ship was provisioned for more than a year, but most of
the provisions were salt, and Tom Singleton could have told them, had
they required to be told, that without fresh provisions they stood a
poor chance of escaping that dire disease scurvy, before which have
fallen so many gallant tars whom nothing in the shape of dangers or
difficulties could subdue. There were, indeed, myriads of wild-fowl
flying about the ship, on which the men feasted and grew fat every day;
and the muskets of Meetuck and those who accompanied him seldom failed
to supply the ship with an abundance of the flesh of seals, walruses,
and Polar bears, portions of all of which creatures were considered very
good indeed by the men, and particularly by the dogs, which grew so fat
that they began to acquire a very disreputable waddle in their gait as
they walked the deck for exercise, which they seldom did, by the way,
being passionately fond of sleep! But birds, and perchance beasts, might
be expected to take themselves off when the winter arrived, and leave
the crew without fresh food.

Then, although the _Dolphin_ was supplied with every necessary for a
whaling-expedition, and with many luxuries besides, she was ill provided
with the supplies that men deem absolutely indispensable for a winter in
the Arctic Regions, where the cold is so bitterly intense that, after a
prolonged sojourn, men's minds become almost entirely engrossed by two
clamant demands of nature--food and heat. They had only a small quantity
of coal on board, and nothing except a few extra spars that could be
used as a substitute, while the bleak shores afforded neither shrub nor
tree of any kind. Meanwhile, they had a sufficiency of everything they
required for at least two or three months to come, and for the rest, as
Grim said, they had "stout hearts and strong arms."

As soon as it became apparent that they were to winter in the bay, which
the captain named the Bay of Mercy, all further attempt to extricate the
ship was abandoned, and every preparation for spending the winter was
begun and carried out vigorously. It was now that Captain Guy's
qualities as a leader began to be displayed. He knew, from long
experience and observation, that in order to keep up the _morale_ of
any body of men it was absolutely necessary to maintain the strictest
discipline. Indeed, this rule is so universal in its application, that
many men find it advantageous to impose strict rules on themselves in
the regulation of their time and affairs, in order to keep their own
spirits under command. One of the captain's first resolves therefore
was, to call the men together and address them on this subject; and he
seized the occasion of the first Sabbath morning they spent in the Bay
of Mercy, when the crew were assembled for prayers on the quarter-deck,
to speak to them.

Hitherto we have not mentioned the Sabbath day in this story, because,
while at sea, and while struggling with the ice, there was little to
mark it from other days, except the cessation of unnecessary labour, and
the reading of prayers to those who chose to attend; but as necessary
labour preponderated at all times, and the reading of prayers occupied
scarce half-an-hour, there was little _perceptible_ difference between
the Sabbath and any other day. We would not be understood to speak
lightly of this difference. Little though it was in point of time and
appearance, it was immeasurably great in _fact_, as it involved the
great principle that the day of rest ought to be observed, and that the
Creator should be honoured in a special manner on that day.

On the Sabbath in question--and it was an exceedingly bright, peaceful
one--Captain Guy, having read part of the Church of England service as
usual, stood up, and in an earnest, firm tone said:--

"My lads, I consider it my duty to say a few plain words to you in
reference to our present situation and prospects. I feel that the
responsibility of having brought you here rests very much upon myself,
and I deem it my solemn duty, in more than the ordinary sense, to do all
I can to get you out of the ice again. You know as well as I do that
this is impossible at the present time, and that we are compelled to
spend a winter here. Some of you know what that means, but the most of
you know it only by hearsay, and that's much the same as knowing nothing
about it at all. Before the winter is done your energies and endurance
will probably be taxed to the uttermost. I think it right to be candid
with you. The life before you will not be child's play, but I assure you
that it may be mingled with much that will be pleasant and hearty if you
choose to set about it in the right way. Well, then, to be short about
it. There is no chance whatever of our getting through the winter in
this ship comfortably, or even safely, unless the strictest discipline
is maintained aboard. I know, for I've been in similar circumstances
before, that when cold and hunger, and, it may be, sickness press upon
us--should it please the Almighty to send these on us in great
severity--you will feel duty to be irksome, and you'll think it useless,
and perhaps be tempted to mutiny. Now, I ask you solemnly, while your
minds are clear from all prejudices, each individually to sign a written
code of laws, and a written promise that you will obey the same, and
help me to enforce them even with the punishment of _death_, if need
be. Now, lads, will you agree to that?"

"Agreed! agreed!" cried the men at once, and in a tone of prompt
decision that convinced their leader he had their entire confidence--a
matter of the highest importance in the critical circumstances in which
they were placed.

"Well, then, I'll read the rules. They are few, but sufficiently
comprehensive:--

"1st. Prayers shall be read every morning before breakfast, unless
circumstances render it impossible to do so."

The captain laid down the paper, and looked earnestly at the men.

"My lads, I have never felt so strongly as I now do the absolute need we
have of the blessing and guidance of the Almighty, and I am persuaded
that it is our duty as well as our interest to begin, not only the
Sabbath, but _every_ day with prayer.

"2nd. The ordinary duties of the ship shall be carried on, the watches
regularly set and relieved, regular hours observed, and the details of
duty attended to in the usual way, as when in harbour.

"3rd. The officers shall take watch and watch about as heretofore,
except when required to do otherwise. The log-books, and meteorological
observations, etc., shall be carried on as usual.

"4th. The captain shall have supreme and absolute command as when at
sea; but he, on his part, promises that, should any peculiar
circumstance arise in which the safety of the crew or ship shall be
implicated, he will, if the men are so disposed, call a council of the
whole crew, in which case the decision of the majority shall become law,
but the minority, in that event, shall have it in their option to
separate from the majority and carry along with them their share of the
general provisions.

"5th. Disobedience to orders shall be punishable according to the
decision of a council to be appointed specially for the purpose of
framing a criminal code, hereafter to be submitted for the approval of
the crew."

The rules above laid down were signed by every man in the ship. Several
of them could not write, but these affixed a cross (x) at the foot of
the page, against which their names were written by the captain in
presence of witnesses, which answered the same purpose. And from that
time, until events occurred which rendered all such rules unnecessary,
the work of the ship went on pleasantly and well.



CHAPTER X.

_Beginning of winter--Meetuck effects a remarkable change in the men's
appearance--Mossing, and working, and plans for a winter campaign_.


In August the first frost came and formed "young ice" on the sea, but
this lasted only for a brief hour or two, and was broken up by the tide
and melted. By the 10th of September the young ice cemented the floes of
last year's ice together, and soon rendered the ice round the ship
immovable. Hummocks clustered round several rocky islets in the
neighbourhood, and the rising and falling of the tide covered the sides
of the rocks with bright crystals. All the feathered tribes took their
departure for less rigorous climes, with the exception of a small white
bird about the size of a sparrow, called the snow-bird, which is the
last to leave the icy North. Then a tremendous storm arose, and the sea
became choked up with icebergs and floes, which the frost soon locked
together into a solid mass. Towards the close of the storm snow fell in
great abundance, and when the mariners ventured again to put their heads
up the opened hatchways, the decks were knee-deep, the drift to windward
was almost level with the bulwarks, every yard was edged with white,
every rope and cord had a light side and a dark, every point and truck
had a white button on it, and every hole, corner, crack, and crevice was
choked up.

The land and the sea were also clothed with this spotless garment, which
is indeed a strikingly appropriate emblem of purity, and the only dark
objects visible in the landscape were those precipices which were too
steep for the snow to lie on, the towering form of the giant flagstaff,
and the leaden clouds that rolled angrily across the sky. But these
leaden clouds soon rolled off, leaving a blue wintry sky and a bright
sun behind.

The storm blew itself out early in the morning, and at breakfast-time on
that day, when the sun was just struggling with the last of the clouds,
Captain Guy remarked to his friends who were seated round the cabin
table, "Well, gentlemen, we must begin hard work to-day."

"Hard work, captain!" exclaimed Fred Ellice, pausing for a second or two
in the hard work of chewing a piece of hard salt junk; "why, what do you
call the work we've been engaged in for the last few weeks?"

"Play, my lad; that was only play--just to bring our hands in, before
setting to work in earnest!--What do you think of the health of the men,
doctor?"

"Never was better; but I fear the hospital will soon fill if you carry
out your threat in regard to work."

"No fear," remarked the second mate; "the more work the better health
is my experience. Busy men have no time to git seek."

"No doubt of it, sir," said the first mate, bolting a large mouthful of
pork. "Nothing so good for 'em as work."

"There are two against you, doctor," said the captain.

"Then it's two to two," cried Fred, as he finished breakfast; "for I
quite agree with Tom, and with that excellent proverb which says, 'All
work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.'"

The captain shook his head as he said, "Of all the nuisances I ever met
with in a ship a semi-passenger is the worst. I think, Fred, I must get
you bound apprentice and give you regular work to do, you
good-for-nothing."

We need scarcely say that the captain jested, for Fred was possessed of
a spirit that cannot rest, so to speak, unless at work. He was able to
do almost anything _after a fashion_, and was never idle for a moment.
Even when his hands chanced to be unemployed, his brows were knitted,
busily planning what to do next.

"Well now, gentlemen," resumed the captain, "let us consider the order
of business. The first thing that must be done now is to unstow the hold
and deposit its contents on the small island astern of us, which we
shall call Store Island, for brevity's sake. Get a tent pitched there,
Mr. Bolton, and bank it up with snow. You can leave Grim to superintend
the unloading.--Then, Mr. Saunders, do you go and set a gang of men to
cut a canal through the young ice from the ship to the island.
Fortunately the floes there are wide enough apart to let our
quarter-boats float between them. The unshipping won't take long. Tell
Buzzby to take a dozen men with him and collect moss; we'll need a large
quantity for fuel, and if another storm like this comes it'll be hard
work to get down to it. Send Meetuck to me when you go on deck; I shall
talk to him as to our prospects of finding deer hereabouts, and arrange
a hunt.--Doctor, you may either join the hunting-party, or post up the
observations, etc., which have accumulated of late."

"Thank you, captain," said Singleton; "I'll accept the latter duty, the
more willingly that I wish to have a careful examination of my botanical
specimens."

"And what am I to do, captain?" inquired Fred.

"What you please, lad."

"Then I'll go and take care of Meetuck; he's apt to get into mischief
when left--"

At this moment a tremendous shout of laughter, long continued, came from
the deck, and a sound as if numbers of men dancing overhead was heard.

The party in the cabin seized their caps and sprang up the companion
ladder, where they beheld a scene that accounted for the laughter, and
induced them to join in it. At first sight it seemed as if thirty Polar
bears had boarded the vessel, and were executing a dance of triumph
before proceeding to make a meal of the crew; but on closer inspection
it became apparent that the men had undergone a strange transformation,
and were capering with delight at the ridiculous appearance they
presented. They were clad from head to foot in Esquimau costume, and now
bore as strong a resemblance to Polar bears as man could attain to.

Meetuck was the pattern and the chief instrument in effecting this
change. At Upernavik Captain Guy had been induced to purchase a large
number of fox-skins, deer-skins, seal-skins, and other furs, as a
speculation, and had them tightly packed and stowed away in the hold,
little imagining the purpose they were ultimately destined to serve.
Meetuck had come on board in a mongrel sort of worn-out seal-skin dress;
but the instant the cold weather set in he drew from a bundle which he
had brought with him a dress made of the fur of the Arctic fox, some of
the skins being white and the others blue. It consisted of a loose coat,
somewhat in the form of a shirt, with a large hood to it, and a short
elongation behind like the commencement of a tail. The boots were made
of white bear-skin, which, at the end of the foot, were made to
terminate with the claws of the animal; and they were so long that they
came up the thigh under the coat, or "jumper," as the men called it, and
thus served instead of trousers. He also wore fur mittens, with a bag
for the fingers, and a separate little bag for the thumb. The hair on
these garments was long and soft, and worn outside, so that when a man
enveloped himself in them, and put up the hood, which well-nigh
concealed the face, he became very much like a bear or some such
creature standing on its hind legs.

Meetuck was a short, fat, burly little fellow by nature; but when he put
on his winter dress he became such a round, soft, squat, hairy, and
comical-looking creature, that no one could look at him without
laughing, and the shout with which he was received on deck the first
time he made his appearance in his new costume was loud and prolonged.
But Meetuck was as good-humoured an Esquimau as ever speared a walrus or
lanced a Polar bear. He joined in the laugh, and cut a caper or two to
show that he entered into the spirit of the joke.

When the ship was set fast, and the thermometer fell pretty low, the men
found that their ordinary dreadnoughts and pea-jackets, etc., were not a
sufficient protection against the cold, and it occurred to the captain
that his furs might now be turned to good account. Sailors are
proverbially good needle-men of a rough kind. Meetuck showed them how to
set about their work. Each man made his own garments, and in less than a
week they were completed. It is true, the boots perplexed them a little,
and the less ingenious among the men made very rare and curious-looking
foot-gear for themselves; but they succeeded after a fashion, and at
last the whole crew appeared on deck in their new habiliments, as we
have already mentioned, capering among the snow like bears, to their
own entire satisfaction and to the intense delight of Meetuck, who now
came to regard the white men as brothers--so true is it that "the tailor
makes the man!"

"'Ow 'orribly 'eavy it is, _h_ain't it?" gasped Mivins, after dancing
round the main-hatch till he was nearly exhausted.

"Heavy!" cried Buzzby, whose appearance was such that you would have
hesitated to say whether his breadth or length was greater--"heavy, d'ye
say? It must be your sperrits wot's heavy, then, for I feel as light as
a feather myself."

"O morther! then may I niver sleep on a bed made o' sich feathers!"
cried O'Riley, capering up to Green, the carpenter's mate, and throwing
a mass of snow in his face. The frost rendered it impossible to form the
snow into balls, but the men made up for this by throwing it about each
other's eyes and ears in handfuls.

"What d'ye mean by insultin' my mate?--take that!" said Peter Grim,
giving the Irishman a twirl that tumbled him on the deck.

"Oh, bad manners to ye!" spluttered O'Riley, as he rose and ran away;
"why don't ye hit a man o' yer own size?"

"'Deed, then, it must be because there's not one o' my own size to hit,"
remarked the carpenter with a broad grin.

This was true. Grim's colossal proportions were increased so much by his
hairy dress that he seemed to have spread out into the dimensions of
two large men rolled into one. But O'Riley was not to be overturned with
impunity. Skulking round behind the crew, who were laughing at Grim's
joke, he came upon the giant in the rear, and seizing the short tail of
his jumper, pulled him violently down on the deck.

"Ah, then, give it him, boys!" cried O'Riley, pushing the carpenter flat
down, and obliterating his black beard and his whole visage in a mass of
snow. Several of the wilder spirits among the men leaped on the
prostrate Grim, and nearly smothered him before he could gather himself
up for a struggle; then they fled in all directions while their victim
regained his feet, and rushed wildly after them. At last he caught
O'Riley, and grasping him by the two shoulders gave him a heave that was
intended and "calc'lated," as Amos Parr afterwards remarked, "to pitch
him over the foretop-sail-yard!" But an Irishman is not easily overcome.
O'Riley suddenly straightened himself and held his arms up over his
head, and the violent heave, which, according to Parr, was to have sent
him to such an uncomfortable elevation, only pulled the jumper
completely off his body, and left him free to laugh in the face of his
big friend, and run away.

At this point the captain deemed it prudent to interfere.

"Come, come, my lads!" he cried, "enough o' this. That's not the morning
work, is it? I'm glad to find that your new dresses," he added with a
significant smile, "make you fond of rough work in the snow; there's
plenty of it before us.--Come down below with me, Meetuck; I wish to
talk with you."

As the captain descended to the cabin the men gave a final cheer, and in
ten minutes they were working laboriously at their various duties.

Buzzby and his party were the first ready and off to cut moss. They drew
a sledge after them towards the red-snow valley, which was not more than
two miles distant from the ship. This "mossing," as it was termed, was
by no means a pleasant duty. Before the winter became severe, the moss
could be cut out from the beds of the snow streams with comparative
ease; but now the mixed turf of willows, heaths, grasses, and moss was
frozen solid, and had to be quarried with crowbars and carried to the
ship like so much stone. However, it was prosecuted vigorously, and a
sufficient quantity was soon procured to pack on the deck of the ship,
and around its sides, so as to keep out the cold. At the same time, the
operation of discharging the stores was carried on briskly; and Fred, in
company with Meetuck, O'Riley, and Joseph West, started with the
dog-sledge on a hunting-expedition.

In order to enable the reader better to understand the condition of the
_Dolphin_ and her crew, we will detail the several arrangements that
were made at this time and during the succeeding fortnight. As a measure
of precaution, the ship, by means of blasting, sawing, and warping, was
with great labour got into deeper water, where one night's frost set
her fast with a sheet of ice three inches thick round her. In a few
weeks this ice became several feet thick; and the snow drifted up her
hull so much that it seemed as if she were resting on the land, and had
taken final leave of her native element. Strong hawsers were then
secured to Store Island, in order to guard against the possibility of
her being carried away by any sudden disruption of the ice. The
disposition of the masts, yards, and sails was next determined on. The
top-gallant-masts were struck, the lower yards got down to the housings.
The top-sail-yards, gaff, and jib-boom, however, were left in their
places. The topsails and courses were kept bent to the yards, the sheets
being unrove and the clews tucked in. The rest of the binding-sails were
stowed on deck to prevent their thawing during winter; and the spare
spars were lashed over the ship's sides, to leave a clear space for
taking exercise in bad weather.

The stores, in order to relieve the strain on the ship, were removed to
Store Island, and snugly housed under the tent erected there, and then a
thick bank of snow was heaped up round it. After this was accomplished,
all the boats were hauled up beside the tent, and covered with snow,
except the two quarter-boats, which were left hanging at the davits all
winter. When the thermometer fell below zero, it was found that the
vapours below, and the breath of the men, condensed on the beams of the
lower deck and in the cabin near the hatchway. It was therefore resolved
to convert some sheet-iron, which they fortunately possessed, into
pipes, which, being conducted from the cooking-stove through the length
of the ship, served in some degree to raise the temperature and
ventilate the cabins. A regular daily allowance of coal was served out,
and four steady men appointed to attend to the fire in regular watches,
for the double purpose of seeing that none of the fuel should be wasted
and of guarding against fire. They had likewise charge of the fire-pumps
and buckets, and two tanks of water, all of which were kept in the
hatchway in constant readiness in case of accidents. In addition to
this, a fire-brigade was formed, with Joseph West, a steady, quiet,
active young seaman, as its captain, and their stations in the event of
fire were fixed beforehand; also, a hole was kept constantly open in the
ice alongside to insure at all times a sufficient supply of water.

Strict regulations as to cleanliness and the daily airing of the
hammocks were laid down, and adhered to throughout the winter. A regular
allowance of provisions was appointed to each man, so that they should
not run the risk of starving before the return of the wild-fowl in
spring. But those provisions were all salt, and the captain trusted much
to their hunting-expeditions for a supply of fresh food, without which
there would be little hope of their continuing in a condition of good
health. Coffee was served out at breakfast and cocoa at supper, besides
being occasionally supplied at other times to men who had been engaged
in exhausting work in extremely cold weather. Afterwards, when the dark
season set in, and the crew were confined by the intense cold more than
formerly within the ship, various schemes were set afoot for passing the
time profitably and agreeably. Among others, a school was started by the
captain for instructing such of the crew as chose to attend in reading,
writing, and arithmetic, and in this hyperborean academy Fred Ellice
acted as the writing master, and Tom Singleton as the accountant. The
men were much amused at first at the idea of "goin' to school," and some
of them looked rather shy at it; but O'Riley, after some consideration,
came boldly forward and said, "Well, boys, bad luck to me if I don't
think I'll be a scholard afther all. My old gran'mother used to tell me,
whin I refused to go to the school that was kip be an owld man as tuck
his fees out in murphies and potheen,--says she, 'Ah! ye spalpeen, ye'll
niver be cliverer nor the pig, ye won't.' 'Ah, then, I hope not,' says
I, 'for sure she's far the cliverest in the house, an' ye wouldn't have
me to be cliverer than me own gran'mother, would ye?' says I. So I niver
wint to school, and more be token, I can't sign me name, and if it was
only to larn how to do that, I'll go and jine; indeed I will." So
O'Riley joined, and before long every man in the ship was glad to join,
in order to have something to do.

The doctor also, twice a-week, gave readings from Shakespeare, a copy of
which he had fortunately brought with him. He also read extracts from
the few other books they happened to have on board; and after a time,
finding unexpectedly that he had a talent that way, he began to draw
upon his memory and his imagination, and told long stories (which were
facetiously called _lectures_) to the men, who listened to them with
great delight. Then Fred started an illustrated newspaper once a-week,
which was named the _Arctic Sun_, and which was in great favour during
the whole course of its brief existence. It is true, only one copy was
issued each morning of publication, because, besides supplying the
greater proportion of the material himself, and executing the
illustrations in a style that would have made Mr. Leech of the present
day envious, he had to transcribe the various contributions he received
from the men and others in a neat, legible hand. But this _one_ copy was
perused and re-perused, as no single copy of any paper extant--not
excepting _The Times_ or _Punch_--has ever yet been perused; and when it
was returned to the editor, to be carefully placed in the archives of
the _Dolphin_, it was emphatically the worse for wear. Besides all this,
a theatre was set agoing, of which we shall have more to say hereafter.

In thus minutely recounting the various expedients which these banished
men fell upon to pass the long dark hours of an Arctic winter, we may,
perhaps, give the reader the impression that a great deal of thought and
time were bestowed upon _amusement_, as if that were the chief end and
object of their life in those regions. But we must remind him that
though many more pages might be filled in recounting all the
particulars, but a small portion of their time was, after all, taken up
in this way; and it would have been well for them had they been able to
find more to amuse them than they did, for the depressing influence of
the long-continued darkness, and the want of a sufficiency of regular
employment for so many months added to the rigorous nature of the
climate in which they dwelt, well-nigh broke their spirits at last.

In order to secure warmth during winter, the deck of the ship was padded
with moss about a foot deep, and down below the walls were lined with
the same material. The floors were carefully plastered with common paste
and covered with oakum a couple of inches deep, over which a carpet of
canvas was spread. Every opening in the deck was fastened down and
covered deeply over with moss, with the exception of one hatch, which
was their only entrance, and this was kept constantly closed except when
it was desirable to ventilate. Curtains were hung up in front of it to
prevent draughts. A canvas awning was also spread over the deck from
stem to stern, so that it was confidently hoped the _Dolphin_ would
prove a snug tenement even in the severest cold.

As has been said before, the snow-drift almost buried the hull of the
ship, and as snow is a good _non-conductor_ of heat, this further helped
to keep up the temperature within. A staircase of snow was built up to
the bulwarks on the larboard quarter, and on the starboard side an
inclined plane of snow was sloped down to the ice to facilitate the
launching of the sledges when they had to be pulled on deck.

Such were the chief arrangements and preparations that were made by our
adventurers for spending the winter; but although we have described them
at this point in our story, many of them were not completed until a much
later period.



CHAPTER XI.

_A hunting-expedition, in the course of which the hunters meet with many
interesting, dangerous, peculiar, and remarkable experiences, and make
acquaintance with seals, walruses, deer, and rabbits_.


We must now return to Fred Ellice and his companions, Meetuck the
Esquimau, O'Riley, and Joseph West, whom we left while they were on the
point of starting on a hunting-expedition.

They took the direction of the ice-hummocks out to sea, and, seated
comfortably on a large sledge, were dragged by the team of dogs over the
ice at the rate of ten miles an hour.

"Well! did I iver expect to ride a carriage and six?" exclaimed O'Riley
in a state of great glee as the dogs dashed forward at full speed, while
Meetuck nourished his awful whip, making it crack like a pistol-shot
ever and anon.

The sledge on which they travelled was of the very curious and simple
construction peculiar to the Esquimaux, and was built by Peter Grim
under the direction of Meetuck. It consisted of two runners of about ten
feet in length, six inches high, two inches broad, and three feet apart.
They were made of tough hickory, slightly curved in front, and were
attached to each other by cross-bars. At the stern of the vehicle there
was a low back composed of two uprights and a single bar across. The
whole machine was fastened together by means of tough lashings of raw
seal-hide, so that, to all appearance, it was a rickety affair, ready to
fall to pieces. In reality, however, it was very strong. No metal nails
of any kind could have held in the keen frost--they would have snapped
like glass at the first jolt--but the sealskin fastenings yielded to the
rude shocks and twistings to which the sledge was subjected, and seldom
gave way, or if they did, were easily and speedily renewed without the
aid of any other implement than a knife.

