Part 31 (2/2)
Up to that moment, ”The Curlew” had not been taken; but perhaps that shot had struck down her sails.
It was now half-past two. The vessels could hardly be less than twenty or twenty-five miles off. But there is nothing to absorb or deaden sound along those straits.
”Yes; where's your fuel?” demanded Wade.
We looked around: plenty of rocks, ice, and water, with a little coa.r.s.e dirt, or gravel.
”Might burn the boat,” Kit suggested.
”That seems too bad,” said Raed. ”Besides, how are we to get off the island here, supposing 'The Curlew' should not come back? or even suppose she should? She has no other boat.”
”And we may want to go off to the other islands,” I said.
”Well, if anybody can suggest anything better, I should like to hear it,” replied Kit. ”I don't want to burn the boat, I'm sure; but I can't see anything else that looks inflammable.”
Neither could any of us, though we looked all around us very earnestly; till Donovan suddenly cried out,--
”Why not burn the old sea-horse?”
”Why, that's our victuals!” laughed Kit.
”I know it; but fire comes before victuals, unless you eat 'em raw like the Huskies.”
”Will it burn?” Raed asked.
”Burn? yes. Why, on a sealer, they do all their trying-out the oil with a fire of seal-refuse. Why shouldn't it burn as well as a candle?”
”There's our wood-pile, then!” cried Raed, giving the carca.s.s a kick.
”Let's have a fire forthwith. Don, you slash out a hundred-weight or so.”
”Don't cut the hide to pieces,” Kit interposed: ”we may want that to make a tent of.”
Donovan whipped out his butcher-knife, and, stripping back the tough skin, cut out a pile of huge slices. Kit, meanwhile, got a piece of old thwart from the boat, and whittled up a heap of pine slivers. Two of the fat slices were then slit up into thin strips, and laid on the slivers. With great caution, Donovan struck a match on his jacket-sleeve. We all hovered around to keep off the wicked puffings of the wind. The slivers were lighted; they kindled: the fat meat began to sizzle; then caught fire from the pine; and soon a ruddy, spluttering flame was blazing with marvellous fierceness.
”Hurrah!” Kit shouted. ”The first fire these grim old ledges have seen since they cooled their glowing, molten billows into flinty granite!”
CHAPTER XII.
The ”Spider.”--Fried Eggs.--The ”Plates.”--”Awful Fres.h.!.+”--No Salt.--Plans for getting Salt from Sea-Water.--Ice-Water.--Fried Goose.--Plans to escape.--A Gloomy Night.--Fight with a Walrus.--Another ”_Wood-Pile._”--Wade Sick.--A Peevish Patient and a Fractious Doctor.--The Manufacture of Salt.
We stood and warmed our hands. It felt comfortable,--decidedly so; for though the sun was high and bright, yet the north-west wind drove smartly across the rocks above us. Currents of air fresh from the lair of icebergs can't be very warm ever. There was plenty of ice all about.
”Ready to cook those eggs, Weymouth?” Raed exclaimed. ”You were going to furnish spider, kettle, or something of that sort, you know.”
”Yes, sir; and all I'll ask is that some of you will be dressing a couple of those geese while I am gone. I've a mind to dine off goose to-day.”
”Well, that's reasonable,” said Donovan. ”Go ahead, matey! Bring on your spider! We'll have the geese ready for it!”
<script>