more."
"Heigho! matie," sighed Silas, talking to his chief officer and givingorders all in one breath, "I don't think we'll--haul aft the jib-sheet--ever see them again. I don't think they can--take a pull on themain-brace--ever get back from among that fearful--luff a little, lad,luff--ice, matie. And the poor boys, if any one had told Silas he couldhave loved them as much as he does in so short a time, he would havelaughed in his face. Come below, matie, and we'll have a drop o' greenginger. Keep her close, Mortimer, but don't let her shiver."
"Ay, ay, sir," said the man at the wheel.
In a few hours the wind got more aft, and so, heading now for moresouthern climes, away went the _Canny Scotia_, with stun'sails up. Icannot say that she bounded over the waters like a thing of life. No;but she looked as happy and frisky as a plough-horse on a gala day, thathas just been taken home from the miry fields, fed and groomed, anddressed with ribbons and started off in a light spring-van with a loadof laughing children.
But eastwards and north steamed the _Arrandoon_. Indeed, she tried todo all the northing she could, with just as little easting as possible.She passed islands innumerable; islands that we fail to see in thechart, owing, no doubt, to the fact that they are usually coveredentirely with ice and snow, and would be taken for immense icebergs.But this was a singularly open year, and there was no mistaking solidrocky land for floating ice.
The bearings of all these were carefully put down in the charts--I saycharts, because not only the captain and mate, but our young heroes aswell, took the daily reckoning, and kept a log, though I am bound in theinterests of truth to say that Ralph very often did not write up his logfor days and days, and then he impudently "fudged" it from Rory's.
"Are you done with my log?" Rory would sometimes modestly inquire ofRalph as he sat at the table busily "fudging."
"Not yet, youngster," Ralph would reply; "there, you go away and amuseyourself with your fiddle till I'm done with it, unless you speciallywant your ears pulled."
McBain landed at many of these islands, and hoisted beacons on them.These beacons were simply spare spars, with bunches of light wood lashedto their top ends, so that at some little distance they looked like tallbrooms. He hoisted one on the highest peak of every island that lay inhis route.
They came at length to what seemed the very northernmost and mosteasterly of these islands, and on this McBain determined to landprovisions and store them. It would tend to lighten the ship; and "onthe return voyage," said the captain, "if so be that Providence shallprotect and spare us, they will be a welcome sight."
This done, the voyage was continued, and the sea becoming clearer of icetowards the west, the course was altered to almost due north.
The wind drawing round more to the south, the fires were banked, and thevessel put under easy sail. The water all round looked black and deep;but, with all the caution of your true sailor, McBain had two menconstantly in the chains to heave the lead, with a watch continually inthe crow's-nest to give warning of any sudden change in the colour ofthe water. More than once such a change was observed, the surfacebecoming of a yellowish ashen hue away ahead of them. Then the main orfore yard was hauled aback, and a boat despatched to investigate, and itwas found that the strange appearance was caused by myriads of tinyshrimplets, what the northern sailor calls "whale's food." Whether thisbe whale food or not I cannot say for certain, but several times ourheroes fell in with a shoal of bottle-noses, disporting themselves amongthese curious ashen-hued streams.
This formed a temptation too great to resist, for the oil would doinstead of fuel when they wintered away up in the extreme north. Soboats were lowered--not two but four, for these brutes are as wild asthe winds and more wily than any old fox. No less than four were"bagged," as Rory called it. They were not large, but the blubberobtained from them was quite sufficient to fill one large tank. Thebest of it was, that Ralph--big, "plethoric" (another of Rory's prettywords), Saxon Ralph, made quite a hero of himself by manfully guidinghis boat towards a floundering monster that was threatening destructionto the third whaler, which was fast to her, and skilfully spearing herat the very nick of time.
Rory was in the same boat, and drenched in blood from head to heelsthough both of them were, he must needs get up and shake his "babybrother" by the hand.
