"Waal, Hen, we won't ask no questions," said Dan Ferns.
"But, anyhow," continued Henry, who never paid any attention to Dan, "there I was. I had about made up my mind to work my way to New York on a coaster when I happened to see a bill which said that men were wanted for the celebrated whaler Duke of Wellington. Somehow or other the name caught my fancy, and I read the bill through. It told all about the fine grub and clothes that they were to furnish, but I'll allow that I wasn't fooled by that rubbish. I knew pretty well what to expect in the forecastle of any ship outside of Uncle Sam's navy—salt-horse, weevily biscuit, and tea made out of sawdust. But I got a notion that I'd like to go to the arctic and see some whale-chasing. So I went down and took a look at this Duke of Wellington. She was a wall-sided old hooker, with a stern that looked like an ace of hearts painted black, and a main-yard half as long as her keel. But her bow was clever, and made her look as if the great spread of canvas promised by her yards would carry her up to whaleland in good time. While I was hanging around the wharf looking at her, and expressing by my face the sort of an opinion I had of the way her crew went about their work, a mean-looking fellow came up to me and asked me if I didn't want to ship. He turned out to be the shipping-agent, and he said he knew I was a sailor, and they needed one or two more old hands to set that green crew going. So I up and shipped, and in less than six months I wished I hadn't, because I didn't expect ever to see green grass again.
"It was a bright and glorious morning about the end of May when we passed Clark's Point bound out. The wind was brisk westerly, and the old man clapped the cloth on her. I found she had the heels I suspected, for we were less than an hour in doing the nine knots to Quick's Hole. Then we squared away up the Vineyard Sound, and when night fell we had doubled Menomoy Point and were at sea. I'm not going to tell you about life aboard that whaler, except to say that most of the hands were green, and that made it pretty steep work for the others. In a month the green hands could go aloft and reef and furl, and they knew where to find the halyards, sheets, and tacks. When it came to a job of splicing or sewing, why, the sailormen had to do it. We had fairly good weather up to the entrance to Davis Strait, where we fell in with a gale. After that our old man got crazy to push to the north, and so away we went. At Upernavik we took aboard four Esquimau guides. One of them was a boy called Toko; and this miserable sawed-off little savage is the fellow that afterward showed us all how to be plucky. He could talk a good deal of English, but he seemed to be a very quiet boy, and seldom said anything till he was spoken to. He actually seemed to be stupid; but we found out in good time that all he needed was to be waked up.
"I must get on with this yarn or it'll be as long as Dan Ferns's story of the Dora A. Baker. We worked our way well up into Baffin Bay—or maybe it was Smith Sound. I've always had a notion that we were a good deal further north than the old man was willing to admit. Anyhow, it came about that all of a sudden we discovered that it was getting pretty close to the edge of the arctic winter, and that we were in danger of being shut in by the ice. So now the old man began to push her for the south with all the cloth she'd carry. But the second day it came on to blow right dead ahead. Before night it was a howling gale, and to add to the terror of our situation we could hear the terrific grinding and crashing of the ice away off in the darkness all around us. The Esquimaux huddled together in sheltered spots, but refused to leave the deck. The night passed at last, and when morning dawned it showed us a raging, crazy sea, with ice all around the horizon.
"Well, boys, gradually that ice came nearer and nearer. It was something dreadful to watch it. We knew that we were driving to leeward pretty fast, and that accounted for the approach of the ice on that side; but think how fast that ice up to windward must have been moving to gain on us the way it did. We were helpless, and when at last we drove against the ice, we could do very little indeed. We struck with a great crash, and our fore-royal and mizzen-topgallant-masts went by the board. We made up our minds that we were bound for Davy Jones's locker, when along came another big sea and forced the ship bodily right up on the ice. The ice to windward gradually closed in, and the next day there we were, shut in hard and tight in a field of broken and jagged ice, and with bergs all around us.
"Well, there was nothing for it but to prepare to stay where we were until spring. Then began the terrible business of living through the winter. And it was then that Toko woke up. As our spirits began to go down, his began to rise. The other Esquimaux were contented to sit and wait, but he had pluck. 'Give Toko gun,' he said, 'he get fresh meat.' We gave him a gun, and away he went over the ice and through the blinding snow with the unerring instinct of a savage. The very first day he came back as far as the summit of a hummock half a mile away, and waved his arms. Some of us went to him, and he led us to a polar bear which he had killed single-handed. We dragged the carcass home, and feasted on the juicy steaks. The next day he found a crevice in the ice and killed a seal that had come up. But as the long days moved by on leaden feet we became listless and discouraged. Bill Hedding fell sick and, after lingering three weeks, passed away. We were a dispirited lot after that. But not Toko. He said: 'Not give up. Spring come again. Ice open. Get away in boats. Toko show the way.' But we shook our heads, and did not believe him. He danced strange dances and sang strange songs for us, while the other Esquimaux looked on with grave disapproval. He staid up night after night keeping watch to see that polar bears did not get aboard and attack our scanty provisions. He cooked and hunted for us. He told us the legends of his people, and gave us regular lectures on the habits of arctic animals. More men fell sick, and that tireless boy with the figure of an India-rubber doll and the face of a Chinese idol found time to nurse them, to pat them on the back, and to bid them keep their courage up through all the ghastly gloom of that arctic night.
"'Byme-by lights'—he meant the aurora—'go out in sky,' he would say; 'bears go 'way an' birds fly. Den soon daylight come 'long, an' byme-by he sun come up. Den crack! de ice break, an' we get away. Dat be spring.'
"Boys, I once read about a prisoner who was shut up in a tower in France for twenty years, and I began to feel like that fellow. I guess we all did, for when the light did begin to dawn again, and there were signs of spring, we were all so utterly hopeless that we didn't have spirit enough to get up and set to work. We knew that the ship was a wreck underneath, and we hadn't courage for the struggle in boats to the southward. But Toko never rested till he had got some of us on our feet and set us moving. Action breeds activity, I've been told; and it's a fact that the more we worked the more we wanted to work. Finally one day we heard a series of reports like the firing of great guns.
"'De ice! De ice! Him break!' cried Toko, dancing about. 'See! Dere water! Water!'
"'All hands to the boats!' shouted the Captain."