But the whip was the most remarkable part of the equipage. The handle
was only sixteen inches in length, but the lash was twenty _feet_ long,
made of the toughest seal-skin, and as thick as a man's wrist near the
handle, whence it tapered off to a fine point. The labour of using such
a formidable weapon is so great that Esquimaux usually, when
practicable, travel in couples, one sledge behind the other. The dogs of
the last sledge follow mechanically and require no whip, and the riders
change about so as to relieve each other. When travelling, the whip
trails behind, and can be brought with a tremendous crack that makes the
hair fly from the wretch that is struck; and Esquimaux are splendid
_shots_, so to speak. They can hit any part of a dog with certainty, but
usually rest satisfied with simply cracking the whip--a sound that
produces an answering yell of terror, whether the lash takes effect or
not.

Our hunters were clothed in their Esquimau garments, and cut the oddest
imaginable figures. They had a soft, rotund, cuddled-up appearance, that
was powerfully suggestive of comfort. The sledge carried one day's
provisions, a couple of walrus harpoons with a sufficient quantity of
rope, four muskets with the requisite ammunition, an Esquimau
cooking-lamp, two stout spears, two tarpaulins to spread on the snow,
and four blanket sleeping-bags. These last were six feet long, and just
wide enough for a man to crawl into at night, feet first.

"What a jolly style of travelling, isn't it?" cried Fred, as the dogs
sprang wildly forward, tearing the sledge behind them, Dumps and Poker
leading and looking as lively as crickets.

"Well now, isn't it true that wits jump?--that's jist what I was sayin'
to meself," remarked O'Riley, grinning from ear to ear as he pulled the
fur-hood farther over his head, crossed his arms more firmly on his
breast, and tried to double himself up as he sat there like an overgrown
rat. "I wouldn't exchange it wid the Lord Mayor o' London and his coach
an' six--so I wouldn't.--Arrah! have a care, Meetuck, ye baste, or ye'll
have us kilt."

This last exclamation was caused by the reckless driver dashing over a
piece of rough ice that nearly capsized the sledge. Meetuck did not
answer, but he looked over his shoulder with a quiet smile on his oily
countenance.

"Ah, then, ye may laugh," said O'Riley with menacing look, "but av ye
break a bone o' me body I'll--"

Down went the dogs into a crack in the ice as he spoke, over went the
sledge and hurled them all out upon the ice.

"Musha! but ye've done it!"

"Hallo, West! are you hurt?" cried Fred anxiously, as he observed the
sailor fall heavily on the ice.

"Oh no, sir; all right, thank you," replied the man, rising alertly and
limping to the sledge. "Only knocked the skin off my shin, sir."

West was a quiet, serious, polite man, an American by birth, who was
much liked by the crew in consequence of a union of politeness and
modesty with a disposition to work far beyond his strength. He was not
very robust, however, and in powers of physical endurance scarcely
fitted to engage in an Arctic expedition.

"An' don't ye think it's worth makin' inquiries about _me_?" cried
O'Riley, who had been tossed into a crevice in the hummock, where he lay
jammed and utterly unable to move.

Fred and the Esquimau laughed heartily while O'Riley extricated himself
from his awkward position. Fortunately no damage was done, and in five
minutes they were flying over the frozen sea as madly as ever in the
direction of the point at the opposite side of Red-Snow Valley, where a
cloud of frost-smoke indicated open water.

"Now, look you, Mr. Meetuck, av ye do that again ye'll better don't,
let me tell ye. Sure the back o' me's brack entirely," said O'Riley, as
he re-arranged himself with a look of comfort that belied his words.
"Och, there ye go again," he cried, as the sledge suddenly fell about
six inches from a higher level to a lower, where the floe had cracked,
causing the teeth of the whole party to come together with a snap. "A
man durs'n't spake for fear o' bitin' his tongue off."

"No fee," said Meetuck, looking over his shoulder with a broader smirk.

"No fee, ye lump of pork! it's a double fee I'll have to pay the dacter
an ye go on like that."

_No fee_ was Meetuck's best attempt at the words _no fear._ He had
picked up a little English during his brief sojourn with the sailors,
and already understood much of what was said to him; but words were as
yet few, and his manner of pronouncing them peculiar.

"Holo! look! look!" cried the Esquimau, suddenly checking the dogs and
leaping off the sledge.

"Eh! what! where?" ejaculated Fred, seizing his musket.

"I think I see something, sir," said West, shading his eyes with his
hand, and gazing earnestly in the direction indicated by Meetuck.

"So do I, be the mortial," said O'Riley in a hoarse whisper. "I see the
mountains and the sky, I do, as plain as the nose on me face!"

"Hush! stop your nonsense, man," said Fred. "I see a deer, I'm certain
of it."

Meetuck nodded violently to indicate that Fred was right.

"Well, what's to be done? Luckily we are well to leeward, and it has
neither sighted nor scented us."

Meetuck replied by gestures and words to the effect that West and
O'Riley should remain with the dogs, and keep them quiet under the
shelter of a hummock, while he and Fred should go after the reindeer.
Accordingly, away they went, making a pretty long detour in order to
gain the shore, and come upon it under the shelter of the grounded
floes, behind which they might approach without being seen. In hurrying
along the coast they observed the footprints of a musk-ox, and also of
several Arctic hares and foxes; which delighted them much, for hitherto
they had seen none of these animals, and were beginning to be fearful
lest they should not visit that part of the coast at all. Of course Fred
knew not what sort of animals had made the tracks in question, but he
was an adept at guessing, and the satisfied looks of his companion gave
him reason to believe that he was correct in his surmises.

In half-an-hour they came within range, and Fred, after debating with
himself for some time as to the propriety of taking the first shot,
triumphed over himself, and stepping back a pace, motioned to the
Esquimau to fire. But Meetuck was an innate gentleman, and modestly
declined; so Fred advanced, took a good aim, and fired.

The deer bounded away, but stumbled as it went, showing that it was
wounded.

"Ha! ha! Meetuck," exclaimed Fred, as he recharged in tremendous
excitement (taking twice as long to load in consequence), "I've improved
a little, you see, in my shoot--oh bother this--ramrod!--tut! tut!
there, that's it."

Bang went Meetuck's musket at that moment, and the deer tumbled over
upon the snow.

"Well done, old fellow!" cried Fred, springing forward. At the same
instant a white hare darted across his path, at which he fired, without
even putting the gun to his shoulder, and knocked it over, to his own
intense amazement.

The three shots were the signal for the men to come up with the sledge,
which they did at full gallop, O'Riley driving, and flourishing the long
whip about in a way that soon entangled it hopelessly with the dogs'
traces.

"Ah, then, ye've done it this time, ye have, sure enough. Musha! what a
purty crature it is. Now, isn't it, West? Stop, then, won't ye (to the
restive dogs); ye've broke my heart entirely, and the whip's tied up
into iver so many knots. Arrah, Meetuck! ye may drive yer coach yerself
for me, you may; I've had more nor enough of it."

In a few minutes the deer and the hare were lashed to the sledge--which
the Irishman asserted was a great improvement, inasmuch as the carcass
of the former made an excellent seat--and they were off again at full
gallop over the floes. They travelled without further interruption or
mishap, until they drew near to the open water, when suddenly they came
upon a deep fissure or crack in the ice about four feet wide, with water
in the bottom. Here they came to a dead stop.

"Arrah! what's to be done now?" inquired O'Riley.

"Indeed I don't know," replied Fred, looking toward Meetuck for advice.

"Hup, cut-up ice, mush, hurroo!" said that fat individual. Fortunately
he followed his advice with a practical illustration of its meaning.
Seizing an axe, he ran to the nearest hummock, and chopping it down,
rolled the heaviest pieces he could move into the chasm. The others
followed his example, and in the course of an hour the place was bridged
across, and the sledge passed over. But the dogs required a good deal of
coaxing to get them to trust to this rude bridge, which their sagacity
taught them was not to be depended on like the works of nature.

A quarter of an hour's drive brought them to a place where there was
another crack of little more than two feet across. Meetuck stretched his
neck and took a steady look at this as they approached it at full
gallop. Being apparently satisfied with his scrutiny, he resumed his
look of self-satisfied placidity.

"Look out, Meetuck--pull up!" cried Fred in some alarm; but the Esquimau
paid no attention.

"O morther! we're gone now for iver," exclaimed O'Riley, shutting his
eyes and clenching his teeth as he laid fast hold of the sides of the
sledge.

The feet of the dogs went faster and faster until they pattered on the
hard surface of the snow like rain. Round came the long whip, as O'Riley
said, "like the shot of a young cannon," and the next moment they were
across, skimming over the ice on the other side like the wind.

It happened that there had been a break in the ice at this point on the
previous night, and the floes had been cemented by a sheet of ice only
an inch thick. Upon this, to the consternation even of Meetuck himself,
they now passed, and in a moment, ere they were aware, they were passing
over a smooth, black surface that undulated beneath them like the waves
of the sea, and crackled fearfully. There was nothing for it but to go
on. A moment's halt would have allowed the sledge to break through, and
leave them struggling in the water. There was no time for remark. Each
man held his breath. Meetuck sent the heavy lash with a tremendous crack
over the backs of the whole team; but just as they neared the solid floe
the left runner broke through. In a moment the men flung themselves
horizontally upon their breasts, and scrambled over the smooth surface
until they gained the white ice, while the sledge and the dogs nearest
to it were sinking. One vigorous pull, however, by dogs and men
together, dragged the sledge upon the solid floe, even before the things
in it had got wet.

"Safe!" cried Fred, as he hauled on the sledge rope to drag it farther
out of danger.

"So we are," replied O'Riley, breathing very hard; "and it's meself
thought to have had a wet skin at this minute.--Come, West, lind a hand
to fix the dogs, will ye?"

A few minutes sufficed to put all to rights and enable them to start
afresh. Being now in the neighbourhood of dangerous ice, they advanced
with a little more caution; the possibility of seals being in the
neighbourhood also rendered them more circumspect. It was well that they
were on the alert, for a band of seals were soon after descried in a
pool of open water not far ahead, and one of them was lying on the ice.

There were no hummocks, however, in the neighbourhood to enable them to
approach unseen; but the Esquimau was prepared for such a contingency.
He had brought a small sledge, of about two feet in length by a foot and
a half in breadth, which he now unfastened from the large sledge, and
proceeded quietly to arrange it, to the surprise of his companions, who
had not the least idea what he was about to do, and watched his
proceedings with much interest.

"Is it to sail on the ice ye're goin', boy?" inquired O'Riley at last,
when he saw Meetuck fix a couple of poles, about four feet long, into a
hole in the little sledge, like two masts, and upon these spread a piece
of canvas upwards of a yard square, with a small hole in the centre of
it.

But Meetuck answered not. He fastened the canvas "sail" to a cross-yard
above and below. Then placing a harpoon and coil of rope on the sledge,
and taking up his musket, he made signs to the party to keep under the
cover of a hummock, and, pushing the sledge before him, advanced towards
the seals in a stooping posture, so as to be completely hid behind the
bit of canvas.

"O the haythen! I see it now!" exclaimed O'Riley, his face puckering up
with fun. "Ah, but it's a cliver trick, no doubt of it."

"What a capital dodge!" said Fred, crouching behind the hummock, and
watching the movements of the Esquimau with deep interest.

"West, hand me the little telescope; you'll find it in the pack."

"Here it is, sir," said the man, pulling out a glass of about six inches
long, and handing it to Fred.

"How many is there, an ye plaze?"

"Six, I think; yes--one, two, three--I can't make them out quite, but I
think there are six, besides the one on the ice. Hist! there he sees
him. Ah, Meetuck, he's too quick for you."

As he spoke the seal on the ice began to show symptoms of alarm. Meetuck
had approached to within shot, but he did not fire; the wary Esquimau
had caught sight of another object which a lump of ice had hitherto
concealed from view. This was no less a creature than a walrus, who
chanced at that time to come up to take a gulp of fresh air and lave
his shaggy front in the brine, before going down again to the depths of
his ocean home. Meetuck, therefore, allowed the seal to glide quietly
into the sea, and advanced towards this new object of attack. At length
he took a steady aim through the hole in the canvas screen, and fired.
Instantly the seals dived, and at the same time the water round the
walrus was lashed into foam and tinged with red. It was evidently badly
wounded, for had it been only slightly hurt it would probably have
dived.

Meetuck immediately seized his harpoon, and rushed towards the
struggling monster; while Fred grasped a gun and O'Riley a harpoon, and
ran to his assistance. West remained to keep back the dogs. As Meetuck
gained the edge of the ice the walrus recovered partially, and tried,
with savage fury, to reach his assailant, who planted the harpoon deep
in its breast, and held on to the rope while the animal dived.

"Whereabouts is he?" cried O'Riley, as he came panting to the scene of
action.

As he spoke the walrus ascended almost under his nose, with a loud
bellow, and the Irishman started back in terror, as he surveyed at close
quarters, for the first time, the colossal and horrible countenance of
this elephant of the Northern Seas. O'Riley was no coward, but the
suddenness of the apparition was too much for him, and we need not
wonder that in his haste he darted the harpoon far over the animal's
head into the sea beyond. Neither need we feel surprised that when Fred
took aim at its forehead, the sight of its broad muzzle fringed with a
bristling moustache, and defended by huge tusks, caused him to miss it
altogether. But O'Riley recovered, hauled his harpoon back, and
succeeded in planting it deep under the creature's left flipper; and
Fred, reloading, lodged a ball in its head, which finished it. With
great labour the four men, aided by the dogs, drew it out upon the ice.

This was a great prize, for walrus-flesh is not much inferior to beef,
and would be an acceptable addition of fresh meat for the use of the
_Dolphin's_ crew; and there was no chance of it spoiling, for the frost
was now severe enough to freeze every animal solid almost immediately
after it was killed.

The body of this walrus was not less than eighteen feet long and eleven
in circumference. It was more like an elephant in bulk and rotundity
than any other creature. It partook very much of the form of a seal,
having two large paw-like flippers, with which, when struggling for
life, it had more than once nearly succeeded in getting upon the ice.
Its upper face had a square, bluff aspect, and its broad muzzle and
cheeks were completely covered by a coarse, quill-like beard of
bristles, which gave to it a peculiarly ferocious appearance. The notion
that the walrus resembles man is very much overrated. The square, bluff
shape of the head already referred to destroys the resemblance to
humanity when distant, and its colossal size does the same when near.
Spine of the seals deserve this distinction more, their drooping
shoulders and oval faces being strikingly like to those of man when at a
distance. The white ivory tusks of this creature were carefully measured
by Fred, and found to be thirty inches long.

The resemblance of the walrus to our domestic land-animals has obtained
for it, among sailors, the names of the sea-horse and sea-cow; and the
records of its ferocity when attacked are numerous. Its hide is nearly
an inch thick, and is put to many useful purposes by the Esquimaux, who
live to a great extent on the flesh of this creature. They cut up his
hide into long lines to attach to the harpoons with which they catch
himself, the said harpoons being pointed with his own tusks. This tough
hide is not the only garment the walrus wears to protect him from the
cold. He also wears under-flannels of thick fat and a top-coat of close
hair, so that he can take a siesta on an iceberg without the least
inconvenience. Talking of siestas, by the way, the walrus is sometimes
"caught napping." Occasionally, when the weather is intensely cold, the
hole through which he crawls upon the ice gets frozen over so solidly
that, on waking, he finds it beyond even his enormous power to break it.
In this extremity there is no alternative but to go to sleep again,
and--die! which he does as comfortably as he can. The Polar bears,
however, are quick to smell him out, and assembling round his carcass
for a feast, they dispose of him, body and bones, without ceremony.

As it was impossible to drag this unwieldy animal to the ship that
night, for the days had now shortened very considerably, the hunters
hauled it towards the land, and having reached the secure ice, prepared
to encamp for the night under the lee of a small iceberg.



CHAPTER XII.

_A dangerous sleep interrupted--A night in a snow-hut, and an unpleasant
visitor--Snowed up_.


"Now, then," cried Fred, as they drew up on a level portion of the
ice-floe, where the snow on its surface was so hard that the runners of
the sledge scarce made an impression on it, "let us to work, lads, and
get the tarpaulins spread. We shall have to sleep to-night under
star-spangled bed-curtains."

"Troth," said O'Riley, gazing round towards the land, where the distant
cliffs loomed black and heavy in the fading light, and out upon the
floes and hummocks, where the frost-smoke from pools of open water on
the horizon circled round the pinnacles of the icebergs--"troth, it's a
cowld place intirely to go to wan's bed in, but that fat-faced Exqueemaw
seems to be settin' about it quite coolly; so here goes!"

"It would be difficult to set about it otherwise than coolly with the
thermometer forty-five below zero," remarked Fred, beating his hands
together, and stamping his feet, while the breath issued from his mouth
like dense clouds of steam, and fringed the edges of his hood and the
breast of his jumper with hoar-frost.

"It's quite purty, it is," remarked O'Riley, in reference to this wreath
of hoar-frost, which covered the upper parts of each of them; "it's jist
like the ermine that kings and queens wear, so I'm towld, and it's
chaper a long way."

"I don't know that," said Joseph West. "It has cost us a rough voyage
and a winter in the Arctic Regions, if it doesn't cost us more yet, to
put that ermine fringe on our jumpers. I can make nothing of this knot;
try what you can do with it, messmate, will you?"

"Sorra wan o' me'll try it," cried O'Riley, suddenly leaping up and
swinging both arms violently against his shoulders; "I've got two hands,
I have, but niver a finger on them--leastwise I feel none, though it
_is_ some small degrae o' comfort to see them."

"My toes are much in the same condition," said West, stamping vigorously
until he brought back the circulation.

"Dance, then, wid me," cried the Irishman, suiting his action to the
word. "I've a mortial fear o' bein' bit wid the frost--for it's no joke,
let me tell you. Didn't I see a whole ship's crew wance that wos wrecked
in the Gulf o' St. Lawrence about the beginnin' o' winter, and before
they got to a part o' the coast where there was a house belongin' to the
fur-traders, ivery man-jack o' them was frost-bit more or less, they
wor. Wan lost a thumb, and another the jint of a finger or two, and
most o' them had two or three toes off, an' there wos wan poor fellow
who lost the front half o' wan fut an' the heel o' the other, an' two
inches o' the bone was stickin' out. Sure it's truth I'm tellin' ye, for
I seed it wid me own two eyes, I did."

The earnest tones in which the last words were spoken convinced his
comrades that O'Riley was telling the truth, so having a decided
objection to be placed in similar circumstances, they danced and beat
each other until they were quite in a glow.

"Why, what are you at there, Meetuck?" exclaimed Fred, pausing.

"Igloe make," replied the Esquimau.

"Ig--what?" inquired O'Riley.

"Oh, I see!" shouted Fred, "he's going to make a snow-hut--igloes they
call them here. Capital!--I never thought of that. Come along; let's
help him!"

Meetuck was indeed about to erect one of those curious dwellings of snow
in which, for the greater part of the year, his primitive countrymen
dwell. He had no taste for star-spangled bed-curtains, when solid walls,
whiter than the purest dimity, were to be had for nothing. His first
operation in the erection of this hut was to mark out a circle of about
seven feet diameter. From the inside of this circle the snow was cut by
means of a long knife in the form of slabs nearly a foot thick, and from
two to three feet long, having a slight convexity on the outside. These
slabs were then so cut and arranged that, when they were piled upon
each other round the margin of the circle, they formed a dome-shaped
structure like a bee-hive, which was six feet high inside, and
remarkably solid. The slabs were cemented together with loose snow, and
every accidental chink or crevice filled up with the same material. The
natives sometimes insert a block of clear ice in the roof for a window,
but this was dispensed with on the present occasion--first, because
there was no light to let in; and, secondly, because if there had been,
they didn't want it.

The building of the hut occupied only an hour, for the hunters were cold
and hungry, and in their case the old proverb might have been
paraphrased, "No _work_, no supper." A hole, just large enough to permit
a man to creep through on his hands and knees, formed the door of this
bee-hive. Attached to this hole, and cemented to it, was a low tunnel of
about four feet in length. When finished, both ends of the tunnel were
closed up with slabs of hard snow, which served the purpose of double
doors, and effectually kept out the cold.

While this tunnel was approaching completion, Fred retired to a short
distance, and sat down to rest a few minutes on a block of ice.

A great change had come over the scene during the time they were at work
on the snow-hut. The night had settled down, and now the whole sky was
lit up with the vivid and beautiful coruscations of the aurora
borealis--that magnificent meteor of the North which, in some measure,
makes up to the inhabitants for the absence of the sun. It spread over
the whole extent of the sky in the form of an irregular arch, and was
intensely brilliant. But the brilliancy varied, as the green ethereal
fire waved mysteriously to and fro, or shot up long streamers toward the
zenith. These streamers, or "merry dancers," as they are sometimes
termed, were at times peculiarly bright. Their colour was most
frequently yellowish white, sometimes greenish, and once or twice of a
lilac tinge. The strength of the light was something greater than that
of the moon in her quarter, and the stars were dimmed when the aurora
passed over them as if they had been covered with a delicate gauze veil.

But that which struck our hero as being most remarkable was the
magnitude and dazzling brightness of the host of stars that covered the
black firmament. It seemed as if they were magnified in glory, and
twinkled so much that the sky seemed, as it were, to tremble with light.
A feeling of deep solemnity filled Fred's heart as he gazed upwards; and
as he thought upon the Creator of these mysterious worlds, and
remembered that he came to this little planet of ours to work out the
miracle of our redemption, the words that he had often read in the
Bible, "Lord, what is man, that thou art mindful of him?" came forcibly
to his remembrance, and he felt the appropriateness of that sentiment
which the sweet singer of Israel has expressed in the words, "Praise ye
him, sun and moon; praise him, all ye stars of light."

There was a deep, solemn stillness all around--a stillness widely
different from that peaceful composure which characterizes a calm day in
an inhabited land. It was the death-like stillness of that most peculiar
and dreary desolation which results from the total absence of animal
existence. The silence was so oppressive that it was with a feeling of
relief he listened to the low, distant voices of the men as they paused
ever and anon in their busy task to note and remark on the progress of
their work. In the intense cold of an Arctic night the sound of voices
can be heard at a much greater distance than usual, and although the men
were far off, and hummocks of ice intervened between them and Fred,
their tones broke distinctly, though gently, on his ear. Yet these
sounds did not interrupt the unusual stillness. They served rather to
impress him more forcibly with the vastness of that tremendous solitude
in the midst of which he stood.

Gradually his thoughts turned homeward, and he thought of the dear ones
who circled round his own fireside, and perchance talked of him--of the
various companions he had left behind, and the scenes of life and beauty
where he used to wander. But such memories led him irresistibly to the
Far North again; for in all home-scenes the figure of his father started
up, and he was back again in an instant, searching toilsomely among the
floes and icebergs of the Polar Seas. It was the invariable ending of
poor Fred's meditations, and, however successful he might be in
entering for a time into the spirit of fun that characterized most of
the doings of his shipmates, and in following the bent of his own joyous
nature, in the hours of solitude and in the dark night, when no one saw
him, his mind ever reverted to the one engrossing subject, like the
oscillating needle to the Pole.

As he continued to gaze up long and earnestly into the starry sky, his
thoughts began to wander over the past and the present at random, and a
cold shudder warned him that it was time to return to the hut. But the
wandering thoughts and fancies seemed to chain him to the spot, so that
he could not tear himself away. Then a dreamy feeling of rest and
comfort began to steal over his senses, and he thought how pleasant it
would be to lie down and slumber; but he knew that would be dangerous,
so he determined not to do it.

Suddenly he felt himself touched, and heard a voice whispering in his
ear. Then it sounded loud. "Hallo, sir! Mr. Ellice! Wake up, sir! d'ye
hear me?" and he felt himself shaken so violently that his teeth rattled
together. Opening his eyes reluctantly, he found that he was stretched
at full length on the snow, and Joseph West was shaking him by the
shoulder as if he meant to dislocate his arm.

"Hallo, West! is that you? Let me alone, man, I want to sleep." Fred
sank down again instantly: that deadly sleep produced by cold, and from
which those who indulge in it never awaken, was upon him.

"Sleep!" cried West frantically; "you'll die, sir, if you don't rouse
up.--Hallo! Meetuck! O'Riley! help! here.'

"I tell you," murmured Fred faintly, "I want to sleep--only a moment or
two--ah! I see; is the hut finished? Well, well, go, leave me. I'll
follow--in--a--"

His voice died away again, just as Meetuck and O'Riley came running up.
The instant the former saw how matters stood, he raised Fred in his
powerful arms, set him on his feet, and shook him with such vigour that
it seemed as if every bone in his body must be forced out of joint.

