Three days later we started upon our adventurous trip to the Pole.
Captain Norris, when bidding us farewell, hoped we would all meet again.
“Undoubtedly,” Saxe. replied, “undoubtedly we’ll all meet again, but
perhaps not for years. All depends upon the atmosphere—ahem! I fear
evaporation of the fluid in the _Propellier’s_ cylinders. Should this
occur we’ll be absent indefinitely. Many contend the earth’s summit is
located at 90 degrees,” continued Saxe., in his most argumentive manner,
“this is preposterous, but were it so that portion of the globe would
have been explored long ago. The earth’s summit is at 100 degrees. I
state this as a fact, and the difficulties I expect to encounter will be
beyond the ninetieth degree. The atmosphere will be so compressed as to
cause either an explosion of the fluid in the tanks, or gradual
evaporation. For either calamity I am altogether unprepared, and
consequently figure on the homeward journey to be one of acute hardship,
and consuming an indefinite period. But shadows exist only where there’s
brightness. At any rate we have provisions for seven years, and, Captain
Norris, I’ll guarantee that in less time we’ll reach the Pole, and
return to our homes, each busily engaged upon a book of ‘How I
Discovered the North Pole.’”
Norris smiled, but avoided remarks, and shook hands all around; then I
took him aside and intrusted him with a letter for old Middleton. I
advised Middleton, though arrangements were waterproof, to personally
attend to it that ships sailed north every year to meet us. (I knew he
would, and spare no expense), and most humbly I begged pardon for
breaking my word to him. I could give no excuse except the unknown polar
regions fascinated me, and, against reason, at the last moment I joined
the expedition. Years later I learned that Middleton, when he received
the letter, was thrown into such a state of alarm and anxiety, that he
collapsed and took to his bed with a serious illness from which he
recovered with great difficulty. I am satisfied Middleton’s affection
for me was disinterested.
Captain Norris, also his men, were superstitious, and declared they
would not invite ill-luck by seeing us off; but the Esquimaux clamored
about us, loading us with gifts. One gave Saxe. a keg of oil, which he
stored away with great care; what he wanted with that oil was a mystery.
Skins, furs were forced upon us, strings of fresh fish, and a great
quantity of dried or frozen fish packed together like staves of a barrel
was presented to me. We were each presented with a canoe, with the
information that we would need them. Saxe. repaid this kindness with
quantities of beads and imitation jewelry, and I flung a little fortune
among the natives.
Norris saluted with four guns. The _Propellier_ responded with a shrill
blast from her siren as we sped out among the snow hills which soon hid
all our friends from view. At last we were really started upon our long
journey of marvelous adventure.
We traveled north along the coast of Greenland. The _Propellier_ acted
well, the feeler did splendid work, warning us of breaks or gaps in the
ice by vibrating and resounding with hollow noise; the great arc-light
cast a radiance of three hundred yards, and we traveled full speed night
and day. Each were initiated into the mysteries of the engine room, and
took turns in steering the machine. Saunders, however, was exempt from
these duties, he permitted nothing to interfere with the work he’d
mapped out for himself. He alone was spared from what is called
snow-blindness; with his exception we were all decorated with great blue
goggles. I was the first to succumb to the glaring whiteness of the
snow. The continual sameness of arctic landscape became very tiresome.
As far as the eye reached were vast plains of ice and snow, a blinding
whiteness in soft, downy hollows and smooth mounds, the earth shrouded
in a widening sheet of white velvet; and vividly in the distance with a
blue, misty veil, shielding their peaks, was the circular range of ice
mountains, that has been declared naught but an optical illusion. All
polar explorers have viewed these strange mountains, whose distance is
beyond speculation, having always that illusive appearance even at the
highest altitudes. Scientists claim this mystic range to be a reflection
cast by the heavy, frozen atmosphere. Sheldon was the only one with time
to argue about the matter, he agreed with me the illusive range was a
solid fact all right, but he went further, declaring they were not polar
mountains, and that his great body of fresh water rested——etc. When he
reached this stage in his argument my interest flagged. Sheldon and his
body of water became very tedious sometimes.
Saxe. was occupied entirely with the _Propellier_, and Saunders
altogether absorbed making atmospheric observations. These observations
he takes every seven hours, making us lose much valuable time, and
rousing Saxe. to caustic remarks; he puts in the rest of the time
studying a chart of the heavens and peering at the stars.
