GUNSHOTS.
About two o'clock in the morning Erik and Mr. Hersebom, exhausted with
fatigue, laid down side by side between two casks, under the canvas that
protected their provisions. Kaas, also, was close to them and kept them
warm with his thick fur. They were not long in falling asleep. When they
awoke the sun was already high in the heavens, the sky was blue and the
sea calm. The immense bank of ice upon which they were floating appeared
to be motionless, its movement was so gentle and regular. But along the
two edges of it which were nearest to them enormous icebergs were being
carried along with frightful rapidity. These gigantic crystals reflected
like a prism the solar rays, and they were the most marvelous that Erik
had ever beheld.
Mr. Hersebom also, although but little inclined in general, and
especially in his present situation, to admire the splendor of Nature in
the arctic regions, could not help being impressed with them.
"How beautiful this would look were we on a good ship!" he said,
sighing.
"Bah!" answered Erik, with his usual good humor. "On board a ship one
must be thinking only how to avoid the icebergs so as not to be crushed
to pieces, whilst on this island of ice we have none of these miseries
to worry us."
As this was evidently the view of an optimist, Mr. Hersebom answered
with a sad smile. But Erik was determined to take a cheerful view of
things.
"Is it not an extraordinary piece of good luck that we have this depot
of provisions?" he said. "Our case would, indeed, be a desperate one if
we were deprived of everything; but, with twenty casks of biscuits,
preserved meats, and, above all, our guns and cartridges, what have we
to fear? At the most, we will only have to remain some weeks without
seeing any land that we can reach. You see, dear father, that we have
happened upon this adventure in the same manner as the crew of the
'Hansa.'"
"Of the 'Hansa'?" asked Mr. Hersebom, with curiosity.
"Yes, a vessel that set out in 1869 for the arctic seas. Part of her
crew were left, as we are, on a floating field of ice, while they were
occupied in transporting some provisions and coal. The brave men
accommodated themselves as well as they could to this new life, and
after floating for six mouths and a half over a distance of several
thousand leagues, ended by landing in the arctic regions of North
America."
"May we be as fortunate!" said Mr. Hersebom, with a sigh. "But it would
be well I think for us to eat something."
"That is also my opinion!" said Erik. "A biscuit and a slice of beef
would be very acceptable."
Mr. Hersebom opened two casks to take out what they required for their
breakfast, and as soon as his arrangements were completed they did ample
justice to the provisions.
"Was the raft of the crew of the 'Hansa' as large as ours?" asked the
old fisherman, after ten minutes conscientiously devoted to repairing
his strength.
"I think not--ours is considerably larger. The 'Hansa's' became
gradually much smaller, so that the unfortunate shipwrecked men were at
last compelled to abandon it, for the waves began to dash over them.
Fortunately they had a large boat which enabled them, when their island
was no longer habitable, to reach another. They did this several times
before they at last reached the main-land."
"Ah, I see!" said Mr. Hersebom, "they had a boat--but we have not.
Unless we embark in an empty hogshead I do not see how we can ever leave
this island of ice."
"We shall see about it when the time comes!" answered Erik. "At the
present moment I think the best thing that we can do is to make a
thorough exploration of our domain."
He arose, as did Mr. Hersebom, and they commenced climbing a hill of ice
and snow--a hummock is the technical name--in order to obtain a general
idea of their island.
They found it from one end to the other lying and floating insensibly
upon the polar ocean. But it was very difficult to form a correct
estimate either of its size or shape; for a great number of hummocks
intercepted their view on all sides. They resolved, however, to walk to
the extremity of it. As far as they could judge from the position of the
sun, that end of the island which extended toward the west had been
detached from the mass of which it had formerly been a part, and was now
turning to the north. They therefore supposed that their ice raft was
being carried toward the south by the influence of the tide and breeze,
and the fact that they no longer saw any trace of the long barriers of
ice, which are very extensive in the 78, fully corroborated this
hypothesis.
Their island was entirely covered with snow, and upon this snow they saw
distinctly here and there at a distance some black spots, which Mr.
Hersebom immediately recognized as "ongionks," that is to say, a species
of walrus of great size. These walruses doubtless inhabited the caverns
and crevasses in the ice, and believing themselves perfectly secure from
any attack, were basking in the sunshine.
It took Erik and Mr. Hersebom more than an hour to walk to the extreme
end of their island. They had followed closely the eastern side, because
that permitted them to explore at the same time both their raft and the
sea. Suddenly Kaas, who ran ahead of them, put to flight some of the
walruses which they had seen in the distance. They ran toward the border
of the field of ice in order to throw themselves into the water. Nothing
would have been more easy than to have killed a number of them. But what
would have been the use of their doing so, since they could not make a
fire to roast their delicate flesh? Erik was occupied about other
matters. He carefully examined the ice-field, and found that it was far
from being homogeneous. Numerous crevasses and fissures, which seemed to
extend in many cases for a long distance, made him fear that a slight
shock might divide it into several fragments. It was true that these
fragments might in all probability be of considerable size; but the
possibility of such an accident made them realize the necessity of
keeping as close as possible to their depot of provisions, unless they
wished to be deprived of them. Erik resolved to examine carefully their
whole domain, and to make his abode on the most massive portion; the one
that seemed capable of offering the greatest resistance. He also
determined to transport to this spot their depot of provisions.
