Part 39 (2/2)
”Or a McFlail,” suggested Sandy.
”Ha! ha! ha!” This was an impudent, derisive laugh from c.o.c.kie's cage, which made everybody else laugh, and caused Sandy to turn red in the face.
After breakfast the ice-anchors were cast off and got on board, and sail set. The _Arrandoon_ led, keeping well clear of the ice, and taking a course of north-east and by north. When well off the ice, and everything working free and easy, McBain called all hands, and ordered the men to lay aft.
”Men,” he said, ”you all signed articles to complete the voyage with me to the Polar regions and back. Most of you knew, as you put your names to the paper, what you were about, because you had been here before, but some of you didn't. Now I am by no means short-handed, and if any of you thinks he has had enough of it already, and would like to return to his country, step forward and say so now, and I'll make arrangements with Captain Grig for your pa.s.sage back.”
Not a man stirred.
”I will take it as a favour,” continued the captain, ”if any one who has any doubts on his mind will come forward now. I want only willing hands with me.”
”We _are_ willing, we are willing hands,” the men shouted.
”Beg your pardon, sir,” said bold Ted Wilson, stepping forward, ”but I know the crew well. I'm sure they all feel thankful for your kind offer, but ne'er a man Jack o' them would go back, if you offered to pay him for doing so.”
The captain bowed and thanked Ted, and the men gave one hearty cheer and retired.
Once fairly at sea, McBain sent two whalers on board the _Scotia_, their crews rigged out in working dress, and making off was at once commenced.
Upright boards were made fast here and there along the decks; the skins, with their two or three inches of blubber attached, were handed up from below, and the men set to work in this way--they stood at one side of the board and spread the skin in front of them on the other; then they leant over, and first cutting off all useless pieces of flesh, etc, they next cleaned the blubber from off the skin. This was by other hands cut into pieces about a foot square, carried away, and sent below to be deposited in the tanks. Other workmen removed the cleaned skins. These were dashed over with rough salt, rolled tightly and separately up, and cast into tanks by themselves. This latter duty devolved upon the mates, and old Silas himself stood, with book in hand, ”taking tally,”
that is, counting the number of skins as they were pa.s.sed one by one below. The refuse, or ”orra bits,” as Scotch sailors call them, were thrown overboard by bucketfuls, and over these thousands of screaming gulls fought on the surface of the water, and scores of sharks immediately beneath.
It was a busy scene, and one that can only be witnessed in Greenland north.
In three days all the skins were made off and stowed away. All this time the men had been as merry as sheep-shearers, and only on the last day did Silas splice the main-brace, even then diluting the rum with warm coffee.
Then came the cleaning up, and scouring of decks below and above, and white-was.h.i.+ng and mast-sc.r.a.ping. After this McBain sent his painters on board, and in less than four-and-twenty hours she looked like a new s.h.i.+p.
And Rory was busy below on the 'tween decks. The Highland la.s.sie had been uns.h.i.+pped, and taken below for him to paint and gild. Rory, mind you, did not wish it to be uns.h.i.+pped. He would have preferred being swung overboard. There would have been more fun in it, he said. But Silas would not hear of such a thing. The cold, he feared, would benumb him so that he might drop off into the sea, to the infinite joy and satisfaction of a gang of unprincipled sharks that kept up with the s.h.i.+p, but to the everlasting sorrow of him, Captain Silas Grig.
When the s.h.i.+p was all painted, and the masts sc.r.a.ped and varnished, and the Highland la.s.sie--brightly arrayed in gold and McGregor tartan-- re-s.h.i.+pped, why then, I do not think a prouder or happier man than Silas Grig ever trod a quarter-deck.
The day after this everybody on the _Arrandoon_ was busy, busy, busy writing letters for home.
They were thus engaged, when a shout came from the crow's-nest,--
”Heavy ice ahead!”
It was the ice-bound sh.o.r.es of the southernmost islands of Spitzbergen they had sighted. They pa.s.sed between several of these, and grandly beautiful they looked, with their fantastically-shaped sides glittering green and blue and white in the suns.h.i.+ne. These islands seemed to be the northern home or summer retreat of the great bladder-nosed seal and the giant walrus. They basked on the smaller bergs that floated around them, while hundreds of strange sea-birds nodded half asleep on the snow-clad rocks.
It was here where the two s.h.i.+ps parted, the _Canny Scotia_ bearing up for the sunny south, the _Arrandoon_ clewing sails and lighting fires to steam away to The Unknown Land.
There were tears in poor Rory's eyes as he shook hands with Silas, and he could not trust himself to say much. Indeed, there was little said on either hand, but the farewell wishes were none the less heartfelt for all that. There is always somewhat of humour mixed up with the sad in life. It was not wanting on this occasion. Silas had brought a servant with him when he came to say adieu. This servant carried with him a mysterious-looking box. It was all he could do to lift it. Seeing McBain look inquiringly at it,--
”It's just a drop of green ginger,” said Silas. ”When you tap it, boys, when far away from here, you won't forget Silas, I know. I won't forget you, anyhow,” he continued; ”and look here, boys, if a prayer from such a rough old salt as I am availeth, then Heaven will send you safely home again, and the first to welcome you will be Silas Grig. Good-bye, G.o.d be wi' ye.”
”Good-bye, G.o.d be wi' ye.”
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