Chapter Twenty Eight.
Tells, among other Things, of a Notable Discovery.
Soon after this, signs of approaching winter began to make their appearance in the regions of the North Pole. The sun, which at first had been as a familiar friend night and day, had begun to absent himself not only all night, but during a large portion of each day, giving sure though quiet hints of his intention to forsake the region altogether, and leave it to the six months’ reign of night. Frost began to render the nights bitterly cold. The birds, having brought forth and brought up their young, were betaking themselves to more temperate regions, leaving only such creatures as bears, seals, walruses, foxes, wolves, and men, to enjoy, or endure, the regions of the frigid zone.
Suddenly there came a day in October when all the elemental fiends and furies of the Arctic circle seemed to be let loose in wildest revelry. It was a turning-point in the Arctic seasons.
By that time Captain Vane and his party had transported all their belongings to Great Isle, where they had taken up their abode beside old Makitok. They had, with that wizard’s permission, built to themselves a temporary stone hut, as Benjy Vane facetiously said, “on the very top of the North Pole itself;” that is, on the little mound or truncated cone of rock, in the centre of the Great Isle, on which they had already set up the observatory, and which cone was, in very truth, as nearly as possible the exact position of that long-sought-for imaginary point of earth as could be ascertained by repeated and careful observations, made with the best of scientific instruments by thoroughly capable men.
Chingatok and his father, with a large band of their followers and some of their women, had also encamped, by permission, round the Pole, where, in the intervals of the chase, they watched, with solemn and unflagging interest, the incomprehensible doings of the white men.
The storm referred to began with heavy snow—that slow, quiet, down-floating of great flakes which is so pleasant, even restful, in its effect on the senses. At first it seemed as if a golden haze were mixed with the snowfall, suggesting the idea that the sun’s rays were penetrating it.
“Most beautiful!” said Leo, who sat beside the Captain and his friends on the North Pole enjoying the view through the open doorway of the hut, and sipping a cup of coffee.
“It reminds me,” said Alf, “of Buzzby’s lines:—
“‘The snowflakes falling softly
In the morning’s golden prime,
Suggestive of a gentle touch
And the silent flight of Time.’”
“Behold a more powerful reminder of the flight of Time!” said Benjy, pointing to the aged Makitok, who, with white beard and snow-besprinkled person, came slowly towards them like the living embodiment of “Old Father Christmas.”
“Come,” said Leo, hastening to assist the old man, “let me help you up the Pole.”
Leo, and indeed all the party, had fallen in with Benjy’s humour, and habitually referred thus to their mound.
“Why comes the ancient one here through the snow?” said Captain Vane, rising and offering Makitok his seat, which was an empty packing-case. “Surely my friend does not think we would forget him? Does not Benjy always carry him his morning cup of coffee when the weather is too bad for him to come hither?”
“Truly,” returned the old man, sitting down with a sigh, “the Kablunets are kind. They never forget. Bunjee never fails to bring the cuffy, though he does sometimes pretend to forget the shoogre, till I have tasted it and made a bad face; then he laughs and remembers that the shoogre is in his pouch. It is his little way. But I come not to-day for cuffy; I come to warn. There is danger in the air. Blackbeard must take his strange things,” (thus he referred to the philosophical instruments), “away from here—from—ha!—from Nort Pole, and put them in my hut, where they will be safe.”
The Captain did not at once reply. Turning to his companions he said—
“I see no particular reason to fear this ‘danger in the air.’ I’ll go and consult Chingatok or his father on the point.”
“The ancient one, as you call him,” said Benjy, “seems to be growing timid with age.”
“The youthful one,” retorted the Captain, “seems to be growing insolent with age. Go, you scamp, and tell Amalatok I want to speak with him.”
Whatever faults our young hero had, disobedience was not one of them. He rose promptly, and soon returned with the chief of Poloeland.
Amalatok confirmed the wizard’s opinions, and both opinions were still more powerfully confirmed, while he was speaking, by a gust of wind which suddenly came rushing at them as if from all points of the compass, converging at the Pole and shooting upwards like a whirlwind, carrying several hats of the party with volumes of the now wildly agitated snow up into the sky.
There was no room for further hesitation.
“Why, Massa Bunjay, I thought my woolly scalp he hoed up ’long wid my hat!” cried Butterface, leaping up in obedience to the Captain’s hurried order to look sharp and lend a hand.
In a short time all the instruments were removed from the observatory and carefully housed in Makitok’s hut. Even while they were thus engaged the storm burst on them with excessive violence. The snow which had been falling so softly, was caught up by the conflicting winds and hurled high into the air, or driven furiously over the valley in all directions, for the gale did not come from any fixed quarter; it rose and swooped and eddied about, driving the snow-drift now here, now there, and shrieking as if in wild delight at the chaotic havoc it was permitted to play.
“Confusion worse confounded!” gasped Leo, as he staggered past Alf with the last load on his shoulder.
“And yet there must be order everywhere,” observed Chingatok, when, after all were safely housed in Makitok’s hut that evening, he heard Leo repeat that sentiment.
“Why do you think so, Chingatok?” asked the Captain with some curiosity.
“Because there is order even in my hut,” returned the giant. “Pingasuk, (referring to his wife), keeps all things in perfect order. Is the World-Maker less wise than Pingasuk? Sometimes, no doubt, when Pingasuk is cooking, or arranging, things may seem in disorder to the eye of my little boy Meltik and the small one, (referring to baby), but when Meltik and the small one grow older and wiser, they will see that it is not so.”
While Chingatok was speaking, a gust of wind more furious than ever struck the hut and shook it to its foundations. At the same time a loud rumbling sound was heard outside. Most of the men leaped up, caught hold of spears or knives, and rushed out. Through the driving drift they could just see that the observatory, which was a flimsy structure, had been swept clean away, and that the more solid hut was following it. Even as they gazed they saw its roof caught up, and whirled off as if it had been a scroll of paper. The walls fell immediately after, and the stones rolled down the rocky cone with a loud rattling, which was partially drowned by the shrieking of the tempest.
