He lay quiet for a while, lost in thought apparently, and then raised
himself up upon his elbow again, and asked for some more brandy.
“You don’t think I am, do you, Doc?” he asked, as I was putting the
bottle back into the after-locker. “Tell me now, as man to man, do you
think that I am mad?”
“I think you have something on your mind,” I answered, “which is
exciting you and doing you a good deal of harm.”
“Right there, lad!” he cried, his eyes sparkling from the effects of the
brandy. “Plenty on my mind--plenty! But I can work out the latitude and
the longitude, and I can handle my sextant and manage my logarithms. You
couldn’t prove me mad in a court of law, could you, now?” It was curious
to hear the man lying back and coolly arguing out the question of his
own sanity.
“Perhaps not,” I said; “but still I think you would be wise to get home
as soon as you can, and settle down to a quiet life for a while.”
“Get home, eh?” he muttered, with a sneer upon his face. “One word for
me and two for yourself, lad. Settle down with Flora--pretty little
Flora. Are bad dreams signs of madness?”
“Sometimes,” I answered.
“What else? What would be the first symptoms?”
“Pains in the head, noises in the ears flashes before the eyes,
delusions”----
“Ah! what about them?” he interrupted. “What would you call a delusion?”
“Seeing a thing which is not there is a delusion.”
“But she WAS there!” he groaned to himself. “She WAS there!” and rising,
he unbolted the door and walked with slow and uncertain steps to his
own cabin, where I have no doubt that he will remain until to-morrow
morning. His system seems to have received a terrible shock, whatever it
may have been that he imagined himself to have seen. The man becomes a
greater mystery every day, though I fear that the solution which he has
himself suggested is the correct one, and that his reason is affected.
I do not think that a guilty conscience has anything to do with his
behaviour. The idea is a popular one among the officers, and, I believe,
the crew; but I have seen nothing to support it. He has not the air of
a guilty man, but of one who has had terrible usage at the hands of
fortune, and who should be regarded as a martyr rather than a criminal.
The wind is veering round to the south to-night. God help us if it
blocks that narrow pass which is our only road to safety! Situated as
we are on the edge of the main Arctic pack, or the “barrier” as it
is called by the whalers, any wind from the north has the effect of
shredding out the ice around us and allowing our escape, while a wind
from the south blows up all the loose ice behind us and hems us in
between two packs. God help us, I say again!
September 14th.--Sunday, and a day of rest. My fears have been
confirmed, and the thin strip of blue water has disappeared from the
southward. Nothing but the great motionless ice fields around us, with
their weird hummocks and fantastic pinnacles. There is a deathly silence
over their wide expanse which is horrible. No lapping of the waves
now, no cries of seagulls or straining of sails, but one deep universal
silence in which the murmurs of the seamen, and the creak of their boots
upon the white shining deck, seem discordant and out of place. Our only
visitor was an Arctic fox, a rare animal upon the pack, though common
enough upon the land. He did not come near the ship, however, but after
surveying us from a distance fled rapidly across the ice. This was
curious conduct, as they generally know nothing of man, and being of an
inquisitive nature, become so familiar that they are easily captured.
Incredible as it may seem, even this little incident produced a bad
effect upon the crew. “Yon puir beastie kens mair, ay, an’ sees mair nor
you nor me!” was the comment of one of the leading harpooners, and the
others nodded their acquiescence. It is vain to attempt to argue against
such puerile superstition. They have made up their minds that there is
a curse upon the ship, and nothing will ever persuade them to the
contrary.
The Captain remained in seclusion all day except for about half an hour
in the afternoon, when he came out upon the quarterdeck. I observed that
he kept his eye fixed upon the spot where the vision of yesterday had
appeared, and was quite prepared for another outburst, but none such
came. He did not seem to see me although I was standing close beside
him. Divine service was read as usual by the chief engineer. It is a
curious thing that in whaling vessels the Church of England Prayer-book
is always employed, although there is never a member of that Church
among either officers or crew. Our men are all Roman Catholics or
Presbyterians, the former predominating. Since a ritual is used which
is foreign to both, neither can complain that the other is preferred
to them, and they listen with all attention and devotion, so that the
system has something to recommend it.
