The capstan was manned, and the hawsers were hove taut. Inch by inch the tide rose, and the Dolphin floated. Then a lusty cheer was given, and Amos Parr struck up one of those hearty songs intermingled with “Ho!” and “Yo heave ho!” that seem to be the life and marrow of all nautical exertion. At last the good ship forged ahead, and, boring through the loose ice, passed slowly out of the Bay of Mercy.
“Do you know I feel quite sad at quitting this dreary spot?” said Fred to his father, as they stood gazing backward over the taffrail. “I could not have believed that I should have become so much attached to it.”
“We become attached to any spot, Fred, in which incidents have occurred to call forth, frequently, our deeper feelings. These rocks and stones are intimately associated with many events that have caused you joy and sorrow, hope and fear, pain and happiness. Men cherish the memory of such feelings, and love the spots of earth with which they are associated.”
“Ah, Father, yonder stands one stone, at least, that calls forth feelings of sorrow.”
Fred pointed, as he spoke, to Store Island, which was just passing out of view. On this lonely spot the men had raised a large stone over the grave of Joseph West. O’Riley, whose enthusiastic temperament had caused him to mourn over his comrade more, perhaps, than any other man in the ship, had carved the name and date of his death in rude characters on the stone. It was a conspicuous object on the low island, and every eye in the Dolphin was fixed on it as they passed. Soon the point of rock, that had sheltered them so long from many a westerly gale, intervened and shut it out from view for ever.
A week of uninterrupted fair wind and weather had carried the Dolphin far to the south of their dreary wintering-ground, and all was going well, when the worst of all disasters befell the ship—she caught fire! How it happened no one could tell. The smoke was first seen rising suddenly from the hold. Instantly the alarm was spread.
“Firemen to your posts!” shouted the captain. “Man the water-buckets; steady, men, no hurry. Keep order.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” was the short, prompt response, and the most perfect order was kept. Every command was obeyed instantly, with a degree of vigour that is seldom exhibited save in cases of life and death.
Buzzby was at the starboard, and Peter Grim at the larboard gangway, while the men stood in two rows, extending from each to the main hatch, up which ever-thickening clouds of dark smoke were rolling. Bucket after bucket of water was passed along and dashed into the hold, and everything that could be done was done, but without effect. The fire increased. Suddenly a long tongue of flame issued from the smoking cavern, and lapped round the mast and rigging with greedy eagerness.
“There’s no hope,” said Captain Ellice in a low voice, laying his hand gently on Captain Guy’s shoulder.