that it was several minutes before they could withdraw their gaze from
the heavens and allow it to travel earthward. When at length they did
so a scarcely less enchanting spectacle greeted them. They were
hovering just over the inner extremity of an arm of the sea, which the
colonel--who was well acquainted with the south-west of Ireland--at once
identified as Dingle Bay. Westward of them stretched the broad
Atlantic, its foam-flecked waters tinted a lovely sea-green immediately
below them, which gradually changed to a delicate sapphire blue as it
stretched away toward the invisible horizon (the atmosphere not proving
sufficiently clear to allow of their seeing to the utmost possible
limits of distance), the colour growing gradually fainter and more faint
until it became lost in a soft silvery grey mist. Northward lay the
Dingle peninsula, and beyond it again could be seen Tralee Bay, the
mouth of the Shannon, and Loop Head; then Galway Bay and the Isles of
Arran, and, further on, just discernible in the misty distance, the
indented shore and hills of Connemara. From thence, all round to the
eastern point of the compass, could be seen, with more or less
distinctness, the whole of county Clare, with part of county Galway, the
Doon Mountains, and a considerable portion of Tipperary; the Galtee and
Knockmeledown Mountains, and, in the extreme distance, a faint misty
blue, which the colonel declared was the sea just about Dungarvan
harbour. And from thence, round to the southward, the sea and the
southern coast-line became more and more distinctly visible as the eye
travelled round the compass, Cork Harbour being just discernible, whilst
Cape Clear Island, Bantry Bay, and the Kenmare river seemed little more
than a stone's-throw distant. Altogether it was perhaps the most
magnificent prospect upon which the human eye had ever rested; it
certainly exceeded anything which the travellers had ever witnessed
before, and their expressions of admiration and delight were unbounded.
When at last they had become somewhat accustomed to even this unique
experience, and had found leisure to take note of themselves, as it
were, the baronet remarked to the professor:
"But how is this, professor? The engines are working, yet we do not
appear to be making any headway. So far as I can judge we seem to be
simply drifting bodily to the westward and more toward the open sea."
"It is so," answered the professor. "We have risen above the range of
the variable winds, and are now feeling the influence of an adverse air
current, which, in this latitude, invariably blows _from_ the northward;
and if we were to maintain our present altitude, for which, however,
there is not the slightest necessity, we should have to struggle against
it for the next eight or nine hundred miles, in fact until we reach the
neighbourhood of the Arctic circle. There, or thereabout, we should
again have a fair wind, of which we may possibly yet be glad to avail
ourselves. In the meantime, however, we will increase our speed, if you
please--at all events, until we are clear of the land, when we can once
more descend into a favourable current. And as, until then, our rate of
travelling will be such as to make it difficult, if not impossible, to
maintain our footing on the deck, I would suggest the advisability of a
retreat to the pilot-house."
This suggestion having been promptly carried out, the speed of the ship
was increased to its utmost limit, whereby the rate of progression over
the ground was raised from nothing to about one hundred and eight miles
per hour. This rate of travelling--the adverse wind fortunately
remaining moderate--enabled them to reach Erris Head, the north-western
corner of county Mayo, in an hour and a half, or about eleven o'clock
A.M., at which hour they found themselves just running clear of the
land, with the bay and county of Donegal on their right hand, and the
broad expanse of the North Atlantic ahead.
At this point the professor turned to his companions and said:
"It now becomes necessary that we should come to a definite decision as
to the course to be steered. All routes are of course equally open to
us; but there are two which especially commend themselves to our
preference. One is the direct northerly route to the Pole, which will
take us to the eastward of Iceland, straight to the island of Jan Mayen,
and thence, between Greenland and Spitzbergen, into an icy sea which has
been but little explored. And the other is the usual route taken by
nearly all the great Arctic explorers, namely, up Davis Strait, through
Baffin's Bay, and thence, by way of Smith Sound and Kennedy Channel,
into the open Polar Sea, if such should actually exist. By the one
route we shall have an opportunity of surveying the eastern coast of
Greenland, and thus accurately determining much that is at present mere
matter of conjecture; and by the other we shall have an opportunity of
beholding with our own eyes many spots of interest associated with the
researches of former explorers. Now, which is it to be?"
