“Another thing which proves that a long way into the interior of this South-polar region land extends is this—débris of earth and blocks of rock are brought down on the glacier that, as an examination of the sea’s bottom proves, could have descended in no other fashion.”

“It is all very wonderful!” said Charlie.

“I wonder,” said Walter, “if any mermaids dwell in these caves of ice?”

Captain Mayne Brace smiled and answered.

“I hope,” he said, “to give you an opportunity of discovering for yourself, my dear boy.”

But the Walrus reached the pack of sea-ice at last; and the sight, though not perfectly new to mariners who had sailed the Arctic seas, was at least very wonderful, and had a cold kind of beauty about it, which it is difficult indeed to describe.

And far, far away in the interior, mountains covered with everlasting snow raised their great peaked heads on the horizon.

No life?

Well, no animals, not even a leopard, seal, or sea-elephant, but droves of droll penguins, standing on end, and looking, at a distance, for all the world like a crowd of lazy boys just let loose from a Sunday school, who had been warned not to soil their clothes by romping.

CHAPTER VIII

WONDROUS SCENERY—NICK SAVES THE LIFE OF WALLACE

The Walrus lay-to off the pack-edge for a day or two, that observations, soundings, and a survey of the sea’s bottom, etc., might be taken. For Mayne Brace did not mean to work through at present, and risk the chance of being beset.

But boats were sent off, that our heroes, and even the dogs, might have a scamper.

Though too rough for ski, or snow-shoe travelling, the ice-pieces were pretty close together, and it was easy for everybody to leap from one to the other, and so on and on till at long last they reached the berg, and made an attempt to get to the summit. This was much harder than was at first expected, especially for the dogs, but these were determined to follow their leader; and so, often stumbling, sometimes slipping, many down again, they struggled on until they got to the top.

They had their snow-shoes over their backs, and although there was some danger of their going over a cliff or icy precipice, they enjoyed an hour’s really good fun. They would have tarried here much longer, but noticed that the signal for recall had been hoisted; and so, as soon as they had erected a pole, with a round black ball on the top, and the name of the vessel cut in the handle, they started to retrace their steps.

The hoisting of the pole took a longer time than they had reckoned on, for they had to cut the hard surface of the snow first with their Jack-knives, and get the dogs to complete the excavation with their busy fore-feet. This they encouraged them to do by pointing to the hole and saying “Rats!”

Now, I don’t believe that either Nick or Nora expected to find a rat in such a place, but that they merely worked away to please the boys.

None too soon did they reach the boats, for lo! the ice was opening, and the small bergs getting farther and farther apart. As it was, one man received a ducking which he would remember till his dying day.

If a strong current ran under the ice, it would have been easy for it to have carried him away. In Greenland seas there is extra danger in such an immersion, for sharks are always on the watch there when men are on the ice, and no one would care to be made a meal of by these scaly monsters.

Two boats had come on shore, and, as usual in such cases, a race was got up—and oh, there is no race so exciting as that between real sailors with good honest broad-beamed boats. Ingomar offered as a prize a bottle of rum and pound of “baccy” to the winning whaler. So the men must even doff their heavy jackets to the work.

Noticing what was up, all hands on board crowded into the rigging, and small innocent bets were made, such as clay pipes or postage stamps that had only been once in use.

The men in each boat were about equal in weight. Charlie was cox’n of one, Walt of the other, and Hans himself gave the signal.

Then, had you been there, you might have heard such shouts or encouraging words from the boys to their crews as—

“Up with her now!”

“Cheerily does it!”

“Hurrah, men! Hurrah!”

“We’re winning!” from Charlie.

“We’ll beat them, boys!” from Walter.

“Touch her up!”

“Merrily goes it!” etc.

And Walt’s boat had soon forged ahead at least two lengths, then—

“Now, lads,” roared Charlie—“now, lads, give them fits! We’ve got to win.”

And on rushed the whalers, every man doing his most.

It was likely, after all, to be a win for Walter, when, unluckily, his boat touched a bit of green ice, which caused a man to catch a crab, and, with a loud cheer from those on board, Charlie dashed madly past, and won by a length.

Then cheers, loud and long, rose from the rigging, with many a mighty hurrah, and when Charlie scrambled in-board, he was hoisted and carried three times round the deck shoulder high, the men singing merrily.

Then the boats were hoisted, with the dogs still in them, and they soon joined the merriment, you may be sure.

But everybody seemed happier for what was called their spin on shore.

* * * * *

Shortly after this more sail was set, and the vessel headed away for the west, tack and half-tack, for the wind was not yet fair.

That same afternoon they rounded Cape Anne.

This point of rocky land juts far into the sea here. It is a wonderful sight in summer when the black rocks stand out and the higher cliffs are still covered with purest snow.

But what a world of life was here—in the sea, on the cliffs and shore, where cities of countless, I may say myriads, of birds were built.

Sea-leopards and other phocine creatures were all around in multitudes.

It was determined to risk another lie-to, for the water was too deep to anchor, and they must not venture near those mountain peaks, for unknown seas have a disagreeable habit of shoaling suddenly, and if it is not low water when a ship is stranded, poor indeed is her chance of ever getting off again.

The day was very long now, but still there was a marvellous sunset to-night. Strange colours, rubies, greens, and orange, lingered long on the mountain and snow-cliffs full half an hour after the sun went down. And after the stars shone out, a quarter moon sailed slowly up, but seemed to detract in no whit from their wondrous brightness.

High above shone the Southern Cross, a constellation which in this country can, of course, never be observed. The scene about midnight, when Ingomar and the boys came up to have a last look at it before turning in, might well have been called solemn, but for the strange noises which hardly ever ceased.

Here and there, near to the ship even, was the hissing and hurtling as of a ship blowing off steam, and looking in the direction from which these came, great fountains or geysers could be noticed in the pale light. Whales were blowing. Other sounds, and sighs, and cries, and snortings, and moanings were incessant, and now and then long-drawn cries, proceeding whence or from what no one could ever guess.

