Steve Young

Steve Young
or, The Voyage of the "Hvalross" to the Icy Seas
by George Manville Fenn.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE REASON WHY.
"What do I think?"
"Yes, out with it. Don't be afraid."
"Oh, I'm not afraid; but I don't want to quarrel with any man, nor to
upset the lad."
"Speak out then. You will not quarrel with me, and I'm not afraid of
your upsetting the lad. I like him to know the whole truth; don't I,
Steve?"
"Yes, sir, of course," cried the boy addressed, a well-built, sturdy lad of
sixteen, fair, strong, and good-looking, and with the additional
advantage, which made him better-looking still, that he did not know it.
For though Stephen Young, son of a well-known Lincolnshire doctor
who lost his life in fighting hard to save those of others, stood in front
of a looking-glass every morning to comb his hair, he never stopped
long, and for the short space he did stay his face was convulsed and
wrinkled, eyes red, and mouth twisted all on one side, consequent upon
his being in pain as he jigged and tore with the comb trying to smooth
the unsmoothable; for Steve's hair had a habit of curling closely all over
his head; and before he had been combing a minute he used to dash the
teethed instrument away, give his crisp locks a rub, and say, "Bother!"

And now he, Captain Marsham, and Dr Handscombe stood on the
granite wharf at Nordoe, high up among the Norwegian fiords, talking
to Captain Hendal, a sturdy, elderly, ruddy-bronze giant, who acted as a
sort of amateur consul and referee for shipping folk who came and
went from the little hot-and-cold port, and who was now frowning
heavily at the trio whom he faced.
"Want me to speak out, do you, Captain Marsham, eh?"
"Of course. I came and asked you for your help and advice. I know you
to be a man of great experience, and I say once more, what do you
think?"
"Well, sir, I think you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"Why?" said Captain Marsham, smiling; and as his features relaxed, he
looked in size, ruddy-bronze complexion, and hard, weather-tanned
appearance wonderfully like the Norwegian consul.
"Because you are going to take a boy like that up into the high latitudes,
where from minute to minute you never know whether the end mayn't
come."
"The end come?" said the captain.
"Yes, and you ought to know how: stove in, crushed, sunk, lost in the
snow, frozen, starved, sir. It's one big risk, I tell you. It's all very well
for the walrus-hunters and whale-fishers, who go for their living; but
you're a gentleman, with money to fit out that steamer as you have done
it. There's no need for you to go; and if you'll take my advice, you'll
give it up."
Captain Marsham shook his head.
"You've been to sea a good deal?" said Hendal.
"Nearly all my life. Almost everywhere," said the captain, while Steve
Young listened intently to all that was said.

"But you don't know our polar ocean, sir."
"No; but I've had a pretty fair experience among the southern ice, trying
to penetrate the pack there," said Captain Marsham.
"Oh! oh! Ah, then that would help you a bit. Ice is ice, sir, all the world
over."
"Of course."
"But there, you give it up, sir: that's my advice. Take a trip a little way
if you like, and do your bit of shooting; you can do that without any
risks. Then come back. Why, only last year--let me see, it was the
beginning of June, like this is--a well-formed, strongly built schooner
touched here--the Ice Blink they called her--from Hull, Captain
Young--"
"Yes," said Captain Marsham quietly; "and they sailed north, and have
not been heard of since."
"Eh? How did you know?" cried the consul. "Oh, of course, from the
papers."
"Yes, and from other sources too, Captain Hendal. Mr Young is--"
"Was," muttered the Norwegian.
"Is, sir," said Captain Marsham sternly, "a very old friend of mine, and
this lad's uncle. We are going to try and find out where they are frozen
up."
A complete change came over the Norwegian, who took a step forward
and clapped his hands heavily upon Captain Marsham's shoulders.
Then turning smartly, he caught Steve by the hand, shook it heartily,
and ended by resting his left arm on the boy's shoulder as he gazed
down at him with his keen blue eyes looking moist.
"God bless you, my lad!" he cried in a deep voice, "and your expedition
too. Right, Captain Marsham, and I beg your pardon. I thought you

were going on a risky fowling trip, and it made me angry to think of
your taking a lad like that up