There was no getting over the impetuosity of this honest old sailor, but there was withal a freshness and happiness about him, which made every one he talked with feel as hopeful as he was himself. Before dinner was done both Mrs McGregor and her lovely daughter were smiling and laughing as they had not smiled or laughed for months before, and when Silas asked for a song, the latter went quite joyfully to the harp.

You see it appeared quite a foregone conclusion with everybody that night, that Silas would find the lost explorers and bring them safely home.

The moon rose in all its majesty as nine tolled forth from the clock-tower of the ancient castle. Then Silas said "good-bye," and, followed by many a blessing and many a prayer, the dogcart wound away up through the solemn pine forest, and was soon lost to view.

He was just as good as his word. He took command of his new ship--a splendid sea-going yacht--before noon next day. Almost immediately afterwards he summoned both officers and men and mustered them all aft, and somewhat startled them by the following curt speech: "Gentlemen and men of the _Polar Star_, we'll sail to-morrow morning. We touch nowhere until we enter harbour here again. Any one that isn't ready to go can step on sh.o.r.e and stop there. All ready, eh? Bravo, men! You'll find your skipper isn't a bad fellow to deal with, but he means to crack on!

No ship that ever sailed 'twixt Pekin and London, no clipper that ever left Aberdeen, or yacht from New York city, ever did such cracking on as I mean to do. Go to your duty. Pipe down."

Then Silas Grig inspected the ship. He was pleased with her get-up and her rig-out, only he ordered extra spars and extra sails, and these were all on board ere sundown.

"The old man means business," said the first mate to the second.

"That he does!" replied the inferior officer.

The _Polar Star_ sailed away from Peterhead on the very day that poor Ted Wilson was laid in his grave beneath the eternal snows of Alba.

Could Silas have seen the desperate position of the _Arrandoon_ just then, how little hopes he would have entertained of ever reaching her in time to save the precious lives on board!

The doctor was left alone in the saloon of the great ship.

The silence that reigned both fore and aft was oppressive even to dismalness.

For a moment or two Sandy buried his face in his hands, and tears welled through his fingers. "Oh," he whispered, "it is terrible! The silence of death is all about us! Our men dying forward, our captain doomed, and Allan and Rory. Ay, and poor Ralph will be next; I can see that in his face. Not one of us can ever reach his native land again! I envy-- yes, I envy the dead in their quiet graves, and even wish it were all past--all, all over?"

"Doctor!" a kindly hand was laid on his shoulder. Sandy started to his feet, he cared not who saw his face, wet though it was with tears.

"Doctor, don't you take on so," said Stevenson.

"Speak, man I speak quick! There is hope in your face!" cried the doctor.

"There is hope in my heart, too," said the mate--"only a glint, only a gleam; but it is there. The frost is gone; the ice is open again."

"Then quick," cried the surgeon, "get up steam! that alone can save the dying. Energy, energy, and something to do. _I_ can do nothing more to save my patients while this hopeless silence lies pall-like around us.

Break it, dear mate, with the roar of steam and the rattle of the engine's screw!"

"Listen," said the mate. "There goes the steam. Our chief has not been long."

Round went the screw once more, and away moved the ship.

Poor McBain came staggering from his cabin. Ghastly pale he looked. He had the appearance of one risen from the grave.

He clutched Sandy by the shoulder.

"We are--under--way?" he gasped.

"Yes, yes," said the surgeon. "Homeward bound, captain."

"Homeward bound," muttered the captain, pressing his hand on his brow, as if to recall his memory, which for a time had been unseated from her throne.

For a minute or two the surgeon feared for his captain's life or reason.

"Drink this, dear sir," he said; "be seated, too, you are not over well, and there is much to be done."

"Much to be done?" cried McBain, as soon as he had quaffed the medicine.

"I'm better. Thank you, good doctor; thank you, Sandy. There is much to be done. Those words have saved your captain's life."

Sandy gave a big sigh of relief and hastened away to Rory's cabin.

Rory had been lying like a dead thing for hours, but now a new light seemed to come into his eye. He extended his hand to Sandy and smiled.

"We are positively under steam again, Sandy?" he said.

Sandy, like a wise surgeon, did not tell him the frost was quite gone.

Joy kills, and Sandy knew it.

"Yes," he said, carelessly, "we'll get down south a few miles farther, I dare say. It is nice, though, isn't it, to hear the old screw rattling round again?"

"Why, it is music, it is life?" said Rory. "Sandy, I'm going to be well again soon. I know and feel I am."

Then Ralph burst into the cabin.

"I say, Sandy," he said, "run and see dear old Allan; he says he is going to get up, and I know he is far, far too weak."

Sandy had to pa.s.s through the saloon. Freezing Powders was sitting bolt upright in the corner, and c.o.c.kie was apparently mad with joy. The bird couldn't speak fast enough, and he seemed bent on choking himself with hemp.

"Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter," he was saying, "here's a pretty, pretty, pretty to-do. Call the steward, call the steward. Come on, come on, come on."

"Oh, c.o.c.kie," Freezing Powders said, "I'se drefful, drefful cold, c.o.c.kie. 'Spects I'se gwine to die, c.o.c.kie. 'Spects I is--Oh! de-ah, what my ole mudder say den?"

"Come, come," cried Sandy, "take this, you young sprout, and don't let me catch you talking about dying. There now, pull yourself together."

"I'll try," said the poor boy, "but I 'spects I'se as pale as deaf (death)."

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

THE RESCUE--HOMEWARD BOUND--ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

I never have been able to learn with a sufficient degree of exact.i.tude whether it was the _Polar Star_ that first sighted the _Arrandoon_, or whether the _Arrandoon_ was the first to catch a glimpse of the _Polar Star_. And with such conflicting evidence before me, I do not see very well how I could.

What evidence have I before me, do you ask? Why the logs of the two ships, written by their two captains respectively. I give below a portion of two extracts, both relating to the joyful event. Extract first from the log of the good yacht _Polar Star_:--"June 21st, 18--.

At seven bells in the forenoon watch--ice heavy and wind about a south-south-west--caught sight of the _Arrandoon's_ topmasts bearing about a north and by east. Praise G.o.d for all His goodness." Extract second, from the log of the _Arrandoon_:--"June 21st, 18--. Seven bells in the forenoon watch--a hail from the crow's-nest, 'A schooner among the ice to the south'ard and west of us, can just raise her topmasts, think she is bearing this way.' Heaven be praised, we are saved."

Yes, dear reader, the _Arrandoon_ was saved. The news that a vessel was in sight spread through the ship like wildfire; those that were hale and well rushed on deck, the sick tottered up, and all was bustle and excitement, and the cheer that arose from stem to stern reminded McBain of the good old times, a year ago, when every man Jack of his crew was alive and well.

It had been a very narrow escape for them, for, although not far from the open water where the _Polar Star_ lay with foreyard aback, they were unable to reach it, being once more frozen in, and had not good Silas appeared at the time he did, probably in a few weeks at most there would not have been a single human being living on board the lordly _Arrandoon_.

No sooner had Silas satisfied himself with his own eyes that it was the _Arrandoon_ that lay ice-bound to the nor'ard of him, than he called away the boats and gave orders to load them with the best of everything, and to follow his whaler.

His whaler took the ice just as eight bells were struck on the _Polar Star_, and next moment, guided by the fan in the crow's-nest of the yacht, he was hastening over the rough ice towards the _Arrandoon_.