They had perished of
starvation and cold, and my food and fire were of no avail, for I
had come thirteen years too late!
Chapter XXXII. The Last Of The "Pilgrim."
I could sleep but little during that long and wearying night.
Terrible thoughts haunted me--thoughts of my own peril and
loneliness, thoughts of the dead men that I had seen. Before
daybreak I was on deck, and in the dim light I noticed that the ice
which had been so scattered over the sea for the past few days had
almost disappeared.
At daylight, looking overboard at the hull of the dread ship
alongside, I observed two things. The first was that we were
drifting perceptibly southward; this was satisfactory. The second
was that the larger vessel had sunk at least a couple of inches
deeper in the water; this was alarming.
Now that it was daylight I was able to read the ship's name at her
stern, though I had first to knock away a quantity of ice and snow
from above the letters. I found that she was the Pilgrim of
Bristol. I had before perceived that she was not a whaler, nor did
she appear to have been fitted out for an Arctic voyage. I
marvelled much what had brought her to these seas, and whither she
had been bound, and what her cargo was.
More than all did I wonder what I was to do with her.
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