 | CHAPTER VII. The sea lions, or, The lost sealers |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.”
Longfellow.
Most of our readers will understand what was meant by
Mary Pratt's “inclination of the earth's axis to the plane
of its orbit;” but as there may be a few who do not, and
as the consequences of this great physical fact are materially
connected with the succeeding events of the narrative,
we propose to give such a homely explanation of the
phenomenon as we humbly trust will render it clear to the
most clouded mind. The orbit of the earth is the path
which it follows in space in its annual revolution around
the sun. To a planet there is no up or down, except as
ascent and descent are estimated from and towards itself.
In all other respects it floats in vacuum, or what is so
nearly so as to be thus termed. Now, let the uninstructed
reader imagine a large circular table, with a light on its
surface, and near to its centre. The light shall represent
the sun, the outer edge of the circle of the table the earth's
orbit, and its surface the plane of that orbit. In nature
there is no such thing as a plane at all, the space within
the orbit being vacant; but the surface of the table gives a
distinct notion of the general position of the earth as it
travels round the sun. It is scarcely necessary to say that
the axis of the earth is an imaginary line drawn through
the planet, from one pole to the other; the name being
derived from the supposition that our daily revolution is
made on this axis.
Now, the first thing that the student is to fix in his mind,
in order to comprehend the phenomenon of the seasons, is
the leading fact that the earth does not change its attitude
in space, if we may so express it, when it changes its position.
orbit, this circumstance would not affect the temperature,
as the simplest experiment will show. Putting the equator
of a globe on the outer edge of the table, and holding it
perfectly upright, causing it to turn on its axis as it passes
round the circle, it would be found that the light from the
centre of the table would illumine just one half of the globe,
at all times and in all positions, cutting the two poles. Did
this movement correspond with that of nature, the days and
nights would be always of the same length, and there would
be no changes of the seasons, the warmest weather being
nearest to the equator, and the cold increasing as the poles
were approached. No where, however, would the cold be
so intense as it now is, nor would the heat be as great as at
present, except at or quite near to the equator. The first
fact would be owing to the regular return of the sun, once
in twenty-four hours; the last to the oblique manner in
which its rays struck this orb, in all places but near its
centre.
But the globe ought not to be made to move around the
table with its axis perpendicular to its surface, or to the
“plane of the earth's orbit.” In point of fact, the earth is
inclined to this plane, and the globe should be placed at a
corresponding inclination. Let the globe be brought to
the edge of the table, at its south side, and with its upper
or north pole inclining to the sun, and then commence the
circuit, taking care always to keep this north pole of the
globe pointing in the same direction, or to keep the globe
itself in what we have termed a fixed attitude. As one
half of the globe must always be in light, and the other
half in darkness, this inclination from the perpendicular
will bring the circle of light some distance beyond the
north pole, when the globe is due-south from the light, and
will leave an equal space around the opposite pole without
any light at all, or any light directly received. Now it is
that what we have termed the fixed attitude of the globe
begins to tell. If the north pole inclined towards the orbit
facing the rim of the table, the light would still cut the
poles, the days and nights would still be equal, and there
would be no changes in the seasons, though there would
be a rival revolution of the globe, by causing it to turn once
to the surface of the table, or to the plane of the orbit,
the phenomena that are known to exist are a consequence.
Thus it is, that the change in the seasons is as much owing
to the fixed attitude of the earth in space, as we have
chosen to term its polar directions, as to the inclination of
its axis. Neither would produce the phenomena without
the assistance of the other, as our experiment with the
table will show.
Place, then, the globe at the south side of the rim of the
table, with its axis inclining towards its surface, and its
poles always pointing in the same general direction, not
following the circuit of the orbit, and set it in motion towards
the east, revolving rapidly on its axis as it moves.
While directly south of the light, it would be found that
the north pole would be illuminated, while no revolution
on the axis would bring the south pole within the circle of
the light. This is when a line drawn from the axis of the
globe would cut the lamp, were the inclination brought as
low as the surface of the table. Next set the globe in motion,
following the rim of the table, and proceeding to the
east or right hand, keeping its axis always looking in the
same general direction, or in an attitude that would be
parallel to a north and south line drawn through the sun,
were the inclination as low as the surface of the table.