A glorious sunset, which made the great fields of ice look like a lake
of blood. I have never seen a finer and at the same time more weird
effect. Wind is veering round. If it will blow twenty-four hours from
the north all will yet be well.
September 15th.--To-day is Flora’s birthday. Dear lass! it is well that
she cannot see her boy, as she used to call me, shut up among the ice
fields with a crazy captain and a few weeks’ provisions. No doubt she
scans the shipping list in the Scotsman every morning to see if we are
reported from Shetland. I have to set an example to the men and look
cheery and unconcerned; but God knows, my heart is very heavy at times.
The thermometer is at nineteen Fahrenheit to-day. There is but little
wind, and what there is comes from an unfavourable quarter. Captain is
in an excellent humour; I think he imagines he has seen some other omen
or vision, poor fellow, during the night, for he came into my room early
in the morning, and stooping down over my bunk, whispered, “It wasn’t a
delusion, Doc; it’s all right!” After breakfast he asked me to find out
how much food was left, which the second mate and I proceeded to do. It
is even less than we had expected. Forward they have half a tank full
of biscuits, three barrels of salt meat, and a very limited supply of
coffee beans and sugar. In the after-hold and lockers there are a good
many luxuries, such as tinned salmon, soups, haricot mutton, &c., but
they will go a very short way among a crew of fifty men. There are two
barrels of flour in the store-room, and an unlimited supply of tobacco.
Altogether there is about enough to keep the men on half rations for
eighteen or twenty days--certainly not more. When we reported the
state of things to the Captain, he ordered all hands to be piped,
and addressed them from the quarterdeck. I never saw him to better
advantage. With his tall, well-knit figure, and dark animated face, he
seemed a man born to command, and he discussed the situation in a cool
sailor-like way which showed that while appreciating the danger he had
an eye for every loophole of escape.
“My lads,” he said, “no doubt you think I brought you into this fix, if
it is a fix, and maybe some of you feel bitter against me on account of
it. But you must remember that for many a season no ship that comes to
the country has brought in as much oil-money as the old Pole-Star,
and every one of you has had his share of it. You can leave your wives
behind you in comfort while other poor fellows come back to find their
lasses on the parish. If you have to thank me for the one you have to
thank me for the other, and we may call it quits. We’ve tried a bold
venture before this and succeeded, so now that we’ve tried one and
failed we’ve no cause to cry out about it. If the worst comes to the
worst, we can make the land across the ice, and lay in a stock of
seals which will keep us alive until the spring. It won’t come to that,
though, for you’ll see the Scotch coast again before three weeks are
out. At present every man must go on half rations, share and share
alike, and no favour to any. Keep up your hearts and you’ll pull through
this as you’ve pulled through many a danger before.” These few
simple words of his had a wonderful effect upon the crew. His former
unpopularity was forgotten, and the old harpooner whom I have already
mentioned for his superstition, led off three cheers, which were
heartily joined in by all hands.
September 16th.--The wind has veered round to the north during the
night, and the ice shows some symptoms of opening out. The men are in
a good humour in spite of the short allowance upon which they have been
placed. Steam is kept up in the engine-room, that there may be no delay
should an opportunity for escape present itself. The Captain is in
exuberant spirits, though he still retains that wild “fey” expression
which I have already remarked upon. This burst of cheerfulness puzzles
me more than his former gloom. I cannot understand it. I think I
mentioned in an early part of this journal that one of his oddities is
that he never permits any person to enter his cabin, but insists upon
making his own bed, such as it is, and performing every other office for
himself. To my surprise he handed me the key to-day and requested me to
go down there and take the time by his chronometer while he measured
the altitude of the sun at noon. It is a bare little room, containing
a washing-stand and a few books, but little else in the way of luxury,
except some pictures upon the walls. The majority of these are small
cheap oleographs, but there was one water-colour sketch of the head of a
young lady which arrested my attention. It was evidently a portrait, and
not one of those fancy types of female beauty which sailors particularly
affect. No artist could have evolved from his own mind such a curious
mixture of character and weakness. The languid, dreamy eyes, with their
drooping lashes, and the broad, low brow, unruffled by thought or care,
were in strong contrast with the clean-cut, prominent jaw, and the
resolute set of the lower lip. Underneath it in one of the corners was
written, “M. B., aet. 19.” That any one in the short space of nineteen
years of existence could develop such strength of will as was stamped
upon her face seemed to me at the time to be well-nigh incredible. She
must have been an extraordinary woman. Her features have thrown such
a glamour over me that, though I had but a fleeting glance at them, I
could, were I a draughtsman, reproduce them line for line upon this page
of the journal. I wonder what part she has played in our Captain’s
life. He has hung her picture at the end of his berth, so that his eyes
continually rest upon it. Were he a less reserved man I should make
some remark upon the subject. Of the other things in his cabin there
was nothing worthy of mention--uniform coats, a camp-stool, small
looking-glass, tobacco-box, and numerous pipes, including an oriental
hookah--which, by-the-bye, gives some colour to Mr. Milne’s story about
his participation in the war, though the connection may seem rather a
distant one.
