After the trouble with Estankawak and Muckaloo, Mr. Dawson had a close conference with Olalola. He found the latter as faithful as ever, and so put him in sole charge of the dogs and sledges, and warned him to keep a close watch on the others.
“Do not let them steal anything,” said the explorer, “and when we return to civilization you shall be richly rewarded. I will give you a boat, a gun, and a hunting knife.”
This, to the Esquimau, was riches indeed, and he promised to keep watch day and night. He had a stern talk with Estankawak and Muckaloo and came close to thrashing them both. After that the mutinous natives caused but little trouble.
Two days went by, and slowly but surely the party drew closer to the Pole. The professor took another observation, and announced that they had now but sixty-eight miles more to cover to reach the Top of the World.
“That wouldn’t be so bad if walking was good, but it seems to grow worse,” said Andy. He had already worn out two pairs of walrus-hide foot-coverings, and now the third pair looked woefully ragged.
“I’d like to know something of Commander Peary,” observed Chet. “He must be in this region.”
“He is,” answered Barwell Dawson. “But just where, there is no telling. Perhaps he has been to the Pole, and is now coming back.”
They would have been much surprised if they had known that Commander Peary was at that moment less than a hundred miles away from their camp. This intrepid explorer had pushed his way steadily northward over the ice from Cape Columbia, to which point he journeyed from Cape Sheridan during the latter part of February. His outfit at this time consisted of seven members of the expedition, seventeen Esquimaux, 133 dogs, and nineteen sledges. It was the largest and best outfit Lieutenant Peary had ever had at his command for this work.
It was the explorer’s plan to establish supply stations all along the route, and for this purpose some of the party were at first sent ahead. They found conditions very similar to those which I have already described, and lost several sledges and a good many dogs, while some of the natives became sick and had to be sent back.
By hard work Commander Peary reached the 85th degree of north latitude on March 18th, and five days later managed to cover another degree. It was intensely cold, the thermometer registering fifty and more degrees below zero. One man had his foot frozen, and had to be sent back to one of the bases of supplies.
Feeling that the goal was now within his grasp, Commander Peary kept on steadily, and soon passed the 87th degree of latitude—his highest point during the expedition previously taken. This was a day of rejoicing. Here he dispensed with his last supporting party, and pushed into the Great Unknown with only a handful of faithful followers.
At the end of March he was held up most unexpectedly by open water, and every one of the party was much disheartened. But this water was crossed April 2d, and two days later the great explorer found himself within one degree of his goal.
Despite the intense bitterness of the cold, he pushed on as steadily as ever. It was a nerve-racking ordeal, yet he had but one thought, one ambition—to reach the goal for which he had been striving for twenty years. He could scarcely sleep and eat, so anxious was he to get to the end of the task he had set for himself.
At last he stopped, on April 6th, to take another observation. This showed him to be within a few miles of the Pole, and if he went wild with joy, who can blame him? He called to those with him, and away they went over the ice, paying no heed to the keen wind that cut like a knife.
And then came the supreme moment of joy. The North Pole was gained—the height of his ambition had at last been realized. He really and truly stood upon the Top of the World. It was to him the moment of moments, and yet he could not realize it, for it all seemed so commonplace. At the Pole it did not look different from what it did for miles around the sought-for spot. All was a field of ice and snow, vast and desolate.
Thirty hours were spent at and around the Pole, taking observations and photographs, and in planting the Stars and Stripes, and also some records. Then Commander Peary started back, to break the news of his success to a world that had just been astonished by the reports of Dr. Cook’s achievements of the year before.
It was but a few hours after the professor had made the announcement that they had but sixty-eight miles more to cover that the party under Barwell Dawson came to another lead. It was wide and of great depth, as a sounding proved, and how to cross this became the next problem. Even Olalola shook his head.
“There is no end to it,” he said, sadly. “I go with you, but how?”
“We must find a way,” answered the explorer, and he and Chet went out on a tour of discovery.
They came back discouraged, and that night all rested on the edge of the lead, wondering what they should do next. At last Barwell Dawson called the boys and the professor to him.
“I think it best that we make the rest of the journey alone,” said he. “We can take the best of the dogs, and the best sledge, and try to make a quick dash, leaving the others here to await our return. What do you say?”
The boys were willing to do anything, and the professor was of a like turn of mind.
“But how are you going to get over the lead?” asked Andy.
“I’ll find some kind of a way,” answered the explorer.
The matter was explained to Olalola. He was sorry to have them leave him, but promised faithfully to look after the camp, and after Dr. Slade, who was still ill, while they were gone. He said that by following the lead westward, they might be able to cross it.
“I think so myself,” answered Mr. Dawson.
The start was made early the next day, Andy and Chet taking turns at driving the six dogs, the pick of what were left of the pack. The course was along the lead westward, and after a mile had been covered, they reached a spot where some new ice covered the water.
“Do you think it will hold us?” asked Andy.
“I’ll test it and see,” was Mr. Dawson’s reply.
After an examination the explorer came to the conclusion that they might risk the new ice.
“But we must go over it quickly,” he cautioned. “Don’t let the dogs stop.”
They walked a distance back, and set the sledge in motion. Then out on the ice they spun, Chet cracking his long whip in true Esquimau fashion. The new ice cracked and groaned under their weight, and when they were in the middle of the lead it began to buckle.
