It was summer--strange, weird, and silent summer in the Antarctic Ocean.
November was wearing to a close. The days were long and sunny; so long,
indeed, that the sun did not trouble himself to go down at all. At
midnight he just made a feint of doing so, and lowered himself towards
the horizon, but thought better of it, and was speedily mounting higher
and higher again every minute.
A great, cold-looking sun it was, however, a bright and almost rayless
disc of whitest light, that you could look at and even count the spots
thereon.
The good barque _Flora M'Vayne_ was still ploughing her way through the
dark waters of that southern ocean, and the great glacial barrier was
still far away. They could have told this even by the paucity of bird
life around them. A long-winged frigate-bird went swiftly across the
hawse now and then, and soared away and away towards the few fleecy
clouds that hovered high in air like puffs of gunpowder smoke.
That mighty eagle of the sea--the albatross--was also a constant
visitor. What a wondrous flight is his! At one moment beating up to
windward, tack and half-tack, yet with a speed almost as great as that
of a swallow, till one can scarcely see him, so far and far away is he;
then, wheeling next moment, down he flashes on the breeze, but more
quickly than any ordinary breeze e'er blew. Not straight before the
wind, however, but with a kind of sidelong rush which brings into full
view the vast outspread of his wondrous wings.
They were still in the "roaring forties", as that part of the ocean
'twixt the latitude of the Cape and the fifties is called. But what a
wide expanse of ocean is all around them! I have stood spell-bound on
the fore or main-top, not admiring so much as adoring this mighty work
of a mightier Creator: a turmoil of water, water, water in every
direction one can look. And it is not so much the height of the waves
one wonders at--though that is indeed vast--but their tremendous
breadth, the sweep, as it were, between one curling comber and another.
High and of fearful force are the seas in, for example, the Bay of
Biscay during a gale, but they are mere channel chops to these. And
wide though the expanse of these latter, they race each other round the
world with an earnestness, and even fury, that causes one to stand
aghast.
I wish I had space to describe some of the sunsets our heroes beheld
shortly after leaving the last land. No wonder that Duncan more than
once grasped Frank by the arm, and pointed northward and west at
eventide.
"Look! Oh, look!"
It was all he could say. Yet the salt tears almost blinded him as he
spoke.
"Oh, to be an artist!" exclaimed Frank once.
"An artist!" cried Duncan, almost scornfully. "What artist would dare to
paint the golden gray and crimson splendour that unites both sea and sky
into one living gorgeous whole? Oh, Frank, even Turner himself, were he
here, would throw down his brush, and confess that he was a mere
caricaturist."
But in a few weeks' time the sunsets were nil, and all, all was day.
Nor did it blow so high now.
Sometimes, indeed, the sea was as calm as a mill-pond, except where
rippled in patches by huge shoals of the fry of certain kinds of fish
that inhabit these seas.
And these were invariably followed by denizens of the deep that preyed
upon them--dancing, leaping, cooing dolphins, for example.
Some of these latter were harpooned, and their dark red flesh made an
excellent change of diet from the somewhat salt provisions, eggs, or
penguin flesh.
Once or twice, while the weather was calm and the surface of the sea
smooth and glassy, they came upon patches of yellow--banks they were, in
fact, over which they were drifting.
Men were now kept constantly in the chains, and sometimes the danger was
so great that the anchors were let go to wait for even the lightest
breeze.
This might have delayed the voyage somewhat, but nevertheless it was not
time wholly misspent, for where the bottom is near to the surface fish
are always found in abundance. So boats would be lowered, and real good
hand-line sport enjoyed.
In this old Pen participated. But the first day he started fishing he
swam so fast and so far away, that those in the boat imagined they would
never see him more.
Then little Johnnie began to weep.
"Oh, poll deah Pen! Oh, my ole mudder Sue," he cried. "He done gone
away foh ebbermoh."
But Johnnie's "weeps" were quite a useless expenditure of lachrymal
fluid. This was evident enough when Pen came racing back again with a
great silvery fish held proudly aloft. He delivered this, and went back
for another. And this again and again, till a breath of wind springing
up, it was deemed advisable to return to the _Flora_, who was "titting"
at her anchor as if eager to be on the wing again.
That Pen loved the darkie was evident enough, for one day, when bent on
to his line and hauling away with all his might, a huge bonito pulled
the little lad right overboard, the strange bird went grunting and
squawking round him in terrible distress.
Johnnie's position just then was not an enviable one, for although he
could swim like a herring, there was many a monster shark hovering near
that would have been pleased indeed to make a meal of the boy.
These sharks were sometimes caught, and although their flesh had no
great flavour, parts of it served sometimes to eke out breakfast or
supper.
There are dangers innumerable in those Antarctic seas, and one of the
most terrible is that of striking on a sand-bank or running foul of a
sunken rock. These not being on the chart, the navigator has to sail
along literally with his life in his hand, trusting all to blind chance.
A bank does give some evidence before the ship gets on if there is an
outlook in the foretop, and the cry of, "Below there! shoal water
ahead!" is all too common. Next comes the shout of, "Ready about!
