THE MYSTERY CAVERN
Once their craft was repaired, the submarine party pushed northward at an
average rate of ten miles an hour. It was two days before any further
adventure crossed their path. But each hour of the journey had its new
thrill and added charm. Now, with engine in full throb, they were
scurrying along narrow channels of dark water, and now submerging for a
sub-sea journey. Now, shadowy objects shot past them, and Dave uttered a
prayer that they might not mix with the propeller--seal, walrus or white
whale, whatever they might be. In his mind, at such times, he had visions
of floating beneath the Arctic pack, powerless to go ahead or backward
and as powerless to break through the ice to freedom.
Wonderful changing lights were ever filtering through ice and water to
them, and, at times, as they drove slowly forward, the lights and shadows
seemed to have a motion of their own, a restless shifting, like the play
of sunlight and shadow beneath the trees. Dave knew this was no work of
the imagination. He knew that the ice above them was the plaything of
currents and winds; that great cakes, many yards wide and eight feet
thick, were grinding and piling one upon another. Once more his brow
wrinkled. "For," he said to himself, "it may be true enough that the
average ice-floe is only twenty-five miles wide, but if the wind and
current jams a lot of them together, what limit can there be to their
extent? And if we were to find ourselves in the center of such a vast
field of ice with oxygen exhausted, what chance would we have?"
Dave shuddered in answer to the question.
He was thinking of these things on the eve of the second day. They were
plowing peacefully through the water when, of a sudden, there came a
grating blow at the side of the craft. It was as if they had struck some
solid object and glanced off.
"What was that?" exclaimed the boy. He cut the power, then turned to
the Doctor:
"Ice or--"
"There it goes again!" exclaimed the Doctor.
This time the blow was heavier. It sent them against the side of the
compartment.
"Ice beneath the ocean? Impossible!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Must
be rocks!"
Another blow hurled them in the opposite direction. Both realized the
gravity of this new peril. If one of these blows caught the craft
squarely it would crush the sub like an egg-shell.
But the boat was slowing up. There was hope in that. Dave, attempting
to look out of one of the portholes, was thrown to the floor by
another shock. And this time the craft seemed to have stuck, for she
did not move.
"Where can we be?" asked Dave, rubbing a bruised head.
It was a strange sight which met their eyes as they looked from the
conning tower. On every side appeared to be giant pillars of ice.
Between these were narrow water passages, while above they could make out
a mass of ice far more opaque than any they had yet passed beneath.
"One of two things," said the Doctor. "We are beneath an iceberg or the
end of a glacier. Probably a glacier, and the pillars which support it
reach to the bottom, which must not be far below us."
"We have driven between two pillars and stuck there like a mouse in a
trap," said Dave, "and if we cannot set ourselves free, we are--"
"It must be done!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Start the power slowly and see
what the propeller will do."
Dave gave the signal. There followed a harsh, grating sound, but the boat
did not move.
"Stuck!" muttered Dave.
"Not so fast." said the Doctor. "There's hope yet. Shut off the power and
order all hands aft."
"Now," said the Doctor, when they were assembled. "We will go to the
starboard side, then all together dash to port, and throw our weight
against the side. Then turn and rush back--we want to make her roll. Are
you ready? Go!"
The craft stirred a trifle at the shock. The second attempt seemed to
promise still better. After they had repeated the operation half a dozen
times, they were getting considerable side-wise movement out of the
trapped submarine.
"Now," said the Doctor, "start the power slowly, engine reversed. The
instant she is free, shut off the power. On the precision of this
operation depends all our lives, for should the propeller strike one of
those pillars it will be torn away and our hope of escape gone."
Dave's hand trembled as he moved the lever. For one second the propeller
spun around. Then, with a shudder, the craft started backward. That
instant Dave shut off the power. The submarine drifted free. So far, they
were safe.
The Doctor consulted his watch.
"Time of low tide," he observed "Guess we should be able to rise and get
some air. Try it."
Slowly they rose to the surface, and there the craft rested.
It was an eager throng that rushed from the conning-tower and it was a
wonderful and awe-inspiring sight which met their gaze.
