“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.
CHAPTER XXXIV
Before the steadily rising Arctic gale, the Jeannette’s three boats in broken formation were scattering in the storm. Dismayed at this sight, De Long who had the only navigating outfit in the flotilla and in addition was carrying all Chipp’s meager food supply, rose in the sternsheets of his cutter and waved vigorously to the other boats to get back in position astern of him. But seeing the whaleboat nearly swamp attempting to drop back, he signalled her on.
Taking a second reef in his own sail to deaden still further his speed, De Long continued waving to Chipp, hopeful at least of getting him close enough aboard to toss over his can of pemmican before in the storm and the night, he lost him to view. Badly flooded himself by oncoming seas, he nevertheless held back, till Chipp and his boat, suddenly engulfed in the waves, disappeared forever from sight.
Sadly then, De Long shook out one reef and picking up headway, stood away dead before the wind, heading southwest for Barkin. Blonde and bearded Erichsen, tall and brawny, a sailor from his childhood in far-off Denmark and in stature a royal Dane indeed, the best seaman in the boat, steered. Crowded into the cockpit before him were De Long, Ambler, and Collins, while forward of them on each side of the boat, backs to the weather cloths holding them up against the sea, were the rest of the crew—Nindemann, the quartermaster, tending the sheet, Lee, Kaack, Noros, Görtz, Dressler, Iversen, Alexey, Ah Sam, and Boyd. Jammed under the thwarts, practically filling all the spaces there were the sledge, the tin cases containing the Jeannette’s records, the navigating gear, the silken ensign in its oilskin case, the rifles, tents, sleeping bags, cooking pots, and a few cans of pemmican, with Snoozer, the last Eskimo dog, crouching on the sleeping bags and whimpering piteously as the spray soaked him.
The heavily-laden first cutter, only twenty feet long but wider of beam than any other of the Jeannette’s boats and with all that ballast on her bottom, therefore more stable and more resistant to capsizing than either of the other two, lumbered on before the wind, pitching heavily as the curling seas swept up under her square stern, and yawing badly in spite of all that Erichsen at the tiller could do to hold her on her course. Darkness fell, the seas grew worse, the crew bailed steadily.
Twice the boat yawed suddenly and the sail jibed violently, straining the mast, but each time Erichsen managed to catch her and the yard and sail were again squared and the boat stood on with the wind screaming by and the merciless seas breaking heavily over the stern, soaking Erichsen continuously and spraying everyone else with freezing water.
For an hour the boat stood on before the storm with the water coming in over both sides and the stern, while her crew bailed vigorously to keep up with it. And then, riding on the crest of a tremendous wave roaring up astern, came disaster. The boat took a bad yaw as the sea struck, the stern swung off to port with the crest. Immediately the sail, caught flat aback by the wind, jibed over and the yard banged viciously round to leeward, heeling the boat sharply down on her port side and riding the lee gunwale completely under! Instantly solid water came pouring in over the submerged rail. In another split second, the half-capsized cutter would have been bottom up with her crew spilled into the raging seas, had not at that instant the mast, already weakened by the previous jibes, broken clean off, and with the flapping sail shot overboard, momentarily relieving the fatal strain!