Robert Michael Ballantyne
The Giant of the North: Pokings Round the Pole
Chapter Thirteen.
A Gale and a Narrow Escape
This is a world of alternations. We need not turn aside to prove that. The calm with which the voyage of our discoverers began lasted about four days and nights, during which period they advanced sometimes slowly under oars, sometimes more or less rapidly under kites—if we may so express it—according to the state of the wind.
And, during all that time the discipline of two and two—at watch, or at sleep, if not at work—was rigidly kept up. For none knew better than Captain Vane the benefit of discipline, and the demoralising effect of its absence, especially in trying circumstances. It is but just to add that he had no difficulty in enforcing his laws. It is right also to state that the women were not required to conform, even although they were accustomed to hard labour and willing to work as much as required. In all three boats the bow was set apart as the women’s quarters, and when Toolooha, Oblooria or Tekkona showed symptoms of a desire to go to sleep—(there was no retiring for the night in these latitudes)—a blanket stretched on two oars cut their quarters off from those of the men, and maintained the dignity of the sex.
But soon the serene aspect of nature changed. Grey clouds overspread the hitherto sunny sky. Gusts of wind came sweeping over the sea from time to time, and signs of coming storm became so evident that the Captain gave orders to make all snug and prepare for dirty weather.
“You see, lads,” he said, when the three boats were abreast, and the kites had been furled, “we don’t know what may happen to us now. Nobody in the world has had any experience of these latitudes. It may come on to blow twenty-ton Armstrongs instead of great guns, for all we know to the contrary. The lightning may be sheet and fork mixed instead of separate for any light we’ve got on the subject, and it may rain whales and walruses instead of cats and dogs; so it behoves us to be ready.”
“That’s true, father,” said Benjy, “but it matters little to me, for I’ve made my will. Only I forgot to leave the top with the broken peg and the rusty penknife to Rumty Swillpipe; so if you survive me and get home on a whale’s back—or otherwise—you’ll know what to do.”
“This is not a time for jesting, Ben,” said Alf rather seriously.
“Did I say it was?” inquired Ben, with a surprised look.
Alf deigned no reply, and Butterface laughed, while he and the others set about executing the Captain’s orders.
The arrangements made in these india-rubber boats for bad weather were very simple and complete. After the lading in each had been snugly arranged, so as to present as flat a surface on the top as possible, a waterproof sheet was drawn over all, and its edges made fast to the sides of the boat, by means of tags and loops which were easily fastened and detached. As each sheet overhung its boat, any water that might fall upon it was at once run off. This, of course, was merely put on to protect the cargo and any one who chose to take shelter under it. The boat being filled with air required no such sheet, because if filled to overflowing it would still have floated. All round this sheet ran a strong cord for the crew, who sat outside of it as on a raft, to lay hold of if the waves should threaten to wash them off. There were also various other ropes attached to it for the same purpose, and loops of rope served for rowlocks.
When all had been arranged, those whose duty it was to rest leaned comfortably against the lumps caused by inequalities of the cargo, while the others took to their oars.
“It’s coming!” cried Benjy, about half-an-hour after all had been prepared.
And unquestionably it was coming. The boy’s quick eyes had detected a line on the southern horizon, which became gradually broader and darker as it rose until it covered the heavens. At the same time the indigo ripple caused by a rushing mighty wind crept steadily over the sea. As it neared the boats the white crests of breaking waves were seen gleaming sharply in the midst of the dark blue.
“Clap the women under hatches,” shouted the Captain, with more good sense than refinement.
Benjy, Butterface, and Anders at the word lifted a corner of their respective sheets. Obedient Toolooha, Oblooria, and Tekkona bent their meek heads and disappeared: The sheets were refastened, and the men, taking their places, held on to the cords or life-lines. It was an anxious moment. No one could guess how the boats would behave under the approaching trial.
“Oars out,” cried the Captain, “we must run before it.”
A hiss, which had been gradually increasing as the squall drew near, broke into a kind of roar, and wind and waves rushed upon them as the men bent their backs to the oars with all their might.