For three days the storm lasted. During that time it was almost impossible to show face in the open air. On the night of the third day the fury of the wind abated. Then it suddenly became calm, but when Butterface opened the door, and attempted to go out, he found himself effectually checked by a wall of snow. The interior of the hut was pitch dark, and it was not until a lamp had been lighted that the party found they were buried alive!
To dig themselves out was not, however, a difficult matter. But what a scene presented itself to their view when they regained the upper air! No metamorphosis conceived by Ovid or achieved by the magic lantern; no pantomimic transformation; no eccentricity of dreamland ever equalled it! When last seen, the valley was clothed in all the rich luxuriance of autumnal tints, and alive with the twitter and plaintive cry of bird-life. Now it was draped in the pure winding-sheet of winter, and silent in the repose of Arctic death. Nothing almost was visible but snow. Everything was whelmed in white. Only here and there a few of the sturdier clumps of bushes held up their loads like gigantic wedding-cakes, and broke the universal sameness of the scene. One raven was the only living representative of the birds that had fled. It soared calmly over the waste, as if it were the wizard who had wrought the change, and was admiring its work.
“Winter is upon us fairly now, friends,” said Captain Vane as he surveyed the prospect from the Pole, which was itself all but buried in the universal drift, and capped with the hugest wedding-cake of all; “we shall have to accommodate ourselves to circumstances, and prepare for the campaign.”
“I suppose the first thing we shall have to do is to build a snow-house,” said Benjy, looking ruefully round, for, as usual, he was depressed by first appearances.
“Just so, Benjy; and the sooner we go to work the better.”
Now, the reader must not hastily conclude that we are about to inflict on him or her a detailed narrative of a six months’ residence at the North Pole. We have no such fell design. Much though there is to tell,—much of suffering, more of enjoyment, many adventures, numerous stirring incidents, and not a few mishaps—we shall pass over the most of it in total silence, and touch only on those points which are worthy of special notice.
Let us leap, then, into the very middle of the Arctic winter. It is continuously dark now. There is no day at all at the Pole; it is night all round. The last glimmer of the departing sun left them months ago; the next glimmer of his return will not reach them for months to come. The northern Eskimos and their English visitors were well aware of that, nevertheless there was nothing of gloom or depressed spirits among them. They were too busy for that. Had not meat to be procured, and then consumed? Did not the procuring involve the harnessing of dogs in sledges, the trapping of foxes and wolves, the fighting of walruses, the chasing of polar bears; and did not the consuming thereof necessitate much culinary work for the women, much and frequent attention and labour on the part of the whole community, not to mention hours, and sometimes days, of calm repose?
Then, as to light, had they not the Aurora Borealis, that mysterious shimmering in the northern sky which has puzzled philosophers from the beginning of time, and is not unlikely to continue puzzling them to the end? Had they not the moon and the stars, which latter shone with a brilliancy almost indescribable, and among them the now doubly interesting Pole star, right overhead, with several new and gorgeous constellations unknown to southern climes?
Besides all this, had not Captain Vane his scientific investigations, his pendulum experiments, his wind-gauging, his ozone testing, his thermometric, barometric, and chronometric observations, besides what Benjy styled his kiteometric pranks? These last consisted in attempts to bring lightning down from the clouds by means of a kite and cord, and in which effort the Captain managed to knock himself down, and well-nigh shattered the North Pole itself in pieces!
Moreover, had not Leo to act the part of physician and surgeon to the community? a duty which he fulfilled so well that there never had been before that time such a demand for physic in Flatland, and, it is probable, there never will be so many sick people there again. In addition to this, Leo had to exercise his marvellous powers as a huntsman. Benjy, of course, played his wonted rôle of mischief-maker and jack-of-all-trades to the entire satisfaction of everybody, especially on that great occasion when he succeeded in killing a polar bear single-handed, and without the aid of gun or spear or any lethal weapon whatever;—of which great event, more hereafter. Anders, the southern Eskimo, made himself generally agreeable, and Butterface became a prime favourite, chiefly because of his inexhaustible fund of fun and good humour, coupled with his fine musical qualities.
We have not said much on this latter point hitherto, because we have been unwilling to overwhelm the reader with too sudden a disclosure of that marvellous magazine of power which was latent in our band of heroes; but we feel it to be our duty now to state that the negro sang his native melodies with such pathos that he frequently reduced, (perhaps we should say elevated), the unsophisticated Eskimos to floods of tears, and sometimes to convulsions of laughter. As, at Benjy’s suggestion, he sometimes changed his moods abruptly, the tears often mingled with the convulsions, so as to produce some vivid illustrations of Eskimo hysteria.
But Butterface’s strong point was the flute! No one who had not witnessed it could adequately conceive the poutings of thick red lips and general contortions of black visage that seemed necessary in order to draw the tones out of that simple instrument. The agonies of expression, the hissing of wind, and the turning up of whites of large black eyes,—it is past belief! The fruitless efforts of the Eskimos to imitate him were as nothing to the great original, and their delight at the sound was only equalled by their amazement at the sight.
Alf assisted the Captain scientifically and otherwise. Of course he was compelled, during the long winter, to lay aside his geological hammer and botanical box; but, then, had he not the arrangement and naming of his specimens? His chief work, however, was to act the unwonted, and, we may add, unexpected work of a lawgiver.
This duty devolved on him thus:
When Grabantak recovered health—which he was very long in doing—his spirit was so far subdued that he agreed—somewhat sulkily, it is true—to all that his prime minister had done while he held the reins of government. Then he was induced to visit Great Isle, where he was introduced to his mortal foe Amalatok, whom he found to be so much a man after his own heart that he no longer sighed for the extraction of his spinal marrow or the excision of his liver, but became a fast friend, and was persuaded by Alf to agree to a perpetual peace. He also took a great fancy to Chingatok, who begged of Alf to read to the chief of Flatland some of the strange and new ideas contained in his little book.
Alf willingly complied, and for hours these northern savages sat in rapt attention listening to the Bible story.
“My son,” said Grabantak one evening to Chingatok, “if we are henceforth to live in peace, why not unite and become one nation?”
“Why not?” echoed Chingatok.