Stand by tacks and sheets!"
But the rock hides its awful head and gives no sign. The ship strikes,
then backward reels, and mayhap sinks before there is time to provision,
water, arm, man, and lower the boats.
Ice at last.
But the Antarctic sea was wonderfully open this season, and the ice
loose.
It lay in streams of small pieces at first, athwart the world, as Jack
termed it; athwart the ship's course, at all events, so these they had
to sail through. The good _Flora_ was strong enough to negotiate them,
but the battering and thumping along the vessel's sides, as heard below,
was tremendous.
These ice streams became more and more numerous, and the pieces, or
"berglets", got bigger and bigger, and, of course, more fraught with
danger to the ship's vitality.
It grew appreciably colder too, but so slowly had they come into these
regions of perpetual snow, that the change in temperature had no
detrimental effect upon the health of either the officers or men.
It certainly had none on old Pen. In fact, the colder it got the more
he seemed to like it. And now when waltzing with Johnnie, he used to
sing in his own droll and dismal way.
Viking also believed in the cold, and the races and gambols he had up
and down the deck, when he could induce anyone to throw a belaying-pin
for him were wild in the extreme.
Moreover, he had a football, which Duncan had presented him with, and he
got no end of fun out of this. He threw it in front of him, he hurled
it along in front of him, and swung it about, and one day, when he
fairly tossed it overboard, he made no bother about the matter, but
rushing astern, jumped right overboard after it, quite regardless of the
fact that the ship was going on at the rate of eight knots an hour.
As quickly as possible she was hove to and a whaler lowered.
Vike was found quite a quarter of a mile astern--but he had stuck to his
ball.
He dearly loved it, and, strangely enough, he put it to bed every night
as children do their dolls, covering it carefully up with a corner of
the rug on which he slept.
----
Icebergs at last. A good thing it was for the _Flora_, that there was
but little wind, for to strike against one of these huge bergs--bigger
many of them were than St. Paul's Cathedral--would have meant certain
destruction.
Yet although the wind was often but light, a current seemed to run
rapidly enough, and the huge unbroken waves towered high above them, and
more than once they narrowly escaped disaster from a huge berg being
hurled down upon the vessel as if by Titanic force, as she wallowed in
the trough of the sea.
Even sailing past to leeward of such ice as this took the wind for a
time clean out of the sails.
Strangely enough, they reached the Antarctic Circle on Christmas day.
This was a sort of double event. Either would have been celebrated, but
now both events must be rolled into one.
One would hardly imagine that King Christmas would venture into these
lonely regions, but the old fellow is good-hearted, and where'er on
earth a Briton goes there goes Christmas also.
Well, with the exception of Johnnie Shingles and the monkey--who, by the
way, had been furnished with a brand-new scarlet flannel jacket to keep
him cosy--there was not a soul on board who had not before leaving home
been presented with a bunch of gay ribbons, by sweetheart or wife, to
help to deck a great garland that was made, and hoisted high aloft and
abaft on this auspicious morning.
Of course there were no turkeys!
Alas! there were no geese.
As for cooking an albatross--well, that has been tried before, and a
more unsatisfactory dish I have never tasted. Fishy, oily, and as for
downright toughness the wife of Beith with her iron teeth could make but
a poor show in front of it.
But some splendid corn-beef took the place of more civilized dishes both
fore and aft.
Then there was the pudding. Ah! that indeed!
And a splendid success this, or these, were. The cook went in that day
for beating all previous records. And it was universally admitted that
he did.
The _Flora M'Vayne_ was an almost temperate ship, that is, the men had
to content themselves with one glass of rum each _per diem_, man-o'-war
fashion. But on this bright Christmas day there was but little limit or
stint. Only, to everyone's credit be it said, there was no excess.
The evening, up till two bells (9 o'clock), was spent in games, in
yarning, in dancing, and fun.
Both Vike and old Pen had dined right heartily, and were in rare form.
One of the chief dances to-night was the Scots strathspey and reel, and
Duncan had got his bagpipes in order for the occasion, and as he played
the fun grew fast and furious.
So excited did both Vike and Pen become at last that they must too chime
in, the dog with a high falsetto howl, the bird with double grunt and
squawk, so that Duncan's melody was somewhat interfered with.
This, however, did not discourage the Scotch portion of the crew. They
only cracked their thumbs, danced the nimbler, and hooched the wilder,
till with the frantic merriment the very sails did shiver.
It was indeed a joyous night. Vike and Pen, although they had a truly
excellent feed, did not give way to excess, but the monkey being only
one remove from a human being, ate so much pudding and so many nuts and
cockroaches, that he suffered next morning from a violent headache. He
was seen squatting on the capstan, clasping his brow with his left hand,
and looking the very picture of Simian misery.
Frank took pity on him.
"I know what will cure you," he said. "I know what a Christmas headache
is; I've been there myself."
