CHAPTER XIX.

The northern party—­A narrow escape, and a great discovery—­Esquimaux again, and a joyful surprise.

It is interesting to meditate, sometimes, on the deviousness of the paths by which men are led in earthly affairs—­even when the starting-point and the object of pursuit are the same.  The two parties which left the Dolphin had for their object the procuring of fresh food.  The one went south and the other north; but their field was the same—­the surface of the frozen sea and the margin of the ice-girt shore.  Yet how different their experiences and results were the sequel will show.

As we have already said, the northern party was in command of Bolton, the first mate, and consisted of ten men, among whom were our hero, Fred, Peter Grim, O’Riley, and Meetuck, with the whole team of dogs and the large sledge.

Being fine weather when they set out, they travelled rapidly, making twenty miles, as near as they could calculate, in the first six hours.  The dogs pulled famously, and the men stepped out well at first, being cheered and invigorated mentally by the prospect of an adventurous excursion and fresh meat.  At the end of the second day they buried part of their stock of provisions at the foot of a conspicuous cliff, intending to pick it up on their return; and thus lightened, they advanced more rapidly, keeping farther out on the floes, in hopes of falling in with walruses or seals.

Their hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment.  They got only one seal, and that was a small one—­scarcely sufficient to afford a couple of meals to the dogs.

They were “misfortunate entirely,” as O’Riley remarked; and to add to their misfortunes, the floe-ice became so rugged that they could scarcely advance at all.

“Things grow worse and worse,” remarked Grim, as the sledge, for the twentieth time that day, plunged into a crack in the ice, and had to be unloaded ere it could be got out.  “The sledge won’t stand much o’ sich work, and if it breaks—­good-bye to it, for it won’t mend without wood, and there’s none here.”

“No fear of it,” cried Bolton encouragingly; “it’s made of material as tough as your own sinews, Grim, and won’t give way easily, as the thumps it has withstood already prove.—­Has it never struck you, Fred,” he continued, turning to our hero who was plodding forward in silence—­“has it never struck you that when things in this world get very bad, and we begin to feel inclined to give up, they somehow or other begin to get better?”

“Why, yes, I have noticed that; but I have a vague sort of feeling just now that things are not going to get better.  I don’t know whether it’s this long-continued darkness, or the want of good food, but I feel more downcast than I ever was in my life before.”

Bolton’s remark had been intended to cheer, but Fred’s answer proved that a discussion of the merits of the question was not likely to have a good effect on the men, whose spirits were evidently very much cast down, so he changed the subject.