"What mane ye by that, ye blubber-bag?" cried the Irishman wrathfully,
doubling his mittened fists and advancing in a threatening manner
towards the Esquimau; but seeing that the savage paid not the least
attention to him, and kept on shaking Fred violently with a
good-humoured smile on his countenance, he wisely desisted from
interfering.

In a few minutes Fred was able to stand and look about him with a stupid
expression, and immediately the Esquimau dragged and pushed and shook
him along towards the snow-hut, into which he was finally thrust, though
with some trouble, in consequence of the lowness of the tunnel. Here, by
means of rubbing and chafing, with a little more buffeting, he was
restored to some degree of heat, on seeing which, Meetuck uttered a
quiet grunt and immediately set about preparing supper.

"I do believe I've been asleep," said Fred, rising and stretching
himself vigorously as the bright flame of a tin lamp shot forth and shed
a yellow lustre on the white walls.

"Aslaap is it! be me conscience an' ye have jist. Oh, then, may I niver
indulge in the same sort o' slumber!"

"Why so?" asked Fred in some surprise.

"You fell asleep on the ice, sir," answered West, while he busied
himself in spreading the tarpaulin and blanket-bags on the floor of the
hut, "and you were very near frozen to death."

"Frozen, musha! I'm not too sure that he's melted yit!" said O'Riley,
taking him by the arm and looking at him dubiously.

Fred laughed. "Oh yes; I'm melted now! But let's have supper, else I
shall faint for hunger. Did I sleep many hours?"

"You slept only five minutes," said West, in some surprise at the
question. "You were only gone about ten minutes altogether."

This was indeed the case. The intense desire for sleep which is produced
in Arctic countries when the frost seizes hold of the frame soon
confuses the faculties of those who come under its influence. As long as
Fred had continued to walk and work he felt quite warm; but the instant
he sat down on the lump of ice to rest, the frost acted on him. Being
much exhausted, too, by labour and long fasting, he was more susceptible
than he would otherwise have been to the influence of cold, so that it
chilled him at once, and produced that deadly lethargy from which, but
for the timely aid of his companions, he would never have recovered.

The arrangements for supping and spending the night made rapid progress,
and, under the influence of fire and animal heat--for the dogs were
taken in beside them--the igloe became comfortably warm. Yet the
snow-walls did not melt, or become moist, the intense cold without being
sufficient to counteract and protect them from the heat within. The fair
roof, however, soon became very dingy, and the odour of melted fat
rather powerful. But Arctic travellers are proof against such trifles.

The tarpaulin was spread over the floor, and a tin lamp, into which
several fat portions of the walrus were put, was suspended from a stick
thrust into the wall. Bound this lamp the hunters circled, each seated
on his blanket-bag, and each attended to the duty which devolved upon
him. Meetuck held a tin kettle over the flame till the snow with which
it was filled melted and became cold water, and then gradually heated
until it boiled; and all the while he employed himself in masticating a
lump of raw walrus-flesh, much to the amusement of Fred, and to the
disgust, real or pretended, of O'Riley. But the Irishman, and Fred too,
and every man on board the _Dolphin_, came at last to _relish_ raw meat,
and to long for it! The Esquimaux prefer it raw in these parts of the
world (although some travellers assert that in more southern latitudes
they prefer cooked meat); and with good reason, for it is much more
nourishing than cooked flesh, and learned, scientific men who have
wintered in the Arctic Regions have distinctly stated that in those cold
countries they found raw meat to be better for them than cooked meat,
and they assure us that they at last came to _prefer_ it! We would not
have our readers to begin forthwith to dispense with the art of cookery,
and cast Soyer to the dogs; but we would have them henceforth refuse to
accept that common opinion and vulgar error that Esquimaux eat their
food raw _because they are savages_. They do it because nature teaches
them that, under the circumstances, it is best.

The duty that devolved upon O'Riley was to roast small steaks of the
walrus, in which operation he was assisted by West; while Fred undertook
to get out the biscuit-bag and pewter plates, and to infuse the coffee
when the water should boil. It was a strange feast in a strange place,
but it proved to be a delightful one, for hunger requires not to be
tempted, and is not fastidious.

"Oh, but it's good, isn't it?" remarked O'Riley, smacking his lips, as
he swallowed a savoury morsel of the walrus and tossed the remnant, a
sinewy bit, to Dumps, who sat gazing sulkily at the flame of the lamp,
having gorged himself long before the bipeds began supper.

"Arrah! ye won't take it, won't ye?--Here, Poker!"

Poker sprang forward, wagging the stump of his tail, and turned his
head to one side, as if to say, "Well, what's up? Any fun going?"

"Here, take that, old boy; Dumps is sulky."

Poker took it at once, and a single snap caused it to vanish. He, too,
had finished supper, and evidently ate the morsel to please the
Irishman.

"Hand me the coffee, Meetuck," said Fred.--"The biscuit lies beside you,
West; don't give in so soon, man."

"Thank you, sir; I have about done."

"Meetuck, ye haythen, try a bit o' the roast; do now, av it was only to
plaze me."

Meetuck shook his head quietly, and, cutting a _fifteenth_ lump off the
mass of raw walrus that lay beside him, proceeded leisurely to devour
it.

"The dogs is nothin' to him," muttered O'Riley. "Isn't it a curious
thing, now, to think that we're all _at sea_ a-eatin', and drinkin', and
slaapin'--or goin' to slaap--jist as if we wor on the land, and the
great ocean away down below us there, wid whales, and seals, and
walruses, and mermaids, for what I know, a-swimmin' about jist under
whare we sit, and maybe lookin' through the ice at us this very minute.
Isn't it quare?"

"It is odd," said Fred, laughing, "and not a very pleasant idea.
However, as there is at least twelve feet of solid ice between us and
the company you mention, we don't need to care much."

"Ov coorse not," replied O'Riley, nodding his head approvingly as he
lighted his pipe; "that's my mind intirely--in all cases o' danger, when
ye don't need to be afeard, you needn't much care. It's a good chart to
steer by, that same."

This last remark seemed to afford so much food for thought to the
company that nothing further was said by any one until Fred rose and
proposed to turn in. West had already crawled into his blanket-bag, and
was stretched out like a mummy on the floor, and the sound of Meetuck's
jaws still continued as he winked sleepily over the walrus-meat, when a
scraping was heard outside the hut.

"Sure, it's the foxes; I'll go and look," whispered O'Riley, laying down
his pipe and creeping to the mouth of the tunnel.

He came back, however, faster than he went, with a look of
consternation, for the first object that confronted him on looking out
was the enormous head of a Polar bear. To glance round for their
fire-arms was the first impulse, but these had unfortunately been left
on the sledge outside. What was to be done? They had nothing but their
clasp-knives in the igloe. In this extremity Meetuck cut a large hole in
the back of the hut, intending to creep out and procure one of the
muskets; but the instant the opening was made the bear's head filled it
up. With a savage yell O'Riley seized the lamp and dashed the flaming
fat in the creature's face. It was a reckless deed, for it left them all
in the dark; but the bear seemed to think himself insulted, for he
instantly retreated, and when Meetuck emerged and laid hold of a gun he
had disappeared.

They found, on issuing into the open air, that a stiff breeze was
blowing, which, from the threatening appearance of the sky, promised to
become a gale; but as there was no apprehension to be entertained in
regard to the stability of the floe, they returned to the hut, taking
care to carry in their arms along with them. Having patched up the hole,
closed the doors, rekindled the lamp, and crept into their respective
bags, they went to sleep; for, however much they might dread the return
of Bruin, sleep was a necessity of nature that would not be denied.

Meanwhile the gale freshened into a hurricane, and was accompanied with
heavy snow, and when they attempted to move next morning, they found it
impossible to face it for a single moment. There was no alternative,
therefore, but to await the termination of the gale, which lasted two
days, and kept them close prisoners all the time. It was very wearisome,
doubtless, but they had to submit, and sought to console themselves and
pass the time as pleasantly as possible by sleeping, and eating, and
drinking coffee.



CHAPTER XIII.

_Journey resumed--The hunters meet with bears and have a great fight, in
which the dogs are sufferers--A bear's dinner--Mode in which Arctic
rocks travel--The ice-belt._


On the abating of the great storm referred to in the last chapter, the
hunters sought to free themselves from their snowy prison, and succeeded
in burrowing, so to speak, upwards after severe labour, for the hut was
buried in drift which the violence of the gale had rendered extremely
compact.

O'Riley was the first to emerge into the upper world. Having dusted the
snow from his garments, and shaken himself like a Newfoundland dog, he
made sundry wry faces, and gazed round him with the look of a man that
did not know very well what to do with himself.

"It's a quare place, it is, intirely," he remarked, with a shake of the
head that betokened intense sagacity, while he seated himself on a mound
of snow and watched his comrades as they busied themselves in dragging
their sleeping-bags and cooking utensils from the cavern they had just
quitted. O'Riley seemed to be in a contemplative mood, for he did not
venture any further remark, although he looked unutterable things as he
proceeded quietly to fill his little black pipe.

"Ho! O'Riley, lend a hand, you lazy fellow," cried Fred; "work first and
play afterwards, you skulker."

"Sure that same is what I'm doin'," replied O'Riley with a bland smile,
which he eclipsed in a cloud of smoke. "Haven't I bin workin' like a
naagur for two hours to git out of that hole, and ain't I playin' a tune
on me pipe now? But I won't be cross-grained. I'll lind ye a hand av ye
behave yerself. It's a bad thing to be cross-grained," he continued,
pocketing his pipe and assisting to arrange the sledge; "me owld
grandmother always towld me that, and she wos wise, she wos, beyand
ordn'r. More like Salomon nor anything else."

"She must have directed that remark specially to you, I think," said
Fred--"(Let Dumps lead, West, he's tougher than the others)--did she
not, O'Riley?"

"Be no manes. It wos to the pig she said it. Most of her conversation
(and she had a power of it) wos wid the pig; and many's the word o' good
advice she gave it, as it sat in its usual place beside the fire
fore-nint her. But it wos all thrown away, it wos, for there wosn't
another pig in all the length o' Ireland as had sich a will o' its own;
and it had a screech, too, when it wosn't plaazed, as bate all the steam
whistles in the world, it did. I've often moralated on that same, and
I've noticed that, as it is wid pigs, so it is wid men and women--some
of them at laste--the more advice ye give them, the less they take."

"Down, Poker! quiet, good dog!" said West, as he endeavoured to
restrain the ardour of the team, which, being fresh and full fed, could
scarcely be held in by the united efforts of himself and Meetuck, while
their companions lashed their provisions, etc., on the sledge.

"Hold on, lads!" cried Fred, as he fastened the last lashing. "We'll be
ready in a second. Now, then, jump on, two of you! Catch hold of the
tail-line, Meetuck! All right!"

"Hall right!" yelled the Esquimau, as he let go the dogs and sprang upon
the sledge.

The team struggled and strained violently for a few seconds in their
efforts to overcome the _vis inertiæ_ of the sledge, and it seemed as
if the traces would part; but they were made of tough walrus-hide, and
held on bravely, while the heavy vehicle gradually fetched way, and at
length flew over the floes at the rate of seven or eight miles an hour.
Travelling, however, was not now quite so agreeable as it had been when
they set out from the ship; for the floes were swept bare in some places
by the gale, while in other places large drifts had collected, so that
the sledge was either swaying to and fro on the smooth ice, and swinging
the dogs almost off their feet, or it was plunging heavily through banks
of soft snow.

As the wind was still blowing fresh, and would have been dead against
them had they attempted to return by a direct route to the ship, they
made for the shore, intending to avail themselves of the shelter
afforded by the ice-belt. Meanwhile the carcass of the walrus--at least
as much of it as could not be packed on the sledge--was buried in the
hut, and a spear planted above it to mark the spot.

"Ha! an' it's cowld," said O'Riley, wrapping himself more closely in his
fur jumper as they sped along. "I wish we wos out o' the wind, I do."

"You'll have your wish soon, then," answered West, "for that row of
icebergs we're coming to will shelter us nearly all the way to the
land."

"Surely you are taking us too much off to the right, Meetuck," said
Fred; "we are getting farther away from the ship."

"No fee. De win' too 'trong. We turn hup 'long shore very quick,
soon--ha!"

Meetuck accompanied each word with a violent nod of his head, at the
same time opening and shutting his mouth and winking with both eyes,
being apparently impressed with the conviction that such contortions of
visage rendered his meaning more apparent.

"Look! look! ho! Nannook, nannook!" (a bear, a bear!) whispered the
Esquimau with sudden animation, just as they gained the lee of the first
iceberg.

The words were unnecessary, however, for the whole party were looking
ahead with the most intense eagerness at a bear which their sudden
advent had aroused from a nap in the crevice of the iceberg. A little
cub was discerned a moment after standing by her side, and gazing at the
intruders with infantine astonishment. While the muskets were being
loosened and drawn out, Meetuck let slip all the dogs, and in a few
seconds they were engaged in active warfare with the enemy.

"Oh! musha! Dumps is gone intirely!" The quadruped referred to was
tossed to a height of about thirty feet, and alighted senseless upon the
ice. The bear seized him with her teeth and tossed him with an
incredibly slight effort. The other dogs, nothing daunted by the fate of
their comrade, attacked the couple in the rear, biting their heels, and
so distracting their attention that they could not make an energetic
attack in any direction. Another of the dogs, however, a young one,
waxing reckless, ventured too near the old bear, and was seized by the
back, and hurled high into the air, through which it wriggled violently,
and descended with a sounding whack upon the ice. At the same moment a
volley from the hunters sent several balls into the carcass of both
mother and cub; but, although badly wounded, neither of them evinced any
sign of pain or exhaustion as they continued to battle with the
remaining dogs.

The dogs that had already fallen in the fray had not been used to
bear-hunting; hence their signal defeat. But this was not the case with
the others, all of which were old campaigners; and Poker especially,
although not old in years, was a practical fighter, having been trained
not to attack but to harass. The systematic and steady way in which they
advanced before the bear, and retired, right and left, leading her into
a profitless pursuit, was very interesting to witness. Another volley
from the hunters caused them to make off more rapidly, and wounded the
cub severely, so much so that in a few minutes it began to flag. Seeing
this, the mother placed it in front of her, and urged it forward with
her snout so quickly that it was with the utmost difficulty the men
could keep up with them. A well-directed shot, however, from Fred Ellice
brought the old bear to the ground; but she rose instantly, and again
advanced, pushing her cub before her, while the dogs continued to
embarrass her. They now began to fear that, in spite of dogs and men,
the wounded bears would escape, when an opportune crack in the ice
presented itself, into which they both tumbled, followed by the yelping,
and we may add limping, dogs. Before they could scramble up on the other
side, Meetuck and Fred, being light of foot, gained upon them
sufficiently to make sure shots.

"There they go," cried Fred, as the she-bear bounced out of the crack
with Poker hanging to her heels. Poker's audacity had at last
outstripped his sagacity, and the next moment he was performing a
tremendous somersault. Before he reached the ice, Meetuck and Fred fired
simultaneously, and when the smoke cleared away the old bear was
stretched out in death. Hitherto the cub had acted exclusively on the
defensive, and intrusted itself entirely to the protection of its dam;
but now it seemed to change its character entirely. It sprang upon its
mother's body, and, assuming an attitude of extreme ferocity, kept the
dogs at bay, snapping and snarling right and left until the hunters came
up.

For the first time since the chase began a feeling, of intense pity
touched Fred's heart, and he would have rejoiced at that moment had the
mother risen up and made her escape with her cub. He steeled his heart,
however, by reflecting that fresh provisions were much wanted on board
the _Dolphin_; still, neither he nor his shipmates could bring
themselves to shoot the gallant little animal, and it is possible that
they might have made up their minds to allow it to escape after all, had
not Meetuck quietly ended their difficulty by putting a ball through its
heart.

"Ah! then, Meetuck," said O'Riley, shaking his head as they examined
their prize, "ye're a hardhearted spalpeen, ye are, to kill a poor
little baby like that in cowld blood. Well, well, it's yer natur', an'
yer trade, so I s'pose it's all right."

The weight of this bear, which was not of the largest size, was
afterwards found to be above five hundred pounds, and her length was
eight feet nine inches. The cub weighed upwards of a hundred pounds, and
was larger than a Newfoundland dog.

The operation of cutting out the entrails, preparatory to packing on the
sledge, was now commenced by Meetuck, whose practised hand applied the
knife with the skill, though not with the delicacy, of a surgeon.

"She has been a hungry bear, it seems," remarked Fred, as he watched the
progress of the work, "if we may judge from the emptiness of her
stomach."

"Och! but she's had a choice morsel, if it was a small wan," exclaimed
O'Riley in surprise, as he picked up a plug of tobacco. On further
examination being made, it was found that this bear had dined on
raisins, tobacco, pork, and adhesive plaster! Such an extraordinary
mixture of articles, of course, led the party to conclude that either
she had helped herself to the stores of the _Dolphin_ placed on Store
Island, or that she had fallen in with those of some other vessel. This
subject afforded food for thought and conversation during the next hour
or two, as they drove towards the ship along the ice-belt of the shore.

The ice-belt referred to is a zone of ice which extends along the shore
from the unknown regions of the North. To the south it breaks up in
summer and disappears altogether, but in the latitude which our
travellers had now reached, it was a permanent feature of the scenery
all the year round, following the curvatures and indentations of bays
and rivers, and increasing in winter or diminishing in summer, but never
melting entirely away. The surface of this ice-belt was covered with
immense masses of rock many tons in weight, which had fallen from the
cliffs above. Pointing to one of these as they drove along, West
remarked to Fred,--

"There is a mystery explained, sir. I have often wondered how huge,
solitary stones, that no machinery of man's making could lift, have come
to be placed on sandy shores where there were no other rocks of any kind
within many miles of them. The ice must have done it, I see."

"True, West. The ice, if it could speak, would explain many things that
now seem to us mysterious; and yonder goes a big rock on a journey that
may perhaps terminate at a thousand miles to the south of this."

The rock referred to was a large mass that became detached from the
cliffs and fell, as he spoke, with a tremendous crash upon the ice-belt,
along which it rolled for fifty yards. There it would lie all winter,
and in spring the mass of ice to which it was attached would probably
break off and float away with it to the south, gradually melting until
it allowed the rock to sink to the bottom of the sea, or depositing it,
perchance, on some distant shore, where such rocks are not wont to
lie--there to remain an object of speculation and wonderment to the
unlearned of all future ages.

Some of the bergs close to which they passed on the journey were very
fantastically formed, and many of them were more than a mile long, with
clear, blue, glassy surfaces, indicating that they had been but recently
thrown off from the great glacier of the North. Between two of these
they drove for some time, before they found that they were going into a
sort of blind alley.

"Sure the road's gittin' narrower," observed O'Riley, as he glanced up
at the blue walls, which rose perpendicularly to a height of sixty feet
on either hand. "Have a care, Meetuck, or ye'll jam us up, ye will."

"'Tis a pity we left the ice-belt," remarked Fred, "for this rough work
among the bergs is bad for man and dog. How say you, Meetuck--shall we
take to it again when we get through this place?"

"Faix, then, we'll nive'r git through," said O'Riley, pointing to the
end of the chasm, where a third iceberg had entirely closed the opening.

The Esquimau pulled up, and after advancing on foot a short way to
examine, returned with a rueful expression on his countenance.

"Ha! no passage, I suppose?" said Fred.

"Bad luck to ye!" cried O'Riley, "won't ye spaak?"

"No rod--muss go bock," replied Meetuck, turning the dogs in the
direction whence they had come, and resuming his place on the sledge.

The party had to retrace their steps half-a-mile in consequence of this
unfortunate interruption, and return to the level track of the ice-belt,
which they had left for a time and taken to the sea-ice, in order to
avoid the sinuosities of the land. To add to their misfortunes, the dogs
began to flag, so that they were obliged to walk behind the sledge at a
slow pace, and snow began to fall heavily. But they pressed forward
manfully, and having regained the shore-ice, continued to make their way
northward towards the ship, which was now spoken of by the endearing
name of home.



CHAPTER XIV.

_Departure of the sun--Effects of darkness on dogs--Winter arrangements
in the interior of the "Dolphin."_


It is sad to part with an old friend, especially if he be one of the
oldest and best friends we ever had. When the day of departure arrives,
it is of no avail that he tells us kindly he will come back again. That
assurance is indeed a comfort after he is gone, and a sweet star of hope
that shines brighter and brighter each day until he comes back; but it
is poor consolation to us at the time of parting, when we are squeezing
his hand for the last time, and trying to crush back the drops that
_will_ overflow.

The crew of the _Dolphin_ had, in the course of that winter, to part
with one of their best friends; one whom they regarded with the most
devoted attachment; one who was not expected to return again till the
following spring, and one, therefore, whom some of them might, perhaps,
never see again.

Mivins became quite low-spirited about it, and said "as 'ow 'e'd 'ave a
'eavy 'eart for _h_ever and _h_ever, _h_amen," after he was gone.
O'Riley remarked, in reference to his departure, that every man in the
ship was about to lose a _son_! Yes, indeed he did; he perpetrated that
atrocious pun, and wasn't a bit ashamed of it. O'Riley had perpetrated
many a worse pun than that before; it's to be hoped for the credit of
his country he has perpetrated a few better ones since!

Yes, the period at length arrived when the great source of light and
heat was about to withdraw his face from these Arctic navigators for a
long, long time, and leave them in unvarying night. It was a good while,
however, before he went away altogether, and for many weeks after winter
set in in all its intensity, he paid them a daily visit which grew
gradually shorter and shorter, until that sad evening in which he
finally bade them farewell.

About the middle of October the dark months overspread the Bay of Mercy,
and the reign of perpetual night began. There was something terribly
depressing at first in this uninterrupted gloom, and for some time after
the sun ceased to show his disk above the horizon the men of the
_Dolphin_ used to come on deck at noon, and look out for the faint
streak of light that indicated the presence of the life-giving luminary
with all the earnestness and longing of Eastern fire-worshippers.

The dogs, too, became sensibly affected by the continued absence of
light, and seemed to draw more sympathetically than ever to their human
companions in banishment. A curious and touching instance of this
feeling was exhibited when the pack were sent to sleep on Store Island.
A warm kennel had been erected for them there, partly in order that the
ship might be kept more thoroughly clean, and partly that the dogs might
act as a guard over the stores, in case bears or wolves should take a
fancy to examine them. But nothing would induce the poor animals to keep
away from the ship and remain beyond the sound of human voices. They
deserted their comfortable abode with one consent the first time they
were sent to it, preferring to spend the night by the side of the ship
upon the bare snow. Coaxing them was of no use. O'Riley tried it in
vain.

"Ah! then," said he to Dumps with a wheedling air and expression of
intense affection that would have taken by storm the heart of any
civilized dog, "_won't_ ye come now an' lay in yer own kennel? Sure it's
a beautiful wan, an' as warm as the heart of an iceberg. Doo come now,
avic, an' I'll show ye the way."

But Dumps's heart was marble; he wouldn't budge. By means of a piece of
walrus, however, he was at length induced to go with the Irishman to the
kennel, and was followed by the entire pack. Here O'Riley endeavoured to
make them comfortable, and prevailed on them to lie down and go to
sleep; but whenever he attempted to leave them, they were up and at his
heels in a moment.

"Och! but ye're too fond o' me intirely, Doo lie down agin, and I'll
sing ye a ditty?"

True to his word, O'Riley sat down by the dog-kennel, and gave vent to a
howl which his "owld grandmother," he said, "used to sing to the pig;"
and whether it was the effects of this lullaby, or of the cold, it is
impossible to say, but O'Riley at length succeeded in slipping away and
regaining the ship, unobserved by his canine friends. Half-an-hour later
he went on deck to take a mouthful of fresh air before supper, and on
looking over the side he saw the whole pack of dogs lying in a circle
close to the ship, with Dumps comfortably asleep in the middle, and
using Poker's back for a pillow.

"Faix, but ye must be fond of the cowld to lie there all night when
ye've got a palace on Store Island."

"Fond of society, rather," observed Captain Guy, who came on deck at the
moment; "the poor creatures cannot bear to be left alone. It is a
strange quality in dogs which I have often observed before."

"Have ye, capting? Sure I thought it was all owin' to the bad manners o'
that baste Dumps, which is for iver leadin' the other dogs into
mischief."

"Supper's ready, sir," said Mivins, coming up the hatchway, and touching
his cap.