The colonel and Mildmay naturally glanced at Sir Reginald, as an
intimation that he, in his character of founder of the expedition, was
entitled to the first expression of opinion; and, thus appealed to, the
baronet, after a short pause for reflection, replied:
"Well, so far as I am concerned, if I have a preference at all, I think
I am inclined to favour the Baffin's Bay route. I confess I should like
to go over the ground traversed so painfully by former explorers, and
see for myself the nature of the obstacles with which they have had to
grapple. And I should also like to look with my bodily eyes upon the
spots where they sought refuge during the rigours of the Arctic winter,
and those other spots where, the forces of nature finally proving too
great for them, they were reluctantly compelled to abandon further
effort, and, confessing themselves beaten, turn their faces once more
southward. But if either of you happens to have a preference for
another route, I beg that you will say so, uninfluenced by my remarks."
The colonel and Mildmay now looked at each other interrogatively; and at
length the latter said:
"My predilections are naturally in favour of the route proposed by Sir
Reginald, that being the one followed by so many of my distinguished
predecessors in the service. But what says the professor? Which route
does he, as a scientist, think would be the most interesting?"
"Exactly; that, it seems to me, is the point of view from which we ought
to regard the question," exclaimed the baronet and the colonel in a
breath.
"From a purely scientific point of view they would probably prove
equally interesting," answered the professor. "But, taking the other
circumstances into consideration, I am inclined to record my vote in
favour of Sir Reginalds suggestion."
"Then let that decide it," remarked the colonel; "I am sure we shall
have no cause to regret the choice."
The Baffin's Bay route was accordingly agreed upon; and the ship's head
was forthwith laid in a west-north-westerly direction for Cape Farewell.
For the next hour the ship's altitude above the sea-level was maintained
unaltered; but at noon, the ocean proving clear of ships as far as the
eye could reach, a descent was made to within one thousand feet of the
sea, at which height a favourable breeze and a clear atmosphere was
again met with. On returning to the pilothouse after luncheon, or about
half-past three o'clock in the afternoon, three icebergs were
discovered, two ahead and one astern; but they were very small, and it
was therefore deemed hardly worth while to pause and examine them. At
the same time a large steamer was observed, steering east, on the
extreme verge of the southern horizon; and by the aid of their very
powerful telescopes the travellers were able to identify her as one of
the Atlantic liners. Half an hour later a sail was discovered on the
starboard bow; and, from the fact that she was heading to the northward
under easy canvas, they rightly concluded that she was a whaler. They
passed this vessel within a distance of a dozen miles, and at this point
were able to so minutely examine her with their telescopes that they
could distinctly make out the figure of a man perched aloft in the
"crow's nest" on the look-out, as well as the figures of her crew moving
about the deck; but, although within such comparatively close proximity
to her, they were quite unable to detect any sign of their being
observed, which the professor attributed to the almost total absence of
colour about the hull; indeed, he gave it as his opinion that, unless
the rays of the sun happened to be reflected from the polished surface
of the aethereum directly toward an observer, the _Flying Fish_ might
easily pass within half a dozen miles unnoticed.
Before this whaler had been left out of sight astern other icebergs had
risen into view above the western horizon, and within half an hour they
found themselves flying above a sea thickly dotted with ice in every
direction, showing that they were rapidly nearing the entrance to Davis
Straits. At six o'clock the sound of the gong summoned them below to
dinner; and just as they were on the point of leaving the pilot-house,
Mildmay, who, with the instinct of the seaman, had paused to take a last
look round, sighted a faint blue cloud-like appearance on the horizon,
about a point on the starboard bow, and raised a joyful shout of:
"Land, ho!"
The professor glanced at the clock, and, muttering to himself, "Yes, it
is about the right time," took his telescope and carefully examined the
distant cloud-like appearance.
"You are right, Mildmay," he exclaimed, as he closed the instrument,
"that is the land; it is Cape Farewell, the most southerly point of that
great _terra incognita_, Greenland. With your permission, Sir Reginald,
I will reduce the speed of the ship to about twenty miles per hour, and
slightly alter her course; and, from the look of the weather, I think I
may promise that, when we go on deck to smoke our cigars after dinner,
you will see a sight well worth looking at."