Our first mishap occurred at 74–5° north latitude. The _Propellier_ was
speeding, when suddenly the feeler vibrated, then followed a jarring,
crushing sound, and the _Propellier_ plunged into a thin layer of ice
and snow, and was washed by the swiftly flowing black waters underneath.
At the first vibration Saxe. quickly shut off the current, then with
considerable difficulty backed the _Propellier_ from her perilous
position. We had plunged into a parting or lane, fifteen feet wide and
three miles long, concealed by new snow that had iced on the surface,
and were obliged to make a wide detour.
Saunders reported a faint aurora borealis in the northeast.
It turned out to be the moon’s rays piercing a mackerel-sky. It was a
beautiful sight. White shining clouds with antlers branching in long,
waving ribbons crimped like blond, which scintillated in diffused
patches on the horizon. As we watched the moon sailed high, dimming and
scattering the shimmering radiance.
We had the laugh on Saunders, who stubbornly insisted the bright light
was a faint aurora. As the heavens are one continual phenomenon, always
inspiring mortal with awe, and considering that Saunders knew more of
the heavens than any of us, I had a secret belief he might possibly be
correct, particularly as we witnessed this phenomenon time after time
when there was no moon. The same shining, white clouds, with rippling
antlers parting in flaming rays, which stretched across the sky in a
broad, throbbing arch, varying in tints of a yellowish, bluish, milky
white; all cold, chilly colors, but beautiful.
Saxe. became bold over the successful traveling of his machine, and
announced it his belief that we would reach the Pole in a month. But
difficulties commenced when we reached 78 degrees north latitude,
progress became slow and we were obliged to travel inland to avoid the
high winds which threw the snow into insurmountable mounds, forming
alleyways and embankments, and all the time from the north came that
ominous warning boom as the ice packed and screwed together. “The
Inevitable,” as Saxe. called it, and that which has confronted all polar
explorers over the Greenland route, happened at 79 degrees.
Further travel was blocked by a chain of small ice hills, so closely
packed together they formed a wall, seemingly an impenetrable blockade,
extending as far as the sight reached. For several weeks we traveled in
an easterly direction, then dared the jagged opening in the shifting
chain, which revealed a veritable world of peaks, at sight of which
Sheldon blurted out:
“It can’t be done, Saxe., old boy!”
But the _Propellier_ was invented to crush all obstacles, and Saxe.
grimly, cautiously steered through the icy gate. He found it very
difficult to operate the engine in this terrible mountainous district.
We were upon the frozen surface of the sea, whose waves seemingly had
iced as they formed into the swell. We realized danger, but there was no
turning back; through extreme caution we were spared disaster. Saxe.
never left his post in the little engine car, he refused aid, we were
not expert enough for the situation.
Weeks were consumed in passing over this hilly waste, but hundreds of
miles were traversed, then gradually the ice peaks reared farther apart,
juts, waves, smoothened; and we finally ploughed into a far-reaching
plain of snow, with the distant horizon cut by the familiar, illusive
range of mountains capped with their azure veil. We had reached 87
degrees, and were miles from our original course, but steadily advancing
toward the Pole.
“87–5° north latitude, and 175–6° east longitude,” rattled off Saunders.
The _Propellier_ was put at full speed, but soon slackened as we
continually encountered lanes concealed by soft, new snow. So frequent
did these partings become the machine was forced to a zigzag course. It
took half a day to make two miles, and when we halted the situation was
alarming. The ice was shallow and breaks continual, having the
appearance of lakes or rivers, the black, sullen water rippled and
flowed with a swift undercurrent. Some of the lanes measured thirty feet
in width, and one reached 700 yards in length. We agreed the danger was
about equal in turning back or pushing forward; we had nothing to gain
in turning back.
Sheldon was nonplussed. He could not account for the swiftly flowing
surface streams at 88 degrees. He finally ventured they were not breaks
in the ice, but freshets coursing from the north, ploughing their own
avenues, and creating one of the phenomenons of the polar sphere.
Saunders snickered, but Saxe. looked worried.
“A thaw somewhere,” he muttered.
But he was wrong; the cold was intense, and were it not for our superb
heating apparatus, the pipes extending throughout the cars, we would
have been compelled to turn back; nothing human could live in such
temperature. Gradually we dashed free of the freshet bound region and
traveled swiftly over a smooth, wide plain without rut or ripple, huge
floes of ice packed and screwed together till seemingly one vast floe
extended over the whole of this drear unknown continent, and always the
same distance away was the blue mystic range of mountains. I wondered if
we would ever reach them.