When Amalatok and Makitok heard the question propounded, they also said, “Why not?” and, as nobody objected, the thing was settled off-hand then and there.
“But,” said the prime minister of Flatland, starting a difficulty, “who is to be greatest chief?”
Amalatok, on whose mind the spirit of Christianity had been gradually making an impression, said promptly, “Let Grabantak be chief. He is wise in council and brave in war.”
Grabantak had instantly jumped to the conclusion that he ought to be greatest chief, and was about to say so, when Amalatok’s humility struck him dumb. Recovering himself he replied—
“But there is to be no mere war! and I have been a warrior. No, let Amalatok be great chief. He is old, and wisdom lies with age.”
“I am not so sure of that!” muttered Captain Vane to himself in English; then to the giant in Eskimo, “What says Chingatok?”
“May I speak, my father?” said the giant, dutifully, to Amalatok.
“You may speak, my son.”
“Then,” continued Chingatok, “I would advise that there should be three chiefs, who shall be equal—my father, Grabantak, and Makitok. Let these consult about our affairs. Let the people appoint twelve men to hold council with them, and what the most of them agree to shall be done.”
After some further talk this compromise was agreed to.
“But the laws of Poloeland and those of Flatland are different,” said Amalatok, starting another objection. “We must have the same laws.”
“My brother chief is wise,” said Grabantak. “Let us have new laws, and let that wise young Kablunet, Alf, make them.”
“Both my brother chiefs are wise,” said Makitok. “Let it be done, and let him take the laws out of the little thing that speaks to him.” (Thus they referred to the Bible, having no word in their language by which to name it.)
Great was the surprise of Alf at the honour and labour thus thrust upon him, but he did not shrink from it. On the contrary, he set to work at once with notebook and pencil, and set down the two “Great Commandments:” “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind;” and, “Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself,” as the first law in the new code. He set down as the second the golden rule, “Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them.”
Proceeding from these as a basis, he worked his way gradually down the code till he had embraced nearly all the possibilities of Eskimo life—a work which kept him busy all the winter, and was not quite finished when “time and tide” obliged him and his companions to quit the land.
Now, not long after this eventful council, Benjy Vane burst rather irreverently into his father’s hut with excited looks, holding what looked like an old book in his hand.
“What have you got there, lad?”
“I’ve got it at last, father! You know I’ve been trying to wheedle old Makitok into letting me open his mysterious bundle. Well, I prevailed on him to let me do it this afternoon. After unrolling bundle after bundle, I came at last to the centre, and found that it contained nothing whatever but this book, wrapped up in an old cotton pocket-handkerchief. The book is very old, father. See, 1611 on the first page. I did not take time to glance at more than that, but brought it straight away to you.”
“Hand it over, Benjy,” said the Captain eagerly. “This accounts for the mysterious ‘buk’ that we’ve heard so much about.”
He received the little book with a look of tender curiosity and opened it carefully, while Leo, Alf, and his son looked on over his shoulder.
“1611, sure enough,” he said, “though not very legible. The characters are queer, too. Try, Alf, what you can make of it.”
Alf took the book. As he did so old Makitok entered, somewhat anxious as to what they were doing with his treasure. Being quieted by the Captain with a draught of cold tea, and made to sit down, the examination of the book proceeded.
“It is much worn, and in places is almost illegible, as might be expected,” said Alf. “Let me see. ‘Coast of Labrador, (something illegible here), 1611. This day the mutineers took possess ... (can’t make out what follows), and put Captain Hudson, with his son, myself, the carpenter, and five sick men into the dinghy, casting us, (blank), with some, (blank), and one cask of water. I begin this diary to-day. It may never be seen by man, but if it does fall into the hands of any one who can read it, he will do a service to ... by conveying ... England.—John Mackintosh, seaman.’
“Can it be possible?” said Alf, looking up from the relic with an expression of deep solemnity, “that we have found a record of that great Arctic explorer, the unfortunate Henry Hudson?”
“It seems like it, Alf; read on,” said Leo, eagerly.
We will not further trouble the reader with Alf’s laboured deciphering of this curious and ancient notebook, which was not only stained and worn, but in many places rudely torn, as if its owner had seen much hard service. We will merely run over a few of the chief points which it cleared up. Unfortunately, it threw no additional light on the fate of poor Hudson. Many of the first pages of the book which no doubt treated of that, had been destroyed and the legible portion began in the middle of a record of travelling with a sledge-party of Eskimos to the north of parallel 85 degrees 20 minutes—a higher northern latitude, it will be observed, than had been reached by any subsequent explorer except Captain Vane. No mention being made of English comrades, the presumption remained that they had all been killed or had died—at all events that Mackintosh had been separated from them, and was the only survivor of the party travelling with the Eskimos.
Further on the journal, which was meagre in detail, and kept in the dry form of a log-book, spoke of having reached a far northern settlement. Reference was also made to a wife and family, leading to the conclusion that the seaman had permanently cast in his lot with the savages, and given up all hope of returning to his native land.
One sentence near the end caused a considerable sensation, and opened their eyes to a fact which they might have guessed if they had not been too much taken up with the spelling out of the faded pencilling to think of it at first.
Alf read it with difficulty. It ran thus:—
“Another boy born to-day. His name is Igluk. It is only the eldest boy of a family, in this tribe, who bears his father’s surname. My eldest alone goes by the name of Mackintosh. His eldest will bear the same name, and so on. But these Eskimos make a sad mess of it. I doubt if my Scotch kinsmen would recognise us under the name of Makitok which is the nearest—”
“Makitok!” shouted Benjy, gazing open-eyed at the white-bearded wizard, who returned the gaze with some astonishment.
“Why, old boy,” cried the boy, jumping up and seizing the wizard’s hand, “you’re a Scotsman!”
“So he is,” said the Captain with a look of profound interest.
“And I say,” continued Benjy, in a tone so solemn that the eyes of all the party were turned on him, “we did find him sitting on the North Pole!”
“And what of that, you excitable goose?” said the Captain.
“Goose, father! Am I a goose for recognising the fulfilment of an ancient prophecy? Has it not been a familiar saying, ever since I was born, that when the North Pole was discovered, a Scotsman would be found sitting on the top of it?”
