CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE NORTHERN PARTY--A NARROW ESCAPE, AND A GREAT DISCOVERY--ESQUIMAUXAGAIN, AND A JOYFUL SURPRISE.
It is interesting to meditate, sometimes, on the deviousness of thepaths by which men are led in earthly affairs--even when thestarting-point and object of pursuit are the same. The two partieswhich left the _Dolphin_ had for their object the procuring of freshfood. The one went south and the other north, but their field was thesame--the surface of the frozen sea and the margin of the ice-girtshore. Yet how different their experiences and results were the sequelwill 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 thelarge sledge.
Being fine weather when they set out, they travelled rapidly, makingtwenty miles, as near as they could calculate, in the first six hours.The dogs pulled famously, and the men stepped out well at first, beingcheered and invigorated mentally by the prospect of an adventurousexcursion and fresh meat. At the end of the second day they buried partof their stock of provisions at the foot of a conspicuous cliff,intending to pick it up on their return, and, thus lightened, theyadvanced more rapidly, keeping farther out on the floes, in hopes offalling in with walrus or seals.
Their hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment. They got only oneseal, and that was a small one--scarcely sufficient to afford a coupleof meals to the dogs.
They were "misfortunate entirely", as O'Riley remarked, and, to add totheir misfortunes, the floe-ice became so rugged that they couldscarcely advance at all.
"Things grow worse and worse," remarked Grim, as the sledge, for thetwentieth time that day, plunged into a crack in the ice, and had to beunloaded ere it could be got out. "The sledge won't stand much o' sichwork, 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 astough as your own sinews, Grim, and won't give way easily, as the thumpsit has withstood already prove. Has it never struck you, Fred," hecontinued, turning to our hero, who was plodding forward insilence,--"has it never struck you that when things in this world getvery bad, and we begin to feel inclined to give up, they somehow orother begin to get better."
"Why, yes, I have noticed that; but I have a vague sort of feeling justnow that things are not going to get better. I don't know whether it'sthis long-continued darkness, or the want of good food, but I feel moredowncast than I ever was in my life before."
Bolton's remark had been intended to cheer, but Fred's answer provedthat a discussion of the merits of the question was not likely to have agood effect on the men, whose spirits were evidently very much castdown, so he changed the subject.
Fortunately at that time an incident occurred which effected the mate'spurpose better than any efforts man could have made. It has frequentlyhappened that when Arctic voyagers have, from sickness and longconfinement during a monotonous winter, become so depressed in spiritsthat games and amusements of every kind failed to rouse them from theirlethargic despondency, sudden danger has given to their minds theneedful impulse, and effected a salutary change, for a time at least, intheir spirits. Such was the case at the present time. The men were soworn with hard travel and the want of fresh food, and depressed bydisappointment and long-continued darkness, that they failed in theirattempts to cheer each other, and at length relapsed into moody silence.Fred's thoughts turned constantly to his father, and he ceased toremark cheerfully, as was his wont, on passing objects. Even O'Riley'sjests became few and far between, and at last ceased altogether. Boltonalone kept up his spirits, and sought to cheer his men, the feeling ofresponsibility being, probably, the secret of his superiority over themin this respect. But even Bolton's spirits began to sink at last.
While they were thus groping sadly along among the hummocks, a largefragment of ice was observed to break off from a berg just over theirheads.
"Look out! follow me, quick!" shouted the first mate in a loud, sharpvoice of alarm, at the same time darting in towards the side of theberg.
The startled men obeyed the order just in time, for they had barelyreached the side of the berg when the enormous pinnacle fell, and wasshattered into a thousand fragments on the spot they had just left. Arebounding 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 thepreservation of himself and the party. Leaving the dangerous vicinityof the bergs, they afterwards kept more inshore.
"What can yonder mound be?" said Fred, pointing to an object that wasfaintly 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 fromexamining the mound, which turned out to be composed of stones heapedupon each other; but, as all the conversation of which he was capable,failed to enlighten his companions, as to what the pile was, theyinstantly set to work to open a passage into the interior, believingthat it might contain fresh provisions, as the Esquimaux were in thehabit of thus preserving their superabundant food from bears and wolves.In half an hour a hole large enough for a man to creep through wasformed, and Fred entered, but started back with an exclamation of horroron finding himself in the presence of a human skeleton, which was seatedon the ground in the centre of this strange tomb with its head and armsresting 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 headand shoulders into the hole.
