October 5th came and went, commencing in a breakfast consisting only of hot water colored by re-used tea leaves and ending with a supper composed of the last of the dog meat and more hot water barely tinted with third-time used tea leaves. Hour by hour the men sat, crowded in the little hut gazing at Erichsen, occasionally conscious now, while his strength slowly ebbed away and his tongue babbled feebly about his far-off Denmark. Night fell, the storm howled on, the dying seaman relapsed again into a coma, and his overwrought shipmates sagged down on the dirt floor to rest.
October 6th came and in the early morning light, Erichsen died. Sadly in the driving snow, the grief-stricken sailors gathered round a hole cut through the river ice while broken-hearted, De Long sobbed out the funeral service over the body of as brave and staunch a seaman as ever sacrificed his life to save his shipmates. And there in the Arctic wastes, where he so long had suffered, with three volleys from all the rifles in the party ringing out over the ice as a final salute, mournfully his gaunt and frozen comrades consigned Hans Erichsen, their strongest and their best man, to the Lena’s waters.
CHAPTER XXXVI
With some old tea leaves and two quarts of grain alcohol as their entire food supply, the thirteen survivors gloomily resumed their southward trek on October 7th. The snow was deep and still falling; the weakened men ploughed through it to their waists. A little alcohol mixed in water constituted dinner; a little more of the same was served out for supper and night found them camping in the snow.
October 8th, underway again over thin ice, De Long sought a trail over the wandering streams and through the multitude of islands where the spreading Lena flattened out over the low delta lands and its surface waters, churning in swirling eddies, were not yet completely frozen over. More and more frequently the faltering men paused to rest; De Long particularly, whose freezing immersion of a few days before had sadly damaged his feet, was in worse condition than anyone save Lee, whose weakening hips continually gave way, plunging him drunkenly into the drifts every other step. Badly strung out, the line of starving seamen staggered along with their captain in the rear, constantly refusing the offers of his men to relieve him of the load he carried and thus ease the way for him. When finally they halted for the night, shelterless on the bleak and open tundra, his hungry men had once again to be content with nothing more substantial to fill the aching voids in their stomachs than hot water and half an ounce of alcohol. De Long, watching them drop feebly in their tracks in the snow with Ku Mark Surk still (as he thought) over twelve miles away, concluded sadly that they could never all cover that last stretch alive. Without the slightest chance now of getting food in the deserted delta, they would soon in their weakened condition use up the last dregs of their fading vitality and quickly freeze to death in their tracks. His only hope lay in sending a few stronger men ahead for help, while in some shelter, if they could find it now, the rest of them, fighting off starvation, conserved their little remaining strength and awaited rescue. With that resolve, he beckoned Nindemann to his side in the snow.
“Nindemann,” said the captain earnestly, “I’m sending you ahead tomorrow to get through to Ku Mark Surk for aid. It should be only twelve miles south now. You ought to do it in three days, maybe four at the most, and get back in four more. Meanwhile, we’ll follow in your trail. I’ll give you one of our two rifles, your share of the alcohol for food, and you can take any man in the party with you except Alexey to help you out. Alexey we must keep as a hunter. Who do you want?”
The quartermaster thought a moment, then answered,
“I’ll take Noros, captain.”
“Isn’t Iversen better?” asked De Long anxiously. “I think he’s stronger.”
“No,” replied Nindemann, “he’s been complaining of his feet three days now.”