Seven Frozen Sailors.

by George Manville Fenn.

CHAPTER ONE.

HOW WE GOT THERE.

"But what are we going for?"

If he had not been so much of a gentleman, I should have said that the half-closing of his left eye and its rapid reopening had been a wink; as it was, we will say it was not. The next moment, he had thrown himself back in his chair, smiled, and said, quietly. "Not yet, captain--not yet. I'll tell you by-and-by. At present it is my secret. Waiter, fill these gla.s.ses again!"

"But look here," I said, as soon as the waiter had done his duty, "you can't sail right up into the Arctic circle without a crew."

"No," he said, shaking his head; "but _you_ will go?"

"Well--yes," I said; "I don't mind. She's a smart steamer, and well found. I'll take her."

He rose solemnly from his chair, crossed to my side, and shook hands, before wabbling back and sitting down, filling the old-fashioned Windsor armchair so very full, that I wondered it didn't come to pieces.

I don't want to be personal, but he certainly was the fattest man I ever saw, and the most active. The Claimant was nothing to him. He looked perfectly stupid, as he sat there with a great wattle under his chin, which came all over his white neckerchief and clean-frilled shirt; and as he talked to you, he kept spinning round the great bunch of gold seals at the end of a watered silk ribbon, that hung over his glossy black trousers, while the huge flaps of his black bob-tail coat hung over the sides of the chair.

"You'll be my captain, then?" he said.

"Yes, sir, I'm ready," I replied; "but about the crew. Their first question will be, 'is it whale or seal?'"

"Tell them--tell them," he said, musing,--"tell them _seal_, and we'll do a bit of sealing on the voyage; but, my dear Captain Cookson, the real object of our trip is at present _under_ seal. You understand?"

I nodded.

"Then get a good staunch, picked crew, and don't spare for expense.

You'll want good first and second mates. Shall I engage them?"

"Oh, no, thanky, sir," I said hastily; "I--"

"Captain Cookson here?" said a voice I knew, and Abram Bostock thrust his head just inside the door. "Oh, beg pardon, sir!"

"Come in, Abram!" I said, eagerly.

"Begging the gentleman's pardon," he said, wiping a little brown juice out of each corner of his mouth; "I only wanted a word with you, skipper. Binny Scudds is outside."

"Bring him in, then!" I said, quickly.

Abram looked from one to the other, rubbed his hollow, sallow cheeks, upon which there was not a particle of hair, and then his body swayed about as if, being so thin, the draught of the door was blowing him,--"Bring him in?" he said.

"To be sure!" I exclaimed.

Tall, thin, Abram Bostock stared at my companion for a moment, and then backed out, to return directly with my old bos'en, Abinadab Scudds, half leading, half dragging him; and no sooner was the mahogany-faced old salt inside the door, and caught sight of the stranger, than he slewed round, and was half outside before Abram growled out, "Avast there!"

collared him, and bringing him back, closed the door; when Scudds growled out something that seemed to come from somewhere below his waistband, and then, thoroughly captured, he stood, rolling his one eye from one to the other, and began to rub his s.h.a.ggy head, ending by an old habit of his--namely, taking out a piece of rope, and beginning to unlay it.

"Begging the gentleman's pardon," said Abram, as he feasted on his goodly proportions, "I come to tell you, skipper, as they wants a cap'n and mates for the Gladiator."

"But you have not engaged?" I said, anxiously.

Scudds growled, bear-fashion, and shook his head.

"Because here's a chance for you, my lads!" I said. "I have engaged with Doctor--Doctor--"

"Curley," said my stout friend.

"With Doctor Curley, to command that smart steamer lying in the Greenland Dock, and we go up north. Will you come?"

"What arter?" growled Scudds, tearing at his piece of rope.

"Seal," I said, with a look at the doctor. "What do you say, Bostock?"

"Oh, I'm game, if you're going, skipper!" he said, staring at the doctor.

"And you, Scudds?"

"Same as Abram," growled Abinadab--Binny we called him, for short.

"This is lucky, doctor!" I said; "for our two friends here will soon get a good crew together. Plenty of men will be glad to join the vessel they sail in!"

"Don't you believe him, sir!" said Abram, polishing away at his cheek.

"It's acause the skipper there, Capen Cookson's going, as they'd come!"

"Ah! Well, never mind about that," said the doctor, smiling. "So long as I've a good crew going with me, I don't care what induces them."

"But you ain't a-going, sir?" says Abram, looking harder than ever at our owner.

"Indeed, but I am, my man!" replied the doctor. "Why not?"

"Oh, nothing, sir!" says Abram, looking as confused as a great girl, while he stared harder than ever at the doctor.

"Now, what on earth are you thinking about?" said the doctor, making an effort to cross his legs, but failing, on account of the tight fit in the chair.

"Well, sir," says Abram Bostock, slowly, "meaning no offence, I was a-wishing I were as fat as you are!"

"Oh, lor'!" groaned Scudds. And his one eye rolled tremendously.

"My good friend," exclaimed the doctor, starting up a little way, but subsiding again, for he had raised the chair with him, as if he had been a hermit-crab and it was his sh.e.l.l,--"my good friend, I'd give five thousand pounds to be as thin as you!"

"Hor--hor--hor--hor!" roared Scudds, bursting into a tremendous laugh.

"I say, skipper, what a wunner he'd be if we took to the boats!"

"Hush!" I exclaimed.