THE VOYAGE IS CONTINUED
Half an hour later saw our friends in full possession of the steam
yacht once more.
From the sailors who had been forgiven it was learned that after
Captain Fenlick had gone ashore, the steam yacht had encountered the
heavy storm and this had torn away a part of the deck-house and the
upper rigging. But otherwise the craft was uninjured.
By a vote, it was decided that the Spaniard, Pat Caven, and the negro
should be put ashore, and this was done early the next morning.
“You deserve death,” said Captain Gordon; “but we will give you this
one chance for your lives.”
By noon the steam yacht was out of the bay and steaming southward in
the direction of the South Shetland Islands and the Land of Desolation.
“Off for the South Pole at last!” cried Bob. “I trust we shall have no
more adventures with men of the Fenlick stamp.”
A careful inspection of the ship’s stores showed that nothing had been
tampered with, and for this, Barry and the others were very thankful.
Captain Gordon gave the sailors who had rebelled a good lecture, and
both promised faithfully to behave in the future, and it may be added
here that they kept their word.
On and on sailed the Arrow, past Cape Horn and a number of small
islands lying below the extreme southern point of South America. They
were now in the Antarctic Ocean, and the weather grew decidedly colder.
“This ought to suit you, Bob,” remarked Barry, one day, as the two
paced the deck.
“It does suit me,” was the answer. “I could stand it even colder.”
“Well, we’ll get it colder before long.”
Day after day went by, and nothing unusual happened. Occasionally they
passed a small island, uninhabited and looking thoroughly forlorn.
“No wonder they call this the Land of Desolation,” remarked Bob. “It
looks it.”
The course of the steam yacht was straight for Palmer’s Land. Here they
came into dense banks of fog and ran close to numerous icebergs, each
large enough to crush them. A close watch had to be kept day and night.
The cold was intense, and everybody on board but Bob was willing to put
on all the furs he could get. As for Bob, he was just in his element.
The days were now growing shorter, and by three o’clock in the
afternoon it was dark. The fogs became thicker, and for days they had
to lie still for fear of running into rocks or icebergs.
Graham Land was found to contain mountains over a mile high, the tops
covered perpetually with snow and ice. They were now in the same
latitude South that Iceland is in the North--about 65 degrees.
“Thirty-five degrees more to the South Pole,” mused Bob, one day. “It
doesn’t look as if we could reach it, does it?”
“Never despair,” answered Barry, with a faint smile.
“I don’t care so much about the South Pole as I do about my father and
that treasure ship,” went on Bob. “If we find them I’ll let the Pole
take care of itself.”
Slowly but surely they passed Palmer’s Land and now came to a wide,
open sea, where the fogs were not so bad. But icebergs were more
numerous, and among the bergs they saw many large whales, of a
silvery-white color.
“This would make good fishing grounds for a whaler,” said Barry,
“although the icebergs would be dangerous to any vessel built wholly of
wood.”
The cold was now intense and for days those on board of the Arrow spent
but little time on deck. They had now passed the last point of land
known to scientists and geographers. On their charts the territory
beyond was left blank.
It was indeed the Land of Desolation. All around them was the icy
sea, with its huge icebergs and its dense fogs, while off to the
southeastward lay a rocky shore, covered with ice and snow. On the land
there was no sign of vegetation of any kind. Once they saw some South
Polar seals and white bears, but never another sign of animal life.
Even the snowbirds were missing.
“It’s what I call stony lonely,” said Paul Ferris to Bob. “It makes me
shiver to look at it. I’ll never come here again after this trip.”
“Right you are, Paul,” answered Bob. “The silence and gloom are enough
to drive one mad.”
The sun shone only a few hours a day, and then it was partly hidden by
the fog and mist. Everything about the steam yacht was wet, even the
things in the cabin, where the steam heat was turned on night and day.
The deck was covered with ice and frost, and out there only Bob could
breathe with ease.
One night Barry and Bob were on the point of turning in, when there
came a shock that pitched both to the floor. The steam yacht had run
into an iceberg in the dense fog. There was a grinding and a crashing,
a shiver and a second shock, and then the vessel came to a dead stop.