“Unfortunately, Ben,” returned Alf with a laugh, “the same prophecy exists in other lands. Among the Germans, I believe, it is held that a Bohemian and a Jew will be found on the top of it.”
“That only confirms the correctness of prophecy in general,” retorted Benjy, “for this man unites all these in his own person. Does not this notebook prove him to be a Scot? Have we not just found him? which proves him to be one of a ‘lost tribe’—in other words, a Jew; and, surely, you’ll admit that, in appearance at least, he is Bohemian enough for the settlement of any disputed question. Yes, he’s a Scotch Bohemian Jew, or I’m a Dutchman.”
This discovery seemed almost too much for Benjy. He could not think or talk of anything else the remainder of that day.
Among other things he undertook to explain to Makitok something of his origin and antecedents.
“Ancient one,” he said earnestly, through the medium of Anders, when he had led the old man aside privately, “you come of a grand nation. They are called Scots, and are said to be remarkably long-headed and wonderfully cautious. Great warriors, but greater at the arts of peace. And the fellow you call your first father was a Mackintosh, (probably chief of all the Mackintoshes), who sailed nearly 270 years ago to search for this very ‘North Pole’ that we have got hold of at last. But your first father was not the leader, old boy. He was only a seaman. The leader was Henry Hudson—a man who ranks among the foremost of Arctic explorers. He won’t be able to understand what that means, Anders, but no matter—translate it the best way you can. This Henry Hudson was one of the most thorough and extensive searchers of these regions that ever sailed the northern seas. He made many important discoveries, and set out on his last voyage intending to sail right over the North Pole to China, which I daresay he would have done, had not his rascally crew mutinied and cast him and his little son, with seven other men, adrift in a little boat—all of whom perished, no doubt, except your first father, Makitok, my ancient tulip!”
He wound up this summary by grasping and shaking the wizard’s hand, and then flung off, to expend his feelings on other members of the community.
Chapter Twenty Nine.
A Runaway Journey and a Tremendous Experiment.
As winter advanced, Captain Vane continued to keep up the interest of the Eskimos, and to increase their respect for the Kablunets, by gradually unfolding the various sources of power which were at his command.
He did this judiciously, just giving them a taste of the marvellous now and then to whet their appetites. He was particularly careful, however not to practise on their credulity or to pass himself off as a conjuror. He distinctly stated that all his powers were derived from God,—their father and his,—and that he only excelled them in some matters because of having had better opportunities of acquiring knowledge.
Among other things, he effected an adaptation of his kites which produced results so surprising that we feel bound to describe them particularly.
During the winter he found, as he had expected, that the average temperature at the Pole was not nearly so cold as that experienced in lower latitudes. As far as mere feeling went, indeed, the cold seemed severe enough; nevertheless it was not sufficiently intense to freeze the great ocean, which remained an “open basin” all the year round,—a result which was doubtless owing to the upflow of the warm under-currents from the equator, referred to in a previous chapter.
This, however, did not apply to the waters lying directly around the Poloe and Flatland groups. In these archipelagos the waters being shallow, the frost was quite intense enough to cool them to the bottom. Hence the sea immediately round the islands was covered with a thick coat of solid ice, which resembled in all respects the ordinary Arctic sea-ice, being hummocky in some places, comparatively smooth in others, with a strong iceberg here and there caught and imprisoned amongst it.
As this ice surrounded all the Polar land, and stretched out to sea far beyond the reach of vision, it followed that there was little or no difference between the winter experience of our discoverers and that of all other Arctic voyagers. This realm of what we may style island-ice stretched away, all round, in the direction of the Arctic circle, getting thinner and thinner towards its outer margin, until at last it became sludgy, and, finally, melted away into the open sea. This open sea, in its turn, stretched southward, all round, to the known Arctic regions. Thus the Arctic basin was found to be a zone of open water, surrounded by ice on the south, and with a patch of ice and land in its centre.
Now, it was a strong desire on the part of Captain Vane to visit the southern edge of this central ice-patch on which he dwelt, that induced him to try the kite adaptation before referred to.
“Benjy, my boy,” said he, one fine winter day, when the galaxy of stars, the full moon, and an unusually brilliant aurora, diffused a strong light over the undulations of Cup Valley, “I have a notion of taking a trip to the s’uth’ard soon.”
“Which s’uth’ard d’you think of going to, father?” asked the boy.
In case any reader should hastily exclaim, “What a ridiculous question; there can be only one southward!” we beg leave to point out that at the North Pole every direction lies to the southward, and that, as there is necessarily no east or west at all, there is therefore no possibility of stating by compass to what part of the south one intends to go. Of course it was open to the Captain to have said he intended to descend south on one of the degrees of longitude, or between any two of them, and then, immediately on quitting the Pole the old familiar east and west would, as it were, return to him. But he found it more convenient, on the whole, having got beyond all latitude, to indicate his intended route by well-known objects of the land.
“I’m going to steer for the starboard side of Poloeland,” he said, “pay a short visit to Grabantak and Amalatok in passing, and then carry on south to the open water.”
“It’ll be a longish trip, father.”
“Not so long as you expect, my boy, for I mean to go by express.”
Benjy’s eyes twinkled, for he knew that some new device was working in his father’s brain, which brain never failed to bring its plans to maturity.
“What is it to be, father?”
“You go and fetch two of the kites, Benjy, and you’ll soon find out. Overhaul them well and see that everything is taut and shipshape. Let Butterface help you, and send Alf and Chingatok to me. I suppose Leo is off after musk-oxen, as usual.”
“Yes; he pretends that the camp wants a supply of fresh meat. He’d pretend that as an excuse for hunting even if we were all dying of surfeit.”
Soon afterwards the Captain was seen, followed by his usual companions and a company of Eskimos, dragging two sledges to the upper ridge of Cup Valley. One sledge was lightly, the other heavily, laden.
“You’ve brought plenty of supplies, I hope, Alf?” asked the leader.
“Yes, enough for three weeks. Will that do?”
