the cold was intense. There was no keeping it out by day hardly;only by constant exercise, which, thanks to the magnitude of theiceberg, they were able to maintain.
But at night it was intense, chilling every one to the bone and spinalmarrow.
They lay there pressed together; not a corner of the sail was left opento admit a breath of the frost-laden air, but even then they were notwarm. It was impossible to sleep for hours and hours after lying down,and when at last they did drop off, the cold, the bitter, bitter cold,was with them still--with them in their dreams, with them in theirhearts, and on their very brains.
When morning light came they would stagger up, looking wonderingly ateach other's pale, pinched faces. To stand for a time was animpossibility. They managed to light a little fire of wood on an ironslab, morning, noon, and evening, to make a little coffee; this, withbiscuit and raw pork, was their only diet, and right thankful they wereto have such fare.
It was on a Tuesday the _Fairy Queen_ went down, and five long wearydays rolled slowly on their course. For five weary nights they sufferedand shivered, and when the Sabbath morning came round they were, to allappearance, as far from help as ever.
Hope itself began to fade in their hearts, especially when two of theirnumber sank and died before their eyes.
They committed their bodies to the deep, and, horrible to relate, sawthem devoured; for till now they had no idea that the sea around themwas swarming with sharks. Some they had seen, it is true, but nothinglike the number that now came up to the ghastly feast.
It was the Sabbath, and although every morning and evening they hadprayed and sung hymns, after the fashion common in Scotland on thisday--His day--many chapters of the Book of books were read, and firstDouglas and then Leonard gave the men some earnest exhortations.Leonard never knew his friend Douglas could speak so feelingly before,or that his heart was such a well--now bubbling over--of religiousfeeling and fervour.
"Ah, my dear fellows!" he ended with these words, "we never really feelour need of a Saviour until the prospect of death stares us in the face.Then we feel the need of a friend, and, looking around, as it were, wefind Him by our side, and right willing are we to take Him then, tograsp His hand, and trust our all in all to Him."
"Amen!" said the sailors fervently.
Then some verses of that bonnie hymn-psalm were sung, commencing:--
"The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want, He makes me down to lie By pastures green; He leadeth me The quiet waters by."
A strange sight on that clear, still, dark ocean, the white iceberg withits living freight drifting aimlessly about. Strange sound, this songof praise, rising from their cold, blue lips, and from hearts thathardly dared to hope.
Another day and another went by, and on the Wednesday an accidenthappened that had well-nigh proved fatal to nearly all on board theberg. More than one-third part of their ice-ship parted and fell away.Luckily it first gave voice, and showed the rent before finally droppingoff.
There was no denying it, the danger was now extreme. They had beendrifting slowly southwards, and the iceberg was being influenced bywarmer currents, and slowly wearing away.
It might, moreover, topple over at any moment. Things came to theirvery worst that same evening when another piece of the berg plunged intothe sea, and when morning broke, there was barely room for the men tohuddle together, looking fearfully around them, and down into the stillblack water, and at those hungry sharks, who now seemed to gambol aboutas if in momentary expectation of their prey.
"Look!" cried Douglas about noon that day, "what is that dark objectyonder on that immense iceberg that we have been skirting these last twohours?"
"Seals, I think," said Leonard, in a feeble, hopeless voice.
"I think not, Leon. Oh, lad! I think they are men."
"Let us signal, anyhow."
A jacket was waved and--answered.
Next moment half-a-dozen swift kayaks or Eskimo boats were dashing fromthe shore to their rescue.
"Thank God!" said every man, and the tears rolled down the cheeks ofmany now, and half-choked them as they tried to speak.
But they clasped each other's thin, cold hands, and _looked_ the joythey could not utter.
They were Eskimos who had come to the rescue, and it was from themainland they had come, and not from any iceberg, or even island.
Their joy was redoubled when they drew near and found Captain Blunt andtheir old shipmates waving their hands and hats to them from thesnow-clad shore.
So happy a reunion no one can fully understand or appreciate exceptthose who have been in the same sad plight, and saved as if by amiracle.
