faintly. "We're done; we're done."
"Alive, to take my place," muttered the Sculpin, as he clambered to his feet, and wrestled O'Neil to his shoulder.
He lumbered across the ice with his burden, tripped and fell; regained his feet, and plunged forward with a dogged persistence. The crack widened; but in the shadow of a berg, it was veiled with a thin rubber-ice. Putting down the now silent body, he tested the ice with his foot. The waves coiled out in widening circles until they touched the other side. It was thin ice, very pliable, the result of the extreme cold on the sheltered salt water.
With O'Neil in his arms, he might not be able to keep on the crest of the wave their weight would make. If the wave got ahead of them, left them in the hollow, the rescue party would find only the hole, when they came.
His feet were numb with frost, but he took the crumpled form in his arms and made his big try. With a running start, he glided onto the ice and ran. He heard it snapping behind him. He knew it was broken;—that the water was in the hollow, rushing after him, licking at his heels. He felt the ice sinking beneath him and, with a supreme effort, he threw the body in a sprawling heap to the firm bank of the other side. As his feet broke through the shivering glare, he pitched forward and gripped the flipper of a dead seal, frozen to the floe. His body sank into the frigid water, but he dragged himself out.
He gathered O'Neil's body into his arms and stumbled blindly toward the faint sound of the ship's horn. The air seemed filled with siren sounds, and he staggered as he walked, staggered and fell; fought his way to his feet again, reeled in a circle, lurched on a few shambling steps, and sank to the ice. He dragged himself forward until his body shielded O'Neil from the wind—and lay still.
When the rescue party found them, the blizzard had banked the snow against the Sculpin's body; but O'Neil was still alive in the shelter of the human wind-brake.
In the Sculpin's pocket they found his commission as lieutenant in the Newfoundland first contingent for overseas duty, and a newspaper clipping:
WOUNDED IN THE HAND
Lieut. Burns, first Newfoundland, is dishonorably discharged—wounded in the left hand.
Hand wounds in war are common, and nearly all alike: through the palm of the left hand, with powder marks around the hole. The military authorities know such wounds are self-inflicted—a sign of lost nerve. In desperation, the cowards shoot themselves in the left hand in order to lie sent out of the trenches.
Lieut. Burns has branded himself for life as a craven. His protests are in vain; His Majesty's troops must not be, commanded by cowards."
They found the powder-marked hole in the Sculpin's palm and buried him with his gloves on.
The whole gang enlisted as a "pals platoon," and are now with the old crew, "somewhere in France." They know now that the Sculpin got the brand hurling a bomb from the trench. It exploded just after it left his hand. A fragment drove through the palm, and the powder finished the indictment. The wound was not serious; but the military records did not show that he was left-handed.
