THE START--FIRST NIGHT IN THE DESERT OF SNOW
The month’s training that Dr. Wright gave his merry men was no sham one.
It was often carried out under considerable difficulties, too. For even
in summer the weather is most unsettled. One year of open ice does not
always follow another. There is the same uncertainty as regards the
weather from day to day or week to week.
There were days when, owing to fogs or mists, though it was getting on
now for mid-summer, hardly anything could be seen. One could hear the
cries and screaming, or grunting, of the birds afar off, the splash of
seals taking the water, or the whale in search of food, blowing off
steam, but be unable to distinguish one tent from the other, while the
Eskimo dogs loomed through the semi-darkness like bears, and the
Shetland ponies took on the form of elephants, bar the trunks, and even
Humpty Dumpty, for the time being, might have been mistaken for a giant
in furs.
No matter, men and beasts must be hardened, and things went on as
before.
When sledges did get lost in the fog high up, and across the plain, they
had to feel their way as best they could, with the help of the
pocket-compass.
The sledge parties were kept two days instead of one on the interior
ice, and slept, of course, in their bags. No matter how high the wind or
wild the weather, into those bags they must go. They were usually
two-men bags, and these are the most comfortable.
Charlie and Walt could have knocked down a Patagonian before that month
was over.
Here is an incident worth relating. One bitterly cold night, shortly
after a couple of two-men bags were put down--Ingomar, by the way, had a
bag for himself, and Curtis always found room for Collie in his--the
boys stood talking to Dr. Wright for a few minutes. When he and Walt
went to retire, lo, here was Nick in one bag, and Nora in another.
“Pray don’t turn me out,” pleaded Nick.
“Nor me,” whimpered Nora.
So Charlie blew up his air-pillow, and crept in beside Nick, and Walt
shared his bag with Nora. When Dr. Wright came out to look for his, he
was one to the bad, and had to bend a fresh one.
But the dogs never stirred nor talked in their sleep, and so the boys
heard nothing till Taffy’s bugle rang merrily out on the morning breeze.
The dogs ever after this persisted in being bagged. They looked upon it
as their right.
When Dr. Wright was appealed to, he said, as the dogs were clean and
comfortable, there could be no harm. He left it to themselves--to the
boys he meant, not the dogs.
But during the dash into the interior, and all that followed, having the
dogs bagged was found to be a good plan, because a Newfoundland or
Collie dog gets massed with ice and snow, and, if lying out, he might
perish. Anyhow, he would be frozen to the ground, and it would be found
impossible to prise him up without great pain, danger, and loss of coat.
For bad weather these three pet dogs had well-made waterproofs, which
covered even the heads, leaving room for the ears to come out.
Strange to say, a dog’s nose never gets frozen, and the hair between the
well-soled pads prevents frost-bite.
In the snow this hair gets “balled” with hard snow, and cripples the
poor fellow, so he comes wisely to his master to have the balls broken
off, and is very grateful.
During the journey, Slap-dash came ingeniously to the dogs’ relief, and
made them leggings.
A Newfoundland in seal-skin breeches would seem a curious sight to some.
Well, laugh if you like, reader, but there they were.
Several men failed to pass the doctor’s examination after the month, and
yet they were men fit for any condition of climate, perhaps, save that
with which our heroes were now quite prepared to do battle.
A month is certainly not a long time in which to train in athletics, but
it must be remembered that those whom Dr. Wright had chosen had been fit
and well at the time they commenced to train.
So strong and willing were their hearts, that it was no unusual thing
for some of them to lie down naked of a morning at the ablution hour
before breakfast, and roll in the snow, or be covered over for half a
minute by their comrades. This is really not such a terrible ordeal as
you lads who hug the fire and live in stuffy rooms might imagine. The
snow is often warmer than the air around it.
There was a dinner on board the _Sea Elephant_ on the night before
Curtis and his crew of sledgelings, as he called them, departed on their
long and marvellous inland tour. But there was no boisterous merriment
thereat, and no wine was permitted, no splicing of the main-brace.
Every one of the sledgelings wrote a letter, or letters, to the old
country. These were to be taken by the _Sea Elephant_ to New Zealand,
and posted there.
It is needless to say that Curtis wrote to Marie, and so did Ingomar.
Ingomar wrote also a most filial letter to his father and mother. No
bombast about it, and no boasting about what they were going to do. They
were simply going into the interior in the direction of the South Pole.
They could not reach that, he said, but they wanted to winter just as
near it as possible, and, if possible, break the world’s record, as
every American and British subject had the right at least to try to do.
That was about all.
