For some time they wandered without seeing any sign of the hummock. Bill's heart sank lower and lower; for he knew that if they did not soon find shelter, Archie would die in his arms. At last Bill caught sight of a light—a dull, glowing light.
"Is that a fire?" he asked.
"'Tis the hummock!" Billy cried. "'Tis Osmond with the fire goin'. 'Tis he! 'Tis he!"
"We're saved," said Bill.
Once in the lee of the hummock, they roused Archie from his stupor, and warmed him over the fire, which Osmond, after many failures, had succeeded in lighting. They broke the cross-piece of the tow line in two, took another pelt from the pack, and made two fires. The wood was like the wick in a candle; it blazed in the blubber, and was not consumed. Between the fires they huddled together, with Archie in the middle. Their bodies warmed the lad, and he slumbered snugly, quietly, through the night. Billy Topsail, more sturdy of body, if not of spirit, kept awake, and had a part in the talk with which each tried to cheer the others through the fearful, dragging hours.
"'Tis the day," said Bill, at last, pointing to the east.
The wind abated as the dawn advanced, and the snow ceased to fall. Light crept over the field, and men appeared from behind clumpers of ice. Group signalled to group. All made their way to the place where the ship had landed them, a dozen men were already clustered—a gaunt, haggard, frost-bitten crowd. The terrors of the night still oppressed them, and, through weeks, would haunt their dreams.
They counted their number. Fifty-nine living men were there; and there was one dead body—that of Tim Tuttle of Raggles Island, who had strayed away from his fellows and been lost. And thus they awaited the full break of day, while eyes were strained into the departing night. Where was the ship? Had she survived? These were the questions they asked one another.
"What's that patch o' black?" Bill o' Burnt Bay asked. "Due west, lads—a mile or more off?"
"Sure, it looks like the ship," some of the men agreed.