For the rocks were covered with skuas, cormorants, and many a curious bird never met with in Northern waters.

“Do these creatures never sleep, I wonder?” asked Charlie.

“Hardly ever in early December,” said Captain Mayne Brace, who stood near him, “because, Charlie, this is the season of love and joy, and the shores are covered with nestlings, who would hardly permit their parents to sleep, if they wished to.”

“But I suppose they sleep sometimes?”

“They just have a nap or a nod or two now and then, when Nature won’t be denied any longer.

“But I say, boys, there is no reason why you should sit up all night, even if yonder birds and beasts do. Off with you and turn in.”

Charlie’s sleep was very dreamful that night, and so was Walter’s too.

But what they had seen the day before was nothing to the sights that met their gaze next morning when the boats landed.

They had been told to land on a white tongue of land where penguins were marching about and sea-leopards lolling in the sunshine, half-standing on their flippers to stare at the advancing boats, scratching themselves, and assuming the most ridiculous attitudes imaginable.

They had the pleasure of seeing several whales, and it was well they did not come into anything like close contact with these, or a nasty capsize would have been the consequence.

The seals were not a bit afraid of them, and hardly troubled to shuffle away into the water. Those who did made splendid dives. Charlie could not help envying them, but he himself would not have cared to dive into so dark and deep and cold a sea.

Some of the smaller ones were pole-axed (clubbed) because the flesh is palatable, and fried seal’s-liver and bacon make a capital breakfast dish.

Close to the precipitous ice-cliffs they had been warned not to venture, and indeed, while gazing and wondering at these as they shone and shimmered in the sunshine, a terrible explosion took place. High up a portion of the ice-wall fell, thundering and splashing into the sea, where it was splintered into pieces.

It fell right into the midst of a portion of water black with the heads of wondering seals, yet not one floated up dead, so nimbly had they dived beneath.

The camera-men and general observation-takers managed to climb a snowy mountain-peak, and I need hardly say that our heroes formed three of the party.

The sight that met their gaze from this lofty altitude, was one which once seen could never be forgotten.

Let those who tell us that scenery of Antarctic ice is dead and monotonous come here. Here was no monotony, and they could see to such a distance icebergs, small and great, afloat on the blue ocean (the sky was blue); an island or two on

the horizon of the north; to the south and west a long stretch of hilly shores, with snow-whitened, rugged peaks, little ice, big ice, ice of every form or shape that could be imagined, clouds and cloudlets in the sky, rolls of cumulus, lines of stria and patches of cirrhus. As for life, that was everywhere beneath them. Such crowds of beautiful sea-birds, especially gulls, had never before been witnessed, and the water was alive with life.

“Look, oh look!” cried Charlie, pointing to a particular spot just beneath. Here was a strange-looking monster, indeed—a real live sea-elephant, called so from the length of his proboscis. But king of the seas he is here, and other seals were crowding round him as if taking counsel, or—what is more probable—to scare him away by the might of their numbers. But he dashed them proudly away and soon disappeared. Like the great bladder-nose of the Arctic, he is a rather lonesome animal, and prefers to be.

With their lorgnettes they could see from such a height as this far down into the sea-depths. It was a busy time with the sea-leopards, for they were teaching their puppies how to swim with grace and celerity, and how long to stay below before Nature craved for a mouthful of fresh air. Some of them held their offspring between their flippers, and these were evidently giving suck.

Luncheon was partaken of, about 1700 feet above the sea level.

Lanes of water, south and west, could be seen penetrating into loughs or inland seas; but on this being reported to Captain Mayne Brace, he decided not to explore.

Lest I forget it, I should mention here, that the huge iceberg, on which the signal broom was hoisted, near to Cape Anne, was encountered far to sea many months after this by the Sea Elephant. The commander was greatly puzzled, but hauled yards aback and lowered a boat, thinking there must be shipwrecked men on the berg, part of the crew of some other expedition. They were even more puzzled when they found the name Walrus burned upon the pole. But this episode served to show the drift of the ocean current of the wind, for it was found far to the west, between South Georgia Islands and the great ice-pack.

On their way further to the west, the Walrus encountered weather fair and fine. They kept inwards, therefore—passing many huge striated icebergs, some caved, others tunnelled through and through—until they reached the Bouvet Isles, in latitude about 53° South and longitude 2° to 5° East.

They are volcanic in origin, as might easily be expected, and were first discovered by Captain Bouvet, who, however, could give but little account of them, owing, first to dense fogs, and secondly to the rocky little uninviting group being so closely packed around with ice-floes.

After seeing all here that could be seen, and catching many specimens of strange seals, as well as birds, the vessel’s direction was altered from N.W. to W. by S., and in due time, with few further adventures, and a considerable deal of monotonous sailing, they reach the Sandwich group, which lies in from 55° to 60° South and somewhere about 30° to the west.

These islands were all volcanic, as far as could be made out, and, indeed, in one of them, nearly the farthest north, smoke still issues from a half-burnt-out cone.

Almost every bottle, as it was emptied, was thrown overboard. After letters were written, they were corked, waxed, and well sealed. Some of these, strange to say, were picked up nearly a year afterwards on the shores of South America. And these, of course, were duly forwarded to England.

Some were, half a year after this, picked up by the Sea Elephant, and joyful enough were all hands to learn that all was going well on the sister ship.

* * * * *

West, and away ever west.

West, and still further south; and one morning, when the sun was unusually bright and clear, Charlie had the satisfaction, from the crow’s-nest, of discovering mountain peaks ahead.

Unfortunately for our young hero, these had been discovered generations before his time, else his name would be handed down in ocean history.

Never mind, when he hailed the quarter-deck, Charlie was just as proud as a pouter pigeon who discovers three eggs in her nest instead of the legitimate two.

The observations were continued, for science’ sake, and at great risk too, for half a gale of wind was blowing from the south-east, and the sea roared wild and angrily, so that to land a boat was impossible.

So no one was sorry when they bade farewell to this strangely inhospitable group of islands. They were covered entirely with snow, and it was found from soundings that the bottom around was not of volcanic formation. This, at all events, was something to know.

