SAVED.
MATTERS were getting into a serious condition. The delays had been so many that the stock of birds had been eaten, and the men had been for several days on short allowance, which showed itself in their failing strength. They were far out to sea, midway of the Melville Bay navigation, and the boats were receiving a rough handling, and required continual bailing to keep them from sinking.
It was just at this crisis that the ever timely aid came. A large seal was seen floating upon a small patch of ice, seeming to be asleep. A signal was given for the "Hope" to fall astern, while the "Faith" approached noiselessly upon him, with stockings drawn over the oars. Petersen lay in the bow with a large English rifle, and as they drew near, the men were so excited that they could scarcely row; the safety of the whole company seemed staked upon the capture of that seal. When within three hundred yards, the oars were taken in, and the boat moved silently on by a scull-oar at the stern. The seal was not asleep, for when just beyond the reach of the ball he raised his head. The thin, care-worn, almost despairing faces of the men showed their deep concern as he appeared about to make his escape. Dr. Kane gave the signal to fire; but poor Petersen, almost paralyzed by anxiety, was trying nervously to get a rest for his gun on the edge of the bow. The seal rose on his fore-flipper, looked curiously around, and coiled himself up for a plunge. The rifle cracked at the instant, and the seal at the same moment drooped his head one side, and stretched his full length on the ice at the brink of his hole. With a frantic yell the men urged the boats to the floe, seized the seal, and bore him to a safer place. They brandished their knives, cut long strips of the seal, and went dancing about the floe, eating and sucking their bloody fingers in wild delight. The seal was large and fat, but not an ounce of him was wasted. A fire was built that night on the floe, and the joyous feast went on until hunger was appeased; they had driven away its gnawings, and, happily, it returned no more.
On the first of August they had passed the terrible bay, and sighted land on its southern side. Familiar landmarks of the whalers came in sight. They passed the Duck Islands and Cape Shackelton, and coasted along by the hills, seeking a cove in which to land. One was soon found, the boats drawn up, a little time spent in thanksgiving and congratulations, and then they lay down on the dry land and slept.
They continued to coast near the shore, dodging about among the islands, and dropping into the bays, and landing for rest at night. It was at one of these sleeping-halts on the rocks that Petersen saw one of the natives, whom he recognized as an old acquaintance; he was in his kayak seeking eider-down among the rocks. Petersen hailed him, but the man played shy. "Paul Zacharias," shouted Petersen, "don't you know me? I am Carl Petersen!"
"No," replied the man; "his wife says he's dead."
The native stared at the weather-beaten, long-bearded man for a moment as he loomed up through the fog, and then turned the bow of his boat, and paddled away as if a phantom was pursuing him.
Two days after this the explorers were rowing leisurely along in a fog, which had just began to lift and dimly reveal the objects on shore. At this moment a familiar sound came to them over the water. It was the "huk" of the Esquimo, for which they had often taken the bark of a fox or the startling screech of the gulls; but this "huk! huk!" died away in the home-thrilling "halloo!"
"Listen, Petersen! what is it?"
Petersen listened quietly for a moment, and then, trembling with emotion, said, in an undertone, "Dannemarkers!"