CHAPTER XXVI.

THE FATE OF PETER SVENDSON.

HICK fog prevailed during the day that followed the night so full of horrors for our young hero. Several times during the hours of daylight he left the hulk, and scrambled to the summit of the cliff; but on every occasion the same impenetrable veil shrouded every object from his sight.

The day wore slowly away in gloom and silence, and Charlie more than once wished himself aboard the ship that was so snugly moored on the opposite coast. He strove, however, to shake off the depression which his situation produced, and occupied himself, as a means to that end, in searching the hulk. The investigation resulted in the finding of a boat-hook, which he thought might be useful in the attempt which he resolved to make, before leaving the land, to reach the pole.

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The night passed without interruption. sound disturbed his waking hours, or startled him from slumber; and when he awoke, and went upon deck, the fog had been dispersed by a breeze, and the icebergs glittered in the first rays of the sun. Quickly despatching his breakfast, he slung his rifle and knapsack at his back, grasped the boat-hook, and started on his journey.

He did not purpose, on this occasion, to cross the glacier on which he believed Svendson to have perished, and on which he had himself had more than one narrow escape. He had observed, while on the glacier, a ridge towards the north-west, by crossing which it seemed practicable to reach the cone which, as well as he and Svendson could calculate, was the central point of the northern hemisphere.

The tracks of dogs or foxes were discernible in several places as he walked towards the slight elevation between the cliff and the glacier, and on reaching its crest he perceived, with horror, unequivocal indications of the catastrophe which had been announced by the cries he had heard, and which had drawn him from the cabin of the ancient hulk into the darkness of the night.

A few yards below the crest of the hill, a dark object lay in the snow. It would have been scarcely recognizable as human, but for the shreds

of clothing which still hung about the remnants of mortality, and which had evidently been the garments of a seaman. All around were the foot

prints of dogs or foxes, and the snow was reddened

object, and regard it more closely. The torn garments seemed those of Svendson, but the features of the corpse had been so shockingly mangled by the savage assailants that they were totally unrecognizable. Overcoming, by a powerful effort, his repugnance to touch the dead man,

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Charlie stooped down, and examined the pockets of the jacket of thick blue cloth which he wore.

The first article with which his hand came in contact was a folded map of the arctic regions, which he had often seen in the Swede's hands during the voyage, and while the ship was in winter quarters, as well as on the journey from the coast of Greenland. Next came the mysterious man's pipe and tobacco-box, the last article having his name engraved on the lid, and thus leaving no doubt on Charlie's mind that the corpse was that of the unfortunate man whom he had seen disappear in the snow at the bottom of the chasm in the glacier.

How Svendson had escaped immediate death was a mystery. Charlie had now no doubt, however, that it was he whom he had seen between decks, and that the unhappy wretch had wandered back to the land in a fit of mental aberration, and there perished by the dreadful death indicated by the torn garments and the blood-stained snow.

Transferring to his own pockets the map, pipe, and tobacco-box of the dead mariner, with a view to their delivery to Captain Webb, our hero proceeded with his search, in the hope of discovering some relic of his father, or something that might serve as a clue to the mystery in which his fate was enveloped. In the breast-pocket of the Swede's

jacket he found several sheets of note-paper, folded down the middle, and held together by an elastic band. There was nothing else, and Charlie, resuming an erect position, slipped the ligature from the packet, and endeavoured to decipher the writing with which the sheets were covered.

This was not an easy task. The packet had been wetted by sea-water, which had stained it throughout, and rendered some portions of the manuscript illegible. Other portions were so badly written, or in language so incoherent, that Charlie could gather from a hasty perusal only that the writer had jotted down and preserved some reminiscences of a voyage in which he had endured dreadful sufferings from hunger and cold. Consigning the manuscript to his pocket for a less hasty perusal at a more suitable time, he resumed his journey, therefore, keeping to the westward of the glacier and descending a gentle declivity.

Directing his course by the lofty sugar-loaf mountain which was his goal, and the snows of which were now glistening in the sunlight, he soon reached the hill which he regarded as a steppingstone to the accomplishment of his adventurous purpose, and from its summit saw the glacier on his right, and another rugged and snow-clad eminence on his left.

The glistening cone was before him, and acces