Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The World of Ice by R. M. Ballantyne (e novels to read online TXT) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The World of Ice by R. M. Ballantyne (e novels to read online TXT) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
“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, he said: “Pull down the stones, men.”
The men obeyed in silence, and the poor boy sat down on a rock to await the result in trembling anxiety. A few minutes sufficed to disentomb the skeleton, for the men sympathised with their young comrade, and worked with all their energies.
“Cheer up, Fred,” said Bolton, coming and laying his hand on the youth’s shoulder, “it’s not your father. There is a bit of black hair sticking to the scalp.”
With a fervent expression of thankfulness Fred rose and examined the skeleton, which had been placed in a sort of sack of skin, but was destitute of clothing. It was quite dry, and must have been there a long time. Nothing else was found, but from the appearance of the skull, and the presence of the plate and spoon, there could be no doubt that it was that of one of the Pole Star’s crew.
It was now resolved that they should proceed along the coast and examine every creek and bay for traces of the lost vessel.
“Oh, Bolton, my heart misgives me!” said Fred, as they drove along; “I fear that they have all perished.”
“Niver a bit sir,” said O’Riley in a sympathising tone, “yon chap must have died and been buried here be the crew as they wint past.”
“You forget that sailors don’t bury men under mounds of stone, with pewter 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 the Esquimaux,” suggested Peter Grim.
“Is that not another tomb?” enquired one of the men, pointing towards an object which stood on the end of a point or cape towards which they were approaching.
Ere anyone could reply, their ears were saluted by the well-known bark of a pack of Esquimaux dogs. In another moment they dashed into the midst of a snow village, and were immediately surrounded by the excited natives. For some time no information could be gleaned from their interpreter, who was too excited to make use of his meagre amount of English. They observed, however, that the natives, although much excited, did not seem to be so much surprised at the appearance of white men amongst them as those were whom they had first met with near the ship. In a short time Meetuck apparently had expended all he had to say to his friends, and turned to make explanations to Bolton in a very excited tone; but little more could be made out than that what he said had some reference to white men. At length, in desperation, he pointed to 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 the hut. At the sound Fred’s heart beat violently, and pushing past the mate he crept through the tunnelled entrance and stood within. There was little furniture in this rude dwelling. A dull flame flickered in a stone lamp which hung from the roof, and revealed the figure of a large Esquimaux reclining on a couch of skins at the raised side of the hut.
The man looked up hastily as Fred entered, and uttered a few unintelligible words.
“Father!” cried Fred, gasping for breath, and springing forward.
Captain Ellice, for it was indeed he, started with apparent difficulty and pain into a sitting posture, and, throwing back his hood, revealed a face whose open, hearty, benignant expression shone through a coat of dark brown which long months of toil and exposure had imprinted on it. It was thin, however, and careworn, and wore an expression that seemed to 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 come so—”
Placing his hand on his forehead he fell backwards in a state of insensibility into the arms of his son.
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
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