Thyra

by Robert Ames Bennet

  Table of Contents

  Chapter I. From Above.

  Chapter II. The Hyperborean.

  Chapter III. The Valkyrie.

  Chapter IV. Thorlings.

  Chapter V. Niflheim.

  Chapter VI. Biornstad.

  Chapter VII. Hammer-Drott.

  Chapter VIII. The Orm-Crown.

  Chapter IX. Holy Rune.

  Chapter X. The Shadow of the Orm.

  Chapter XI. Down the Mark.

  Chapter XII. Over the Giol.

  Chapter XIII. The Black Death.

  Chapter XIV. Bos Latifrons.

  Chapter XV. Dwerger.

  Chapter XVI. The Orm.

  Chapter XVII. Waiting

  Chapter XVIII. The Secret.

  Chapter XIX. Orm-Blot.

  Chapter XX. Nidhug.

  Chapter XXI. Dwergerbani.

  Chapter XXII. The Pyre.

  Hoding stood erect and whirled his axe up against the descending muzzle (Chapter XX).

  Thyra

  A Romance of the Polar Pit

  by

  Robert Ames Bennet

  * * *

  1901

  Chapter I. From Above.

  Ice--ice on every side, north and south, east and west, far the eye can see - not the broad, level floes of the Arctic Circle, with here and there a majestic berg towering skyward like some gigantic crystal cathedral, but a vast stretch of ponderous floe-bergs, ridged with jagged hummocks, their broken surface covered with snow, fast turning to slush under the blaze of the six months' sun. Here and there a narrow blue lane winds through the frozen wilderness, widening places, closing in places, as the fragments of the great pack, separated by the spring break-up, drift south across the Polar Basin.

  Such was the icy waste that had been our sole landscape for full eight months. In the fall of 1896, confident of success, we had started out across the Polar pack from our base camp on the north of Franz Josef Land. Never had a dash for the Pole been more carefully planned. Our equipment was as near perfect as money and experience could make it, and every member of our party was a trained athlete, thoroughly inured to Arctic travel. Lieutenant Balderston and his trusty negro sergeant, Black, each stood over six feet two, clear measure, while I myself could claim the Negro's great girth and an inch more of height. As to Thord Borson, the Icelander, he was a veritable giant, seven and a half feet tall, and broad in proportion.

  It was perhaps due as much to Thord's gigantic strength as to our good luck with the dogs that we covered a round three hundred miles of "northing" before the cold and darkness compelled us to go into winter quarters. We were fortunate, as well, in laying in a stock of bear meat sufficient to supply both ourselves and the dogs until spring.

  The dreary months of twilight had passed with disheartening slowness, but the returning sun found us still cheerful and full of hope. Our one desire was to push on to the Pole. We had little doubt of reaching it. We need only duplicate our fall journey. But Fortune, never so fickle as in the Arctics, at last ceased to smile on us. Many of the dogs grew mad and died of that strange Arctic disease mistakenly called hydrophobia, and we had no more than started on from the winter camp when Balderston severely sprained his left ankle. As he could not walk, he was lashed to one of the sleds, and we struggled on as best we could across the terrible surface of the pack.

  But the weather, too, turned against us. For weeks we had to lie under shelter while the spring storms raged over the frozen waste. Balderston's ankle improved very slowly; one after another the dogs continued to sicken and die; the floe-bergs became smaller in area, the hummocks higher more jagged, the drifts deeper. Still we struggled on, with dogged persistency, resolved to reach the Pole, or die.

  Then at last came disaster, sudden and hopeless. After hardships and toil such as one cannot look back upon without a shudder, we had added another fifty miles to our northing. Almost spent, with only half a dozen dogs left, we yet faced the north, unshaken our purpose. But time had sped swiftly during our toilsome march. The spring had slipped by almost unnoted, and even while we vowed our firm resolve to continue onwards the end came.

  In the spring break-up we were roused from sleep by a terrific crashing, and crawled out of our bags only in time to save ourselves as the floe beneath split open. We sprang safely away from the crevasse which yawned down into the icy-blue water, and Thord dragged with him the gun-sled. But the bulk of our outfit was engulfed and ground to powder as the walls of the crevasse crashed together under the shifting pressure of the pack.