Longfellow, in his beautiful poem "The Secret of the Sea," tells us howCount Arnaldos--
"Saw a fair and stately galley Steering onward to the land.
"How he heard the ancient helmsman Chant a song so wild and clear, That the sailing sea-bird slowly Poised upon the mast to hear,--
"Till his soul was filled with longing, And he cried with impulse strong, `Helmsman! for the love of Heaven, Teach me, too, that wondrous song.'
"`Would'st thou so,' the helmsman answered, `Learn the secrets of the sea? Only those who brave its dangers Comprehend its mystery.'"
Yes, reader, the sea hath many, many secrets. We may never know themall. Not even those who have been down to the sea in ships may fathomhalf the mysteries that everywhere surround them, or can ever hope toexplain to those who dwell on land a tithe of what they know and feel.
What says the poet?
"Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic visions, All my dreams come back to me,--
"Till my soul is filled with longing For the secret of the sea, And the heart of the great ocean Sends a thrilling pulse through me."
Book 2--CHAPTER SIX.
THE FAR NORTH LAND.
"O! the auld hoose, the auld hoose, Deserted though you be, There ne'er can be a new hoose Seem half sae dear to me."
Lady Nairne.
"Beside a weird-like Arctic bay, Where wild and angry billows play, And seldom meet the night and day."
Symington.
Scene One: A cottage not far from St. Abb's Head, a garden before thedoor, and a porch, around which summer roses and honeysuckle areentwined. The occupants are three. They are out of doors now, seatedon the lawn which stretches down to the shingly beach on which the wavesare lisping and rippling.
Captain Lyle (_speaks_). "Well, Ethel dear, and you, Effie, you areboth very silent. Are you breaking your hearts because we have had togive up Grayling House for a time, and come to live in this tiny cottageby the sea?"
_Mrs Lyle_, looking up from her sewing, and smiling kindly but somewhatsadly: "No, Arnold, I was thinking about our dear boy."
_Effie_, dropping her book in her lap. "So was I, mother. I wasthinking of Leonard and--and poor Douglas. It is now the second summersince they went away. It is wearing through, too. See how the rosesfall and scatter their petals when you touch them. Oh! do you think,papa, they will ever, ever come again?"
_Captain Lyle_, smiling. "Yes, love, I do. Here, come and sit by me.That is right. Now you know the country they went away to is a very,very strange one."
_Effie_. "A very, very terrible one."
_Captain Lyle_. "No, I think not, dear, else those who have been therewould not always wish to return to it. It is wild and lonely, andsilent and cold, Effie, and there are no letter-carriers about, youknow, not even a pigeon-post, so Leonard can't very well write. Thefact is, they've got frozen in, and it may be even another summer yetbefore we see them."
_Effie_. "Another summer? Oh, papa!"
_Captain Lyle_. "Yes, dear, because he and honest Douglas are in theregions of thick-ribbed ice, you know; and once it embraces a ship, itis difficult to get clear. But cheer up, lass; I _won't_ have youfretting, there! Now, promise me you--ha! here comes dear old Fitzroy,swinging
away on his wooden leg. Good-afternoon, my friend; there isneed of you here. My wife and daughter are doing nothing but fretting."
_Captain Fitzroy_. "Oh! come, Effie, come, Mrs Lyle. Look at me; _I_don't fret. The boys will return as sure as the sun will riseto-morrow."
_Effie_, smiling through her tears. "Thank you, Captain; you alwaysgive us hope."
_Captain Fitzroy_. "And I suppose you mourn because you've had to leavebonnie Glen Lyle--eh!"
_Mrs Lyle_. "Oh yes. We dearly love the old house."
_Captain Fitzroy_. "Well, then, let me prophesy. First, the boys willreturn safe and sound, red and rosy; secondly, you'll get over yourdifficulties, and return to Glen Lyle; thirdly, we'll live togetherhappy ever afterwards."
Effie laughs now in spite of herself, for the old Captain always looksso cheery and so comical.
_Captain Lyle_. "Hear that, darling! Now, bustle about, Effie, and getus some nice brown tea and brown toast, while we sit here and chat."