Ingomar’s heart was a brave one. There was sentiment, romance, and love
too, in it, but no such thing as hysteria. Yet was there moisture in his
eyes as he closed and sealed his letters and placed them in the bag.
Next morning farewells were said almost in silence, and these heroes of
the wild Antarctic prepared to mount. Perhaps Dr. Wright was trying to
encourage a little merriment, or a laugh at least, when he said--
“You haven’t forgotten the salt, have you, Curtis?”
“No, Wright,” returned Curtis. “Are you sure you have stowed away your
gum-lancet?”
A minute after this, the land expedition had started. Cheer after cheer
rent the morning sky, the guns of the _Walrus_ and _Sea Elephant_ fired
one last salute, then all was still and silent.
Commander Curtis, as we may now call him, wanted to do as much as
possible every fine day.
And this was one. For on that vast upland of snow they managed to put
five and twenty statute miles between them and the ships, before the
final halt was called for dinner, rest, and sleep.
This was almost a record day.
A day free from hitch or even adventure of any kind.
The sun never set now, but, just as it does in Greenland North or in
Baffin’s Bay, went round and round, higher up at midday, a bright and
burning silver shield, lower at midnight, and a trifle more dim or
yellow.
Storms are frequent, even in summer, in this region; but there are a
very large number of sunny days.
The scenery has a character entirely its own, and a charm which no one
can adequately describe in words. You must have the scene before you in
reality before you can realize the charm.
The order to-night was early to bed--or, rather, early to bags, for the
first part of next day was to be spent in ascending a hill at the foot
of which they were now pitched.
Curtis’s intention was not only to take the usual observations, but, as
far as possible, his bearings for the journey of the day.
In such a country as this they could hardly expect to travel as crows
fly. The easiest road would be the shortest.
They were in bags by nine, and asleep almost immediately. With the
exception of the slight noise bears make in their sleep, there was
nothing here to disturb them, and they were far enough away from the
hill-foot to fear a falling avalanche. The stillness of such a region as
this is appalling. On a windless night you almost fear to speak aloud.
At four o’clock next morning, Taffy awoke Curtis quietly, and he was
soon ready. Sheelah, too, was up, and warming coffee essence, which,
with fresh eggs beaten up, and condensed milk, and biscuit, made a good
breakfast for so early an hour.
Ingomar shared, and Collie also.
These were the only three who were to ascend the hill, which, though
only about 1500 feet high, would permit them to have a view, not only
seawards, but on every side, to a great distance.
The difficulty of ascent was by no means great, yet both men, though
armed with their poles, were considerably pumped before they stood on
the peak, or rather lay down on it, and gazed around them.
The air was colder here, and there was a breeze of wind, cold enough for
anything. Curtis’s observations were quickly taken, and his bearings
too, and it was soon noticed that there was at least one other pleasant
day’s work before them.
It was a mountainous land, and, far to east, to west, and to south even,
“hills on hills successive piled.” They noticed, too, that many of these
were evidently volcanic.
“You see, Ingomar,” said Curtis, almost solemnly, “the great war ’twixt
fire and snow is still raging.”
“Which shall win?”
“Ah, my friend, we are young, but we know which will win. It is a sad
thought that, in time to come, the snow of the south and the north, and
the ice will extend and extend until they meet, blotting out all life in
their marvellous circular tract, until the most minute forms thereof do
vanish and perish.”
“And then?”
“Seas dry, globe cooled to its centre, the snow, the moisture, and ice
itself extinct, the fires of even the interior gone for ever. Cracked
and crevassed, we shall roll, a dead planet, round the sun, a moon to
it, perhaps, until this world burst into pieces and fall upon other
planets in cosmic dust.”
Ingomar was silent, and looked somewhat sad. He knew his friend was
clever, and a student of nature in its widest sense, but he hardly
expected to find in him a philosophic pessimist.
“And then?” said Ingomar, almost sadly. “And then, my friend?”
Curtis’s face sparkled with happiness and enthusiasm almost instantly.
“And then, Ingomar? Away with thoughts of gloom, millions and billions
of years of sleep are but as our puny seven hours, and the same God, the
Good, the Eternal, Who awoke us at first, can and will awake us again to
the brightness of another day.
“Look around you,” he said, with outstretched arm. “Look at the beauty
before and beneath us.”
There were tears in the young fellow’s eyes.
Ingomar had never seen him so strangely emotional before.
“Brother Ingomar,” he said, “I’m going to hope and to trust.”
“And so am I, brother Curtis.”
Then, hand in hand, on that brilliant peak they stood together in
silence.