"Now hie' we to the Norlan seas
And far-off fields of ice."
Anon.
"It is twenty years ago! Twenty years ago! Twenty years!" began the
doctor.
"Yes, I own to it; no need for this matter-of-fact memory of mine to
nudge me so, and keep on reminding me of the flight of sly old Father
Time. 'Tis twenty years ago this very summer since I sailed away to
Polar seas, in a small but sturdy brig of barely three hundred tons. A
medical student I was, in charge of fifty men, all told, and with all a
medical student's audacity and ignorance of the noble profession to
which I have now the honour to belong. What cared I then if half the
crew fell ill? There was plenty of medicine in the chest. I would do
my best, and dose them. Well, if, after being dosed, they should die,
why, the sea was deep enough--they should not want for decent burial!
And what cared I that a fearful accident might take place, and heads be
gashed, and limbs be crushed? There were surgical instruments _galore_
on board, practice makes perfect, and if my patients succumbed after an
operation, well, every dog has his day, and the _post hoc propter hoc_
argument has been proved to be unsound.
"Gentlemen, have ever you roughed it in the Arctic Ocean, in a bit of a
ship so small that a schoolboy, with average length of legs, could clear
its decks from binnacle to bowsprit with a hop, step, and jump, the
saloon not larger than two railway compartments, your state-room not
half so big as one? Have you been in a gale of wind in such a craft?
Was she on her beam-ends, with the cold, green seas, curling higher and
higher as they advanced, forming awful arches of water, into which the
vessel seemed to be sucked, and which broke, not _on_, but over and
beyond her? Have you been ice-logged in a sea-way in such a vessel, no
land, nor even a berg, in sight--only the restless waves, that twanged
and hummed, and sang in the frosty air as they passed you, with bows and
bulwarks, decks and spars, and rigging and blocks, mere shapes of ice,
and ice alone to all appearance, the men's caps and coats, and hair and
beards, so white with the freezing spray, that they looked, as they
moved to and fro on the slippery decks, like the ghostly crew of a ghost
ship? Have you been in such a craft when she was being squeezed in this
pack, the one dark spot in the midst of a limitless plain of dazzling
snow-clad ice, all lifting and rolling and moving with the pressure of
the invisible waves that are passing swiftly underneath? Have you ever
heard the terrible sounds an ice-pack emits, when the swell from a
distant storm comes sweeping under it, the groaning, the wailing,
grinding, griding noise, as if the ocean on which you stood were filled
with old-world monsters in their dying agonies? Have you ever listened
to the roaring thunder of a lofty iceberg rent in pieces, and falling
headlong into the sea? Have you stood on the pack and seen two bergs
crush an acre of bay ice between them, piling the pieces one over the
other, like leaves of a book or cards in a pack, till they stood high as
the tallest tree in a forest of pines? Have you been out alone on the
ice-field at night, far away from your ship, amid a silence that, like
Egyptian darkness, could be felt, watching the glorious tints of the--
"`Aurora Borealis race,
That flit ere you can point their place?'
"And, even while gazing and admiring, have you seen dark clouds roll
rapidly up from the horizon and blot this aurora out, so that ere you
could reach your brig you were surrounded by swirling drift and blinding
snow, more dangerous far than the sand-storms that sweep over the Soudan
deserts, with the thunder rattling close o'erhead, and the bewildering
lightning in swift diffusive gleams intensifying the cave-like darkness
that followed?
"If such experiences have not been yours, you may have been tossed about
on the giant waves of the broad Atlantic, you may have weathered the
Cape in a gale, and the Horn in a snow-storm, you may have sweltered for
weeks in a rolling calm under a tropical sun, and been the sport of a
tornado in the Indian Ocean, yet there are wonders in the mighty deep
seen by some who go down to the sea in ships to which you are a total
stranger. From beginning to end, our voyage in that little brig, twenty
years ago, was a non-propitious one. We ran before a gale all the way
to Lerwick, where the Greenland fleet lay anchored. We had hardly left
the rock-bound shores of Shetland--that `sea-begirdled peat moss'--ere
the blackness of darkness settled down on the ocean around us; and storm
and tempest became our constant companions for three long weeks, till
sheltered at last under the lee of the pack, with bowsprit and topmasts
gone, and the bulwarks more like the palings one sometimes sees around a
cattle-field than anything else in the world. But even worse was to
follow: with several other ships we took the ice, which was loose, and
in three weeks' time we found ourselves all alone in the midst of a hard
frozen ice-field, and fully one hundred miles from the open water, a
bright blue frosty sky above us, and in silence--a silence never broken
even by the cry of a bird or guttural roar of Arctic bear.