"Cathedral of the Polar Gods!" exclaimed the Doctor. And, indeed, so the
great cavern seemed to be. Great pillars of ice, not yet worn away by the
wash of water, supported giant arches of ice, blue as a mid-June night.
The least echo was echoed and reechoed through the vast corridors. The
murmur of distant waves seemed to come from everywhere.
"What I want to know," said Dave, "is, which way is out. The careless
gods seemed to have neglected to mark the exits."
"We'll find an exit," said the Doctor, "and we'd better be about it, for
it'll be much easier at low-tide than at high."
The engine was started, and slowly they steered their way through
countless aisles and broad halls, but the finding of the way out did not
seem so easy after all. They had penetrated far enough into the cavern to
hide them from the pale outer moonlight, and they were not certain that
their course was not taking them farther from it.
Dave was thinking of turning about when the sub came to a stop with a
suddenness which threatened to pitch the party into the sea.
"What now?" demanded the Doctor.
Ordering the power shut off, then flashing a light before them, Dave
exclaimed: "A beach, a sandy beach!" Then, with the enthusiasm of a boy,
he sprang forward, leaping into shallow water and wading ashore.
Once ashore he flashed his light about in the icy caverns which left but
a narrow sandy beach. Then, with a cry of horror, he sprang backward.
Before him towered an immense hairy monster, with tusks three times the
length of a man's arm.
The instant the cry had left his lips, he knew the laugh was on him. But
the cry had gone forth, echoing through the corridors. It brought the
jackies and the Doctor splashing through the water to his rescue.
"Only a frozen mastodon," he grinned sheepishly, as they came to his
side. "Guess he's been dead ten thousand years, to say the least. But
honest, doesn't he look natural standing there in the ice?"
He flashed the light suddenly upon the ice-encased monster, and the
jackies jumped, as if they, too, expected to be attacked.
"A beautiful corpse, I'd say," exclaimed one of them.
"A most remarkable specimen," commented the Doctor. "I've heard of cases
like this, but never saw one before."
"Say!" exclaimed Jones. "If we could only get him out of here like that
and put him down in alcohol, we'd have a side-show that would make Barnum
jump out of his grave!"
"Not a bad idea," said the Doctor. "The only hitch would be getting him
out of here."
As Dave backed away for a better view, his foot struck something hard.
Flashing his light upon it, he found it to be the skull and tusks of a
walrus. They were as black as coal.
"I've made a find!" he exclaimed. "These tusks we may take with us, and
old ivory is about as valuable as precious stones."
The discovery seemed to waken the Doctor to their peril.
"That walrus," he said, "wandered in here and was drowned by the rising
tide. He can breathe under water, but cannot stay down over ten minutes.
We can't breathe at all under water. The tide is setting in."
These words sent the crew scurrying back to the submarine. Already the
tide had risen sufficiently to float the craft. All hands hastened to
re-embark.
"If we set our course directly at right-angles to this beach and keep it
there," said Dave, "it should bring us to safety."
This was done, and, after many a turn and twist, they caught a gleam of
light. Submerging, they were soon beneath the ice-floe once more. With a
sigh of relief, Dave gave the order to rise at the first water-hole.
There they might take their bearings.
A half-hour later the party was gathered on the deck gazing away at an
island above which there towered a snow-capped mountain. Down the side
of the mountain might be distinguished the winding, blue course of a
great glacier.
"Our glacier!" said Dave. "Some glacier, I'll say!"
"Our glacier!" repeated a jackie. "Long may she glide!"
The course was set at an angle to the island. This would carry them past
any treacherous sand-bars. They would then take another tack and resume
their former course.
At a few minutes before noon that day they rose far from the island. The
sun, a pale yellow disk, shone through a thin haze close to the surface
of the pack. And yet it was high noon. This was, perhaps, to be their
last bearing taken by the light of the sun. Henceforth, the moon and the
stars must guide them. Whereas all former polar expeditions were carried
forward only during the summer months, when the sun shone night and day,
they, as well as their rivals, must drive on straight into the deep
mysteries of the dreaded Arctic night.