  The wreck of course compelled us to abandon all hope of attaining the Pole. The one object now was to regain Franz Josef Land alive. It was a problem - almost a hopeless one. We were out on the disintegrated pack, over three hundred and fifty miles from known land, without a boat to cross the lanes between the drifting floes, without food to last a fortnight.

  But in the passing weeks, though our progress southward was almost imperceptible, no one starved. With the break-up of the pack, life returned to the frozen sea. The guns and ammunition saved by Thord stood us in good stead. After we had eaten the last scrap of dog meat, and were gnawing the bones, Balderston managed to shoot a bear. Long before that was devoured, another bear was killed, and, after it, two full-grown walruses. Then we rested easy. With food in abundance, we had only to await rescue by some venturesome whaler, when the drift had carried us down near Nova Zembla.

  The 15th of June found us in the best of health, thanks to the fresh meat and frequent baths in the snow-water pools. For the sake of exercise we had spent much of our time in athletic contests, and each took turn-about in maintaining a constant patrol around the floe, on the lookout for game and a possible ship. But perfect as was our health, we were no longer the cheery, hopeful men who had fought their way northward against all the fearful odds of Polar travel. The bitterness of our failure had affected even Balderston, and we sadly missed his gay humour. Nor was our diet of raw flesh calculated to allay the irritation natural to men in our position.

  Yet up to this time we had had no quarrels, none of those bickerings which occur so frequently in such parties, even during good fortune. I cannot remember a single harsh word spoken throughout all those eight months, and this notwithstanding Thord Borson's fiery temper. But on that June day the Icelander's patience at last stretched to the breaking point. Sergeant Black had come in from his four-hour watch, and halted before Thord, who sat staring morosely at the nearest hummock. Not noticing the latter's ill humour, Black saluted and held out the rifle, his face drawn up in the grin that the bullet-scar across his cheek made so grotesque.

  "Yoah gahd, sah," he said, and he let the rifle slide down through his hand. In falling the weapon's stock glanced on a point of ice and struck sharply against Thord's foot. In an instant the giant was up, his eyes ablaze, his fiery hair and beard bristling, and his fist clenched to strike the astonished negro.

  "Curse you!" he roared. "What do you mean by that, you black idiot? - You grinning dog! - Drop that gun, damn you, else I'll break your cursed neck."

  "What's that?" cried Balderston, and we sprang up in amazement. We saw the Icelander striding forward, his gigantic frame quivering with fury, while the negro retreated before him, frightened and perplexed, but with the rifle at his shoulder. At the moment, his back struck against a hummock, and in sudden desperation, he sighted straight at the giant's heart.

  "Halt!" he commanded. "One moah step, an' I shoot!"

  "Thord!" I yelled, and together Balderston and I rushed forward to intervene. The giant turned at my cry, but we would have been too late. Seeing us coming, he swung about to rush upon Black. It meant death either to himself or to the negro - perhaps to both. For the moment, Thord was a madman - a Berserkir. But even as his great body bent forward
to spring, the sergeant flung aside the rifle and pointed with both arms over the Icelander's head.

  "Oh Lawd! - look!" he yelled. "A balloom! - a balloom!"

  Around spun Balderston and I, and around spun Thord, sobered at the very height of his rage. Even as we turned a shadow fell upon and our upraised eyes were met by a gigantic sphere, drifting majestically over the floe, not a hundred feet above us.

  "A balloon! - it is a balloon! shouted I, and we craned our necks in our efforts to catch a glimpse of the aeronauts. But not a sign of life could we see. No hand waved to us from the car, - no curious face stared down to meet our upturned gaze.

  "They're asleep!" roared Thord. "Signal them. Where's the guns? - Ahoy, there! Ahoy!"

  The Icelander's hail could have been heard a mile; but the balloon drifted on without a word or sign from the car. The blood surged back into Thord's face and his eyes blazed with reawakened fury.

  "Shoot! shoot!" he roared. "Riddle the scoundrels in their car!"