They had hardly seen the sun for weeks, fogs prevailed as well as high, uncertain winds, so that navigation had been considerably impeded.

Just one adventure they had on leaving these islands. Somehow, while racing about, poor Wallace, the collie, managed to leap clean and clear over the bows.

Every one loved that dear dog, and he was said to be far wiser and more sagacious than even Nick himself.

Be this as it may, he had not the same swimming power, and what followed fully proved this.

A life-buoy was let go almost instanter, and some confusion ensued.

At first it was thought that a lifeboat could hardly live in that wild sea; but Ingomar himself pleaded with the captain to make the attempt, and the ship was being stopped, and the men standing by to lower, when the captain gave the order.

But now comes the strange point. Nick had seen all, and as soon as the command was given he sped quickly aft and dived overboard.

The collie was far astern; but, rising on the crest of a wave, Nick could see him, and barked joyously.

It was a sight to see that boat leave the vessel’s side, and to mark the stern-set faces of her brave British crew. They were only going to save a dog! Is that what you say, my gentle boy reader? All the more honour to them for risking their lives in the cause.

They found the dogs at last, the Newfoundland with his head turned shipward, the collie resting his fore-paws on his strong shoulders.

And when the boat was hoisted, at last, and the lifeboat men, the gallant dog, and rescued collie, oh, then, I say you ought to have been on board to listen to the wild cheering, and to see the men crowding forward to caress the beautiful Nick.

CHAPTER IX

WITH HOBSON ON THE “MERRIMAC”—THE STORY THAT CURTIS TOLD

“The American-Spanish War didn’t last long enough to please me, but it did rip and rattle and roar in Cuba and all around the island after the first ship spat angry fire. You shall earn my eternal gratitude, boys, if you bring any one up with a round turn who dares call it ‘a little war.’ I tell you what it is, the book isn’t written yet that shall describe one-half the gallant deeds done by our brave cousins, on land and at sea, during those brief summer months of eighteen hundred and ninety-eight.

“‘The Spaniards never had a chance,’ some may tell you.

“But the Spaniards had, and Admiral Cervera had also; and if his gunners had been smart and good, and with some degree of dash and go about them then, with his splendid ships he might have done wonders, and the war might still be raging.

“‘Manaña!’ (ma-nyah-na—to-morrow). ‘Manaña!’ is the beggarly whine for ever on the lips of the Dons, be they seamen or soldiers.

“But ‘To-day!’ is America’s battle-cry. Jackie just flings off his jacket and goes at it hammer and tongs, like a true-born Briton. And God give us gunners, lads, like the Americans, when our own day of battle dawns.

“Well, about Jack Hardy? He was a fine, open-countenanced boy, say seventeen or a little over. He really hadn’t been a year in the service, hardly time for some to get used to their sea-legs. But the lad was a sailor already—you could have told that at a glance—a sailor every inch, from his purser’s shoes to his broad blue-banded cap and collar, and his cheerful, willing, brick-dust face. Guess it was his splendid, spreading bare brown neck that first drew my attention to Jack. Give me a boy, or a dog either, that has a well-put-on neck; he’s got the sand in him. You can bet your blouse on that. Take your turtle-necked chap on shore again. He is no good for the navy, and a turtle-necked dog isn’t worth the price of a rope to hang him.

“Now, the American man-o’-war’s courtesy is well known, so is my modesty. But the latter is sui generis. For example, if I required to borrow money from a friend to get me a dinner, I should never ask for a dollar, if there was the ghost of a chance of getting a guinea. So when Captain Hotchkiss, in his kindly way, said to me, ‘Want to do Santiago, do you, Curtis? Press, eh? Very well, you can choose a man and boy as body-guard,’ I chose Hardy, and a fine old sailor not long promoted to the rank of bo’s’n’s mate—the two best hearts in the ship; and the latter, I knew, had been with Hobson in the Merrimac, and I hoped, therefore, to worm a vivâ voce yarn out of him before we came off from shore again.

“Now, I had been to Santiago before—years ago—and I rather liked it then. I can remember it even now as I speak, remember it as a lovely dream, a romance—with a beautiful Spanish girl in it whom I—— But never mind, the ruthless fingers of Time have long since torn that leaf from the log of my young life. But somehow I expected to find Santiago on this bright and beautiful forenoon, as my boat went dancing over the blue bay, just as I had left it in the days of ‘Auld Lang Syne.’ I had but to close my eyes to see once more all its greenery and quaintness, with its quiet court-yards where flowers and fruit trees grew; where, when moon or stars shone bright and fire-flies rose and fell among the foliage, I used to listen to the tinkle of the lute—Lucia’s lute, Lucia in robes of white, with dark mantilla thrown carelessly over her raven hair, and a flower on her breast, a flower I never left without.

“‘I say, bo’s’n’—I had opened my eyes now wide enough—‘I say, doesn’t the breeze smell rather—er—er—gamey?’

“The good fellow laughed. ‘That it do, sir,’ he said. ‘Santeehager ain’t what it used to be by a jugful. You’ll find it ain’t the sweetest o’ perfoomery now. Sometimes it’s wusser’n others. Sometimes, when seven miles at sea, ye might hang your sou’wester on the perfoom o’ sweet Santeehager!’

“My romance, my dream of fair women fled just then, and didn’t return.

“Well, I have seen a city or two after a siege and bombardment, and I know as well as anybody how many ‘r’s’ there are in horror, but the sights I saw that day I had better make no attempt to describe. How American and Spanish troops could live and laugh in such a place as this, even with assistance from the bodegas, was more than I could tell. Ruins everywhere, sometimes whole rows of them, with fallen roofs and blackened rafters; streets and lanes and piazzas obstructed with broken furniture of every sort; vilely smelling currents of black filth, and pools and lakelets of the same; and—mercy on us!—corpses everywhere in the quieter squares—corpses of wretches who had crawled there to die; corpses reeking in the sunlight; corpses that even the clouds of horrid vultures refused to put a talon in.

