They took their food and clothes--but Captain Kean, the last to leave the ship, of course--saved nothing of his own except his life. And it was the closest possible call for him. Just after he jumped, the ice opened like the Red Sea parting for the hosts of Pharaoh. Down went the _Wolf_ like a stone, and as she tossed and heaved and gurgled in her death-throes the ends of her spars caught on the edges of the ice and were broken off as if they were match-wood. The sea seems to dance above such a wreck with a personal, malicious vengeance. It was the old, sad story for the captain and his men. They would have to walk ashore, three hundred of them, over the miles of cruel ice. At home, their wives and children would be waiting and hoping for a grand success and a good time. Instead, after a forced and weary march of days,--going perhaps three hundred miles,--with much rowing and camping, father or brother would stagger in, his little pack of poor belongings on his sore shoulders, and throw it down, and say with a great sob: "'Tis all I've brought ye!" It is a pitiful thing indeed for a man to have traveled hundreds of miles to board a ship, in the hope of a few dollars for the risk of his life, and then to have the sea swallow up his chance, and turn him loose to the ice and snow, a ruined man. When a captain loses his ship, whatever the reason, it is almost impossible for him to obtain a command again. IV HAULED BY THE HUSKIES There was great excitement at the little village of St. Anthony, on the far northern tip of Newfoundland. Tom Bradley was coming back from a seal-hunt, and his big dogs Jim and Jack were helping him drag a flipper seal big enough to give a slice of the fat to every man, woman and child in the place. Tom had a large family, and for nine days they had tasted nothing but a little roasted seal meat. Finally Tom took his gun down from the nails over the door. It was a single-barrel muzzle-loader, meant for a boy, but he was a good shot, and had often wandered out alone over the frozen sea and come back with a nice fat bird or even a seal to show for it. "Where be you goin', Tom?" asked his anxious wife. "Out yonder." He jerked his thumb toward the wide white space of the ice-locked ocean. She ran to get his warm cap and mittens. "When'll you be back?" "I dunno. Not till I get a seal. Us has got to have somethin' to eat, an' have it soon." She found an old flour-bag, and tied up in it a few crusts of bread. "You'd ought to keep this here," said Tom. "No, Tom. You can't hunt without nothin' to eat. We'll manage somehow. We'll borrow." "Ain't nobody to borrow from," answered Tom. "Ain't nobody round here got nothin'. We uns is all starvin'. Hope Sandy Maule's letter gits to that there Dr. Grenfell." "Who's Dr. Grenfell?" "He's a doctor comin' out here from England. He's goin' to help us." "Will he have anythin' to eat?"