“I know you will not, Peter; but I tell you that our courage will be severely tried,” he answered.
“Why, don’t you think the ship will be able to take us off?” I asked.
“I do not think she will, Peter,” he replied. “Before the gale is over, she will have been driven very far to the south; and it will take her so many days to beat back, if the wind should continue foul, that Captain Rendall will consider we must have perished, and that the attempt would be useless, and that he should not be justified in thus risking the safety of his ship.”
“What hope, then, have we?” I asked.
“My greatest hope is, that we may be seen by some other ship passing after the gale has moderated,” he answered. “If that fails to us, we must endeavour to pass the winter on shore. Others have done so before now; and I do not see why we should not manage to live as well as the ignorant natives who inhabit this country.”
“If we had powder, and shot, and fuel, and timber to build a house with, I should say we might do it,” I answered; “but as we have none of these things, I am afraid we shall be frozen to death as soon as the cold sets in.”
“The natives live, and we must try to find out how they contrive to do it,” was the tenor of his answer.
Miserable as the night was, and slow as the hours seemed to drag along, they at last passed away. We had no further visits from the bears, nor were we otherwise disturbed. When daylight came, there was nothing in the prospect to cheer our hearts. On one side there was a sheet of ice covered with snow, with high rocky cliffs beyond; and, on the other, the wide expanse of ocean, still tossing and foaming with the fierce storm which raged over it.