“Such was Santiago. I had come for copy, and I soon had enough of it.

“‘Let’s get out of this, bo’s’n. Can’t we spend the night up yonder among the hills and palm trees?’

“‘Yes,’ the good fellow answered, cheerily. ‘And luckily the wind’s about a N.N.E.’

“We didn’t leave the city empty-handed, though. One hotel was doing a roaring trade, and when we found ourselves, an hour before sunset, high up among the woods, we had enough of the good things of this life to have stood a five days’ siege.

“Perhaps we didn’t make a hearty supper! Oh no, sailor-men never eat and drink!

“We had some wine anyhow, for our stomachs’ sake, let me say, and to eliminate the perfume of sweet Santiago, which seemed still to hang around us.

“The sunset was ineffably beautiful, the clouds and the bay were streaked with the colours of tropical birds; of those very birds that sang their evening songs above us, while the breeze sighed through the foliage.

“Twilight does not last long here, however, but a big round moon rose slowly over the hills, and there would be neither darkness nor danger to-night.

“‘I say, bo’s’n,’ I cried, ‘you were in the Merrimac with gallant Hobson. Tell us your version. Have another cigar, and another glass of wine. Keeps away infection, you know.’

“The bo’s’n needed no second bidding. He had a bo’s’n’s nip—four fingers high—and the wine was brandy too.

“‘Ahem! Yes, I was in the Merrimac, and so was Jack Hardy, here.’

“‘Well,’ I cried, ‘I am in luck. Wait, bo’s’n, till I light up. Now, then, heave round, my friend. Sure you’re not thirsty?’

“‘No, sirree. I feel that last little tot in my eye like. Ever seen Hobson? Well, you’ll like ’im when you does. You’ve seen a yacht, spick and span, new, that can rip through a stormy sea, hang or move like a Mother Carey’s chicken, and do ’most anything. That’s him. That’s Hobson. Bless you, sir, the old men didn’t like the youngster’s brave proposal at first. They pooh-poohed it, as ye might say. Even Schley himself laughed a little, as, in his fatherly way, he put a hand on young Hobson’s shoulder. I was as close to ’em, sir, as I am to Jack here. “Admiral Cervera,” he says, “is in yonder right enough. Only wish the beggar would come out. He’s bottled.”

“‘“Ay, admiral,” says Hobbie, as we calls him for fond like, “and I want to cork the bottle. Give me that old collier the Merrimac, and, with a few volunteers, I’ll take her in and sink her right across the narrow neck, ’twixt Canores and Estrella Points, and——”

“‘“And where will you and your men be then?” says Schley.

“‘“I’ll give you my word of honour, sir, I’ll go to heaven, almost cheerfully, as soon’s we bottle up the dirty Don! Besides, sir,” he says, “why smash that fine fleet up, when it would make so grand an addition to the American Navy?”

“‘Yes; and it were that very argerment, I guess, that carried the pint, wi’ the captains in council assembled. Volunteers! Ay, in course; half the navy would have volunteered to steam to certain death with young Hobson. It was the forlornest o’ hopes ever led.

“‘Look you, see, sir.’ The bo’s’n paused a minute to draw with his knife a rough sketch of Santiago bay and city on the ground.

“‘That’s my map, like, o’ the place lying down yonder beneath us in the moonlight. Them things there at sea is the fleet—our fleet. You’ll have to take Cervera’s for granted, but one of his ships lay here, you see, to guard the entrance. The crosses is the batteries, and they did blaze and batter us that awful night!’

“The bo’s’n paused a moment, and laid his hand affectionately on Jack Hardy’s shoulder.

“‘Me and my young pal here,’ he continued, ‘had known one another for months afore then. There was something about the lad that made me like him. See’d him throw his extra garments one day and go like thunder for big Nat Dowlais, ’cause he’d kicked the ship’s cat. Ay, and welted him well, too. I took to talkin’ more to Jack after that. But I couldn’t get down deep enough to the boy’s heart. There was something under the surface; I could tell that. Jack was no ordinary bit o’ ship’s junk. Bless you, sir, there’s hundreds o’ gentlemen’s sons before the mast—but they’re not all like Jack Hardy. Jack was more like a stage sailor than anything else. Everything he put on was so darned natty—his hands so white and soft, though his face and neck was brown. Then he talked American like a book. Played the piano, too, like a freak, and was often in the ward-room in consequence. And blowed if I didn’t hear the master-at-arms—bloomin’ old brass-bound Jimmy Legs—more’n once call him “sir.”

“‘Well, the Merrimac was ’long-side and ready. Incloodin’ Lieutenant Hobson himself, eight of us were chosen for this deed o’ danger. Torpedoes were arranged in the hold. Hobson would stand by the helmsman, Hobson would touch the button and sink her, and, at a word, we should leap into the sea and swim for the dinghy towin’ astern, for this was our only hope o’ salvation.

“‘Jack, here, had stood by my side among the volunteers, but the poor lad was passed over. Don’t nudge me, Jackie lad; I’m goin’ to tell the truth, the whole bloomin’ truth, and nothin’ but—so there! I’ll never forget, sir, the look o’ disappointment on the lad’s face just then. Some time after, I found him for’ard with his back to the ship and his face to the sea. He looked smartly up, but I could see by the starlight there were tears on his face.

“‘He said nothing, but walked away impatient like, and I saw him no more for a time.’

“The bo’s’n leaned towards me now, and his eyes sparkled in the moonlight. He touched my knee with his horny palm.

“‘We steamed away,’ he said, in a hoarse half-whisper—steamed into the darkness and away from the flag-ship. Not a sound for a time save the hollow dump o’ the screw and the swirl o’ the seethin’ seas!

“‘In silence we steamed—it might have been for half an hour, but it seemed like an age—an age of blackness and terror. Nothing was nateral like. The ship was a death-ship, the figures agin the bulwarks yonder were spectres. I would have given worlds to have heard but a word, a laugh, a cough even!

“‘I said there were eight of us! By the sky above us yonder, sir, there were nine!

