"It is no depot," said Hatteras; "it is a tomb."
When the corpse was entirely disinterred, it proved to be that of a young man of not more than thirty years of age. He wore the common dress of Arctic navigators, and the Doctor could not form an opinion as to the date of his death, for the body was in a state of perfect preservation.
Ere long, a second corpse was dug out, a man about fifty apparently, whose countenance bore traces of evident suffering.
"These men have never been buried!" exclaimed the Doctor. "They have met their death by just such an accident as almost befell ourselves."
"You are right, Mr. Clawbonny," replied Bell.
"Go on," said Hatteras.
Bell felt half afraid, for who could say how many more bodies might be under that heap of ice?
"Their snow hut has fallen in," said the Doctor. "Perhaps some poor fellow may be still living under the mass. Let us see."
The whole mass was speedily cleared away, and a third body dragged out; that of a man about forty. His appearance was not so cadaverous as the others, and on examining him closely, the Doctor thought he could perceive some faint tokens of life.
"He is not dead!" he exclaimed, lifting him up with Bell's assistance, and carrying him into the hut; while Hatteras stood motionless and unconcerned, contemplating the scene of the catastrophe.
The Doctor proceeded to strip the exhumed man entirely, and finding no trace of any wound about him, set to work, with Bell, to try the effect of vigorous friction with wisps of tow steeped in spirits of wine. By slow degrees they succeeded in restoring some animation, but the poor fellow was in such a state of utter exhaustion, that he was quite unable to articulate, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as if frozen.
Leaving Bell to continue the treatment, Dr. Clawbonny searched the pockets of his patient to see if he could find any letters or papers. But they were empty.
He went out to Hatteras, and found him standing with the half-burnt envelope of a letter in his hand, which he had
