the captain was the most earnest and vigorous, and in doing good to others he unconsciously did the greatest possible amount of good to himself; for his forgetfulness of self, and the activity of his mind in catering for the wants and amusements of his men, had the effect of imparting a cheerfulness to his manner, and a healthy tone to his mind, that tended powerfully to sustain and invigorate his body.  But despite all this, the men grew worse, and a few of them showed such alarming symptoms that the doctor began to fear there would soon be a breach in their numbers.

Meanwhile Saunders and his fifteen men trudged steadily to the southward, dragging their sledge behind them.  The ice-floes, however, turned out to be very rugged and hummocky, and retarded them so much that they made but slow progress until they passed the Red-Snow Valley, and doubled the point beyond it.  Here they left the floes, and took to the natural highway afforded by the ice-belt, along which they sped more rapidly, and arrived at the Esquimau village in the course of about five hours.

Here all was deserted and silent.  Bits of seal and walrus hide and bones and tusks were scattered about in all directions, but no voices issued from the dome-shaped huts of snow.

“They’re the likest things to bee-skeps I ever saw,” remarked Saunders, as he and his party stood contemplating the little group of huts.  “And they don’t seem to care much for big doors.”

Saunders referred here to the low tunnels, varying from three to twelve feet, that formed the entrance to each hut.

“Mayhap there’s some o’ them asleep inside,” suggested Tom Green, the carpenter’s mate; “suppose we go in and see.”

“I daresay ye’re no far wrong,” replied the second mate, to whom the idea seemed to be a new one.  “Go in, Davie Summers, ye’re a wee chap, and can bend your back better than the most o’ us.”

Davie laughed as he went down on his hands and knees, and creeping in at the mouth of one of the tunnels, which barely permitted him to enter in that position, disappeared.

Several of the party at the same time paid similar visits to the other huts, but they all returned with the same remark—­“empty.”  The interiors were begrimed with lamp-black and filth, and from their appearance seemed to have been deserted only a short time before.

Buzzby, who formed one of the party, rubbed his nose for some time in great perplexity, until he drew from Davie Summers the remark that his proboscis was red enough by nature and didn’t need rubbing.  “It’s odd,” he remarked; “they seems to ha’ bin here for some time, and yit they’ve niver looked near the ship but once.  Wot’s become on ’em I don’t know.”

“Don’t you?” said Davie in a tone of surprise; “now that is odd.  One would have thought that a fellow who keeps his weather-eye so constantly open should know everything.”

“Don’t chaff, boy, but lend a hand to undo the sled-lashings.  I see that Mr. Saunders is agoin’ to anchor here for the night.”