CLINGING TO THE BOAT (SEE PAGE [308]).
Reaching a suitable piece of floe, they boarded it, and again encamped for the night, under a sky which was clear and calm, and shone with the glory of stars. The sea, too, was tranquil, and, notwithstanding their disappointment, they felt more hopeful than before; it was evident they had reached the borders of civilization, and might rely upon obtaining help. With seals’ blubber they kindled beacon-fires on the ice; and divided their men into two watches.
The next day they sighted another steamer, launched their boat, and pulled lustily towards her. In vain: she did not see them, and after a couple of hours’ hard work they were hemmed in by the ice, and could make no progress. They landed on a floe, and hoisted their colours; collected and loaded all their rifles and pistols, and filled the echoes with the ringing report of three simultaneous volleys. They heard three shots in reply, and—glorious sight!—saw the steamer directing her course towards them. They shouted with all their might; but in the keen air their voices seemed to pass away soundlessly. Presently the steamer changed her course, tacking south, then north, then west, as if she were vainly endeavouring to force a passage through the accumulated ice. Yet there seemed no insuperable obstacle in her path. The fugitives fired again, and again; but she came no nearer, and late in the afternoon steamed away to the south west.
At sunset they descried land in the same direction, about thirty-five miles distant.
On the following day, the 30th of April, Tyson was lying in the boat, his watch having just ended, when the look-out raised a sudden shout: “There’s a steamer! there’s a steamer!” As if fresh life had been poured into his veins, Tyson sprang to his feet, ordered all the guns to be fired, joined his companions in a loud simultaneous cry, and raised their colours to the head of the boat’s mast. Hans leaped into his kayack, and was despatched to intercept the ship, if possible, as there was some danger of losing sight of her in the fog which prevailed; but, happily, she bore down towards them. Hans paddled on, and in his broken English shouted, “American steamer.” He was not understood by those on board, but they kept their course, and in a few minutes lay alongside of the ice-isle which sheltered Tyson and his company. Oh, what three loud, hearty, joyful cheers acknowledged their deliverance! These were immediately returned by the crew of the steamer, which proved to be the sealer Tigress, of Conception Bay, Newfoundland.
We quote from Captain Tyson’s simply-worded narrative:—
“Two or three of their small seal-boats were instantly lowered. We, however, now that relief was certain, threw everything from our own boat, and in a minute’s time she was in the water; while the boats of the Tigress came on, and the crews got on our bit of ice, and peeped curiously into the dirty pans we had used over the oil-fires. We had been making soup out of the blood and entrails of the last little seal which Hans had shot. They soon saw enough to convince them that we were in sore need. No words were required to make that plain.
“Taking the women and children in their boats, we tumbled into our own, and were soon alongside of the Tigress. We left all we had behind, and our all was simply a few battered smoky tin pans and the débris of our last seal. It had already become offal in our eyes, though we had often been glad enough to get such fare.
“On stepping on board, I was at once surrounded by a curious lot of people—I mean men filled with curiosity to know our story, and all asking questions of me and the men. I told them who I was, and where we were from. But when they asked me, ‘How long have you been on the ice?’ and I answered, ‘Since the 15th of last October,’ they were so astonished that they fairly looked blank with wonder.