“Spread out—don’t keep together!” yelled Barwell Dawson. “Chet, whip up the dogs and let ’em go it alone!”
The boy understood, and gave the canines the lash. Away they sped at breakneck speed. Then Chet leaped to one side, and he and the others continued on their way a distance of fifty or more feet from each other.
It was a great risk they had assumed, and each instant they thought the ice would break and let them down in the water. A rescue under such conditions,—with the thermometer standing at fifty-three degrees below zero,—would have been out of the question.
“The ice is going down!” screamed Andy, just as he was within a rod of the north shore. “Hurry up!”
There was no need to sound the warning, for all understood the peril only too well. They increased their speed, and slid the remaining few feet. Then, just behind them, they saw the ice buckle and break, allowing a stream of icy water to run over it.
“Safe, and thank Heaven for it!” murmured Barwell Dawson, when he could catch his breath.
“Don’t ask me to take another such run,” panted Professor Jeffer. “I thought we’d surely be drowned!”
As soon as they had recovered somewhat from the dash, they walked on to where the dogs had stopped. In letting them go, Mr. Dawson had known that they were in no physical condition to run out of sight. When the travelers came up, they found the canines stretched out resting. The harness was in a snarl, and it took them the best part of a quarter of an hour to get the team straightened out again.
“Did you notice that the ice looks purple?” remarked Andy, as they went on once again.
“I did,” answered Barwell Dawson. “It is as peculiar as it is beautiful.”
He had noticed the purple ice several days before, and also several mirages in the sky,—mirages that looked like hills and mountains, but which he knew were only optical delusions. Coming northward, the party had also had a splendid view of the aurora borealis, or Northern Lights, that mysterious glow thought to be electrical or magnetic. Once Andy had said that he could hear the lights, and that they sounded like the low hissing of steam.
It grew colder that night, and it was all the explorers could do to keep from freezing. They had a small quantity of tea left—a quarter of a pound—and after melting some snow over their alcohol stove, drank the beverage boiling hot. Then they made themselves a hot stew of pemmican and ground-up peas. Each of the dogs received a chunk of frozen walrus meat, something they gnawed on savagely, so great was their hunger.
The next day the sun was clouded, so that it was impossible for the professor to take any observations. But they knew they had not yet reached their goal, and so they pushed on, over ice that was hummocky, but not nearly as bad as it had been.
“Hello!” cried Andy, about the middle of the afternoon. “What’s that yonder?”
He pointed to their left, where a dark object lay on the ice, half covered with loose snow.
“Might as well see what it is,” said Barwell Dawson, who was as curious as the others. So far, in that land of desolation, they had seen absolutely nothing but ice, snow, and open water.
They moved to the spot and saw that the dark object was the carcass of a dog, frozen stiff. Beside the dog lay a board of a sledge.
“Look!” exclaimed Barwell Dawson, as he held up the board. “Do you see what it says?”
All looked at the bit of wood and saw, burnt upon it, the following:
PEARY—1909
“It is something from the Peary expedition!” said Professor Jeffer. “He must have gotten up here ahead of us!”
“It certainly looks that way,” answered Barwell Dawson. “Well, he deserved to reach the Pole, after his many years of untiring efforts.”
Leaving the board as a silent monument, the four continued on their way northward. Again the wind was blowing from the west, and they calculated that it was on the increase.
“With the thermometer down so low, if it blows very strong we’ll be frozen stiff,” declared Chet. “Why, a winter in Maine is a hothouse alongside of this!”
The next day, owing to the wind, they made but scant progress. It was cloudy, yet just around noon the sun peeped from behind the clouds, and Professor Jeffer hurried to take an observation. Barwell Dawson gave him the correct time, and the old scientist quickly succeeded in making his computations.
“Well, how do we stand?” asked Mr. Dawson, when Professor Jeffer had finished.
“We are within twenty-two miles of the Pole,” was the answer that thrilled the hearts of all.
“We’ll get there tomorrow!”
“If the weather permits, Andy.”
“Oh, we must get there, Chet! Just think of it—only twenty-two miles more! Why, it’s nothing alongside of what we have already traveled.”
“Well, food is running very low.”
“Oh, I know that. Didn’t I take an extra hole in my belt last night after supper? I feel as flat as a board.”
A day had been spent in camp, with the wind blowing furiously, and a fine, salt-like snow falling. They had tried to go on, but had covered less than half a mile when Barwell Dawson had called a halt.
“It’s no use,” he had said, with a sigh. “We can’t do anything in this wind. Let us keep our strength until it subsides.”
They had spent the day in mending the sledge, which was in danger of going to pieces, and in fixing up their foot coverings, which were woefully ragged.
It was still blowing when they started again on their journey. But it was not nearly so bad as before, and the snow had ceased to come down. The sun, however, was still under the clouds, and the sky looked gray and sullen.
“I don’t know that I’d care to live here the year round,” said Andy, with an attempt at humor. “It would be too hard to dig the potatoes.”
“Or go swimming,” answered Chet. “Every time a fellow wanted a bath, he’d have to chop a hole in the ice.”
“Or tumble in a lead.”
“But, just the same, if we do reach the Pole, what a story we’ll have to tell when we get back!”
“We’ll not be the first at the Pole.”
“We’ll be the first boys at the Pole.”
“Right you are.”
They trudged on, occasionally urging the lagging dogs. The canines seemed to realize the loneliness of the situation, and occasionally stopped short, squatted down, and rent the air with dismal howlings.