It was with this resolve that Mr. Hersebom and Erik continued their
exploration of the western coast, after resting a few minutes at the
northerly point. They were now following that portion of the ice-field
where they had attacked the American yacht.
Kaas ran on before them, seeming to enjoy the freshness of the air, and
being in his true element on this carpet of snow, which doubtless
reminded him of the plains of Greenland.
Suddenly Erik saw him sniff the air and then dart forward like an arrow,
and stop barking beside some dark object, which was partially hidden by
a mass of ice.
"Another walrus, I suppose!" he said, hurrying forward.
It was not a walrus which lay extended on the snow, and which had so
excited Kaas. It was a man, insensible, and covered with blood, whose
clothing of skins was assuredly not the dress worn by any seamen of the
"Alaska." It reminded Erik of the clothing worn by the man who had
passed the winter on the "Vega." He raised the head of the man; it was
covered with thick red hair, and it was remarkable that his nose was
crushed in like that of a negro.
Erik asked himself whether he was the sport of some illusion.
He opened the man's waistcoat, and bared his chest. It was perhaps as
much to ascertain whether his heart still beat as to seek for his name.
He found his name tattooed in blue, on a rudely designed escutcheon.
"Patrick O'Donoghan, 'Cynthia,'" and his heart still beat. The man was
not dead. He had a large wound in his head, another in his shoulder, and
on his chest a contusion, which greatly interfered with his respiration.
"He must be carried to our place of shelter, and restored to life," said
Erik, to Mr. Hersebom.
And then he added in a low tone as if he was afraid of being overheard.
"It is he, father, whom we have been seeking for such a long time
without being able to find him--Patrick O'Donoghan--and see he is almost
unable to breathe."
The thought that the secret of his life was known to this bloody object
upon which death already appeared to have set his seal, kindled a gloomy
flame in Erik's eyes. His adopted father divined his thoughts, and could
not help shrugging his shoulders--he seemed to say:
"Of what use would it be to discover it now. The knowledge of all the
secrets in the world would be useless to us."
He, however, took the body by the limbs, while Erik lifted him under the
arms, and loaded with this burden they resumed their walk.
The motion made the wounded man open his eyes. Soon the pain caused by
his wounds was so great that he began to moan and utter confused cries,
among which they distinguished the English word "drink!"
They were still some distance from their depot of provisions. Erik,
however, stopped and propped the unfortunate man against a hummock, and
then put his leathern bottle to his lips.
It was nearly empty, but the mouthful of strong liquor that Patrick
O'Donoghan swallowed seemed to restore him to life. He looked around
him, heaved a deep sigh and then said:
"Where is Mr. Jones?"
"We found you alone on the ice," answered Erik. "Had you been there
long?"
"I do not know!" answered the wounded man, with difficulty. "Give me
something more to drink." He swallowed a second mouthful and then he
recovered sufficiently to be able to speak.
"When the tempest overtook us the yacht sunk," he explained. "Some of
the crew had time to throw themselves into the boats, the rest perished.
At the first moment of peril Mr. Jones made a sign for me to go with him
into a life-boat, which was suspended in the stern of the yacht and that
every one else disdained on account of its small dimensions, but which
proved to be safe, as it was impossible to sink it. It is the only one
which reached the ice island--all the others were upset before they
reached it. We were terribly wounded by the drift ice which the waves
threw into our boat, but at length we were able to draw ourselves beyond
their reach and wait for the dawn of day. This morning Mr. Jones left me
to go and see if he could kill a walrus, or some sea-bird, in order that
we might have something to eat. I have not seen him since!"
"Is Mr. Jones one of the officers of the 'Albatross'?" asked Erik.
"He is the owner and captain of her!" answered O'Donoghan, in a tone
which seemed to express surprise at the question.
"Then Mr. Tudor Brown is not the captain of the 'Albatross'?"
"I don't know," said the wounded man, hesitatingly, seeming to ask
himself whether he had been too confidential in speaking as freely as he
had done.
Erik did not think it wise to insist on this point. He had too many
other questions to ask.
"You see," he said to the Irishman, as he seated himself on the snow
beside him, "you refused the other day to come on board of my ship and
talk with me, and your refusal has occasioned many disasters. But now
that we have met again, let us profit by this opportunity to talk
seriously and like rational men. You see you are here on a floating
ice-bank, without food, and seriously wounded, incapable by your own
efforts of escaping the most cruel death. My adopted father and myself
have all that you need, food, fire-arms, and brandy. We will share with
you, and take care of you until you are well again. In return for our
care, we only ask you to treat us with a little confidence!"