It was soon found that the boats had so little hold of the water that the wind and oars combined carried them forward so fast as to decrease considerably the danger of being whelmed by a falling wave. These waves increased every moment in size, and their crests were so broken and cut off by the gale that the three boats, instead of appearing as they had hitherto done the only solid objects in the scene, were almost lost to sight in the chaos of black waves and driving foam. Although they tried their best to keep close together they failed, and each soon became ignorant of the position of the others. The last that they saw of Alf’s boat was in the hollow between two seas like a vanishing cormorant or a northern diver. Leo was visible some time longer. He was wielding the steering-oar in an attitude of vigorous caution, while his Eskimos were pulling as if for their lives. An enormous wave rose behind them, curled over their heads and appeared ready to overwhelm them, but the sturdy rowers sent the boat forward, and the broken crest passed under them. The next billow was still larger. Taken up though he was with his own boat the Captain found time to glance at them with horror.
“They’re gone!” he cried, as the top of the billow fell, and nothing was seen save the heads of the four men like dark spots on the foam. The boat had in truth been overwhelmed and sunk, but, like a true lifeboat it rose to the surface like a cork the instant the weight of water was removed, and her crew, who had held on to the life-lines and oars, were still safe.
“Well done the little Hope!” cried the Captain, while Benjy gave vent to his feelings in a cheer, which was evidently heard by Leo, for he was seen to wave his hand in reply. Next moment another wave hid the Hope from view, and it was seen no more at that time.
“I feel easier now, Benjy, thank God, after that. Alf is a fair steersman, and our boats are evidently able to stand rough usage.”
Benjy made no reply. He was rubbing the water out of his eyes, and anxiously looking through the thick air in the hope of seeing Leo’s boat again. The poor boy was grave enough now. When the might and majesty of the Creator are manifested in the storm and the raging sea, the merely humorous fancies of man are apt to be held in check.
The Captain’s boat went rushing thus wildly onwards, still, fortunately, in the right direction; and for some hours there was no decrease in the force of the gale. Then, instead of abating, as might have been expected, it suddenly increased to such an extent that speedy destruction appeared to be inevitable.
“No sort o’ craft could live long in this,” muttered the Captain, as if to himself rather than to his son, who sat with a firm expression on his somewhat pale countenance, looking wistfully towards the northern horizon. Perhaps he was wondering whether it was worth while to risk so much for such an end. Suddenly he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed intently.
“Land!” he exclaimed in a low eager tone.
“Whereaway, boy? Ay, so there is something there. What say you, Chingatok? Is it land?”
The giant, who, during all this time, had calmly plied a pair of oars with strength equal almost to that of four men, looked over his shoulder without, however, relaxing his efforts.
“No,” he said, turning round again, “it is an ice-hill.”
“A berg!” exclaimed the Captain. “We will make for it. Tie your handkerchief, Benjy, to the end of an oar and hold it up. It will serve as a guide to our comrades.”
In a wonderfully short space of time the berg which Benjy had seen as a mere speck on the horizon rose sharp, rugged, and white against the black sky. It was a very large one—so large that it had no visible motion, but seemed as firm as a rock, while the billows of the Arctic Ocean broke in thunder on its glassy shore.
“We’ll get shelter behind it, Ben, my boy,” said the Captain, “hold the oar well up, and don’t let the rag clap round the blade. Shake it out so. God grant that they may see it.”
“Amen,” ejaculated Benjy to the prayer with heartfelt intensity.
There was danger as well as safety in the near vicinity to this berg, for many of its pinnacles seemed ready to fall, and there was always the possibility of a mass being broken off under water, which might destroy the equilibrium of the whole berg, and cause it to revolve with awfully destructive power.
However, there was one favourable point—the base was broad, and the ice-cliffs that bordered the sea were not high.
In a few more minutes the western end of the berg was passed. Its last cape was rounded, and the Faith was swept by the united efforts of Chingatok, Benjy, and Toolooha, (who would not remain under cover), into the comparatively still water on the lee, or northern side of the berg.
“Hurrah!” shouted Benjy in a tone that was too energetic and peculiar to have been called forth by the mere fact of his own escape from danger.
