The first sound that broke the silence came from the innerapartment. An officer lifted the canvas screen in the hut of the_Sea-mew_ and entered the main room. Cold and privation had badlythinned the ranks. The commander of the ship--CaptainEbsworth--was dangerously ill. The first lieutenant was dead. Anofficer of the _Wanderer_ filled their places for the time, withCaptain Helding's permission. The officer so employedwas--Lieutenant Crayford.

He approached the man at the fireside, and awakened him.

"Jump up, Bateson! It's your turn to be relieved."

The relief appeared, rising from a heap of old sails at the backof the hut. Bateson vanished, yawning, to his bed. LieutenantCrayford walked backward and forward briskly, trying whatexercise would do toward warming his blood.

The pestle and mortar on the cask attracted his attention. Hestopped and looked up at the man in the hammock.

"I must rouse the cook," he said to himself, with a smile. "Thatfellow little thinks how useful he is in keeping up my spirits.The most inveterate croaker and grumbler in the world--and yet,according to his own account, the only cheerful man in the wholeship's company. John Want! John Want! Rouse up, there!"

A head rose slowly out of the bedclothes, covered with a rednight-cap. A melancholy nose rested itself on the edge of thehammock. A voice, worthy of the nose, expressed its opinion ofthe Arctic climate, in these words:

"Lord! Lord! here's all my breath on my blanket. Icicles, if youplease, sir, all round my mouth and all over my blanket. Everytime I have snored, I've frozen something. When a man gets thecold into him to that extent that he ices his own bed, it can'tlast much longer. Never mind! _I_ don't grumble."

Crayford tapped the saucepan of bones impatiently. John Wantlowered himself to the floor--grumbling all the way--by a ropeattached to the rafters at his bed head. Instead of approachinghis superior officer and his saucepan, he hobbled, shivering, tothe fire-place, and held his chin as close as he possibly couldover the fire. Crayford looked after him.

"Halloo! what are you doing there?"

"Thawing my beard, sir."

"Come here directly, and set to work on these bones."

John Want remained immovably attached to the fire-place, holdingsomething else over the fire. Crayford began to lose his temper.

"What the devil are you about now?"

"Thawing my watch, sir. It's been under my pillow all night, andthe cold has stopped it. Cheerful, wholesome, bracing sort ofclimate to live in; isn't it, sir? Never mind! _I_ don'tgrumble."

"No, we all know that. Look here! Are these bones pounded smallenough?"

John Want suddenly approached the lieutenant, and looked at himwith an appearance of the deepest interest.

"You'll excuse me, sir," he said; "how very hollow your voicesounds this morning!"

"Never mind my voice. The bones! the bones!"

"Yes, sir--the bones. They'll take a trifle more pounding. I'lldo my best with them, sir, for your sake."

"What do you mean?"

John Want shook his head, and looked at Crayford with a drearysmile.

"I don't think I shall have the honor of making much more bonesoup for you, sir. Do you think yourself you'll last long, sir? Idon't, saving your presence. I think about another week or tendays will do for us all. Never mind! _I_ don't grumble."

He poured the bones into the mortar, and began to poundthem--under protest. At the same moment a sailor appeared,entering from the inner hut.

"A message from Captain Ebsworth, sir."

"Well?"

"The captain is worse than ever with his freezing pains, sir. Hewants to see you immediately."

"I will go at once. Rouse the doctor."

Answering in those terms, Crayford returned to the inner hut,followed by the sailor. John Want shook his head again, andsmiled more drearily than ever.

"Rouse the doctor?" he repeated. "Suppose the doctor should befrozen? He hadn't a ha'porth of warmth in him last night, and hisvoice sounded like a whisper in a speaking-trumpet. Will thebones do now? Yes, the bones will do now. Into the saucepan withyou," cried John Want, suiting the action to the word, "andflavor the hot water if you can! When I remember that I was oncean apprentice at a pastry-cook's--when I think of the gallons ofturtle-soup that this hand has stirred up in a jolly hotkitchen--and when I find myself mixing bones and hot water forsoup, and turning into ice as fast as I can; if I wasn't of acheerful disposition I should feel inclined to grumble. JohnWant! John Want! whatever had you done with your natural senseswhen you made up your mind to go to sea?"

A new voice hailed the cook, speaking from one of the bed-placesin the side of the hut. Itwas the voice of Francis Aldersley.

"Who's that croaking over the fire?"

"Croaking?" repeated John Want, with the air of a man whoconsidered himself the object of a gratuitous insult. "Croaking?You don't find your own voice at all altered for the worse--doyou, Mr. Frank? I don't give _him_," John proceeded, speakingconfidentially to himself, "more than six hours to last. He's oneof your grumblers."

"What are you doing there?" asked Frank.

"I'm making bone soup, sir, and wondering why I ever went tosea."

"Well, and why did you go to sea?"

"I'm not certain, Mr. Frank. Sometimes I think it was naturalperversity; sometimes I think it was false pride at getting oversea-sickness; sometimes I think it was reading 'Robinson Crusoe,'and books warning of me _not_ to go to sea."

Frank laughed. "You're an odd fellow. What do you mean by falsepride at getting over sea-sickness? Did you get over sea-sicknessin some new way?"

John Want's dismal face brightened in spite of himself. Frank hadrecalled to the cook's memory one of the noteworthy passages inthe cook's life.

