The Giant of the North by Robert Michael Ballantyne (comprehension books .txt) 📖

gazing at Toolooha's lamp as if you saw a ghost in it."

"Well, perhaps I do see a ghost there," returned the Captain with an effort to rouse his attention to things going on around him. "I see the ghost of things to come. I am looking through Toolooha's lamp into futurity."

"And what does futurity look like?" asked Alf. "Bright or dark?"

"Black--black as me," muttered Butterface, as he approached and laid fresh viands before the party.

It ought to be told that Butterface had suffered rather severely in the recent glissade on the snow-slope, which will account for the gloomy view he took of the future at that time.

"Listen," said the Captain, with a look of sudden earnestness; "as it is highly probable that a day or two more will decide the question of our success or failure, I think it right to reveal to you more fully my thoughts, my plans, and the prospects that lie before us. You all know very well that there is much difference of opinion about the condition of the sea around the North Pole. Some think it must be cumbered with eternal ice, others that it is comparatively free from ice, and that it enjoys a somewhat milder climate than those parts of the Arctic regions with which we have hitherto been doing battle. I hold entirely with the latter view--with those who believe in an open Polar basin. I won't weary you with the grounds of my belief in detail, but here are a few of my reasons--

"It is an admitted fact that there is constant circulation of the water in the ocean. That wise and painstaking philosopher, Maury, of the US navy, has proved to my mind that this grand circulation of the sea-water round the world is the cause of all the oceanic streams, hot and cold, with which we have been so long acquainted.

"This circulation is a necessity as well as a fact. At the Equator the water is extremely warm and salt, besides lime-laden, in consequence of excessive evaporation. At the Poles it is extremely cold and fresh. Mixing is therefore a necessity. The hot salt-waters of the Equator flow to the Poles to get freshened and cooled. Those of the Poles flow to the Equator to get salted, limed, and warmed. They do this continuously in two grand currents, north and south, all round the world. But the land comes in as a disturbing element; it diverts the water into streams variously modified in force and direction, and the streams also change places variously, sometimes the hot currents travelling north as under-currents with the cold currents above, sometimes the reverse. One branch of the current comes from the Equator round the Cape of Good Hope, turns up the west coast of Africa, and is deflected into the Gulf of Mexico, round which it sweeps, and then shoots across the Atlantic to England and Norway. It is known as our Gulf Stream.

"Now, the equatorial warm and salt current enters Baffin's Bay as a submarine current, while the cold and comparatively fresh waters of the Polar regions descend as a surface-current, bearing the great ice-fields of the Arctic seas to the southward. One thing that goes far to prove this, is the fact that the enormous icebergs thrown off from the northern glaciers have been frequently seen by navigators travelling northward, right _against_ the current flowing south. These huge ice-mountains, floating as they do with seven or eight parts of their bulk beneath the surface, are carried thus forcibly up stream by the under-current until their bases are worn off by the warm waters below, thus allowing the upper current to gain the mastery, and hurry them south again to their final dissolution in the Atlantic.

"Now, lads," continued the Captain, with the air of a man who propounds a self-evident proposition; "is it not clear that if the warm waters of the south flow into the Polar basin as an _under_ current, they must come up _somewhere_, to take the place of the cold waters that are for ever flowing away from the Pole to the Equator? Can anything be clearer than that--except the nose on Benjy's face? Well then, that being so, the waters round the Pole _must_ be comparatively warm waters, and also, comparatively, free from ice, so that if we could only manage to cross this ice-barrier and get into them, we might sail right away to the North Pole."

"But, father," said Benjy, "since you have taken the liberty to trifle with my nose, I feel entitled to remark that we can't sail in waters, either hot or cold, without a ship."

"That's true, boy," rejoined the Captain. "However," he added, with a half-humorous curl of his black moustache, "you know I'm not given to stick at trifles. Time will show. Meanwhile I am strongly of opinion that this is the last ice-barrier we shall meet with on our way to the Pole."

"Is there not some tradition of a mild climate in the furthest north among the Eskimos?" asked Alf.

"Of course there is. It has long been known that the Greenland Eskimos have a tradition of an island in an iceless sea, lying away in the far north, where there are many musk-oxen, and, from what I have been told by our friend Chingatok, I am disposed to think that he and his kindred inhabit this island, or group of islands, in the Polar basin--not far, perhaps, from the Pole itself. He says there are musk-oxen there. But there is another creature, and a much bigger one than any Eskimo, bigger even than Chingatok, who bears his testimony to an open Polar sea, namely, the Greenland whale. It has been ascertained that the `right' whale does not, and cannot, enter the tropical regions of the Ocean. They are to him as a sea of fire, a wall of adamant, so that it is impossible for him to swim south, double Cape Horn, and proceed to the North Pacific; yet the very same kind of whale found in Baffin's Bay is found at Behring Straits. Now, the question is, how did he get there?"