“They don’t see any food and shelter ahead, and I don’t blame them,” said Barwell Dawson.
By nightfall they calculated they had covered twelve miles. If that was true, only ten miles more separated them from their goal.
“And we’ll make that tomorrow or bust!” cried Andy. He was dead-tired, and ached in every limb, but a strange light shone in his eyes—the same fire that lit up the eyes of Barwell Dawson.
In the morning the sky looked more forbidding than ever. But there was only a gentle breeze, and the thermometer registered forty-eight degrees,—several degrees warmer than it had been.
“We’ll travel until noon,” announced Barwell Dawson. “Then we’ll make camp, and wait until we can take an observation.”
They progressed almost in silence, the boys occasionally cracking the whip and urging the dogs. Barwell Dawson and Professor Jeffer were busy with their thoughts. Their fondest hopes seemed about to be realized. The boys thought of home. Would they ever see Maine again?
“Seems like a lifetime since we left Pine Run!” remarked Chet once.
“Two lifetimes,” responded Andy. “One such trip as this is enough for me.”
The lads were footsore and weary to the last degree, but neither complained. They did not want to worry Barwell Dawson, and what would have been the use? He could not aid them. It was now a question of every one for himself.
It was one o’clock when the explorer called a halt. On every hand was the field of ice and snow. But far ahead could be seen something which looked like a big iceberg. The sun was still under a cloud.
“I think we have gone far enough,” said Barwell Dawson. “We’ll camp here, and wait until we can take an observation.”
No time was lost in gathering cakes of ice and building a fair-sized igloo. The boys worked with renewed interest. Had they really and truly reached the North Pole at last?
“At the most we cannot be over a mile or two away from it,” said the explorer.
All were glad to rest, yet sleep was almost out of the question. The one thought of each member of the party was, “Are we at the Pole, or how much further have we to go?”
Early in the morning it was cloudy, but about ten o’clock the sun came out faintly.
“Unless it comes out full, I cannot take an accurate observation,” said the professor.
All waited impatiently and watched the sky. When it was a quarter to twelve the clouds rolled away to the eastward, and the sun burst forth with dazzling brightness.
“Now is our chance!” cried Chet.
All assisted the professor in his preparations to take the all-important observation. The old scientist’s chronometer was compared with that of Barwell Dawson.
“A difference of but three seconds,” said the former. “We will split the difference when I take the observation,” and this was done.
The sextant was raised, and the old scientist looked through it with great care. His artificial horizon had been arranged but a short distance away.
“Time!” roared Barwell Dawson, and the professor set the thumbscrew of his instrument. Then, through the magnifying glass, he read the figures and set to work with pen and pencil, making his computations, with his Nautical Almanac before him. All awaited breathlessly what he might have to say. Suddenly the aged man threw down the paper and pencil and threw his arms into the air.
“We are at the 90th degree of north latitude!” he cried. “We have reached the North Pole!”
“Hurrah!” yelled Andy and Chet, simultaneously, and Barwell Dawson joined in the cheer.
“You are certain of that?” asked the explorer. “We must make no mistake.”
“Read the observation for yourself,” answered the old scientist.
“It is true,” said Barwell Dawson, when he had verified the figures. “We are really and truly at the North Pole. Now, then, to raise the flag!”
The others understood. All through the bitter journey they had carried an American flag and a fair-sized flagpole. Once the flag had become torn but they had mended it with care.
In a twinkling the pole was brought forth, and planted in the ice and snow. Then the flag was raised, and it floated proudly in the breeze.
“Three cheers for Old Glory!” cried Barwell Dawson, and the cheers were given with a will.
“Three cheers for Barwell Dawson!” cried Andy, and he and Chet and the old scientist gave them, roundly. Then there followed a cheer for Professor Jeffer.
“And now a cheer for the first boys at the North Pole!” cried Barwell Dawson, and he and Professor Jeffer raised their voices as loudly as they could. The boys could scarcely contain themselves, and both danced a jig, and then Andy turned half a dozen handsprings, just by way of working off his superfluous spirits.
It was wonderful what a difference reaching the Pole made in them. All the hardships of the past weeks were forgotten, and even the men acted like schoolboys out for a holiday. They walked around the vicinity of the igloo, and sang and whistled, and for once completely forgot their hunger. Then, during the course of the afternoon, Professor Jeffer took more observations and a number of photographs.
The next day the sun continued to shine brightly, and promptly at noon another observation was made. This gave the same result as before, so all were assured that they were really at the 90th degree of north latitude.
“We must be at the North Pole,” said Andy. “For see, while we call one part of the twenty-four hours day and the other night, the sun goes right around us and never seems to rise or sink.”
“Yes, that is something of a test,” answered Professor Jeffer. “But it is not as infallible as that made by the sextant. The earth is more or less flat here, and that makes a difference.”
To make “dead certain” that they had covered the North Pole, the entire party journeyed five miles further ahead, and also an equal distance to the right and left. At one point they saw traces of another exploring party, but the snow and ice had covered up the records left behind.
“And now to get back,” said Barwell Dawson, at the close of the third day spent at and around the Pole. “We have no time to spare, if we want to get out of this land of desolation before winter sets in again.”
“I am ready,” answered Professor Jeffer. “I have taken all the observations and photographs I wish, and have collected a valuable amount of data.”
“You can’t get back any too quick for me,” said Chet, dryly.
