Towards midday Hatteras arose and went up to the doctor, Johnson, and Bell.
“My friends,” he said to them, “we are going to take a final resolution as to the course we must follow. In the first place, I must ask Johnson to tell me under what circumstances this act of treachery came to pass.”
“Why should we know?” said the doctor; “the fact is certain, we need give it no more thought.”
“I am thinking of it, all the same,” answered Hatteras. “But after I’ve heard what Johnson has to say, I shall not think of it again.”
“This is the way it happened,” went on the boatswain; “I did all I could to prevent the crime—”
“I am sure of that, Johnson, and I will add that the leaders had been plotting it for some time.”
“So I thought,” said the doctor.
“And I too,” continued Johnson; “for very soon after your departure, Captain, on the very next day, Shandon, who was angry with you and was egged on by the others, took command of the ship; I tried to resist, but in vain. After that, everyone acted as he saw fit; Shandon did not try to control them; he wanted to let the crew see that the time of suffering and privation had gone by. Hence there was no economy; a huge fire was lighted in the stove; they began to burn the brig. The men had the provisions given them freely, and the spirits too, and you can easily imagine the abuse they made of them after their long abstinence. Things went on in this way from the 7th to the 15th of January.”
“So,” said Hatteras, in a grave voice, “it was Shandon who incited the men to revolt?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Say nothing more about him. Go on, Johnson.”
“It was towards January 24th or 25th, that the plan of leaving the ship was formed. They determined to reach the western coast of Baffin’s Bay; from there, in the launch, they could meet whalers, or, perhaps, the settlements on the eastern side. Their supplies were abundant; the sick grew better with the hope of reaching home. So they made their plans for leaving; they built a sledge for the transport of their food, fuel, and the launch; the men were to drag it themselves. This occupied them until February 15th. I kept anxiously awaiting your return, Captain, and yet I feared having you present; you would have had no influence over the crew, who would rather have killed you than have remained on board. They were wild with the hope of escape. I took all my companions aside and spoke to them, I besought them to stay; I pointed out all the dangers of such a journey, as well as the cowardliness of abandoning you. I could get nothing, even from the best. They chose February 22nd for leaving. Shandon was impatient. They heaped upon the sledge all the food and liquor it could hold; they took a great deal of wood; the whole larboard side had been cut away to the waterline. The last day they passed carousing; they ravaged and stole everything, and it was during this drunkenness that Pen and two or three others set fire to the ship. I resisted, and struggled against them; they threw me down and struck me; at last, these villains, with Shandon at their head, fled to the east, and disappeared from my sight. I remained alone; what could I do against this fire which was seizing the whole ship? The water-hole was frozen over; I hadn’t a drop of water. For two days the Forward was wrapped in flames, and you know the rest.”
Having finished this account, a long silence prevailed in this icehouse; the gloomy tale of the burning of the ship, the loss of their precious brig, appeared so vividly before the minds of the castaways; they found themselves before an impossibility, and that was a return to England. They did not dare to look at one another, for fear of seeing on each other’s faces blank despair. There was nothing to be heard save the hasty breathing of the American.
At last Hatteras spoke.
“Johnson,” said he, “I thank you; you have done all you could to save my ship. But you could not do anything alone. Again I thank you, and now don’t let us speak again of this misfortune. Let us unite our efforts for the common safety. There are four of us here, four friends, and the life of one is of no more worth than the life of another. Let each one give his opinion on what should be done.”
“Ask us, Hatteras,” answered the doctor; “we are all devoted to you, our answers shall be sincere. And, in the first place, have you any plan?”
“I can’t have any alone,” said Hatteras, sadly. “My opinion might seem interested; I want to hear your opinion first.”
“Captain,” said Johnson, “before speaking on such weighty matters, I have an important question to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“You ascertained our position yesterday; well, has the ice-field drifted any more, or are we in just the same place?”
“It has not stirred,” answered Hatteras. “The latitude before we left was 80° 15′, and longitude 97° 35′.”
“And,” said Johnson, “how far are we from the nearest sea to the west?”
“About six hundred miles,” answered Hatteras.
“And this water is—”
“Smith’s Sound.”
“The same which we could not cross last April?”
“The same.”
“Well, Captain, now we know where we are, and we can make up our minds accordingly.”
“Speak, then,” said Hatteras, letting his head sink into his hands.
In that way he could hear his friends without looking at them.
“Well, Bell,” said the doctor, “what do you think is the best course to follow?”
“It isn’t necessary to reflect a long time,” answered the carpenter; “we ought
