THE PACK OPENS.—MYSTERIOUS MURMURS.—LOVE SCENES AND SOUNDS.

Top

All day long the snow fell heavily, and although the wind blew with no great violence, it was evidently increasing their drift eastward into the open Gulf. At night the temperature was perceptibly higher, and as they gathered around the light of the rude brazier in the centre of their ice-cave, each for the first time opened his heavy outer clothing, and felt the cool zephyrs that, from time to time, found their way through the door curtain, to be a welcome visitant.

The fire had melted a deep hollow in the centre, which was naturally the lowest part of the floor, and Peter quietly arose, and bringing in the axe, cut a narrow but deep gutter out through the doorway. Reverently that night the little group bowed their heads as Waring, with his sweet voice, led the singing of one of the old familiar hymns, dear alike to Churchman and Dissenter, and La Salle prayed that the hand of the Father might be with them in their coming trials.

For already the boat had received her scanty store of food and fuel, their weapons stood close at hand, a pile of cooked meats was cooling near the door, and all knew that a few hours might again find them seeking a new shelter, among perils compared to which those already passed, were "trifles light as air."

Heretofore they had been exposed to no wide sweep of seas, and had never felt the solid ice beneath them rolling and plunging through mountainous surges, or dashed in terrible collision against its companions of the dismembered ice-pack. Now every mile which they drifted increased the sweep of the sea, and in the centre of the wide Gulf, the southerly winds would scarcely fail to open, at least, the outer sections of the floes.

As they concluded their brief Sabbath exercises, La Salle drew from his vest pocket a stump of lead pencil, and seemed at a loss for something on which to write.

"Have any of you a piece of paper?" he asked.

All answered in the negative; but a thought seemed to strike him, and drawing from an inner pocket a much crumpled letter, he opened it, and seemed to consider. The envelope was worn out, but had preserved the closely-written note paper within; and taking a single page, he spread it on his gunstock, and, in broad-lined, coarsely-made letters, drew up the following record of their present position and prospects:—

"Regnie, please write this in French on the other side—will you?" said the writer, as he finished.

Orloff took the page, and turning it over, did as requested; but as he finished signing his own name, he let the pencil drop from his fingers, and for a moment found himself incapable of movement or expression. Controlling himself with an effort, he folded the note neatly, and returned it, with the pencil, to La Salle.

"Who is your fair correspondent, M. La Salle?" said he, in French.

La Salle, with flushed face and eyes lighted up with due resentment of the other's curiosity, answered,—

"You seem to have read for yourself."

Orloff's manner changed at once.

"A thousand pardons, monsieur, but I have a good reason for asking the lady's name."

"Pauline H. Randall, as you may see for yourself," was the quiet reply.

"One more question, sir. Do you know her middle name?"

"I did, but cannot exactly recall it, as she never uses it in full, and I have forgotten whether it is Hobel or Hubel; that it is one of the two, I am pretty certain."

A glance of mingled expression shot from the eyes of Orloff, but he restrained himself with a visible effort, and he became again the somewhat phlegmatic pilot of the Gulf shore.

"Thank you, M. La Salle. You shall know more at a fitting season."

Taking one of Waring's cartridge cases, La Salle forced the record into its narrow chamber, and selecting a small strip of pine,—a part of the thin side of his crushed float,—he stopped the cartridge with a tightly-fitting wad, and fastened it to the board with a piece of stout cord. On the white board he printed, in large letters, "Read the contents of the case;" and going out, he placed it firmly upright on the summit of the berg.

At twelve that night the rain fell fast, the wind blew steadily from the southward, and the undulations of the ice, from time to time, told that, although safe in the very heart of the pack, yet still the field had already resolved itself into its component parts. Towards midnight all fell asleep, being satisfied that no immediate danger threatened them; but at about half an hour before daybreak, Waring awoke, and placed a few blocks on the smoldering embers. As he waited for them to burst into a flame, he heard the air filled with confused murmurings, unlike any sounds that he had previously experienced. Gradually they appeared to draw nearer, to sound from all sides, to fill the air overhead, and even at last to ascend from the depths below. Strangely sweet, yet sadly plaintive, they at once charmed and terrified the poor boy, weak from his recent illness, and worn with the anxieties of his situation.

At last Regnar awoke, and to him Waring applied for an explanation of the strange sounds. Orloff listened attentively, and answered with paling cheeks,—

"Such are the melodies which my people say that the sad Necker sings by the lonely river, when he bemoans his lot, in that Christ died not for him. Doubtless the sea has its water spirits, and they now surround our island of ice."