CHAPTER EIGHT.
A SUPERB SPECTACLE.
Upon one pretext or another the professor purposely delayed the rising
of the party from the table until nine o'clock; and when they at length
reached the deck they found the somewhat rash promise made by von
Schalckenberg abundantly fulfilled. A scene of surpassing loveliness
met their delighted gaze, and, to enjoy it more fully and completely, it
was promptly decided to descend to the ocean's surface. The sea on all
sides was thickly covered with detached masses of floating ice, from the
diminutive fragment of drift-ice, measuring not more than two or three
square yards in area, to gigantic bergs, measuring, in one or two
instances, from a half to three quarters of a mile long, and towering
from two to three hundred feet above the surface of the water. The sun
was nearing the horizon, and, with his golden beams falling full upon
them, these huge masses of ice glittered against the rosy grey of the
horizon like burnished metal or solid flame. Two of these bergs in
particular were the objects of the travellers' especial wonder and
admiration. One, at a distance of some six miles to the eastward,
resembled an island of crystal capped with an assemblage of marble
ruins. Its perpendicular sides were rent here and there with deep
fissures, and in the centre there yawned an immense cavern, the interior
of which displayed every conceivable shade of the most lovely green,
from the transparent tint of the emerald to the opaque colour of the
malachite, a projecting bluff near at hand casting a strangely-
contrasting shadow of the deepest, purest ultramarine. The ruined
pinnacles on the summit of the berg gleamed with every tint of the
rainbow, from palest yellow, through orange and crimson, to a blue
varying from the most delicate cobalt to a deep violet, almost
undistinguishable from black. And, to complete the fairy-like beauty of
the picture, the body of the berg, a pure marble-like white in the
centre, gradually assumed a translucent appearance toward the edges, in
which the rays of the sun gleamed and sparkled so brilliantly that the
mass resembled nothing so much as a gigantic opal.
The other large berg, which in the first instance was only remarkable
for its enormous size, lay on the western horizon at a distance of some
eleven miles, and, when the travellers first directed their gaze upon
it, presented the appearance of a vast mass of a uniform very pale tint
of opaque blue rising above the rosy waters. But as they looked upon it
the setting sun drew round toward its rear, and then the pale blue
opaque tint gradually quickened into translucency and quivered here and
there with sudden golden and roseate gleams of indescribable beauty. As
the sun neared the berg these gleams and flashes deepened in tint and
became mingled in the most bewildering and delightful manner with rays
of rich sea-green, warm violet, and delicate purple. Finally the sun,
just skimming the edge of the horizon, passed behind the berg, when it
at once flamed out into a dazzling blinding blaze, as though the berg
had taken fire. For a space of perhaps half a minute this dazzling
spectacle continued with scarcely diminished brilliancy; then the blaze
deepened from gold to crimson, momentarily subsiding in intensity and
increasing in depth of colour until it stood out against the horizon an
immense mass of blood-red hue. The red deepened into purple, the purple
into violet, and at last, probably when the sun had entirely sunk
beneath the horizon, the violet faded gradually to a pale cold lifeless
grey.
"Superb!"
"Magnificent!"
"Delightful!"
"Beautiful as a dream!"
Such were the exclamations which burst from the lips of the travellers
as they turned away with a sigh at the transitory nature of the beauties
they had just been witnessing, when lo! the scene to the eastward had
donned new glories. The sun had vanished below the horizon, and the
lower portions of the bergs were therefore in cold blue shadow; but as
the glance travelled upwards the blue became merged by imperceptible
degrees into a delicate amethystine tint, which, growing gradually
warmer and more ruddy, passed by a thousand gradations through the
richest rose and orange tints to the purest golden-yellow, out of which
the projecting points and pinnacles of ice flashed and sparkled like
living flame. This fairy-like spectacle lasted for a short time only,
however; the golden flashes vanished one by one; the yellow became
orange, the orange deepened into crimson, and the crimson in its turn
slowly merged into a cold cobalt blue as the light died out of the
western sky; and finally the stars came out one by one until the entire
firmament was thickly studded with them. It was "nightfall on the sea."