_Captain Fitzroy_, looking seaward. The ocean is a sheet of blue, withpatches of green here and there, where cloud shadows fall, and sailslike sea-birds far away towards the horizon.
"What a heavenly day, to be sure! Why, there is health in every breathone inhales on this delightful coast. Don't you feel cosy now and happyin this sweet little cottage? Nothing to do. Nothing to think aboutexcept the absent ones. No care, no worry except that of making warupon the weeds in your little garden. I declare to you, Lyle, my lad, Iconsider such a life as you now lead in a manner quite idyllic."
_Lyle_, looking thoughtfully for a moment or two on the ground, then upat his friend's cheerful face.
"One of the chief pleasures of my present existence, dear Fitzroy, liesin the fact that I have you for a neighbour. But to tell you the truth,I do feel happier since I let the lauds of Glen Lyle and got rid of anincubus. I feel, and know now, I am retrenching, and that in a fewyears I shall recover myself."
_Fitzroy_. "And don't you think you ought to have let the house aswell?"
_Lyle_. "No, no, no; I could not bear to think of a footstep crossingmy father's hall. Old Peter will see to the gardens with the help of alad, and the ancient cook, who is indeed one of the family, and whom Icould not have dismissed, will keep on peat fires enough to defy thedamp."
_Fitzroy_. "And how does your little gipsy lass Zella suit as ahousekeeper?"
_Lyle_. "Excellently well. There she comes with the tea; judge foryourself."
Zella, tall, handsome, and neatly attired, comes upon the scene to placea little table near the two friends and lay the tea. What a change fromthe wild waif! We last saw her springing up at the end of the Gothicbridge, and startling the horse of Bland's emissary. She is still agipsy, but a very civilised one.
_Captain Lyle_. "I am expecting old Peter every minute."
_Fitzroy_. "Talk of angels, and they appear. Lo! yonder comes yourPeter, or your Peter's ghost."
Old Peter opens the gate at the sea-beach as he speaks, and comes slowlyup the walk.
_Lyle_. "Come away, Peter. Why, you pant. Sit down and have a cup oftea. How goes all at the dear old house?"
_Peter_, smoothing the head of Ossian the old deerhound, who has arisenfrom his corner to bid him welcome. "Bravely, sir, bravely and well.But would you believe it, though it's no a month since you left, theywill have it that the hoose is haunted? Heard you ever the like?"
_Lyle_. "No, Peter, it is strange."
_Peter_. "And they will have it, sir, that the pike wasna canny, andthey say that, dead though he be, his ghost still haunts the auld loch."
_Fitzroy_, laughing. "The ghost of a pike, Peter? Well, well, well; welive to learn."
_Peter_. "And what for no, sir?"
_Fitzroy_. "Did you bury him, Peter?"
_Peter_. "No, sir, no, on land. I put him cannily back into the lochagain. He lay on his side for a whole day, then sank to the bottomafore ma ain een. Dead as a door nail."
_Fitzroy_. "I doubt it, Peter."
_Peter_. "Sir?"
_Fitzroy_. "Nothing, Peter, nothing. By the way, Lyle, how came thisuncanny fish, that seems so strangely connected with the fortunes ofGlen Lyle, into your possession."
_Lyle_. "Peter can tell you better than I. He is old, and remembers."
_Peter_. "When the auld laird lived, nane kenned o' the whereabouts o'that bonnie fish except himsel' and me and the gipsy Faas. Theygipsies, sir, were part and parcel o' the estate; they would have diedfor the auld laird, or for ony o' his folk or kin. Goodness only kenshow auld the fish was himsel'. He was, they say, as big as a grilsewhen first ta'en in the Tweed and brought up to the river that runsthrough bonnie Glen Lyle. And woe is me, they tell me that was an awfu'day, for bonnie Prince Charlie was in full retreat from England. Hestayed and slept a night at Glen Lyle, and next week but one theforemost o' Cumberland's rievers were there. The old Lyles were out.They were wi' Charlie, but not a thing living, my father told me, didthey leave about the place, and they would have fired the hoose itselfhad they not been obleeged to hurry on, for Charlie's men were ahead.But things settled down after that; Cumberland's rievers were quietercoming back. The beasts they were killed or gone, so they left the auldhoose of Glen Lyle alone. The laird was pardoned, and peace and plentyreigned ance mair in the land.