Waring, unskilled in the folk-lore of Dane, Swede, and German, answered,—

"It can't be that. It must be that some vessel is near us, or there is a crew of wrecked sealers around us on the ice. Ah, Peter, are you thinking of getting up. Listen to those sounds, and tell us what they are—will you?"

Peter listened gravely and attentively.

"I not know that noise, brother. I know nearly all the cries of bird and beast, and often I sleep all 'lone in the woods; hear howl, hear fox, hear frog, hear everyting. Sometime I tink I know that noise; then I tink I not know him at all. Get La Salle awake; ask him—he know."

La Salle slept but lightly whenever there was need of vigil, and the last words had fallen on his awakening ears.

"What's the matter, Peter?" said he.

"We hear many strange noise. I not know, George not know, Regnie not know, none of us know. There it come again. What you call that?"

La Salle listened a moment, went to the door, and then beckoned to his companions to follow. The rain fell heavily, but the wind came warm and gently from the balmy south, and no rude blast shrieked and sighed amid the ice-peaks. The strange sounds were sweeter, louder, and apparently nearer than before. Soft and sad as the strains of the disconsolate Necker, plaintive as the mournings of men without hope, wild as the cries of the midnight forest, and the sighings of wind-tossed branches. La Salle laughed a low, glad laugh.

"You may sleep soundly," said he; "the coots and ducks have come northward, and the spring is here at last. To-morrow will bring us sport to repletion, for the sounds you hear are the love-songs of the sea-birds, whose voices, however harsh, grow sweet when the sun brings back again the season of love and flowers."

When the morn came, unheralded by sunbeams, and shrouded by leaden rain-clouds, a veil of mist covered the vast ice-field, of which no two masses retained their former proximity. A network of narrow channels opened and closed continually among the dripping bergs, from whose sides flashed the frequent cascade, and glimmered the shimmering avalanche of dislodged snow. Amid this ever-shifting panorama, giving it life and beauty, covering pool and channel with merry, restless knots of diving, feeding, coquetting, quarreling swimmers, relieving the colorless ice with groups of jetty velvet and scoter ducks, gray and white-winged coots, crested mergansers in their gorgeous spring plumage, and fat, lazy black ducks, with Lilliputian blue and green winged teal, filling the air with the whirr of swift pinions, and the ceaseless murmur of the mating myriads, rested from their long northward journey, a host such as mortal eye hath seldom beheld, and which it hath fallen to the lot of few sportsmen to witness and enjoy.

"I kill many birds on hice, in quetan, among sedge out on the bay, but I never see such sight. I never think so many birds in the world before," said Peter, as he loaded his double-barrel.

"I been up Ivuctoke Inlet, on Greenland coast; down Disco saw great many bird, but nothing like this," muttered Regnar.

"It is almost too bad to kill any of these lovely creatures," said George, whose loving nature drank in the full beauty of the scene; "can't we do without them?"

"We have only six birds, and some seal fat, meat, and liver. If it closes the ice again we shall soon be short of food. So we'll get out our floating decoys to leeward, and see what we can do to replenish our larder."

La Salle's plan was duly carried out. A couple of flocks of floating decoys were anchored to a protruding spur of ice, and for an hour or so the four had their fill of slaughter. Each was limited to three cartridges apiece, and no one would fire except at an unusually large flock. Peter brought down a goose with each barrel, and six brent with his third shot; Regnar killed nine black duck with one barrel, five velvet ducks with another, and six teal with the third. Waring unexpectedly had a shot at a flock of Phalapores, and secured twelve of these curious birds; but his third shot at a solitary goose failed, owing to a defective cap. La Salle, after a single shot which killed a brace of brent, was about to reload, and had just poured in a charge of powder, when he suddenly crouched behind a hummock, and motioned to the others to follow his example; then, pointing to a small lead just opening between two bergs about two hundred yards away, he called the attention of his companions to an enormous seal, even larger than their victim of the day before.

The new-comer was a prodigious "hooded" seal, and the loose skin which enveloped his head was distended with air, and gave forth a hollow, barrel-like sound, whenever, raising himself above the waves, he came down with a heavy splash upon the surface. His aspect was savage and ferocious, and he seemed looking for some object on which to wreak his rancor; for from time to time he sent forth a savage cry, far hoarser and prolonged than the whining bark which these animals usually utter.

