stood thinking mournfully of his irreparable loss, he was joined by Johnson, who grasped his offered hand in speechless sorrow.
"What's to become of us?" asked the Doctor.
"Who can tell!" was the old sailor's reply.
"Anyhow," said Clawbonny, "do not let us despair. Let us be men!"
"Yes, Mr. Clawbonny, you are right. Now is the time to show our mettle. We are in a bad plight, and how to get out of it, that is the question."
"Poor old brig!" exclaimed the Doctor. "I had grown so attached to her. I loved her as one loves a house where he has spent a lifetime."
"Ay! it's strange what a hold those planks and beams get on a fellow's heart."
"And the long-boat—is that burnt?" asked the Doctor.
"No, Mr. Clawbonny. Shandon and his gang have carried it off."
"And the pirogue?"
"Shivered into a thousand pieces? Stop. Do you see those bits of sheet-iron? That is all that remains of it."
"Then we have nothing but the Halkett-boat?"
"Yes, we have that still, thanks to your idea of taking it with you."
"That isn't much," said the Doctor.
"Oh, those base traitors!" exclaimed Johnson.
"Johnson," returned the Doctor, gently, "we must not forget how sorely they have been tried. Only the best remain good in the evil day; few can stand trouble. Let us pity our fellow-sufferers, and not curse them."
For the next few minutes both were silent, and then Johnson asked what had become of the sledge.
"We left it about a mile off," was the reply.
"In charge of Simpson?"
"No, Simpson is dead, poor fellow!"
"Simpson dead!"
'Yes, his strength gave way entirely, and he first sank."
"Poor Simpson! And yet who knows if he isn't rather to be envied?"
"But, for the dead man we have left behind, we have brought back a dying one."
"A dying man?"
