Rory was in tears, and not he alone, for the roughest sailor that stood beside the grave could not witness the grief of that old man unmoved.
McBain stepped forward and placed his hand kindly on his shoulder.
Magnus turned his streaming eyes just once upwards to his captain’s face, then he gave vent to one long, sobbing sigh, threw out his arms, and dropped.
Magnus was no more.
They made his grave close to that of his boy’s, and there, side by side, these twain will sleep till the sea gives up its dead.
Chapter Thirty Two.
The Terrible Snowstorm—Something Like an Aquarium—The Mammoth Caves and their Startling Treasures—The Journey Polewards—Collapse of the Balloon—“God Save The Queen.”
Four long months have passed away since poor old Magnus dropped dead on the grave of his son. The sun has once more appeared above the horizon, bringing joy to the hearts of the officers and crew of the Arrandoon. Despite every effort to keep their spirits up, the past winter has been a weary one. Had the stars always shone, had the glorious Aurora always flickered above them, it might have been different; but shortly after the cave was finished and furnished, divided into compartments, and made comfortable with chairs and sofas, and carpets and skins, a terrible storm came on them from the north-west. Never had our young heroes, never had McBain himself, known such cold, or such fierce winds and depth of snow. For three whole weeks did this Arctic storm rage, and during this time it would have been certain death for any one to have ventured ten yards from the mouth of the cavern.