This movement would be, in one sense, sideways, the circle
of light gradually lessening around the north pole, and extending
towards the south, as the globe proceeded east and
north, diminishing the length of the days in the northern
hemisphere, and increasing them in the southern. When
at east, the most direct rays of the light would fall on the
equator, and the light would cut the two poles, rendering
the days and nights equal. As the globe moved north, the
circle of light would be found to increase around the south
pole, while none at all touched the north. When on the
north side of the table, the northern pole of the globe would
incline so far from the sun as to leave a space around it in
shadow that would be of precisely the same size as had
been the space of light when it was placed on the opposite
side of the table. Going round the circle west, the same
phenomena would be seen, until coming directly south of
and the south equally into shadow.
Owing to this very simple but very wonderful provision
of divine power and wisdom, this earth enjoys the relief of
the changes in the seasons, as well as the variations in the
length of the days. For one half of the year, or from
equinox to equinox, from the time when the globe is at a
due-west point of the table until it reaches the east, the
north pole would always receive the light, in a circle around
it, that would gradually increase and diminish; and for the
other half, the same would be true of the other hemisphere.
Of course there is a precise point on the earth where this
polar illumination ceases. The shape of the illuminated
part is circular; and placing the point of a pencil on the
globe at the extremest spot on the circle, holding it there
while the globe is turned on its axis, the lines made would
just include the portions of the earth around the globe that
thus receives the rays of the sun at midsummer. These
lines compose what are termed the arctic and antarctic
circles, with the last of which our legend has now a most
serious connection. After all, we are by no means certain
that we have made our meaning as obvious as we could wish,
it being very difficult to explain phenomena of this nature
clearly, without actually experimenting.
It is usual to say that there are six months day and six
months night in the polar basins. This is true, literally,
at the poles only; but, approximatively, it is true as a whole.
We apprehend that few persons—none, perhaps, but those
who are in habits of study — form correct notions of the
extent of what may be termed the icy seas. As the polar
circles are in 23° 28′, a line drawn through the south pole,
for instance, commencing on one side of the earth at the
antarctic circle, and extending to the other, would traverse
a distance materially exceeding that between New York
and Lisbon. This would make those frozen regions cover
a portion of this globe that is almost as large as the whole
of the Atlantic Ocean, as far south as the equator. Any
one can imagine what must be the influence of frost over
so vast a surface, in reproducing itself, since the presence
of ice-bergs is thought to affect our climate, when many
of them drift far south in summer. As power produces
then, in a certain degree, a space as large as the North
Atlantic Ocean with ice in all its varieties, fixed, mountain
and field, berg and floe, and one may get a tolerably accurate
notion of the severity of its winters, when the sun is
scarce seen above the horizon at all, and then only to shed
its rays so obliquely as to be little better than a chill-looking
orb of light, placed in the heavens simply to divide the
day from the night.
This, then, was the region that Roswell Gardiner was so
very anxious to leave; the winter he so much dreaded.
Mary Pratt was before him, to say nothing of his duty to
the deacon; while behind him was the vast polar ocean
just described, about to be veiled in the freezing obscurity
of its long and gloomy twilight, if not of absolute night.
No wonder, therefore, that when he trimmed his sails that
evening, to beat out of the great bay, that it was done with
the earnestness with which we all perform duties of the
highest import, when they are known to affect our well-being,
visibly and directly.
“Keep her a good full, Mr. Hazard,” said Roswell, as
he was leaving the deck, to take the first sleep in which he
had indulged for four-and-twenty hours; “and let her go
through the water. We are behind our time, and must
keep in motion. Give me a call if anything like ice appears
in a serious way.”
Hazard `ay-ay'd' this order, as usual, buttoned his pee-jacket
tighter than ever, and saw his young superior—the
transcendental delicacy of the day is causing the difference
in rank to be termed “senior and junior”—but Hazard saw
his superior go below, with a feeling allied to envy, so
heavy were his eye-lids with the want of rest. Stimson
was in the first-mate's watch, and the latter approached
that old sea-dog with a wish to keep himself awake by conversing.
“You seem as wide awake, king Stephen,” the mate
remarked, “as if you never felt drowsy!”
“This is not a part of the world for hammocks and
berths, Mr. Hazard,” was the reply. “I can get along,
and must get along, with a quarter part of the sleep in
these seas as would sarve me in a low latitude.”
“And I feel as if I wanted all I can get. Them fellows
look up well into our wake, Stephen.”