"Was born there, no doubt," answered Benjy, "and had no occasion to make such a long voyage!"

"Ah! my boy, but we have the strongest evidence that he was _not_ born there, for you must know that some whalers have a habit of marking their harpoons with date and name of ship; and as we have been told by that good and true man Dr Scoresby, there have been several instances where whales have been captured near Behring Straits with harpoons in them bearing the stamp of ships that were known to cruise on the Baffin's Bay side of America. Moreover, in one or two instances a very short time had elapsed between the date of harpooning on the Atlantic and capturing on the Pacific side. These facts prove, at all events, a `North-west Passage' for whales, and, as whales cannot travel far under ice without breathing, they also tend to prove an open Polar sea.

"Another argument in favour of this basin is the migration of birds to the northward at certain seasons. Birds do not migrate to frozen regions, and such migrations northward have been observed by those who, like ourselves, have reached the highest latitudes.

"Captain Nares of the _Alert_, in May 1876, when only a little to the southward of this, saw ptarmigan flying in pairs to the north-west, seeking for better feeding-grounds. Ducks and geese also passed northward early in June, indicating plainly the existence of suitable feeding-grounds in the undiscovered and mysterious North.

"We have now passed beyond the point reached by Captain Nares. My last observation placed us in parallel 84 degrees 40 minutes, the highest that has yet been reached by civilised man."

"The highest, uncle?" interrupted Leo. "Yes--the highest. Scoresby reached 81 degrees 50 minutes in 1806, Parry 82 degrees 45 minutes in 1827--with sledges. That unfortunate and heroic American, Captain Hall, ran his vessel, the _Polaris_, in the shortest space of time on record, up to latitude 82 degrees 16 minutes. Captain Nares reached a higher latitude than had previously been attained by ships, and Captain Markham, of Captain Nares' expedition, travelled over this very `sea of ancient ice' with sledges to latitude 83 degrees 20.4 minutes--about 400 miles from the Pole, and the highest yet reached, as I have said. So, you see, we have beaten them all! Moreover, I strongly incline to the belief that the open Polar Sea lies just beyond that range of huge icebergs which we see before us."

The Captain rose as he spoke, and pointed to the gigantic chain, behind one of which the sun was just about to dip, causing its jagged peaks to glow as with intense fire.

"But how are we ever to pass that barrier, uncle?" asked Alf, who was by nature the least sanguine of the party in regard to overcoming difficulties of a geographical nature, although by far the most enthusiastic in the effort to acquire knowledge.

"You shall see, to-morrow," answered the Captain; "at present we must turn in and rest. See, the Eskimos have already set us the example."


CHAPTER NINE.


THE CAPTAIN MAKES A STUPENDOUS EFFORT. DISAPPOINTMENTS AND DISCOVERIES.

Next morning the ice-plain was crossed at a swinging gallop. Indeed, the dogs were so fresh and frisky after a good rest and a hearty meal that they ran away more than once, and it became a matter of extreme difficulty to check them. At last the great chain was reached, and the party came to an abrupt halt at the base of one of the largest of the bergs. Captain Vane gazed up at it as Napoleon the First may be supposed to have gazed at the Alps he had resolved to scale and cross.

The resemblance to alpine scenery was not confined to mere form--such as towering peaks and mighty precipices--for there were lakelets and ponds here and there up among the crystal heights, from which rivulets trickled, streams brawled, and cataracts thundered.

It was evident, however, that the old giant that frowned on them was verging towards dissolution, for he was honey-combed in all directions.

"Impossible to scale that," said Alf, with a solemn look.

Even Leo's sanguine temperament was dashed for a moment. "We dare not attempt to cut through it," he said, "for masses are falling about here and there in a very dangerous fashion."

As he spoke, a tall spire was seen to slip from its position, topple over, and go crashing down into a dark blue gulf of ice below it.

"No chance of success _now_," said Benjamin Vane, gloomily.

"None wotsomediver," muttered Butterface, his broad black visage absolutely elongated by sympathetic despair. For, you must know, as far as his own feelings were concerned, sympathy alone influenced him. Personally, he was supremely indifferent about reaching the North Pole. In fact he did not believe in it at all, and made no scruple of saying so, when asked, but he seldom volunteered his opinion, being an extremely modest and polite man.

During these desponding remarks Captain Vane did not seem to be much depressed.

"Anders," he said, turning abruptly to the interpreter, "ask Chingatok what he thinks. Can we pass this barrier, and, if not, what would he advise us to do?"

It was observed that