"Time flew on, sirs. The auld laird was fond o' fishing. There werepoachers in plenty in those days, and the laird was kind to them. Letthem only leave his '45 pike alane, and they might take a' the trouts inthe stream. But in later times, when the auld laird got aulder still,cockneys came, and they were no sae particular, and one day an Englishbody hooked and brought the pike on shore. He had the gaff raised tohit him on the head, when all of a sudden the gaff was knocked out ofhis hand, and he found himsel' just where the pike had come frae,wallowin' in the middle o' the pot. [A large pool in a river is socalled in Scotland.]
"That same nicht, lang past, the shortest hour o't, when everybody wasfast asleep but mysel', two o' the Faas came to the auld hoose. Theyhad the half-dead fish, with the bonnie gowden band around his tail, ina pot. And together we went to the loch and ploupit him in. The owletswere cryin' and the branches o' the pine trees creakin' in the wind, andif I live to be as auld as Methuselah, I'm no likely to forget thateerie-some nicht. But, heigho! Joe is dead and awa', and the hoose o'Glen Lyle is tottering near its fall. Wae's me that I should hae livedto see the like!"
_Captain Fitzroy_. "Drink that China tea, Peter, and things will lookfar more cheerful."
Long before the major's departure things do look more cheerful.
Ethel, hope in her heart now, has brought out her harp, and is bendingover it while she sings a plaintive old Scotch ballad, while the restsit listening round. The setting sun is throwing tall rock shadows overthe blue sea. The waves seem to form a drowsy accompaniment to theharp's wild notes, and the sea-birds are shrieking their good-nightsong. Let us leave them, and hie us away to the far north and west.
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Scene Two: Summer in the Arctic seas. A little Indian village to thenorth of Cumberland Gulf. Yet not all Indian, for then; are houses herenow as well as Eskimo huts, and white men are moving about busy at work,in company with the little brown-skinned, skin-clad natives.
Had the shipwrecked crew of the _Fairy Queen_ landed on the south sideof the Cumberland Gulf or Sound, it is probable they would have made anattempt to find their way through Labrador to some English or otherforeign settlement. But this gulf is a sea in itself, and they had noboats, while the kayaks of the natives were far too frail, even if theyhad been numerous enough, to be of much use.
They had to be content, therefore, to remain prisoners where they wereuntil the long night of winter set in.
They were not idle. Indeed, the life they now led was far fromunpleasant while summer lasted. It was a very wild one. There weredeer and game on the hills, and
every stream teemed with fish, to saynothing of the strange creations that inhabited the sea-shore.
Among other things saved from the wreck of the _Fairy Queen_, and safelylanded by Captain Blunt's party, were guns and a goodly store ofammunition, which they had managed to keep dry.
What with fishing and hunting, manufacturing sledges and training thedogs, the time fled very quickly indeed.
The days flew quickly by, and autumn came; then they got shorter andshorter, till at length the sun showed his face for the last time, andafter this all was night.
In a month more everything was ready for the journey south.
So memorable a march, too, has seldom been made. Some of my readers mayask why they chose the winter season for their departure. For thisreason: they could go straight along the coast, winding only round themountains. In summer the gulfs and streams would have formed aninsurmountable barrier, but now these were hard as adamant.
All being ready, and the friendly Indians accompanying them to thenumber of twenty or more, to act as guides and see to the care of thedogs, they left the Esquimo village about the end of October, and weresoon far away on the silent, lonely midst of the Cumberland Gulf.
Luckily Captain Blunt had saved his compass, else even the almostunerring instinct of the natives would have failed to steer them acrossthe ice. Had it been clear weather all the time the stars would havebeen sufficient to keep them right, but storms came on long before theyhad got over the gulf. And such storms! Nothing in this country couldever equal them in fury and confusion. Not the wildest winter's