Part 9 (1/2)
”I'll undertake that for my part,” he added, and, as soon as dinner was over, went about it.
”Now we'll get old man Trull to help us on the _body_,” said Kit.
The planks, with axe, adz, auger, and hammer, were carried on deck.
Our old man-of-war's man readily lent a hand; and with his advice, particularly in regard to the cheeks for the trunnions, we succeeded during the afternoon in getting up a rough imitation of the old-fas.h.i.+oned gun-carriage in use on our wooden war-vessels. The captain made the wheels and axles. The body was then spiked to them, and the howitzer lifted up and set on the carriage. By way of testing it, we then charged the piece with half a pint of powder, and fired it. The sharp, bra.s.sy report was reverberated from the dark mountains on the starboard side in a wonderfully distinct echo. Hundreds of seals dropped off the ice-cakes into the sea all about,--a fact I observed with some mortification. As the guns would have to remain on deck, exposed to fog and rain, we stopped the muzzles with plugs, and covered them with two of our rubber blankets. They were then lashed fast, and left for time of need.
During the day, we had gradually come up with what we at first had taken for a cape or a promontory from the mainland, but which, by five o'clock, P.M., was discovered to be a group of mountainous islands, the same known on the chart as the ”Lower Savage Isles.” The course was changed five points, to pa.s.s them to the southward. By seven o'clock we were off abreast one of the largest of them. It was our intention to stand on this course during the night. The day had at no time, however, been exactly fair. Foggy clouds had hung about the sun; and now a mist began to rise from the water, much as it had done the previous evening.
”If I thought there might be any tolerable safe anchorage among those islands,” muttered the captain, with his gla.s.s to his eye, ”I should rather beat in there than take the risk of running on to another iceberg in the fog.”
This sentiment was unanimous.
”There seems to be a clear channel between this nearest island and the next,” remarked Raed, who had been looking attentively for some moments. ”We could but bear up there, and see what it looks like.”
The helm was set a-port, and the sails swung round to take the wind, which, for the last hour, had been s.h.i.+fting to the south-east. In half an hour we were up in the mouth of the channel. It was a rather narrow opening, not more than thirty-five or forty rods in width, with considerable ice floating about. We were in some doubt as to its safety. The schooner was hove to, and the lead thrown.
”Forty-seven fathoms!”
”All right! Bring her round!”
The wind was light, or we should hardly have made into an unknown pa.s.sage with so much sail on: as it was, we did but drift lazily in.
On each side, the islands presented black, bare, flinty crags, distant scarcely a pistol shot from the deck. A quarter of a mile in, we sounded a second time, and had forty-three fathoms.
”Never saw a deeper gut for its width!” exclaimed Capt. Mazard. ”What a chasm there would be here were the sea out of it!”
Half a mile farther up, a third and smaller island lay at the head of the channel, which was thus divided by it into two narrow arms,--one leading out to the north-east, the other to the north-west. This latter arm was clear of ice, showing a dark line of water crooking off among numerous small islets; but the arm opening up to the north-east was jammed with ice. ”The Curlew” went in leisurely to three hundred yards of the foot of the island, where we found thirty-three fathoms, and hove to within a hundred yards of the ledges of the island on the east side. The anchor was now let go, and the sails furled.
”We're snug enough here from anything from the north-east or north,”
remarked Capt. Mazard; ”and even a sou'-wester would hardly affect us much a mile up this narrow inlet.”
It seemed a tolerably secure berth. The schooner lay as still as if at her wharf at far-distant Portland. There was no perceptible swell in the channel. Despite the vast ma.s.s of ice ”packed” into the arm above us, it was not disagreeably chilly. The thermometer stood at fifty-nine degrees in our cabin. Indeed, were it not for the great bodies of ice, these extreme northern summers, where the sun hardly sets for months, would get insufferably hot,--too hot to be endured by man.
The mist steamed silently up, up. Gradually the islands, the crags, and even objects at the schooner's length, grew indistinct, and dimmed out entirely by half-past ten. We heard the ”_honk, honk_,” of numerous wild-geese from the islands; and, high overhead, the melancholy screams of ”boatswains.” Otherwise all was quiet. The watch was arranged among the sailors, and we went to bed. For the last sixty hours we had had not over seven hours of sleep. Now was a good time to make up. Profound breathing soon resounded along the whole line of mattresses.
We had been asleep two or three hours, when a shake aroused me. A strange, reddish glare filled the cabin. Donovan was standing at my head.
”What's up?” I asked. ”Fire? It isn't fire, is it?” jumping up.
”No, it's not fire,” replied Donovan.
”Oh! morning, then,” I said, greatly relieved.
”No; can't be. It's only one o'clock.”
”Then what is it, for pity sake?” I demanded in fresh wonder.
”Don't know, sir. Thought I'd just speak to you. Perhaps you'll know what it is. Won't you go up. It's a queer sight on deck.”
”Of course I will. Go ahead. No matter about waking the others just yet, though.”