“There is no use in disguising the fact that our provisions are very low,” continued Barwell Dawson, gravely. “We have very little left for the dogs.”
“What will you do with them?” asked Chet.
“One is a little lame. If the worst comes to the worst, we’ll kill him and feed him to the others.”
They left the igloo standing, and on the top placed a metallic box containing a brief record of their trip. Then they took down the flag and placed it on the sledge.
They started on the return at seven in the morning. The weather was not so cold as it had been, and going seemed to be better, so they covered the twenty-two miles to their old camp without much difficulty. Here they had to repair the sledge again, and also had to kill off the lame dog. This made a feast for the others, and gave them some food that was much needed.
“I could almost eat dog meat myself,” said Chet.
“It may come to that,” answered Andy. “I guess it is a heap better than nothing, when a chap is starving.”
They found the new ice on the lead much thicker than it had been, and so crossed with ease. But now came on a heavy fall of snow, and all traces of their former trail were wiped out.
“We’ll have to steer by eyesight and the compass,” announced Barwell Dawson.
The boys were so hungry that they kept an eye open continually for game. But not so much as a bird showed itself. It was truly the land of ice and snow, and nothing else.
On the fifth day, the case containing alcohol sprung a leak, and all of the precious stuff was lost in the snow.
“We’ll have to eat our meals cold after this,” said Barwell Dawson. “Too bad, but it can’t be helped.”
“I don’t care how cold they are, if only we could get enough,” grumbled Chet. An almost empty stomach did not tend to put him in good humor.
Another day passed, and again it snowed. The flakes were so thick they could not see around them, and so had to halt and go into camp. Their provisions were now so low that only half rations were dealt out.
“We can’t stand this,” cried Chet. “I’ve got to have something to eat.”
“Oh, Chet, don’t grumble,” answered Andy. “We are as bad off as you are.”
“To-morrow, if we find it necessary, we’ll kill off one of the dogs for food,” said Barwell Dawson. “That will leave us a team of four, and we ought to be able to get back to where we left the others with those. The sledge has next to nothing on it now.”
The morning dawned, dull and cheerless. They had a few mouthfuls of food, and then hitched up the dogs once more. Nobody felt like talking, and they started on their long journey in silence.
Painfully they covered fifteen miles. Each was footsore and weary to the last degree, and not able to go another step. They sat down on a ridge of ice, and looked at each other.
“We have got to have something to eat,” declared Chet. “I am going to have one square meal, if I have to die tomorrow!”
“Chet!” exclaimed Andy, reprovingly.
“We’ll kill one of the dogs and eat him,” said Barwell Dawson. “It’s the only way out of it.”
Yet to kill off one of the dogs was a serious undertaking, as they well knew. In that country to travel without a dog sledge was all but impossible, and the remaining animals might fail them at any moment.
“Let us wait until tomorrow,” said Andy. “Something may turn up.”
“I’d rather have something to eat now,” growled Chet.
“I will deal out a little pemmican,” answered Barwell Dawson, and served each person about five ounces.
Then, with increasing slowness, they covered three miles more. Ahead was a little hill, and the explorer thought to climb this and take a look around, to get his bearings.
Hardly had he climbed the hill when he uttered a cry, calling the others to him.
“There is something to our right,” he said. “Some dark object half hidden in the snow.”
“Perhaps another memento of the Peary expedition,” grumbled Chet. “I don’t want any more of ’em—I want to get back.”
“We’ll have a look,” cried Andy. He turned to his chum. “Come, brace up, Chet, and stop grumbling, that’s a good fellow.”
“All right!” exclaimed Chet, suddenly. “I suppose you’ve got as much right to grumble as I have. But my stomach is as flat as a pancake,” he continued, woefully. “I could fill up on sawdust, if I had any.”
All of the party set off in the direction of the object Barwell Dawson had discovered. The explorer was in advance, and suddenly he set up a ringing shout:
“Saved! saved!”
“What do you mean?” asked Chet, quickly.
“It is our old sledge—the one the dogs ran away with. It is stuck in a crack of the ice.”
“Are the stores on it?” asked Andy.
“Yes, everything seems to be here,” returned the explorer, joyfully.
How the sledge had gotten there they did not know, and, at that moment, they did not care. Probably the floating ice had bumped against the shore and the dogs had started northward, not knowing what else to do. Then the sledge had become caught in the crack, and the dogs, growing impatient, had broken their harness. They had gnawed at the coverings of the stores, but had been unable to get at the food, and had then disappeared utterly.
The finding of the sledge with its provisions, and its supply of alcohol, filled the entire party with joy, and they uttered a prayer to Heaven for their deliverance from what looked to be starvation. As quickly as it could be done, they fixed the little stove and lit it, and made themselves a steaming hot broth, which they devoured with gusto. Then they fed the dogs, built a rough igloo, and sank down in a profound slumber, from which nobody awakened until ten hours later.
“Although we have found these supplies, we must be very sparing of them,” said Barwell Dawson, when they awoke. “There is no telling when or how we will be able to get more—certainly not until we have joined the rest of our party, and gotten down to where we can find game.”
All were now anxious to rejoin those who had been left behind, and they journeyed steadily southward as fast as the weather would permit. They had one wide lead to cross, and it took a whole day to get to the south shore. Then came more snow, and they had to lose a day.
