A CHAPTER OF JOY AND SADNESS
It would not be far wrong to say that for the next month or six weeks,
ere the sun went finally down, Hope sustained the hearts of our heroes
almost as much as did the food they ate.
That there was a bad time before them they seemed to feel. Coming events
cast their shadows before. But they wanted to have the shadow over and
done with, and come to the dark stern reality itself.
They meant to make a bold stand for life anyhow.
Moreover, the behaviour of the Yak-Yaks themselves gave them additional
courage. They pooh-poohed the winter darkness. Sheelah and Taffy were
quite gay now, and made every one who heard them talk, more happy. Their
own tongue is singularly sweet and labial, but even their broken English
sounded musical.
“Fo’ de cold and de dark I no care--Pah!” cried Sheelah, snapping her
eyes.
The younger Taffy waxed even sentimental over the thoughts of the
winter.
“The col’ plenty much I lub,” she said, “and de night, oh, I lubs plenty
much mo’.”
And these two strange little women went about all day long, humming
little songs to themselves, but working as hard as honey-bees.
As the days grew shorter and shorter, the scenery in fine weather grew
more mysterious, the hills and the snow assumed tints, ay, and strong
colours, that were often magically beautiful.
Cold as it now was, it was a positive delight for our heroes to get away
some distance from the cave-camp, and behold a sunset or a sunrise. Oh,
you didn’t require to get up at all early now, reader, to see a sunrise.
Will the day ever come, I wonder, when the artist will be able, in
colours, to interpret the descriptions which the author and student of
nature try to depict?
Till then, much, so very much, must be left to the imagination.
* * * * *
No one in this country, probably, has ever seen a vermilion sun. But
this is what greeted the eyes of our heroes on one of the last, short
days of autumn.
A sun that you could gaze at unflinchingly, for it was rayless, gaze at
and wonder.
In all their difficulties the boys appealed to Curtis, for whom, young
though he was, they had the very highest respect. On this occasion,
however, he owned up, as young folks say, that he was a little puzzled,
for there was neither fog nor haze upon the earth, whatever there might
be very high up. But yonder was the sun all day long, figuratively
speaking, turned to blood.
Mac averred that it wasna canny, and that something was sure to follow.
Well, night followed, anyhow, and a long and dreary one it was, with
ne’er a star, although the sky, to all appearance, was cloudless.
About this time it was noticed that the bears got altogether more
friendly together. Gruff no longer kept Growley in his corner, and he
ceased to show his affection to his “sonsy” wife; I mean he whacked her
no more.
For a whole week they were ravenously hungry, and one night they stole
more of the frozen seal-flesh, and devoured it, than would have served
to feed the dogs for a fortnight.
They were missing that night.
Poor Gruff, and Growley, and Grumpey, and Meg. I am indeed sorry to let
them pass out of my story, but they never came again.
Whither they had wandered is, of course, mere surmise, but, owing to the
disappearance of the seal-meat, I think there is little doubt that they
had found a cave and hidden themselves there to hibernate till spring.
Perhaps (_quien sabe?_) they will live in the Antarctic regions, and,
in future, bears may become a by no means uncommon feature of the
scenery.
The sun set for the very last time in a splendour of cloudscape that
seemed almost supernatural and divine.
There was twilight after this, but soon even that was lost to view.
Then came frequent storms of such violence that, but for the shelter of
that mysterious cave--“the Cave of Dead Bones,” as Mac called it--it is
doubtful whether the whole expedition would not have perished.
While these storms raged the winds were cold, cruel, merciless. No one
could withstand their vehemence. They were more bearable when they
brought snow--snow or the thin snowflakes turned into ice-dust, powdered
by wrathful and venomous wind. This snow was swept wildly past the
cave’s front, which was well barricaded; but wherever it was given leave
to rest it lay in “wreaths,” like storm-waves of ocean or Atlantic
breakers on a beach, if you could imagine these suddenly solidified by
the finger of death, and motionless, “wreaths” big enough to have
covered a cathedral.
Battling with such winds is out of the question. You get angry, excited
with the unequal contest; your brain is filled with blood, and tears of
vexation roll over the cheeks. Then it is nothing unusual for men so
exposed to drop suddenly dead.