Captain Vane looked in the direction indicated by the boy’s glistening eyes—glistening with the salt tears of joy as well as with salt sea spray—and there beheld the other two boats coming dancing in like wild things on the crests of the heaving waves. They had seen the signal of the handkerchief, understood and followed it, and, in a few minutes more, were under the lee of the ice-cliffs, thanking God and congratulating each other on their deliverance.
A sheltered cove was soon found, far enough removed from cliffs and pinnacles to insure moderate safety. Into this they ran, and there they spent the night, serenaded by the roaring gale, and lullabied by the crash of falling spires and the groans of rending ice.
Chapter Fourteen.
Records a Wonderful Apparition but a Furious Night
When the storm had passed, a profound calm once more settled down on the face of nature, as if the elements had been utterly exhausted by the conflict. Once more the sea became like a sheet of undulating glass, in which clouds and sun and boats were reflected vividly, and once again our voyagers found themselves advancing towards the north, abreast of each other, and rowing sociably together at the rate of about four miles an hour.
When advancing under oars they went thus abreast so as to converse freely, but when proceeding under kites they kept in single file, so as to give scope for swerving, in the event of sudden change of wind, and to prevent the risk of the entanglement of lines.
“What is that?” exclaimed Benjy, pointing suddenly to an object ahead which appeared at regular intervals on the surface of the water.
“A whale, I think,” said Leo.
“A whale usually spouts on coming up, doesn’t it?” said Alf.
Chingatok uttered an unpronounceable Eskimo word which did not throw light on the subject.
“What is it, Anders?” shouted the Captain.
“What you say?” asked the interpreter from Alf’s boat, which was on the other side of the Hope.
“If these squawkin’ things would hold their noise, you’d hear better,” growled the Captain before repeating the question.
His uncourteous remark had reference to a cloud of gulls which circled round and followed the boats with remonstrative cries and astonished looks.
“It’s beast,” shouted Anders, “not knows his name in Ingliss.”
“Humph! a man with half an eye might see it is ‘beast,’” retorted the Captain in an undertone.
As he spoke, the “beast” changed its course and bore down upon them. As it drew near the Englishmen became excited, for the size of the creature seemed beyond anything they had yet seen. Strange to say, the Eskimos looked at it with their wonted gaze of calm indifference.
“It’s the great sea-serpent at last,” said Benjy, with something like awe on his countenance.
“It does look uncommon like it,” replied the Captain, with a perplexed expression on his rugged visage. “Get out the rifles, lad! It’s as well to be ready. D’ye know what it is, Chingatok?”
Again the giant uttered the unpronounceable name, while Benjy got out the fire-arms with eager haste.
“Load ’em all, Ben, load ’em all, an’ cram the Winchester to the muzzle,” said the Captain. “There’s no sayin’ what we may have to encounter; though I have heard of a gigantic bit of seaweed bein’ mistaken for the great sea-serpent before now.”
“That may be, father,” said Benjy, with increasing excitement, “but nobody ever saw a bit of seaweed swim with the activity of a gigantic eel like that. Why, I have counted its coils as they rise and sink, and I’m quite sure it’s a hundred and fifty yards long if it’s an inch.”
Those in the other boats were following the Captain’s example,—getting out and charging the fire-arms,—and truly there seemed some ground for their alarm, for the creature, which approached at a rapid rate, appeared most formidable. Yet, strange to say, the Eskimos paid little attention to it, and seemed more taken up with the excitement of the white men.
When the creature had approached to within a quarter of a mile, it diverged a little to the left, and passed the boats at the distance of a few hundred yards. Then Captain Vane burst into a sudden laugh, and shouted:—
“Grampuses!”
“What?” cried Leo.
“Grampuses!” repeated the Captain. “Why, it’s only a shoal of grampuses following each other in single file, that we’ve mistaken for one creature!”
Never before was man or boy smitten with heavier disappointment than was poor Benjy Vane on that trying occasion.
“Why, what’s wrong with you, Benjy?” asked his father, as he looked at his woeful countenance.
“To think,” said the poor boy, slowly, “that I’ve come all the way to the North Pole for this! Why I’ve believed in the great sea-serpent since ever I could think, I’ve seen pictures of it twisting its coils round three-masted ships, and goin’ over the ocean with a mane like a lion, and its head fifty feet out o’ the water! Oh! it’s too bad, I’d have given my ears to have seen the great sea-serpent.”