"Look here, Mivins," said O'Riley, as the captain went below, "can you
point out the mornin' star to me, lad?"

"The morning star?" said Mivins slowly, as he thrust his hands into the
breast of his jumper, and gazed upwards into the dark sky, where the
starry host blazed in Arctic majesty. "No, _h_of course, I can't. Why,
don't you know that there _h_ain't no _morning_ star when it's _night_
all round?"

"Faix ye're right. I niver thought o' that."

Mivins was evidently a little puffed up with a feeling of satisfaction
at the clever way in which he had got out of the difficulty, without
displaying his ignorance of astronomy, and was even venturing, in the
pride of his heart, to make some speculative and startling assertions in
regard to the "'eavenly bodies" generally, when Buzzby put his head up
the hatchway.

"Hallo! messmates, wot's ado now? Here's the supper awaitin', and the
tea bilin' like blazes!"

Mivins instantly dived down below, as the sailors express it; and we may
remark, in passing, that the expression, in this particular case, was
not inappropriate, for Mivins, as we have elsewhere said, was remarkably
agile and supple, and gave beholders a sort of impression that he went
head-foremost at everything. O'Riley followed at a more reasonable rate,
and in a few minutes the crew of the _Dolphin_ were seated at supper in
the cabin, eating with as much zest, and laughing and chatting as
blithely, as if they were floating calmly on their ocean home in
temperate climes. Sailors are proverbially light-hearted, and in their
moments of comfort and social enjoyment they easily forget their
troubles. The depression of spirits that followed the first
disappearance of the sun soon wore off, and they went about their
various avocations cheerfully by the light of the aurora borealis and
the stars.

The cabin, in which they now all lived together, had undergone
considerable alterations. After the return of Fred Ellice and the
hunting-party, whom we left on the ice-belt in the last chapter, the
bulk-head, or partition, which separated the cabin from the hold had
been taken down, and the whole was thrown into one large apartment, in
order to secure a freer circulation of air and warmth. All round the
walls inside of this apartment moss was piled to the depth of twelve
inches to exclude the cold, and this object was further gained by the
spreading of a layer of moss on the deck above. The cabin hatchway was
closed, and the only entrance was at the farther end, through the hold,
by means of a small doorway in the bulk-head, to which was attached a
sort of porch, with a curtain of deer-skins hung in front of it. In the
centre of the floor stood an iron cooking-stove, which served at once
the purpose of preparing food and warming the cabin, which was lighted
by several small oil lamps. These were kept burning perpetually, for
there was no distinction between day and night in mid-winter, either in
the cabin or out of doors.

In this snug-looking place the officers and men of the ship messed, and
dwelt, and slept together; but, notwithstanding the _apparent_ snugness,
it was with the greatest difficulty they could keep themselves in a
sufficient degree of warmth to maintain health and comfort. Whenever the
fire was allowed to get low, the beams overhead became coated with
hoar-frost; and even when the temperature was raised to the utmost
possible pitch, it was cold enough, at the extreme ends of the
apartment, to freeze a jug of water solid.

A large table occupied the upper end of the cabin between the stove and
the stern, and round this the officers and crew were seated when O'Riley
entered and took his place among them. Each individual had his appointed
place at the mess-table, and with unvarying regularity these places were
filled at the appointed hours.

"The dogs seem to be disobedient," remarked Amos Parr, as his comrade
sat down; "they'd be the better of a taste o' Meetuck's cat, I think."

"It's truth ye're sayin'," replied O'Riley, commencing a violent assault
on a walrus-steak; "they don't obey orders at all, at all. An' Dumps,
the blaggard, is as cross-grained as me grandmother's owld pig--"

A general laugh here interrupted the speaker, for O'Riley could seldom
institute a disparaging comparison without making emphatic allusion to
the pig that once shared with him the hospitalities of his grandmother's
cabin.

"Why, everything you speak of seems to be like that wonderful pig,
messmate," said Peter Grim.

"Ye're wrong there intirely," retorted O'Riley. "I niver seed nothing
like it in all me thravels except yerself, and that only in regard to
its muzzle, which was black and all kivered over with bristles, it wos.
I'll throuble you for another steak, messmate; that walrus is great
livin'.--We owe ye thanks for killin' it, Mister Ellice."

"You're fishing for compliments, but I'm afraid I have none to give
you. Your first harpoon, you know, was a little wide of the mark, if I
recollect right, wasn't it?"

"Yis, it wos--about as wide as the first bullet. I mis-remember exactly
who fired it--wos it you, Meetuck?"

Meetuck, being deeply engaged with a junk of fat meat at that moment,
expressed all he had to say in a convulsive gasp without interrupting
his supper.

"Try a bit of the bear," said Fred to Tom Singleton; "it's better than
the walrus to my taste."

"I'd rather not," answered Tom, with a dubious shake of the head.

"It's a most unconscionable thing to eat a beast o' that sort," remarked
Saunders gravely.

"Especially one who has been in the habit of living on raisins and
sticking-plaster," said Bolton with a grin.

"I have been thinking about that," said Captain Guy, who had been for
some time listening in silence to the conversation, "and I cannot help
thinking that Esquimaux must have found a wreck somewhere in this
neighbourhood and carried away her stores, which Bruin had managed to
steal from them."

"May they not have got some of the stores of the brig we saw nipped some
months ago?" suggested Singleton.

"Possibly they may."

"I dinna think that's likely," said Saunders, shaking his head. "Yon
brig had been deserted long ago, and her stores must have been consumed,
if they were taken out of her at all, before we thought o' comin' here."

For some time the party in the cabin ate in silence.

"We must wait patiently," resumed the captain, as if he were tired of
following up a fruitless train of thought. "What of your theatricals,
Fred? we must get them set a-going as soon as possible."

The captain spoke animatedly, for he felt that, with the prospect of a
long dark winter before them, it was of the greatest importance that the
spirits of the men should be kept up.

"I find it difficult to beat up recruits," answered Fred, laughing;
"Peter Grim has flatly refused to act, and O'Riley says he could no more
learn a part off by heart than--"

"His grandmother's pig could," interrupted David Mizzle, who, having
concluded supper, now felt himself free to indulge in conversation.

"Och! ye spalpeen," whispered the Irishman.

"I have written out the half of a play which I hope to produce in a few
days on the boards of our Arctic theatre with a talented company, but I
must have one or two more men--one to act the part of a lady. Will you
take that part, Buzzby?"

"Wot! _me_?" cried the individual referred to with a stare of amazement.

"Oh yes! _do_, Buzzby," cried several of the men with great delight.
"You're just cut out for it."

"Blue eyes," said one.

"Fair hair," cried another.

"And plump," said a third.

"Wid cheeks like the hide of a walrus," cried O'Riley; "but, sure, it
won't show wid a veil on."

"Come, now, you won't refuse."

But Buzzby did refuse; not, however, so determinedly but that he was
induced at last to allow his name to be entered in Fred's note-book as a
supernumerary.

"Hark!" cried the captain; "surely the dogs must have smelt a bear."

There was instantly a dead silence in the cabin, and a long, loud wail
from the dogs was heard outside.

"It's not like their usual cry when game is near," said the second mate.

"Hand me my rifle, Mivins," said the captain, springing up and pulling
forward the hood of his jumper, as he hurried on deck followed by the
crew.

It was a bright, still, frosty night, and the air felt intensely sharp,
as if needles were pricking the skin, while the men's breath issued from
their lips in white clouds and settled in hoar-frost on the edges of
their hoods. The dogs were seen galloping about the ice-hummocks as if
in agitation, darting off to a considerable distance at times, and
returning with low whines to the ship.

"It is very strange," remarked the captain. "Jump down on the ice, boys,
and search for footprints. Extend as far as Store Island, and see that
all is right there."

In a few seconds the men scattered themselves right and left, and were
lost in the gloom, while the vessel was left in charge of Mivins and
four men. A strict search was made in all directions, but no traces of
animals could be found; the stores on the island were found undisturbed;
and gradually the dogs ceased their agitated gyrations, and seemed
inclined to resume their slumbers on the ice.

Seeing this, and supposing that they were merely restless, Captain Guy
recalled his men, and not long after every man in the cabin of the
_Dolphin_ was buried in profound slumber.



CHAPTER XV.

_Strangers appear on the scene--The Esquimaux are hospitably entertained
by the sailors--A spirited, traffic--Thieving propensities and summary
justice._


Dumps sat on the top of a hummock, about quarter of a mile from the
ship, with an expression of subdued melancholy on his countenance, and
thinking, evidently, about nothing at all. Poker sat in front of him
gazing earnestly and solemnly right into his eyes with a look that said,
as plain as if he had spoken, "What a tremendously stupid old fellow you
are, to be sure!" Having sat thus for full five minutes, Dumps wagged
his tail. Poker, observing the action, returned the compliment with his
stump. Then Poker sprang up and barked savagely, as much as to say,
"Play, won't you?" but Dumps wouldn't; so Poker endeavoured to relieve
his mind by gambolling violently round him.

We would not have drawn your attention, reader, to the antics of our
canine friends, were it not for the fact that these antics attracted the
notice of a personage who merits particular description. This was no
other than one of the Esquimau inhabitants of the land--a woman, and
_such_ a woman! Most people would have pronounced her a man, for she
wore precisely the same dress--fur jumper and long boots--that was worn
by the men of the _Dolphin_. Her lips were thick and her nose was blunt;
she wore her hair turned up, and twisted into a knot on the top of her
head; her hood was thrown back, and inside of this hood there was a
baby--a small and a very fat baby! It was, so to speak, a conglomerate
of dumplings. Its cheeks were two dumplings, and its arms were four
dumplings--one above each elbow and one below. Its hands, also, were two
smaller dumplings, with ten extremely little dumplings at the end of
them. This baby had a nose, of course, but it was so small that it might
as well have had none; and it had a mouth, too, but that was so
capacious that the half of it would have been more than enough for a
baby double the size. As for its eyes they were large and black--black
as two coals--and devoid of all expression save that of astonishment.

Such were the pair that stood on the edge of the ice-belt gazing down
upon Dumps and Poker. And no sooner did Dumps and Poker catch sight of
them than they sprang hastily towards them, wagging their tails--or,
more correctly speaking, their tail and a quarter. But on a nearer
approach those sagacious animals discovered that the woman and her child
were strangers, whereupon they set up a dismal howl, and fled towards
the ship as fast as they could run.

Now, it so happened that, at this very time, the howl of the dogs fell
upon the ears of two separate parties of travellers--the one was a band
of Esquimaux who were moving about in search of seals and walruses, to
which band this woman and her baby belonged; the other was a party of
men under command of Buzzby, who were returning to the ship after an
unsuccessful hunt. Neither party saw the other, for one approached from
the east, the other from the west, and the ice-belt, on the point of
which the woman stood, rose up between them.

"Hallo! what's yon?" exclaimed Peter Grim, who was first to observe the
woman.

"Dun'no'," said Buzzby, halting; "it looks like a bear."

"Faix an' it is, then, it's got a young wan on its back," cried O'Riley.

"We had better advance and find out," remarked West, as he led the way,
while several of the men threw up their arms in token of their friendly
intentions. O'Riley capered somewhat extravagantly as he drew near,
partly with the intention of expressing his feelings of good-will
towards the unknown, and partly in order to relieve the excitement
caused by the unexpected apparition.

These demonstrations, however, had the effect of terrifying the woman,
who wheeled suddenly round and made off.

"Och! it _is_ a man. Hooray, boys! give chase."

"Men don't usually carry babies on their backs and tie their hair up
into top-knots," remarked Grim, as he darted past in pursuit.

A few seconds sufficed to enable Grim to overtake the woman, who fell
on her knees the instant she felt the sailor's heavy hand on her
shoulder.

"Don't be afeard, we won't hurt ye," said Buzzby in a soothing tone,
patting the woman on the head and raising her up.

"No, avic, we's yer frinds; we'll not harm a hair o' yer beautiful head,
we won't. Ah! then, it's a swate child, it is, bless its fat face," said
O'Riley, stroking the baby's head tenderly with his big hand.

It was with difficulty that the poor creature's fears were calmed at
first, but the genuine tenderness displayed by the men towards the baby,
and the perfect complacency with which that conglomerate of dumplings
received their caresses, soon relieved her mind, and she began to regard
her captors with much curiosity, while they endeavoured by signs and
words to converse with her. Unfortunately Meetuck was not with the
party, he having been left on board ship to assist in a general cleaning
of the cabin that had been instituted that day.

"Sure, now, ye don't know how to talk with a girl at all, ye don't; let
_me_ try," cried O'Riley, after several of the party had made numerous
ineffectual attempts to convey their meaning. "Listen to _me_, darlint,
and don't mind them stupid grampuses. Where have ye comed from, now?
tell me, dear, _doo_ now."

O'Riley accompanied the question with a smile of ineffable sweetness and
a great deal of energetic pantomime, which, doubtless, explained much
of his meaning to himself, but certainly to no one else.

"Ah! then, ye don't understand me? Well, well, now, isn't that strange?
Look you, avic, have ye seen a brig or a brig's crew anywhere betune
this and the north pole?--try, now, an' remimber." He illustrated this
question by holding up both arms straight above his head to represent
the masts of a brig, and sticking his right leg straight out in front of
him, to represent the bowsprit; but the woman gazed at him with an air
of obtuse gravity that might have damped the hopes even of an Irishman.
O'Riley prided himself, however, on not being easily beat, and despite
his repeated failures, and the laughter of his messmates, was proceeding
to make a third effort, when a loud shout from the cliffs caused the
whole party to start and turn their eyes in that direction. The cry had
been uttered by a figure whose costume bore so close a resemblance to
that which they themselves wore, that they thought for a moment it was
one of their own shipmates; but a second glance proved that they were
mistaken, for the individual in question carried a spear, which he
brandished with exceedingly fierce and warlike intentions.

"Faix it must be her husband," said O'Riley.

"Hallo! lads, there's more on 'em," cried Grim, as ten or twelve
Esquimaux emerged from the rents and caverns, of the ice-belt, and
scrambling to the top of surrounding hummocks and eminences, gazed
towards the party of white men, while they threw about their arms and
legs, and accompanied their uncouth and violent gesticulations with
loud, excited cries. "I've a notion," he added, "that it was the scent
o' them chaps set the dogs off after yon strange fashion t'other night."

It was evident that the Esquimaux were not only filled with unbounded
astonishment at this Unexpected meeting With strangers, but were also
greatly alarmed to see one of their own women in their power.

"Let's send the woman over to them," suggested one of the men.

"No, no; keep her as a hostage," said another.

"Look out, lads," cried Buzzby, hastily examining the priming of his
musket, as additional numbers of the wild inhabitants of the North
appeared on the scene, and crowned the ice-belt and the hummocks around
them. "Let's show a bold front. Draw up in single line and hold on to
the woman. West, put her in front."

The men instantly drew up in battle array, and threw forward their
muskets; but as there were only a dozen of them, they presented a very
insignificant group compared with the crowds of Esquimaux who appeared
on the ice in front of them.

"Now, then, stand fast, men, and I'll show ye wot's the way to manage
them chaps. Keep yer weather-eyes open, and don't let them git in rear
of ye."

So saying, Buzzby took the Woman by the arm and led her out a few yards
in front of his party, while the Esquimaux drew closer together, to
prepare either to receive or make an attack, as the case might be. He
then laid his musket down on the ice, and, still holding the woman by
the arm, advanced boldly towards the natives unarmed. On approaching to
within about twenty yards of them he halted, and raised both arms above
his head as a sign of friendship. The signal was instantly understood,
and one big fellow leaped boldly from his elevated position on a lump of
ice, threw down his spear, and ran to meet the stranger.

In a few minutes Buzzby and the Esquimau leader came to a mutual
understanding as to the friendly disposition of their respective
parties, and the woman was delivered up to this big fellow, who turned
out to be her husband after all, as O'Riley had correctly guessed. The
other Esquimaux, seeing the amicable terms on which the leaders met,
crowded in and surrounded them.

"Leave the half o' ye to guard the arms, and come on the rest of ye
without 'em," shouted Buzzby.

The men obeyed, and in a few minutes the two parties mingled together
with the utmost confidence. The sailors, however, deemed it prudent to
get possession of their arms again as soon as possible; and after
explaining as well as they could by signs that their home was only at a
short distance, the whole band started off for the ship. The natives
were in a most uproarious state of hilarity, and danced and yelled as
they ambled along in their hairy dresses, evidently filled with delight
at the prospect of forming a friendship with the white strangers, as
they afterwards termed the crew of the _Dolphin_, although some of the
said crew were, from exposure, only a few shades lighter than
themselves.

Captain Guy was busily engaged with Fred Ellice and Tom Singleton in
measuring and registering the state of the tide, when this riotous band
turned the point of the ice-belt to the northward, and came suddenly
into view.

"Jump down below, Fred, and fetch my rifle and sword; there are the
natives!" cried the captain, seizing his telescope.--"Call all hands,
Mivins, and let them arm; look alive!"

"All 'ands, _ahoy_!" shouted the steward, looking down the hatchway;
"tumble up there, tumble up, 'ere come the Heskimows. Bring your harms
with ye. Look alive!"

"Ay, ay!" shouted the men from below, and in a few minutes they crowded
up the hatchway, pulling up their hoods and hauling on their mittens,
for it was intensely cold.

"Why, captain, there are some of our men with them," exclaimed Tom
Singleton, as he looked through his pocket-glass at them.

"So there are,--I see Buzzby and Grim. Come, that's fortunate, for they
must have made friends with them, which it is not always easy to do.
Hide your muskets, men, but keep on your cutlasses; it's as well to be
prepared, though I don't expect to find those people troublesome. Is the
soup in the coppers, David Mizzle?"

"Yes, sir, it is."

"Then put in an extra junk of pork, and fill it up to the brim."

While the cook went below to obey this order, the captain and half of
the crew descended to the ice, and advanced unarmed to meet the natives.
The remainder of the men stayed behind to guard the ship, and be ready
to afford succour if need be. But the precaution was unnecessary, for
the Esquimaux met the sailors in the most frank and confiding manner,
and seemed quite to understand Captain Guy when he drew a line round the
ship, and stationed sentries along it to prevent them from crossing. The
natives had their dogs and sledges with them, and the former they
picketed to the ice, while a few of their number, and the woman, whose
name was Aninga, were taken on board and hospitably entertained.

It was exceedingly interesting and amusing to observe the feelings of
amazement and delight expressed by those barbarous but good-humoured and
intelligent people at everything they saw. While food was preparing for
them, they were taken round the ship, on deck and below, and the sailors
explained, in pantomime, the uses of everything. They laughed, and
exclaimed, and shouted, and even roared with delight, and touched
everything with their fingers, just as monkeys are wont to do when let
loose. Captain Guy took Aninga and her tall husband, Awatok, to the
cabin, where, through the medium of Meetuck, he explained the object of
their expedition, and questioned the chief as to his knowledge of the
country. Unfortunately Awatok and his band had travelled from the
interior to the coast, and never having been more than twenty or thirty
miles to the north of the Bay of Mercy, could give no information either
in regard to the formation of the coast or the possibility of Europeans
having wintered there. In fact, neither he nor his countrymen had ever
seen Europeans before, and they were so much excited that it was
difficult to obtain coherent answers to questions. The captain,
therefore, postponed further inquiries until they had become somewhat
accustomed to the novelty of their position.

Meanwhile, David Mizzle furnished them with a large supply of pea-soup,
which they seemed to relish amazingly. Not so, however, the salt pork
with which it had been made. They did, indeed, condescend to eat it, but
they infinitely preferred a portion of raw walrus-flesh, which had been
reserved as food for the dogs, and which they would speedily have
consumed had it not been removed out of their reach. Having finished
this, they were ordered to return to their camp on the ice beside the
ship, and a vigorous barter was speedily begun.

First of all, however, a number of presents were made to them, and it
would really have done your heart good, reader, to have witnessed the
extravagant joy displayed by them on receiving such trifles as bits of
hoop-iron, beads, knives, scissors, needles, etc. Iron is as precious
among them as gold is among civilized people. The small quantities they
possessed of it had been obtained from the few portions of wrecks that
had drifted ashore in their ice-bound land. They used it for pointing
their spear-heads and harpoons, which, in default of iron, were
ingeniously made of ivory from the tusks of the walrus and the horn of
the narwal. A bit of iron, therefore, was received with immense glee,
and a penny looking-glass with shouts of delight.

But the present which drew forth the most uproarious applause was a
Union Jack, which the captain gave to their chief, Awatok. He was in the
cabin when it was presented to him. On seeing its gaudy colours
unrolled, and being told that it was a gift to himself and his wife, he
caught his breath, and stared, as if in doubt, alternately at the flag
and the captain; then he gave vent to a tremendous shout, seized the
flag, hugged it in his arms, and darted up on deck literally _roaring_
with delight. The sympathetic hearts of the natives on the ice echoed
the cry before they knew the cause of it; but when they beheld the
prize, they yelled, and screamed, and danced, and tossed their arms in
the air in the most violent manner.

"They're all mad, ivery mother's son o' them," exclaimed O'Riley, who
for some time had been endeavouring to barter an old rusty knife for a
pair of seal-skin boots.

"They looks like it," said Grim, who stood looking on with his legs
apart and his arms crossed, and grinning from ear to ear.

To add to the confusion, the dogs became affected with the spirit of
excitement that filled their masters, and gave vent to their feelings in
loud and continuous howling which nothing could check. The imitative
propensity of these singular people was brought rather oddly into play
during the progress of traffic. Buzzby had produced a large roll of
tobacco--which they knew the use of, having been already shown how to
use a pipe--and cut off portions of it, which he gave in exchange for
fox-skins, and deer-skins, and seal-skin boots. Observing this, a very
sly, old Esquimau began to slice up a deer-skin into little pieces,
which he intended to offer for the small pieces of tobacco! He was
checked, however, before doing much harm to the skin, and the principles
of exchange were more perfectly explained to him.

The skins and boots, besides walrus and seal flesh, which the crew were
enabled to barter at this time, were of the utmost importance, for their
fresh provisions had begun to get low, and their boots were almost worn
out, so that the scene of barter was exceedingly animated. Davie Summers
and his master, Mivins, shone conspicuous as bargain makers, and carried
to their respective bunks a large assortment of native articles. Fred,
and Tom Singleton, too, were extremely successful, and in a few hours a
sufficient amount of skins were bartered to provide them with clothing
for the winter. The quantity of fresh meat obtained, however, was not
enough to last them a week, for the Esquimaux lived from hand to mouth,
and the crew felt that they must depend on their own exertions in the
hunt for this indispensable article of food, without which they could
not hope to escape the assaults of the sailors' dread enemy, scurvy.

Meetuck's duties were not light upon this occasion, as you may suppose.

"Arrah! then, _don't_ ye onderstand me?" cried O'Riley, in an excited
tone, to a particularly obtuse and remarkably fat Esquimau, who was
about as sharp at a bargain as himself.--"Hallo! Meetuck, come here, do,
and tell this pork-faced spalpeen what I'm sayin'. Sure I couldn't spake
plainer av I wos to try."

"I'll never get this fellow to understand," said Fred.--"Meetuck, my
boy, come here and explain to him."

"Ho! Meetuck," shouted Peter Grim, "give this old blockhead a taste o'
your lingo, I never met his match for stupidity."

"I do believe that this rascal wants the 'ole of this ball o' twine for
the tusk of a sea-'oss.--Meetuck! w'ere's Meetuck? I say, give us a 'and
'ere, like a good fellow," cried Mivins; but Mivins cried in vain, for
at that moment Saunders had violently collared the interpreter and dragged
him towards an old Esquimau woman, whose knowledge of Scotch had not
proved sufficient to enable her to understand the energetically-expressed
words of the second mate.

During all this time the stars had been twinkling brightly in the sky,
and the aurora shed a clear light upon the scene, while the air was
still calm and cold; but a cloud or two now began to darken the horizon
to the north-east, and a puff of wind blew occasionally over the icy
plain, and struck with such chilling influence on the frames of the
traffickers, that with one consent they closed their business for that
day, and the Esquimaux prepared to return to their snow village, which
was about ten miles to the southward, and which village had been erected
by them only three days previous to their discovery of the ship.

"I'm sorry to find," remarked the captain to those who were standing
near him, "that these poor creatures have stolen a few trifling articles
from below. I don't like to break the harmonious feeling which now
exists between us for the sake of a few worthless things, but I know
that it does more harm than good to pass over an offence with the
natives of these regions, for they attribute our forbearance to fear."

