While these were thus engaged, the sealing party was even more successful in the opposite direction. They had not gone half-a-dozen miles when they sighted a group of seals, sleeping—or sunning themselves—on a flat rock, near high-water mark.
“Now, then, Hercules, lead the way with your club,” said the doctor to Joe Slag, in a whisper. Joe at once shouldered his weapon and led the party round by some sheltering rocks, so as to get between the seals and the sea; then, rushing forward in a body, they took the creatures by surprise, and intercepted two of them. On coming to close quarters, however, they found that the seals were much more formidable to look at than anything that any of them had ever seen in the Arctic Seas; and when Joe brought his club down on the skull of the foremost with a terrible thwack, it refused to tumble over, but continued to splutter and flounder towards the sea. Dr Hayward, however, used his spear at this moment with such effect that the seal fell, and another blow from the Herculean club finished its career.
As this animal was about half-a-ton in weight, they left it on the beach with the intention of cutting off some steaks on their return, and sending the boat round afterwards to fetch the remainder of the carcass.
Considerably elated by their success, they pushed on. In a valley which led towards the interior hills they found fresh tracks of goats, and saw one of those animals in the distance. Rabbits were also seen, but none killed at that time. They had not gone far into this valley, when a most interesting discovery was made. On opening up a new turn in the valley they came on the ruins of a hut.
With feelings of profound interest, they entered—for there was no door to bar their progress—and gazed around on the silent, mouldering walls.
“Good luck!” exclaimed O’Connor, springing forward, and grasping an object which lay on the ground. It was a hatchet, covered with red rust. “Here is something else that will be useful,” said Tomlin, picking up a file, which was also covered with rust.
The party at once began an eager search in the hope of finding other things that might be of use to them, and they were not altogether disappointed; for Jarring found a clasp-knife—much rust-eaten, of course, but still fit for use. Slag found a much-battered frying-pan, and Tomlin discovered a large cast-iron pot behind the hut, with a chip out of its rim. A bottle was also found, and the party crowded round to watch while the doctor examined it.
“Gin, I hope,” said Jarring, in a low tone.
“Physic, I think,” murmured Slag.
“A paper!” exclaimed the doctor, holding it up to the light; then, breaking the bottle, he unfolded the paper, but much of the writing on it had been obliterated by water which had leaked in. The few sentences, however, that were more or less legible, conveyed the fact that a vessel had been wrecked on the island in 1848; that the crew had lived there eighteen months when a ship, chancing to pass that way, rescued them; that they had no provisions to leave for the use of unfortunates who might chance to be cast away there in future; and that there was a garden, with some vegetables in it, about—