Enthralled by the surpassing witchery of the scene, some time elapsed
before either of the travellers cared to break the silence. At length,
however, the baronet turned to the professor and said:
"I owe you a debt of never-dying gratitude, professor, for having been
the means of introducing me to a scene of such indescribable beauty as
that which we have just witnessed; I have looked upon many a fair scene
during the course of my wanderings, but never upon anything to equal
this. We must have been exceptionally fortunate to-night, have we not?
for surely the Polar world can have no spectacle more enchanting than
the one which we have just witnessed?"
"We _have_ been fortunate; there is no doubt about that," was the reply.
"But you have not yet seen the midnight sun nor the aurora borealis,
both of which sights far exceed in beauty what we have looked upon to-
night. But it grows chilly and an insidious fog is gathering round us;
we must take measures for passing the night in safety, for, were we by
chance to be caught between two icebergs of even ordinary size, not even
the enormous strength of the _Flying Fish_ would save her from
destruction."
"And what do you propose to do, then, professor, in order to ensure our
safety?"
"There are two courses open to us. One is to sink to the bottom of the
sea, which is here deep enough to secure us from all danger of being
struck by floating bergs. And the other is to ascend into the calm
belt, where the night can be passed in a state of absolute safety."
"Very well, then; let us ascend into the `calm belt,' by all means,"
said the baronet. "And, by the way, I should feel extremely obliged if
you would kindly explain to us what the `calm belt' is; I for one never
heard of it before."
"I will do so with pleasure," replied the professor. "You must know,
then, in the first place, that there are certain atmospheric currents as
regular and precise in their action as those of the ocean, both being
created by the same cause--namely, the tendency of a warm fluid to rise
and of a colder one to flow into the vacated space. Thus the air on the
equator, being heated by the vertical rays of the sun, rises, creating a
partial vacuum which the cold air from the poles rushes equator-ward to
fill, the warm air moving toward the poles to restore the balance. Thus
at a few degrees north of the equator the upper stratum of air will
always be found to be travelling northward. And it continues so to do
until it reaches the vicinity of the thirtieth parallel of latitude,
when, having lost most of its heat by constant exposure to open space,
it becomes cold enough to descend, taking the place of the polar
current, which meanwhile has been warmed by passing over the temperate
zone. The equatorial current, though it has descended to the surface of
the earth, still makes its gradual way northward, as well as local
circumstances will permit, in order to replace the southward-flying
polar current; and by the time that it reaches the Arctic circle, it has
again, by contact with the earth, become the warmer of the two currents,
when it once more rises into the upper regions of the atmosphere, to
descend no more until it reaches the vicinity of the pole, when it
sinks, and at the same time turns southward as the polar current. And
the same thing happens in the southern hemisphere. Thus in each
hemisphere we have two great atmospheric currents--one flowing from the
pole to the equator, and the other flowing from the equator to the pole.
The lower current, or that which sweeps along the surface of the earth,
meets with so many disturbing local influences that it is frequently
deflected greatly from its proper course, sometimes so much so that its
course becomes completely reversed for a time; but in the upper regions
of the atmosphere these disturbing influences are very little if at all
felt. Now, if I have succeeded in making this plain to you, you will
readily understand that where the top of the lower current and the
bottom of the upper current touch each other there will be so much
friction that a neutral or `calm belt' will occur in which the air will
be motionless. And it is in this calm belt--which occurs between the
altitudes of three thousand and twelve thousand feet above the earth's
surface--that I propose we should take refuge to-night."
The professor's small audience duly expressed their thanks for the
extremely interesting lecture to which they had just been treated, and
then the party retreated to the pilot-house; the door was closed to
exclude the cold air of the upper regions which they were about to
visit; and an ascent was made to an altitude of eight thousand feet,
where the night was passed in an atmosphere so completely motionless
that, on their descent next morning, Lieutenant Mildmay's observations
showed them to be in the exact spot which they had occupied on the
previous evening.