The Irishman gave Erik an irresolute look in which gratitude seemed to
mingle with fear--a look of fearful indecision.
"That depends on the kind of confidence that you ask for?" he said,
evasively.
"Oh, you know very well," answered Erik, making an effort to smile, and
taking in his hands those of the wounded man. "I told you the other day;
you know what I want to find out and what I have come so far to
discover. Now, Patrick O'Donoghan, make a little effort and disclose to
me this secret which is of so much importance to me, tell me what you
know about the infant tied to the buoy. Give me the faintest indication
of who I am, so that I may find my family. What do you fear? What danger
do you run in satisfying me?"
O'Donoghan did not answer, but seemed to be turning over in his obtuse
brain the arguments that Erik had used.
"But," he said at last, with an effort, "if we succeed in getting away
from here, and we reach some country where there are judges and courts,
you could do me some harm?"
"No, I swear that I would not. I swear it by all that is sacred," said
Erik, hotly. "Whatever may be the injuries you have inflicted upon me or
upon others, I guarantee that you shall not suffer for them in any way.
Besides, there is one fact of which you seem to be ignorant, it is that
there is a limit to such matters. When such events have taken place more
than twenty years ago, human justice has no longer the right to demand
an accounting for them."
"Is that true?" asked Patrick O'Donoghan, distrustfully. "Mr. Jones told
me that the 'Alaska' had been sent by the police, and you yourself spoke
of a tribunal."
"That was about recent events--an accident that happened to us at the
beginning of our journey. You may be sure that Mr. Jones was mocking
you, Patrick. Doubtless he has some interest of his own for wishing you
not to tell."
"You may be sure of that," said the Irishman, earnestly. "But how did
you discover that I was acquainted with this secret?"
"Through Mr. and Mrs. Bowles of the Red Anchor in Brooklyn, who had
often heard you speak of the infant tied to the buoy."
"That is true," said the Irishman. He reflected again. "Then you are
sure that you were not sent by the police?" he said, at length.
"No--what an absurd idea. I came of my own accord on account of my
ardent desire, my thirst, to discover the land of my birth and to find
out who my parents were, that is all."
O'Donoghan smiled, proudly:
"Ah, that is what you want to know," he said. "Well, it is true that I
can tell you. It is true that I know."
"Tell me--tell me!" cried Erik, seeing that he hesitated. "Tell me and I
promise you pardon for all the evil that you have done, and my
everlasting gratitude if I am ever in a position to show it!"
The Irishman gave a covetous look at the leathern bottle.
"It makes my throat dry to talk so much," he said, in a faint tone. "I
will drink a little more if you are willing to give it to me."
"There is no more here, but we can get some at our depot of provisions.
We have two large cases of brandy there," answered Erik, handing the
bottle to Mr. Hersebom.
The latter immediately walked away, followed by Kaas.
"They will not be gone long," said the young man, turning toward his
companion. "Now, my brave fellow, do not make merchandise of your
confidence. Put yourself in my place. Suppose that during all your life
you had been ignorant of the name of your country, and that of your
mother, and that at last you found yourself in the presence of a man who
knew all about it, and who refused the information which was of such
inestimable value to you, and that at the very time when you had saved
him, restored him to consciousness and life. I do not ask you to do
anything impossible. I do not ask you to criminate yourself if you have
anything to reproach yourself with. Give me only an indication, the very
slightest. Put me on the track, so that I can find my family; and that
is all that I shall ask of you."
"By my faith, I will do you this favor!" said Patrick, evidently moved.
"You know that I was a cabin-boy on board the 'Cynthia'?"
He stopped short.
Erik hung upon his words. Was he at last going to find out the truth?
Was he going to solve this enigma and discover the name of his family,
the land of his birth? Truly the scene appeared to him almost
chimerical. He fastened his eyes upon the wounded man, ready to drink in
his words with avidity. For nothing in the world would he have
interfered with his recital, neither by interruption nor gesture. He did
not even observe that a shadow had appeared behind him. It was the sight
of this shadow which had stopped the story of Patrick O'Donoghan.
"Mr. Jones!" he said, in the tone of a school-boy detected in some
flagrant mischief.
Erik turned and saw Tudor Brown coming around a neighboring hummock,
where until this moment he had been hidden from their sight.
The exclamation of the Irishman confirmed the suspicion which during the
last hour had presented itself to his mind.
Mr. Jones and Tudor Brown were one and the same person.
He had hardly time to make this reflection before two shots were heard.
Tudor Brown raised his gun and shot Patrick O'Donoghan through the
heart, who fell backward.
Then before he had time to lower his rifle, Tudor Brown received a
bullet in his forehead, and fell forward on his face.
"I did well to come back when I saw suspicious footprints in the snow,"
said Mr. Hersebom, coming forward, his gun still smoking in his hands.