“Quite enough, lad; but it may not be wanted, as I’m going south in a direction we’ve not yet tried, where I expect to find the open water close to us. It’s well, however, to have enough of meat at all times.”
“No fear of its being too much, father,” said Benjy. “When Butterface goes with us, a three weeks’ allowance usually disappears in a fortnight.”
“Nebber mind, Massa,” said the negro seriously. “You’ve plenty for tree weeks dis time, ’cause I’s off my feed. Got Polar dimspepsy, or suffin’ o’ dat sort, I tink.”
“You’ve brought the electrical machine, of course, and the dynamite, Alf?” asked the Captain.
“Of course. I never prepare for a trip without these. There’s no saying, you see, when we may require them—either to blow up obstructions or astonish the natives.”
“The natives are past astonishing now,” remarked Benjy; “nothing short of a ten thousand jar battery would astonish Chingatok, and I’m quite sure that you couldn’t rouse a sentiment of surprise in Oolichuk, unless you made him swallow a dynamite cartridge, and blew him inside out. But, I say, daddy, how long are you going to keep us in the dark about your plans? Don’t you see that we are in agonies of suspense?”
“Only till we gain the ridge, Benjy. It will be down-hill after that, and the snow-crust comparatively smooth as well as hard.”
Arrived at the ridge, one of the kites was unfolded and sent up. The breeze was steady, and sufficiently strong. It took twenty Eskimos to hold it when allowed full play, and even these it jerked about in a manner that highly diverted them. These Eskimos were very fond of kite-flying, for its own sake, without reference to utility!
“I knew you were going to try it on the sledge,” exclaimed Benjy, with sparkling eyes.
“Why did you ask me about it, then?” returned the Captain.
“Do let me make the first trial, father!”
Captain Vane was fastening the drag-line to the fore part of the light sledge, and refused, at first, to listen to the boy’s entreaties, fearing that some accident might befall him.
“You know how accustomed I am to manage the kites, father. There’s not the least fear; and I’ll be superhumanly cautious.”
There was no resisting Benjy’s tone and eyes. He was allowed to take his place on the sledge as manager. Butterface sat behind to steer. Steering was to be managed by means of a stout pole, pressed varyingly on the snow on either side.
“Don’t go more than a mile or so, my boy,” said the Captain, in a serious tone. “It’s only a trial, you know. If it succeeds, we’ll divide the loading of the sledges, and make a fair start in company.”
Benjy promised to manipulate the check-string with care. The struggling natives were ordered to let the kite straighten the slack of the line gradually.
“Are you ready, Ben?”
“All right, father.”
“Got your hand on the check-string? Mind, it will pull hard. Now—let go!”
The natives obeyed. Benjy at the same instant hauled sharply on the check-string, intending to tilt the kite well forward, and start in a slow, stately manner, but there was a hitch of some sort somewhere, for the string would not act. The kite acted, however, with its full force. Up went the fore part of the sledge as it flew off like an arrow from a bow, causing Butterface to throw a back somersault, and leaving him behind.
Benjy held on to the head of the sledge, and made violent efforts to free the check-string. Fortunately, the surface of the snow was smooth.
“After him, lads,” roared the Captain, setting a brave example, and for some time heading the natives in the chase; but a few moments sufficed to prove the hopelessness of the race.
Tug as Benjy would at the regulator, it refused to act. Fortunately, being made of silk, it did not break. By this time the kite had attained its maximum speed, equal, as the Captain said, to a twenty-knot breeze. At first the surface of the snow was so smooth and hard, that Benjy, being busy with the obdurate regulator, did not appreciate the speed.
When he gave up his attempts with a sigh of despair, he had leisure to look around him. The sledge was gliding on with railway speed. One or two solitary hummocks that looked like white sentinels on the level plain, went past him with an awful rush, and several undulations caused by snow-drift were crossed in a light leap which he barely felt. Benjy was fully aware of his danger. To meet with a hummock no bigger than a wheelbarrow, would, in the circumstances, have entailed destruction; he therefore seized a pole which formed part of the sledge-gear, and tried steering. It could be done, but with great difficulty, as he had to sit in the front of the sledge to keep it down.
Recklessly jovial though he was, the boy could not contemplate his probable fate without misgiving. Nothing was visible in all the white illimitable plain save a hummock here and there, with a distant berg on the horizon. He could not expect the level character of the ice to extend far. Whither was he going? South he knew; but in that direction, his father had often told him, lay the open sea. The moon seemed to smile on him; the aurora appeared to dance with unwonted vigour, as if in glee; the very stars winked at him!
“What if a chasm or a big hummock should turn up?” thought Benjy.
The thought seemed to produce the dreaded object, for next moment a large hummock appeared right ahead. Far away though it was, the awful pace brought it quickly near. The poor boy struggled—he absolutely agonised—with the pole. His efforts were successful. The hummock went past like a meteor, but it was a horribly close shave, and Benjy felt his very marrow shrink, while he drew himself up into the smallest possible compass to let it go by.
A bump soon after told that the ice was getting more rugged. Then he saw a ridge before him. Was it large or small? Distance, the uncertain light, and imagination, magnified it to a high wall; high as the wall of China. In wild alarm our hero tugged at the regulator, but tugged in vain. The wall of China was upon him—under him. There was a crash. The sledge was in the air. Moments appeared minutes! Had the vehicle been suddenly furnished with wings? No! Another crash, which nearly shut up his spine like a telescope, told him that there were no wings. His teeth came together with a snap. Happily his tongue was not between them! Happily, too, the sledge did not overturn, but continued its furious flight.
“Oh, you villain!” exclaimed Benjy, shaking his fist at the airy monster which was thus dragging him to destruction.
If Benjy had been asked to state the truth just then, he would have found it hard to say whether consternation or delight were uppermost. It was such a glorious rush! But then, how was it to end? Well, he did not dare to think of that. Indeed he had not time to think, for troubles came crowding on him. A violent “swish!” and a sudden deluge told him that what he had taken for glassy ice was open water. It was only a shallow pool, however. Next moment he was across it, and bumping violently over a surface of broken ice.