But luck was with them, and one day, late in the afternoon, they heard a loud shout, and saw an Esquimau, standing on a hillock of ice, waving his arms at them. It was Olalola, and they soon reached him.
“Chief Dawson reach the Big Nail?” asked the Esquimau, eagerly.
“We did,” was the answer.
“Olalola much glad,” went on the native, and his smiling face proved his words.
All in the camp, including Dr. Slade, who was better, were glad that those who had gone to the Pole had returned, and the very next day everything was packed on the sledges, and the journey to the ship was begun. The food supply was very low, and all the extra dogs were killed and fed to the other canines. The Esquimaux lived on blubber and walrus meat. The boys tried blubber once, but had to give it up.
“It turns me wrong side out in a minute,” was the way Andy expressed it.
As they drew further south the weather moderated, for which they were thankful. But they had much open water to cross, and this consumed a good deal of time.
“I wouldn’t mind it, if only we could find something to eat,” said Chet. He suffered more from hunger than did any of the others, for he had always been a hearty eater.
The next morning there was great excitement among the natives. A musk-ox had been seen, and all were eager for the hunt.
“We must get that beast by all means,” said Andy. “Think what it means—ox-roast galore!”
The trail of the game was readily followed, and about seven o’clock in the evening the hunters came upon a herd of six musk oxen, resting in the shelter of a small hill. They surrounded the game, and succeeded in bringing down three of them. The others were pursued, but managed to get away.
“This ends short rations,” was Chet’s comment, and his eyes brightened wonderfully. What he said was true, and that evening the explorers enjoyed a better meal than they had had for many weeks. The Esquimaux and dogs came in for their full share, and the big meal put even Estankawak in good humor, and he thought no more of deserting them.
As they came down into the heart of Ellesmere Land they picked up Mr. Camdal and his party. They shot other game, and so had all the food they could eat, and more. The hunting just suited Barwell Dawson, for, as he told the boys, he was more of a hunter than he was an explorer.
“How soon do you suppose we’ll reach the Ice King?” asked Andy, one day.
“If we have luck, we ought to sight the vessel in four or five days.”
“Will you sail for home at once?”
“I think so, Andy. I presume you’ll be glad to get back,” and Mr. Dawson smiled faintly.
“Yes and no,” replied the youth. “I won’t know what to do after I return. I don’t want to live with Uncle Si.”
“You ought to go on another hunt for those missing papers.”
“I’ll do that, of course.”
“And even if you can’t find them, I’ll look into the matter, and see if I can’t learn what rights your father had in that timber tract. I’ll not have much to do myself for a while. I’ll not want to go on another exploring expedition in a hurry.”
So far, aside from Dr. Slade’s attack, there had been but little sickness in the party, but on the next day Barwell Dawson was taken down, and all had to go into camp for three days until he felt better. During that time, Andy and Chet went out hunting, and brought down another polar bear, of which they were justly proud.
“It’s a great place to hunt,” said Andy. “But I don’t think I care to come up here again.”
“Nor I,” added Chet. Then he heaved a long sigh. “I wish——” He stopped short.
“What, Chet? Were you thinking of your father?” And Andy’s voice softened.
“Yes, I was. I thought sure, when I came up here, that I’d get some trace of him.”
“It’s too bad. I wish I could help you,” answered Andy, and that was all he could say.
With their broken sledges and their small dog teams, the party moved slowly forward, to where the Ice King had been left along the coast. They did not expect to find the vessel fast in the ice, but hoped that Captain Williamson would be cruising near, on the lookout for them.
“When we get to the coast, if the vessel is not in sight, we’ll fire some signals,” said Barwell Dawson. “The captain will be sure to answer them.”
Two days more passed, and they came to something of an open bay, dotted here and there with floating ice. At the sight, the boys set up a cheer:
“The sea! The sea!”
It was indeed the sea—or, rather, the upper entrance to Smith Sound. The party had traveled too far to the eastward, and had now to turn southward, skirting the coast. Here the going was very rough, and the very next morning one of the sledges went down in a crack of the ice, and was smashed completely.
“Thank goodness we do not need it any longer,” was Barwell Dawson’s comment. What stores the sledge had contained were hauled up from the crack and loaded on the remaining turnouts.
Another day passed, and now all kept on the lookout for a sign of the ship. But though they climbed to the top of a high hill, skirting the coast, no sign of a vessel was to be seen anywhere.
Again they resumed their journey, and thus two days passed. Then Andy, who was in the lead with Olalola, set up a cry:
“I see the hut and the storehouse!”
He was right; they had at last arrived at the spot where they had embarked from the Ice King. The place was deserted, and they could easily see where the steamer had pushed through the floating ice, and made her way to the broad lead beyond.
“We’ll hoist our flag, and fire a signal,” said Barwell Dawson, and without delay a pole was nailed to the top of the storehouse, and Old Glory was swung to the breeze. Then one of the shotguns was fired off three times in succession. All waited long for some answer to the reports, but none came.
“He must have gone off for some reason or other,” said Barwell Dawson. “All we can do is to wait for his return.”
“Perhaps the steamer was hit by an iceberg and sunk,” suggested Professor Jeffer.
“Let us hope no such calamity has befallen us,” answered the explorer, gravely.
It sobered all of the party a good deal to find themselves alone at the spot where they had so confidently thought to find the Ice King. They knew that there was great danger of a “squeeze” in the floating ice, and wondered what they should do if the craft had gone to the bottom of the polar sea. They might possibly get down to a point opposite Etah, but it would be a hard journey, and after it was made there was no telling if they could cross the water to that settlement.