"What have you got there?" asked Bolton, as Grim drew back and held upsomething in his hand.
"Don't know exactly. It's like a bit o' cloth." On examination thearticle was found to be a shred of coarse cloth, of a blue or blackcolour, and, being an unexpected substance to meet with in such a place,Bolton turned round with it to Meetuck in the hope of obtaining someinformation. But Meetuck was gone. While the sailors were breakinginto the grave, Meetuck had stood aloof with a displeased expression ofcountenance, as if he were angry at the rude desecration of acountryman's tomb; but the moment his eye fell on the shred of cloth anexpression of mingled surprise and curiosity crossed his countenance,and without uttering a word he slipped noiselessly into the hole, fromwhich he almost immediately issued bearing several articles in his hand.These he held up to view, and with animated words and gesticulationsexplained that this was the grave of a white man, not of a native.
The articles he brought out were a pewter plate and a silvertable-spoon.
"There's a name of some kind written here," said Bolton, as he carefullyscrutinised the spoon. "Look here, Fred, your eyes are better thanmine; see if you can make it out."
Fred took it with a trembling hand, for a strange feeling of dread hadseized possession of his heart, and he could scarcely bring himself tolook upon it. He summoned up courage, however, but at the first glancehis hand fell down by his side, and a dimness came over his eyes, forthe word "_Pole Star_" was engraven on the handle. He would have fallento 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, hesaid: "Pull down the stones, men."
The men obeyed in silence, and the poor boy sat down on a rock to awaitthe result in trembling anxiety. A few minutes sufficed to disentombthe skeleton, for the men sympathised with their young comrade, andworked with all their energies.
"Cheer up, Fred," said Bolton, coming and laying his hand on the youth'sshoulder, "it's _not_ your father. There is a bit o
f _black_ hairsticking to the scalp."
With a fervent expression of thankfulness Fred rose and examined theskeleton, which had been placed in a sort of sack of skin, but wasdestitute of clothing. It was quite dry, and must have been there along time. Nothing else was found, but from the appearance of theskull, and the presence of the plate and spoon, there could be no doubtthat it was that of one of the _Pole Star's_ crew.
It was now resolved that they should proceed along the coast and examineevery creek and bay for traces of the lost vessel.
"Oh, Bolton, my heart misgives me!" said Fred, as they drove along; "Ifear that they have all perished."
"Niver a bit sir," said O'Riley in a sympathising tone, "yon chap musthave died and been buried here be the crew as they wint past."
"You forget that sailors don't bury men under mounds of stone, withpewter 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 theEsquimaux," suggested Peter Grim.
"Is that not another tomb?" enquired one of the men, pointing towards anobject which stood on the end of a point or cape towards which they wereapproaching.
Ere anyone could reply, their ears were saluted by the well-known barkof a pack of Esquimaux dogs. In another moment they dashed into themidst of a snow village, and were immediately surrounded by the excitednatives. For some time no information could be gleaned from theirinterpreter, who was too excited to make use of his meagre amount ofEnglish. They observed, however, that the natives, although muchexcited, did not seem to be so much surprised at the appearance of whitemen amongst them as those were whom they had first met with near theship. In a short time Meetuck apparently had expended all he had to sayto his friends, and turned to make explanations to Bolton in a veryexcited tone; but little more could be made out than that what he saidhad some reference to white men. At length, in desperation, he pointedto 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 thehut. At the sound Fred's heart beat violently, and pushing past themate he crept through the tunnelled entrance and stood within. Therewas little furniture in this rude dwelling. A dull flame flickered in astone lamp which hung from the roof, and revealed the figure of a largeEsquimaux reclining on a couch of skins at the raised side of the hut.
The man looked up hastily as Fred entered, and uttered a fewunintelligible words.
"Father!" cried Fred, gasping for breath, and springing forward.
Captain Ellice, for it was indeed he, started with apparent difficultyand pain into a sitting posture, and, throwing back his hood, revealed aface whose open, hearty, benignant expression shone through a coat ofdark brown which long months of toil and exposure had imprinted on it.It was thin, however, and careworn, and wore an expression that seemedto 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 comeso--"
Placing his hand on his forehead he fell backwards in a state ofinsensibility into the arms of his son.