“Oh, yes, sir,” replied Joe. “There’s a narrow lead or two that will take us part way, and the dingey is so light that we can haul her across in the other places.”
The dingey had been the special care of the boys, and rarely used except by them. They had been duck shooting in her during the summer, when whales were not in sight, and had kept the ship’s larder well supplied with the great ducks which swarm in that region all summer long. They had fitted her with a light sail and a few reserve provisions,—a tin or two of meat and some hard-tack, in case they should happen to be away over meal time. There was also a small keg of fresh water, and in the locker forward a one-burner oil stove with tea, sugar, and condensed milk, by way of refreshment. The boatswain used to laugh at this “life-boat,” as he called it, but the arrangement had often been useful, and the little craft was very handy at all times.
Mr. Jones did not look particularly happy when he heard the order to stop and lower the dingey, but he did as requested and the boat was soon on its way. The boys entered one of the narrow leads in the floe which barred their way, traversed it to its end, and hauled their boat out. It was some way across to another open space and this did not take them far in the right direction, but it led to where they could haul to another, and so little by little they won their way across. As they came to the open water, they found to their chagrin that other ice-fields had crowded in between them and their object, and they were obliged to make a wide and winding detour to approach it. Distance is always far greater than it looks to be in the Arctic, and they were fully an hour in getting near the motionless heap. At last the dingey grazed the floating cake and they sprang out on it, dropped the ice anchor at the end of the two-fathomed painter into a chink in the ice, and hastened toward the motionless object.
As they reached it the huddled heap of fur moved, wavered, and sat up, smiled faintly from a face sunken-cheeked and hollow-eyed, murmured the Eskimo word “Nagouruk,” then wavered back into a motionless heap once more; and as it did so a whirl of great flakes came pelting down on the little group on the cake of ice, and the world was blotted out in snow.
All eyes on board the ship had been fastened on the two in the dingey, and the squall had taken them as much by surprise as it did the boys. It had come up with a sudden veering of the wind to the southward, and had taken them from behind. Before they knew it all things were smothered in the whirl of snow, and, though he thought it probably only a passing squall, Mr. Jones was very uneasy about it, and when after a half hour had passed with no signs of letting up, he called Captain Nickerson. As the wind and snow increased, all hands became very anxious, and everything possible was done to give the boys knowledge of the ship’s whereabouts. The whistle was blown frequently and shots were fired in volleys every few minutes, but there was still no sign of them.
It soon became evident that a severe blow was threatening and, though terribly anxious about the boys, Captain Nickerson realized that he must give his attention to the safety of the ship. The south wind was bringing the shoreward floe out upon her rapidly. It had already closed the lead just ahead of them, and if they would not be crushed they must retreat. The ship was therefore put about and slowly worked its way eastward again, keeping just out of the jaws of destruction, in the vain hope that the dingey would reappear. Day wore on and darkness came with no sign of the missing boat, and during the next day the best they could do was to work back to Icy Cape, where the floes grounded on the shoals and they found safe refuge, partly behind them and partly behind the cape. The wind had swung to the westward again during the night and the morning brought no snow, but the air was full of a black mist and bitter cold. There was but faint hope that they would see the boys again unless the weather soon moderated, and Captain Nickerson was overcome with grief and self-accusation. Nor was the taciturn Mr. Jones much better off. Each felt that he had been careless to let them go as they had, yet the squall was so sudden and unforeseen that they could hardly be blamed.
For days the wind hung to the westward, veering to the northwest, and at the end of the third the main pack came in in earnest, pushing the shore floes on the ship till she was forced into shallow water and grounded. It became evident that she would hardly be got off again that fall, and that immediate measures must be taken for the safety of the crew. Leaving Mr. Jones in charge, Captain Nickerson took a strong crew of his best men and set off down the coast, hoping to find one of the other ships of the little Arctic fleet. The journey was hard and dangerous. Now they found a space of open water, again they had to drag the boat over the ice for a long distance, camping for the night under the overturned boat, and looking anxiously for traces of the boys, but finding none.
At the end of the fifth day the wind and cold diminished, and they joyfully sighted the Belvidere in open water near the shore, with what seemed a fair chance to work out. They were taken aboard, and the captain of the Belvidere readily agreed to wait until the remainder of the crew of the Bowhead could reach him. For his own safety this was as much as he could do. He could not agree to stay in and risk his own vessel and crew for the chance of getting the Bowhead out of her difficulty. It was decided that she must be abandoned, and Captain Nickerson, with one man, started back on foot to get the crew. The journey was made successfully, and within a day after his return the balance of the crew in four boats, with merely what provisions they needed for the trip, abandoned ship and contents, and, after a hard struggle, reached the Belvidere.
It was time. Already she was hard pressed by the shoreward-moving ice, and the captain was taking great risks in remaining. She pushed slowly down the coast, forcing her way through closing floes and running a hundred hazards successfully, till at last they rounded Lisburne and were in comparatively clear water. Captain Nickerson had not made any further efforts to discover the lost boys. He knew that these would be useless. Depending on their own exertions, they had a slender chance for escape to some other vessel, if any remained, or they might reach shore and winter with the natives. In either case he felt that the chances were slight, and he aged perceptibly in the cruise back to the States. The loss of his only son and his protégé weighed heavily upon him with the loss of his vessel and valuable cargo. The taciturn Mr. Jones became more silent than ever, and hardly spoke the whole voyage through. It was a sad home-coming for the ship’s company.