“It was because our poor captain was so unhappy that, during the winter, he began to acquire sadly intemperate habits. We could not see him dying by inches before our faces; we loved the man, and tried to save him. We mutinied—ay! it was mutiny, but if ever mutiny was excusable it was in this case. We marched aft and seized the keys of the room where the grog was stored, and, with the exception of a few gallons, which we kept for the spring fishing, we poured every drop down the ice-hole. Two weeks after that the captain sent for me and thanked me before the men for what I had done. You know the rest of our story, gentlemen.”
Next morning it had fallen calm again; the sky was of a deeply azure blue, the sea a sea of glass, with one or two beautiful Arctic birds floating lazily on its surface. And thus lazily floated the good yacht Snowbird, rising and falling on the gentle swell. All hands were aft at an early hour listening to the solemn words of the Burial Service. The bodies had been sewn in hammocks and weighted with portions of iron, and at the words, “Earth to earth, dust to dust,” the flag was quietly withdrawn, the grating on which they lay was tilted, and, one by one, they were allowed to drop into the depths of that dark mysterious ocean, where shall repose the bodies of so many of England’s bravest sons, till the sea gives up its dead.
By noon the glassy surface of the water was touched here and there by what sailors term “cat’s-paws.” Half-an-hour later the sea was all of a ripple; then the Snowbird’s sails filled again, and she bore away to the west. And so west and west she went for several weeks, only altering her course at times to avoid the heavier ice, or when compelled to do so by a change of wind. Then for days and days they kept nearly south and by west, till one morning there was a shout from the mast-head that thrilled every heart with joy,—
“Land ho!”
Chapter Seventeen.
On Shore for a Run—Noontide on the Seashore—A Natural Harbour—The Land of Adventure and Sport—After the Antelope—Face to Face with a Grizzly.
Yes, yonder lay the land. A mere cloud-land as yet, though; a long streak of darkish blue, higher at some places than at others, and running all along one half of the southern horizon. There was much speculation on board as to what the country they were approaching would turn out to be, whether or not they would find inhabitants in it, and what their reception would be, what their adventures, and what their chance of sport. Judging from his latitude and longitude McBain put it down as some portion of the northern shores of British America, and old Seth “guessed” and “calculated” that if there were any inhabitants they would be “blueskin Injuns,” and they would have to make a welcome for themselves if they wanted one.