"That's it, sir!" he said. "If ever a man cured sea-sickness in anew way yet, I am that man--I got over it, Mr. Frank, by dint ofhard eating. I was a passenger on board a packet-boat, sir, whenfirst I saw blue water. A nasty lopp of a sea came on atdinner-time, and I began to feel queer the moment the soup wasput on the table. 'Sick?' says the captain. 'Rather, sir,' saysI. 'Will you try my cure?' says the captain. 'Certainly, sir,'says I. 'Is your heart in your mouth yet?' says the captain. 'Notquite, sir,' says I. 'Mock-turtle soup?' says the captain, andhelps me. I swallow a couple of spoonfuls, and turn as white as asheet. The captain cocks his eye at me. 'Go on deck, sir,' sayshe; 'get rid of the soup, and then come back to the cabin.' I gotrid of the soup, and came back to the cabin. 'Cod'shead-and-shoulders,' says the captain, and helps me. 'I can'tstand it, sir,' says I. 'You must,' says the captain, 'becauseit's the cure.' I crammed down a mouthful, and turned paler thanever. 'Go on deck,' says the captain. 'Get rid of the cod's head,and come back to the cabin.' Off I go, and back I come. 'Boiledleg of mutton and trimmings,' says the captain, and helps me. 'Nofat, sir,' says I. 'Fat's the cure,' says the captain, and makesme eat it. 'Lean's the cure,' says the captain, and makes me eatit. 'Steady?' says the captain. 'Sick,' says I. 'Go on deck,'says the captain; 'get rid of the boiled leg of mutton andtrimmings and come back to the cabin.' Off I go, staggering--backI come, more dead than alive. 'Deviled kidneys,' says thecaptain. I shut my eyes, and got 'em down. 'Cure's beginning,'says the captain. 'Mutton-chop and pickles.' I shut my eyes, andgot _them_ down. 'Broiled ham and cayenne pepper,' says thecaptain. 'Glass of stout and cranberry tart. Want to go on deckagain?' 'No, sir,' says I. 'Cure's done,' says the captain.'Never you give in to your stomach, and your stomach will end ingiving in to you.'"

Having stated the moral purpose of his story in thoseunanswerable words, John Want took himself and his saucepan intothe kitchen. A moment later, Crayford returned to the hut andastonished Frank Aldersley by an unexpected question.

"Have you anything in your berth, Frank, that you set a valueon?"

"Nothing that I set the smallest value on--when I am out of it,"he replied. "What does your question mean?"

"We are almost as short of fuel as we are of provisions,"Crayford proceeded. "Your berth will make good firing. I havedirected Bateson to be here in ten minutes with his ax."

"Very attentive and considerate on your part," said Frank. "Whatis to become of me, if you please, when Bateson has chopped mybed into fire-wood?"

"Can't you guess?"

"I suppose the cold has stupefied me. The riddle is beyond myreading. Suppose you give me a hint?"

"Certainly. There will be beds to spare soon--there is to be achange at last in our wretched lives here. Do you see it now?"

Frank's eyes sparkled. He sprang out of his berth, and waved hisfur cap in triumph.

"See it?" he exclaimed; "of course I do! The exploring party isto start at last. Do I go with the expedition?"

"It is not very long since you were in the doctor's hands,Frank," said Crayford, kindly. "I doubt if you are strong enoughyet to make one of the exploring party."

"Strong enough or not," returned Frank, "any risk is better thanpining and perishing here. Put me down, Crayford, among those whovolunteer to go."

"Volunteers will not be accepted, in this case," said Crayford."Captain Helding and Captain Ebsworth see serious objections, aswe are situated, to that method of proceeding."

"Do they mean to keep the appointments in their own hands?" askedFrank. "I for one object to that."

"Wait a little," said Crayford. "You were playing backgammon theother day with one of the officers. Does the board belong to himor to you?"

"It belongs to me. I have got it in my locker here. What do youwant with it?"

"I want the dice and the box for casting lots. The captains havearranged--most wisely, as I think--that Chance shall decide amongus who goes with the expedition and who stays behind in the huts.The officers and crew of the _Wanderer_ will be here in a fewminutes to cast the lots. Neither you nor any one can object tothat way of deciding among us. Officers and men alike take theirchance together. Nobody can grumble."

"I am quite satisfied," said Frank. "But I know of one man amongthe officers who is sure to make objections."

"Who is the man?"

"You know him well enough, too. The 'Bear of the Expeditions'Richard Wardour."

"Frank! Frank! you have a bad habit of letting your tongue runaway with you. Don't repeat that stupid nickname when you talk ofmy good friend, Richard Wardour."

"Your good friend? Crayford! your liking for that man amazes me."

Crayford laid his hand kindly on Frank's shoulder. Of all theofficers of the _Sea-mew_, Crayford's favorite was Frank.

"Why should it amaze you?" he asked. "What opportunities have youhad of judging? You and Wardour have always belonged to differentships. I have never seen you in Wardour's society for fiveminutes together. How can _you_ form a fair estimate of hischaracter?"

"I take the general estimate of his character," Frank answered."He has got his nickname because he is the most unpopular man inhis ship. Nobody likes him--there must be some reason for that."

"There is only one reason for it," Crayford rejoined. "Nobodyunderstands Richard Wardour. I am not talking at random.Remember, I sailed from England with him in the _Wanderer_; and Iwas only transferred to the _Sea-mew_ long after we were lockedup in the ice. I was Richard Wardour's companion on board shipfor months, and I learned there to do him justice. Under all hisoutward defects, I tell you, there beats a great and generousheart. Suspend your opinion, my lad, until you know my friend aswell as I do. No more of this now. Give me the dice and the box."

Frank opened his locker. At the same moment the silence of thesnowy waste outside was broken by a shouting of voices hailingthe hut--"_Sea-mew_, ahoy!"