Three days went by, and the hearts of the party sank lower and lower. A few went out hunting, for the larder was again getting low. But for the most part all remained in the vicinity of the shore, awaiting eagerly some sign of the missing steamer.
At last, early one morning, Andy made out a cloud of smoke far off on the water. He drew Chet’s attention to it, and then called Olalola. The three watched the cloud draw nearer, and at last the Esquimau began to smile.
“Ship,” he said. “Ship with fire!”—meaning thereby a steam vessel.
The word was soon passed that a ship was in sight, and all gathered to watch the approach of the craft. As it came closer, they saw that it was the Ice King, and on the deck stood Captain Williamson and his crew waving them a welcome. The captain had seen them with his spyglass.
“Hurrah for the Ice King!” cried Chet, and the cheer was given with a will.
“This ends our troubles here,” added Andy. “Now to get aboard and start for home!”
It was no easy matter for the Ice King to push, her way through the ice and reach the shore, but at last this was accomplished, and a gangplank was put out, so that our friends could go aboard.
“Did you reach the Pole?” were Captain Williamson’s words.
“We did,” answered Barwell Dawson. “But it was a hard journey, I can tell you!”
“Good! I mean, I’m glad to know you got to the Pole,” went on the captain. He looked over the party. “Look well, too.”
“We look better than we did a few weeks ago,” said Andy. “Then you might have taken us for a lot of starved cats.”
“Have you been on a trip?” questioned Chet. He saw that the commander of the Ice King was looking at him rather curiously.
“Yes, I left here eight days ago, after I had heard of a whaler that had gone to pieces in the ice. Some Esquimaux brought the word, and said that a crew of five white men and one negro were on the shore to the northwestward.”
“And did you find them?” asked Chet, eagerly.
“I did, lad, and I’ve got news for you.”
“About my father?”
“Aye, Chet.”
“Was it the Betsey Andrews that went down? Is my father among the men?”
“Yes, it was the Betsey Andrews that was caught in the ice. She drifted for months before she got a squeeze that finished her. Then the crew went ashore, and did what they could to save themselves.”
“But my father—is he—alive?”
“Yes,—or he was, the last that was heard of him.”
“He isn’t with the men you found?”
“No, they are on board, and you can listen to their story later. After the whaler went to pieces, another vessel came along—a small ship bound for Nova Scotia, the Evans, and she took six of the crew with her, and among those was your father.”
“The Evans? What port was she bound for?”
“Halifax.”
“And was my father all right when the Evans sailed?”
“Yes, although he had suffered somewhat from exposure, as had all of the crew.”
The fact that word had at last been obtained of his parent filled Chet’s heart with joy. He lost no time in introducing himself to the sailors who had been rescued by Captain Williamson, and from them obtained a full account of the ill-fated trip of the Betsey Andrews.
The ship had been all over the whaling grounds, and had had almost a full supply of oil and whalebone, when the commander, against the wishes of the mate and many of the crew, had decided to turn northward in quest of another whale or two. The captain had acted queerly, as if out of his mind, and had run the ship into a situation among the icebergs from which it was impossible to escape.
Many months of anxiety had been passed on the whaler, and the climax had come when the awful squeeze crushed her as if she had been an eggshell. In that calamity the captain and two of the men had lost their lives.
After the disaster the mate had taken charge, and the men had transferred their supplies to the shore and gone to living there. They had had more than enough oil to burn, and during the winter had kept a beacon light going, hoping it might bring some one to their assistance. Several had proved themselves good hunters, so they did not suffer for something to eat, although their diet was a limited one.
At last the Evans put in an appearance, and lots were drawn as to who should go aboard. Tolney Greene was one of the lucky ones, and the Evans had left, promising to leave word regarding the others at Upernivik and other ports.
“Oh, I am so thankful to know that father is alive!” said Chet to Andy.
“I am glad, too, Chet,” answered his chum. “I hope you meet him as soon as we get back.”
“So do I. But it’s a long sail, Andy!” And Chet heaved a sigh.
One day was spent in getting the things aboard the Ice King, and then the bow of the steamer was turned southward, and the long trip homeward was begun.
It was a slow and tedious journey, with many perils from icebergs and fogs, and during that time Captain Williamson had more trouble with Pep Loggermore. As a result, the sailor was put in irons. At Upernivik he was allowed to go ashore, and that was the last seen of him.
“If he has deserted, I am glad of it,” said the captain, and Andy and Chet said the same.
At Upernivik the Esquimaux were paid off, and Barwell Dawson rewarded Olalola as he had promised. The native shook hands warmly with the boys.
“Nice boys,” he said. “Olalola wish he had boys like you!”
“Take good care of yourself, Olalola,” said Andy.
“And if you ever visit the States, come and see us,” added Chet.
“No come to States,” said the Esquimau. “Too big sun, fry Olalola like fat!” And this quaint remark made the lads laugh.
At Upernivik the Ice King took on a fresh supply of coal, and then without delay continued on her journey southward. Chet had had a long talk with Barwell Dawson, and the explorer had promised to stop at Halifax to learn what had become of the Evans and Mr. Greene.
“And I will do all in my power to see that your father gets a square deal,” added Mr. Dawson. “Of course, if he is guilty, I can do nothing for him, but if he is innocent, then we’ll do what we can to bring the guilty parties to justice.”
