The third year we were liberated, and had almost got fairly on
our homeward voyage when a storm blew us to the north and carried us up
here. Then our good brig was nipped and went to the bottom, and all the
crew were lost except myself and one man. We succeeded in leaping from
one piece of loose ice to another until we reached the solid floe and
gained the land, where we were kindly received by the Esquimaux. But
poor Wilson did not survive long. His constitution had never been
robust, and he died of consumption a week after we landed. The Esquimaux
buried him after their own fashion, and, as I afterwards found, had
buried a plate and a spoon along with him. These, with several other
articles, had been washed ashore from the wreck. Since then I have been
living the life of an Esquimau, awaiting an opportunity of escape either
by a ship making its appearance or a tribe of natives travelling south.
I soon picked up their language, and was living in comparative comfort,
when, during a sharp fight I chanced to have with a Polar bear, I fell
and broke my leg. I have lain here for many months, and have suffered
much, Fred; but, thank God, I am now almost well, and can walk a little,
though not yet without pain."
"Dear father," said Fred, "how terribly you must have felt the want of
kind hands to nurse you during those dreary months, and how lonely you
must have been!"
"Nay, boy, not quite so lonely as you think.
Pages:
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249