As quickly as they could, the chums ran to the deck. Here they
found Captain Gordon giving orders to back the yacht. But this was
impossible. The Arrow had run into a split of the iceberg and was held
as in a vise!
[Illustration: “THE ARROW CAUGHT IN THE SPLIT OF THE ICE-BERG AND WAS
HELD AS IN A VISE.”]
Nothing could be done in the darkness, and all waited eagerly until
daylight. Then an examination was made, and it was found that the Arrow
had suffered but little damage.
“But we can’t get away from the berg,” said Captain Gordon, “unless we
blow our way out with dynamite.”
“Let us see how the berg is drifting first,” said Barry, and this was
done; and to the astonishment of all, it was learned that the mountain
of ice was moving almost directly for the South Pole!
“Let us remain as we are,” said Barry. “The berg will act as a guard
for us against other bergs.”
Captain Gordon was doubtful, but he agreed, and for over a week they
moved along in company with the mountain of ice. It now grew so cold
that even Bob felt it and was glad to put on extra clothing. Some of
those on board began to speculate upon the outcome of the voyage.
During those days Bob, Barry, and the captain diligently studied all
the maps they had.
“Nobody has ever gotten very close to the South Pole,” observed Bob.
“I see this map gives the most credit to Sir James Clark Ross, who got
up to about 78 degrees in February, 1842, Wendell, who got up to 74
degrees in 1823, and Moore, who reached 71 degrees in 1845.”
“The trouble is as you have already learned, lad,” came from Captain
Gordon. “The fog is something awful nearly all the time and a fellow
can’t find out how he is drifting.”
“But your compass----” began Barry.
“The compass won’t be of much account soon, because of the southern
magnetic pole, which lies at about 74 degrees latitude and about 141
degrees longitude east of Greenwich.”
“Then the real pole is not the magnetic pole?”
“Not by about 16 degrees--and it is on the other side of the real pole
from where we are.”
“Then how are you going to steer?”
“We’ll do the best we can--nobody could do more,” answered the captain
briefly.
The immense iceberg was a constant source of wonder to all on board and
especially to Stults, who had never dreamed such a mass could exist.
“It was so high like dem Alps mountains alretty!” he sighed. “Of der
top vos proke off ve peen snowed under like neffer vos, I told you!”
“Let us hope the top doesn’t break off,” laughed Barry. “At least not
while we are around.”
On the following morning the position of the ship was slightly shifted,
so that a smooth plain of the iceberg came close to the stern of the
Arrow.
“I’m going out on there for a walk,” said Bob. “I’ve been aching to
stretch my legs.”
“Be careful,” said Captain Gordon. “We may part company with that berg
before you know it.”
But Bob was determined to take a run over the ice, and in a minute
more he had leaped from the rail to the icy plain, which was almost as
smooth as the top of a table.
“It’s fine!” he called back to Barry. “Better come down.”
“I will,” answered his chum, and soon Barry was on the ice. They both
set off toward the side of the berg.
The walk lasted the best part of an hour, and when the pair came back
they felt much refreshed.
“See anything unusual?” demanded Captain Gordon.
“Nothing much,” answered Barry. “Bob thinks he saw a Polar bear and
some seals, but I couldn’t make them out.”
“I did see the bear,” declared Bob. “About the seals I am not so sure.”
“The bear meat would come in handy--if there really is a bear.”
“I’m going after him to-morrow--that is, if the Arrow remains attached
to the iceberg.”
“Don’t run too much of a risk.”
The following day, however, was one filled with fog, so that nothing
could be done. It was as silent as a tomb and the hours on the Arrow
proved unusually long to everybody.
But the next morning the sun shone as brightly as ever, and, as soon as
breakfast was over, Bob declared himself ready to go and hunt the polar
bear.
“I think I’ll go along,” said Barry. “I hate to remain cooped up on
board, like a chicken in a market crate.”
Strange to say, Stults asked the young ship-owner if he might not
accompany them.
“I vos a goot snow and ice climber alretty,” he declared. “In der old
country I vos climb der Alps more as eleventeen times.”
“Then come ahead,” said Barry. “But if you get into trouble don’t blame
me.”
And off the three started, never dreaming of the unusual adventures in
store for them.