The water suggested the fear that he must be nearing the open sea, and he became supernaturally grave. Fortunately, the last crash had been passed without dislocating the parts of either sledge or rider. A long stretch of smooth ice followed, over which he glided with ever-increasing speed.
Thus he continued to rush over the frozen sea during a considerable part of that night.
Poor Benjy! he became half-mad with excitement at last. The exaltation of his little spirit at the risky neck-or-nothing dash, coupled with horror at the certainty of a terrible climax, was almost too much for him. He gave vent to his feelings in a wild cheer or yell, and, just then, beheld an iceberg of unusual size, looming up on the horizon before him. Knowing by experience that he would soon be up to it, he used his pole with all his might, hoping to steer clear of it. As he drew nearer, he saw a dark line on either side of the berg. A feeling of deadly alarm filled him. It was the open sea! and he had to choose between being plunged into it or dashed against the berg. It occurred to him then, for the first time, that a third resource was open—he might cut the rope, and let the kite go free! Amazed at his stupidity in not thinking of this before, he took out his clasp-knife, but before applying it, made a last effort to move the regulator. Strange to say, the silken cord yielded to the first pull, as if nothing had been wrong with it at all! The head of the runaway kite was thrown forward, and it came wavering down in eccentric gyrations, while the sledge gradually lost way, and came to a standstill not fifty yards from the berg.
Up to this point what may be termed the northern island-ice continued unbroken, but beyond the berg it was broken up into floes, and, not six hundred yards out, it tailed away to the southward in what whalers term stream-ice. The berg itself was obviously aground.
The first object that met Benjy’s eyes, after coming to a halt, was an enormous polar bear. This was no strange sight to the boy by that time, but it was awkward in the circumstances, for he had neither gun nor spear. Even if he had possessed the latter he was too young and light to cope successfully with the shaggy white king of Arctic beasts.
From the attitude of the animal it appeared to be watching something. In truth, it was so intently engaged with a sleeping seal that it had not observed the approach of the sledge. Profiting by this, Benjy quietly moved away round a colossal buttress of the berg, and took refuge in an ice-cave. But such refuge, he knew, could avail him nothing if the bear should scent him out and search for him. Looking hastily round and up into the dark blue cavern, he espied a projecting ledge of ice about thirteen feet above the level of the floor. On this he resolved to perch himself.
His first care was to examine the contents of the sledge. We have said it had been lightly laden at starting, which was the reason of the tremendous pace at which it travelled. Although there was neither spear nor gun, the anxious boy was somewhat comforted to find an axe strapped in its accustomed place; also a blanket, sleeping-bag, and musk-ox skin, besides a mass of frozen blubber, but there was nothing else of an eatable nature. There was, however, a box containing the captain’s sextant, the electrical machine, and a packet of dynamite cartridges.
Regarding these latter objects with a sigh of disappointment, Benjy seized the axe and hastened towards the ledge of ice, muttering to himself in a confidential tone—
“You see, old boy, if that bear takes a fancy to call on you, it will be as well to be able to say, ‘Not at home,’ for he could make short work of you, much though you think of yourself. Yes, this ledge is high enough to bid you defiance, mister bear, and it’s long and broad enough to hold me and my belongings. The knobs by which to climb to it, too, are easy—too easy—but I’ll soon rectify that. Now, then, look alive, Benjy, boy, for if that bear don’t catch that seal he’ll be sure to look you up.”
Ceasing to speak, he actively conveyed the contents of the sledge to his shelf of refuge. Then he cut away the knobs by which he climbed to it, until there was barely sufficient for his own tiny toes to rest on. That done, he went to the mouth of the cavern to look about him.
What he saw there may be guessed from the fact that he returned next moment, running at full speed, stumbling over ice lumps, bumping his shins and knees, dropping his axe, and lacerating his knuckles. He had met the bear! Need we add that he gained his perch with the agility of a tree-squirrel!
The bear, surprised, no doubt, but obviously sulky from the loss of the seal, entered the cave sedately with an inquiring look. It saw Benjy at once, and made prodigious efforts to get at him. As the monster rose on its hind legs and reached its paws towards his shelf, the poor boy’s spirit seemed to melt, indeed his whole interior felt as if reduced to a warm fluid, while a prickly heat broke out at his extremities, perspiration beaded his brow, and his heart appeared to have settled permanently in his throat.
These distressing symptoms did not, however, last long, for he quickly perceived that the bear’s utmost stretch did not reach nearer than three or four feet of him. Some of the alarm returned, however, when the creature attempted to climb up by his own ladder. Seven or eight times it made the attempt, while the boy watched in breathless anxiety, but each time it slipped when half-way up, and fell with a soft heavy thud on the ice below, which caused it to gasp and cough. Then it sat down on its haunches and gazed at its little foe malignantly.
“Bah! you brute!” exclaimed Benjy, whose courage was returning, “I’m not a bit afraid of you!” He leant against the wall of his refuge, notwithstanding this boast, and licked the ice to moisten his parched lips.
After a rest the bear made another trial, and twice it succeeded in planting the claws of one huge paw on the edge of the shelf, but Benjy placed his heel against the claws, thrust them off, and sent the bear down each time howling with disappointment.
Sailing softly among the constellations in the aurora-lighted sky, the moon sent a bright ray into the cavern, which gleamed on the monster’s wicked eyes and glistening teeth; but Benjy had begun to feel comparatively safe by that time, and was becoming “himself again.”
“Don’t you wish you may get me?” he asked in a desperately facetious spirit.
The bear made no reply, but turned to examine the contents of the ice-cave. First he went to the hatchet and smelt it. In doing so he cut his nose. With a growl he gave the weapon an angry pat, and in so doing cut his toes. We fear that Benjy rejoiced at the sight of blood, for he chuckled and made the sarcastic remark, “That comes of losing your temper, old fellow!”
That bear either understood English, or the very sound of the human voice caused it irritation, for it turned and rushed at the ice-ledge with such fury that Benjy’s heart again leaped into his throat. He had, however, recovered sufficiently to enable him to act with promptitude and discretion. Sitting down with his right foot ready, and his hands resting firmly on the ice behind him, he prepared to receive the charge in the only available manner. So fierce was the onset that the monster ran up the ice-cliff like a cat, and succeeded in fixing the terrible claws of both feet on the edge of the shelf, but the boy delivered his right heel with such force that the left paw slipped off. The left heel followed like lightning, and the right paw also slipped, letting the bear again fall heavily on the ice below.
