“Steamer ahoy! ahoy! Hello on board the steamer!” rang cheerily from off the dark waters.
“Hello! hello! Come this way!” answered Phil from the pilot-house.
[CHAPTER V]
A PARSON AT THE WHEEL
Phil had been sitting alone in the pilot-house, where, in the chill darkness, the weight of his responsibility seemed almost too great to be borne. He had held out bravely until this moment, but now it seemed as though a great black wall of difficulty was reared against him, and that it was gradually enclosing him on all sides. The many channels revealed by the waning light of that day must all be explored ere the right one could be determined. Phil dared not consider how many days might thus be spent, for he knew he had no days nor even hours to spare.
At any moment now the river might close, and once caught in the relentless fetters of its ice the Chimo must remain motionless until crushed and swept away by the resistless fury of the spring floods. In the meantime what would become of her little company, stranded there in the open river, exposed to the full fury of arctic blasts, remote from human habitation, and equally so from any visible supply of fuel? They had not even the fur clothing without which none may spend a winter in that region.
To be sure, as soon as the ice would bear them they might make their way to some wretched native village, and there drag out a miserable existence during the long winter months. Even in that sorry retreat there could be no hope for Gerald Hamer, who must either be left behind to perish, or taken with them to meet an equally certain fate from exposure. As poor Phil reflected on these things he asked himself why he had so obstinately forced the expedition farther and farther into the wilderness, day after day, until he had at length brought it to this danger point. Why had he not laid the boat up in the first winter harbor that offered? He could remember that they had passed several very good ones, some of which were in the vicinity of Eskimo villages.
Why? Because he had made up his mind to reach Anvik, and declared his intention of doing so, and his Yankee grit was not of the kind to be daunted by obstacles nor turned back by them from an uncompleted duty. Why? Because he had promised Captain Hamer to carry him to Anvik. Phil Ryder did not often make promises, being opposed to them on general principles, but when he did make one he kept it. Why? Because while he was thus thinking, that cheery voice came ringing out of the darkness, bringing with it such a thrill of hope and relief that just to hear it was worth all the toil and anxiety expended in reaching that point.
Serge was down in the galley cooking supper, and whistling a melancholy little tune, that tried its best to sound cheerful as he did so. Poor Isaac, the millwright, homesick, grief-stricken, and despairing, was working by lantern-light on a rude coffin for his dead comrade. Mr. Sims, morose and silent, was busy with his machinery, while Gerald Hamer tossed wearily but weakly beneath the piled-up coverings of his narrow bed.