LITMIR.BIZ

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miles on that land, so well named Cornwall. The next day the sledge attained the upper part of the cliffs; the travellers were too exhausted to construct their snow-house, and were obliged to pass the night under the tent, enveloped in their buffalo-skins, and drying their stockings by placing them on their chests. The consequences of such a state of things may be readily imagined; during the night the thermometer went down to 44 degrees below zero, and the mercury froze.

      The health of Simpson became alarming; an obstinate cold, violent rheumatism, and intolerable pain forced him to lie down on the sledge, which he could no longer guide. Bell took his place; he was not well, but was obliged not to give in. The doctor also felt the influence of his terrible winter excursion, but he did not utter a complaint; he marched on in front, leaning on his stick; he lighted the way; he helped in everything. Hatteras, impassive, impenetrable, insensible, in as good health as the first day, with his iron constitution, followed the sledge in silence. On the 20th of January the weather was so bad that the least effort caused immediate prostration; but the difficulties of the ground became so great that Hatteras and Bell harnessed themselves along with the dogs; the front of the sledge was broken by an unexpected shock, and they were forced to stop and mend it. Such delays occurred several times a day. The travellers were journeying along a deep ravine up to their waists in snow, and perspiring, notwithstanding the violent cold. No one spoke. All at once Bell looked at the doctor in alarm, picked up a handful of snow, and began to rub his companion’s face with all his might.

      “What the deuce, Bell?” said the doctor, struggling.

      But Bell went on rubbing.

      “Are you mad? You’ve filled my eyes, nose, and mouth with snow. What is it?”

      “Why,” answered Bell, “if you’ve got a nose left, you owe it to me.”

      “A nose?” said the doctor, putting his hand to his face.

      “Yes, Mr. Clawbonny, you were quite frostbitten; your nose was quite white when I looked at you, and without my bit of rubbing you would be minus nose.”

      “Thanks, Bell,” said the doctor; “I’ll do the same for you in case of need.”

      “I hope you will, Mr. Clawbonny, and I only wish we had nothing worse to look forward to!”

      “You mean Simpson! Poor fellow, he is suffering dreadfully!”

      “Do you fear for him?” asked Hatteras quickly.

      “Yes, captain,” answered the doctor.

      “What do you fear?”

      “A violent attack of scurvy. His legs swell already, and his gums are attacked; the poor fellow is lying under his blankets on the sledge, and every shock increases his pain. I pity him, but I can’t do anything for him!”

      “Poor Simpson!” said Bell.

      “Perhaps we had better stop a day or two,” said the doctor.

      “Stop!” cried Hatteras, “when the lives of eighteen men depend upon our return! You know we have only enough provisions left for twenty days.”

      Neither the doctor nor Bell could answer that, and the sledge went on its way. In the evening they stopped at the foot of an ice-hill, out of which Bell soon cut a cavern; the travellers took refuge in it, and the doctor passed the night in nursing Simpson; he was a prey to the scurvy, and constant groans issued from his terrified lips.

      “Ah, Mr. Clawbonny, I shall never get over it. I wish I was dead already.”

      “Take courage, my poor fellow!” answered the doctor, with pity in his tone, and he answered Simpson’s complaints by incessant attention. Though half-dead with fatigue, he employed a part of the night in making the sick man a soothing draught, and rubbed him with limejuice. Unfortunately it had little effect, and did not prevent the terrible malady spreading. The next day they were obliged to lift the poor fellow on to the sledge, although he begged and prayed them to leave him to die in peace, and begin their painful march again.

      The freezing mists wet the three men to the skin; the snow and sleet beat in their faces; they did the work of beasts of burden, and had not even sufficient food. Dick ran hither and thither, discovering by instinct the best route to follow. During the morning of the 23rd of January, when it was nearly dark, for the new moon had not yet made her appearance, Dick ran on first; he was lost to sight for several hours. Hatteras became anxious, as there were many bear-marks on the ground; he was considering what had better be done, when a loud barking was heard in front. The little procession moved on quicker, and soon came upon the faithful animal in the depth of a ravine. Dick was set as if he had been petrified in front of a sort of cairn, made of limestone, and covered with a cement of ice.

      “This time,” said the doctor, disengaging himself from the traces, “it’s really a cairn; we can’t be mistaken.”

      “What does it matter to us?” said Hatteras.

      “Why, if it is a cairn, it may inclose something that would be useful to us—some provisions perhaps.”

      “As if Europeans had ever been here!” said Hatteras, shrugging his shoulders.

      “But if not Europeans, it may be that the Esquimaux have hidden some product of their hunting here. They are accustomed to doing it, I think.”

      “Well, look if you like, Clawbonny, but I don’t think it is worth your while.”

      Clawbonny and Bell, armed with their pickaxes made for the cairn. Dick kept on barking furiously. The cairn was soon demolished, and the doctor took out a damp paper. Hatteras took the document and read:

      “Altam…, Porpoise, Dec… 13th, 1860, 12.. degrees long… 8.. degrees 35 minutes lat…”

      “The Porpoise!” said the doctor.

      “I don’t know any ship of that name frequenting these seas,” said Hatteras.

      “It is evident,” continued the doctor, “that some sailors, or perhaps some shipwrecked fellows, have passed here within the last two months.”

      “That’s certain,” said Bell.

      “What shall we do?” asked the doctor.

      “Continue our route,” said Hatteras coldly. “I don’t know anything about the Porpoise, but I do know that the Forward is waiting for our return.”

CHAPTER XXXI

      THE DEATH OF SIMPSON

      Table of Contents

      The travellers went on their weary way, each thinking of the discovery they had just made. Hatteras frowned with uneasiness.

      “What can the Porpoise be?” he asked himself. “Is it a ship? and if so, what was it doing so near the Pole?”

      At this thought he shivered, but not from the cold. The doctor and Bell only thought of the result their discovery might have for others or for themselves. But the difficulties and obstacles in their way soon made them oblivious to everything but their own preservation.

      Simpson’s condition grew worse; the doctor saw that death was near. He could do nothing, and was suffering cruelly on his own account from a painful ophthalmia which might bring on blindness if neglected. The twilight gave them enough light to hurt the eyes when reflected by the snow; it was difficult to guard against the reflection, for the spectacle-glasses got covered with a layer of opaque ice which obstructed the view, and when so much care was necessary for the dangers of the route, it was important to see clearly; however, the doctor and Bell took it in turns to cover their eyes or to guide the sledge. The soil was volcanic, and by its inequalities made it very difficult to draw the sledge, the frame of which was getting worn out. Another difficulty was the effect of the uniform brilliancy of the snow; the ground seemed to fall

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