The widow's husband had been carried out to sea on an ice-raft on the sudden breaking up of the floe, and had never been heard from. Whenever his name was mentioned she burst into tears. Petersen told us that, according to Esquimo custom in such cases, we were expected to join in the weeping.
At the first attempt our success was very indifferent. On the next occasion we equaled in sincerity and naturalness the expressed sorrow of the heirs of a rich miser over his mortal remains. Even the tears we managed so well that the widow, charitably forgetting our former affront, offered us more chewed meat.
In the morning Petersen was off, Godfrey accompanying him at his own option.
The same evening John and Sontag went south with the widow and young hunter. Thus four of us only were left in the hut, and of these, one, Stephenson, was seriously sick. His death at any time would not have been a surprise to us. The hut was colder than ever, and our food nearly gone. A few books, among which was a little Bible, the gift of a friend, were a great source of comfort.
In a few days John and Sontag returned. They had fared well during their absence. They were accompanied by two Esquimo, who brought us food for a few days, for which they demanded an exorbitant price. They, like people claiming a higher civilization, took advantage of our necessity. When they were about to depart on a bear hunt, Dr. Hayes proposed that two of us accompany them with our guns, but they declined. We went with them to the beach, saw them start, watched them as they swiftly glided over the ice, and, dodging skillfully around the hummocks, faded into a black speck in the distance.
The day was spent as one of rest by four of our number, while two of us visited the traps, returning as usual with nothing. The evening came. A cup of good coffee revived us. The temperature of our den came up to the freezing point. We were in the midst of this feast of hot coffee and increased warmth, when we heard a footfall. We hailed in Esquimo, but no answer. Soon the outer door of our passage way opened, a man entered and fell prostrate with a deep moan. It was Petersen. He crept slowly in as we opened the door, staggered across the hut, and fell exhausted on the breck.
Godfrey soon followed, even more exhausted. They both called piteously for "water! water!"
They were in no condition to explain what had happened. We stripped them of their frozen garments, rubbed their stiffened limbs, and rolled them in warm blankets. We gave them of our hot coffee, and the warmth of the hut and dry clothes revived them, but the sudden and great change was followed by a brief cloud over their minds. They fell into a disturbed sleep, and their sudden starts, groans, and mutterings, told of some terrible distress.
Petersen, while sipping his coffee, had told us that the Esquimo had thrown off their disguise and had attempted to murder them; that he and Godfrey had walked all the way from Netlik with the Esquimo in hot pursuit. We must watch, he said, for if off our guard they might overwhelm us with numbers.
This much it was necessary for us to know; the details of their terrible experience he was in no mood to give.