"Perhaps you had better tax them with the theft," suggested the surgeon;
"they may confess it, if we don't look very angry."

A few more remarks were made by several of those who stood on the
quarter-deck, suggesting a treatment of the Esquimaux which was not of
the gentlest nature, for they felt indignant that their hospitality had
been abused.

"No, no," replied the captain to such suggestions, "we must exercise
forbearance. These poor fellows do not regard theft in the same light
that we do; besides, it would be foolish to risk losing their
friendship. Go down, Meetuck, and invite Awatok and his wife, and
half-a-dozen of the chief men, into the cabin. Say I wish to have a talk
with them."

The interpreter obeyed, and in a few minutes the officers of the ship
and the chiefs of the Esquimaux were assembled in solemn conclave round
the cabin table.

"Tell them, Meetuck," said the captain, "that I know they have stolen
two pieces of hoop-iron and a tin kettle, and ask them why they were so
ungrateful as to do it."

The Esquimaux, who were becoming rather alarmed at the stern looks of
those around them, protested earnestly that they knew nothing about it,
and that they had not taken the things referred to.

"Say that I do not believe them," answered the captain sternly. "It is
an exceedingly wicked thing to steal and to tell lies. White men think
those who are guilty of such conduct to be very bad."

"Ah, ye villain!" cried Saunders, seizing one of the Esquimaux named
Oosuck by the shoulder, and drawing forth an iron spoon which he
observed projecting from the end of his boot.

An exclamation of surprise and displeasure burst from the officers, but
the Esquimaux gave vent to a loud laugh. They evidently thought stealing
to be no sin, and were not the least ashamed of being detected. Awatok,
however, was an exception. He looked grave and annoyed, but whether this
was at being found out, or at the ingratitude of his people, they could
not decide.

"Tell them," said the captain, "that I am much displeased. If they
promise to return the stolen goods immediately, I will pass over their
offence this time, and we will trade together, and live like brothers,
and do each other good; but if not, and if any more articles are taken,
I will punish them."

Having had this translated to them, the chiefs were dismissed, but the
expression of indifference on some of their faces proved that no
impression had been made upon them.

In a quarter of an hour the articles that had been mentioned as missing
were returned; and in order to restore harmony, several plugs of tobacco
and a few additional trinkets were returned by the messenger. Soon
after, the dogs were harnessed, the sledges packed, and, with many
protestations of good-will on both sides, the parties separated. A few
cracks of their long whips, a few answering howls from the dogs, and the
Esquimaux were off and out of sight, leaving the _Dolphin_ in her former
solitude under the shadow of the frowning cliffs.

"Fetch me the telescope, Mivins," said the captain, calling down the
hatchway.

"Ay, ay, sir," answered the steward.

"Where's my hatchet?" cried Peter Grim, striding about the deck and
looking into every corner in search of his missing implement. "It's my
best one, and I can't get on without it, nohow."

The captain bit his lip, for he knew full well the cause of its
absence.

"Please, sir," said the steward, coming on deck with a very perturbed
expression of countenance, "the--the--a--"

"Speak out, man! what's the matter with you?"

"The glass ain't nowhere to be seen, sir."

"Turn up all hands!" shouted the captain, jumping down the hatchway.
"Arm the men, Mr. Bolton, and order the largest sledge to be got ready
instantly. This will never do. Harness the whole team."

Instantly the _Dolphin's_ deck was a scene of bustling activity. Muskets
were loaded, jumpers and mittens put on, dogs caught and harnessed, and
every preparation made for a sudden chase.

"There, that will do," cried the Captain, hurrying on deck with a brace
of pistols and a cutlass in his belt, "six men are enough; let twelve of
the remainder follow on foot. Jump on the sledge, Grim and Buzzby;
O'Riley, you go too. Have a Care, Fred; not too near the front. Now,
Meetuck--"

One crack of the long whip terminated the sentence as if with a full
stop, and in another moment the sledge was bounding over the snow like a
feather at the tails of twelve dogs.

It was a long chase, for it was a "stern" one, but the Esquimaux never
dreamed of-pursuit, and as their dogs were not too well fed they had
progressed rather slowly. In less than two hours they were distinguished
on the horizon far off to the southward, winding their way among the
hummocks.

"Now, Meetuck," said the captain, "drive like the wind, and lay me
alongside of Awatok's sledge;--and be ready, men, to act."

"Ay, ay, sir," Was the prompt reply, as the heavy whip fell on the
flanks of the leaders.

A few minutes brought them up with Awatok's sledge, and Captain Guy,
leaping upon it with a clasp-knife in his hand, cut the traces in a
twinkling, set the dogs free, and turning round, seized the Esquimau by
the collar. The big chief at first showed a disposition to resent this
unceremonious treatment, but before he could move Grim seized his elbows
in his iron grasp, and tied them adroitly together behind his back with
a cord. At the same time poor Aninga and her baby were swiftly
transferred to the sailors' sledge.

Seeing this, the whole band of natives turned back and rushed in a body
to the rescue, flourishing their lances and yelling fiercely.

"Form line!" shouted the captain, handing Awatok and Aninga over to the
care of O'Riley. "Three of you on the right fire over their heads, and
let the rest reserve their fire. I will kill one of their dogs, for it
won't do to let them fancy that nothing but noise comes out of our
muskets. Ready--present!"

A rattling volley followed, and at the same moment one of the dogs fell
with a death-yell on the ice, and dyed it with its blood.

"Forward!" shouted the captain.

The men advanced in a body at a smart run; but the terrified Esquimaux,
who had never heard the report of fire-arms before, did not wait for
them. They turned and fled precipitately, but not before Grim captured
Oosuck, and dragged him forcibly to the rear, where he was pinioned and
placed on the sledge with the others.

"Now, then, lads, that will do; get upon the sledge again. Away with
you, Meetuck.--Look after Awatok, Grim; O'Riley will see that Aninga
does not jump off."

"That he will, darlint," said the Irishman, patting the woman on the
back.

"And I shall look after the baby," said Fred, chucking that series of
dumplings under the chin--an act of familiarity that seemed to afford it
immense satisfaction, for, notwithstanding the melancholy position of
its father and mother as prisoners, it smiled on Fred benignly.

In five minutes the party were far on their way back to the ship, and in
less than five hours after the Esquimaux had closed their barter and
left for their village, four of their number, including the baby, were
close prisoners in the _Dolphin's_ hold. It was not Captain Guy's
intention, however, to use unnecessarily harsh means for the recovery of
the missing articles. His object was to impress the Esquimaux with a
salutary sense of the power, promptitude, and courage of Europeans, and
to check at the outset their propensity for thieving. Having succeeded
in making two of their chief men prisoners, he felt assured that the
lost telescope and hatchet would soon make their appearance; and in this
he was not mistaken. Going to the hold where the prisoners sat with
downcast looks, he addressed to them a lengthened speech as to the sin
and meanness of stealing in general, and of stealing from those who had
been kind to them in particular. He explained to them the utter
hopelessness of their attempting to deceive or impose upon the white men
in any way whatever, and assured them that if they tried that sort of
thing again he would punish them severely; but that if they behaved
well, and brought plenty of walrus-flesh to the ship, he would give them
hoop-iron, beads, looking-glasses, etc. These remarks seemed to make a
considerable impression on his uncouth hearers.

"And now," said the captain in conclusion, "I shall keep Awatok and his
wife and child prisoners here, until my telescope and hatchet are
returned [Awatok's visage fell, and his wife looked stolid], and I shall
send Oosuck to his tribe [Oosuck's face lit up amazingly] to tell them
what I have said."

In accordance with this resolve Oosuck was set free, and, making use of
his opportunity, with prompt alacrity he sped away on foot over the ice
to the southward, and was quickly lost to view.



CHAPTER XVI.

_The Arctic Theatre enlarged upon--Great success of the first play--The
Esquimaux submit, and become fast friends._


The 1st of December was a great day on board the _Dolphin_, for on that
day it was announced to the crew that "The Arctic Theatre" would be
opened, under the able management of Mr. F. Ellice, with the play of
"Blunderbore; or, the Arctic Giant." The bill, of which two copies were
issued gratis to the crew, announced that the celebrated Peter Grim,
Esq., who had so long trodden the boards of the _Dolphin,_ with
unparalleled success, had kindly consented to appear in the character of
_Blunderbore_ for one winter only. The other parts were as
follows:--_Whackinta,_ a beautiful Esquimau widow, who had been captured
by two Polar bears, both of which were deeply in love with her, by
Frederick Ellice, Esq. _First Bear,_ a big one, by Terrence O'Riley,
Esq. _Second Bear_, a little one, by David Summers, Esq. _Ben Bolt_, a
brave British seaman, who had been wrecked in Blunderbore's desolate
dominions, all the crew having perished except himself, by John Buzzby,
Esq. These constituted the various characters of the piece, the name of
which had been kept a profound secret from the crew until the morning
of the day on which it was acted.

Fred's duties, as manager and author, upon this occasion were by no
means light, for his troop, being unaccustomed to study, found the
utmost difficulty in committing the simplest sentences to memory.
O'Riley turned out to be the sharpest among them, but having agreed to
impersonate the First Bear, and having to act his part in dumb
show--bears not being supposed capable of speech--his powers of memory
had not to be exerted. Grim was also pretty good; but Davie Summers
could not be got to remember even the general arrangements of the piece;
and as for Buzzby, he no sooner mastered a line than he forgot the one
before it, and almost gave it up in despair. But by dint of much study
and many rehearsals in secret, under the superintendence of Fred, and
Tom Singleton, who undertook to assist, they succeeded at last in going
through it with only a few mistakes.

On the morning of the 1st December, while the most of the crew were away
at Red-Snow Valley cutting moss, Fred collected his _corps dramatique_
for a last rehearsal in the forecastle, where they were secure from
interruption, the place being so cold that no one would willingly go
into it except under the force of necessity. A dim lantern lit up the
apartment faintly.

"We must do it without a mistake this time," said Fred Ellice, opening
his book, and calling upon Grim to begin.

"'Tis cold," began Grim.

"Stop, you're wrong."

"Oh! so I am," cried Grim, slapping his thigh, "I'll begin again."

It may be remarked here, that although Blunderbore was supposed to be an
Esquimau monarch, he was compelled to speak English, being unfortunately
ignorant--if we may so speak--of his native tongue!

"Oh! 'tis a dismal thing," began Grim again, "to dwell in solitude and
cold! 'Tis very cold [Grim shuddered here tremendously],
and--and--(what's next?)"

"Hunger," said Fred.

"Hunger gnaws my vitals. My name is Blunderbore. 'Twere better had I
been born a Blunder_buss_, 'cause then I'd have _gone off_ and dwelt in
climes more shootable to my tender constitoosion. Ha! is that a bear I
sees before me?"

"It's not _sees_," interrupted Fred.

At this moment a tremendous roar was heard, and O'Riley bounded from
behind a top-sail, which represented an iceberg, dressed from head to
foot in the skin of a white bear which had been killed a few days
before.

"Stop, O'Riley," cried Fred; "you're too soon, man. _I_ have to come on
first as an Esquimau woman, and when Grim says to the woman he wishes he
could see a bear, _then_ you are to come."

"Och! whirra, but me brains is confuged intirely wid it all," said
O'Riley, rising on his hind legs, and walking off with his tail,
literally as well as figuratively, between his legs.

"Now, Buzzby, now; it's _your_ time. When you hear the word 'misery,'
come on and fight like a Trojan with the bears. The doctor will remind
you."

Fred was remarkably patient and painstaking, and his pupils, though not
apt scholars, were willing, so that the morning rehearsal was gone
through with fewer mistakes than might have been expected; and when the
crew came back to dinner about mid-day, which, however, was as dark as
midnight, their parts were sufficiently well got up, and nothing
remained to be done but to arrange the stage and scenery for the
evening's entertainment--it having been resolved that the performance
should commence after supper. The stage was at the after part of the
cabin, and raised about a foot above the deck; and its management had
been intrusted to the doctor, who, assisted by Peter Grim, transformed
that portion of the ship into a scene so romantically beautiful that the
first sight of it petrified the crew with surprise. But until the
curtain should rise all arrangements were carefully concealed from every
one except the _dramatis personæ_. Even the captain and officers were
forbidden to peep behind the sail that formed a curtain to the stage;
and this secrecy, besides being necessary, was extremely useful,
inasmuch as it excited the curiosity of the men, and afforded them food
for converse and speculation for a week before the great day arrived.

The longed-for hour came at last. The cabin tables having been removed,
and rows of seats placed in front of the stage, the men were admitted
from the deck, to which they had been expelled an hour previous in order
not to impede preliminary arrangements. There was great joking, of
course, as they took their seats and criticised the fittings up. David
Mizzle was of opinion that the foot-lights "wos oncommon grand," which
was an unquestionable fact, for they consisted of six tin lamps filled
with seal-oil, from the wicks of which rose a compound of yellow flame
and smoke that had a singularly luminous effect. Amos Parr guessed that
the curtain would be certain sure to get jammed at the first haul, and
several of the others were convinced that O'Riley would stick his part
in one way or another. However, an end was put to all remarks and
expectation raised on tip-toe by the ringing of a small hand-bell, and
immediately thereafter a violent pulling at the curtain which concealed
the stage. But the curtain remained immovable (they always do on such
occasions), and a loud whispering was heard behind the scenes.

"Clap on extra tackle and call all hands to hoist away," suggested one
of the audience.

The laugh with which this advice was received was checked in the bud by
the sudden rising of the curtain with such violence that the whole
framework of the theatre shook again.

For a few seconds a dead silence reigned, for the men were stricken dumb
with genuine amazement at the scene before them. The stage was covered
with white sheets arranged in such a manner as to represent snow, and
the more effectually to carry out the idea several huge blocks of real
ice and a few patches of snow were introduced here and there, the cold
in the after part of the cabin being too great to permit of their
melting. A top-gallant-sail, on which were painted several blue cracks,
and some strong white lights did duty for an iceberg, and filled up the
whole back of the scene. In front of this, in the centre of the stage,
on an extemporized hummock, sat Peter Grim, as the Giant Blunderbore.
His colossal proportions were enhanced by the addition of an entire
white bear-skin to his ordinary hairy dress, and which was thrown round
his broad shoulders in the form of a tippet. A broad scarlet sash was
tied round his waist, and a crown of brown paper painted in alternate
diamonds of blue, red, and yellow sat upon his brow. Grim was in truth a
magnificent-looking fellow, with his black beard and moustache; and the
mock-heroic frown with which he gazed up (as one of the audience
suggested) at the aurora borealis, while he grasped an enormous club in
his right hand, became him well.

The first few seconds of dead silence with which this was received were
succeeded by a long and loud burst of applause, the heartiness of which
plainly showed that the scene far exceeded the expectations of the men.

"Bravo!" cried the captain, "excellent! nothing could be better."

"It beats natur', quite," said one.

"All to sticks," cried another.

"And wot a _tree_-mendous giant he makes. Three cheers for Peter Grim,
lads!"

Three cheers were promptly given with right goodwill, but the giant did
not move a muscle. He was far too deeply impressed with the importance
of playing his part well to acknowledge the compliment. Having gazed
long enough to enable the men to get rid of their first flow of
enthusiasm, Blunderbore rose majestically, and coming forward to the
foot-lights, looked straight over the heads of the men, and addressed
himself to the opposite bulk-head.

"Oh! 'tis a dismal thing," he began, and continued to spout his part
with flashing eyes and considerable energy, until he came to the word
Blunderbuss, when, either from a mistaken notion as to when it was his
time to go on, or nervous forgetfulness of the plan of the piece, the
Little Bear sprang over the edge of the iceberg and alighted on the
middle of the stage.

"Oh! bad luck to yees intirely," said the Big Bear from behind the
scenes in an angry whisper, which was distinctly heard by the audience,
"ye've gone and spoiled it all, ye have. Come off, will ye, and take yer
turn at the right time, won't ye?"

In the midst of the shout of delight caused by this mistake, O'Riley,
forgetting that he was a bear, rushed on the stage on his hind legs,
seized the Little Bear by the fore leg, and dragged him off at the other
side amid loud applause. Blunderbore, with admirable self-possession,
resumed his part the instant there was a calm, and carried it
successfully to a close.

Just as he ended, Fred waddled on, in the guise of an Esquimau woman;
and so well was he got up that the crew looked round to see if Aninga
(who, with her husband, had been allowed to witness the play) was in her
place. Fred had intentionally taken Aninga as his model, and had been
very successful in imitating the top-knot of hair. The baby, too, was
hit off to perfection, having been made by Mivins, who proved himself a
genius in such matters. Its head was a ball of rags covered with brown
leather, and two white bone buttons with black spots in the centre did
duty for its eyes.

The first thing Whackinta did on coming forward was to deposit the baby
on the snow with its head downwards by mistake, whereat it began to
scream vociferously. This scream was accomplished by Davie Summers
creeping below the stage and putting his mouth to a hole in the flooring
close to which the baby's head lay. Davie's falsetto was uncommonly like
to a child's voice, and the effect was quite startling. Of course
Whackinta tried to soothe it, and failing in this she whipped it, which
caused it to yell with tenfold violence. Thereafter losing all patience,
she covered its face and stuffed its mouth with a quantity of snow, and
laying it down on its back, placed a large block of ice on its head.
This, as might be expected, had the desired effect, and the baby was
silenced--not, however, until Whackinta had twice called down the hole
in a hoarse whisper, "That'll do, Davie; stop, man, stop!" Then, sitting
down on the hummock which Blunderbore had just left--and from behind
which he was now eagerly watching her--she began to weep.

Having given full vent to her feelings in a series of convulsive sobs,
Whackinta addressed a lengthened harangue, in a melancholy tone of
voice, to the audience, the gist of which was that she was an
unfortunate widow; that two bears had fallen in love with her, and
stolen her away from her happy home in Nova Zembla; and, although they
allowed her to walk about as much as she chose, they watched her closely
and prevented her escaping to her own country. Worst of all, they had
told her that she must agree to become the wife of one or other of them,
and if she did not make up her mind and give them an answer that very
day, she was to be killed and eaten by both of them. In order the more
strongly to impress the audience with her forlorn condition, Whackinta
sang a tender and touching ditty, composed by herself expressly for the
occasion, and sang it so well that it was encored twice.

To all this Blunderbore listened with apparent rapture, and at length
ventured to advance and discover himself; but the instant Whackinta saw
him she fell on her knees and trembled violently.

"Spare me, good king," she said; "do not slay me. I am a poor widow, and
have been brought here by two bears against my will."

"Woman," said the giant, "my name is Blunderbore. I am, as you perceive
by my crown, a king; and I am a lonely man. If I kill the two bears you
speak of, will you marry me?"

"Oh, do not ask me, good Blunderbore! I cannot; it is impossible. I
cannot love you--you are--forgive me for saying it--too big, and fierce,
and ugly to love."

Blunderbore frowned angrily, and the audience applauded vociferously at
this.

"You cannot love me! ha!" exclaimed the giant, glaring round with
clenched teeth.

At this moment the Big Bear uttered an awful roar, Whackinta gave a
piercing scream and fled, and Blunderbore hid himself hastily behind the
hummock. The next moment the two bears bounded on the stage and began to
gambol round it, tossing up their hind legs and roaring and leaping in a
manner that drew forth repeated plaudits. At length the Little Bear
discovered the baby, and, uttering a frantic roar of delight, took it in
its fore paws and held it up. The Big Bear roared also, of course, and
rushing forward caught the baby by the leg, and endeavoured to tear it
away from the Little Bear, at which treatment the poor baby again
commenced to cry passionately. In the struggle the baby's head came off,
upon which the Little Bear put the head into its mouth and swallowed it.
The Big Bear immediately did the same with the body; but its mouth was
too small, and the body stuck fast and could not be finally disposed of
until the Little Bear came to the rescue and pushed it forcibly down
its throat. Having finished this delicate little morsel the two bears
rose on their hind legs and danced a hornpipe together--Tom Singleton
playing the tune for them on a flute behind the scenes. When this was
done they danced off the stage, and immediately, as if in the distance,
was heard the voice of a man singing. It came gradually nearer, and at
last Buzzby, in the character of Ben Bolt, swaggered up to the
foot-lights with his hands in his breeches pockets.

  "I'm a jolly, jolly tar,
  Wot has comed from afar,
  An' it's all for to seek my fortin"--

sang Buzzby. "But I've not found it yit," he continued, breaking into
prose, "and there don't seem much prospect o' findin' it here anyhow.
Wot an 'orrible cold place it is, ugh!"

Buzzby was received with enthusiastic cheers, for he was dressed in the
old familiar blue jacket, white ducks, pumps, and straw hat set jauntily
on one side of his head--a costume which had not been seen for so many
months by the crew of the _Dolphin_, that their hearts warmed to it as
if it were an old friend.

Buzzby acted with great spirit, and was evidently a prime favourite. He
could scarcely recollect a word of his part, but he remembered the
general drift of it, and had ready wit enough to extemporize. Having
explained that he was the only survivor of a shipwrecked crew, he
proceeded to tell some of his adventures in foreign lands, and
afterwards described part of his experiences in a song, to which the
doctor played an accompaniment behind the scenes. The words were
composed by himself, sung to the well-known Scotch air, "Corn Riggs,"
and ran as follows:--

THE JOLLY TAR.

    My comrades, you must know
    It was many years ago
  I left my daddy's cottage in the greenwood O!
    And I jined a man-o'-war
    An' became a jolly tar,
  An' fought for king and country on the high seas O!
          Pull, boys, cheerily, our home is on the sea
          Pull, boys, merrily and lightly O!
          Pull, boys, cheerily, the wind is passing free
          An' whirling up the foam an' water sky-high O!

    There's been many a noble fight,
    But Trafalgar was the sight
  That beat the Greeks and Romans in their glory O!
    For Britain's jolly sons
    Worked the thunder-blazing guns,
  And Nelson stood the bravest in the fore-front O!
          Pull, boys, etc.

    A roaring cannon shot
    Came an' hit the very spot
  Where my leg goes click-an'-jumble in the socket O!
    And swept it overboard
    With the precious little hoard
  Of pipe an' tin an' baccy in the pocket O!
          Pull, boys, etc.

    They took me down below,
    An' they laid me with a row
  Of killed and wounded messmates on a table O!
    Then up comes Dr. Keg,
    An' says, Here's a livin' leg
  I'll sew upon the stump if I am able O!
          Pull, boys, etc.

  This good and sturdy limb
    Had belonged to fightin' Tim,
  An' scarcely had they sewed it on the socket O!
    When up the hatch I flew,
    An' dashed among the crew,
    An' sprang on board the Frenchman like a rocket O!
      Pull, boys, etc.

    'Twas this that gained the day,
    For that leg it cleared the way--
  And the battle raged like fury while it lasted O!
    Then ceased the shot and shell
    To fall upon the swell,
  And the Union Jack went bravely to the mast-head O!'
      Pull, boys, etc.

We need scarcely say that this song was enthusiastically encored, and
that the chorus was done full justice to by the audience, who picked it
up at once and sang it with lusty vehemence. At the last word Ben Bolt
nodded familiarly, thrust his hands into his pockets, and swaggered off
whistling "Yankee Doodle." It was a matter of uncertainty where he had
swaggered off to, but it was conjectured that he had gone on his journey
to anywhere that might turn up.

Meanwhile, Blunderbore had been bobbing his head up and down behind the
hummock in amazement at what he heard and saw, and when Ben Bolt made
his exit he came forward. This was the signal for the two bears to
discover him and rush on with a terrific roar. Blunderbore instantly
fetched them each a sounding whack on their skulls, leaped over both
their backs, and bounded up the side of the iceberg, where he took
refuge, and turned at bay on a little ice pinnacle constructed expressly
for that purpose.

An awful fight now ensued between the giant and the two bears. The
pinnacle on which Blunderbore stood was so low that the Big Bear, by
standing up on its hind legs, could just scratch his toes, which caused
the giant to jump about continually; but the sides of the iceberg were
so smooth that the bears could not climb up it. This difficulty, indeed,
constituted the great and amusing feature of the fight; for no sooner
did the Little Bear creep up to the edge of the pinnacle, than the
giant's tremendous club came violently down on its snout (which had been
made of hard wood on purpose to resist the blows), and sent it sprawling
back on the stage, where the Big Bear invariably chanced to be in the
way, and always fell over it. Then they both rose, and, roaring
fearfully, renewed the attack, while Blunderbore laid about him with the
club ferociously. Fortune, however, did not on this occasion favour the
brave. The Big Bear at last caught the giant by the heel and pulled him
to the ground; the Little Bear instantly seized him by the throat; and,
notwithstanding his awful yells and struggles, it would have gone ill
with Blunderbore had not Ben Bolt opportunely arrived at that identical
spot at that identical moment in the course of his travels.

