CHAPTER NINETEEN.

THE NORTHERN PARTY--A NARROW ESCAPE, AND A GREAT DISCOVERY--ESQUIMAUX
AGAIN, AND A JOYFUL SURPRISE.

It is interesting to meditate, sometimes, on the deviousness of the
paths by which men are led in earthly affairs--even when the
starting-point and object of pursuit are the same. The two parties
which left the _Dolphin_ had for their object the procuring of fresh
food. The one went south and the other north, but their field was the
same--the surface of the frozen sea and the margin of the ice-girt
shore. Yet how different their experiences and results were the sequel
will show.

As we have already said, the northern party was in command of Bolton,
the first mate, and consisted of ten men, among whom were our hero Fred,
Peter Grim, O'Riley, and Meetuck, with the whole team of dogs, and the
large sledge.

Being fine weather when they set out, they travelled rapidly, making
twenty miles, as near as they could calculate, in the first six hours.
The dogs pulled famously, and the men stepped out well at first, being
cheered and invigorated mentally by the prospect of an adventurous
excursion and fresh meat. At the end of the second day they buried part
of their stock of provisions at the foot of a conspicuous cliff,
intending to pick it up on their return, and, thus lightened, they
advanced more rapidly, keeping farther out on the floes, in hopes of
falling in with walrus or seals.

Their hopes, however, were doomed to disappointment. They got only one
seal, and that was a small one--scarcely sufficient to afford a couple
of meals to the dogs.

They were "misfortunate entirely", as O'Riley remarked, and, to add to
their misfortunes, the floe-ice became so rugged that they could
scarcely advance at all.

"Things grow worse and worse," remarked Grim, as the sledge, for the
twentieth time that day, plunged into a crack in the ice, and had to be
unloaded ere it could be got out. "The sledge won't stand much o' sich
work, and if it breaks--good-bye to it, for it won't mend without wood,
and there's none here."

"No fear of it," cried Bolton encouragingly; "it's made of material as
tough as your own sinews, Grim, and won't give way easily, as the thumps
it has withstood already prove. Has it never struck you, Fred," he
continued, turning to our hero, who was plodding forward in
silence,--"has it never struck you that when things in this world get
very bad, and we begin to feel inclined to give