“The season advances, you see,” he said, “and it’s never very long at the best. I had hoped we were done with this troublesome ‘sea of ancient ice,’ but it seems to turn up everywhere, and from past experience we know that the crossing of it is slow work, as well as hard. However, we mustn’t lose heart. ‘Nebber say die,’ as Butterface is fond of remarking.”
“Yis, Massa, nebber say die, but allers say ‘lib, to de top ob your bent.’ Dems my ’pinions w’en dey’s wanted. Also ‘go a-hid.’ Dat’s a grand sent’ment—was borned ’mong de Yankees, an’ I stoled it w’en I left ole Virginny.”
“What says Chingatok?” asked the Captain of the Eskimo, who was still seated with the sketch on his knees in profound meditation.
“Blackbeard has trouble before him,” answered the uncompromising giant, without removing his eyes from the paper. “There,” he said, pointing to the pack, “you have three days’ hard work. After that three days’ easy and swift work. After that no more go on. Must come back.”
“He speaks in riddles, Anders. What does he mean by the three days of hard work coming to an end?”
“I mean,” said Chingatok, “that the ice was loose when I came to this island. It is now closed. The white men must toil, toil, toil—very slow over the ice for three days, then they will come to smooth ice, where the dogs may run for three days. Then they will come to another island, like this one, on the far-off side of which there is no ice—nothing but sea, sea, sea. Our kayaks are gone,” continued the giant, sadly, “we must come back and travel many days before we find things to make new ones.”
While he was speaking, Captain Vane’s face brightened up.
“Are you sure of what you say, Chingatok?”
“Chingatok is sure,” replied the Eskimo quietly.
“Then we’ll conquer our difficulties after all. Come, boys, let’s waste no more time in idle talk, but harness the dogs, and be off at once.”