I must confess to you that my young heroes, Charlie and Walter, lost
heart and courage whenever those awful storms began to howl and yell
without; and but for the cheerful voices of Sheelah and Taffy, whom in
the cave they could not see, they would have succumbed entirely.
Luckily the gales and snow-blizzards did not last very long. Seldom more
than a day, and when the wind went down, and moon and stars, or the
Aurora and stars, shed their wonder-light over the scenery, the boys
were once more happy and gay.
On the days--strange to say days when all was night--when the
temperature fell to 20° and 30° below zero, cold was not complained of,
but zero itself, with the wind-fiend raging, was misery that cannot be
described.
Dr. Wright did everything a brave doctor could do to keep his people in
health and fit. Curtis was no longer commander save in name. He had to
cave in to the doctor, and do all he was bidden.
MacDonald told his queerest stories after dinner, and sang his love
lilts as heartsomely as do the blackbirds in early spring.
Everybody had come to look upon Mac as a brick, and his cheerful Doric
voice even in the dark was delightful to listen to. He used to “bag the
boys” at night, as he termed it, Charlie with Nick, and Walter with
Nora. “Bag them” snugly, too. He was like a mother to them. Of course
all hands turned in very early, and as Curtis’s bag (and Collie’s) and
also Dr. Wright’s were close to Mac’s and the boys’, the Yak-dogs
filling up the intervals or lying round the sides, Mac could lie and
yarn, or even sing, to all hands for two hours at a stretch. The British
sailors were not far away in their bags, and they could listen too.
There is no seaman in the world like our handy man the British, and
through all that long and trying Antarctic night these good fellows,
though I have said little about them, behaved like heroes.
All kinds of games could still be carried on in the light, but sleighing
was discontinued.
In these regions it is just after turning in that one feels most cold,
but any such course as warm drinks or nightcaps (drinkable, I mean)
would make matters worse.
Slap-dash and his people used often to worship the moon, just as they
had the sun. The sun may be the god of these poor souls, but the moon is
his high priest, and the Aurora are his angels.
Well, a religion of any sort is better than none.
Once when the moon was about three days old she took on a strange but
most lovely appearance. The stars, except the highest, which were
exceedingly brilliant, burned somewhat less brightly at the time. But it
was towards the moon all eyes turned.
It was, if I may so describe it, a kind of rainbow moon. The outer arc
was of the deepest orange colour, the next and largest arc was pale
yellow, but brilliant, then an arc of radiant sea-green, while inside
all was an arc of pale but indescribably beautiful mauve.
Hitherto the boys and Ingomar himself had believed, or been taught to
believe, that the Aurora Borealis, or Northern Lights, with their
fringe-like bands of opal, pink, or green, were far more lovely than the
Southern magnetic lights, the Aurora Australis.
During their sojourn in the Antarctic they had time to alter their
opinion.
I feel it is presumption on my part to attempt to describe a display of
this Aurora, because I shall hardly succeed in making myself understood.
Just imagine, if you can, a wide and wondrous arch, stretching from east
to west, and nearly halfway up the sky, more rounded than a rainbow, its
ends apparently within a few feet of the snow-field.
At first the arch resembled a vast chain, every link of which was a ring
of brightest gold, each link overlapping its neighbour to about one-half
its extent, but all turbulent, all a-quiver! But lo! as one gazed on it,
strangely fascinated, the rings, though still linked together, turned
half-edge-on towards the right. Then from each ring, as a spherical
base, was suddenly thrown out a triangle of glittering, darting,
quivering, golden light.
But speedily is the apex of each triangle extended zenithwards, and
broadened out, till it resembles a brush. The rings get smaller and
smaller beneath, until they are but bright points of light like heads of
comets; in very truth, there is now a broad archway of comets, heads
downward towards the snow.
But listen. While the heads of these comets retain the brightness of
stars of gold, the extended brushes, or tails, are now bunches of
rainbow-coloured, flickering, dancing, darting light.
It is a bewildering sight, and it is hard to believe it real.
Gradually the tails get shorter, become once more the apexes of
spherical triangles, and dance, and disappear, the chain of golden rings
becoming once more visible as before.
All beneath this archway is a dark-blue sky, in which stars shine, and
the rest of the firmament is quite unaffected, though the mountains and
snow-clad valley borrow the colour and add to the bewildering grandeur
of the most marvellous transformation scene the world can ever witness.