“‘I guessed at once who the ninth was, and I shuddered a bit when I thought of brave, foolish Hardy here. For never a stroke could he swim, and his coming with us to-night was sheer madness—nay, more, it looked like suicide.

“‘Soon after Jack slid slowly up towards me, and his left arm clutched my right as I clutch yours now. Every one of us, sir, was stripped to the waist. Every one wore a lifebelt save Jack Hardy. He was a stowaway, and not in it.

“‘“Oh, boy,” I said, speaking in a whisper, “why have you done this?”

“‘“Hush!” he answered. “My time is mebbe short, mate, and you’ve always been my friend. So listen. Something tells me you’ll be saved, but I am here to die. I want you to bear a message to my parents—to my mother especially. Her address you’ll find in my ditty-box. But go to see her, Sam, when the war is over. Far away west my people live in opulence, and I’m an only son. Father taunted me with cowardice, and I ran away and came to sea. Tell father I forgave him. Tell mother——” Ah, sir, just here the lad broke down. He’s only a boy. “Tell mother,” he sobbed, “how her Jack died for his country. Tell her I felt she’d forgiven me—that will please her—that my every dream was of home and her, that——”

“‘“A boat on the weather-bow,” cried a man to Hobson. “Shall we fire?”

“‘“No,” cried Hobson; “never a shot.”

“‘It had been a picket. We heard her officer shout in Spanish to give way with a will, and she disappeared up into the darkness of the channel we were now entering.

“‘The end was coming; the end was very near, and we all knew it.’

* * * * *

“While the bo’s’n had been telling his story, young Hardy sat silent, but he spoke now almost for the first time.

“‘A moment, sir. The bo’s’n won’t tell you, but I must. He tore off his lifebelt, and fastened it around me. He swore I must wear it or he would fling it into the sea. That’s all!’

“‘Well, sir,’ continued the bo’s’n, ‘the awful silence was speedily broken. They had seen us only as a dark mass, black as the rocks that towered above us. Then their fire opened. We’ll never be under such a fire again as that, sir, and live. Shells burst above us, around us, shells riddled our hull, and raked our spar-deck, and crushed into our deck-house. Fragments and splinters flew about in all directions. I think most of us were flat on our faces just then, and I lay beside Jackie here holding his hand. No tremor there, though! No signs of fear! And the fire poured into us from three sides, sir, from the batteries of Socappa on the left, from Morro on the right, and from a warship ahead.

“‘Speak of thunder. Pah! thunder isn’t in it with such a devil’s din as this, and lightning ’gainst those gun-gleams would have been like the glint of a farthing candle!

“‘Then we saw brave Hobson’s figure—unearthly tall it looked. No voice could be heard, only his arms waved us to the bulwarks.

“‘Next second it seemed we were all in the water, as a roar louder than the artillery shook the sky, shook the hills, and silenced even the batteries.

“‘The ship was sinking beside us! We were all but drawn into the whirlpool, but I held Jack’s hand and toughly towed him off.

“‘But the dinghy was gone, and the rudder too, and the Merrimac sank, not across, but along the channel. So our forlorn hope had been led in vain. The Spanish fleet was bottled still, but not corked, sir.’

“He paused for a moment.

“‘Ah, sir, no one there would ever forget that night, nor the hours we passed under a tilted grating that God in His mercy had put it into some one’s head to attach by a rope to the ship. We could just get under this catamaran and hold on to the spars above.

“‘Hour after hour of darkness went by. Boats passed and repassed, and we could hear the men talking. Had they known there were nine heads under that grating, short would have been our shrift, sir.

“‘And all these hours we hardly spoke. We almost feared to breathe aloud.

“‘More than once I thought that Jackie here was dead or dying, but I whispered cheering words to him. More than once I trembled as my feet were touched by slimy sharks. How they did not tear me down I cannot tell you. Seems to me, sir, ’twere a ’tarposition o’ Providence like.

“‘But daylight came at last, and Cervera’s own boat and Cervera himself.

“‘Hobson’s voice was feeble enough now, but he managed to hail her.

“‘“Por Dios!” we heard the white-haired admiral cry. “Do the dead talk to us?”

“‘But we were saved, and taken to the Spanish ship. Yes, sir, treated with every kindness, made prisoners, but released at long, long last, even before sweet Santeehager fell.

“‘Well, that’s my yarn, sir, and it’s all as true as the stars above us.’

“‘And Jack Hardy here,’ I ventured to ask, ‘was he reprimanded?’

“‘Tried by drum-head he was, sir. Condemned to death for desertion, and pardoned all in one sentence.’”

“‘Ah, sir,’ the brave bo’s’n added, ‘I’ll bet my boots that Jack Hardy is a midshipman before this cruel war is over. Thank ye, sir, I don’t mind if I do; and I’ll give ye a toast, too—

* * * * *

The Walrus sailed on and on around the great Antarctic continent, but never saw her consort till once more the two ships met safe and sound at Kerguelen Isle.

END OF BOOK II

BOOK III

ON THE GREAT ANTARCTIC CONTINENT

CHAPTER I

A STRANGE DISCOVERY—SHEELAH AND TAFFY

“Well, yes, she is bound to be, in the natural course of events, because, as you say, she has faster sailing qualities, and all that; but——”

“Ah!” interrupted Mayne Brace, with a smile, and another hearty pull at his coffee; “we must not think of the ‘might be,’ or the ‘may be.’ Else we’d go on thinking and get nervous, and end in believing, that because we did not meet the Sea Elephant somewhere to the east of Dougherty Islands, she has been taken aback in a squall, and gone down stern foremost, with all hands. Or that she had, at the very least, broken her screw.”

“Steward!”

“Ay, ay, sir!”

“Put more coals on the fire.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And just replenish our cups of coffee. Fresh ground, isn’t it?”

“That it be, sir.

“Dumpty always roasts it himself, and I grinds it. A main good hand Dumpty is, sir, at roasting coffee. A little morsel of lard in the bottom of the pan to keep the beans from burning, a good clear fire, and keep them moving and moving; and there you be, sir.”