Oh! it was a glorious thing to see the fear-nothing, dare-anything
fashion in which, when he saw how matters stood, Ben Bolt threw down his
stick and bundle, drew his cutlass, and attacked the two bears at once,
single-handed, crying, "Come on," in a voice of thunder. And it was a
satisfactory thing to behold the way in which he cut and slashed at
their heads (the heads having been previously prepared for such
treatment), and the agility he displayed in leaping over their backs and
under their legs, and holding on by their tails, while they vainly
endeavoured to catch him. The applause was frequent and prolonged, and
the two Esquimau prisoners rolled about their burly figures and laughed
till the tears ran down their fat cheeks. But when Ben Bolt suddenly
caught the two bears by their tails, tied them together in a double
knot, and fled behind a hummock, which the Big Bear passed on one side
and the Little Bear on the other, and so, as a matter of course, stuck
hard and fast, the laughter was excessive; and when the gallant British
seaman again rushed forward, massacred the Big Bear with two terrific
cuts, slew the Little Bear with one tremendous back-hander, and then
sank down on one knee and pressed his hand to his brow as if he were
exhausted, a cheer ran from stem to stern of the _Dolphin_, the like of
which had not filled the hull of that good ship since she was launched
upon her ocean home!

It was just at this moment that Whackinta chanced, curiously enough, to
return to this spot in the course of _her_ wanderings. She screamed in
horror at the sight of the dead bears, which was quite proper and
natural, and then she started at the sight of the exhausted Bolt, and
smiled sweetly--which was also natural--as she hastened to assist and
sympathize with him. Ben Bolt fell in love with her at once, and told
her so off-hand, to the unutterable rage of Blunderbore, who recovered
from his wounds at that moment, and seizing the sailor by the throat,
vowed he would kill and quarter, and stew and boil, and roast and eat
him in one minute if he didn't take care what he was about.

The audience felt some fears for Ben Bolt at this point, but their
delight knew no bounds when, shading the giant off and springing
backwards, he buttoned up his coat and roared, rather than said, that
though he were all the Blunderbores and blunderbusses in the world
rolled together and changed into one immortal blunder-_cannon_, he
didn't care a pinch of bad snuff for him, and would knock all the teeth
in his head down his throat. This valorous threat he followed up by
shaking his fist close under the giant's nose and crying out, "Come on'"

But the giant did not come on. He fortunately recollected that he owed
his life to the brave sailor; so he smiled, and saying he would be his
friend through life, insisted on seizing him by the hand and shaking it
violently. Thereafter he took Ben Bolt and Whackinta by their right
hands, and leading them forward to the foot-lights, made them a long
speech to the effect that he owed a debt of gratitude to the former for
saving his life which he could never repay, and that he loved the latter
too sincerely to stand in the way of her happiness. Then he joined their
right hands, and they went down on one knee, and he placed his hands on
their heads, and looked up at the audience with a benignant smile, and
the curtain fell amid rapturous cheers.

In this play it seemed somewhat curious and unaccountable that Whackinta
forgot to inquire for her demolished baby, and appeared to feel no
anxiety whatever about it. It was also left a matter of uncertainty
whether Ben Bolt and his Esquimau bride returned to live happily during
the remainder of their lives in England, or took up their permanent
abode with Blunderbore. But it is not our province to criticise; we
merely chronicle events as they occurred.

The entertainments were to conclude with a hornpipe from Mivins; but
just as that elastic individual had completed the first of a series of
complicated evolutions, and was about to commence the second, a
vociferous barking of the dogs was heard outside, accompanied by the
sound of human voices. The benches were deserted in a moment, and the
men rushed upon deck, catching up muskets and cutlasses, which always
stood in readiness, as they went. The sounds proceeded from a party of
about twenty Esquimaux who had been sent from the camp with the stolen
property, and with a humble request that the offence might be forgiven,
and their chief and his wife returned to them. They were all unarmed;
and the sincerity of their repentance was further attested by the fact
that they brought back, not only the hatchet and telescope, but a large
assortment of minor articles that had not been missed.

Of course the apology was accepted; and, after speeches were delivered,
and protestations of undying friendship made on both sides, the party
were presented with a few trinkets and a plug of tobacco each, and sent
back in a state of supreme happiness to their village, where for a week
Awatok kept the men of his tribe, and Aninga the women, in a state of
intense amazement by their minute descriptions of the remarkable doings
of the white strangers.

The friendship thus begun between the Esquimaux and the _Dolphin's_ crew
was never once interrupted by any unpleasant collision during the months
that they afterwards travelled and hunted in company. Strength of muscle
and promptitude in action are qualities which all nations in a savage
state understand and respect, and the sailors proved that they possessed
these qualities in a higher degree than themselves during the hardships
and dangers incident to Arctic life, while at the same time their
seemingly endless resources and contrivances impressed the simple
natives with the belief that white men could accomplish anything they
chose to attempt.



CHAPTER XVII.

_Expeditions on foot--Effects of darkness on dogs and men--The first
death--Caught in a trap--The Esquimau camp._


"I don't know how it is, an' I can't tell wot it is, but so it is,"
remarked Buzzby to Grim, a week after the first night of the
theatricals, "that that 'ere actin' has done us all a sight o' good.
Here we are as merry as crickets every one, although we're short o'
fresh meat, and symptoms o' scurvy are beginning to show on some of us."

"It's the mind havin' occupation, an' bein' prewented from broodin' over
its misfortins," replied Grim, with the air of a philosopher.

Grim did not put this remark in turned commas, although he ought to have
done so, seeing that it was quoted from a speech made by the captain to
Singleton the day before.

"You see," continued Grim, "we've been actin' every night for a week
past. Well, if we hadn't been actin', we should ha' been thinkin' an'
sleepin'; too much of which, you see, ain't good for us, Buzzby, and
would never pay."

Buzzby was not quite sure of this, but contented himself by saying,
"Well, mayhap ye're right. I'm sorry it's to come to an end so soon; but
there is no doubt that fresh meat is ondispensable. An' that reminds me,
messmate, that I've not cleaned my musket for two days, an' it wouldn't
do to go on a hunt with a foul piece, nohow. We start at ten o'clock,
A.M., don't we?"

Grim admitted that they did--remarking that it might just as well be ten
P.M. for all the difference the _sun_ would make in it--and went below
with Buzzby.

In the cabin active preparations were making for an extended
hunting-expedition, which the empty state of the larder rendered
absolutely necessary. For a week past the only fresh provisions they had
procured were a white fox and a rabbit, notwithstanding the exertions of
Meetuck, Fred, and the doctor, who with three separate parties had
scoured the country for miles round the ship. Scurvy was now beginning
to appear among them, and Captain Guy felt that although they had enough
of salt provisions to last them the greater part of the winter, if used
with economy, they could not possibly subsist on these alone. An
extended expedition in search of seals and walruses was therefore
projected.

It was determined that this should consist of two parties, the one to
proceed north, the other to travel south in the tracks of the Esquimaux,
who had left their temporary village in search of walruses, they also
being reduced almost to a state of starvation.

The plan of the expedition was as follows:--

One party, consisting of ten men, under Bolton, the first mate, was to
take the largest sledge, and the whole team of dogs, on which, with
twelve days' provisions and their sleeping-bags, they were to proceed
northward along the coast as far as possible; and, in the event of being
unsuccessful, they were to turn homeward on the eighth day, and make the
best of their way back on short allowance.

The other party, consisting of fifteen men, under Saunders, the second
mate, was to set off to the southward on foot, dragging a smaller sledge
behind them, and endeavour to find the Esquimaux, who, it was supposed,
could not be far off, and would probably have fresh meat in their camp.

It was a clear, cold, and beautiful star-light day when the two parties
started simultaneously on their separate journeys. The coruscations of
the aurora were more than usually vivid, and the snow gave forth that
sharp, dry, _crunching_ sound, under the heels of the men as they moved
about, that denotes intense frost.

"Mind that you hug the land, Mr. Bolton," said the captain at parting;
"don't get farther out on the floes than you can help. To meet with a
gale on the ice is no joke in these latitudes."

The first mate promised obedience; and the second mate having been also
cautioned to hug the land, and not to use their small supply of spirits
for any other purpose than that of lighting the lamp, except in cases of
the most urgent need, they set off with three hearty cheers, which were
returned by Captain Guy and those who remained with him in the ship.
All the able and effective men were sent on these expeditions; those who
remained behind were all more or less affected with scurvy, except the
captain himself, whose energetic nature seemed invulnerable, and whose
flow of spirits never failed. Indeed, it is probable that to this hearty
and vigorous temperament, under God, he owed his immunity from disease;
for, since provisions began to fail, he along with all his officers had
fared precisely like the men--the few delicacies they possessed having
been reserved for the sick.

Unfortunately, their stock of lime-juice was now getting low, and the
crew had to be put on short allowance. As this acid is an excellent
anti-scorbutic, or preventive of scurvy, as well as a cure, its rapid
diminution was viewed with much concern by all on board. The
long-continued absence of the sun, too, now began to tell more severely
than ever on men and dogs. On the very day the expeditions took their
departure one of the latter, which had been left behind on account of
illness, was attacked with a strange disease, of which several of the
team eventually died before the winter came to an end. It was seized
with spasms, and, after a few wild paroxysms, lapsed into a lethargic
state. In this condition the animal functions went on apparently as well
as usual, the appetite continued not only good but voracious. The
disease was clearly mental. It barked furiously at nothing, and walked
in straight or curved lines perseveringly; or, at other times, it
remained for hours in moody silence, and then started off howling as if
pursued. In thirty-six hours after the first attack the poor animal
died, and was buried in the snow on Store Island.

This was the first death that had occurred on board, and although it was
only a dog, and not one of the favourites, its loss cast a gloom over
the crew for several days. It was the first blow of the fell destroyer
in the midst of their little community, which could ill spare the life
even of one of the lower animals, and they felt as if the point of the
wedge had now been entered, and might be driven farther home ere long.

The expressive delight of the poor dogs on being admitted to the light
of the cabin showed how ardently they longed for the return of the sun.
It was now the beginning of December, and the darkness was complete. Not
the faintest vestige of twilight appeared even at noon. Midnight and
noonday were alike. Except when the stars and aurora were bright, there
was not light enough to distinguish a man's form at ten paces distant,
and a blacker mass than the surrounding darkness alone indicated where
the high cliffs encompassed the Bay of Mercy. When therefore any one
came on deck, the first thing he felt on groping his way about was the
cold noses of the dogs pushed against his hands, as they frisked and
gambolled round him. They howled at the appearance of an accidental
light, as if they hoped the sun, or at least the moon, were going to
rise once more, and they rejoiced on being taken below, and leaped up
in the men's faces for sympathy, and whined, and all but spoke with
excess of satisfaction.

The effect of the monotony of long-continued darkness and the absence of
novelty had much to do also with the indifferent health of many of the
men. After the two expeditions were sent out, those who remained behind
became much more low spirited, and the symptoms of scurvy increased. In
these circumstances Captain Guy taxed his inventive genius to the utmost
to keep up their spirits and engage their minds. He assumed an air of
bustling activity, and attached a degree of importance to the regular
performance of the light duties of the ship that they did not in reality
possess apart from their influence as discipline. The cabin was swept
and aired, the stove cleaned, the fittings dusted, the beds made, the
tides, thermometers, and barometers registered; the logs posted up,
clothes mended, food cooked, traps visited, etc., with the regularity of
clockwork, and every possible plan adopted to occupy every waking hour,
and to prevent the men from brooding over their position. When the
labours of the day were over, plans were proposed for getting up a
concert, or a new play, in order to surprise the absentees on their
return. Stories were told over and over again, and enjoyed if good, or
valued far beyond their worth if bad. When old stories failed, and old
books were read, new stories were invented; and here the genius of some
was drawn out, while the varied information of others became of great
importance. Tom Singleton, in particular, entertained the men with
songs and lively tunes on the flute, and told stories, as one of them
remarked, "like a book." Joseph West, too, was an invaluable comrade in
this respect. He had been a studious boy at school, and a lover of books
of all kinds, especially books of travel and adventure. His memory was
good, and his inventive powers excellent, so that he recalled wonderful
and endless anecdotes from the unfathomable stores of his memory, strung
them together into a sort of story, and told them in a soft, pleasant
voice that captivated the ears of his audience; but poor West was in
delicate health, and could not speak so long as his messmates would have
wished. The rough life they led, and the frequent exposure to intense
cold, had considerably weakened a frame which had never been robust, and
an occasional cough, when he told a long story, sometimes warned him to
desist. Games, too, were got up. "Hide and seek" was revived with all
the enthusiasm of boyhood, and "fox-chase" was got up with tremendous
energy. In all this the captain was the most earnest and vigorous, and
in doing good to others he unconsciously did the greatest possible
amount of good to himself; for his forgetfulness of self, and the
activity of his mind in catering for the wants and amusements of his
men, had the effect of imparting a cheerfulness to his manner, and a
healthy tone to his mind, that tended powerfully to sustain and
invigorate his body. But despite all this, the men grew worse, and a few
of them showed such alarming symptoms that the doctor began to fear
there would soon be a breach in their numbers.

Meanwhile Saunders and his fifteen men trudged steadily to the
southward, dragging their sledge behind them. The ice-floes, however,
turned out to be very rugged and hummocky, and retarded them so much
that they made but slow progress until they passed the Red-Snow Valley,
and doubled the point beyond it. Here they left the floes, and took to
the natural highway afforded by the ice-belt, along which they sped more
rapidly, and arrived at the Esquimau village in the course of about five
hours.

Here all was deserted and silent. Bits of seal and walrus hide and bones
and tusks were scattered about in all directions, but no voices issued
from the dome-shaped huts of snow.

"They're the likest things to bee-skeps I ever saw," remarked Saunders,
as he and his party stood contemplating the little group of huts. "And
they don't seem to care much for big doors."

Saunders referred here to the low tunnels, varying from three to twelve
feet, that formed the entrance to each hut.

"Mayhap there's some o' them asleep inside," suggested Tom Green, the
carpenter's mate; "suppose we go in and see."

"I daresay ye're no far wrong," replied the second mate, to whom the
idea seemed to be a new one. "Go in, Davie Summers, ye're a wee chap,
and can bend your back better than the most o' us."

Davie laughed as he went down on his hands and knees, and creeping in
at the mouth of one of the tunnels, which barely permitted him to enter
in that position, disappeared.

Several of the party at the same time paid similar visits to the other
huts, but they all returned with the same remark--"empty." The interiors
were begrimed with lamp-black and filth, and from their appearance
seemed to have been deserted only a short time before.

Buzzby, who formed one of the party, rubbed his nose for some time in
great perplexity, until he drew from Davie Summers the remark that his
proboscis was red enough by nature and didn't need rubbing. "It's odd,"
he remarked; "they seems to ha' bin here for some time, and yit they've
niver looked near the ship but once. Wot's become on 'em _I_ don't
know."

"Don't you?" said Davie in a tone of surprise; "now that _is_ odd. One
would have thought that a fellow who keeps his weather-eye so constantly
open should know everything."

"Don't chaff, boy, but lend a hand to undo the sled-lashings. I see that
Mr. Saunders is agoin' to anchor here for the night."

The second mate, who had been taking a hasty glance at the various huts
of the village, selected two of the largest as a lodging for his men,
and having divided them into two gangs, ordered them to turn in and
sleep as hard as possible.

"S'pose we may sup first?" said Summers in a whining tone of mock
humility.

"In coorse you may," answered Tom Green, giving the lad a push that
upset him in the snow.

"Come here, Buzzby, I want to speak to 'ee," said Saunders, leading him
aside. "It seems to me that the Esquimaux canna be very far off, and I
observe their tracks are quite fresh in the snow leadin' to the
southward, so I mean to have a night march after them; but as the men
seem pretty weel tired I'll only take two o' the strongest. Who d'ye
think might go?"

"I'll go myself, sir."

"Very good; and who else, think 'ee? Amos Parr seems freshest."

"I think Tom Green's the man wot can do it. I seed him capsize Davie
Summers jist now in the snow; an' when a man can skylark, I always know
he's got lots o' wind in 'im."

"Very good. Then go, Buzzby, and order him to get ready, and look sharp
about it."

"Ay, ay, sir," cried Buzzby, as he turned to prepare Green for the
march.

In pursuance of this plan, an hour afterwards Saunders and his two
followers left the camp with their sleeping-bags and a day's provisions
on their shoulders, having instructed the men to follow with the sledge
at the end of five hours, which period was deemed sufficient time for
rest and refreshment.

For two hours the trio plodded silently onward over the ice-belt by the
light of a clear, starry sky. At the end of that time clouds began to
gather to the westward, rendering the way less distinct, but still
leaving sufficient light to render travelling tolerably easy. Then they
came to a part of the coast where the ice-belt clung close to a line of
perpendicular cliffs of about three miles in extent. The ice-belt here
was about twenty feet broad. On the left the cliffs referred to rose
sheer up several hundred feet; on the right the ice-belt descended only
about three feet to the floes. Here our three adventurous travellers
were unexpectedly caught in a trap. The tide rose so high that it raised
the sea-ice to a level with the ice-belt, and, welling up between the
two, completely overflowed the latter.

The travellers pushed on as quickly as possible, for the precipices on
their left forbade all hope of escape in that direction, while the gap
between the ice-belt and the floes, which was filled with a gurgling
mixture of ice and water, equally hemmed them in on the right. Worse
than all, the tide continued to rise, and when it reached half-way to
their knees, they found it dangerous to advance for fear of stepping
into rents and fissures which were no longer visible.

"What's to be done noo?" inquired Saunders, coming to a full stop, and
turning to Buzzby with a look of blank despair.

"Dun'no'," replied Buzzby, with an equally blank look of despair; as he
stood with his legs apart and his arms hanging down by his side--the
very personification of imbecility. "If I wos a fly I'd know wot to do.
I'd walk up the side o' that cliff till I got to a dry bit, and then I'd
stick on. But, not bein' a fly, in coorse I can't."

Buzzby said this in a recklessly facetious tone, and Tom Green followed
it up with a remark to the effect that "he'd be blowed if he ever wos in
sich a fix in his life;" intimating his belief, at the same time, that
his "toes wos freezin'."

"No fear o' that," said the second mate; "they'll no freeze as lang as
they're in the water. We'll just have to stand here till the tide goes
doon."

Saunders said this in a dogged tone, and immediately put his plan in
force by crossing his arms and planting his feet firmly on the submerged
ice and wide apart. Buzzby and Green, however, adopted the wiser plan of
moving constantly about within a small circle, and after Saunders had
argued for half-an-hour as to the advantages of his plan, he followed
their example. The tide rose above their knees, but they had fortunately
on boots made by the Esquimaux, which were perfectly waterproof; their
feet, therefore, although very cold, were quite dry. In an hour and
three-quarters the ice-belt was again uncovered, and the half-frozen
travellers resumed their march with the utmost energy.

Two hours later and they came to a wide expanse of level ground at the
foot of the high cliffs, where a group of Esquimau huts, similar to
those they had left, was descried.

"They're all deserted too," remarked Buzzby.

But Buzzby was wrong, for at that moment a very small and particularly
fat little boy in a fox-skin dress appeared at the mouth of one of the
low tunnels that formed the entrance to the nearest hut. This boy looked
exactly like a lady's muff with a hairy head above it and a pair of feet
below. The instant he observed the strangers he threw up his arms,
uttered a shrill cry of amazement, and disappeared in the tunnel. Next
instant a legion of dogs rushed out of the huts barking furiously, and
on their heels came the entire population, creeping on their hands and
knees out of the tunnel mouths like dark hairy monsters issuing from
their holes. They had spears and knives of ivory with them; but a glance
showed the two parties that they were friends, and in a few moments
Awatok and his comrades were chattering vociferously round the sailors,
and endeavouring by word and sign to make themselves understood.

The Esquimaux received the three visitors and the rest of the sledge
party, who came up a few hours later, with the utmost hospitality. But
we have not space to tell of how they dragged them into their smoky huts
of snow; and how they offered them raw seal-flesh to eat; and how, on
the sailors expressing disgust, they laughed, and added moss mixed with
oil to their lamps to enable them to cook their food; and how they
managed by signs and otherwise to understand that the strangers had come
in search of food, at which they (the Esquimaux) were not surprised;
and how they assured their visitors (also by means of signs) that they
would go a-hunting with them on the following day, whereat they (the
sailors) were delighted, and shook hands all round. Neither have we
space to tell of how the visitors were obliged to conform to custom, and
sleep in the same huts with men, women, children, and dogs, and how they
felt thankful to be able to sleep anywhere and anyhow without being
frozen. All this, and a great deal more, we are compelled to skip over
here, and leave it, unwillingly, to the vivid imagination of our reader.



CHAPTER XVIII.

_The hunting-party--Reckless driving--A desperate encounter with a
walrus, etc._


Late in the day, by the bright light of the stars, the sailors and the
Esquimaux left the snow-huts of the village, and travelling out to
seaward on the floes, with dogs and sledges, lances and spears, advanced
to do battle with the walrus.

The northern lights were more vivid than usual, making the sky quite
luminous; and there was a sharp freshness in the air, which, while it
induced the hunters to pull their hoods more tightly round their faces,
also sent their blood careering more briskly through their veins, as
they drove swiftly over the ice in the Esquimau sledges.

"Did ye ever see walruses afore, Davie?" inquired Buzzby, who sat beside
Summers on the leading sledge.

"None but what I've seed on this voyage."

"They're _re_markable creeturs," rejoined Buzzby, slapping his hand on
his thigh. "I've seed many a one in my time, an' I can tell ye, lad,
they're ugly customers. They fight like good uns, and give the
Esquimaux a deal o' trouble to kill them--they do."

"Tell me a story about 'em, Buzzby--do, like a good chap," said Davie
Summers, burying his nose in the skirts of his hairy garment to keep it
warm. "You're a capital hand at a yarn; now, fire away."

"A story, lad; I don't know as how I can exactly tell ye a story, but
I'll give ye wot they calls a hanecdote. It wos about five years ago,
more or less, I wos out in Baffin's Bay, becalmed off one o' the
Esquimau settlements, when we wos lookin' over the side at the lumps of
ice floatin' past, up got a walrus not very far off shore, and out went
half-a-dozen kayaks, as they call the Esquimau men's boats, and they all
sot on the beast at once. Well, it wos one o' the brown walruses, which
is always the fiercest; and the moment he got the first harpoon he went
slap at the man that threw it. But the fellow backed out; and then a cry
was raised to let it alone, as it wos a brown walrus. One young
Esquimau, howsiver, would have another slap at it, and went so close
that the brute charged, upset the kayak, and ripped the man up with his
tusks. Seein' this, the other Esquimaux made a dash at it, and wounded
it badly; but the upshot wos that the walrus put them all to flight and
made off, clear away, with six harpoons fast in its hide."

"Busby's tellin' ye gammon," roared Tom Green, who rode on the second
sledge in rear of that on which Davie Summers sat. "What is't all
about?"

"About gammon, of coorse," retorted Davie. "Keep yer mouth shut for
fear your teeth freeze."

"Can't ye lead us a better road?" shouted Saunders, who rode on the
third sledge; "my bones are rattlin' about inside o' me like a bag o'
ninepins."

"Give the dogs a cut, old fellow," said Buzzby, with a chuckle and a
motion of his arm to the Esquimau who drove his sledge.

The Esquimau did not understand the words, but he quite understood the
sly chuckle and the motion of the arm, so he sent the lash of the heavy
whip with a loud crack over the backs of the team.

"Hold on for life!" cried Davie, as the dogs sprang forward with a
bound.

The part they were about to pass over was exceedingly rough and broken,
and Buzzby resolved to give his shipmates a shake. The pace was
tremendous. The powerful dogs drew their loads after them with
successive bounds, which caused a succession of crashes, as the sledges
sprang from lump to lump of ice, and the men's teeth snapped in a truly
savage manner.

"B-a-ck ye-r t-to-p-sails, will ye?" shouted Amos Parr.

But the delighted Esquimau leader, who entered quite into the joke, had
no intention whatever of backing his top-sails; he administered another
crack to the team, which yelled madly, and, bounding over a wide chasm
in the ice, came down with a crash, which snapped the line of the
leading dog and set it free. Here Buzzby caused the driver to pull up.

"Stop, ye varmint. Come to an anchor," said he. "Is that a way to drive
the poor dogs?"

