Chapter Eight.
We now waited in anxious expectation for the arrival of our shipmates, but they did not appear. The days were getting shorter, the nights longer. The cold was increasing. Often and often we gazed out over the ice. As far as we could judge no change had taken place in it. A vast snow-covered plain, with here and there mountainous heights of ice could be seen extending as far as the horizon. Unfortunately we had not brought a telescope, or we thought that we might have discovered our friends. At length we began to entertain the most serious apprehensions as to their fate.
We had one evening turned in, and, having closed the door of the hut, had lighted our lamp and composed ourselves to sleep, when Ewen roused me up.
“I heard a shout!” he exclaimed, “they must be coming.”
We slipped into our day clothing, and hurried out, carrying our rifles in our hands, for we never moved without them.
Again there was a shout: we replied to it with all our might. Some one was evidently approaching. More clearly to show our position, I fired off my rifle, and sent Croil in to light a small piece of drift-wood the only thing we possessed to serve as a torch. Again and again we shouted: at length we caught sight through the gloom of night of some dark spots moving over the snow.
“Hurrah!” cried Ewen, “there are our shipmates!” Soon after he had spoken I discovered three of the dogs dragging the sledge and two men following them. The one was Sandy, the other Hans the seaman.
Hurrying forward we led them up to the hut. Sandy could scarcely speak.
“We are well-nigh starved, and I thought we should never get back,” he said at length.
“Where are our shipmates? Why haven’t they come?” I asked.