"He's an ole male. He dreadful angry, and I s'pect some other one near here. Yes, there he comes;" and Regnar pointed to another opening between two massive floes, from whence, sounding a valorous defiance to his challenger, emerged a second seal, even larger than the first. With mutual animosity they darted towards each other, and the next moment were engaged in a terrific combat.

So quick were their evolutions as they fought, now above and now below the surface of the water, that the eye could scarcely distinguish which, for the moment, had a temporary advantage, although one was much darker in hue, and more beautifully marked than the other. They sprang into the air, they dived beneath the surface, they threw their heavy bodies against each other, they tore each other with teeth and claws, and the water was covered with bloody foam.

La Salle watched the fray with divided interest. It was a new and interesting lesson in natural history, and he wanted the huge skins and blubber of the combatants, who fought on unconscious of their hidden audience, and the deep interest taken in their movements. Half a dozen times La Salle had raised his huge gun to fire, and lowered it again, unable to get a sure aim, so sudden were the changes of the conflict. At last, wearied but unconquered, both lay almost motionless upon the water, tearing at each other's throats like bull-dogs who have fought to mutual exhaustion.

As his heavy weapon settled into deadly aim, Regnar touched La Salle's shoulder. "No shot heavy enough for those fellows; must have bullet. That hood turn anything but rifle-ball."

By the side of the hummock lay a short piece of pine board, once the movable thwart of the float. La Salle beckoned to Peter. "Make me out of this a stout, sharp-headed arrow, with a heavy shaft." Peter doubtfully drew his waghon and split off a piece, which in about a minute was whittled into a short, stout arrow, headed only with a wooden point, the largest diameter of which fitted pretty accurately to the bore of the heavy piece. La Salle, meanwhile, had drawn his shot, and motioning to Peter to load a barrel of his own gun in like manner, turned to watch the waning conflict, which, notwithstanding the exhaustion of the combatants, had evidently produced little more damage than a few savage flesh wounds.

In another moment Peter had fitted another arrow to his own gun, and awaited the word. Regnar whistled sharp and shrill, the combatants suddenly separated, and each, rising until his flippers showed above the surface, looked on all sides for the source of this sudden interruption. At once both guns roared in unison, a distance of scarce twenty yards intervening between the marksmen and their prey. Peter's mark, the largest and most beautiful of the two, fell dead, with its head transfixed with the arrow, which waved feebly above the crimsoned surface, as the huge body trembled with the throes of dissolution. La Salle's aim was less sure, and the novel missile tore through the neck, just below the ear. A fountain of blood sprang ten feet into the air as the dying animal fell back, spurning the bloody pool with tail and flippers; but the mighty heart sent forth its wasted life-tide, until its current was exhausted and the powerful "old hood" was like his whilom rival—a lifeless mass of inert flesh.

"Well, I never see such ting shoot before. I use duck shot, goose shot, sometime nails, and sometime little stones, and once in woods I kill gleat bear with junk of lead: but I never shoot arrow before." Thus said Peter, wondering at his own achievement.

Waring had noted with great curiosity the effect of the new missile. "Where did you learn that, Charley? To think that a piece of soft wood should kill such huge animals!"

La Salle had hastened to launch the boat, but stopped to answer a question in which all seemed to take an interest. "About three hundred years ago, Captain John Hawkins, a stout skipper of Devon, and one of those old sea-dogs who helped to conquer the great Spanish Armada, had these arrows, which he called 'sprights,' to distinguish them from those still used with the English longbow, made in large quantities, to be used in the muskets of his men. He claimed that they passed through and through the bulwarks of the Spanish ships, and highly commended them to his contemporaries. I should prefer bullets myself, but have no doubt that they attain a great range, and have, before this, driven a piece of soft pine nearly five inches into a hard spruce post. I should feel perfectly safe in meeting a bear or wolf with no other missile in my gun."

Regnar jumped into the boat, and the two pushed off and secured the seals, both of which were very fat, but covered with blood, and much cut about the head and neck. Securing them with a rope, they returned to the shore, and with some difficulty hauled them out upon the berg, where Peter and Regnar hastened to skin them, and preserve such portions of the meat as they required. The heads were also split to procure the brains, and the large sinews extracted, after which the bodies were consigned to the sea, and at once sank down until they were lost from sight in the depths of the Gulf.

The three skins were then carefully stripped of blubber and membrane, and Peter, taking the brains, mixed them with water into a soft paste, which was spread over the inner side of each skin. Each was then folded once, and then formed into a compact roll, tightly bound with the sinews, after which the three skins were suspended at the top of the hut above the stove, to await the softening action of the brain-paste.