"Ye might have stopped him sooner, I think," cried the second mate in
wrath.

"Hai!" shouted the band of Esquimaux, pointing to a hummock of ice a few
hundred yards in advance of the spot on which they stood.

Instantly all were silent, and gazing intently ahead at a dark object
that burst upwards through the ice.

"A walrus!" whispered Buzzby.

"So it is," answered Amos Parr.

"I've my doobts on that point," remarked Saunders.

Before the doubts of the second mate could be resolved, the Esquimaux
uttered another exclamation, and pointed to another dark object a
quarter of a mile to the right. It was soon found that there were
several of these ocean elephants sporting about in the neighbourhood,
and bursting up the young ice that had formed on several holes, by using
their huge heads as battering-rams. It was quickly arranged that the
party should divide into three, and while a few remained behind to watch
and restrain the dogs, the remainder were to advance on foot to the
attack.

Saunders, Buzzby, Amos Parr, Davie Summers, and Awatok formed one party,
and advanced with two muskets and several spears towards the walrus that
had been first seen, the sailors taking care to keep in rear of Awatok
in order to follow his lead, for they were as yet ignorant of the proper
mode of attack.

Awatok led the party stealthily towards a hummock, behind which he
caused them to crouch until the walrus should dive. This it did in a few
minutes, and then they all rushed from their place of concealment
towards another hummock that lay about fifty yards from, the hole. Just
as they reached it and crouched, the walrus rose, snorting the brine
from its shaggy muzzle, and lashing the water into foam with its
flippers.

"Losh, what a big un!" exclaimed Saunders in amazement; and well he
might, for this was an unusually large animal, more like an elephant in
size than anything else.

It had two enormous ivory tusks, with which it tore and pounded large
fragments from the ice-tables, while it barked like a gigantic dog, and
rolled its heavy form about in sport.

Awatok now whispered to his comrades, and attempted to get them to
understand that they must follow him as fast as possible at the next
run. Suddenly the walrus dived. Awatok rushed forward, and in another
instant stood at the edge of the hole with his spear in readiness in his
right hand and the coil of line in his left. The others joined him
instantly, and they had scarcely come up when the huge monster again
rose to the surface.

Saunders and Buzzby fired at his head the moment it appeared above
water, and Awatok at the same time planted a spear in his breast, and
ran back with the coil. The others danced about in an excited state,
throwing their spears and missing their mark, although it was a big
one, frequently.

"Give him a lance-thrust, Amos," cried Saunders, reloading his piece.

But Amos could not manage it, for the creature lashed about so furiously
that, although he made repeated attempts, he failed to do more than
prick its tough sides and render it still more savage. Buzzby, too, made
several daring efforts to lance it, but failed, and nearly slipped into
the hole in his recklessness. It was a wild scene of confusion--the
spray was dashed over the ice round the hole, and the men, as they ran
about in extreme excitement, slipped and occasionally tumbled in their
haste; while the maddened brute glared at them like a fiend, and
bellowed in its anger and pain.

Suddenly it dived, leaving the men staring at each other. The sudden
cessation of noise and turmoil had a very strange effect.

"Is't away?" inquired Saunders, with a look of chagrin.

He was answered almost instantly by the walrus reappearing, and making
furious efforts by means of its flippers and tusks to draw itself out
upon the ice, while it roared with redoubled energy. The shot that was
instantly fired seemed to have no effect, and the well-directed harpoon
of Awatok was utterly disregarded by it. Amos Parr, however, gave it a
lance-thrust that caused it to howl vehemently, and dyed the foam with
its blood.

"Hand me a spear, Buzzby," cried Saunders; "the musket-balls seem to
hurt him as little as peas. Oot o' my gait."

The second mate made a rush so tremendous that something awful would
infallibly have resulted, had he not struck his foot against a bit of
ice and fallen violently on his breast. The impetus with which he had
started shot him forward till his head was within a foot of the walrus's
grim muzzle. For one moment the animal looked at the man, as if it were
surprised at his audacity, and then it recommenced its frantic
struggles, snorting blood, and foam, and water into Saunders's face as
he scrambled out of its way. Immediately after, Awatok fixed another
harpoon in its side, and it dived again.

The struggle that ensued was tremendous, and the result seemed for a
long time to be doubtful. Again and again shots were fired and
spear-thrusts made with effect, but the huge creature seemed
invulnerable. Its ferocity and strength remained unabated, while the
men--sailors and Esquimau alike--were nearly exhausted. The battle had
now lasted three hours; the men were panting from exertion; the walrus,
still bellowing, was clinging to the edge of the ice, which for several
yards round the hole was covered with blood and foam.

"Wot a brute it is!" said Buzzby, sitting down on a lump of ice and
looking at it in despair.

"We might have killed it lang ago had I not wet my gun," growled
Saunders, regarding his weapon, which was completely drenched, with a
look of contempt.

"Give it another poke, Awatok," cried Amos Parr; "you'll know best
whereabouts its life lies; I can make nothin' o't."

Awatok obeyed, and gave it a thrust under the left flipper that seemed
to reach its heart, for it fell back into the water and struggled
violently. At the same moment Davie Summers mounted to the top of a
hummock, part of which overhung the pool, and launched a harpoon down
upon its back. This latter blow seemed to revive its ferocity, for it
again essayed to clamber out on the ice, and looked up at Davie with a
glance of seeming indignation; while Buzzby, who had approached, fell
backward as he retreated from before it. At the same time Saunders
succeeded in getting his musket to go off. The ball struck it in the
eye, and entering the brain, caused instant death, a result which was
greeted with three enthusiastic cheers.

The getting of this enormous creature out of the water would have been a
matter of no small difficulty had there not been such a large party
present. Even as it was it took them a considerable time to accomplish
this feat, and to cut it up and pack it on the sledges.

While the battle above described was going on, two smaller walruses had
been killed and secured, and the Esquimaux were in a state of great
glee, for previous to the arrival of the sailors they had been
unsuccessful in their hunts, and had been living on short allowance. On
returning home there was a general feasting and merrymaking, and
Saunders felt that if he remained there long they would not only eat up
their own meat, but his also. He therefore resolved to return
immediately to the ship with his prize, and leave part of his men behind
to continue the hunt until he should return with the sledge.

But he was prevented from putting this intention into practice by a
hurricane which burst over the Arctic Regions with inconceivable
bitterness, and for two days kept all the inhabitants of the
snow-village confined to their huts. This hurricane was the fiercest
that had swept over these bleak regions of ice since the arrival of the
_Dolphin_. The wind shrieked as it swept round the cliffs, and down the
ravines, and out upon the frozen sea, as if a legion of evil spirits
were embodied and concentrated in each succeeding blast. The snow-drift
rose in solid masses, whirled madly round for a few seconds, and then
was caught by the blast and swept away like sheets of white flame. The
thermometer stood at 25° below zero, a temperature that was mild
compared with what it usually had been of late, but the fierce wind
abstracted heat from everything exposed to it so rapidly that neither
man nor beast could face it for a moment. Buzzby got a little bit of his
chin frozen while he merely put his head out at the door of the hut to
see how the weather looked; and Davie Summers had one of his fingers
slightly frozen while in the act of carrying in one of the muskets that
had been left outside by mistake.

As for the Esquimaux, they recked not of the weather. Their snow-huts
were warm, and their mouths were full, so like wise men and women they
waited patiently within doors till the storm should blow itself out. The
doings of these poor people were very curious. They ate voraciously, and
evidently preferred their meat raw. But when the sailors showed disgust
at this, they at once made a small fire of moss mingled with blubber,
over which they half-cooked their food.

Their mode of procuring fire was curious. Two small stones were
taken--one a piece of white quartz, the other a piece of iron-stone--and
struck together smartly. The few sparks that flew out were thrown upon a
kind of white down, found on the willows, under which was placed a lump
of dried moss. It was usually a considerable time before they succeeded
in catching a spark; but, once caught, they had no difficulty in blowing
it into a flame.

They had also an ingenious contrivance for melting snow. This was a flat
stone, supported by two other stones, and inclined slightly at one end.
Upon this flat stone a lump of snow was placed, and below it was kindled
a small fire of moss and blubber. When the stone became heated, the snow
melted and flowed down the incline into a small seal-skin cup placed
there to catch it.

During the continuance of the storm the sailors shared the food and
lodging of these Esquimaux. They were a fat, oily, hospitable, dirty
race, and vied with each other in showing kindness to those who had been
thus thrown into their society. As Davie Summers expressed it, "they
were regular trumps;" and according to Buzzby's opinion, "they wos the
jolliest set o' human walruses wot he had ever comed across in all his
travels; and he ought to know, for he had always kep' his weather-eye
open, he had, and wouldn't give in on that p'int, he wouldn't, to no man
livin'."



CHAPTER XIX.

_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 the object of pursuit are the same. The two parties
which left the _Dolphin_ had 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 walruses 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 bailed 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 in-shore.

"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 Esquimau 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 Esquimau 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
scrutinized 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 sympathized 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's _not_ your father. There is a bit of _black_ hair
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 the _Pole Star's_ crew.

It was now resolved that they should proceed along the coast and examine
every creek and bay for traces of the lost vessel.

"O 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 sympathizing 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?" inquired one of the men, pointing towards
an object which stood on the end of a point or cape towards which they
were approaching.

Ere any one could reply, their ears were saluted by the well-known bark
of a pack of Esquimau 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 Esquimau 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
Esquimau 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 XX.

_Keeping it down--Mutual explanations--The true
comforter--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. Ye 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."

"O 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 instantly 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 the _Pole Star_, and
how it was that one of your men came to be buried in the Esquimau
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 Esquimau, 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, "how terribly you must have felt the want of
kind hands to nurse you during those dreary months, and how lonely you
must have been!"

"Nay, boy, not quite so lonely as you think. I have learned the truth of
these words, 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee'--'Call upon Me
in the time of trouble, and I will deliver thee.' This, Fred, has been
my chief comfort during the long hours of sickness."

Captain Ellice drew forth a soiled pocket Bible from his breast as he
spoke.

"It was your beloved mother's, Fred, and is the only thing I brought
with me from the wreck; but it was the only thing in the brig I would
not have exchanged for anything else on earth. Blessed Bible! It tells
of Him whose goodness I once, in my ignorance, thought I knew, but whose
love I have since been taught 'passeth knowledge.' It has been a
glorious sun to me, which has never set in all the course of this long
Arctic night. It has been a companion in my solitude, a comfort in my
sorrows, and even now is an increase to my joy; for it tells me that if
I commit my way unto the Lord, he will bring it to pass, and already I
see the beginning of the end fulfilled."

Fred's eyes filled with tears as his father spoke; but he remained
silent, for he knew that of late he had begun to neglect God's blessed
Word, and his conscience smote him.

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 Esquimau village. To tell of the dangers, the
adventures, and the hair-breadth escapes that the crew of the _Pole
Star_ went 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 walruses were captured, and
return to the _Dolphin_, 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 the
_Dolphin_, 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. He read the Bible to him, and when
doubts and fears arose, as they sometimes did, he pointed him to Jesus,
and spoke of that love from which nothing could separate him.

It was on Christmas day that West died.

"O sir," said he to Captain Ellice just an hour before he breathed his
last, "how much I regret the time that I have lost! How I wish now that
I had devoted more of my precious time to the study of the Word and to
prayer! How many opportunities of speaking a word for Jesus I have
neglected. Once, everything seemed of importance; now, but _one_ thing
is worthy of a thought."

"True," answered the captain, "'the one thing needful.' It is strange
that we will scarce permit ourselves to think or speak of _that_ till we
come to die. But you have thought on Jesus long ere now, have you not?"

"Yes," answered West faintly, "I have; but I take no comfort from that
thought. When I think of my past life it is only with regret. My hope is
in the Lord. What I have been, or might have been, is nothing. One thing
I know--I _am_ a sinner; and this I also know--'Christ Jesus came into
the world to save sinners!'"

These were the last words the dying man spoke. Shortly after, he fell
asleep.

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 the
_Dolphin_ did not say, "what a jolly day it was." They _said_ little or
nothing, but long after they _thought_ of 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 XXI.

_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 hilltops to catch sight of as much
as possible of his faint rays. Day by day those rays expanded, and at
last a sort of _dawn_ enlightened 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, and _real_ day appeared. The red
sun rose in all its glory, showed a rim of its glowing disk 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 it _his_," 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° below zero, or 107° 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° _below_ zero 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 fire-arms. 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 into 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 o' the queer thing in the
deserts they calls the _mirage_?"

"I have," answered the captain, with a puzzled look.

"An' didn't ye say there was somethin' 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 this _cache_ of 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 my
_cache_, 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 clinching his cudgel nervously.

"Sure it's a cryin' shame," he soliloquized 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 any one 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 termed _warm_, for it had no power
in that frosty atmosphere, and only a small portion of the sun's disk
was visible. But his _light_ was 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 it _felt_ warm, 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 be _felt_ except 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 every one (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 the _Dolphin_, and, we may
add, for the sake of the curious reader, neither point is settled yet.



CHAPTER XXII.

_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 that _something_ is better than _nothing_, 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
wots makin' it needfull to put us on short allowance. Davie Summers sais
he seed him at it, an' 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 pole _is_
a 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 that _is_ sumhow 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 conected 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 the _Arctic Sun_ were 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 re-read 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 "summary" 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 any one 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 walruses.

"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 intirely," 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, an' 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 walruses 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 the bear, 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° 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 XXIII.

_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 was 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 land-marks 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 this 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 ice _to
the north_, I think it likely they've gone in _that_ direction."

"Maybe ye're right, sir, and maybe ye're wrang," answered Saunders, as
they returned to the party. As this was the second mate's method of
intimating that he _felt_ that 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 recognized the
words. Immediately two of them crept in, and striking a light, kindled a
lamp, which revealed the care-worn 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 could _sleep_ in 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° 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 the tent. 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 look-out, 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
the _Dolphin_, and were busily engaged in their principal and favourite
occupation--eating!



CHAPTER XXIV.

_Winter ends--The first insect--Preparations for departure--Narrow
escape--Cutting out--Once more afloat--Ship on fire--Crew take to the
boats._


Winter passed away, with its darkness and its frost, and, happily, with
its sorrows; and summer--bright, glowing summer--came at last, to
gladden the heart of man and beast in the Polar Regions.

We have purposely omitted to make mention of spring, for there is no
such season, properly so called, within the Arctic Circle. Winter
usually terminates with a gushing thaw, and summer then begins with a
blaze of fervent heat. Not that the heat is really so intense as
compared with that of southern climes, but the contrast is so great that
it _seems_ as though the Torrid Zones had rushed towards the Pole.

About the beginning of June there were indications of the coming heat.
Fresh water began to trickle from the rocks, and streamlets commenced to
run down the icebergs. Soon everything became moist, and a marked change
took place in the appearance of the ice-belt, owing to the pools that
collected on it everywhere and overflowed.

Seals now became more numerous in the neighbourhood, and were
frequently killed near the _atluks_, or holes, so that fresh meat was
secured in abundance, and the scurvy received a decided check. Reindeer,
rabbits, and ptarmigan, too, began to frequent the bay, so that the
larder was constantly full, and the mess-table presented a pleasing
variety--rats being no longer the solitary dish of fresh meat at every
meal. A few small birds made their appearance from the southward, and
these were hailed as harbingers of the coming summer.

One day O'Riley sat on the taffrail, basking in the warm sun, and
drinking in health and gladness from its beams. He had been ill, and was
now convalescent. Buzzby stood beside him.

"I've bin thinkin'," said Buzzby, "that we don't half know the blessin's
that are given to us in this here world till we've had 'em taken away.
Look, now, how we're enjoyin' the sun an' the heat, just as if it wos so
much gold!"

"Goold!" echoed O'Riley, in a tone of contempt; "faix I niver thought so
little o' goold before, let me tell ye. Goold can buy many a thing, it
can, but it can't buy sunshine. Hallo! what's this?"

O'Riley accompanied the question with a sudden snatch of his hand.

"Look here, Buzzby! Have a care, now! jist watch the openin' o' my
fist."

"Wot is it?" inquired Buzzby, approaching, and looking earnestly at his
comrade's clinched hand with some curiosity.

"There he comes! Now, then, not so fast, ye spalpeen!"

As he spoke, a small fly, which had been captured, crept out from
between his fingers, and sought to escape. It was the first that had
visited these frozen regions for many, many months, and the whole crew
were summoned on deck to meet it as if it were an old and valued friend.

"Let it go, poor thing!" cried half-a-dozen of the men, gazing at the
little prisoner with a degree of interest that cannot be thoroughly
understood by those who have not passed through experiences similar to
those of our Arctic voyagers.

"Ay, don't hurt it, poor thing! You're squeezin' it too hard!" cried
Amos Parr.

"Squaazing it! no, then, I'm not. Go, avic, an' me blessin' go wid ye."

The big, rough hand opened, and the tiny insect, spreading its gossamer
wings, buzzed away into the bright atmosphere, where it was soon lost to
view.

"Rig up the ice-saws, Mr. Bolton; set all hands at them, and get out the
powder-canisters," cried Captain Guy, coming hastily on deck.

"Ay, ay, sir," responded the mate. "All hands to the ice-saws! Look
alive, boys! Ho! Mr. Saunders! Where's Mr. Saunders?"

"Here 'am," answered the worthy second mate in a quiet voice.

"Oh, you're there! Get up some powder, Mr. Saunders, and a few
canisters."

There was a heartiness in the tone and action with which these orders
were given and obeyed that proved they were possessed of more than
ordinary interest; as, indeed, they were, for the time had now come for
making preparations for cutting the ship out of winter-quarters, and
getting ready to take advantage of any favourable opening in the ice
that might occur.

"Do you hope to effect much?" inquired Captain Ellice of Captain Guy,
who stood at the gangway watching the men as they leaped over the side
and began to cut holes with ice-chisels preparatory to fixing the saws
and powder-canisters.

"Not much," replied the captain; "but a _little_ in these latitudes is
worth fighting hard for, as you are well aware. Many a time have I seen
a ship's crew strain and heave on warps and cables for hours together,
and only gain a yard by all their efforts; but many a time, also, have I
seen a single yard of headway save a ship from destruction."

"True," rejoined Captain Ellice; "I have seen a little of it myself.
There is no spot on earth, I think, equal to the Polar Regions for
bringing out into bold relief two great and _apparently_ antagonistic
truth's--namely, man's urgent need of all his powers to accomplish the
work of his own deliverance, and man's utter helplessness and entire
dependence on the sovereign will of God."

"When shall we sink the canisters, sir?" asked Bolton, coming up and
touching his hat.

"In an hour, Mr. Bolton; the tide will be full then, and we shall try
what effect a blast will have."

"My opeenion is," remarked Saunders, who passed at the moment with two
large bags of gunpowder under his arms, "that it'll have no effect at
a'. It'll just loosen the ice roond the ship."

The captain smiled as he said, "_That_ is all the effect I hope for, Mr.
Saunders. Should the outward ice give way soon, we shall then be in a
better position to avail ourselves of it."

As Saunders predicted, the effect of powder and saws was merely to
loosen and rend the ice-tables in which the _Dolphin_ was imbedded; but
deliverance was coming sooner than any of those on board expected. That
night a storm arose, which, for intensity of violence, equalled, if it
did not surpass, the severest gales they had yet experienced. It set the
great bergs of the Polar Seas in motion, and these moving mountains of
ice slowly and majestically began their voyage to southern climes,
crashing through the floes, overturning the hummocks, and ripping up the
ice-tables with quiet but irresistible momentum. For two days the war of
ice continued to rage, and sometimes the contending forces, in the shape
of huge tongues and corners of bergs, were forced into the Bay of Mercy,
and threatened swift destruction to the little craft, which was a mere
atom that might have been crushed and sunk and scarcely missed in such a
wild scene.

At one time a table of ice was forced out of the water and reared up,
like a sloping wall of glass, close to the stern of the _Dolphin_, where
all the crew were assembled with ice-poles ready to do their utmost; but
their feeble efforts could have availed them nothing had the
slowly-moving mass continued its onward progress.

"Lower away the quarter-boat," cried the captain, as the sheet of ice
six feet thick came grinding down towards the starboard quarter.

Buzzby, Grim, and several others sprang to obey, but before they could
let go the fall-tackles, the mass of ice rose suddenly high above the
deck, over which it projected several feet, and caught the boat. In
another moment the timbers yielded, the thwarts sprang out or were
broken across, and slowly, yet forcibly, as a strong hand might crush an
egg-shell, the boat was squeezed flat against the ship's side.

"Shove, lads! if it comes on we're lost," cried the captain, seizing one
of the long poles with which the men were vainly straining every nerve
and muscle. They might as well have tried to arrest the progress of a
berg. On it came, and crushed in the starboard quarter bulwarks.
Providentially at that moment it grounded and remained fast; but the
projecting point that overhung them broke off and fell on the deck with
a crash that shook the good ship from stem to stern. Several of the men
were thrown violently down, but none were seriously hurt in this
catastrophe.

When the storm ceased the ice out in the strait was all in motion, and
that round the ship had loosened so much that it seemed as if the
_Dolphin_ might soon get out into open water, and once more float upon
its natural element. Every preparation, therefore, was made. The stores
were re-shipped from Store Island; the sails were shaken out, and those
of them that had been taken down were bent on to the yards; tackle was
overhauled; and, in short, everything was done that was possible under
the circumstances. But a week passed away ere they succeeded in finally
warping out of the bay into the open sea beyond.

It was a lovely morning when this happy event was accomplished. Before
the tide was quite full, and while they were waiting until the command
to heave on the warps should be given, Captain Guy assembled the crew
for morning prayers in the cabin. Having concluded, he said:--

"My lads, through the great mercy of God we have been all, except one,
spared through the trials and anxieties of a long and dreary winter, and
are now, I trust, about to make our escape from the ice that has held us
fast so long. It becomes me at such a time to tell you that, if I am
spared to return home, I shall be able to report that every man in this
ship has done his duty. You have never flinched in the hour of danger,
and never grumbled in the hour of trial. Only one man--our late brave
and warm-hearted comrade, Joseph West--has fallen in the struggle. For
the mercies that have never failed us, and for our success in rescuing
my gallant friend, Captain Ellice, we ought to feel the deepest
gratitude to the Almighty. We have need, however, to pray for a blessing
on the labours that are yet before us, for you are well aware that we
shall probably have many a struggle with the ice before we are once more
afloat on blue water. And now, lads, away with you on deck, and man the
capstan, for the tide is about full."

The capstan was manned, and the hawsers were hove taut. Inch by inch the
tide rose, and the _Dolphin_ floated. Then a lusty cheer was given, and
Amos Parr struck up one of those hearty songs intermingled with "Ho!"
and "Yo heave ho!" that seem to be the life and marrow of all nautical
exertion. At last the good ship forged ahead, and, _boring_ through the
loose ice, passed slowly out of the Bay of Mercy.

"Do you know I feel quite sad at quitting this dreary spot?" said Fred
to his father, as they stood gazing backward over the taffrail. "I could
not have believed that I should have become so much attached to it."

"We become attached to any spot, Fred, in which incidents have occurred
to call forth frequently our deeper feelings. These rocks and stones are
intimately associated with many events that have caused you joy and
sorrow, hope and fear, pain and happiness. Men cherish the memory of
such feelings, and love the spots of earth with which they are
associated."

"Ah, father, yonder stands one stone, at least, that calls forth
feelings of sorrow."

Fred pointed as he spoke to Store Island, which was just passing out of
view. On this lonely spot the men had raised a large stone over the
grave of Joseph West. O'Riley, whose enthusiastic temperament had caused
him to mourn over his comrade more, perhaps, than any other man in the
ship, had carved the name and date of his death in rude characters on
the stone. It was a conspicuous object on the low island, and every eye
in the _Dolphin_ was fixed on it as they passed. Soon the point of rock
that had sheltered them so long from many a westerly gale intervened and
shut it out from view for ever.

When man's prospects are at the worst, it often happens that some
unexpected success breaks on his path like a bright sunbeam. Alas! it
often happens, also, that when his hopes are high and his prospects
brightest, a dark cloud overspreads him like a funeral pall. We might
learn a lesson from this--the lesson of dependence on that Saviour who
_careth_ for us, and of trust in that blessed assurance that "_all_
things work together for good to them that love God."

A week of uninterrupted fair wind and weather had carried the _Dolphin_
far to the south of their dreary wintering ground, and all was going
well, when the worst of all disasters befell the ship--she caught fire!
How it happened no one could tell. The smoke was first seen rising
suddenly from the hold. Instantly the alarm was spread.