“Steward!”

“Sir to you again, sir.”

“Ever anybody ask you for a recipe for roasting coffee?”

“Milk and sugar, sir?”

The milk was another invention of the steward. It was a fresh gull’s egg, beaten and mixed with hot water, and sweetened with pure preserved milk.

On the whole, everybody did his best on board the old Walrus.

The men forward to-night were very jolly, for, being so near to the end of their exceedingly long voyage, the captain had spliced the main brace, that is, he had added one modest glass of rum to their nightly allowance. I don’t believe in rum myself, but when one is writing a sea story, one must adhere to the truth. The man who does not face realities and the naked truth, is like the fabled ostrich that hid its head in the sand when danger approached.

The men drank “sweethearts and wives,” or “wives and sweethearts,” in the real good old British fashion. The married men, you know, drank “wives and sweethearts.” The bachelors, and they were nearly all of that persuasion, put the “sweethearts” to the front.

They had mixed the grog with a good deal of hot water and sugar to make it last. But they toasted each other also; and it was, “Here’s to you, Jack;” or, “Here’s to you, Bill,” or Tom or Joe, as the case might be. And “We’ve been shipmates now more’n a year, and never a word atween us, bar a sea-boot now and then.”

And they toasted “The Captain.” “And he is a good fellow,” was the remark of one sailor, “though a stickler for duty.”

“Ah! Well, Sconce, dooty is dooty all the world. Stick by that, and we’ll all do well.”

“Dooty,” said another, “is the needle wot points to the Pole, and the Pole is Heaven itself.”

“Very good sentiment for you, Jack. Here’s to dooty!”

“Now, sir”—this to Charlie—“touch her up, sir. Give us ‘Homeward Bound,’ and we’ll all chime in, from Dumpty downwards, to the nipper wot tends the dogs.”

“Homeward Bound” was given with glee; but, of course, it was only a make-believe, because there wasn’t much home life about Kerguelen.

They sighted the island after passing McDonald and Heard Isles.

Charlie again. He had been determined to be first to see land.

Before the entrance to the creek or natural harbour, where the men and animals were, is a spit of rocky land, a rugged kind of breakwater, and had the Sea Elephant been the first inside, her top-masts would have shown over this.

But here was never a ship’s mast to be seen.

On the shore, high up on a braeside, was an outlook, and the Walrus’s people saw both American and British ensigns dipped to welcome the Walrus.

The Walrus returned the salute.

Then flags of all kinds were set in motion, and the signalmen on board and on shore were very busy indeed, for a time.

“Yes, all was well, now,” said the signalman on shore, “but two dogs dead, and one Innuit. Sea Elephant had never been seen.”

The anchor was hardly let go when the officer’s boat was alongside, and he was heartily welcomed down below to exchange experiences.

He and his men had been very busy all the time, and they were ably assisted and supported by the kindly Yak-Yaks. He spoke in the very highest terms of Slap-dash, the chief. In the dreary days of winter, when the island was deep in snow, snow-shoe expeditions were got up; but sleighing, especially with the bears, who were better suited to the rough work, was preferred. The Yak-Yak died of inflammation. One dog fell over a cliff and was killed at once. The other was found dead. Both were buried side by side, and cairns mark their resting-place. “There is a cairn also,” said Slator, “on the poor Yak-Yak. I think we nearly all dropped some tears at his grave.”

I suppose they did, reader, for in the loneliness of such a place as this the heart is sometimes very near the throat. Sunshine brings mirth and happiness, gloom depresses, and there is always a certain amount of sadness in even the songs of northern nations, such as Iceland, Scotland, and Norway.

Both Charlie and Walt had some doubt as to how the Yak-Yak dogs would receive them again. But, accompanied by Ingomar, they boldly marched some distance into the interior, to the kennels. It was the afternoon of what had been a glorious day, and they had doffed their fur caps and coats.

The bears were not at home just then. Both bears and dogs, indeed, had gone away to roam the wilds nearly every day, but the Bruins, with the dogs, always came shambling or trotting back at eventide, to sleep and to eat.

They were away then at this moment, and Slap-dash proposed that, with the Newfoundlands and pet collie, they should all march forth to meet them.

Strangely enough, they had a rendezvous on a hill-top, where most of them met every night, and from this a beaten track to the camp.

To-day several of the dogs were already at the place of meeting, several were straggling up from seawards, and in front (for no dog was permitted to walk behind him) was Gruff, with his well-beloved wife Growley.

When within about seventy yards of the place, where Ingomar and the boys were standing, both stopped short and sniffed the air. Then Growley gave vent to a half-choked roar of rage, that shook the hills—well, if it didn’t shake the hills, it shook the hearts of Charlie and Walt.

“Strangers!” Growley seemed to shout. “I’ll tear ’em limb from limb!”

Gruff rounded on her at once, and promptly knocked her down.

Then Gruff came trotting on, and Nora and Nick and the collie ran off to meet them, our heroes following.

That was a pas de joie, a joy-dance, if ever there was a joy-dance in this world; and those sceptical creatures, who would class dogs and our other dumb friends as mere automata, would have been converted on the spot to the dear old doctrine, that animals have souls, had they but seen that dance.

It was too absurdly intrinsically droll for description. The other two bears, Grumpey and Meg, came up and joined, and presently all the rest of the bonnie dogs.

They went round and round our heroes in a hairy hurricane; they pretended to worry each other, they barked and roared, and grumbled and growled, till the boys’ sides were sore with laughing.

Surely such a scene of merriment was never before witnessed, and when all had quietened down somewhat, they went amicably back to the kennels.

This is not one of Grimms’ fairy tales, mind, rather is it a fairy tale of science and natural history, and these, readers mine, are all true.

* * * * *

A whole week passed away, but still no Sea Elephant.

Captain Mayne Brace had taken in more coals, and his arrangements were all complete, so he was becoming impatient; but at long last the ship hove in sight over the horizon, and the union was complete.

On comparing logs, it was found that they must have passed each other at night, and had been probably within ten nautical miles of each other.