11.20 P.M.--Captain just gone to bed after a long and interesting
conversation on general topics. When he chooses he can be a most
fascinating companion, being remarkably well-read, and having the power
of expressing his opinion forcibly without appearing to be dogmatic. I
hate to have my intellectual toes trod upon. He spoke about the nature
of the soul, and sketched out the views of Aristotle and Plato upon
the subject in a masterly manner. He seems to have a leaning for
metempsychosis and the doctrines of Pythagoras. In discussing them we
touched upon modern spiritualism, and I made some joking allusion to
the impostures of Slade, upon which, to my surprise, he warned me most
impressively against confusing the innocent with the guilty, and argued
that it would be as logical to brand Christianity as an error because
Judas, who professed that religion, was a villain. He shortly afterwards
bade me good-night and retired to his room.
The wind is freshening up, and blows steadily from the north. The nights
are as dark now as they are in England. I hope to-morrow may set us free
from our frozen fetters.
September 17th.--The Bogie again. Thank Heaven that I have strong
nerves! The superstition of these poor fellows, and the circumstantial
accounts which they give, with the utmost earnestness and
self-conviction, would horrify any man not accustomed to their ways.
There are many versions of the matter, but the sum-total of them all is
that something uncanny has been flitting round the ship all night,
and that Sandie M’Donald of Peterhead and “lang” Peter Williamson of
Shetland saw it, as also did Mr. Milne on the bridge--so, having three
witnesses, they can make a better case of it than the second mate did.
I spoke to Milne after breakfast, and told him that he should be above
such nonsense, and that as an officer he ought to set the men a better
example. He shook his weather-beaten head ominously, but answered with
characteristic caution, “Mebbe aye, mebbe na, Doctor,” he said; “I didna
ca’ it a ghaist. I canna’ say I preen my faith in sea-bogles an’ the
like, though there’s a mony as claims to ha’ seen a’ that and waur. I’m
no easy feared, but maybe your ain bluid would run a bit cauld, mun, if
instead o’ speerin’ aboot it in daylicht ye were wi’ me last night, an’
seed an awfu’ like shape, white an’ gruesome, whiles here, whiles there,
an’ it greetin’ and ca’ing in the darkness like a bit lambie that hae
lost its mither. Ye would na’ be sae ready to put it a’ doon to auld
wives’ clavers then, I’m thinkin’.” I saw it was hopeless to reason with
him, so contented myself with begging him as a personal favour to call
me up the next time the spectre appeared--a request to which he acceded
with many ejaculations expressive of his hopes that such an opportunity
might never arise.
As I had hoped, the white desert behind us has become broken by many
thin streaks of water which intersect it in all directions. Our latitude
to-day was 80 degrees 52’ N., which shows that there is a strong
southerly drift upon the pack. Should the wind continue favourable it
will break up as rapidly as it formed. At present we can do nothing but
smoke and wait and hope for the best. I am rapidly becoming a fatalist.
When dealing with such uncertain factors as wind and ice a man can be
nothing else. Perhaps it was the wind and sand of the Arabian deserts
which gave the minds of the original followers of Mahomet their tendency
to bow to kismet.