I fear I have failed to give my youthful readers an adequate conception
of the Aurora. I feared I should fail before I commenced. But
Britons--and I am one--should never funk, and I have done my best.
* * * * *
It is strange, and sadly strange, that, although Dr. Wright and his men
had borne bravely up, throughout the livelong night of the dreary
Antarctic continent, as soon as day returned, revealing blue and ghastly
faces, sickness came.
This is no place in which to inquire into the cause of this sickness;
suffice it to say that it came, and the men, hitherto brave and hearty,
began to droop and shiver.
An optimist at most times, and ever ready to look upon the bright side
of circumstances, the doctor himself began now to fear the worst.
Long before my own experiences of Arctic life, there used to be in Polar
regions a disease called the black death.
Whether or not the illness that now attacked this little camp of heroes
was a species of that ailment, I am not prepared to say.
I hate to have too much gloom in my stories, or I could describe the
symptoms so graphically that you would shudder.
Suffice it to know that, though there were no unsightly swellings, and
though the faces of the sufferers retained even their complacency when
fits of shivering and cramp abated, they were melancholy and sad sights
until they either recovered or died.
Let me say at once that though both Charlie and Walter were ill a few
days, owing to the resiliency of youth they were not stricken down, and
speedily recovered so far as to be able to assist the truly sick.
It need not be said that Dr. Wright did all that any medical man could
have done. Just one or two of the Eskimos collapsed utterly, and died on
the third day. They were buried not far off in the snow. Two days after
a sailor followed them to the snow-field. He did not say much, even at
the worst, and finally he simply fell asleep. Only one out of the four
other men attacked recovered, and this was far more from good management
and the kindly nursing of Sheelah and Taffy than from medicine. In fact,
though wine did good when the patient was at the lowest ebb, and helped
him to fight his way round the corner to restoration, medicine was for
the most part useless.
Curtis was early down, and, strangely enough, considering how truly
brave he was, his spirits drooped to zero, and he gave up hope of
himself from the first.
Ingomar nursed his dear friend indefatigably, and when, overcome with
fatigue, he dropped off to sleep, either Sheelah or Taffy was always
sitting by his brother when he awoke.
I cannot really testify in strong enough language to the marvellous
qualities of those gentle little Yak women as sick nurses.
We may laugh at such people, ah! curious though their customs be, and
droll their manners, they are our sisters before God.
Slap-dash remained his old self.
Let me cut this all short by saying that of all the crew of brave men,
only twelve remained to take the road back to the seashore.
Perhaps as sad a case as any was that of poor MacDonald, who had been so
long the life and soul of all the camp.
When Dr. Wright told the boys that he could only last a few hours, and
that they must go and see him now, they summoned courage enough to have
the interview.
They behaved splendidly in his presence, but as soon as they went into
the open air again they both utterly broke down and wept, until their
hearts appeared almost bursting.
“It does seem hard, does it not, Walter?” Charlie managed to say.
“Always so kind and good,” said Walter.
“Ay, ay, and I never knew I loved him half so much till now.”
* * * * *
Mac, once the hardy, resolute Scot, passed away that same day.
In the semi-darkness of the cave Ingomar was kneeling by his side and
holding his hand.
He had lived a Scot; he died a Scot.
Ingomar thought he had fallen into a slumber, so quiet did he lie. But
he spoke at last, though with feeble, faltering voice.
“It’s you, isn’t it, Ingomar?”
“I’m here, dear Mac.”
“Well, I--I know I’m dying. I wouldn’t care--but mother----”
“What can I do to ease your mind?”
“She kens I love her--I’ve been single for her sake. Promise to get all
I’ve saved, Ingomar. Her dear auld-farrent[G] letters and my bank-book
are a’ in my box. Ingomar--you--promise?”
“Most sacredly.”
“God love you! She’ll no be lang ahint (behind) her laddie.”
He lay still a little while, and he spoke but once again--repeating a
verse of the 23rd Psalm.
“‘Yea, though I walk thro’ death’s dark veil,
Yet will I fear none ill;
For Thou art with me;
And Thy rod and staff me comfort still.’
“Is that the Aurora? Ingomar, tell me. Oh, how bright and
how--joyful--Father----”
He was gone!
He had seen the Aurora; but it was the morning dawn of a happier life.