“They do indeed, sir, and they ought to do it; for we
have been longer than is for our good, in their'n.”
“Well, now we have got a fresh start, I hope we may
make a clear run of it. I saw no ice worth speaking of,
to the nor'ard here, before we made sail.”
“Because you see'd none, Mr. Hazard, is no proof there
is none. Floe-ice can't be seen at any great distance,
though its blink may. But, it seems to me, it's all blink
in these here seas!”
“There you're quite right, Stephen; for turn which
way you will, the horizon has a show of that sort_____”
“Starboard”—called out the look-out forward—“keep
her away—keep her away—there is ice ahead.”
“Ice in here!” exclaimed Hazard, springing forward —
“That is more than we bargained for! Where away is
your ice, Smith?”
“Off here, sir, on our weather bow — and a mortal big
field of it — jist sich a chap as nipp'd the Vineyard Lion,
when she first came in to join us. Sich a fellow as that
would take the sap out of our bends, as a squeezer takes
the juice from a lemon!”
Smith was a carpenter by trade, which was probably the
reason why he introduced this figure. Hazard saw the ice
with regret; for he had hoped to work the schooner fairly
out to sea in his watch; but the field was getting down
through the passage in a way that threatened to cut off the
exit of the two schooners from the bay. Daggett kept
close in his wake, a proof that this experienced navigator
in such waters saw no means to turn farther to windward.
As the wind was now abeam, both vessels drove rapidly
ahead; and in half an hour the northern point of the land
they had so lately left came into view close aboard of them.
Just then the moon rose, and objects became more clearly
visible.
Hazard hailed the Vineyard Lion, and demanded what
was to be done. It was possible, by hauling close on a
wind, to pass the cape a short distance to windward of it,
and seemingly thus clear the floe. Unless this were done,
both vessels would be compelled to ware, and run for the
leeward, and might place them a long distance on the
wrong side of the group.
“Is Captain Gar'ner on deck?” asked Daggett, who had
now drawn close up on the lee-quarter of his consort,
Hazard having brailed his foresail and laid his topsail sharp
aback, to enable him to do so — “If he isn't, I'd advise
you to give him a call at once.”
This was done immediately; and while it was doing,
the Vineyard Lion swept past the Oyster Pond schooner.
Roswell announced his presence on deck just as the other
vessel cleared his bows.
“There's no time to consult, Gar'ner,” answered Daggett.
“There's our road before us. Go through it we
must, or stay where we are until that field-ice gives us a
jam down yonder in the crescent. I will lead, and you
can follow as soon as your eyes are open.”
One glance let Roswell into the secret of his situation.
He liked it little, but he did not hesitate.
“Fill the topsail, and haul aft the foresheet,” were the
quiet orders that proclaimed what he intended to do.
Both vessels stood on. By some secret process, every
man on board the two craft became aware of what was
going on, and appeared on deck. All hands were not
called, nor was there any particular noise to attract attention;
but the word had been whispered below that there
was a great risk to run. A risk it was, of a verity! It was
necessary to stand close along that iron-bound coast where
the seals had so lately resorted, for a distance of several
miles. The wind would not admit of the schooners steering
much more than a cable's length from the rocks for
quite a league; after which the shore trended to the southward,
and a little sea-room would be gained. But on those
rocks the waves were then beating heavily, and their bellowings
as they rolled into the cavities were at almost all
times terrific. There was some relief, however, in the
knowledge obtained of the shore, by having frequently
passed up and down it in the boats. It was known that
the water was deep close to the visible rocks, and that
there was no danger as long as a vessel could keep off
them.
No one spoke. Every eye was strained to discern objects
ahead, or was looking astern to trace the expected collision
between the floe-ice and the low promontory of the cape.
The ear soon gave notice that this meeting had already
taken place; for the frightful sound that attended the
cracking and rending of the field might have been heard
fully a league. Now it was that each schooner did her
best! Yards were braced up, sheets flattened, and the
helm tended. The close proximity of the rocks on the one
side, and the secret presentiment of there being more field-ice
on the other, kept every one wide awake. The two
masters, in particular, were all eyes and ears. It was
getting to be very cold; and the sort of shelter aloft that
goes by the quaint name of “crow's-nest,” had been fitted
up in each vessel. A mate was now sent into each, to
ascertain what might be discovered to windward. Almost
at the same instant, these young seamen hailed their respective
decks, and gave notice that a wide field was
coming in upon them, and must eventually crush them,
unless avoided. This startling intelligence reached the
two commanders in the very same moment. The emergency
demanded decision, and each man acted for himself.
