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. We 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."
"Oh 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 distantly 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 Esquimaux
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 Esquimaux, 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!"
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 Esquimaux village. To tell of the dangers, the
adventures, and the hairbreadth 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 walrus 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.
It was on Christmas-day that West died.
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.