“I know he is innocent,” answered Chet, stubbornly.
“I trust that you prove to be right, Chet,” was all the explorer could say.
As the steamer drew southward the weather became milder, until it was a real pleasure to be on deck. The boys discarded their furs, which they hung up as relics of the great trip.
“Looking back, it seems like a dream, doesn’t it?” said Andy.
“A good deal that way,” responded his chum.
“I suppose by this time the whole country is talking about what Dr. Cook and Commander Peary have done.”
“More than likely.”
At last they reached Halifax, and all in a quiver of excitement Chet made inquiries regarding his father. He learned that Mr. Greene had had a chance to ship for Portland, Maine, and had done so, eight days previously.
“I’ll meet him there!” cried Chet.
“So you will,” answered Andy. “For we are going to Portland instead of Rathley.”
The run to Portland was made without special incident, and as soon as the Ice King had tied up, Chet went ashore, with Andy, to hunt up the Evans.
He found that the craft lay at a dock three blocks away and soon covered the distance. She had come in the day before, and was busy unloading her cargo.
“So you are Tolney Greene’s son, eh?” said the captain to Chet. “I’ve heard of you, for your father spoke of you several times.”
“And where is he?”
“Started for home yesterday—to find you, he said, and to catch a rascal named Hopton, who had gotten him into trouble.”
“Hopton!” ejaculated Andy, who was present. “Do you mean a man named A. Q. Hopton?”
“That’s the fellow. Mr. Greene had it in for him good and proper. He committed some kind of a crime, and then fixed it on Mr. Greene, but Greene had the evidence against him—picked it up somewheres, just after signing to go on the Betsey Andrews.”
This was all the captain of the Evans could say, but it was enough, and without delay Chet arranged to go to Pine Run, and Andy said he would go along. Barwell Dawson agreed to meet them later, and insisted upon giving each youth a small roll of bankbills, for expenses.
It was midsummer, and hot,—a big contrast to the weather which the lads had so recently experienced. As the train rolled toward their home they discussed Mr. Greene’s affairs, and wondered how Mr. A. Q. Hopton had gotten him into trouble.
“But he is equal to it,” said Andy. “I know that by the way he tried to treat me, and how he tried to pull the wool over Uncle Si’s eyes.”
“Where do you suppose your Uncle Si is now?”
“Hanging around, most likely, waiting for something to turn up,” replied Andy.
“I hope you’re not going to let him have any of that money Mr. Dawson gave you.”
“Not a cent. If he wants any money, he’ll have to go to work and earn it.”
At last the two youths reached Pine Run, and both walked to the general store, that being the center for information as well as supplies. The storekeeper looked at them in surprise.
“Back again, eh?” he cried.
“Have you seen my father?” questioned Chet.
“Yes, he was here this morning, Chet. He was full of business.”
“Where did he go?”
“Up to your cabin. He was very much put out that you had gone away.”
“Do you know anything of my Uncle Si?” asked Andy.
“Well, rather.” The storekeeper laughed outright. “Richest thing ever was!” he chuckled.
“What?”
“The way the men around here treated him. They got tired of his laziness and habit of borrowing money, and told him he must go to work. He wouldn’t do it at first, and they hauled him out of bed one night, and said they were going to tar and feather him. Then he got scared to death, and promised to go to work, and he’s been at work ever since—over at Larrington’s sawmill. He came in last Saturday and paid his bill in full, and bought some groceries for spot cash. I reckon he’s turned over a new leaf.”
“I’ll be thankful if he has,” said Andy.
“By the way,” continued the storekeeper, “he was talking of some property that is coming to you.”
“Property?”
“Yes,—some timber land in Michigan. I believe you had the papers and lost ’em. Well, one day some hunters found the papers in the woods—pretty well soaked, but all there—and they brought ’em to your Uncle Si. He’s got ’em now, and he’s waiting to hear from you. He told me a real estate fellow named Hopton wanted ’em, but he was going to hold on to ’em until he heard from you.”
“Good for Uncle Si!” cried Andy. “He is coming to his senses at last! I am glad the papers have been found. I must see him at once!”
To get to his own place, Chet had to pass the cabin belonging to Andy, and so the chums left the village together, in a carriage they hired with some of the money Barwell Dawson had given them.
The thoughts of each youth were busy, so but little was said by them during the journey. As they came in sight of Andy’s home, they saw smoke curling from the chimney.
“Uncle Si must have gotten back from work,” said Andy. “Most likely he’s cooking supper. Chet, will you stop?”
“Well, I’d rather see my father first,” was the answer.
“I don’t blame you. Well, come over tomorrow, unless——Hello, there is a stranger!”
Andy pointed to a man who had come to the cabin door, he having heard the sound of the carriage wheels. Chet stared hard at the individual. Then he took a flying leap to the ground and ran forward.
“Father!”
The man started, and then flung out his hands.
“If it isn’t Chet—my own son Chet!” he burst out, joyfully. “I was just wishing with all my heart that I knew where you were.” And he shook hands over and over again.
“And I’ve been hurrying to you as fast as I could for weeks,” answered Chet, with a glad look in his eyes. “I heard you were at our cabin, and was going there.”
“I was there, and came here to ask Mr. Graham about you,” answered Tolney Greene.
Josiah Graham had come to the door, holding in his hand a frying pan containing bacon. He gave one look at the newcomers.