These spectral alarms have a very bad effect upon the Captain. I feared
that it might excite his sensitive mind, and endeavoured to conceal the
absurd story from him, but unfortunately he overheard one of the men
making an allusion to it, and insisted upon being informed about it. As
I had expected, it brought out all his latent lunacy in an exaggerated
form. I can hardly believe that this is the same man who discoursed
philosophy last night with the most critical acumen and coolest
judgment. He is pacing backwards and forwards upon the quarterdeck like
a caged tiger, stopping now and again to throw out his hands with a
yearning gesture, and stare impatiently out over the ice. He keeps up a
continual mutter to himself, and once he called out, “But a little time,
love--but a little time!” Poor fellow, it is sad to see a gallant seaman
and accomplished gentleman reduced to such a pass, and to think that
imagination and delusion can cow a mind to which real danger was but the
salt of life. Was ever a man in such a position as I, between a demented
captain and a ghost-seeing mate? I sometimes think I am the only really
sane man aboard the vessel--except perhaps the second engineer, who is
a kind of ruminant, and would care nothing for all the fiends in the Red
Sea so long as they would leave him alone and not disarrange his tools.
The ice is still opening rapidly, and there is every probability of
our being able to make a start to-morrow morning. They will think I
am inventing when I tell them at home all the strange things that have
befallen me.
12 P.M.--I have been a good deal startled, though I feel steadier now,
thanks to a stiff glass of brandy. I am hardly myself yet, however, as
this handwriting will testify. The fact is, that I have gone through
a very strange experience, and am beginning to doubt whether I was
justified in branding every one on board as madmen because they
professed to have seen things which did not seem reasonable to my
understanding. Pshaw! I am a fool to let such a trifle unnerve me; and
yet, coming as it does after all these alarms, it has an additional
significance, for I cannot doubt either Mr. Manson’s story or that of
the mate, now that I have experienced that which I used formerly to
scoff at.
After all it was nothing very alarming--a mere sound, and that was all.
I cannot expect that any one reading this, if any one ever should read
it, will sympathise with my feelings, or realise the effect which it
produced upon me at the time. Supper was over, and I had gone on deck
to have a quiet pipe before turning in. The night was very dark--so dark
that, standing under the quarter-boat, I was unable to see the officer
upon the bridge. I think I have already mentioned the extraordinary
silence which prevails in these frozen seas. In other parts of the
world, be they ever so barren, there is some slight vibration of the
air--some faint hum, be it from the distant haunts of men, or from the
leaves of the trees, or the wings of the birds, or even the faint rustle
of the grass that covers the ground. One may not actively perceive the
sound, and yet if it were withdrawn it would be missed. It is only here
in these Arctic seas that stark, unfathomable stillness obtrudes itself
upon you in all its gruesome reality. You find your tympanum straining
to catch some little murmur, and dwelling eagerly upon every accidental
sound within the vessel. In this state I was leaning against the
bulwarks when there arose from the ice almost directly underneath me a
cry, sharp and shrill, upon the silent air of the night, beginning,
as it seemed to me, at a note such as prima donna never reached, and
mounting from that ever higher and higher until it culminated in a long
wail of agony, which might have been the last cry of a lost soul. The
ghastly scream is still ringing in my ears. Grief, unutterable grief,
seemed to be expressed in it, and a great longing, and yet through it
all there was an occasional wild note of exultation. It shrilled out
from close beside me, and yet as I glared into the darkness I could
discern nothing. I waited some little time, but without hearing any
repetition of the sound, so I came below, more shaken than I have ever
been in my life before. As I came down the companion I met Mr. Milne
coming up to relieve the watch. “Weel, Doctor,” he said, “maybe that’s
auld wives’ clavers tae? Did ye no hear it skirling? Maybe that’s a
supersteetion? What d’ye think o’t noo?” I was obliged to apologise to
the honest fellow, and acknowledge that I was as puzzled by it as he
was. Perhaps to-morrow things may look different. At present I dare
hardly write all that I think. Reading it again in days to come, when
I have shaken off all these associations, I should despise myself for
having been so weak.
September 18th.--Passed a restless and uneasy night, still haunted by
that strange sound. The Captain does not look as if he had had much
repose either, for his face is haggard and his eyes bloodshot. I have
not told him of my adventure of last night, nor shall I. He is already
restless and excited, standing up, sitting down, and apparently utterly
unable to keep still.
