Peter the Whaler

by William Henry Giles Kingston

On came the ship, scudding at a great rate before the gale, right down along the edge of the floe. She seemed, as well as we could then judge, to be about three miles off. We were obliged to descend, and to run about to keep ourselves warm; but every instant one of us was climbing to the top of the hummock to watch the progress of the stranger. She was drawing near when some of our companions discovered her; and we now saw them come hurrying along over the ice towards us, forgetting everything in the expectation of being able to escape from our perilous situation.

By the time they reached us she was just abreast of us, running under her fore-topsail at headlong speed before the wind. How anxiously we watched her, expecting her every instant to heave to; but she glided onward, unconscious of the agony and despair she was creating in our hearts. We waved our hats; we pointed to our signal staff; we leaped up on the hummock; we even, in the extravagance of our eagerness, shouted out at the top of our voices, as if sounds so faint could reach her. But all we could do was vain. On she passed in her course, as if we were not in existence.

“Fire our guns,” said Andrew; “they might possibly be heard.” But in their hurry our companions had left the guns at the hut.

All hope of making ourselves seen or heard was now abandoned; the ship flew by, and soon her hull sank below the horizon. Some of the men, on this, gave way to impious exclamations of discontent, but Andrew checked them. “It is God’s will that we remain here, mates,” he said. “How do we know but that it is for our benefit that we are left where we are? That ship, which we are now so anxious to be on board, may before the night be crushed beneath an iceberg, or perhaps dashed to pieces on the rocks in sight of home, while we may yet be destined to see again our country and our families. Believe me, mates, all is for the best; and though we don’t see the way we are to escape, it may now be ready for us.”

The tone of religious confidence in which Andrew spoke, contributed much to revive the spirits of our companions. The gale was also rapidly decreasing, and hopes were therefore expressed that, should the last ship appear, the boat might be able to reach her, even though she might be too far off to see our signal. However, day drew on, and no ship appeared. The returning darkness warned us that we must get back to our hut without delay, or not only might we not be able to find it, but it might be visited by our friends the bears, and our remaining provisions might be destroyed. We accordingly hurried back, and were only just in time to prevent the latter catastrophe; for, as we got to the hut, we observed three large objects moving over the snow towards the land. They were no doubt bears, who, when they saw us running up, had been frightened away from the food, to which their keen scent had attracted them. I rushed into the hut for a gun, intending to make chase after them; but Andrew told me to desist, as I should not have the slightest chance of killing one, and that they might possibly turn upon me and destroy me.

The third night we spent in our hut was much colder than the former ones, though there was less wind. One of us by turns kept watch, as before. I was asleep, and it was Terence’s watch, when I was awakened by a loud noise like thunder, and a shout from him which made all the party start on their feet. The noise continued. It too much reminded us of that we had heard when the ice, in which we had been beset in our passage through Baffin’s Bay, had begun to break up.

“What’s the matter now?” exclaimed several voices.

“The floe must be separating, and we are perhaps going to be drifted away from the shore,” remarked old David, “But never mind, mates, we can’t be much worse off than we were, and a short cruise won’t do us any harm.”

“How can we tell that the floe will not break up into small pieces, or perhaps drift out and join the middle ice?” I inquired. I thought such a thing might possibly occur, and I wished to secure our retreat on shore.

“There is little doubt that the floe is separating,” said Andrew. “But at all events we can do nothing while it remains dark. As soon as daylight appears, we must decide, without loss of time, what is to be done.”