During the cessation of the snow-storm, the castaways contrived to secure another sea-elephant which visited the bay, Karl Ericksen harpooning him in the water. This time the men did not despise the flesh, but appeared to relish it very much when Snowball fried it fresh—a considerable portion of it being eaten in this way; while all the fat and blubber was melted down, and the remainder of the meat salted and packed in the cask with the other seal beef which was as yet untouched.
On one of these days, too, Ben Boltrope went fishing from the lower cliffs, just above the bay at the head of the creek—on account of the sea there being calmer, and no breakers ruffling the water near.
This pursuit would have been tried before, only that amongst the various articles that had been brought away from the ship there was not a single fish-hook The old man-o’-war’s man, however, had at length managed to overcome the difficulty, manufacturing in his leisure moments a very good substitute by beating out some small nails that he had previously made malleable by putting them in the fire. After spending some hours angling, Ben returned home with some half a dozen fish about the size of a small haddock. These had their heads armed with stout strong spines; but in spite of this peculiarity, they proved under Snowball’s manipulation to be very palatable, and Mr Lathrope, “for one,” as he himself said, regretted that the carpenter had not caught more; he “guessed” he would have “gone for ’em!”
The interregnum of fine weather did not last long; for, soon the snow set in falling again as if it would never stop. The days, consequently, grew unutterably dreary, from the misfortune of all being perforce confined, as before, to the house by the bitter cold wind; and, to make matters worse, the snow-flakes now seemed to penetrate through the tiniest crevices within the hut, so that the air in the interior of the dwelling was of the temperature of freezing, no matter how great a fire was kept up!
While this lasted, Mr Meldrum devised all sorts of amusements for the men.
Amongst other things tried was music, one of the crew having made a banjo, the strings of which were twisted from the smaller intestines of the last sea-elephant they had killed; and by the aid of this instrument harmonic meetings were organised in the evenings, Mr Lathrope developing an almost forgotten talent he possessed, and coming out as a comic singer. He absolutely bewitched even the “Major,” with his version of “Buffalo Gals,” and the “Cackle, cackle, flap your wings and crow,” chorus of the Christy Minstrels, who certainly, in his person, did perform on this occasion out of London!
It was at this period, when the days seemed as if they would never end and the nights longer, that a memorable event occurred for two, at least, of the party.
Ever since that night of the storm on board the Nancy Bell, when she had, as he firmly believed, saved his life by catching hold of him as he was on the point of being washed away by the sea, Frank had become deeply attached to Kate; and the more he saw of the true-hearted girl—her fond affection for her father, her anxious solicitude towards her little sister, her kind sympathy for everybody—the more his affection ripened, until at length he thought he could conceal his dawning love no longer.
Then came the wreck; and, in the trying scenes which subsequently arose, in which the two were each in their own way actors, the more Frank saw to admire in his fairy ideal, the prompt courageous woman of action. Subsequently they were thrown more closely together in the enforced companionship of the castaway community on the desolate shores of Kerguelen Land, when every moment increased their intimacy, while it enabled him to study more closely those salient points of her character which appeared to develop themselves as circumstances called them forth—her filial love, her devotion to her sister, her unconquerable faith, her unbounded hope and cheerfulness in the most despondent situations—but, above all, her innate sense of religion, a feeling that seemed to underlie her nature and yet which in no wise detracted from her superabundant animal spirits, which harmonised themselves to the moods and weaknesses of all. Seeing all this, and noting what he saw and reverenced, Frank could not but love Kate Meldrum with all the warmth and passion of his heart. So loving her, and dying for the want of some response to the wealth of affection he had so long treasured up in his breast, he could not refrain from seeking from her a word of hope.
It was one evening when, save to him and her, it appeared to be the dreariest of all the dreary ones they had already passed in their extemporised dwelling—“home” they called it, as people will style any shelter to which they can retreat from all the trials and exposures of the outside world, “no matter how homely!”