Roswell ordered his helm put down, and his schooner
tacked. The water was not rough enough to prevent the
success of the manœuvre. On the other hand, Daggett
kept a rap full, and stood on. Roswell manifested the most
judgment and seamanship. He was now far enough from
the cape to beat to windward; and, by going nearer to the
enemy, he might always run along its southern boundary,
profit by any opening, and would be by as much as he could
thus gain, to windward of the coast. Daggett had one
advantage. By standing on, in the event of a return becoming
necessary, he would gain in time. In ten minutes
the two schooners were a mile asunder. We shall first
follow that of Roswell Gardiner's, in his attempt to escape.
The first floe, which was ripping and tearing one of its
angles into fragments, as it came grinding down on the
cape, soon compelled the vessel to tack. Making short
reaches, Roswell ere long found himself fully a mile to
windward of the rocks, and sufficiently near to the new
floe to discern its shape, drift, and general character. Its
and was adding to the vast momentum with which that
enormous floe was pressing down upon the cape. Large
as was that first visiter to the bay, this was of at least twice
if not of thrice its dimensions. What gave Roswell the
most concern was the great distance that this field extended
to the westward. He went up into the crow's-nest himself,
and, aided by the light of a most brilliant moon, and a sky
without a cloud, he could perceive the blink of ice in that
direction, as he fancied, for fully two leagues. What was
unusual, perhaps, at that early season of the year, these
floes did not consist of a vast collection of numberless
cakes of ice; but the whole field, so far as could then be
ascertained, was firm and united. The nights were now
so cold that ice made fast wherever there was water; and
it occurred to our young master that, possibly, fragments
that had once been separated and broken by the waves,
might have become re-united by the agency of the frost.
Roswell descended from the crow's-nest half chilled by a
cutting wind, though it blew from a warm quarter. Summoning
his mates, he asked their advice.
“It seems to me, Captain Gar'ner,” Hazard replied,
“there's very little choice. Here we are, so far as I can
make it out, embayed, and we have only to box about until
day-light comes, when some chance may turn up to help
us. If so, we must turn it to account; if not, we must
make up our minds to winter here.”
This was coolly and calmly said; though it was clear
enough that Hazard was quite in earnest.
“You forget there may be an open passage to the westward,
Mr. Hazard,” Roswell rejoined, “and that we may
yet pass out to sea by it. Captain Daggett is already out
of sight in the western board, and we may do well to stand
on after him.”
“Ay, ay, sir — I know all that, Captain Gar'ner, and it
may be as you say; but when I was aloft, half an hour
since, if there wasn't the blink of ice in that direction,
quite round to the back of the island, there wasn't the
blink of ice nowhere hereabouts. I'm used to the sight
of it, and can't well be mistaken.”
“There is always ice on that side of the land, Hazard,
hugged the cliffs in that quarter all summer. Still, that is
not proving we shall find no outlet. This craft can go
through a very small passage, and we must take care and
find one in proper time. Wintering here is out of the
question. A hundred reasons tell us not to think of such
a thing, besides the interests of our owners. We are walking
along this floe pretty fast, though I think the vessel is
too much by the head; don't it strike you so, Hazard?”
“Lord, sir, it's nothing but the ice that has made, and
is making for'ard! Before we got so near the field as to
find a better lee, the little lipper that came athwart our
bows froze almost as soon as it wet us. I do suppose, sir,
there are now several tons of ice on our bows, counting
from channel to channel, forward.”
On an examination this proved to be true, and the knowledge
of the circumstance did not at all contribute to Gardiner's
feeling of security. He saw there was no time to
be lost, and he crowded sail with a view of forcing the
vessel past the dangers if possible, and of getting her into
a milder climate. But even a fast-sailing schooner will
scarcely equal our wishes under such circumstances. There
was no doubt that the Sea Lion's speed was getting to be
affected by the manner in which her bows were weighed
down by ice, in addition to the discomfort produced by
cold, damp, and the presence of a slippery substance on
the deck and rigging. Fortunately there was not much
spray flying, or matters would have been much worse. As
it was, they were bad enough, and very ominous of future
evil.
