The sailor on watch opened the outer door. There, plodding over the
ghastly white snow, were the officers of the _Wanderer_ approaching the
hut. There, scattered under the merciless black sky, were the crew, with
the dogs and the sledges, waiting the word which was to start them on
their perilous and doubtful journey.
Captain Helding of the _Wanderer_, accompanied by his officers, entered
the hut, in high spirits at the prospect of a change. Behind them,
lounging in slowly by himself, was a dark, sullen, heavy-browed man. He
neither spoke, nor offered his hand to anybody: he was the one person
present who seemed to be perfectly indifferent to the fate in store for
him. This was the man whom his brother officers had nicknamed the Bear
of the Expedition. In other words--Richard Wardour.
Crayford advanced to welcome Captain Helding. Frank, remembering the
friendly reproof which he had just received, passed over the other
officers of the _Wanderer_, and made a special effort to be civil to
Crayford’s friend.
“Good-morning, Mr. Wardour,” he said. “We may congratulate each other on
the chance of leaving this horrible place.”
“_You_ may think it horrible,” Wardour retorted; “I like it.”
“Like it? Good Heavens! why?”
“Because there are no women here.”
Frank turned to his brother officers, without making any further
advances in the direction of Richard Wardour. The Bear of the Expedition
was more unapproachable than ever.
In the meantime, the hut had become thronged by the able-bodied officers
and men of the two ships. Captain Helding, standing in the midst of
them, with Crayford by his side, proceeded to explain the purpose of the
contemplated expedition to the audience which surrounded him.
He began in these words:
“Brother officers and men of the _Wanderer_ and _Sea-mew_, it is my
duty to tell you, very briefly, the reasons which have decided Captain
Ebsworth and myself on dispatching an exploring party in search of help.
Without recalling all the hardships we have suffered for the last two
years--the destruction, first of one of our ships, then of the other;
the death of some of our bravest and best companions; the vain battles
we have been fighting with the ice and snow, and boundless desolation of
these inhospitable regions--without dwelling on these things, it is
my duty to remind you that this, the last place in which we have taken
refuge, is far beyond the track of any previous expedition, and that
consequently our chance of being discovered by any rescuing parties that
may be sent to look after us is, to say the least of it, a chance of the
most uncertain kind. You all agree with me, gentlemen, so far?”
The officers (with the exception of Wardour, who stood apart in sullen
silence) all agreed, so far.
The captain went on.
“It is therefore urgently necessary that we should make another, and
probably a last, effort to extricate ourselves. The winter is not far
off, game is getting scarcer and scarcer, our stock of provisions is
running low, and the sick--especially, I am sorry to say, the sick in
the _Wanderer_‘s hut--are increasing in number day by day. We must look
to our own lives, and to the lives of those who are dependent on us; and
we have no time to lose.”
The officers echoed the words cheerfully.
“Right! right! No time to lose.”
Captain Helding resumed:
“The plan proposed is, that a detachment of the able-bodied officers and
men among us should set forth this very day, and make another effort to
reach the nearest inhabited settlements, from which help and provisions
may be dispatched to those who remain here. The new direction to be
taken, and the various precautions to be adopted, are all drawn out
ready. The only question now before us is, Who is to stop here, and who
is to undertake the journey?”
The officers answered the question with one accord--“Volunteers!”
The men echoed their officers. “Ay, ay, volunteers.”
Wardour still preserved his sullen silence. Crayford noticed him.
standing apart from the rest, and appealed to him personally.
“Do you say nothing?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Wardour answered. “Go or stay, it’s all one to me.”
“I hope you don’t really mean that?” said Crayford.
“I do.”
“I am sorry to hear it, Wardour.”
Captain Helding answered the general suggestion in favor of volunteering
by a question which instantly checked the rising enthusiasm of the
meeting.
“Well,” he said, “suppose we say volunteers. Who volunteers to stop in
the huts?”
There was a dead silence. The officers and men looked at each other
confusedly. The captain continued:
“You see we can’t settle it by volunteering. You all want to go. Every
man among us who has the use of his limbs naturally wants to go. But
what is to become of those who have not got the use of their limbs? Some
of us must stay here, and take care of the sick.”
Everybody admitted that this was true.
“So we get back again,” said the captain, “to the old question--Who
among the able-bodied is to go? and who is to stay? Captain Ebsworth
says, and I say, let chance decide it. Here are dice. The numbers run
as high as twelve--double sixes. All who throw under six, stay; all who
throw over six, go. Officers of the _Wanderer_ and the _Sea-mew_, do you
agree to that way of meeting the difficulty?”
All the officers agreed, with the one exception of Wardour, who still
kept silence.
“Men of the _Wanderer_ and _Sea-mew_, your officers agree to cast lots.
Do you agree too?”
The men agreed without a dissentient voice. Crayford handed the box and
the dice to Captain Helding.
“You throw first, sir. Under six, ‘Stay.’ Over six, ‘Go.’”
Captain Helding cast the dice; the top of the cask serving for a table.
He threw seven.
“Go,” said Crayford. “I congratulate you, sir. Now for my own chance.”
He cast the dice in his turn. Three! “Stay! Ah, well! well! if I can do
my duty, and be of use to others, what does it matter whether I go or
stay? Wardour, you are next, in the absence of your first lieutenant.”
Wardour prepared to cast, without shaking the dice.
“Shake the box, man!” cried Crayford. “Give yourself a chance of luck!”
Wardour persisted in letting the dice fall out carelessly, just as they
lay in the box.
“Not I!” he muttered to himself. “I’ve done with luck.” Saying those
words, he threw down the empty box, and seated himself on the nearest
chest, without looking to see how the dice had fallen.
Crayford examined them. “Six!” he exclaimed. “There! you have a second
chance, in spite of yourself. You are neither under nor over--you throw
again.”
“Bah!” growled the Bear. “It’s not worth the trouble of getting up for.
Somebody else throw for me.” He suddenly looked at Frank. “You! you have
got what the women call a lucky face.”
Frank appealed to Crayford. “Shall I?”
“Yes, if he wishes it,” said Crayford.
Frank cast the dice. “Two! He stays! Wardour, I am sorry I have thrown
against you.”
“Go or stay,” reiterated Wardour, “it’s all one to me. You will be
luckier, young one, when you cast for yourself.”
Frank cast for himself.
“Eight. Hurrah! I go!”
“What did I tell you?” said Wardour. “The chance was yours. You have
thriven on my ill luck.”
He rose, as he spoke, to leave the hut. Crayford stopped him.
“Have you anything particular to do, Richard?”
“What has anybody to do here?”
“Wait a little, then. I want to speak to you when this business is
over.”
“Are you going to give me any more good advice?”
“Don’t look at me in that sour way, Richard. I am going to ask you a
question about something which concerns yourself.”
Wardour yielded without a word more. He returned to his chest, and
cynically composed himself to slumber. The casting of the lots went
on rapidly among the officers and men. In another half-hour chance had
decided the question of “Go” or “Stay” for all alike. The men left the
hut. The officers entered the inner apartment for a last conference with
the bed-ridden captain of the _Sea-mew_. Wardour and Crayford were left
together, alone.