CHAPTER XXXIII
In the smoky light of the rude interior of that Yakut hut, I saw at first only Louis Noros, clothed in ragged woolen underwear, bending over a rough table, sawing away with his sheath knife on a loaf of hard black bread, while in a corner by themselves a number of Yakuts were busy over the fire on their own supper. Noros glanced up on my entrance, looked at me vacantly, and then resumed his hacking at the hard bread. I waited a moment to see if he might recognize me, but as he did not, I advanced, stretched out my hand, and said,
“Hello, Noros! Don’t you know me?”
Startled at being addressed in English, Noros dropped his knife, peered intently in my face, and then fell on my neck, sobbing,
“My God, Mr. Melville, are you alive?”
At this outburst, through the smoky room I saw Nindemann suddenly lift himself on one elbow from a rough couch at the side and cry out brokenly,
“Mr. Melville! We thought you were dead! That all hands on the Jeannette were dead except me and Noros! Louis and me thought we were the only survivors—we were sure the whaleboat’s were all drowned as well as the second cutter’s!”
Bending over Nindemann, too far gone to lift himself, while Noros clung round my shoulders, I wept with them.
“No, boys,” I said gently, “the whole whaleboat’s crew is safe. And they’re all overjoyed to know that you are too. But who died in your boat, and where, for God’s sake, are the skipper and the rest of your boat’s crew? I’ll go for them right away.”
“No use! They must be all gone by now!” sobbed out Nindemann feebly. “Over three weeks ago, October 9th, the captain sent me and Louis south to look for help, and they were nearly dead then; no food for seven days and everybody frozen bad. We struggled to the south along the river and were no more able even to crawl and nearly dead ourselves when the natives found us twelve days after and carried us here.” Nindemann’s choking voice broke hysterically. “Mr. Melville, we didn’t want to come here, we wanted them to take us back! But we couldn’t make anybody understand about the captain. And he was dying then. Now it’s too late!” and falling back on his wooden couch, Nindemann wept like a baby in my lap.
“Where are they now?” I asked sadly. “I’ll find them! Tell me; what happened, boys?” and as I listened, the tears streamed down my roughened cheeks as between them, Noros and Nindemann poured out the story of the first cutter and its crew.