The wind went down about six in the morning, and turning suddenly north cleared the clouds from the sky; the thermometer marked 33 degrees below zero. The first rays of the sun reached the horizon which they would gild a few days later. Hatteras came up to his two dejected companions, and said to them, in a low, sad voice:

“We are still more than sixty miles from the spot indicated by Sir Edward Belcher. We have just enough provisions to allow us to get back to the brig. If we go on any further we shall meet with certain death, and that will do good to no one. We had better retrace our steps.”

“That is a sensible resolution, Hatteras,” answered the doctor; “I would have followed you as far as you led us, but our health gets daily weaker; we can scarcely put one foot before the other; we ought to go back.”

“Is that your opinion too, Bell?” asked Hatteras.

“Yes, captain,” answered the carpenter.

“Very well,” said Hatteras; “we will take two days’ rest. We want it. The sledge wants mending. I think we had better build ourselves a snow-house, and try to regain a little strength.”

After this was settled, our three men set to work with vigour. Bell took the necessary precautions to assure the solidity of the construction, and they soon had a good shelter at the bottom of the ravine where the last halt had taken place. It had cost Hatteras a great effort to interrupt his journey. All their trouble and pain lost! A useless excursion, which one man had paid for with his life. What would become of the crew now that all hope of coal was over? What would Shandon think? Notwithstanding all these painful thoughts, he felt it impossible to go on any further. They began their preparations for the return journey at once. The sledge was mended; it had now only two hundred pounds weight to carry. They mended their clothes, worn-out, torn, soaked with snow, and hardened by the frost; new moccasins and snow-shoes replaced those that were worn out. This work took the whole day of the 29th and the morning of the 30th; the three travellers rested and comforted themselves as well as they could.

During the thirty-six hours passed in the snow-house and on the icebergs of the ravine, the doctor had noticed that Dick’s conduct was very strange; he crept smelling about a sort of rising in the ground made by several layers of ice; he kept wagging his tail with impatience, and trying to draw the attention of his master to the spot. The doctor thought that the dog’s uneasiness might be caused by the presence of Simpson’s body, which he and his companions had not yet had time to bury. He resolved to put it off no longer, especially as they intended starting early the next morning. Bell and the doctor took their pickaxes and directed their steps towards the lowest part of the ravine; the mound indicated by Dick seemed to be a good spot to place the corpse in; they were obliged to bury it deep to keep it from the bears. They began by removing the layer of soft snow, and then attacked the ice. At the third blow of his pickaxe the doctor broke some hard obstacle; he took out the pieces and saw that it was a glass bottle; Bell discovered a small biscuit-sack with a few crumbs at the bottom.

“Whatever does this mean?” said the doctor.

“I can’t think,” answered Bell, suspending his work.

They called Hatteras, who came immediately. Dick barked loudly, and began scratching at the ice.

“Perhaps we have found a provision-store,” said the doctor.

“It is possible,” said Bell.

“Go on,” said Hatteras.

Some remains of food were drawn out, and a case a quarter full of pemmican.

“If it is a hiding-place,” said Hatteras, “the bears have been before us. See, the provisions are not intact.”

“I am afraid so,” answered the doctor; “for ——”

He was interrupted by a cry from Bell, who had come upon a man’s leg, stiffened and frozen.

“A corpse,” cried the doctor.

“It is a tomb,” answered Hatteras.

When the corpse was disinterred it turned out to be that of a sailor, about thirty years old, perfectly preserved. He wore the clothes of an Arctic navigator. The doctor could not tell how long he had been dead. But after this corpse, Bell discovered a second, that of a man of fifty, bearing the mark of the suffering that had killed him on his face.

“These are not buried bodies,” cried the doctor, “the poor fellows were surprised by death just as we find them.”

“You are right, Mr. Clawbonny,” answered Bell.

“Go on! go on!” said Hatteras.