day more and the fuel would be gone; the rum
gone; the meat gone. Frost and starvation
awaited them. There were now murmurs. Once
the captain came on two of the sailors who were
crying like children; another time he observed
the men's fierce and hungry looks, as they
watched the quartermaster cowering under the
tent, and he knew too well what those savage
fires in their hollow eyes indicated.

"It must come to the casting of lots for one
of us," he heard them whisper. "Every hour
we can pull on gets us more chance of a ship."

The next day the purser shot two penguins,
and ate greedily of the nauseous flesh. The
fourth day the provisions were exhausted at
the first meal. Then Captain Ritson stood up,
his musket in his hand, for he had all this time
kept watch at night like the other men, and
shared every labour and privation. The
quartermaster was lamenting his fate.

"If this voyage had only turned out well,"
he said, "I might have got a ship again; for
the firm promised me a ship again if I only
kept from drink and did my duty; and this
time I have done it by them, and I should have
saved the vessel if it hadn't been for this
mutiny."

Captain Ritson began:
"Mr. Quartermaster, silence. This is no time
for crying over spilt milk. I don't wish to hurt
your feelings, for you're an honest man, though
you sometimes rather overdid the grog. I'm a
plain man, and I mean what I say, and what I
say is this—here we are, and we don't know
whether it is berg or mainland, and no food left
—not a crumb. Now, what is to be done? We
hear the bear growl, and the fox yelp; but if
we can't shoot them, that won't help us much.
We must spend all today in trying for the
mainland; if we find the sea to the eastward, we must
then turn back, commit ourselves to God, who
directs all things in the heavens above and the
earth beneath (you all heard me read that on
Sunday, and I needn't repeat it), and take to the
raft, whatever happens. But there's one thing
I have to say, as a plain man, and that is—if
any coward here dares even whisper the word
'cannibalism', I'll shoot him dead with this gun
I hold in my hand, and mean to hold day and
night. We are Christian men, mind; and no
misery shall make wild beasts of us, while I am
a live captain- so mind that."

The exploration destroyed the men's last hope.
The mile's painful march only served to prove
that wide tracts of sea, full of shaking ice, lay
between the pack and the shore.

"I see something ahead like a man's body,"
said the purser, who had volunteered to climb
an eminence and report if any vessel could be
discerned. "It is partly covered with snow, and
it lies on the edge of a deep hole in the ice."

The party instantly made for it. Harrison,
being light of foot, was the first to reach it, and
to shout:

"Oh, captain! captain! come here; its
Phillips, the carpenter, that went away with the
mate."

And so it was. They all recognised the hard
bad face. An empty bottle lay by the body.

"I see it all," said the captain. "He got
drunk, he lagged behind, and they lost him
in the fog. Some vessel has taken them off."

"I wish it had been the mate," said the
purser.

As he spoke, a huge black head emerged for
a moment from the water, and all the men fell
back, and cried it was the devil come for the
carpenter.

"Nonsense, you flock of geese," said the captain;
"it was only a black seal. I only wish
he'd show again, and we'd have a shot at him;
he'd keep us for two days. Now then, push on,
for we must get on the raft and into the open
sea before dark, and the Lord guide and help
us."

Slowly and silently the melancholy band, with
only two sound-hearted men left among them,
the captain and the purser, ascended the last
snow hill leading to the shore, where the raft
and the tents had been left six hours before.
The sun, a globe of crimson fire, was setting
behind banks of grey and ominous mist. Two
of the men were now frostbitten in the cheeks,
and lay down to be rubbed with snow by their
companions.

The captain strode forward alone to the top
of the hill to reconnoitre. He was seen by them
all striding forward till he reached the summit,
but slowly now, for that giant of a man was
faint with hunger and fatigue. The men sat
down waiting for him to return, and rubbing
themselves with snow. He returned slower
than he had ascended, feeble and silent. He did
not look his companions straight in the face,
but wrung his hands, pulled his sou'-wester
over his eyes, and sat down by the tired men.
Then he rose gravely, with his old impregnable
courage, and said:

"Men, I bring you bad news; but bear it
like Christians. It's all sent for a good purpose.
Our raft has been carried off by a flow of drift
ice. We have only a few hours to live. I'm a
plain man, and mean what I say. Let us die
with a good heart, and without repining. It is
not our own fault as to this."

Two of the men uttered yells of despair,
and threw themselves on the ground; the rest
seemed to actually grow smaller, and shrink
together in their hopeless despair. The purser
rocked to and fro, holding his head between his
hands. The quartermaster shook with the cold,
and turned purple with fear. The boy burst
into an agony of tears.

"Come, men, let us light a fire," said Captain
Ritson. " We are not women. Let us collect
any remaining wood, and, having prayed
together, and committed ourselves into His hands
(the captain took off his hat and looked
upwards), let us sleep, and in that sleep, if it is
His will, death will take us."

But nothing could rouse them now. The
purser, and the purser only, had strength enough
left to collect the few pieces of driftwood
outside the tents. It was like digging one's own