“There wouldn’t have been much of you left, Benjy, if you had given them.”
“Well, well,” continued the boy, not noticing his father’s remark, “it’s some comfort to know that I’ve all but seen the great sea-serpent.”
It is some comfort to us, reader, to be able to record the fact that Benjy Vane was not doomed to total disappointment on that memorable day, for, on the same evening, the voyagers had an encounter with walruses which more than made up for the previous misfortune.
It happened thus:—
The three boats were proceeding abreast, slowly but steadily over the still calm sea, when their attention was attracted by a sudden and tremendous splash or upheaval of water, just off what the Captain styled his “port bow.” At the same moment the head of a walrus appeared on the surface like a gigantic black bladder. It seemed to be as large as the head of a small elephant, and its ivory tusks were not less than two feet long. There was a square bluntness about the creature’s head, and a savage look about its little bloodshot eyes, which gave to it a very hideous aspect. Its bristling moustache, each hair of which was six inches long, and as thick as a crow quill, dripped with brine, and it raised itself high out of the water, turning its head from side to side with a rapidity and litheness of action that one would not have expected in an animal so unwieldy. Evidently it was looking eagerly for something.
Catching sight of the three boats, it seemed to have found what it looked for, and made straight at them. Leo quietly got ready his Winchester repeater, a rifle which, as the reader probably knows, can discharge a dozen or more shots in rapid succession; the cartridges being contained in a case resembling a thick ram-rod under the barrel, from which they are thrust almost instantaneously into their places.
But before the creature gained the boats, a second great upheaval of water took place, and another walrus appeared. This was the real enemy of whom he had been in quest. Both were bulls of the largest and most ferocious description. No sooner did they behold each other, than, with a roar, something betwixt a bark and a bellow, they collided, and a furious fight began. The sea was churned into foam around them as they rolled, reared, spurned, and drove their tusks into each other’s skulls and shoulders.
The boats lay quietly by, their occupants looking on with interest. The Eskimos were particularly excited, but no one spoke or acted. They all seemed fascinated by the fight.
Soon one and another and another walrus-head came up out of the sea, and then it was understood that a number of cow walruses had come to witness the combat! But the human audience paid little regard to these, so much were they engrossed by the chief actors.
It might have been thought, from the position of their tusks, which are simply an enlargement and prolongation of the canine teeth, that these combatants could only strike with them in a downward direction, but this was not so. On the contrary, they turned their thick necks with so much ease and rapidity that they could strike in all directions with equal force, and numerous were the wounds inflicted on either side, as the blood-red foam soon testified.
We have said that the human spectators of the scene remained inactive, but, at the first pause, the Captain said he thought they might as well put a stop to the fight, and advised Leo to give one of them a shot.
“We’ll not be the worse for a fresh steak,” he added to Benjy, as Leo was taking aim.
The effect of the shot was very unexpected. One of the bulls was hit, but evidently not in a deadly manner, for the motion of the boat had disturbed Leo’s aim. Each combatant turned with a look of wild surprise at the interruptor, and, as not unfrequently happens in cases of interference with fights, both made a furious rush at him. At the same moment, all the cows seemed to be smitten with pugnacity, and joined in the attack. There was barely time to get ready, when the furious animals were upon them. Guns and rifles were pointed, axes and spears grasped, and oars gripped. Even the women seized each a spear, and stood on the defensive. A simultaneous volley checked the enemy for a moment, and sent one of the cows to the bottom; but with a furious bellow they charged again.
The great anxiety of the defenders was to prevent the monsters from getting close to the boats, so as to hook on to them with their tusks, which would probably have overturned them, or penetrated the inflated sides. In either case, destruction would have been inevitable, and it was only by the active use of oar, axe, and spear that this was prevented.
Twice did one of the bulls charge the Captain’s boat, and on both occasions he was met by the tremendous might of Chingatok, who planted the end of an oar on his blunt nose, and thrust him off. On each occasion, also, he received a shot from the double barrel of Benjy, who fired the first time into his open mouth, and the second time into his eye, but an angry cough from the one, and a wink from the other showed that he did not mind it much. Meantime the Captain, with the Winchester repeater, was endeavouring—but vainly, owing to the motions of the giant, and the swaying of the boat—to get a shot at the beast, while Toolooha, with an axe, was coquetting with a somewhat timid cow near the stern.
