Part 42 (1/2)

”Land ahead!” was the shout one day from the nest. The day, be it remembered, was now barely an hour long.

”Land ahead on the port bow!”

”What does it look like, Mr Stevenson?” cried the captain.

The mate had run up at the first hail.

”I can just see the tops of a few hills, sir,” was the reply, ”towering high over the icebergs.”

The _Arrandoon_ bore away for this strange land. In three hours' time they were lying off one of the dreariest and most desolate-looking islands it has ever been the lot of mariners to behold. It looked like an island of some worn-out planet, whose internal fires have gone for ever out, from which life has long since fled, which possesses no future save the everlasting night of silence and death.

Some slight repairs were required in the engine-room, so the _Arrandoon_ lay here for a week.

”To think,” said McBain, as he stood on the bridge one day with our heroes, ”that in the far-distant past that lonely isle of gloom was once clad in all the bright colour of tropical vegetation, with wild beasts roaming in its jungles and forests, and wild birds filling its groves with music,--an island of suns.h.i.+ne, flowers, and beauty! And now behold it.”

An expedition was got up to explore the isle, and to climb its highest peak to make observations.

McBain himself accompanied it, so did Allan, Rory, and Seth. It was no easy task, climbing that snowy cone by the light of stars and Aurora.

But they gained the summit ere the short, short day broke.

To the north and west they saw land and mountains, stretching away and away as far as eye could follow them. To the east and north water studded with ugly icebergs that looked as if they had broken away from the sh.o.r.es of the western land.

”But what is that in the middle of yonder ice-floe to the south and west?” cried Rory.

”As I live,” exclaimed McBain, as he eyed the object through the gla.s.s, ”it is a s.h.i.+p of some kind, evidently deserted; and it is quite as evident that we are not the only explorers that have reached as far north as this island.”

The mystery was explained next day, and a sad story brought to light.

McBain and party landed on the floe and walked towards the derelict.

She was sloop-rigged, with sails all clewed, and her hull half hidden in snow. After a deal of difficulty they succeeded in opening one of the companion hatches, and making their way down below.

No less than five unburied corpses lay huddled together in the little cabin. From their surroundings it was plain they had been walrus-hunters, and it was not difficult to perceive that the poor fellows had died from cold and hunger _many, many years before_.

Frozen in, too far up in this northern sea, they had been unable to regain the open water, and so had miserably perished.

Next day they returned and laid the mortal remains of these unfortunate men in graves in the snow, and even Rory was much more silent and thoughtful than usual as they returned to the s.h.i.+p.

Was it not possible that they might meet with a similar fate? The poor fellows they had just buried had doubtless possessed many home ties; their wives and mothers had waited and wished a weary time, till at long last the heart had grown sick with hope deferred, and maybe the grave had long since closed over them.

Such were some of Rory's thoughts, but after dinner McBain ”brought him up with a round turn,” as he phrased it.

”Rory,” he cried, ”go and play to us. Freezing Powders, you young rascal, bring that c.o.c.katoo of yours up on the table and make us laugh.”

Rory brightened up and got hold of his fiddle; and ”All right, sah,”

cried Freezing Powders. ”I bring de old c.o.c.katoo plenty quick. Come along, c.o.c.kie, you catchee my arm and pull yourse'f up. Dat's it.”

”Come on,” cried c.o.c.kie, hopping on the table and at once commencing to waltz and polka round. ”Come on; play up, play up.”

A queer bird was c.o.c.kie. He cared for n.o.body except his master and Rory. Rory he loved solely on account of the fiddle, but his affection for Freezing Powders was very genuine. When his master was glad, so was c.o.c.kie; when the little n.i.g.g.e.r boy felt tired, and threw himself down beside the cage to rest, then c.o.c.kie would open his cage door and back tail foremost under the boy's arm, heaving as he did so a deep, delighted sigh, as much as to say, ”Oh, what joy it is to nestle in here?”