We were making splendid time, gaining on that lost in the mountainous
and lake district, yet Saxe. appeared troubled.
“I fear a storm,” he told me. “We cannot escape them now, we are nearing
the summit.”
That night a strange light illuminated the sky.
“An aurora!” shouted Saunders.
Undoubtedly it was, but the beauties of the aurora had paled upon us,
yet this night the flaming, brilliant tinted sky held our attention.
Awe-inspiring was the vast arch of fire, crown formed, spiked with
quivering streamers. The fiery crown varied not in shade, but seemed to
burn with deeper intensity as a dull, ominous red clouded some of its
brightness. The quivering streamers oscillated with wonderful tints,
making each seem as though studded with rare gems. The blood-red ruby
glowed upon us, then paled to the amethyst’s heliotrope, which faded
before the rush of emerald, flooding the sky, and the baleful topaz
streaked the delicate green as the flaming arch, edged with the
penetrating turquoise, quivered and vibrated with darts and flashes. As
we watched the gaudy spectacle it seemed to dull, darken, and grow
heavier as though gifted with substance, then with indescribable majesty
slowly descended to the earth. The heat became intense, the atmosphere
stifling. We raised the windows, but quickly closed them, the car filled
with a sulphurous air which started us to coughing and sneezing. We
glanced at each other silent, dismayed; Saxe., paled and trembling, sank
to a seat.
“The _Propellier_ will explode! nothing is proof against this!” he
cried.
“We are witnessing,” said Saunders, in reassuring tones, “a phenomenon
of the heavens, a combination of electrical forces which will soon
disperse and rage in various portions of the globe. It cannot harm us
should it descend, as its power, force, will have evaporated. This
portion of the globe upon which we are now traveling is——er—hum——”
“God in heaven!” yelled Saxe. “Look, boys, we’re done for!”
Saxe., the mainspring of the party, to our amazement, was overcome with
terror.
“Come,” he cried, retreating with frantic haste, “come, or we’ll perish!
The _Propellier_ is going to burst!”
We stampeded to the rear car and clustered around the window to gaze at
that which had so roused Saxe.’s terror, while he sank in a heap,
mopping his brow.
The wide-spreading arch of fire suddenly parted with a great blast of
thunder, which rolled and revolved over our heads with terrific crash,
then passed on toward the south. What chained our attention was the
appearance of a great milk-white cloud that sailed through the parted
arch, submerging it. A cloud, funnel shaped, of milky, opal tints, whose
throbbing, fiery heart burned vividly beneath the thin, shell covering.
It gained in size and weight as it advanced, and gradually losing
flakiness became a dull, ominous purple, rapidly deepening to black,
then with appalling suddenness it was upon us.
We were among the racing clouds, tossed and scattered by the roaring
gale. Thunder boomed, and weird, lightning flashes pierced our car, then
the hurricane struck us squarely, lifting, overturning the car, and we
were buried beneath the wreck. I was stunned, but a slight scalp wound
which bled profusely relieved me greatly. The heat was suffocating, my
clothing became saturated with perspiration streaming from every pore of
my body.
Saxe. was the first to recover and extricated himself from the storage
and debris, unhurt but badly scratched, and once more the energetic,
pushing old boy we were familiar with.
“The worst is over,” he bawled, “and the _Propellier_ didn’t bust; but
snow is falling in clouds—boys, brace up, or we’ll be buried alive!”
Sheldon and Saunders squirmed lively after this. We forced our way out
of the overturned car and sank waist deep in soft, new snow, which
prevented the gale carrying us away. The _Propellier_ and adjoining cars
were not damaged, the snow having blown up against, and piled high,
protecting them almost entirely, but the wind now carried the snow over
and down the sides, causing Saxe. to shout: “Hustle, boys, hustle! we’ll
be buried alive!”
The heaters were filled and fires started; in a short time the waste
pipes were letting off streams of steam. We shoveled a bank nearly
twelve feet high, which protected us some from the wind, but it flung
the snow upon us faster than we could work, and from steam to shovel we
labored for our lives against odds for eight long, weary hours. But the
storm spent itself, ceased as suddenly as it came, calmed beneath the
freezing temperature that descended. The snow iced, our labor was over
and we sought shelter, food and rest.
