DOCTORING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.—AN ANXIOUS NIGHT.—FROZEN UP.

la Salle examined the condition of his patient, and found his tongue furred, his pulse quick and feverish, his tonsils badly inflamed, and the chills alternating with flushes of fever heat. The mind of the patient, too, was anxious; for at the close of the brief examination he said, "I hope I shan't be sick, for there isn't much show for me out here on the ice."

"And why not, George? Although I hope you will have nothing more than a bad cold, yet I think I could cure a pretty sick man out here."

"But we have no medicines, or beds, or food, or anything, scarcely."

"What nonsense! We are far more comfortably housed than the poor Esquimaux, and even Peter there lives no warmer than we do—do you, Peter?"

"Womegun hetter than this; but this place very comforble. I no fraid freeze here."

"Well, George, I must turn doctor now, and try to[Pg 188] stop this cold; for as yet it is no worse. Peter, make a fire outside, and heat the iron bailer full of salt water. Regnie, reach me my powder-horn and the little tin cup of the lantern."

Pouring four drachms of gunpowder into the cup, he filled it about half full of water, and setting it near the hot coals under the red hot cylinder, soon dissolved the explosive, forming an inky fluid. From the ammunition bucket he drew a small phial, which had been filled with olive oil, and pouring some hot water and a little shot into it, he soon cleaned it for the reception of the fluid, which he filtered through several thicknesses of his woolen gun-cover. About a fluid ounce of a rather dirty-looking solution of saltpeter resulted, to which a little sugar was added.

"Here we have," said the man of drugs, "some three drachms of saltpeter in solution, of which, by and by, you may take about one sixth, letting it gargle your throat going down. Peter, is the water hot?"

"Yes, broder, water boilin' hover. What do with him now?"

"I want to soak his feet; but what shall we do it in? I can fill my seal-skin boots, but they would be awkward."

"There's the ammunition bucket," suggested Regnie.

"That was made to hold peas and such like, and leaks like a sieve."[Pg 189]

"Put the rubber blanket around it," interposed the patient.

"That's the idea," said La Salle. And hanging up one of the bird-skin rugs in its place, the "mackintosh" was drawn and carefully knotted around the rim of the shaky receptacle. Into this the hot water was poured, and being duly tempered to a safe degree of heat, Waring removed his boots and stockings, and, seated on a couple of decoys, bathed his feet and ankles for about fifteen minutes.

In the mean time, the portion of the sleeping-room farthest from the door, was carefully fitted with dry twigs and one of the bird-skin coverlets, and the lad's stockings were thoroughly dried at the stove until they felt warm and comfortable. Taking one of the discarded cotton-flannel shooting-gowns, duly warmed at the fire, La Salle and Regnar carefully and energetically dried and rubbed Waring's extremities, now warmed and suffused with blood drawn from the overtaxed blood-vessels of the head and body, after which his warmed and dried foot-gear were replaced, and he was tucked away in his berth.

"Does your chest pain you at all, George?" asked his attendant, as he drew the thick feather covering over the sick boy.

"No; but my throat does a little. It feels much better, though, than it did."

La Salle thought a moment, then drew from a little cavity in the wall near the door a small junk of bird-[Pg 190]fat, which he melted in the tin cup. "I will rub your throat with goose-grease. It is a great favorite of the old women, and will keep the air from your tender skin, if it doesn't relieve the soreness of the inflamed membranes." So saying, he rubbed in the warm, soft fat with his hands, covering the skin above the bronchial tubes and the soft parts of the throat with the penetrating unguent, then fastening a turn of his list gun-cover around his throat, he replaced the covering, and taking his cap, went out into the night air, and seeking the lookout, glanced eagerly out over the waste of ice.

The night was clear and cold, with only an occasional puff of wind from the westward; but the temperature was falling fast, and the snow-crust broke under the foot with a sound ominous of biting cold. All around was ice, and even if the light-houses along that coast were lighted in winter, it is doubtful if the party were near enough to land to see any except that of Point Escumenac, which at noon bore north-west and about fifteen miles away. Since that time, the drift of the pack, at nightfall evidently making eastward, or rather north-east, had probably increased the distance to nearly forty miles.

La Salle surveyed the wild scene around him—the pillars hewn from vast masses of eternal ice by the shock of fearful collision, the slow action of the sun, the corrosion of the waves, and the melting kisses of the rain, and thus fashioned into fantastic mockeries[Pg 191] of fane, monument, tower, and spire, even by daylight were strangely wonderful, but under the mystic night and the weird light of the stars, seemed like icy statues, in whose chill bosoms were incarnated the genii of desolation and death.

"Ay! thus we move, helpless, lost, and beyond the aid of man, convoyed by a fleet of fantasies into a sailless sea, and to an unknown fate. Well I know that by to-morrow, myriads of eyes will watch for signs of our presence from Canseau to Gaspé, and on both shores of St. Jean; but they will look in vain. A week hence they will hear of our disappearance in Baltimore, and Paulie will know her own heart at last. I may not regret this if I escape with life, for well I know we are like to come back as men from the dead."

"Why do you speak of death, La Salle?" said a voice in good and even polished French; and La Salle, turning, found that Regnar stood beside him. An air of education which he had never noticed before seemed to pervade this youth, who spoke English almost execrably, and had shown little more than a passable knowledge of the coast of Labrador, and a keen insight into all the varied craft of hunter and fisherman.

"I was only thinking," said La Salle, evasively, speaking in the same language. "But how is it that you, who know French and German, speak English so badly?"[Pg 192]

"You will know some time, but not to-night; although I may tell you this—that I shall receive from you the greatest good that man will ever confer, or at least the realization of some long-cherished desire. God grant that it may end my long search for him, although my life end with it."

"Of whom do you speak?" asked La Salle, impressed with his manner.

"Regnar don't care talk now. Nights getting cold; so come in and look at sick boy. Ha, ha, ha! You've been tinman, tailor, cook, navigator, and now you're doctor. Come on!" And La Salle almost doubted his own sanity as he followed the old Regnie of his Labrador voyage down the side of the mound, where a moment ago an unsuspected, hidden fire had revealed itself.

Just as they were about to enter the little outer enclosure, La Salle laid his hand on the arm of his companion. "Regnie, don't for your life let the others know that I have doubt of our safety; and keep up poor Waring's spirits if you can."

Cheerfully and firmly the answer came back in good Parisian, "I will not fail you. I have no fear now, and the life of the ice is nothing new to me. When the winds have done their work, and we no longer look for the loom of the cliffs, or the hazy purple of the distant forests, I will take my turn in your place.&q............