A fine lead appeared in the pack this morning, as I had expected, and we
were able to cast off our ice-anchor, and steam about twelve miles in a
west-sou’-westerly direction. We were then brought to a halt by a
great floe as massive as any which we have left behind us. It bars our
progress completely, so we can do nothing but anchor again and wait
until it breaks up, which it will probably do within twenty-four hours,
if the wind holds. Several bladder-nosed seals were seen swimming in the
water, and one was shot, an immense creature more than eleven feet long.
They are fierce, pugnacious animals, and are said to be more than
a match for a bear. Fortunately they are slow and clumsy in their
movements, so that there is little danger in attacking them upon the
ice.
The Captain evidently does not think we have seen the last of our
troubles, though why he should take a gloomy view of the situation is
more than I can fathom, since every one else on board considers that we
have had a miraculous escape, and are sure now to reach the open sea.
“I suppose you think it’s all right now, Doctor?” he said, as we sat
together after dinner.
“I hope so,” I answered.
“We mustn’t be too sure--and yet no doubt you are right. We’ll all be
in the arms of our own true loves before long, lad, won’t we? But we
mustn’t be too sure--we mustn’t be too sure.”
He sat silent a little, swinging his leg thoughtfully backwards and
forwards. “Look here,” he continued; “it’s a dangerous place this, even
at its best--a treacherous, dangerous place. I have known men cut off
very suddenly in a land like this. A slip would do it sometimes--a
single slip, and down you go through a crack, and only a bubble on the
green water to show where it was that you sank. It’s a queer thing,”
he continued with a nervous laugh, “but all the years I’ve been in this
country I never once thought of making a will--not that I have anything
to leave in particular, but still when a man is exposed to danger he
should have everything arranged and ready--don’t you think so?”
“Certainly,” I answered, wondering what on earth he was driving at.
“He feels better for knowing it’s all settled,” he went on. “Now if
anything should ever befall me, I hope that you will look after things
for me. There is very little in the cabin, but such as it is I should
like it to be sold, and the money divided in the same proportion as the
oil-money among the crew. The chronometer I wish you to keep yourself
as some slight remembrance of our voyage. Of course all this is a mere
precaution, but I thought I would take the opportunity of speaking
to you about it. I suppose I might rely upon you if there were any
necessity?”
“Most assuredly,” I answered; “and since you are taking this step, I may
as well”----
“You! you!” he interrupted. “YOU’RE all right. What the devil is the
matter with YOU? There, I didn’t mean to be peppery, but I don’t like
to hear a young fellow, that has hardly began life, speculating about
death. Go up on deck and get some fresh air into your lungs instead of
talking nonsense in the cabin, and encouraging me to do the same.”
The more I think of this conversation of ours the less do I like it. Why
should the man be settling his affairs at the very time when we seem to
be emerging from all danger? There must be some method in his madness.
Can it be that he contemplates suicide? I remember that upon one
occasion he spoke in a deeply reverent manner of the heinousness of the
crime of self-destruction. I shall keep my eye upon him, however, and
though I cannot obtrude upon the privacy of his cabin, I shall at least
make a point of remaining on deck as long as he stays up.
Mr. Milne pooh-poohs my fears, and says it is only the “skipper’s little
way.” He himself takes a very rosy view of the situation. According
to him we shall be out of the ice by the day after to-morrow, pass Jan
Meyen two days after that, and sight Shetland in little more than a
week. I hope he may not be too sanguine. His opinion may be fairly
balanced against the gloomy precautions of the Captain, for he is an old
and experienced seaman, and weighs his words well before uttering them.
*****
The long-impending catastrophe has come at last. I hardly know what to
write about it. The Captain is gone. He may come back to us again alive,
but I fear me--I fear me. It is now seven o’clock of the morning of the
19th of September. I have spent the whole night traversing the great
ice-floe in front of us with a party of seamen in the hope of coming
upon some trace of him, but in vain. I shall try to give some account of
the circumstances which attended upon his disappearance. Should any
one ever chance to read the words which I put down, I trust they will
remember that I do not write from conjecture or from hearsay, but that
I, a sane and educated man, am describing accurately what actually
occurred before my very eyes. My inferences are my own, but I shall be
answerable for the facts.