"Oh, sure!" said Rory, with tears in his eyes, "it's myself that isproud of the English race, after all. They haven't the fire of theGael; but only just awaken them!--Dear Ray, you're a broth of a boy,entirely."
"What do you think," said McBain, one morning just afterbreakfast--"what do you think, Rory, I'm going to make to-day?"
"Sure, I don't know," said Rory, all interest.
"Why, fenders," said McBain.
"Fenders?" ejaculated Rory, with wider eyes. "Fenders? troth it'll befire-irons you'll be making next, sir; but what do you want withfenders?"
"You don't take," said Ralph. "It is fenders to throw overboard whenthe ice is too obtrusive, isn't it, sir?"
"That's it," said the captain, laughing. "Sometimes the bergs may be abit too pressing with their attentions, and then I'll hang these over.That's it."
It took nearly a fortnight to complete the manufacture of these fendersor trusses, for each of them was some twelve feet long by three indiameter composed of compressed straw and shielded by knitted ropework.
To the captain's foresight in making these fenders, they several timesowed the safety of their gallant ship during the winter that followed.
A whole month passed away. The sun now set every night, and the still,long day began to get sensibly shorter.
The progress northward was hindered by dense white fogs, which at timeshugged the ship so closely that, standing by the bowsprit, you could notsee the jibboom-end. The vessel, as Sandy McFlail expressed it, seemedenveloped in huge sheets of wet lint. Then the fog would lift partiallyoff and away--in other words, it seemed to retire and station itself atsome distance, with the ice looming through it in the most magical way.At these times the ship would be stopped, and our heroes were allowed totake boat exercise around the _Arrandoon_, with strict injunctions notto go beyond a certain distance of the vessel. Their laughing andtalking and singing never failed to bring up a seal or two, or around-eyed wondering walrus, or an inquisitive bladder-nose, but theappearance of these animals, as they loomed gigantic through the fog,was sometimes awful in the extreme. When a malley or gull came sweepingdown towards them it looked as big as the fabulous Roc that carried awaySinbad the Sailor, and Rory would throw himself in the bottom of theboat and pretend to be in a terrible fright.
[The optical illusions caused among the ice by these fogs are well andhumorously described in a book just to hand called "The Voyage of the_Vega_" (Macmillan and Co). I myself wrote on the same subject_thirteen years ago_, in a series of articles on Greenland North.]
"Oh! Ray, boy, look at the Roc," he would cry. "I'm come for, sureenough. Do catch hold of me, big brother. Don't let the great bastecarry me off. Sure, he'll fly up to the moon with me, as the eagle didwith Daniel O'Rourke."
I think the fog must have caused delusions in sound as well as sight,else why the following.
They were pulling gently about, one day, in the first whaler, when,borne along on the slight breeze that was blowing, came a sound as ofhappy children engaged at play. The merry laughter and the occasionalexcited scream or shout were most distinctly audible.
"Whatever can it be?" cried Allan, looking very serious, his somewhatsuperstitious nature for a moment gaining the ascendency.
"Sure," said Rory, "you needn't pull so long a face, old man; it's onlythe childer just got out of school."
The "childer" in this instance were birds.
"It's much clearer to-day," said Stevenson, one morning, as he made hisusual report. "We can see the clouds, and they're all on the scud. Iexpect we'll have wind soon, sir."
"Very well, Mr Stevenson," was the reply, "be ready for it, you know;have the fires lit and banked, and then s
tand by to get the ice-anchorsand fenders on board," (the ship was fast to a berg).
"There is a line of ice to the westward, sir, about a quarter of a mileoff, and clear water all between."
"Thank you, Mr Stevenson."
But Stevenson did not retire. He stopped, hesitatingly.
"You've something to ask me, I think?" said McBain.
"I've something to tell you," replied the mate, with a kind of a forcedlaugh. "I dare say you will think me a fool for my pains, but as sureas you gentlemen are sitting there at breakfast this morning,
Wild Adventures round the Pole Page 49
