THE NORTHERN PARTY--A NARROW ESCAPE, AND A GREAT DISCOVERY--ESQUIMAUX
AGAIN, AND A JOYFUL SURPRISE.
It is interesting to meditate, sometimes, on the deviousness of the
paths by which men are led in earthly affairs--even when the
starting-point and object of pursuit are the same. The two parties
which left 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 walrus or seals.
Their hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment. They got only one
seal, and that was a small one--scarcely sufficient to afford a couple
of meals to the dogs.
They were "misfortunate entirely", as O'Riley remarked, and, to add to
their misfortunes, the floe-ice became so rugged that they could
scarcely advance at all.
"Things grow worse and worse," remarked Grim, as the sledge, for the
twentieth time that day, plunged into a crack in the ice, and had to be
unloaded ere it could be got out. "The sledge won't stand much o' sich
work, and if it breaks--good-bye to it, for it won't mend without wood,
and there's none here."
"No fear of it," cried Bolton encouragingly; "it's made of material as
tough as your own sinews, Grim, and won't give way easily, as the thumps
it has withstood already prove. Has it never struck you, Fred," he
continued, turning to our hero, who was plodding forward in
silence,--"has it never struck you that when things in this world get
very bad, and we begin to feel inclined to give up, they somehow or
other begin to get better."
"Why, yes, I have noticed that; but I have a vague sort of feeling just
now that things are not going to get better. I don't know whether it's
this long-continued darkness, or the want of good food, but I feel more
downcast than I ever was in my life before."
Bolton's remark had been intended to cheer, but Fred's answer proved
that a discussion of the merits of the question was not likely to have a
good effect on the men, whose spirits were evidently very much cast
down, so he changed the subject.
Fortunately at that time an incident occurred which effected the mate's
purpose better than any efforts man could have made. It has frequently
happened that when Arctic voyagers have, from sickness and long
confinement during a monotonous winter, become so depressed in spirits
that games and amusements of every kind failed to rouse them from their
lethargic despondency, sudden danger has given to their minds the
needful impulse, and effected a salutary change, for a time at least, in
their spirits. Such was the case at the present time. The men were so
worn with hard travel and the want of fresh food, and depressed by
disappointment and long-continued darkness, that they failed in their
attempts to cheer each other, and at length relapsed into moody silence.
Fred's thoughts turned constantly to his father, and he ceased to
remark cheerfully, as was his wont, on passing objects. Even O'Riley's
jests became few and far between, and at last ceased altogether. Bolton
alone kept up his spirits, and sought to cheer his men, the feeling of
responsibility being, probably, the secret of his superiority over them
in this respect. But even Bolton's spirits began to sink at last.
While they were thus groping sadly along among the hummocks, a large
fragment of ice was observed to break off from a berg just over their
heads.
"Look out! follow me, quick!" shouted the first mate in a loud, sharp
voice of alarm, at the same time darting in towards the side of the
berg.
The startled men obeyed the order just in time, for they had barely
reached the side of the berg when the enormous pinnacle fell, and was
shattered into a thousand fragments on the spot they had just left. A
rebounding emotion sent the blood in a crimson flood to Fred's forehead,
and this was followed by a feeling of gratitude to the Almighty for the
preservation of himself and the party. Leaving the dangerous vicinity
of the bergs, they afterwards kept more inshore.
"What can yonder mound be?" said Fred, pointing to an object that was
faintly seen at a short distance off upon the bleak shore.
"An Esquimaux hut, maybe," replied Grim. "What think'ee, Meetuck?"
Meetuck shook his head and looked grave, but made no reply.
"Why don't you answer?" said Bolton; "but come along, we'll soon see."
Meetuck now made various ineffectual attempts to dissuade the party from
examining the mound, which turned out to be composed of stones heaped
upon each other; but, as all the conversation of which he was capable,
failed to enlighten his companions, as to what the pile was, they
instantly set to work to open a passage into the interior, believing
that it might contain fresh provisions, as the Esquimaux were in the
habit of thus preserving their superabundant food from bears and wolves.
In half an hour a hole large enough for a man to creep through was
formed, and Fred entered, but started back with an exclamation of horror
on finding himself in the presence of a human skeleton, which was seated
on the ground in the centre of this strange tomb with its head and arms
resting on the knees.
"It must be an Esquimaux grave," said Fred, as he retreated hastily;
"that must be the reason why Meetuck tried to hinder us."
"I should like to see it," said Grim, stooping and thrusting his head
and shoulders into the hole.