This was more than even a bear could bear. He rushed savagely about the cavern, growling hideously, dashing the sledge about as if it had been a mere toy, and doing all the mischief he could, yet always avoiding the axe with particular care—thus showing that polar bears, not less than men, are quite awake to personal danger, even when supposed to be blind with rage! At last he lay down to recover himself, and lick his bloody nose and paw.
While Benjy sat contemplating this creature, and wondering what was to be the end of it all, a bright idea occurred to him. He rose quickly, took the electrical machine out of its box, and happily found it to be in good working order—thanks to Alf, who had special charge of the scientific instruments, and prided himself on the care with which he attended to them. The bear watched him narrowly with its wicked little eyes, though it did not see fit to cease its paw-licking.
Having arranged the machine, Benjy took the two handles in his left hand, pressed his knee on the board of the instrument to hold it steady, and with his right hand caused it to revolve. Then he held down the handles as if inviting the bear to come and take them.
The challenge was accepted at once. Bruin cantered up, rose on his hind legs, and stretched his neck to its utmost, but could not reach the handles, though the boy stretched downward as far as possible to accommodate him. The dirty-white monster whined and snickered with intense feeling at thus finding itself so near, and yet so far, from the attainment of its object.
Sympathising with its desires, Benjy changed his posture, and managed just to touch the nose of his enemy. The bear shrank back with a sort of gasp, appalled—at least shocked—by the result! After a little, not feeling much the worse for it, the brute returned as if to invite another electric shock—perhaps with some sinister design in view. But another and a brighter idea had entered Benjy’s brain. Instead of giving the bear a shock, he tore off a small bit of seal-blubber from the mass at his side, which he dropped into its mouth. It swallowed that morsel with satisfaction, and waited for more. Benjy gave it more. Still it wanted more.
“You shall have it, my boy,” said Benjy, whose eyes assumed that peculiar glare of glee which always presaged some desperate intention.
He opened another small box, and found what he wanted. It was a small object scarcely a couple of inches in length. He fastened the wires of the electric machine quickly to it, and then imbedded it in a small piece of blubber which he lowered, as before, to the bear.
“You’ll probably break the wires or smash the machine, but I’ll risk that,” muttered Benjy through his set teeth. “I only hope you won’t chew it, because dynamite mayn’t be palatable. There—down with it!”
The bear happily bolted the morsel. The wires seemed to perplex him a little, but before he had time to examine the mystery, the boy gave the instrument a furious turn.
Instantly there was a stupendous crash like a very thunderbolt. The bear burst like an overcharged cannon! Benjy and the berg collided, and at that moment everything seemed to the former to vanish away in smoke, leaving not even a wrack behind!
Chapter Thirty.
Leo in Danger next! A Novel Mode of Rescue.
When the catastrophe described in the last chapter occurred, Captain Vane and his friends, following hard on the heels of the runaway, chanced to be within two miles of the berg in the bosom of which Benjy had found refuge.
“There he is!” shouted the Captain joyfully, as the flash of the explosion reached his eyes and the roar of the report his ears. “Blessed evidence! He’s up to mischief of some sort still, and that’s proof positive that he’s alive.”
“But he may have perished in this piece of mischief,” said Alf, anxiously glancing up at the kite, which was dragging the heavily-laden sledge rather slowly over the rough ice.
“I hope not, Alf. Shake the regulator, Butterface, and see that it’s clear.”
“All right, Massa. Steam’s on de berry strongest what’s possible.”
“Heave some o’ the cargo overboard, Alf. We must make haste. Not the meat, lad, not the meat; everything else before that. So. Mind your helm, Chingatok; she’ll steer wildish when lightened.”
Captain Vane was right. When Alf had tumbled some of the heavier portions of lading off the sledge, it burst away like a wild-horse let go free, rendering it difficult at first for Chingatok to steady it. In a few minutes, however, he had it again under control, and they soon reached the berg.
“The dynamite must have gone off by accident,” said the Captain to Alf, as they stumbled over masses of ice which the explosion had brought down from the roof of the cavern. “It’s lucky it didn’t happen in summer, else the berg might have been blown to atoms. Hallo! what’s this? Bits of a polar bear, I do believe—and—what! not Benjy!”
It was indeed Benjy, flat on his back like a spread-eagle, and covered with blood and brains; but his appearance was the worst of his case, though it took a considerable time to convince his horrified friends of that fact.
“I tell you I’m all right, father,” said the poor boy, on recovering from the state of insensibility into which his fall had thrown him.
“But you’re covered from head to foot with blood,” exclaimed the anxious father, examining him all over, “though I can’t find a cut of any sort about you—only one or two bruises.”
“You’ll find a bump on the top of my head, father, the size of a cocoa-nut. That’s what knocked the senses out o’ me, but the blood and brains belong to the bear. I lay no claim to them.”
“Where is the bear?” asked Alf, looking round.
“Where is he?” echoed Benjy, bursting into a wild laugh.
“Oh! Massa Benjy, don’t laugh,” said Butterface solemnly; “you hab no notion wot a awful look you got when you laugh wid sitch a bloody face.”
This made Benjy laugh more than ever. His mirth became catching, and the negro’s solemn visage relaxed into an irrepressible grin.
“Oh, you japan-jawed porpoise!” cried Benjy, “you should have seen that bear go off—with such a crack too! I only wish I’d been able to hold up for two seconds longer to see it properly, but my shelf went down, and I had to go along with it. Blown to bits! No—he was blown to a thousand atoms! Count ’em if you can.”
Again Benjy burst into uproarious laughter.
There was indeed some ground for the boy’s way of putting the case. The colossal creature had been so terribly shattered by the dynamite cartridge, that there was scarcely a piece of him larger than a man’s hand left to tell the tale.
“Well, well,” said the Captain, assisting his son to rise, “I’m thankful it’s no worse.”
