Wild Adventures round the Pole

But I think Allan loved Ralph even better after this.

Two weeks’ constant sealing; two weeks during which the crews of the Arrandoon and Canny Scotia never sat down to a regular meal, and never lay down for two consecutive hours of repose, only eating when hungry and sleeping when they could no longer keep moving; two weeks during which nobody knew what o’clock it was at any particular time, or which was east or west, or whether it were day or night. Two weeks, then the seals on the ice disappeared as if by magic, for the frost was coming.

“Let them go,” said Silas, shaking McBain warmly by the hand. “Thanks to you, sir, I’m a bumper ship. Why, man, I’m full to the hatches. Low freeboard and all that sort of thing. Plimsoll wouldn’t pass us out of any British harbour. But, with fair weather and God’s help, sir, we’ll get safely home.”

“And now,” McBain replied, “there isn’t a moment to lose. We must get out of here, Captain Grig, or the frost will serve us a trick as it did before.”

With some difficulty the ships were got about and headed once more for the open sea.

None too soon, though, for there came again that strange, ethereal blue into the sky, which, from their experiences of the last black frost, they had learned to dread. The thermometer sank, and sank, and sank, till far down below zero.

The Arrandoon took her “chummy ship” in tow.

“Go ahead at full speed,” was the order.

No, none too soon, for in two hours’ time the great steam-hammer had to be set to work to break the newly-formed bay ice at the bows of the Arrandoon, and fifty men were sent over the side to help her on. With iron-shod pikes they smashed the ice, with long poles they pushed the bergs, singing merrily as they worked, working merrily as they sang, laughing, joking, stamping, shouting, and cheering as ever and anon the great ship made another spurt, and tore along for fifty or a hundred yards. Handicapped though she was by having the Scotia in tow, the Arrandoon fought the ice as if she had been some mighty giant, and every minute the distance between her and the open water became less, till at last it could be seen even from the quarter-deck. But the frost seemed to grow momentarily more intense, and the bay- ce stronger and harder between the bergs. Never mind, that only stimulated the men to greater exertions. It was a battle for freedom, and they meant to win. With well-meaning though ridiculous doggerel, Ted Wilson led the music, —

“Work and keep warm, boys; heave and keep hot,
Jack Frost thinks he’s clever; we’ll show him he’s not.
Beyond is the sea, boys;
Let us fight and get free, boys;
One thing will keep boiling, and that is the pot.
With a heave O!
Push and she’ll go.
To work and to fight is the bold sailor’s lot.
Heave O – O – O!

“Go fetch me the lubber who won’t bear a hand,
We’ll feed him on blubber, we’ll stuff him with sand.
But yonder our ships, boys,
Ere they get in the nips, boys,
We’ll wrestle and work, as long’s we can stand,
Then cheerily has it, men,
Heave O – O – O!
Merrily has it, men,
Off we go, O – O – O!”

Yes, reader, and away they went, and in one more hour they were clear of the ice, the Arrandoon had cast the Scotia off, and banked her fires, for, together with her consort, she was to sail, not steam, down to the island of Jan Mayen, where they were to take on board the sleigh-dogs, and bid farewell to Captain Cobb, the bold Yankee astronomer. – There was but little wind, but they made the most of what there was. Silas dined on board that day, as usual. They were determined to have as much of the worthy old sailor as they could. But before dinner one good action was performed by McBain in Captain Grig’s presence. First he called all hands, and ordered them aft; then he asked Ted Wilson to step forward, and addressed him briefly as follows:

“Mr Wilson, I find I can do with another mate, and I appoint you to the post.”

Ted was a little taken aback; a brighter light came into his eyes; he muttered something – thanks, I suppose – but the men’s cheering drowned his voice. Then our heroes shook hands with him all around, and McBain gave the order, —

“Pipe down.”

But as soon as Ted Wilson returned to his shipmates they shouldered him, and carried him high and dry right away forward, and so down below.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

A Wonderful Yankee – “Making Off” Skins – Preparing to “Bear up” – The Summer Home of the Giant Walrus – The Ships Part

In two days the ships sighted the island of Jan Mayen. As they neared it, they found the ice so closely packed around the shore that all approach even by boats was out of the question, so the sails were clewed, the ice-anchors got out, and both ships made fast to the floe.

It was not long ere Captain Cobb was on board the Arrandoon, to welcome our heroes back to “his island of Jan Mayen.”

He was profuse in his thanks for what he called the clever kindness of Captain McBain, in saving his little yacht from a fatal accident among the ice; and, of course, they would do him the honour to come on shore and dine with him. He would take it as downright “mean” if they did not.