While the Sea Lion of Oyster Pond was running along
the margin of the ice in the manner just described, and
after the blink to the westward had changed to a visible
field, making it very uncertain whether any egress was to
be found in that quarter or not, an opening suddenly appeared
trending to the northward, and sufficiently wide, as
Roswell thought, to enable him to beat through it. Putting
his helm down, his schooner came heavily round, and was
filled on a course that soon carried her half a mile into
this passage. At first, everything seemed propitious, the
channel rather opening than otherwise, while the course
very long legs on one tack, and that the best. After going
about four or five times, however, all these flattering symptoms
suddenly changed, by the passage's terminating in a
cul de sac. Almost at the same instant the ice closed
rapidly in the schooner's wake. An effort was made to
run back, but it failed in consequence of an enormous
floe's turning on its centre, having met resistance from a
field closer in, that was, in its turn, stopped by the rocks.
Roswell saw at once that nothing could be done at the
moment. He took in all his canvass, as well as the frozen
cloth could be handled, got out ice-anchors, and hauled
his vessel into a species of cove where there would be the
least danger of a nip, should the fields continue to close.
All this time Daggett was as busy as a bee. He rounded
the headland, and flattered himself that he was about to
slip past all the rocks, and get out into open water, when
the vast fields of which the blink had been seen even by
those in the other vessel, suddenly stretched themselves
across his course in a way that set at defiance all attempts
to go any further in that direction. Daggett wore round,
and endeavoured to return. This was by no means as easy
as it was to go down before the wind, and his bows were
also much encumbered with ice; more so, indeed, than
those of the other schooner. Once or twice his craft missed
stays in consequence of getting so much by the head, and
it was deemed necessary to heave-to, and take to the axes.
A great deal of extra and cumbrous weight was gotten rid
of, but an hour of most precious time was lost.
By the time Daggett was ready to make sail again, he
found his return round the headland was entirely cut off,
by the field's having come in absolute contact with the
rocks!
It was now midnight, and the men on board both vessels
required rest. A watch was set in each, and most of the
people were permitted to turn in. Of course, proper look-outs
were had, but the light of the moon was not sufficiently
distinct to render it safe to make any final efforts under its
favour. No great alarm was felt, there being nothing unusual
in a vessel's being embayed in the ice; and so long
as she was not nipped or pressed upon by actual contact,
was desirable, moreover, for the schooners to communicate
with each other; for some advantage might be known to
one of the masters that was concealed by distance from his
companion. Without concert, therefore, Roswell and
Daggett came to the same general conclusions, and waited
patiently.
The day came at last, cold and dreary, though not altogether
without the relief of an air that blew from regions
far warmer than the ocean over which it was now travelling.
Then the two schooners became visible from each
other, and Roswell saw the jeopardy of Daggett, and Daggett
saw the jeopardy of Roswell. The vessels were little
more than a mile apart, but the situation of the Vineyard
Lion was much the most critical. She had made fast to
the floe, but her support itself was in a steady and most
imposing motion. As soon as Roswell saw the manner in
which his consort was surrounded, and the very threatening
aspect of the danger that pressed upon him, his first impulse
was to hasten to him, with a party of his own people, to
offer any assistance he could give. After looking at the
ice immediately around his own craft, where all seemed to
be right, he called over the names of six of his men, ordered
them to eat a warm breakfast, and to prepare to accompany
him.
In twenty minutes Roswell was leading his little party
across the ice, each man carrying an axe, or some other
implement that it was supposed might be of use. It was
by no means difficult to proceed; for the surface of the
floe, one seemingly more than a league in extent, was quite
smooth, and the snow on it was crusted to a strength that
would have borne a team.
“The water between the ice and the rocks is a much
narrower strip than I had thought,” said Roswell, to his
constant attendant, Stimson. “Here, it does not appear to
be a hundred yards in width!”
“Nor is it, sir—whew—this trotting in so cold a climate
makes a man puff like a whale blowing — but, Captain
Gar'ner, that schooner will be cut in two before we can
get to her. Look, sir; the floe has reached the rocks
all, seemingly.”
Roswell made no reply; the state of the Vineyard Lion
did appear to be much more critical than he had previously
imagined. Until he came nearer to the land, he had formed
no notion of the steady power with which the field was
setting down on the rocks on which the broken fragments
were now creeping like creatures endowed with life. Occasionally,
there would be loud disruptions, and the movement
of the floe would become more rapid; then, again, a
sort of pause would succeed, and for a moment the approaching
party felt a gleam of hope. But all expectations
of this sort were doomed to be disappointed.