  "No, no! Look at the guide-ropes. Capture her!" cried Balderston, and he dashed towards the three lines which trailed down from the balloon and far out on the floe behind.

  "We can't stop her!" I protested. Nevertheless, I ran with the others, and together we seized the nearest line.

  "She'll drag us over into the sea. We can't stop her," I repeated.

  "Not by pulling, replied Thord; but take a bend around a hummock -"

  "There's the very one we want," cried Balderston. "Forward now, with a rush, and pass the slack about that ice-cake."

  "Forward!" we shouted together, and in half a minute we had the line coiled twice around a block of ice that would have anchored a battleship.

  "Good!" growled Thord, as we stood clinging to the line behind the coil. "We have her fast! I hope the shock will spill them."

  "They'll at least wake up. See her sway!" I exclaimed. "Hold fast, all!"

  "Fast she am, sah!" shouted Black, and we stared, panting and excited, up the tautened line to our monster prize. So swiftly had all occurred that we had lacked time for wonder; but now, scarce able to believe our good fortune, we could only stand open-mouthed and gaze in speechless fascination at the huge sphere, which tugged and swayed at the end of the line like a noosed bird striving to escape.

  Presently another wonder came upon us. After all our shouting and the sudden stoppage of the balloon, there was yet no cry or signal from the car. If there were any aeronauts aboard, they must either be dead, or in urgent need of aid. The thought aroused me.

  "What can a balloon be doing here?" I gasped.

  "The car is empty, or I'm a liar," exclaimed Thord. "I'll bet the balloon broke loose before the party got aboard."

  "Empty or not, we'll pull her down and see," replied Balderston.

  'Ay; that's the word," assented the Icelander, and with a deft sailor hitch, he made fast the line. Then he turned frankly to Black and extended a huge fist - "I was mad just now, sergeant. Shake?"

  The negro grinned his ghastliest, as he hastened to grip the proffered hand.

  "All right, Mistah Thod, - all right. An' now, we'll haul in de captibe balloom."

  "If we can," I added.

  "We can, if there is no one aboard to cut her loose or shoot us," said Balderston.

  "I don't expect that; but our weight may not be enough. It's a whale of a balloon."

  "Our weight? - Why, John, we scale up over a thousand pounds between the four of us. If that's not enough, I can shin up one of the lines and open a valve."

  "Ay; don't worry, doctor. We'll have her down, one way or another. Lend a hand, Black, with the sled. It'll be well to take our guns aboard whatever we do with the airship."

  "Or she with us! - But it's a good idea, Thord, if we ever do get aboard."

  "Come on, then. I'm not dying to linger on this cursed floe."

  So the sled was loaded with the remains of our equipment, and we tramped across the floe, through the slush and over the hummocks, to a spot directly beneath the sway of the balloon. At a word from Balderston, Black knotted the rueraddies into a sling for the sled. Then, all together, we grasped one of the slack guide-ropes and began dragging it down, hand over hand.

  "This is play," laughed Thord, as the coils of line piled up beneath our feet. But Balderston shook his head.

  "Only wait a bit," he replied. "She's pulling harder already. I may have to climb for it yet."

  "Not if we can help it," said I. "To lose gas, would mean a greater loss of ballast when we ascend."

  "And probably the only ballast aboard is food and equipment," remarked Thord.

  "Haul away, and save your breath," said Balderston.

  The advice was well given, for with every yard of line we took in, our task became more difficult. As if this was not enough, we had to contend with the unsteady jerking of the line as the balloon swayed in the breeze. By the time three-fourths of the line had passed through our hands, even Thord longed for a rest. It was now that Balderston's sled sling came in good play. The line being hitched to it, we stepped upon the sled, and our weight, with that of the ammunition, served to anchor down the balloon.

  Panting and exhausted, but full of joy, we stretched our aching arms and gazed up at our captive. The bevelled bottom of the wicker car swung less than thirty feet overhead, so that we could plainly see how it was splintered all along one edge, as though by some violent shock.

  "Hello! Looks like our air-cart had been in a smash-up," remarked Thord.