So he bound up the poor beastie's head with a handkerchief wrung out of
ice-cold water, and the monkey felt really better, and was grateful in
consequence.
For some natural reason or another, they now came into a sea of open
water, and much to the delight and excitement of all hands, sighted a
school of Right whales.
The main-yard was instantly hauled aback, and all preparations speedily
made to attack one at least of this great shoal.
I do not suppose that these leviathans of southern polar seas had ever
had their gambols so rudely broken in upon before.
Three boats were sent against them, each with one experienced harpooner.
The captain commanded one, Morgan another, and the third whaler was
given in charge of brave young Duncan. To tell the truth, he had really
no experience of such "fishing", but the spectioneer that sat beside him
had.
Surely it was a pity to disturb the enjoyment of those great ungainly
monsters on so glorious a day. Thus thought Conal at all events, for
without doubt the whales had assembled for a real frolic.
It was a sort of whales' ball.
Sometimes nothing was seen but the white spray or foam they raised, at
other times their enormous bodies were seen shining silvery in the
summer sun, for in their glee they actively leapt over each other's
backs.
But the noise they made is indescribable, as they lashed the water with
flippers and tails.
In the captain's boat only was the harpoon gun, and he alone would fire
it. When a much younger man he had been whaling in the far-off Arctic,
and knew a Right whale from a finner or sperm.
Yet his was not the newest-fashioned mode of whaling. He used no
explosive shells or bullets, which he looked upon as cruel in the
extreme. I should be sorry indeed to argue the point either pro or con,
for there is cruelty on both sides, but probably less with the shell,
which may cause almost instantaneous death.
Was Captain Talbot going to attack that school of whales during their
extraordinary gambols? He knew better. Were a whales' ball to take
place in the midst of even a fleet of men-o'-war I should be sorry for
some of the ships.
But see yonder, ploughing slowly along towards the herd, comes a huge
and solitary leviathan.
Talbot hastily signals to the mate and to Duncan. The latter takes the
steering oar, and, bidding him be cautious, the spectioneer, his great
whale lance in his hand, goes cautiously forward to the bows, and the
boat is kept on a line parallel to the great beast's course.
Nearer and nearer creeps the captain's boat. The excitement is intense.
Will the whale dive before he gets close enough, the men are wondering?
Nearer and still more near.
Everyone holds his breath.
"Lie on your oars, men! Still and quiet!"
The boat drifts a little way further, but the gun is trained.
Bang!
The echoes reverberate from every berg, or far or near. The line all
neatly coiled in the bows is whirling out, till the gunwale begins to
fire. But it as speedily stops.
Grand shot! The monster is struck, and for a few seconds seems stunned,
and lies still on the top of the water.
The school has dived and disappeared, to come up somewhere again miles
and miles away.
And now the wounded whale recovers from the shot, and headlong dives,
the line rushing out once again as before. Under way once again is the
boat, but the leviathan now reappears as suddenly as he had sunk. Some
instinct--whether of scent or hearing I cannot tell--causes him to take
the same course as his fellows.
Mercy on us, how he rips and tears through the black-green water! But
ever and anon he dives, and it is evident his exertions weary him a
little.
And now the line is all run out, and the boat is taken in charge. The
gunwale is cooled with hastily-drawn buckets of water, and forward she
dashes, so quickly too that a wall of water stands up on each side of
the bows.
The poor monster is in torment. The chief danger to the boat itself
would lie in the beast swerving aside and diving under a berg, which
would dash the brave whaler to pieces, and kill or drown every man on
board. But he holds his course till, weary at last, he dives once more,
and there remains for fully twenty minutes.
When he again appears the water around is red with his blood, but he
moves along very slowly now, and the other boats with their lancemen get
abreast and bear up to head him.
Duncan's is the first to get near enough, and now comes the tug of war.
The whale is sick and weak.
The harpooner holds up a warning hand.
"Be all ready to back astern, boys!"
"Way enough!"
The lance is driven in full many and many a foot, and with one decisive
twist a great and vital artery is severed.
"Back water all! For life, boys, for life!"
For life? Yes, but the men are as cool as if rowing in a regatta on the
Thames.
"All speed astern!"
None too soon.
The blood spouts high as if from a fire-hose, but in awful jets, with
every throb of the giant's heart. There is life in him yet, and while
the red-drenched seamen pull well out of the way, he lashes the ocean's
surface with his tremendous tail, one blow from which would stave in a
torpedo-boat.
The sound would be heard miles and miles away, were there anyone to
listen to it in these lonesome seas, and--so dies the leviathan.
The ship gets alongside and bends on her hooks in good time, and while
the body is still hot and steaming, blubber and skin are hoisted up and
up towards the yard-arms, till with its weight the vessel lists and
lists, and it seems as if she would be on her beam-ends.
Long before the crew is done taking on board all that is valuable, the
sharks have assembled, and are fighting and splashing as they gorge on
their awful feast.
And when the decks are all clean once more, and the sails again filled,
supper is had fore and aft, and then, but not till then, does Skipper
Talbot order the steward to splice the main-brace.