“Look, sir!” exclaimed Stimson—“she went down afore
it twenty fathoms at that one set. She must be awful near
the rocks, sir!”
All the men now stopped. They knew they were powerless;
and intense anxiety rendered them averse to move.
Attention appeared to interfere with their walking on the
ice; and each held his breath in expectation. They saw
that the schooner, then less than a cable's length from them,
was close to the rocks; and the next shock, if anything
like the last, must overwhelm her. To their astonishment,
instead of being nipped, the schooner rose by a stately
movement that was not without grandeur, upheld by broken
cakes that had got beneath her bottom, and fairly reached
the shelf of rocks almost unharmed. Not a man had left
her; but there she was, placed on the shore, some twenty
feet above the surface of the sea, on rocks worn smooth by
the action of the waves! Had the season been propitious,
and did the injury stop here, it might have been possible to
get the craft into the water again, and still carry her to
America.
But the floe was not yet arrested. Cake succeeded cake,
one riding over another, until a wall of ice rose along the
shore, that Roswell and his companions, with all their
activity and courage, had great difficulty in crossing. They
succeeded in getting over it, however; but when they
reached the unfortunate schooner, she was literally buried.
The masts were broken, the sails torn, rigging scattered,
and sides stove. The Sea Lion of Martha's Vineyard was
of being converted into materials for a smaller craft, or to
be used as fuel.
All this had been done in ten minutes! Then it was
that the vast superiority of nature over the resources of
man made itself apparent. The people of the two vessels
stood aghast with this sad picture of their own insignificance
before their eyes. The crew of the wreck, it is true,
had escaped without difficulty; the movement having been
as slow and steady as it was irresistible. But there they
were, in the clothes they had on, with all their effects
buried under piles of ice that were already thirty or forty
feet in height.
“She looks as if she was built there, Gar'ner!” Daggett
coolly observed, as he stood regarding the scene with eyes
as intently riveted on the wreck as human organs were
ever fixed on any object. “Had a man told me this could
happen, I would not have believed him!”
“Had she been a three-decker, this ice would have treated
her in the same way. There is a force in such a field
that walls of stone could not withstand.”
“Captain Gar'ner—Captain Gar'ner,” called out Stimson,
hastily; “we'd better go back, sir; our own craft is
in danger. She is drifting fast in towards the cape, and
may reach it afore we can get to her!”
Sure enough, it was so. In one of the changes that are
so unaccountable among the ice, the floe had taken a sudden
and powerful direction towards the entrance of the
Great Bay. It was probably owing to the circumstance
that the inner field had forced its way past the cape, and
made room for its neighbour to follow. A few of Daggett's
people, with Daggett himself, remained to see what might
yet be saved from the wreck; but all the rest of the men
started for the cape, towards which the Oyster Pond craft
was now directly setting. The distance was less than a
league; and, as yet, there was not much snow on the rocks.
By taking an upper shelf, it was possible to make pretty
good progress; and such was the manner of Roswell's present
march.
It was an extraordinary sight to see the coast along which
our party was hastening, just at that moment. As the cakes
by the vast pressure from without, and the whole line
of the shore seemed as if alive with creatures that were
issuing from the ocean to clamber on the rocks. Roswell
had often seen that very coast peopled with seals, as it now
appeared to be in activity with fragments of ice, that were
writhing, and turning, and rising, one upon another, as if
possessed of the vital principle.
In half an hour Roswell and his party reached the house.
The schooner was then less than half a mile from the spot,
still setting in, along with the outer field, but not nipped.
So far from being in danger of such a calamity, the little
basin in which she lay had expanded, instead of closing;
and it would have been possible to handle a quick-working
craft in it, under her canvass. An exit, however, was quite
out of the question; there being no sign of any passage to
or from that icy dock. There the craft still lay, anchored
to the weather-floe, while the portion of her crew which
remained on board was as anxiously watching the coast as
those who were on the coast watched her. At first, Roswell
gave his schooner up; but on closer examination found
reason to hope that she might pass the rocks, and enter the
inner, rather than the Great, Bay.
| CHAPTER VII. The sea lions, or, The lost sealers | |