"After many months of `solitary confinement,' we escaped and reached
home at last. Many of the men's relations met us on the pier, dressed
in deepest mourning; the `blacks,' as such dress is called, had been
donned for us, for our ship had been reported as lost with all hands!
"Life in that lonesome ice-pack was a weary `bide,'--
"`Day after day, day after day,
And neither breath nor motion.'
"No, not as much wind as would have sufficed to lift a snowflake, never
a cloud in the sky, and the sun going round and round and round, but far
above the horizon even at midnight. We tired of reading books; we tired
of card-playing and games on the ice; we even tired of music itself.
Monotony generated _ennui_; _ennui_ bred melancholy; plenty of exercise
on the ice alone could save us from succumbing to actual illness. We
knew that well, but we were thoroughly apathetic, and did not care to
take it. The captain, a young and energetic man, at last hit upon a
happy expedient which succeeded most completely in restoring something
of life and animation to the crew, who were rapidly merging into a state
of Rip Van Winkleism, painful to behold. He determined to form a camp
three miles away from the ship. Simply walking to and from it would be
some little excitement, it would be exercise with a purpose, and
exercise, as medical men will tell you, without pleasure or purpose, is
entirely useless in a hygienic point of view.
"Our captain, the first and second mates, and myself were seated at
breakfast one morning when he made his proposal.
"`Doctor,' he said--NB, he called me `Doctor' always, but at that time I
had no more business with the title than the tailor had--
"`Doctor, how are the men getting on forward?'
"`They haven't much life in them,' I replied; `they are all making
silver rings now out of sixpenny bits and shillings. That is the latest
fad, but the coins will soon be all used up; then I suppose all hands
will go to sleep for a month or two.'
"`I think, doctor,' said Captain Peters, `that their livers want
stirring up. Eh? Don't you, doctor?'
"`Well,' I replied, `anything for a quiet life. There is plenty of blue
pill and black draught on board. I'll stir their livers up. Pass the
ham.'
"`All right, then,' said the captain; `you stir their livers up, and
I'll propose something to-morrow to prevent them getting sluggish
again.'
"True to my promise, I gave all hands a blue pill that night, and next
forenoon, at a little before twelve, the captain called the men aft, and
ordered the steward to bring up a gallon of rum and five pounds of
tobacco. Then he doled out the latter and ordered the mainbrace to be
spliced. The men after this looked more lively than they had done for a
month.
"`Now that I've got you awake with the help of the doctor and black
Jack' (black Jack was the rum measure), said the captain, `let me tell
you what we are going to do. We are going to convey wood and canvas by
sleigh across the pack, to a patch of bay ice about three miles from
here, and by the side of it, on the top of the heavy berg, we will build
a tent, with a fire-place in it, big enough to roast a bear. This tent
or marquee will be a regular Hall of Delights by the sad sea wave; we
will cook in it, and eat in it, and dance and sing and tell stories in
it. What say you, men?'
"The men broke out into a wild cheer.
"`Wait a wee,' continued the captain; `I'm going to do more for you than
that, for goodness only knows how long we may have to remain in this
gloomy ice-field, and if I don't keep you alive, you'll all go to sleep
and not waken any more in this world. We shall set to work, then, and
make an immense great hole in that patch of bay ice, and it will be your
duty to keep it from freezing; then seals will come up, and maybe
walruses too, and catching these and the sharks will be glorious fun and
keep us all alive and awake. That is my plan complete.'
"This idea of the captain's was a splendid one, and we all entered into
it heart and soul. We built rude sledges and tooled wood and all other
necessaries over the pack, and before a week was over we had erected a
large and handsome marquee with a floor of timber, doors and windows,
table and fire-place all comfortable and jolly.
"We had hammocks slung round it also, so that when tired we could lounge
and read, or lounge and sleep, and on the whole we felt like new beings,
and each of us was as happy as a schoolboy with a tin whistle.
