"I hope Altamont will remember he owes his life to us? "
"But do we not owe ours to him now? I grant, without us, he would not be alive at this moment; but without him and his ship, what would become of us?"
"Well, Mr. Clawbonny, you are here to keep things straight anyhow, and that is a blessing."
"I hope I may manage it, Johnson."
The journey proceeded without any fresh incident, but on the Saturday morning the travelers found themselves in a region of quite an altered character. Instead of the wide, smooth plain of ice that had hitherto stretched before them, overturned icebergs and broken hummocks covered the horizon; while the frequent blocks of fresh-water ice showed that some coast was near.
Next day, after a hearty breakfast off the bear's paws, the little party continued their route; but the road became toilsome and fatiguing. Altamont lay watching the horizon with feverish anxiety–an anxiety shared by all his companions, for, according to the last reckoning made by Hatteras, they were now exactly in latitude 83o 35" and longitude 120o 15", and the question of life or death would be decided before the day was over.
At last, about two o'clock in the afternoon, Altamont started up with a shout that arrested the whole party, and pointing to a white mass that no eye but his could have distinguished from the surrounding icebergs, exclaimed in a loud, ringing voice, “The Porpoise.”
CHAPTER VI
THE PORPOISE
It was the 24th of March, and Palm Sunday, a bright, joyous day in many a town and village of the Old World; but in this desolate region what mournful silence prevailed! No willow branches here with their silvery blossoms–not even a single withered leaf to be seen not a blade of grass!
Yet this was a glad day to the travelers, for it promised them speedy deliverance from the death that had seemed so inevitable. They hastened onward, the dogs put forth renewed energy, and Duk barked his loudest, till, before long, they arrived at the ship.