There was no resisting such an appeal as this, so, leaving their ships in charge of their respective mates, both McBain and Silas, in company with our heroes – Sandy McFlail, Seth, and all – they trudged off over the snowy bergs to take dinner in the hut of the bold Yankee astronomer. Very unprepossessing, indeed, was the building to behold from the outside, but no sooner had they entered, than they opened their eyes wide with astonishment.

When our young friends had visited it before, the hut looked neither more nor less than a big hall, or rather barn. But now – why, here were all the luxuries of civilised life. The place was divided into ante-room, saloon, and bed-chamber, and each apartment seemed more comfortable than another. The walls of the saloon were covered with rich tapestry, the floor with a soft thick carpet. There were couches and easy-chairs and skins galore, and books and musical instruments. A great stove, of American pattern, burned in the centre, giving out warmth and making the room look doubly cheerful, and overhead swung an immense lamp, which shed a soft, effulgent light everywhere, so that one did not miss the windows, of which the hut was minus. At one end of this apartment was a dining-table, as well laid and as prettily arranged as if it stood in the dining-hall of a club-room in Pall Mall, and beside the table were two sable waiters clad in white.

Captain Cobb seemed to thoroughly enjoy the looks of bewilderment and wonder exhibited on the faces of his guests.

“Why,” said McBain at last, “pardon me, but you Yankees are about the most wonderful people on the face of the earth.”

“Waal,” said the Yankee, “I guess we like our little comforts, and don’t see any harm in having them.”

“So long’s we deserve them,” put in Seth, who, at that moment, really felt very proud of being a Yankee.

“Bravo! old man,” cried his countryman; “let us shake your hand.”

“And now, gentlemen,” he continued, “sit in. I reckon the keen air and the walk have given ye all an appetite.”

Soups, fish, entries, joints – why I do not know what there was not in the bill-of-fare. It was a banquet fit for a king.

“I can’t make out how you manage it,” said McBain. “Do you keep a djin?”

Cobb laughed and summoned the cook. If he was not a djin, he was just as ugly. Four feet high – not an inch more – with long arms, black skin, flat face, and no nose at all worth mentioning. He was dressed as a chef, however, and very polite, for at a motion from his master, he salaamed very prettily and retired.

At dessert the host produced a zither, and, accompanying himself on this beautiful instrument, sang to them. He drawled while talking, but he sang most sweetly, and with a taste and feeling that quite charmed Rory, and held Silas and the doctor spell-bound. He was indeed a wonderful Yankee.

“Do you know,” said Rory, “I feel for all the world like being in an enchanted cave? Do sing again, if only one song.”

It is needless to add that our friends spent the evening most enjoyably. It was a red-letter night, and one they often looked back to with pleasure, and talked about as they lay around their snuggery fire, during the long dreary time they spent in the regions round the Pole.

“I’m glad, anyhow,” said Captain Cobb, as he bade them good-bye on the snow-clad beach, “that I’ve made it a kind o’ pleasant for ye. Don’t forget to call as you come back, and if Cobb be here, why, Cobb will bid you welcome. Farewell.”

By eight bells in next morning watch everything was ready for a start. The dogs – twelve in number – were got on board and duly kennelled, and the old trapper was installed as whipper-in.

“But I guess,” said Seth, “there won’t be much whipping-in in the play. Trapper Seth is one of those rare old birds who know the difference between a dog and a door-knocker. Yes, Seth knows that there’s more in a good bed and a biscuit, with a kind word whenever it is needed, than there is in all the cruel whips in existence.”

The kennelling for the poor animals was got up under the supervision of Ap and Seth himself. It was built on what the trapper called “scientific principles.”

There was a yard or ran in common for the whole pack; but the large, roomy sleeping compartment had a bench, on which all twelve dogs could sleep or lie at once, yet nevertheless it was divided by boards about a foot high into six divisions. This was to prevent the dogs all tumbling into a heap when the ship rolled. The bedding was straw and shavings; of the former commodity McBain had not forgotten to lay in a plentiful supply before leaving Scotland. There was, besides, a whole tankful of Spratts’ biscuits, so that what with these and the ship’s scraps, it did not seem at all likely that the dogs would go hungry to bed for some time to come.

Seth was now much happier on board than ever he had been, because he had duties to perform and an office to fill, humble though it might be.

At half-past eight Silas came on board the Arrandoon to breakfast. Allan and Rory were tramping rapidly up and down the deck to keep themselves warm, for, though the wind was blowing west-south-west, it was bitterly cold, and the “barber” was blowing. The barber is a name given to a light vapoury mist that, when the frost is intense and the wind in pertain directions, is seen rising off the sea in Greenland. I have called it a mist, but it in reality partakes more of the nature of steam, being due to the circumstance of the air being ever so much colder than the surface of the water.