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Page 12
"Forward!"
"He's been my chum, sir, all through the voyage," said one of the men,
touching his cap to Bennett; "I had just as soon be left with him. I'm
about done myself."
Another joined in:
"I'll stay, too--I can't leave--it's--it's too terrible."
There was a moment's hesitation. Those who had begun to move on halted.
The whole expedition wavered.
Bennett caught the dog-whip from Muck Tu's hand. His voice rang like the
alarm of a trumpet.
"Forward!"
Once more Bennett's discipline prevailed. His iron hand shut down upon
his men, more than ever resistless. Obediently they turned their faces
to the southward. The march was resumed.
Another day passed, then two. Still the expedition struggled on. With
every hour their sufferings increased. It did not seem that anything
human could endure such stress and yet survive. Toward three o'clock in
the morning of the third night Adler woke Bennett.
"It's Clarke, sir; he and I sleep in the same bag. I think he's going,
sir."
One by one the men in the tent were awakened, and the train-oil lamp was
lit.
Clarke lay in his sleeping-bag unconscious, and at long intervals
drawing a faint, quick breath. The doctor bent over him, feeling his
pulse, but shook his head hopelessly.
"He's dying--quietly--exhaustion from starvation."
A few moments later Clarke began to tremble slightly, the mouth opened
wide; a faint rattle came from the throat.
Four miles was as much as could be made good the next day, and this
though the ground was comparatively smooth. Ferriss was continually
falling. Dennison and Metz were a little light-headed, and Bennett at
one time wondered if Ferriss himself had absolute control of his wits.
Since morning the wind had been blowing strongly in their faces. By noon
it had increased. At four o'clock a violent gale was howling over the
reaches of ice and rock-ribbed land. It was impossible to go forward
while it lasted. The stronger gusts fairly carried their feet from under
them. At half-past four the party halted. The gale was now a hurricane.
The expedition paused, collected itself, went forward; halted again,
again attempted to move, and came at last to a definite standstill in
whirling snow-clouds and blinding, stupefying blasts.
"Pitch the tent!" said Bennett quietly. "We must wait now till it blows
over."
In the lee of a mound of ice-covered rock some hundred yards from the
coast the tent was pitched, and supper, such as it was, eaten in
silence. All knew what this enforced halt must mean for them. That
supper--each man could hold his portion in the hollow of one hand--was
the last of their regular provisions. March they could not. What now?
Before crawling into their sleeping-bags, and at Bennett's request, all
joined in repeating the Creed and the Lord's Prayer.
The next day passed, and the next, and the next. The gale continued
steadily. The southerly march was discontinued. All day and all night
the men kept in the tent, huddled in the sleeping-bags, sometimes
sleeping eighteen and twenty hours out of the twenty-four. They lost all
consciousness of the lapse of time; sensation even of suffering left
them; the very hunger itself had ceased to gnaw. Only Bennett and
Ferriss seemed to keep their heads. Then slowly the end began.
For that last week Bennett's entries in his ice-journal were as follows:
"November 29th--Monday--Camped at 4:30 p.m. about 100 yards from the
coast. Open water to the eastward as far as I can see. If I had not
been compelled to abandon my boats--but it is useless to repine. I
must look our situation squarely in the face. At noon served out
last beef-extract, which we drank with some willow tea. Our
remaining provisions consist of four-fifteenths of a pound of
pemmican per man, and the rest of the dog meat. Where are the
relief ships? We should at least have met the steam whalers long
before this.
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