"What have you got there?" asked Bolton, as Grim drew back and held up
something in his hand.
"Don't know exactly. It's like a bit o' cloth." On examination the
article was found to be a shred of coarse cloth, of a blue or black
colour, and, being an unexpected substance to meet with in such a place,
Bolton turned round with it to Meetuck in the hope of obtaining some
information. But Meetuck was gone. While the sailors were breaking
into the grave, Meetuck had stood aloof with a displeased expression of
countenance, as if he were angry at the rude desecration of a
countryman's tomb; but the moment his eye fell on the shred of cloth an
expression of mingled surprise and curiosity crossed his countenance,
and without uttering a word he slipped noiselessly into the hole, from
which he almost immediately issued bearing several articles in his hand.
These he held up to view, and with animated words and gesticulations
explained that this was the grave of a white man, not of a native.
The articles he brought out were a pewter plate and a silver
table-spoon.
"There's a name of some kind written here," said Bolton, as he carefully
scrutinised the spoon. "Look here, Fred, your eyes are better than
mine; see if you can make it out."
Fred took it with a trembling hand, for a strange feeling of dread had
seized possession of his heart, and he could scarcely bring himself to
look upon it. He summoned up courage, however, but at the first glance
his hand fell down by his side, and a dimness came over his eyes, for
the word "_Pole Star_" was engraven on the handle. He would have fallen
to the ground had not Bolton caught him.
"Don't give way, lad, the ship may be all right. Perhaps this is one o'
the crew that died."
Fred did not answer, but, recovering himself with a strong effort, he
said: "Pull down the stones, men."
The men obeyed in silence, and the poor boy sat down on a rock to await
the result in trembling anxiety. A few minutes sufficed to disentomb
the skeleton, for the men sympathised with their young comrade, and
worked with all their energies.
"Cheer up, Fred," said Bolton, coming and laying his hand on the youth's
shoulder, "it'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.
"Oh, Bolton, my heart misgives me!" said Fred, as they drove along; "I
fear that they have all perished."
"Niver a bit sir," said O'Riley in a sympathising tone, "yon chap must
have died and been buried here be the crew as they wint past."
"You forget that sailors don't bury men under mounds of stone, with
pewter plates and spoons beside them."
O'Riley was silenced, for the remark was unanswerable.
"He may ha' bin left or lost on the shore, and been found by the
Esquimaux," suggested Peter Grim.
"Is that not another tomb?" enquired one of the men, pointing towards an
object which stood on the end of a point or cape towards which they were
approaching.
Ere anyone could reply, their ears were saluted by the well-known bark
of a pack of Esquimaux dogs. In another moment they dashed into the
midst of a snow village, and were immediately surrounded by the excited
natives. For some time no information could be gleaned from their
interpreter, who was too excited to make use of his meagre amount of
English. They observed, however, that the natives, although much
excited, did not seem to be so much surprised at the appearance of white
men amongst them as those were whom they had first met with near the
ship. In a short time Meetuck apparently had expended all he had to say
to his friends, and turned to make explanations to Bolton in a very
excited tone; but little more could be made out than that what he said
had some reference to white men. At length, in desperation, he pointed
to a large hut which seemed to be the principal one of the village, and,
dragging the mate towards it, made signs to him to enter.
Bolton hesitated an instant.
"He wants you to see the chief of the tribe, no doubt," said Fred;
"you'd better go in at once."
A loud voice shouted something in the Esquimaux language from within the
hut. At the sound Fred's heart beat violently, and pushing past the
mate he crept through the tunnelled entrance and stood within. There
was little furniture in this rude dwelling. A dull flame flickered in a
stone lamp which hung from the roof, and revealed the figure of a large
Esquimaux reclining on a couch of skins at the raised side of the hut.
The man looked up hastily as Fred entered, and uttered a few
unintelligible words.
"Father!" cried Fred, gasping for breath, and springing forward.
Captain Ellice, for it was indeed he, started with apparent difficulty
and pain into a sitting posture, and, throwing back his hood, revealed a
face whose open, hearty, benignant expression shone through a coat of
dark brown which long months of toil and exposure had imprinted on it.
It was thin, however, and careworn, and wore an expression that seemed
to be the result of long-continued suffering.
"Father!" he exclaimed in an earnest tone; "who calls me father?"
"Don't you know me, Father?--don't you remember Fred?--look at--"
Fred checked himself, for the wild look of his father frightened him.
"Ah! these dreams," murmured the old man, "I wish they did not come
so--"
Placing his hand on his forehead he fell backwards in a state of
insensibility into the arms of his son.