The bigger ship had taken many observations, and done a much quicker voyage. But, knowing that he could be at Kerguelen much sooner than the Walrus, a happy thought had occurred to Captain Bell. He would run up to the Cape of Good Hope and endeavour to get a cargo of coals.

Although the war was raging, he succeeded, and now these were landed in case of emergency, each ship just taking enough for the grand new cruise.

I need hardly say that the meeting between Curtis and Ingomar was most cordial.

A grand ball was given on shore on the night of re-union.

Sailors are not sailors unless they can have a bit of fun.

It was a ball of a somewhat heterogeneous description, for men waltzed with men, though Slap-dash did some really graceful movements with Gruff and the other bears as partners. There were no ladies, you see, but all the more freedom and merriment.

Yet, stay; I must qualify this statement. The Eskimos, Yaks, Innuits, Teelies, or any other name you choose to give them, are droll creatures. They all dress alike in skins, and their faces are all about the same shape.

Now the very day before the Walrus and Sea Elephant sailed, all being then on board, except a change of men who were to remain at Kerguelen for observation duty, Slap-dash came up and saluted Captain Bell.

“Four of my rascals,” he said, “want to speak to you directly.”

Then the four “rascals” were led up and threw themselves on their faces before Captain Bell as if they had been worshipping the sun.

“Get up, get up,” said Bell, “and speak like men.”

They arose at once and stood before him, and two took a step in advance of the other two.

“We not all men-people, sir,” said one.

“We not all men-people,” said the other.

Captain Bell began to frown.

“Dis ees my ole woman-people,” said the first speaker.

“Dis ees my ole mudder-people,” said the other.

“Slap-dash,” cried Bell, “did you know this?”

“Not befo’ dis morning, sah; no, no.”

Captain Bell was puzzled and silent. He addressed Ross, the officer who had been left in charge at Kerguelen.

“No, sir,” said this gentleman; “I don’t see how we can send them on shore. We can’t want the whole four. They will pine and die if separated. That would be a dead certainty.”

“Very dead,” said Bell, smiling.

“Besides, though no one suspected their sex, that one called Sheelah is an excellent cook, and both are capital nurses. We were sick sometimes. We had green fever in winter, and certain I am that they nursed us back to life.”

The carpenter was next called for.

“Carpenter,” said Bell, “a small screen berth will be wanted below in some corner, a kind of l-l-ladies’ cabin. Do ye hear?”

“Well, sir, I do hear, because I’m not deaf; but I don’t understand.”

“Then just do as you are told, Mr. Inglis.”

“Certainly, sir, certainly.”

So a little privacy was obtained for Sheelah and Taffy, and, as it turned out afterwards, no one was the loser for the “women-people” being on board.

Do coming events throw their shadows before?

Perhaps they do. Anyhow, when the two ships looked their last on Kerguelen—the last for a long time, at all events—there was more silence on board than is usual with sailors going off to sea.

They knew the dangers they were going to encounter, but they were all quite acclimatized to the rigorous Antarctic climate by this time, and there was not a man on board, British or American, who was not prepared to do his best. Which of us can do more?

CHAPTER II

A FIGHT BETWEEN MEN AND ICE

Now, having been a boy myself, not so very long ago—apparently—and being still a boy at heart, I know that boys do not as a rule care for geography. That is because it is taught in a stupidly, awkward way at schools, a method being adopted which is devoid of all interest. But never mind, I do wish you for once in a way to take a look at the map here presented to you. The ships were off south and east from Kerguelen Isle, and the first port to be struck was Termination Land. It was not to be the termination of their cruise, however, by a very long way.

Would you be surprised to learn that there are two poles in the south, and two in the north, the magnetic and real poles.

The real axis, the hub of our “terral” wheel, is the one we have to deal with.

Here all meridians may be supposed to meet at a point.

There would in reality be no more south for a man standing at this pole. Let him look in which ever way he liked, to Africa, to South America, or New Zealand; it would all be north, north, north. No east, no west, just north.

The Sea Elephant and her sister, the Walrus, were not to be run into any danger along the coast of Wilkes’ Land, which marvellous line of shore may be said to stretch from Termination Land and Island, right away to Ringgold’s Knoll, far, far east. It is, or is supposed to be, the longest stretch of coast land in, or any way around, the Antarctic. There is no mistake about this being land, nor that it is indented with bays and gulphs, just as the west coast of Scotland or Norway is; and these indentations may really divide the continent in places.

I only want to give you some rough idea of this land coast. Had you then been able to sail along it many thousands of years ago—and you would have had to be up very early indeed to do so—before there was any ice here at all, when the shores were green and forest-clad, the sight you would have witnessed would have been a very beautiful one indeed! Hills and vales and mountain land, and probably in the farther interior, vast sierras, the woods teeming with strange animals; and strange birds would have been there, too, sailing over the forests, or floating on blue seas, alive with myriads of fish of various species, many now lost and gone, others still extant because they have migrated.

But now, though the same formation of surface and contour of hills may remain, they are all, all snow-clad, and protected seawards by a barrier, or barriers of ice, of every description, which few mariners would care to negotiate.

* * * * *

The weather continued favourable, but there were many days of darkness and gloom; and after Termination Land had been reached, it was not considered advisable—strong and well fortified though the ships were—to be among the ice when the shadows of great clouds enveloped the land, or when storms were threatened. But when the sun shone, and the ice was open, then they boldly ventured to push their way through, either under steam, or under sail.

Ice like this closes very suddenly, and if the captain of an exploring ship is not very clever, he may get caught, and a week’s imprisonment counts against a ship when making a voyage.

Sailing in a pack like this, a vessel to a landsman would seem to be in a very dangerous position.

She may be, though no one on board appears to think so. The ice is here, the ice is there, the ice is all around; flat bergs, like what you meet in the north; pancake ice, lakes of slush, and those terrible masses, or square mountains of land-ice—a characteristic feature of this country—with caved perpendicular sides, striated on the horizontal, or, if they have been melted by the sun at one side, oblique, and glittering gorgeously blue, green, or paley white, in the sun’s rays.