The Captain remained in excellent spirits after the conversation which
I have recorded. He appeared to be nervous and impatient, however,
frequently changing his position, and moving his limbs in an aimless
choreic way which is characteristic of him at times. In a quarter of an
hour he went upon deck seven times, only to descend after a few hurried
paces. I followed him each time, for there was something about his face
which confirmed my resolution of not letting him out of my sight. He
seemed to observe the effect which his movements had produced, for he
endeavoured by an over-done hilarity, laughing boisterously at the very
smallest of jokes, to quiet my apprehensions.
After supper he went on to the poop once more, and I with him. The night
was dark and very still, save for the melancholy soughing of the wind
among the spars. A thick cloud was coming up from the north-west, and the
ragged tentacles which it threw out in front of it were drifting across
the face of the moon, which only shone now and again through a rift in
the wrack. The Captain paced rapidly backwards and forwards, and then
seeing me still dogging him, he came across and hinted that he thought
I should be better below--which, I need hardly say, had the effect of
strengthening my resolution to remain on deck.
I think he forgot about my presence after this, for he stood silently
leaning over the taffrail, and peering out across the great desert of
snow, part of which lay in shadow, while part glittered mistily in
the moonlight. Several times I could see by his movements that he was
referring to his watch, and once he muttered a short sentence, of which
I could only catch the one word “ready.” I confess to having felt an
eerie feeling creeping over me as I watched the loom of his tall figure
through the darkness, and noted how completely he fulfilled the idea of
a man who is keeping a tryst. A tryst with whom? Some vague perception
began to dawn upon me as I pieced one fact with another, but I was
utterly unprepared for the sequel.
By the sudden intensity of his attitude I felt that he saw something.
I crept up behind him. He was staring with an eager questioning gaze
at what seemed to be a wreath of mist, blown swiftly in a line with
the ship. It was a dim, nebulous body, devoid of shape, sometimes more,
sometimes less apparent, as the light fell on it. The moon was dimmed
in its brilliancy at the moment by a canopy of thinnest cloud, like the
coating of an anemone.
“Coming, lass, coming,” cried the skipper, in a voice of unfathomable
tenderness and compassion, like one who soothes a beloved one by some
favour long looked for, and as pleasant to bestow as to receive.
What followed happened in an instant. I had no power to interfere.
He gave one spring to the top of the bulwarks, and another which took
him on to the ice, almost to the feet of the pale misty figure. He
held out his hands as if to clasp it, and so ran into the darkness with
outstretched arms and loving words. I still stood rigid and motionless,
straining my eyes after his retreating form, until his voice died away
in the distance. I never thought to see him again, but at that moment
the moon shone out brilliantly through a chink in the cloudy heaven, and
illuminated the great field of ice. Then I saw his dark figure already
a very long way off, running with prodigious speed across the frozen
plain. That was the last glimpse which we caught of him--perhaps
the last we ever shall. A party was organised to follow him, and I
accompanied them, but the men’s hearts were not in the work, and nothing
was found. Another will be formed within a few hours. I can hardly
believe I have not been dreaming, or suffering from some hideous
nightmare, as I write these things down.
7.30 P.M.--Just returned dead beat and utterly tired out from a second
unsuccessful search for the Captain. The floe is of enormous extent, for
though we have traversed at least twenty miles of its surface, there has
been no sign of its coming to an end. The frost has been so severe of
late that the overlying snow is frozen as hard as granite, otherwise we
might have had the footsteps to guide us. The crew are anxious that we
should cast off and steam round the floe and so to the southward, for
the ice has opened up during the night, and the sea is visible upon the
horizon. They argue that Captain Craigie is certainly dead, and that
we are all risking our lives to no purpose by remaining when we have an
opportunity of escape. Mr. Milne and I have had the greatest difficulty
in persuading them to wait until to-morrow night, and have been
compelled to promise that we will not under any circumstances delay our
departure longer than that. We propose therefore to take a few hours’
sleep, and then to start upon a final search.
