"The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want,
He makes me down to lie
By pastures green; He leadeth me
The quiet waters by."
A strange sight on that clear, still, dark ocean, the white iceberg with
its living freight drifting aimlessly about. Strange sound, this song
of praise, rising from their cold, blue lips, and from hearts that
hardly dared to hope.
Another day and another went by, and on the Wednesday an accident
happened that had well-nigh proved fatal to nearly all on board the
berg. More than one-third part of their ice-ship parted and fell away.
Luckily it first gave voice, and showed the rent before finally dropping
off.
There was no denying it, the danger was now extreme. They had been
drifting slowly southwards, and the iceberg was being influenced by
warmer currents, and slowly wearing away.
It might, moreover, topple over at any moment. Things came to their
very worst that same evening when another piece of the berg plunged into
the sea, and when morning broke, there was barely room for the men to
huddle together, looking fearfully around them, and down into the still
black water, and at those hungry sharks, who now seemed to gambol about
as if in momentary expectation of their prey.
"Look!" cried Douglas about noon that day, "what is that dark object
yonder on that immense iceberg that we have been skirting these last two
hours?"
"Seals, I think," said Leonard, in a feeble, hopeless voice.
"I think not, Leon. Oh, lad! I think they are men."
"Let us signal, anyhow."
A jacket was waved and--answered.
Next moment half-a-dozen swift kayaks or Eskimo boats were dashing from
the shore to their rescue.
"Thank God!" said every man, and the tears rolled down the cheeks of
many now, and half-choked them as they tried to speak.
But they clasped each other's thin, cold hands, and _looked_ the joy
they could not utter.
They were Eskimos who had come to the rescue, and it was from the
mainland they had come, and not from any iceberg, or even island.
Their joy was redoubled when they drew near and found Captain Blunt and
their old shipmates waving their hands and hats to them from the
snow-clad shore.
So happy a reunion no one can fully understand or appreciate except
those who have been in the same sad plight, and saved as if by a
miracle.
Longfellow, in his beautiful poem "The Secret of the Sea," tells us how
Count Arnaldos--
"Saw a fair and stately galley
Steering onward to the land.
"How he heard the ancient helmsman
Chant a song so wild and clear,
That the sailing sea-bird slowly
Poised upon the mast to hear,--
"Till his soul was filled with longing,
And he cried with impulse strong,
`Helmsman! for the love of Heaven,
Teach me, too, that wondrous song.'
"`Would'st thou so,' the helmsman answered,
`Learn the secrets of the sea?
Only those who brave its dangers
Comprehend its mystery.'"
Yes, reader, the sea hath many, many secrets. We may never know them
all. Not even those who have been down to the sea in ships may fathom
half the mysteries that everywhere surround them, or can ever hope to
explain to those who dwell on land a tithe of what they know and feel.
What says the poet?
"Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me
As I gaze upon the sea!
All the old romantic visions,
All my dreams come back to me,--
"Till my soul is filled with longing
For the secret of the sea,
And the heart of the great ocean
Sends a thrilling pulse through me."
Book 2--CHAPTER SIX.