"The opening in the bay ice proved a wondrous success, for the rays of
sunlight penetrated far down into the black-blue water, and seals,
seeing the light from afar, swam wondering towards it, then finding a
hole, came out to breathe and look about them, and so fell victims to
their curiosity. We had seal's liver and bacon for breakfast then, and
found it a great treat. We skinned the phocas for sake of their
blubber, with the following results: sharks in dozens came to eat the
crangs we threw back into the sea, and birds reappeared, malleys, gulls,
skuas, and terns, to pick up the stray bits of grease, so we had sport
enough, and regained our spirits and strength in consequence. But when
a great fire was built on a berg, and the carcase of a seal roasted
thereon, bears sniffed the perfume, though they must have been miles and
miles away, and came prowling down to the feast, which I ought to add
had been prepared for their especial delectation.
"They were somewhat shy at first, they preferred squatting at a
distance, and contenting themselves with the delicious odour of the
tit-bits placed temptingly on the hummock near, but as their numbers
increased, so did their courage, and before very long we had the
satisfaction of seeing them in twos and even threes, wrangling together
over juicy joints. Then was our chance, and we did not hesitate to
avail ourselves thereof. Hungry bears are by no means easily scared,
and so our sport was good.
"There was no more laziness among our crew now, no more danger of our
fellows falling into Rip Van Winkleism, for every day brought us sport
and excitement and fun and adventure. We all began to sing again, and
that is always a good sign on board a ship. There was singing fore and
singing aft, and tales told in the saloon and yarns spun around the
galley fire.
"The Hall of Delights by the sad sea wave proved a very great success
indeed. Somehow or other we came to like it better than the ship
itself, and although we always came home to sleep, it was often very
late indeed before we scrambled on board our slippery-decked brig, and
went below to the dingy darkness of state-room, hammock, or bunk.
"In this Hall of Delights we had music, for Peter Kelty played the
violin, and Sandy Watson the clarionet; then there was big Magnus Rugg
could put in a bass with his voice alone that you couldn't have told
from a violoncello. We had plenty of fire in the hall, but when the
fiddles started of an evening, it wasn't much heat we needed, for
those--
"`Hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels,
Put life and mettle in our heels.'
"When tired of dancing, or rather, I should say, in the intervals
between the dances, we had singing and recitations. The simplest of the
simple both were, for in the latter I don't think we ever got beyond
`Douglas's Tragedy' or `Tam o' Shanter,' and in the former `Annie
Laurie' or `The Braes o' Balquidder' were far more appreciated than
anything from the best of operas could have been.
"But the _summus mons_, in a musical way, was attained by our
spectioneer, or third officer, for he not only sang most charmingly, but
he accompanied himself on the zither.
"He was somewhat of a character, was this individual. He was far from
old-looking in the face, but his hair and beard were like the very snow
itself. He seldom even smiled, or if he did, it was a languid, sad kind
of smile that kept well down about the lips, and never curved round the
eyes or made them sparkle. He was tender and kind in heart, though, and
a favourite with all hands.
"By-the-bye, his name was Summers, but he was always called Winter, and
didn't mind it a bit, he was so good-natured.
"We were all enjoying ourselves one evening in the Hall of Delights, we
had danced till the fiddlers were tired, and everybody that could sing
had sung, so there was a kind of lull--a momentary silence, in fact.
Now, as it was nearly ten o'clock, if this silence had continued for
even fifteen seconds, the captain would certainly have jumped up and
said:
"`Well, lads, we'd better be moving.'
"We didn't feel like moving yet, so the silence was not allowed to
extend itself.
"`Hi!' cried Kelty, `I call upon you for a _comic_ song, Mr Winter.'
"`Or a _funny_ story,' cried somebody else.
"There was loud laughing at the bare idea of Winter treating us to
either.
"Winter looked round among us, in an amused kind of way, as if he quite
enjoyed the joke, and when the laugh subsided, we all glanced towards
him for his reply. I think I see him now; one hand rested on the zither
bringing out stray chords, the other rested on the table, the great oil
lamp that stood at one side threw his features into semi-shadow, and
there was a thoughtful far-away look in his eyes.
"`Yes,' he said, at last, `I'll tell you a story.'
"`A funny one? Eh?' said the mate.
"`Well--no, not _very_ funny. But anything to pass the time, I suppose.
I'll tell you a story of my own grey hairs.'
"`Capital,' we cried, and hammered with our feet on the wooden floor, by
way of giving him encouragement. Then we lit our pipes and prepared to
listen."