CHAPTER XXXI
ANOTHER SOUND
The little party were overwhelmed with dismay. The very man on whomthey had relied from the beginning, the one who had conducted themthus far, and the one who, under heaven, could alone guide them tosafety, had thrown up his hands and yielded the struggle. He lay onthe snow limp, helpless, and despairing.
The new fall of snow had almost obliterated their trail, but enoughremained to identify it beyond mistake. The cavity which Docak hadscooped out, and in which they slept, was recognized on the firstglance. The whole day, from the moment of starting, had been wasted,in laboring to their utmost strength, in getting back to the verypoint from which they set out, and which itself was twenty miles fromthe sea-coast.
The tendency that every one shows to travel in a circle, when lost,has been explained in various ways. It is probably due to the factthat one side of every person is more developed than the other. Aright-handed individual gradually veers to the left, a left-handed oneto the right, while a really ambidextrous one ought to keep straightahead.
Jack and the boys remained silent for a moment. They looked down onthe prostrate figure, and finally Fred asked:
"What's the matter, Docak?"
"Gib up--no use--we die--neber see home 'gin."
The words were uttered with all the dejection that it is possible toconceive, and the native did not move. He acted as if the power to doso had gone from him.
Suddenly, to the astonishment of the others, Jack Cosgrove gave him athumping kick.
"Get up!" he commanded; "if you're such a lubber as all this, I'lltake you by the neck and boot you all the way across Greenland."
And as a guarantee of his good faith he yanked Docak to his feet, andmade ready for a still harder kick, when the fellow moved nimbly outof the way.
"If you are too big a calf to go on, I'll take the lead, and when Iflop it'll be after all the rest of you've gone down."
The breezy style in which the sailor took hold of matters produced aninspiriting effect on the others. Despite the grim solemnity of themoments, both Rob and Fred laughed, as much at the quickness withwhich Docak responded as anything else.
"Since we are here at the same old spot," said Rob, "and it is growingdark, we might as well go into camp."
"That's the fact, as we won't have to scoop out a new place to sleepin. I suppose, Docak, you're able to sleep, aint you?"
The native made no answer, and the party silently placed themselves inposition for another night's rest, Docak not refusing to huddle inamong them. But there was little talking done. No one could sayanything to comfort the others, and each was busy with his ownthoughts.
It need not be said that, despite the fearful gloom and theseforebodings, they were ravenously hungry. Their bodies were in need ofsustenance, and the probability that they could not get it for anindefinite time to come was enough to deepen the despair that wasstealing into every heart.
It was unto Fred Warburton that something in the nature of arevelation came in the darkness of that awful night. His sensesremained with him for some time after the others were asleep, as heknew from their deep, regular breathing.
The snowfall had almost ceased, and he sat wondering whether, afterall, the end was at hand, and he was asking himself whether, suchseeming of a surety to be the fact, it was worth while to rise fromtheir present position and try to press on further. If die they must,why not stay where they were and perish together?
These thoughts were stirring his mind, with many other solemnmeditations, which crowd upon every person who, in his right senses,sees himself approaching the Dark River, when it seemed to him thatthere was sounding, at intervals, an almost inaudible roar, so faintand dull that for awhile he paid no heed to it, deeming it someinsignificant aural disturbance, such as causes a buzzing or ringingat times in the head.
But it obtruded so continually that he began to suspect it was areality and from some point outside of himself.
It was a low, almost inaudible murmur, sometimes so faint that hecould not hear it, and again swelling out just enough to make itcertain it had an actuality.
Suddenly the heart of the lad almost stood still.
"It's the ocean!" he whispered; "the air has become so still that Ican hear it. The plain is open, there has been a big storm, and thedistance is not too great for it to reach us. But, no, it is from thewrong direction; it can't be the sea."
The next moment he laughed at himself. Having fixed in his mind thecourse to the home of Docak, and, hearing the roar from another pointof the compass, it did not at once occur to him that he himself mightbe mistaken.
"If Docak, with all his experience could not keep himself from goingastray, what wonder that I should drift from my moorings? Yes, that isthe sound of the distant ocean or that part known as Davis' Strait andBaffin's Bay. We can now tell which course to take to get out of thisaccursed country."
He wished to awake his friends, and in view of their hungry condition,urge that they should set out at once; but they were so wearied thatthe rest would be grateful, and it was needed. And so, while notexactly clear as to what should be done, he fell asleep and did notopen his eyes until morning.
Docak was the first to rouse himself. He found that the snow wasfalling again, with the prospect worse than ever.
Fred sprang to his feet and quickly told what he had discovered theevening before.
"It was the ocean," he added, with a shake of his head: "I have heardit too often to make a mistake--listen!"
All were silent, but the strained ear could catch no sound like thehollow roar which reached the youth a few hours before.
"I don't care; I was not mistaken," he insisted.
"Why don't we hear it now?" asked Rob, anxious to believe what hesaid, but unable fully to do so.
"There was no snow falling at the time; the air was clearer then, andwhat little wind there was must have been in the right direction."
"Where did sound come from?" asked the Esquimau, looking earnestly atFred and showing deep interest in his words.
"From off yonder," replied the lad, pointing in the proper direction.
"He right--dat so--he hear sea," said Docak, who, to prove the truthof his words, pointed down at the dimly marked trail. It led in theprecise course indicated by Fred. In other words, when the Esquimauresumed the journey on the preceding morning, at which time hisbearings were correct, he went of a verity directly toward his ownhome, which was the route now pointed by Fred Warburton.
The others saw the point, and admitted that the declaration of the ladhad been proven to be correct beyond question.
And yet, while all this was interesting in its way, and for the timeencouraged the others, of what possible import was it? The conditionswere precisely the same as twenty-four hours before, except they wereless favorable, for the comrades in distress were hungrier and weaker.
But they could not hear the ocean, the snow was falling, and there wasno way of guiding themselves.
They could only struggle on as before, hoping that possibly beforewandering too far astray they might be able to catch the roar thatwould be an infallible guide to them in their despairing groping forhome.
The three looked at Docak, expecting him to take the lead, as he haddone from the start. It may be said that Jack Cosgrove had kicked theEsquimau into his proper place and he was prepared to stay there aslong as he could.
But the native, instead of moving off, stood with his head bent andhis ears bared in the attitude of intense attention.
They judged that he was striving to catch a sound of the ocean. But hewas not.
Truth to tell, Docak had detected another sound of a totally differentcharacter, but far more important than the hollow roar of the far-awayArctic Sea.