“Worse, father! why, it couldn’t be worse, unless, indeed, his spirit were brought alive again and allowed to contemplate the humbling condition of his body.”
“I don’t refer to the bear, Benjy, but to yourself, lad. You might have been killed, you know, and I’m very thankful you were not—though you half-deserve to be. But come, we must encamp here for the night and return home to-morrow, for the wind has been shifting a little, and will be favourable, I think, in the morning.”
The wind was indeed favourable next morning, we may say almost too favourable, for it blew a stiff breeze from the south, which steadily increased to a gale during the day. Afterwards the sky became overcast and the darkness intense, rendering it necessary to attend to the kite’s regulator with the utmost care, and advance with the greatest caution.
Now, while the Captain and his friends were struggling back to their Polar home, Leo Vandervell happened to be caught by the same gale when out hunting. Being of a bold, sanguine, and somewhat reckless disposition, this Nimrod of the party paid little attention to the weather until it became difficult to walk and next to impossible to see. Then, having shot nothing that day, he turned towards the Pole with a feeling of disappointment.
But when the gale increased so that he could hardly face it, and the sky became obliterated by falling and drifting snow, disappointment gave place to anxiety, and he soon realised the fact that he had lost his direction. To advance in such circumstances was out of the question, he therefore set about building a miniature hut of snow. Being by that time expert at such masonry, he soon erected a dome-shaped shelter, in which he sat down on his empty game-bag after closing the entrance with a block of hard snow.
The position of our hunter was not enviable. The hut was barely high enough to let him sit up, and long enough to let him lie down—not to stretch out. The small allowance of pemmican with which he had set out had long ago been consumed. It was so dark that he could not see his hand when close before his eyes. He was somewhat fatigued and rather cold, and had no water to drink. It was depressing to think of going to bed in such circumstances with the yelling of an Arctic storm for a lullaby.
However, Leo had a buoyant spirit, and resolved to “make the best of it.” First of all he groped in his game-bag for a small stove lamp, which he set up before him, and arranged blubber and a wick in it, using the sense of touch in default of sight. Then he struck a light, but not with matches. The Englishmen’s small stock of congreves had long since been exhausted, and they were obliged to procure fire by the Eskimo method, namely, a little piece of wood worked like a drill, with a thong of leather, against another piece of wood until the friction produced fire. When a light had been thus laboriously obtained, he applied it to the wick of his lamp, and wished fervently for something to cook.
It is proverbial that wishing does not usually achieve much. After a deep sigh, therefore, Leo turned his wallet inside out. Besides a few crumbs, it contained a small lump of narwhal blubber and a little packet. The former, in its frozen state, somewhat resembled hard butter. The latter contained a little coffee—not the genuine article, however. That, like the matches, had long ago been used up, and our discoverers were reduced to roasted biscuit-crumbs. The substitute was not bad! Inside of the coffee-packet was a smaller packet of brown sugar, but it had burst and allowed its contents to mingle with the coffee.
Rejoiced to find even a little food where he had thought there was none, Leo filled his pannikin with snow, melted it, emptied into it the compound of coffee and sugar, put it on the lamp to boil, and sat down to watch, while he slowly consumed the narwhal butter, listening the while to the simmering of the pannikin and the roaring of the gale.
After his meagre meal he wrapped himself in his blanket, and went to sleep.
This was all very well as long as it lasted, but he cooled during the night, and, on awaking in the morning, found that keen frost penetrated every fibre of his garments and every pore of his skin. The storm, however, was over; the moon and stars were shining in a clear sky, and the aurora was dancing merrily. Rising at once he bundled up his traps, threw the line of his small hand-sledge over his shoulder, and stepped out for home. But cold and want of food had been telling on him. He soon experienced an unwonted sense of fatigue, then a drowsy sensation came over him.
Leo was well aware of the danger of giving way to drowsiness in such circumstances, yet, strange to say, he was not in the least afraid of being overcome. He would sit down to rest, just for two minutes, and then push on. He smiled, as he sat down in the crevice of a hummock, to think of the frequent and needless cautions which his uncle had given him against this very thing. The smile was still on his lips when his head drooped on a piece of ice, and he sank into a deep slumber.
Ah, Leonard Vandervell! ill would it have been for thee if thou hadst been left to thyself that day; but sharp eyes and anxious hearts were out on the icy waste in search of thee!
On arriving at his winter quarters, and learning that Leo had not yet returned, Captain Vane at once organised an elaborate search-expedition. The man who found him at last was Butterface.
“Oh, Massa Leo!” exclaimed that sable creature on beholding the youth seated, white and cold, on the hummock; but he said no more, being fully alive to the danger of the situation.
Rushing at Leo, he seized and shook him violently, as if he had been his bitterest foe. There was no response from the sleeping man. The negro therefore began to chafe, shake, and kick him; even to slap his face, and yell into his ears in a way that an ignorant observer would have styled brutal. At last there was a symptom of returning vitality in the poor youth’s frame, and the negro redoubled his efforts.
“Ho! hallo! Massa Leo, wake up! You’s dyin’, you is!”
“Why—what’s—the—matter—Butterf—” muttered Leo, and dropped his head again.
“Hi! hello! ho–o–o!” yelled Butterface, renewing the rough treatment, and finally hitting the youth a sounding slap on the ear.
“Ha! I be tink dat vakes you up.”
It certainly did wake him up. A burst of indignation within seemed to do more for him than the outward buffetings. He shut his fist and hit Butterface a weak but well intended right-hander on the nose. The negro replied with a sounding slap on the other ear, which induced Leo to grasp him in his arms and try to throw him. Butterface returned the grasp with interest, and soon quite an interesting wrestling match began, the only witness of which sat on a neighbouring hummock in the form of a melancholy Arctic fox.
“Hi! hold on, Massa Leo! Don’t kill me altogidder,” shouted Butterface, as he fell beneath his adversary. “You’s a’most right now.”
“Almost right! what do you mean?”
“I mean dat you’s bin a’most froze to deaf, but I’s melted you down to life agin.”
The truth at last began to dawn on the young hunter. After a brief explanation, he and the negro walked home together in perfect harmony.