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"Ah, have they usually eyes and hair as brown as yours at Noroe?" "No, sir; my brother and sister, and all the others, are blondes like Miss Kajsa. But they are not dressed like her," he added, laughing; "therefore they do not look much like her." "No; I have no doubt of it," said Mr. Bredejord. "Miss Kajsa is a product of civilization.
Malarius, who returned every evening more and more delighted with his explorations, both of the country and of its unknown plants, which he added to his collection; nor to enjoy with Dr. Schwaryencrona and Mr. Bredejord the novelty of the sights which nature offered to them in these polar regions.
Bredejord, who had run in after the young lieutenant, could only verify the sad fact. But there was no time for vain regrets. Erik left to his two friends the care of lifting the body and laying it upon the couch. His duty compelled him to return to the deck, and attend to the safety of the crew and passengers. As he passed the door of Mr.
Slight as was the change in her course, it sufficed to modify sensibly the sailing of the vessel. The "Alaska" commenced to roll a great deal, and to dip her prow in the waves. The log indicated fourteen knots, and as the wind was increasing, Erik thought it prudent to take a couple of reefs. The doctor and Mr. Bredejord both became a prey to seasickness, and descended to their cabins.
Bredejord therefore concluded that they would not oppose his becoming a passenger. Then they gradually were filled with a desire to study this singular man, and find out why he wished to take passage on the "Alaska." But how could they do this without sailing with him. It would not be such an absurd thing to do after all.
"It is true," said Erik; "but the proof that the result of his maneuvers was uncertain lies in the fact that I insisted, before Captain Marsilas, that we ought still to keep to the west." "But who knows whether he has not prepared other charts to lead us astray, in case this one failed to do so?" said Mr. Bredejord.
The doctor declared that it would be politic to treat Tudor Brown with at least outward courtesy, in the hope of inducing him to speak out. Mr. Bredejord, as well as Erik, felt a great repugnance to act out such a comedy, and it was by no means certain that Dr. Schwaryencrona himself would be able to conform to his own programme.
The spirit of a hero burned in his eyes. He rose superior to the calamity which had befallen them. His ability impressed all who approached him. Even the doctor and Mr. Bredejord submitted to him like the others. The operation of preparing for their morning's work proved easier than they had hoped. Lifted by the rising waters, the vessel only required a slight force to take her off the rocks.
Erik and his friends therefore left the Red Anchor full of hope that they would soon obtain some favorable intelligence. The next day Mr. Bredejord was introduced by the Swedish consul to the chief of police of New York, and he made him acquainted with the facts which had become known to him.
He had red hair; his nose had been broken by some accident, and on his chest, on a level with his heart, these words were tattooed: "Patrick O'Donoghan Cynthia."" Here Dr. Schwaryencrona uttered a cry of surprise. "Wait! listen to the rest of it," said Mr. Bredejord; and he continued his reading: "'Being subjected to an energetic massage treatment, he was soon restored to life.
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