"Firemen, to your posts!" shouted the captain. "Man the water-buckets!
Steady, men; no hurry. Keep order."

"Ay, ay, sir," was the short, prompt response, and the most perfect
order _was_ kept. Every command was obeyed instantly with a degree of
vigour that is seldom exhibited save in cases of life and death.

Buzzby was at the starboard and Peter Grim at the larboard gangway,
while the men stood in two rows, extending from each to the main hatch,
up which ever thickening clouds of dark smoke were rolling. Bucket after
bucket of water was passed along and dashed into the hold, and
everything that could be done was done, but without effect. The fire
increased. Suddenly a long tongue of flame issued from the smoking
cavern, and lapped round the mast and rigging with greedy eagerness.

"There's no hope," said Captain Ellice in a low voice, laying his hand
gently on Captain Guy's shoulder.

The captain did not reply, but gazed with an expression of the deepest
regret, for one moment, at the work of destruction.

Next instant he sprang to the falls of the larboard quarter-boat.

"Now, lads," he cried energetically, "get out the boats. Bring up
provisions, Mr. Bolton, and a couple of spare sails.--Mr. Saunders, see
to the ammunition and muskets. Quick, men. The cabin will soon be too
hot to hold you."

Setting the example, the captain sprang below, followed by Fred and Tom
Singleton, who secured the charts, a compass, chronometer, and quadrant;
also the log-book and the various journals and records of the voyage.
Captain Ellice also did active service, and being cool and
self-possessed he recollected and secured several articles which were
afterwards of the greatest use, and which, but for him, would in such a
trying moment have probably been forgotten.

Meanwhile, the two largest boats in the ship were lowered. Provisions,
masts, sails, and oars, etc., were thrown in. The few remaining dogs,
among whom were Dumps and Poker, were also embarked; and the crew
hastily leaping in pushed off. They were not a moment too soon. The fire
had reached the place where the gunpowder was kept, and although there
was not a great quantity of it, there was enough when it exploded to
burst open the deck. The wind, having free ingress, fanned the fire into
a furious blaze, and in a few moments the _Dolphin_ was wrapped in
flames from stem to stern. It was a little after sunset when the fire
was discovered. In two hours later the good ship was burned to the
water's edge. Then the waves swept in, and while they extinguished the
fire they sank the blackened hull, leaving the two crowded boats
floating in darkness on the bosom of the ice-laden sea.



CHAPTER XXV.

_Escape to Upernavik--Letter from home--Meetuck's grandmother--Dumps and
Poker again._


For three long weeks the shipwrecked mariners were buffeted by winds and
waves in open boats, but at last they were guided in safety through all
their dangers and vicissitudes to the colony of Upernavik. Here they
found several vessels on the point of setting out for Europe, one of
which was bound for England, and in this vessel the crew of the
_Dolphin_ resolved to ship.

Nothing of particular interest occurred at this solitary settlement
except _one_ thing, but that one thing was a great event, and deserves
very special notice. It was nothing less than the receipt of a letter by
Fred from his cousin Isobel! Fred and Isobel, having been brought up for
several years together, felt towards each other like brother and sister.

Fred received the letter from the pastor of the settlement shortly after
landing, while his father and the captain were on board the English brig
making arrangements for their passage home. He could scarcely believe
his eyes when he beheld the well-known hand; but having at last come to
realize the fact that he actually held a real letter in his hand, he
darted behind one of the curious, primitive cottages to read it. Here he
was met by a squad of inquisitive natives, so with a gesture of
impatience he rushed to another spot; but he was observed and followed
by half-a-dozen Esquimau boys, and in despair he sought refuge in the
small church near which he chanced to be. He had not been there a
second, however, when two old women came in, and, approaching him, began
to scan him with critical eyes. This was too much, so Fred thrust the
letter into his bosom, darted out, and was instantly surrounded by a
band of natives, who began to question him in an unknown tongue. Seeing
that there was no other resource, Fred turned round and fled towards the
mountains at a pace that defied pursuit, and, coming to a halt in the
midst of a rocky gorge that might have served as an illustration of what
chaos was, he sat down behind a big rock to peruse Isobel's letter.

Having read it, he re-read it; having re-read it, he read it over again.
Having read it over again, he meditated a little, exclaiming several
times emphatically, "My _darling_ Isobel," and then he read bits of it
here and there; having done which, he read the _other_ bits, and so got
through it again. As the letter was a pretty long one, it took him a
considerable time to do all this. Then it suddenly occurred to him that
he had been thus selfishly keeping it all to himself instead of sharing
it with his father; so he started up and hastened back to the village,
where he found Captain Ellice in earnest confabulation with the pastor
of the place. Seizing his parent by the arm, Fred led him into a room in
the pastor's house, and, looking round to make sure that it was empty,
he sought to bolt the door. But the door was a primitive one and had no
bolt, so Fred placed a huge old-fashioned chair against it, and sitting
down therein, while his father took a seat opposite, he unfolded the
letter, and yet once again read it through.

The letter was about twelve months old, and ran thus:--

GRAYTON, _25th July._

MY DARLING FRED,--It is now two months since you left us, and it seems
to me two years. Oh, how I _do_ wish that you were back! When I think of
the terrible dangers that you may be exposed to amongst the ice my heart
sinks, and I sometimes fear that we shall never see you or your dear
father again. But you are in the hands of our Father in heaven, dear
Fred, and I never cease to pray that you may be successful and return to
us in safety. Dear, good old Mr. Singleton told me yesterday that he had
an opportunity of sending to the Danish settlements in Greenland, so I
resolved to write, though I very much doubt whether this will ever find
you in such a wild far-off land.

Oh, when I think of where you are, all the romantic stories I have ever
read of Polar Regions spring up before me, and _you_ seem to be the hero
of them all. But I must not waste my paper thus; I know you will be
anxious for news. I have very little to give you, however. Good old Mr.
Singleton has been _very_ kind to us since you went away. He comes
constantly to see us, and comforts dear mamma very much. Your friend,
Dr. Singleton, will be glad to hear that he is well and strong. Tell my
friend Buzzby that his wife sends her 'compliments!' I laugh while I
write the word. Yes, she actually sends her 'compliments' to her
husband. She is a very stern but a really excellent woman. Mamma and I
visit her frequently when we chance to be in the village. Her two boys
are the finest little fellows I ever saw. They are both so like each
other that we cannot tell which is which when they are apart, and both
are so like their father that we can almost fancy we see him when
looking at either of them.

"The last day we were there, however, they were in disgrace, for Johnny
had pushed Freddy into the washing-tub, and Freddy, in revenge, had
poured a jug of treacle over Johnny's head! I am quite sure that Mrs.
Buzzby is tired of being a widow--as she calls herself--and will be very
glad when her husband comes back. But I must reserve chit-chat to the
end of my letter, and first give you a minute account of all your
friends."


Here followed six pages of closely-written quarto, which, however
interesting they might be to those concerned, cannot be expected to
afford much entertainment to our readers, so we will cut Isobel's
letter short at this point.

"Cap'n's ready to go aboord, sir," said O'Riley, touching his cap to
Captain Ellice while he was yet engaged in discussing the letter with
his son.

"Very good."

"An', plaze sir, av ye'll take the throuble to look in at Mrs. Meetuck
in passin', it'll do yer heart good, it will."

"Very well, we'll look in," replied the captain as he quitted the house
of the worthy pastor.

The personage whom O'Riley chose to style Mrs. Meetuck was Meetuck's
grandmother. That old lady was an Esquimau, whose age might be
algebraically expressed as an _unknown quantity_. She lived in a boat
turned upside down, with a small window in the bottom of it, and a hole
in the side for a door. When Captain Ellice and Fred looked in, the old
woman, who was a mere mass of bones and wrinkles, was seated on a heap
of moss beside a fire, the only chimney to which was a hole in the
bottom of the boat. In front of her sat her grandson Meetuck, and on a
cloth spread out at her feet were displayed all the presents with which
that good hunter had been loaded by his comrades of the _Dolphin_.
Meetuck's mother had died many years before, and all the affection in
his naturally warm heart was transferred to, and centred upon, his old
grandmother. Meetuck's chief delight in the gifts he received was in
sharing them, as far as possible, with the old woman. We say _as far as
possible_, because some things could not be shared with her, such as a
splendid new rifle and a silver-mounted hunting-knife and powder-horn,
all of which had been presented to him by Captain Guy over and above his
wages, as a reward for his valuable services. But the trinkets of every
kind which had been given to him by the men were laid at the feet of the
old woman, who looked at everything in blank amazement, yet with a smile
on her wrinkled visage that betokened much satisfaction. Meetuck's oily
countenance beamed with delight as he sat puffing his pipe in his
grandmother's face. This little attention, we may remark, was paid
designedly, for the old woman liked it, and the youth knew that.

"They have enough to make them happy for the winter," said Captain
Ellice, as he turned to leave the hut.

"Faix they have. There's only two things wantin' to make it complate."

"What are they?" inquired Fred.

"Murphies and a pig, sure. That's all they need."

"Wot's come o' Dumps and Poker?" inquired Buzzby, as they reached the
boat.

"Oh, I quite forgot them!" cried Fred. "Stay a minute, I'll run up and
find them. They can't be far off."

For some time Fred searched in vain. At last he bethought him of
Meetuck's hut as being a likely spot in which to find them. On entering
he found the couple as he had left them, the only difference being that
the poor old woman seemed to be growing sleepy over her joys.

"Have you seen Dumps or Poker anywhere?" inquired Fred.

Meetuck nodded, and pointed to a corner, where, comfortably rolled up on
a mound of dry moss, lay Dumps; Poker, as usual, making use of him as a
pillow.

"Thems is go bed," said Meetuck.

"Thems must get up then and come aboard," cried Fred, whistling.

At first the dogs, being sleepy, seemed indisposed to move; but at last
they consented, and following Fred to the beach, were soon conveyed
aboard the ship.

Next day Captain Guy and his men bade Meetuck and the kind, hospitable
people of Upernavik farewell, and spreading their canvas to a fair
breeze, set sail for England.



CHAPTER XXVI.

_The return--The surprise--Buzzby's sayings and doings--The
narrative--Fighting battles o'er again--Conclusion._


Once again we are on the end of the quay at Grayton. As Fred stands
there, all that has occurred during the past year seems to him but a
vivid dream.

Captain Guy is there, and Captain Ellice, and Buzzby, and Mrs. Buzzby
too, and the two little Buzzbys also, and Mrs. Bright, and Isobel, and
Tom Singleton, and old Mr. Singleton, and the crew of the wrecked
_Dolphin_, and, in short, the "whole world"--of that part of the
country.

It was a great day for Grayton that. It was a wonderful day--quite an
indescribable day; but there were also some things about it that made
Captain Ellice feel, somehow, that it was a mysterious day, for, while
there were hearty congratulations, and much sobbing for joy, on the part
of Mrs. Bright, there were also whisperings which puzzled him a good
deal.

"Come with me, brother," said Mrs. Bright, at length, taking him by the
arm, "I have to tell you something."

Isobel, who was on the watch, joined them, and Fred also went with them
towards the cottage.

"Dear brother," said Mrs. Bright, "I--I--O Isobel, tell him. _I_
cannot."

"What means all this mystery?" said the captain in an earnest tone, for
he felt that they had something serious to communicate.

"Dear uncle," said Isobel, "you remember the time when the pirates
attacked--"

She paused, for her uncle's look frightened her.

"Go on, Isobel," he said quickly.

"Your dear wife, uncle, _was not lost at that time_--"

Captain Ellice turned pale. "What mean you, girl? How came you to know
this?" Then a thought flashed across him. Seizing Isobel by the shoulder
he gasped, rather than said, "Speak quick--is--is she alive?"

"Yes, dear uncle, she--"

The captain heard no more. He would have fallen to the ground had not
Fred, who was almost as much overpowered as his father, supported him.
In a few minutes he recovered, and he was told that Alice was alive--in
England--_in the cottage_. This was said as they approached the door.
Alice was aware of her husband's arrival. In another moment husband and
wife and son were reunited.

Scenes of intense joy cannot be adequately described, and there are
meetings in this world which ought not to be too closely touched upon.
Such was the present. We will therefore leave Captain Ellice and his
wife and son to pour out the deep feelings of their hearts to each
other, and follow the footsteps of honest John Buzzby, as he sailed down
the village with his wife and children, and a host of admiring friends
in tow.

Buzzby's feelings had been rather powerfully stirred up by the joy of
all around, and a tear _would_ occasionally tumble over his
weather-beaten cheek, and hang at the point of his sunburnt and oft
frost-bitten nose, despite his utmost efforts to subdue such outrageous
demonstrations.

"Sit down, John dear," said Mrs. Buzzby in kind but commanding tones,
when she got her husband fairly into his cottage, the little parlour of
which was instantly crowded to excess. "Sit down, John dear, and tell us
all about it."

"Wot! begin to spin the whole yarn o' the Voyage afore I've had time to
say, 'How d'ye do?'" exclaimed Buzzby, at the same time grasping his two
uproarious sons, who had, the instant he sat down, rushed at his legs
like two miniature midshipmen, climbed up them as if they had been two
masts, and settled on his knees as if they had been their own favourite
cross-trees!

"No, John, not the yarn of the voyage," replied his wife, while she
spread the board before him with bread and cheese and beer, "but tell us
how you found old Captain Ellice and where, and what's comed of the
crew."

"Werry good! then here goes."

Buzzby was a man of action. He screwed up his weather-eye (the one next
his wife, _of course_, that being the quarter from which squalls might
be expected). and began a yarn which lasted the better part of two
hours.

It is not to be supposed that Buzzby spun it off without interruption.
Besides the questions that broke in upon him from all quarters, the two
Buzzbys junior scrambled, as far as was possible, into his pockets,
pulled his whiskers as if they had been hoisting a main-sail therewith,
and, generally, behaved in such an obstreperous manner as to render
coherent discourse all but impracticable. He got through with it,
however; and then Mrs. Buzzby intimated her wish, pretty strongly, that
the neighbours should vacate the premises, which they did laughingly,
pronouncing Buzzby to be "a trump," and his better half "a true blue."

"Good day, old chap," said the last who made his exit; "tiller's fixed
agin--nailed amid-ships, eh?"

"Hard and fast," replied Buzzby, with a broad grin, as he shut the door
and returned to the bosom of his family.

Two days later a grand feast was given at Mrs. Bright's cottage, to
which all the friends of the family were invited to meet with Captain
Ellice and those who had returned from their long and perilous voyage.
It was a joyful gathering that, and glad and grateful hearts were there.

Two days later still, and another feast was given. On this occasion
Buzzby was the host, and Buzzby's cottage was the scene. It was a joyful
meeting, too, and a jolly one to boot, for O'Riley was there, and Peter
Grim, and Amos Parr, and David Mizzle, and Mivins--in short, the entire
crew of the lost _Dolphin_--captain, mates, surgeon, and all. Fred and
his father were also there, and old Mr. Singleton, and a number of other
friends, so that all the rooms in the house had to be thrown open, and
even then Mrs. Buzzby had barely room to move. It was on this occasion
that Buzzby related to his shipmates how Mrs. Ellice had escaped from
drowning on the night they were attacked by pirates on board the West
Indiaman. He took occasion to relate the circumstances just before the
"people from the house" arrived, and as the reader may perhaps prefer
Buzzby's account to ours, we give it as it was delivered.

"You see, it happened this way," began Buzzby.

"Hand us a coal, Buzzby, to light my pipe, before ye begin," said Peter
Grim.

"Ah! then, howld yer tongue, Blunderbore," cried O'Riley, handing the
glowing coal demanded, with as much nonchalance as if his fingers were
made of cast-iron.

"Well, ye see," resumed Buzzby, "when poor Mrs. Ellice wos pitched
overboard, as I seed her with my own two eyes--"

"Stop, Buzzby," said Mivins; "'ow was 'er 'ead at the time?"

"Shut up, Mivins," cried several of the men; "go on, Buzzby."

"Well, I think her '_ead_ wos sou'-west, if it warn't nor'-east. Anyhow
it wos pintin' somewhere or other round the compass. But, as I wos
sayin', when Mrs. Ellice struck the water (an' she told me all about it
herself, ye must know) she sank, and then she comed up, and didn't know
how it wos, but she caught hold of an oar that wos floatin' close beside
her, and screamed for help; but no help came, for it wos dark, and the
ship had disappeared, so she gave herself up for lost. But in a little
the oar struck agin a big piece o' the wreck o' the pirate's boat, and
she managed to clamber upon it, and lay there, a'most dead with cold,
till mornin'. The first thing she saw when day broke forth wos a big
ship, bearin' right down on her, and she wos jist about run down when
one o' the men observed her from the bow.

"'Hard a-port!' roared the man.

"'Port it is,' cried the man at the wheel, an' round went the ship like
a duck, jist missin' the bit of wreck as she passed. A boat wos lowered,
and Mrs. Ellice wos took aboard. Well, she found that the ship wos bound
for the Sandwich Islands, and as they didn't mean to touch at any port
in passin', Mrs. Ellice had to go on with her. Misfortins don't come
single, howsiver. The ship wos wrecked on a coral reef, and the crew had
to take to their boats, which they did, an' got safe to land; but the
land they got to wos an out-o'-the-way island among the Feejees, and a
spot where ships never come, so they had to make up their minds to stop
there."

"I thought," said Amos Parr, "that the Feejees were cannibals, and that
whoever was wrecked or cast ashore on their coasts was killed and
roasted, and eat up at once."

"So ye're right," rejoined Buzzby; "but Providence sent the crew to one
o' the islands that had bin visited by a native Christian missionary
from one o' the other islands, and the people had gin up some o' their
worst practices, and wos thinkin' o' turnin' over a new leaf altogether.
So the crew wos spared, and took to livin' among the natives, quite
comfortable like. But they soon got tired and took to their boats agin,
and left. Mrs. Ellice, however, determined to remain and help the native
Christians, till a ship should pass that way. For three years nothin'
but canoes hove in sight o' that lonesome island; then, at last, a brig
came, and cast anchor off shore. It wos an Australian trader that had
been blown out o' her course on her way to England, so they took poor
Mrs. Ellice aboard, and brought her home--and that's how it wos."

Buzzby's outline, although meagre, is so comprehensive that we do not
think it necessary to add a word. Soon after he had concluded, the
guests of the evening came in, and the conversation became general.

"Buzzby's jollification," as it was called in the village, was long
remembered as one of the most interesting events that had occurred for
many years. One of the chief amusements of the evening was the spinning
of long yarns about the incidents of the late voyage, by men who could
spin them well.

Their battles in the Polar Seas were all fought over again. The
wondering listeners were told how Esquimaux were chased and captured;
how walruses were lanced and harpooned; how bears were speared and shot;
how long and weary journeys were undertaken on foot over immeasurable
fields of ice and snow; how icebergs had crashed around their ship, and
chains had been snapped asunder, and tough anchors had been torn from
the ground or lost; how schools had been set agoing and a theatre got
up; and how, provisions having failed, rats were eaten--and eaten, too,
with gusto. All this and a great deal more was told on that celebrated
night--sometimes by one, sometimes by another, and sometimes, to the
confusion of the audience, by two or three at once, and, not
unfrequently, to the still greater confusion of story-tellers and
audience alike, the whole proceedings were interrupted by the outrageous
yells and turmoil of the two indomitable young Buzzbys, as they romped
in reckless joviality with Dumps and Poker. But at length the morning
light broke up the party, and stories of the World of Ice came to an
end.

       *       *       *       *       *

And now, reader, our tale is told. But we cannot close without a parting
word in regard to those with whom we have held intercourse so long.

It must not be supposed that from this date everything in the affairs of
our various friends flowed on in a tranquil, uninterrupted course. This
world is a battle-field, on which no warrior finds rest until he dies;
and yet, to the Christian warrior on that field, the hour of death is
the hour of victory. "Change" is written in broad letters on everything
connected with Time; and he who would do his duty well, and enjoy the
greatest possible amount of happiness here, must seek to prepare himself
for _every_ change. Men cannot escape the general law. The current of
their particular stream may long run smooth, but sooner or later the
rugged channel and the precipice will come. Some streams run quietly for
many a league, and only at the last are troubled. Others burst from
their very birth on rocks of difficulty, and rush, throughout their
course, in tortuous, broken channels.

So was it with the actors in our story. Our hero's course was smooth.
Having fallen in love with his friend Tom Singleton's profession, he
studied medicine and surgery, became an M.D., and returned to practise
in Grayton, which was a flourishing sea-port, and, during the course of
Fred's career, extended considerably. Fred also fell in love with a
pretty young girl in a neighbouring town, and married her. Tom Singleton
also took up his abode in Grayton, there being, as he said, "room for
two." Ever since Tom had seen Isobel on the end of the quay, on the day
when the _Dolphin_ set sail for the Polar Regions, his heart had been
taken prisoner. Isobel refused to give it back unless he, Tom, should
return the heart which he had stolen from her. This he could not do, so
it was agreed that the two hearts should be tied together, and they two
should be constituted joint guardians of both. In short, they were
married, and took Mrs. Bright to live with them, not far from the
residence of old Mr. Singleton, who was the fattest and jolliest old
gentleman in the place, and the very idol of dogs and boys, who loved
him to distraction.

Captain Ellice, having had, as he said, "more than his share of the
sea," resolved to live on shore, and, being possessed of a moderately
comfortable income, he purchased Mrs. Bright's cottage on the green hill
that overlooked the harbour and the sea. Here he became celebrated for
his benevolence, and for the energy with which he entered into all the
schemes that were devised for the benefit of the town of Grayton. Like
Tom Singleton and Fred, he became deeply interested in the condition of
the poor, and had a special weakness for _poor old women,_ which he
exhibited by searching up, and doing good to, every poor old woman in
the parish. Captain Ellice was also celebrated for his garden, which was
a remarkably fine one; for his flagstaff, which was a remarkably tall
and magnificent one; and for his telescope, which constantly protruded
from his drawingroom window, and pointed in the direction of the sea.

As for the others--Captain Guy continued his career at sea as commander
of an East Indiaman. He remained stout and true-hearted to the last,
like one of the oak timbers of his own good ship.

Bolton, Saunders, Mivins, Peter Grim, Amos Parr, and the rest of them,
were scattered in a few years, as sailors usually are, to the four
quarters of the globe. O'Riley alone was heard of again. He wrote to
Buzzby "by manes of the ritin' he had larn'd aboord the _Dolfin_,"
informing him that he had forsaken the "say" and become a small farmer
near Cork. He had plenty of murphies and also a pig--the latter "bein'"
he said, "so like the wan that belonged to his owld grandmother, that he
thought it must be the same wan corned alive agin, or its darter."

And Buzzby--poor Buzzby--he also gave up the sea, much against his will,
by command of his wife, and took to miscellaneous work, of which there
was plenty for an active man in a sea-port like Grayton. His rudder,
poor man, was again (and this time permanently) lashed amid-ships, and
whatever breeze Mrs. Buzzby chanced to blow, his business was to sail
_right before it._ The two little Buzzbys were the joy of their father's
heart. They were genuine little true-blues, both of them, and went to
sea the moment their legs were long enough, and came home, voyage after
voyage, with gifts of curiosities and gifts of money to their worthy
parents.

Dumps resided during the remainder of his days with Captain Ellice, and
Poker dwelt with Buzzby. These truly remarkable dogs kept up their
attachment to each other to the end. Indeed, as time passed by, they
drew closer and closer together, for Poker became more sedate, and,
consequently, a more suitable companion for his ancient friend. The dogs
formed a connecting link between the Buzzby and Ellice families--constantly
reminding each of the other's existence by the daily interchange of visits.

Fred and Tom soon came to be known as the best doctors with which that
part of the country had ever been blessed. And the secret of their
success lay in this, that while they ministered to the diseased bodies
of men, they also ministered to their diseased souls. With skilful hands
they sought to arrest the progress of decay; but when all their remedies
failed, they did not merely cease their efforts and retire--they turned
to the pages of divine truth, and directed the gaze of the dying
sufferers to Jesus Christ, the Great Physician of souls. When death had
done its work, they did not quit the mourning household as if they were
needed there no longer, but kneeling down with the bereaved, they prayed
to Him who alone can bind up the broken heart, and besought the Holy
Spirit to comfort the stricken ones in their deep affliction.

Thus Fred and his friend went hand in hand together, respected and
blessed by all who knew them--each year as it passed cementing closer
and closer that undying friendship which had first started into being in
the gay season of boyhood, and had bloomed and ripened amid the
adventures, dangers, and vicissitudes of the World of Ice.