  "Rather! - Stand steady! I'm going aboard," replied Balderston, and up the line he went like a sailor. In a little while he was above the rim of the car; his hands grasped the bearing-ring, and he drew himself up into the little swinging gallery above the car. We waited impatiently for several minutes before his head reappeared over the bearing-ring.

  "Empty house!" he shouted. "I've been in the car - down through a man-hole. But there's no one aboard. One of the valves is partly open, or she would never have sunk so low."

  "Luckily for us. Now what do you say, boys, - shall we go for the Pole again?"

  "Yes! For the Pole! We'll make the Pole yet. Hurrah for Doctor Godfrey!" roared Thord.

  "De Pole! - de Pole! Jes' wait, honey; wese a-comin' dah!" sang Black, and he cut a pigeon-wing on top of the sled.

  "Get a move on you, then," laughed Balderston, as he flung over a rope ladder.

  "We're ready, Frank, you may bet," I replied.

  But how about the sled?"

  "One of you come up to help hoist. Two had better stay there to hold things steady. We don't want the car to swing around against a hummock and knock us out."

  "That's true," I replied, and at a sign from me, Black climbed the ladder, with all five rifles and the two shotguns slung on his back. He was soon beside his lieutenant, and the two together speedily hoisted up every package of ammunition and the scant remainder of our equipment. Then, while Thord and I stood on the lower rungs of the ladder, Balderston swung himself up among the suspension ropes of the car and began ripping into the great canvas bags which held the stores. Soon he came upon a quantity of heavy articles such as he thought we could best spare, and he cast out enough to raise Thord and myself five or six yards clear of the floe.

  "All right. Come aboard," he called, and we scrambled hurriedly up the swaying ladder. With a shout, we clambered in over the bearing-ring and stood beside Black on the little platform, staring up at the great sphere of varnished silk and the confusing network of rope and cord. Neither Thord nor I had ever before been in a balloon, and we felt like fish out of water. Fortunately, however, both Balderston and Black had seen no little service in the army captive balloon manoeuvres, and were therefore better acquainted with aeronautics. Balderston was almost wild with delight. The moment we climbed aboard he cast over enough ballast to lift us fully thirty yards above the floe.

  "All's well, boys!" he shouted. "It's a fair northerly breeze. We've only to let go and start on for the Pole!"

  "Good-bye to
the floe! We won't miss it! Let her go, Black," I cried.

  "Done, sah!" shouted the sergeant, and he cast loose the anchor line.

  "Hurrah!" cried Thord. The balloon had bounded forward like a hound from the leash. But our joy was short-lived. Checked by the weight of the two remaining lines, the balloon careened dizzily and swooped down into the very midst of the hummock crests.

  Thord, with a sailor's quickness, leaped to the guide-rope bar, whirling an ice-axe, while Balderston up above slashed the lashings of a storage bag. Neither was an instant too quick. The car was dashing straight against the green crest of a hummock. I braced myself for the shock. In another instant I expected to find myself whirling down upon the floe. Already I could hear the clash of the collision - when, in the snap of a finger, the ice crag dove beneath us and vanished. After it flashed the bag cut loose by Balderston. I saw the horizon begin to rise and widen, and the floes below us seemed to be falling into an immense basin. Even as I looked, the illusive sinkage became more swift, and I caught a glimpse of a slender object that whipped down through the air below the car. Then I understood. Thord had cut loose the second guide-rope before Black could interfere. We were ascending like a rocket.

  Up, up, up we shot, balloon and car revolving like a bauble on a twisted string. We no longer gazed down on the falling ice world. We could only cling fast to the ropes and long for the whirling ascent to cease.

  At last the seeming downward rush of air slackened, and the car revolved more slowly. But when, dizzy and gasping, we turned our eyes to the barometers hanging on the suspension ropes, the indicators already pointed to an altitude of five thousand feet.

  "Where is the valve-cord?" I cried. "Quick, Frank, open an escape valve!"

  "No, no," he replied. "The ascent has stopped. Wait - what wind have we?"

  "North!" bellowed Thord. "We fly due north, in the heart of a gale! See, the floes are sweeping beneath us like driving clouds."