September 20th, evening.--I crossed the ice this morning with a party of
men exploring the southern part of the floe, while Mr. Milne went off
in a northerly direction. We pushed on for ten or twelve miles without
seeing a trace of any living thing except a single bird, which fluttered
a great way over our heads, and which by its flight I should judge to
have been a falcon. The southern extremity of the ice field tapered away
into a long narrow spit which projected out into the sea. When we came
to the base of this promontory, the men halted, but I begged them to
continue to the extreme end of it, that we might have the satisfaction
of knowing that no possible chance had been neglected.
We had hardly gone a hundred yards before M’Donald of Peterhead cried
out that he saw something in front of us, and began to run. We all got a
glimpse of it and ran too. At first it was only a vague darkness against
the white ice, but as we raced along together it took the shape of a
man, and eventually of the man of whom we were in search. He was lying
face downwards upon a frozen bank. Many little crystals of ice and
feathers of snow had drifted on to him as he lay, and sparkled upon his
dark seaman’s jacket. As we came up some wandering puff of wind caught
these tiny flakes in its vortex, and they whirled up into the air,
partially descended again, and then, caught once more in the current,
sped rapidly away in the direction of the sea. To my eyes it seemed but
a snow-drift, but many of my companions averred that it started up in
the shape of a woman, stooped over the corpse and kissed it, and then
hurried away across the floe. I have learned never to ridicule any man’s
opinion, however strange it may seem. Sure it is that Captain Nicholas
Craigie had met with no painful end, for there was a bright smile upon
his blue pinched features, and his hands were still outstretched as
though grasping at the strange visitor which had summoned him away into
the dim world that lies beyond the grave.
We buried him the same afternoon with the ship’s ensign around him, and
a thirty-two pound shot at his feet. I read the burial service, while
the rough sailors wept like children, for there were many who owed much
to his kind heart, and who showed now the affection which his strange
ways had repelled during his lifetime. He went off the grating with a
dull, sullen splash, and as I looked into the green water I saw him go
down, down, down until he was but a little flickering patch of white
hanging upon the outskirts of eternal darkness. Then even that faded
away, and he was gone. There he shall lie, with his secret and his
sorrows and his mystery all still buried in his breast, until that great
day when the sea shall give up its dead, and Nicholas Craigie come out
from among the ice with the smile upon his face, and his stiffened arms
outstretched in greeting. I pray that his lot may be a happier one in
that life than it has been in this.
I shall not continue my journal. Our road to home lies plain and clear
before us, and the great ice field will soon be but a remembrance of
the past. It will be some time before I get over the shock produced by
recent events. When I began this record of our voyage I little thought
of how I should be compelled to finish it. I am writing these final
words in the lonely cabin, still starting at times and fancying I hear
the quick nervous step of the dead man upon the deck above me. I entered
his cabin to-night, as was my duty, to make a list of his effects in
order that they might be entered in the official log. All was as it
had been upon my previous visit, save that the picture which I have
described as having hung at the end of his bed had been cut out of its
frame, as with a knife, and was gone. With this last link in a strange
chain of evidence I close my diary of the voyage of the Pole-Star.
[NOTE by Dr. John M’Alister Ray, senior.--I have read over the strange
events connected with the death of the Captain of the Pole-Star, as
narrated in the journal of my son. That everything occurred exactly as
he describes it I have the fullest confidence, and, indeed, the
most positive certainty, for I know him to be a strong-nerved and
unimaginative man, with the strictest regard for veracity. Still, the
story is, on the face of it, so vague and so improbable, that I was long
opposed to its publication. Within the last few days, however, I have
had independent testimony upon the subject which throws a new light
upon it. I had run down to Edinburgh to attend a meeting of the British
Medical Association, when I chanced to come across Dr. P----, an old
college chum of mine, now practising at Saltash, in Devonshire. Upon my
telling him of this experience of my son’s, he declared to me that he
was familiar with the man, and proceeded, to my no small surprise, to
give me a description of him, which tallied remarkably well with that
given in the journal, except that he depicted him as a younger man.
According to his account, he had been engaged to a young lady of
singular beauty residing upon the Cornish coast. During his absence at
sea his betrothed had died under circumstances of peculiar horror.]