The World of Ice, R. M. Ballantyne [funny books to read txt] 📗

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!"

"Nay, boy, not quite so lonely as you think. I have learned the truth of these words, 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee'—'Call upon Me in the time of trouble, and I will deliver thee.' This, Fred, has been my chief comfort during the long hours of sickness."

Captain Ellice drew forth a soiled pocket Bible from his breast as he spoke.

"It was your beloved mother's, Fred, and is the only thing I brought with me from the wreck; but it was the only thing in the brig I would not have exchanged for anything else on earth. Blessed Bible! It tells of Him whose goodness I once, in my ignorance, thought I knew, but whose love I have since been taught 'passeth knowledge.' It has been a glorious sun to me, which has never set in all the course of this long Arctic night. It has been a companion in my solitude, a comfort in my sorrows, and even now is an increase to my joy; for it tells me that if I commit my way unto the Lord, he will bring it to pass, and already I see the beginning of the end fulfilled."

Fred's eyes filled with tears as his father spoke; but he remained silent, for he knew that of late he had begun to neglect God's blessed Word, and his conscience smote him.

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 Esquimau village. To tell of the dangers, the adventures, and the hair-breadth 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 walruses 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. He read the Bible to him, and when doubts and fears arose, as they sometimes did, he pointed him to Jesus, and spoke of that love from which nothing could separate him.

It was on Christmas day that West died.

"O sir," said he to Captain Ellice just an hour before he breathed his last, "how much I regret the time that I have lost! How I wish now that I had devoted more of my precious time to the study of the Word and to prayer! How many opportunities of speaking a word for Jesus I have neglected. Once, everything seemed of importance; now, but one thing is worthy of a thought."

"True," answered the captain, "'the one thing needful.' It is strange that we will scarce permit ourselves to think or speak of that till we come to die. But you have thought on Jesus long ere now, have you not?"

"Yes," answered West faintly, "I have; but I take no comfort from that thought. When I think of my past life it is only with regret. My hope is in the Lord. What I have been, or might have been, is nothing. One thing I know—I am a sinner; and this I also know—'Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners!'"

These were the last words the dying man spoke. Shortly after, he fell asleep.

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.

CHAPTER XXI.

First gleam of light—Trip to welcome the sun—Bears and strange discoveries—O'Riley is reckless—First view of the sun.

The wisest of men has told us that "it is a pleasant thing for the eyes to behold the sun," but only those who spend a winter in the Arctic Regions can fully appreciate the import of that inspired saying.

It is absolutely essential to existence that the bright beams of the great luminary should fall on animal as well as plant. Most of the poor dogs died for want of this blessed light, and had it been much longer withheld, doubtless our navigators would have sunk also.

About the 20th of January a faint gleam of light on the horizon told of the coming day. It was hailed with rapture, and long before the bright sun himself appeared on the southern horizon the most of the men made daily excursions to the neighbouring hilltops to catch sight of as much as possible of his faint rays. Day by day those rays expanded, and at last a sort of dawn enlightened a distant portion of their earth, which, faint though it was at first, had much the appearance in their eyes of a bright day. But time wore on, and real day appeared. The red sun rose in all its glory, showed a rim of its glowing disk above the frozen sea, and then sank, leaving a long gladsome smile of twilight behind. This great event happened on the 19th of February, and would have occurred sooner, but for the high cliffs to the southward which intervened between the ship and the horizon.

On the day referred to, a large party was formed to go to the top of the cliffs at Red-Snow Valley to welcome back the sun.

"There's scarce a man left behind," remarked Captain Guy, as they started on this truly joyous expedition.

"Only Mizzle, sir," said Buzzby, slapping his hands together, for the cold was intense; "he said as how he'd stop and have dinner ready agin our return."

There was a general laugh from the men, who knew that the worthy cook had other reasons for not going—namely, his shortness of wind, and his inveterate dislike to ascend hills.

"Come, Fred," cried Captain Ellice, who had completely recovered from his accident, "I shall be quite jealous of your friend Singleton if you bestow so much of your company on him. Walk with me, sirrah, I command you, as I wish to have a chat."

"You are unjust to me," replied Fred, taking his father's arm, and falling with him a little to the rear of the party; "Tom complains that I have quite given him up of late."

"Och! isn't it a purty sight," remarked O'Riley to Mivins, "to see us all goin' out like good little childers to see the sun rise of a beautiful mornin' like this?"

"So it his," answered Mivins; "but I wish it wasn't quite so cold."

It was indeed cold—so cold that the men had to beat their hands together, and stamp their feet, and rush about like real children, in order to keep their bodies warm. This month of February was the coldest they had yet experienced. Several times the thermometer fell to the unexampled temperature of 75° below zero, or 107° below the freezing-point of water. When we remind our young readers that the thermometer in England seldom falls so low as zero, except in what we term weather of the utmost severity, they may imagine—or rather, they may try to imagine—what 75° below zero must have been.

It was not quite so cold as that upon this occasion, otherwise the men could not have shown face to it.

"Let's have leap-frog," shouted Davie; "we can jump along as well as walk along. Hooray! hup!"

The "hup" was rather an exclamation of necessity than of delight, inasmuch as that it was caused by Davie coming suddenly down flat on the ice in the act of vainly attempting to go leap-frog over Mivins's head.

"That's your sort," cried Amos Parr; "down with you, Buzzby."

Buzzby obeyed, and Amos, being heavy and past the agile time of life, leaped upon, instead of over, his back, and there stuck.

"Not so high, lads," cried Captain Guy. "Come, Mr. Saunders, give us a back."

"Faix he'd better go on his hands an' knees."

"That's it! over you go! hurrah, lads!"

In five minutes nearly the whole crew were panting from their violent exertions, and those who did not or could not join panted as much from laughter. The desired result, however, was speedily gained. They were all soon in a glow of heat, and bade defiance to the frost.

An hour's sharp climb brought the party almost to the brow of the hill, from which they hoped to see the sun rise for the first time for nearly five months. Just as they were about to pass over a ridge in the cliffs, Captain Guy, who had pushed on in advance with Tom Singleton, was observed to pause abruptly and make signals for the men to advance with caution. He evidently saw something unusual, for he crouched behind a rock and peeped over it. Hastening up as silently as possible, they discovered that a group of Polar bears were amusing themselves on the other side of the cliffs, within long gunshot. Unfortunately not one of the party had brought fire-arms. Intent only on catching a sight of the sun, they had hurried off unmindful of the possibility of their catching sight of anything else. They had not even a spear; and the few oak cudgels that some carried, however effectual they might have proved at Donnybrook, were utterly worthless there.

There were four large bears and a young one, and the gambols they performed were of the most startling as well as amusing kind. But that which interested and surprised the crew most was the fact that these bears were playing with barrels, and casks, and tent-poles, and sails. They were engaged in a regular frolic with these articles, tossing them up in the air, pawing