But all, big or small, covered with snow, so that their very whiteness dazzles the eyes. But at this season there were birds everywhere, and seals of many species. The penguins, I need hardly add, were a very curious sight, as they stood or staggered about on the low flat bergs. Our heroes saw some sea-elephants, though I believe these, as a rule, are far more common to the south of Tierra Del Fuego.

One day, when the ships were pretty close together, and well in through the ice, the sky cleared far too quickly to please Captain Mayne Brace. He knew at once that John Frost would have them in his clutches, if they did not soon beat a retreat.

So he signalled to his consort, and both vessels quickly had their heads turned to the north.

They might have found themselves clear in a few hours had it not suddenly come on to blow from the cold and icy south.

The ice began to pack.

Steam was got up with the greatest despatch, and nearly all sail taken in. Luckily there was no swell, else there would have been pressure enough to have thrown both vessels on their beam-ends on a floe.

The Sea Elephant was leading, and by-and-by the Walrus managed to creep right into her wake. This was an advantage for a time. A south wind, even with a clear sky, would naturally open the ice, but there was some demon current working underneath that they could not account for; and while they were still two miles from clear and open water, they found themselves rapidly becoming part and parcel of the pack.

Break the ice, did you say? I should smile. You may get steam machinery to smash bay-ice, or splinter pancake, but not your solid, heavy pieces. Oh no! So men who have inventions of this sort should sell them to farmers at home to break up their mill dams in winter.

Then came a battle ’twixt men and ice. Men with their cunning, ice with its force of movement, slow but sure.

Both ships got closer together, the Sea Elephant leading, all hands that could be spared from both ships, over the side in front of the foremost.

Armed with great poles, they moved the bergs on every side.

It was bitterly cold work, and the pieces moved but slowly.

Under all the pressure of steam she could produce without risk, aided by the men over the side, the Sea Elephant forged her way slowly, fathom by fathom, indeed, but after a time that to our heroes seemed interminable, her jib-boom hung over the black water.[D]

Then came the scramble to get inboard, and though their fingers were about as hard as boards, and some had frozen faces, in less than ten minutes all hands were once more on their respective decks.

Sail was once more set, fires were banked—save the coals they must—and away they went, right merrily, to the east again, the wind well on the starboard beam.

Although the men had raised a cheer when the ships were quite out of that ugly pack, there was no fear in any breast.

“Would there have been much danger if we had been beset in there, uncle?” Charlie ventured to ask the captain, at supper.

“A fig for the danger, boy. We’ll never be out of that, but we came to find the South Pole, or get somewhere near it.”

Ingomar smiled.

“Well, then, Hans, we have come to make a big record.”

“That will beat all creation, captain.”

“Yes, beat all creation, and it would have been misfortune, to say the least of it, to have got beset. That’s all. Yes, thanks, steward, I’ll have another slice.”

* * * * *

The two ships stood steadily onwards now, day after day, sailing whenever they could, steaming only when obliged to, for the economy of coal had to be studied, and that, too, most carefully.

Captain Bell, of the Sea Elephant, came now to be recognized as head of the expedition, though on every occasion that was deemed important a council was called and the opinions of all officers taken.

He was now always called The Admiral, but not to his face. He was none too fond of fine titles.

And the Sea Elephant was called the Flag Ship, for short.

One day, when in the neighbourhood of the Knoll, the Admiral signalled to the Walrus, that as they would soon round Wilkes’ Land and stand down south, it would be best for all hands to bend their cold-weather gear.

In shore English that would signify, give out the supplies of winter clothing.

As it turned out, this was very excellent advice indeed.

The Eskimos had their supply first and foremost, and this they had made themselves, under the supervision of Slap-dash, and from seal-skins with the hair on.

Slap-dash assured Captain Bell that there was nothing so good for keeping out the cold, and his words turned out to be true. Most, however, of the sailors and their officers still stuck to flannel and fur.

Both Charlie and Walter had a very great desire to see the inside of a real ice-cave. These caves look like archways, or the openings into tunnels, and are formed by the dash of the waves on huge bergs of land-ice, or even in the sides of the ice-barrier itself.

They had their desire fulfilled one day, while the ships lay almost motionless on the dark water.

There wasn’t a breath of wind, nor was there any fog. And the surveyors were engaged very busily indeed, in taking soundings, and bringing up specimens of the mud or clay at the bottom for examination.

Fires were banked, but the ships were at no great distance from a lofty ice-wall, at the foot of which were several caves.

They rowed on shore at sunset.

And the appearance of that sunset was in itself a sight to behold!

The sun was sinking slowly down to the north of west, and in a cloudless sky. It seemed a larger sun than our young heroes had ever yet beheld, and cast its reflection on the heaving waves ’twixt boat and horizon, in a very remarkable way; for although the sheen was bright, it was not dazzling. Nor was the sun itself. But nearer to the spot where our heroes stood, on the field of level ice betwixt them and the ice-caves, were many shades of opal and pearl.

“We must be moving,” said Ingomar, “at last, boys, or we will not get home to-night.”

“Oh!” cried Walter, “I wouldn’t mind staying here all night to look at the sky.”

“Nor I,” said Charlie. “I’d like to sleep in the snow. Nothing could harm us except the frost, and we should be in our sleeping-bags, so that couldn’t hurt much.”

“There are no snakes here, anyhow.” This from “wise Walter,” as Charlie sometimes called him chaffingly.

“No, Walt; and no burglars, either.”

There was one thing to be said for the dogs, Nick and Nora and Wallace. They had long ago fully made up their minds to enjoy themselves to the fullest extent, whenever they had the chance.

They were tearing round and round on the ice-floe at this moment, wriggling and jumping and playing at leap-frog, while Nick would pause every moment to fill his mouth with snow and fling it over his neighbour’s shoulders.

The boys must have just one more look at that sky before they entered the ice-cave.

Lo! what a change. The sun was all but down, and sea and sky had changed to orange, deep and charming. The very snow was orange.