“Andy!” he burst out, and in his amazement let the frying pan clatter to the doorstep, scattering the strips of bacon in all directions. “Is it really you, or your ghost?”
“No ghost about me, Uncle Si,” answered the boy. “They tell me you have gone to work.”
“Why, er—ye-as, I have a job at the sawmill.”
“I am glad to know it.”
“I—er—I got over my sickness, an’ so I’m a-goin’ to work stiddy after this,” went on Josiah Graham, lamely.
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in a year.”
“Where have you been, Andy?”
“Oh, on a little trip, to the North Pole and elsewhere,” was the cool reply.
“You’re joking me! But have your fun,—it ain’t none o’ my affair. But I want to tell yer somethin’,” went on the old man, impressively. “I got them papers back.”
“So I heard. I hope you’ll not give them to that A. Q. Hopton.”
“Not much! Hopton is a swindler—I found thet out in Portland, when I was there.”
“What about Hopton?” demanded Mr. Greene, who had been in earnest conversation with Chet. “Do you mean the real estate dealer?”
“I do,” answered Josiah Graham.
“Where is he now? He is the man who caused me all my trouble. Just let me get at him! He covered up his tracks pretty well, but I’ve now got the evidence against him.”
“I don’t know where Hopton is now, but I guess I kin find out,” answered Josiah Graham.
All entered the cabin, and there each told his story in detail. The men listened to the boys in open-mouthed wonder.
“And to think you came north, and was so close to me!” said Mr. Greene to his son.
He said he had been half crazy when he signed articles for the trip on the Betsey Andrews. Then he had gotten word about A. Q. Hopton, and had discovered that the real estate man was guilty of the crimes of which he himself was accused. He had gone to the captain of the whaler to get his release, but the captain had refused to let him go, and had locked him up aboard the ship until the voyage was well begun.
“He was a strange man, that captain,” said Mr. Greene. “And it is no wonder that he lost his ship and his life in the frozen north.”
“And you have the evidence to prove your innocence, and prove this A. Q. Hopton guilty?” asked Chet.
“Yes, my son, I can prove that Hopton was guilty, and nobody else.”
“Oh, how glad I am of it!” murmured Chet.
A substantial supper was prepared for all,—Andy assisting his uncle in getting it ready.
“Uncle Si isn’t a bit like his old self,” whispered Andy to Chet, when they sat down. “Going to work has waked him up and made another man of him.”
“Hope he sticks to it,” answered Chet.
That evening, after all the stories had been told in detail, Josiah Graham brought out the papers Andy had lost in the woods. As the storekeeper had said, they had been well soaked by the snow and rain, but they were still decipherable.
“I am going to tell Mr. Dawson about them, and then turn them over to some first-class lawyer,” said Andy. “If they are really worth anything, I want to know it.”
On the following day the two boys and Mr. Greene returned to Portland. Chet’s father conferred with the police, and as a consequence Mr. A. Q. Hopton was located, some days later, in Augusta, and placed in custody. He was subjected to a close examination, and finally broke down, and confessed his guilt. He said that Tolney Greene had had nothing to do with the crimes, and Chet’s father was completely exonerated. He also told about the timber land in Michigan, and through a firm of good lawyers Andy’s claim to a substantial interest was established,—an interest said to be worth fifteen thousand dollars.
“With all that money, you won’t have to work no more,” said Josiah Graham to the boy.
“But I am going to work, just the same,” answered Andy. “And you are going to work with me, Uncle Si. Some day, we’ll have a big lumber camp of our own.”
“And what is thet Greene boy goin’ to do?”
“He is going into partnership with me—when we are old enough,” answered Andy.
“Do you think it’s wuth it, to work so hard when you’ve got so much money?” asked Uncle Si, wistfully.
“Certainly I do. It’s the best thing for me—and for you, too. I shouldn’t want to be idle, even if I was a millionaire.”
“Well, jest as you say, Andy.” The old man heaved a long sigh. “I suppose you are right—anyway, it’s your money.” And then he went to work again, and said no more on the subject.
As soon as his name was cleared, Tolney Greene looked around for work. Through Andy’s influence, he obtained the position of superintendent at the lumber tract in Michigan, and Chet went to work with him.
“And what are you going to do?” asked Chet of Andy, one day.
“I am going to rest for a month or so,” was the answer. “Then Mr. Dawson, who has been appointed my guardian, is going to send me to a first-class boarding school.”
“And after that, Andy?”
“I am going into the lumber business—and you are going with me, Chet.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“But I haven’t any money.”
“Never mind, when I go in for myself you are going to have an interest,” replied Andy, and his tone showed that he meant what he said.
The report that the Barwell Dawson expedition had reached the North Pole created a great stir. Many would not believe it, and the explorer and Professor Jeffer were called upon to submit proofs. This they did willingly. Then Barwell Dawson was asked to lecture, but declined. But Professor Jeffer took to the platform, and made a great deal of money thereby, and from the book he issued later.
“It was a grand trip—a truly marvelous trip,” the professor was wont to say. “But—but I do not think I desire to go again.”
“You are right,” answered Barwell Dawson. “Once is sufficient. After this I shall devote my time to hunting and exploring in localities not quite so cold.”
“And where there is plenty of food,” put in Andy.
“Yes, don’t forget the food,” said Chet. “As long as I live I never want to get so close to starving again!”
And all the others agreed with him.
THE END