At last an opportunity offered. Captain Vane poured half a dozen balls as quick as he could fire into the head of the bull, which immediately sank.
Not less vigorously did the occupants of the other boats receive the charge. Leo, being more active than the Captain, as well as more expert with his repeater, slew his male opponent in shorter time, and with less expenditure of ammunition. Butterface, too, gained much credit by the prompt manner in which he split the skull of one animal with an axe. Even Oblooria, the timid, rose to the occasion, and displayed unlooked-for heroism. With a barbed seal-spear she stood up and invited a baby walrus to come on—by looks, not by words. The baby accepted the invitation—perhaps, being a pugnacious baby, it was coming on at any rate—and Oblooria gave it a vigorous dab on the nose. It resented the insult by shaking its head fiercely, and endeavouring to back off, but the barb had sunk into the wound and held on. Oblooria also held on. Oolichuk, having just driven off a cow walrus, happened to observe the situation, and held on to Oblooria. The baby walrus was secured, and, almost as soon as the old bull was slain, had a line attached to it, and was made fast to the stern.
“Well done, little girl!” exclaimed Oolichuk in admiration, “you’re almost as good as a man.”
Among civilised people this might have been deemed a doubtful compliment, but it was not so in Eskimo-land. The little maid was evidently much pleased, and the title of the Timid One, which Oolichuk was wont to give her when in a specially endearing frame of mind, was changed for the Brave One from that day. In a few more minutes the last charge of the enemy was repulsed, and those of them that remained alive dived back to that native home into which the slain had already sunk.
Thus ended that notable fight with walruses.
After consummating the victory with three cheers and congratulating each other, the conquerors proceeded to examine into the extent of damage received. It was found that, beyond a few scratches, the Faith and the Hope had escaped scathless, but the Charity had suffered considerably. Besides a bad rip in the upper part of the gunwale, a small hole had been poked in her side below water, and her air-chamber was filling rapidly.
“Come here, quick, uncle,” cried Alf, in consternation, when he discovered this.
To his surprise the Captain was not so much alarmed as he had expected.
“It won’t sink you, Alf, so keep your mind easy,” he said, while examining the injury. “You see I took care to have the boats made in compartments. It will only make you go lop-sided like a lame duck till I can repair the damage.”
“Repair it, uncle! how can—”
“Never mind just now, hand out a blanket, quick; I’ll explain after; we must undergird her and keep out as much water as we can.”
This operation was soon accomplished. The blanket was passed under the boat and made fast. By pressing against the injured part it checked the inflow of water. Then the cargo was shifted, and part of it was transferred to the other boats, and soon they were advancing as pleasantly, though not as quickly as before, while the Captain explained that he had brought a solution of gutta-percha for the express purpose of repairing damages to the boats, but that it was impossible to use it until they could disembark either on land or on an iceberg.
“We’ll come to another berg ere long, no doubt, shan’t we, Chingatok?” he asked.
The Eskimo shook his head and said he thought not, but there was a small rocky islet not far from where they were, though it lay somewhat out of their course.
On hearing this the Captain changed his course immediately, and rowed in the direction pointed out.
“There’s wind enough up there, Benjy,” remarked his father, looking up to the sky, where the higher clouds were seen rapidly passing the lower strata to the northward, “but how to get the kites set up in a dead calm is more than I can tell.”
“There is a way out of the difficulty, father,” said Benjy, pointing behind them.
He referred to a slight breeze which was ruffling the sea into what are called cat’s paws far astern.
“Right boy, right. Prepare to hoist your tops’ls, lads,” shouted the Captain.
In a few minutes the kites were expanded and the tow-lines attached. When the light breeze came up they all soared, heavily, it is true, but majestically, into the sky. Soon reaching the upper regions, they caught the steady breeze there, and towed the boats along at the rate of eight or ten miles an hour.
In two hours they sighted the islet which Chingatok had mentioned, and, soon afterwards, had landed and taken possession of it, in the usual manner, under the name of Refuge Island.
