CHAPTER XXVII
THE SNOWSTORM
The longer the intensely absorbed and excited Jack and the boys gazed at the distant object that had attracted their attention the more distinct did it become.
“It is certainly a sled, and it is coming this way!” exclaimed Will.
“Yes, we must try and reach the plain,” said Jack.
He was about to descend as they had come, for the only way to carry out his plan was to go around some distance to where the cliffs were lower when he paused.
The moving objects on the snow seemed suddenly to blend into a confused mass.
The sled and its driver mysteriously disappeared from view, while the dogs were flung in the air and then seemed to stand stationary.
“What has happened?” asked Tom, breathlessly.
“A break in the ice. The sled and its unfortunate driver have gone down. Oh, if we were near enough to give him help!”
Jack waited no longer, and they hurried down to the ice house much faster than they had ascended the cliff.
Jack hurriedly related to Hugo what had occurred, and explained how they might scale the cliff farther down the shore and get out on the ice beyond.
“The boys will stay here,” he said. “Do not leave the hut till we return, Will.”
The two sailors took each a gun and started out on their hurried errand.
Time passed drearily to the trio they had left behind them. Tom and Willis wished to go up to the cliffs to see the lake, but Will reminded them of Jack’s injunction.
It was well they followed it, for shortly afterwards a wild wind swept over the spot and a furious snowstorm set in.
As darkness came down, and there were no signs of the return of Jack and Hugo, Will became alarmed.
He pushed aside the door, or block of ice, that filled the entrance to the hut and crawled out finally.
The snow was deep and blinding, and he became terrified as he realized the difficulty the sailors would have in finding the hut.
He imparted his apprehensions to his companions.
“They may be out on the lake yet,” he said.
“Can we not signal them?” inquired Tom.
“How?” asked Will.
“A light—a fire.”
Will reflected deeply. Then he decided on a course that might be of some utility in guiding Jack and Hugo to the hut.
He ordered Tom to wrap himself up closely and take the blubber lamp outside the hut.
He was to keep feeding it freely, so as to make as much flame as possible and shade it from the wind and snow.
Will himself had ventured on an exploit that was fraught with peril.
“You remain here with the light as long as you can stand the cold,” he said.
“You think Jack and Hugo are this side of the cliffs?”
“Possibly. If so, they will be guided by the light.”
“And you, Will?”
“I am going to scale the cliffs.”
Tom uttered a cry of dismay.
“In this terrible storm?”
“Yes, Tom.”
Will began the slow and difficult ascent.
A dozen times he slipped and fell, but he finally had the satisfaction of reaching the summit of the rocks overlooking the frozen lake.
He had brought the can of alcohol and some pieces of cloth with him.
Saturating the latter with the alcohol, he set them afire and waved them to and fro.
This he kept up until all the alcohol was exhausted except what was left in the lamp Jack had improvised from the powder flask.
Lighting the wick, he shaded the feeble light with pieces of ice and set its flame towards the lake.
“They may not be able to see it,” he soliloquized; “but I have done all I could for them.”
He was chilled and wearied long before he reached the hut again.
Tom had been forced to retreat into the hut, well-nigh frozen.
He welcomed Will’s safe return with delight.
“Jack and Hugo have made a snow house somewhere,” he said; and with this theory, they were forced to be content.
With the first dawn of day, the boys were awake and outside.
They looked vainly for some trace of the two sailors until they heard a loud series of yelps.
They ran through the deep snow as best they could towards the spot whence these sounds emanated.
Half a dozen dogs, such as they had often heard Jack and Hugo describe as the faithful servants of the Eskimo, were gamboling in the snow under the partial shelter of an overhanging ledge of ice.
They were secured together by long strings made of dried skin of some animal, the end of which was secured around a huge boulder of ice.
As they were gazing, curious and interested, two forms pushed aside a bank of snow, and, from a cave-like aperture, the two sailors came into view.
“Jack!—Hugo!” cried the boys, delightedly.
“Yes, lads; and snug and safe. We found the snow a warm bed for the night.”
Will explained how they had endeavored to signal them; then he pointed to the dogs.
Jack looked sad.
“It’s a sorrowful story, lad. The man who drove them and the sled went down in a fissure in the ice.”
“And you couldn’t save him?”
“No. When we reached the place the ice had closed and the dogs had broken loose.”
“How did you bring them here?”
“They followed us. They’re gentle as kittens. Had the Eskimo lived, and had we overtaken him, he might have led us at once to a settlement.”
“And maybe to the very one the crew of the Albatross and my brother Alan have reached,” said Will, hopefully.
“Possibly, lad. However, it shows there are natives near here.”
“And you will search for them?”
“The dogs will find them.”
“How?”
“We will make a new sled and start them over the frozen lake. They will probably start directly for the nearest Eskimo village.”
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