# Works of Jules Verne/Adventures of Captain Hatteras/The English at the North Pole/Chapter 30

CHAPTER XXX THE DEATH OF SIMPSON
The journey was resumed, each of the party absorbed in his own reflections about the unexpected discovery just made. Hatteras knit his brows uneasily, and said to himself:
​"What vessel can this be? What is she doing so near the Pole?"
The Doctor and Bell only thought of going to the rescue of some poor fellows like themselves, or being rescued by them.
But before long they were engrossed enough with their own dangers and difficulties, for their situation became hourly more perilous.
Simpson was getting gradually worse, and the Doctor's practiced eye saw death rapidly approaching. He could do nothing for him; he was suffering acutely himself from ophthalmia, which might end in total blindness without care. The twilight was strong enough now to cause a glaring reflection on the snow which burnt the eyes. Spectacles would have been some protection, but it was impossible to wear them, as the glasses became encrusted with ice immediately, and consequently perfectly opaque, and yet it was necessary to keep a constant look-out to avoid accidents. This must be done at all risks, so Bell and the Doctor agreed to undertake the duty in turn, and bandage their eyes in the intervals.
On the 25th of January the road become even more dangerous and difficult, from the steep declivities they met with constantly, when one false step would have precipitated them into deep ravines.
Towards evening a violent tempest swept over the snowy ridges, and soon increased to such a hurricane, that they were forced to stop and lie down on the ground. But the temperature was so low that they would all inevitably have been frozen to death, had not Bell succeeded after much difficulty in making a snow hut, in which they took shelter and recruited themselves scantily with a few morsels of pemmican and some hot tea. There were only four gallons of spirits of wine now remaining, as it was not only used in making tea and coffee, but in getting water to drink, for it must not be imagined that snow can be employed to quench thirst without being melted. In temperate countries, where the thermometer is scarcely ever so low as freezing point, it might not be injurious, but beyond the polar circle it is quite a different matter. The snow there is so intensely cold, that one could no more lay hold of it with the naked hand than red-hot iron; consequently, there is such a difference of temperature between it and the stomach, that swal​lowing any portion would actually cause suffocation. The Esquimaux would rather endure prolonged agonies of thirst than attempt to relieve it with snow.
At three in the morning, when the storm outside was at the worst, the Doctor was taking his turn at watch, and sitting in a corner of the hut, leaning against the wall, when a piteous moan from Simpson aroused his attention. He rose hastily to go to him, and struck his head against the roof, but thinking nothing more of it, he stooped down beside Simpson, and began rubbing his blue swollen legs. He had continued the friction for about a quarter of an hour, when he wanted to shift his position. On trying to get up, for he had been kneeling, he knocked his head against the roof a second time.
"This is strange!" he said to himself, and put his hand to feel above him. The roof was sinking, there was no mistake.
"Quick, quick, friends!" he exclaimed, rousing Bell and Hatteras, who started up in alarm, and in their turn struck their heads against the roof.
"We shall be crushed!" cried the Doctor. "Out! out! this minute."
It was pitch-dark inside, but they managed to drag Simpson through the opening, and just saved themselves in time, for the next minute the entire hut fell in with a loud noise.
The unfortunate travelers were now exposed to the full fury of the tempest, in addition to the extreme cold. Hatteras hastened to put up the tent; but it would not stand before the violence of the hurricane, and all they could do was to shelter themselves beneath the canvas, which was soon covered with a thick coating of snow, and preserved the poor fellows from being frozen alive.
Towards morning the storm abated, and the little party prepared to start afresh. In harnessing the dogs, Bell discerned that the wretched, half-starved animals had begun to gnaw their leather traces, and two of the beasts were evidently ill, and would not be able to go very far.
They set out again, however, for sixty miles more had yet to be traversed before they reached the goal.
On the 26th, Bell, who was in advance, called out suddenly to his companions. On hastening towards him, he pointed out a gun placed bolt upright against a mass of ice.
​Hatteras lifted it up, and found it loaded and in good condition.
"The men belonging to the Porpoise cannot be far off!" exclaimed the Doctor.
On examination, the gun proved to be of American manufacture, and the very touch of it sent a thrill through the veins of the captain.
"Forward!" he said, in hollow tones, and the cavalcade marched on, down the steep sides of the mountains. Simpson appeared to be insensible; his strength was too far gone now to moan.
The storm had by no means ceased, and the sledge went slower and slower. Only a few miles' progress was made in twenty-four hours, and, notwithstanding the severest economy, the stock of provisions was fast decreasing; but as long as more than enough remained for the journey back, Hatteras pushed forward.
On the 27th, a sextant was found half buried in the snow, and then a gourd still containing some brandy, or rather a lump of ice, in the center of which all the spirit had taken refuge in the form of a ball of snow.
It was evident that Hatteras had unintentionally got on the track of some great disaster, for in pursuing the only practicable road, he was constantly finding evidences of a terrible shipwreck. The Doctor kept a sharp look-out for any fresh cairns, but had seen none hitherto.
He felt saddened by the thought, however, that even should any poor creature be discovered, he could do nothing to help them. His companions and himself were beginning to be in want of everything. Their clothes were torn, and their provisions getting very scant. Should the shipwrecked crew be numerous, they would all perish with hunger. Hatteras appeared anxious to hurry away from the chance of meeting them; but was he not right? Was he not responsible for the lives of his men? Ought he to compromise their safety by bringing strangers on board?
Yet these strangers were fellow-men, perhaps fellow-countrymen! Ought they to be abandoned without at least an effort to save them? The Doctor asked Bell his opinion about it, but could get no reply. Suffering had hardened his heart. Clawbonny did not dare to appeal to Hatteras—all he could do was to trust to Providence.
​Towards evening Simpson grew worse, and his end seemed near. His limbs were rigid, and his face wore a terrible despairing look, which changed to one of fierce vindictive rage, whenever his glance fell on Hatteras. A whole volume of accusations and reproaches, perhaps not unmerited, might be read in the expression of his eye.
Hatteras did not go near him; he evidently shunned his presence, and was more tacitun, reserved, and incommunicative than ever.
It was a fearful night. The storm raged with redoubled violence, and three times the tent had been torn down, and the snow-drift had beat piteously on the unsheltered men, blinding their eyes, freezing them to the marrow, and cutting their faces with the sharp pieces of ice broken off the surrounding icebergs. The dogs howled lamentably, and poor Simpson lay dying. Bell succeeded once more in securing the tent, which, frail as it was, protected them from snow, if not from cold, but a sudden blast tore it up a fourth time, and whirled it completely away.
"Really this is beyond endurance!" exclaimed Bell.
"Courage!" said the Doctor, catching hold of his arm to keep himself from being blown down the ravine.
The death-rattle was heard in Simpson's throat. Suddenly he made one expiring effort, half raised himself, shook his clenched fist at Hatteras, who looked at him with fixed steady gaze, and fell back lifeless, with the unspoken execration on his lips.
"Dead!" exclaimed the Doctor.
"Dead!" echoed Bell.
Hatteras came forward to look, but was driven back by the wind. The dead man counted him his murderer, but he was not overwhelmed by the accusation, though a tear escaped his eye, and stiffened on his pale cheek.
This was the first of the crew that had fallen a victim—the first who would never return to England—the first who paid the penalty with his life of the captain's indomitable obstinacy.
The Doctor and Bell gazed at him with a sort of terror, as he stood motionless the livelong night, resting on his stick, as if defying the tempest that roared about him.
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