Saunders advised early departure, and two hours later we started. The
_Propellier_ made a rush up the steep embankment; midway she seemed to
lose speed, but suddenly cleared the remaining distance at a bound. The
dense atmosphere had lifted and plain upon plain of snow with
wind-tossed mounds and hills met our vision, and over it all a crescent
moon glistened mystically. The search-light flared and with a shrill
blast we speeded northward. Midnight we had reached and traveled beyond
the altitude scientists claim the earth’s pivot is located. Towards
morning a heavy mist fell upon us, a dark, silent, deadly mist, which
sent a chill to our bones. I could not shake off the dull feeling of
dread that came over me. The _Propellier_ glided smoothly, swiftly
onward, taking us farther into this horrible death-land. The fear that
tugged at my heart shamed me to silence. I glanced furtively at my three
companions, who were unusually still, and whose faces blanched beneath
my scrutiny. Then Saxe. suddenly halted the _Propellier_, and addressed
us.
“Boys,” he said, “we have stood by one another, we are not cowards, but
life is life, and the Pole be damned! We have penetrated farther north
than man ever dared, we do not fear, but—others felt the same way in
much lower altitudes and stampeded to civilization with tales of
blizzards, blockades, and the impossibility of life beyond a certain
degree. There are unknown dangers ahead, and death sometimes is very
slow, and to struggle and dare and have it all end in oblivion, I think
senseless. The earth’s summit is at 100 degrees. We have entered the
mystic circle—just a league to discovery—the _Propellier_ at full speed
could dash through in a few minutes. We will suffer—an awful
experience—a terrible risk; and, as I said before, boys, life is life. I
call the expedition off; we will return.”
He glanced wistfully at me, but I avoided his eyes. The passion for the
myth had for the time evaporated. After all, life is worth the living,
the world is full of beauty and harmony if we choose to see it. I fully
realized the hazardous undertaking I had ventured upon, and—God in
heaven!—I may never return.
Saxe. was turning back through anxiety for his friends; were he alone he
would crush the dread he imagined upon him and push ahead. He forgot the
fanaticism of his comrades. Truly they were three of a kind. Saunders
sprang forward and caught Saxe.’s arm.
“Correct! correct!” he cried, “we’re not cowards! Why are you turning
back? The dread upon us is the dread of nature, the all-pervading fear
of first venture, which the will overcomes or we’d still be apes.
Determination invites progress, fear checks it; all dread the Unknown.
Now, up to 98 or 100 degrees I can state positively what we’ll
encounter. We’ve completely traversed the frozen polar sea, from now on
it’s surface ice and melting snow slushing over brown rocks or earth. At
100 degrees we view the most uncanny scenery man ever gazed upon. Great
mountains and steep, smooth cliffs, of petrification; deep, gloomy,
barren valleys, horrible in stillness; and lightening up this dead,
petrified portion of the globe, is the star, the star I will brave death
to see. The foe we have to conquer is atmosphere, science may help, but
there is no atmosphere. In advancing we flirt with Death, who’ll welcome
us with dreadful grandeur, but a bold flirtation does not always end
disastrously; we can view the all-mighty magnet, then depart.”
“Oh, don’t pay any attention to him,” interposed Sheldon, “he blunders
constantly. If I believed in him I’d favor turning back. For days we’ve
argued this matter; he’s merely expressed his views—not facts. I agree
with him regarding the petrification of the earth surrounding the Pole,
the cold is so intense petrification is natural, but the lack of
atmosphere—laughable. From the high altitude undoubtedly we’ll suffer,
experiencing palpitation, vertigo, and other inconveniences, including a
tantalizing thirst. Then again, boys, nature being freakish, we may
experience none of these ills, but enjoy the wild, weird scenery of the
earth’s summit. We’ll view the blue Reflection Alps, and drink
sparkling, crystal water, from the reservoir of the earth. Onward!
Saxe., onward! but—should the _Propellier_ cease to work we’re dead
men.”
I listened to the absurd reasoning of my three esteemed friends,
realizing I had three fanatics to deal with. Lacking persuasive ability
I had to rely upon common sense and plain English to point out the folly
of advancing. I had the power to command the expedition off and rose to
better emphasize my words, when suddenly the doubts and nervous
restlessness calmed in a deep, delicious languor, which overpowered and
deadened reason. I made a feeble effort to regain my flying senses, but
the soft, warm zephyr, heavy with an unknown, magnetic perfume, drugged
my will. In that instant I revelled in dreams, a maze of love ecstasy,
my pulse quivered and tingled with delight. I was blind to all danger,
prudence vanished before impetuous recklessness and desire. I sank to my
seat. “Onward!” I cried hoarsely, with wildly beating heart. “Forward!
Saxe., forward!” And I, too, was a fanatic.