"I see no particular reason to fear this `danger in the air.' I'll go
and consult Chingatok or his father on the point."
"The ancient one, as you call him," said Benjy, "seems to be growing
timid with age."
"The youthful one," retorted the Captain, "seems to be growing insolent
with age. Go, you scamp, and tell Amalatok I want to speak with him."
Whatever faults our young hero had, disobedience was not one of them.
He rose promptly, and soon returned with the chief of Poloeland.
Amalatok confirmed the wizard's opinions, and both opinions were still
more powerfully confirmed, while he was speaking, by a gust of wind
which suddenly came rushing at them as if from all points of the
compass, converging at the Pole and shooting upwards like a whirlwind,
carrying several hats of the party with volumes of the now wildly
agitated snow up into the sky.
There was no room for further hesitation.
"Why, Massa Bunjay, I thought my woolly scalp he hoed up 'long wid my
hat!" cried Butterface, leaping up in obedience to the Captain's hurried
order to look sharp and lend a hand.
In a short time all the instruments were removed from the observatory
and carefully housed in Makitok's hut. Even while they were thus
engaged the storm burst on them with excessive violence. The snow which
had been falling so softly, was caught up by the conflicting winds and
hurled high into the air, or driven furiously over the valley in all
directions, for the gale did not come from any fixed quarter; it rose
and swooped and eddied about, driving the snow-drift now here, now
there, and shrieking as if in wild delight at the chaotic havoc it was
permitted to play.
"Confusion worse confounded!" gasped Leo, as he staggered past Alf with
the last load on his shoulder.
"And yet there must be order _everywhere_," observed Chingatok, when,
after all were safely housed in Makitok's hut that evening, he heard Leo
repeat that sentiment.
"Why do you think so, Chingatok?" asked the Captain with some curiosity.
"Because there is order even in my hut," returned the giant. "Pingasuk,
(referring to his wife), keeps all things in perfect order. Is the
World-Maker less wise than Pingasuk? Sometimes, no doubt, when Pingasuk
is cooking, or arranging, things may seem in disorder to the eye of my
little boy Meltik and the small one, (referring to baby), but when
Meltik and the small one grow older and wiser, they will see that it is
not so."
While Chingatok was speaking, a gust of wind more furious than ever
struck the hut and shook it to its foundations. At the same time a loud
rumbling sound was heard outside. Most of the men leaped up, caught
hold of spears or knives, and rushed out. Through the driving drift
they could just see that the observatory, which was a flimsy structure,
had been swept clean away, and that the more solid hut was following it.
Even as they gazed they saw its roof caught up, and whirled off as if
it had been a scroll of paper. The walls fell immediately after, and
the stones rolled down the rocky cone with a loud rattling, which was
partially drowned by the shrieking of the tempest.
For three days the storm lasted. During that time it was almost
impossible to show face in the open air. On the night of the third day
the fury of the wind abated. Then it suddenly became calm, but when
Butterface opened the door, and attempted to go out, he found himself
effectually checked by a wall of snow. The interior of the hut was
pitch dark, and it was not until a lamp had been lighted that the party
found they were buried alive!
To dig themselves out was not, however, a difficult matter. But what a
scene presented itself to their view when they regained the upper air!
No metamorphosis conceived by Ovid or achieved by the magic lantern; no
pantomimic transformation; no eccentricity of dreamland ever equalled
it! When last seen, the valley was clothed in all the rich luxuriance
of autumnal tints, and alive with the twitter and plaintive cry of
bird-life. Now it was draped in the pure winding-sheet of winter, and
silent in the repose of Arctic death. Nothing almost was visible but
snow. Everything was whelmed in white. Only here and there a few of
the sturdier clumps of bushes held up their loads like gigantic
wedding-cakes, and broke the universal sameness of the scene. One raven
was the only living representative of the birds that had fled. It
soared calmly over the waste, as if it were the wizard who had wrought
the change, and was admiring its work.
"Winter is upon us fairly now, friends," said Captain Vane as he
surveyed the prospect from the Pole, which was itself all but buried in
the universal drift, and capped with the hugest wedding-cake of all; "we
shall have to accommodate ourselves to circumstances, and prepare for
the campaign."
"I suppose the first thing we shall have to do is to build a
snow-house," said Benjy, looking ruefully round, for, as usual, he was
depressed by first appearances.
"Just so, Benjy; and the sooner we go to work the better."
Now, the reader must not hastily conclude that we are about to inflict
on him or her a detailed narrative of a six months' residence at the
North Pole. We have no such fell design. Much though there is to
tell,--much of suffering, more of enjoyment, many adventures, numerous
stirring incidents, and not a few mishaps--we shall pass over the most
of it in total silence, and touch only on those points which are worthy
of special notice.
Let us leap, then, into the very middle of the Arctic winter. It is
continuously dark now. There is no day at all at the Pole; it is night
all round. The last glimmer of the departing sun left them months ago;
the next glimmer of his return will not reach them for months to come.
The northern Eskimos and their English visitors were well aware of that,
nevertheless there was nothing of gloom or depressed spirits among them.
They were too busy for that. Had not meat to be procured, and then
consumed? Did not the procuring involve the harnessing of dogs in
sledges, the trapping of foxes and wolves, the fighting of walruses, the
chasing of polar bears; and did not the consuming thereof necessitate
much culinary work for the women, much and frequent attention and labour
on the part of the whole community, not to mention hours, and sometimes
days, of calm repose?
Then, as to light, had they not the Aurora Borealis, that mysterious
shimmering in the northern sky which has puzzled philosophers from the
beginning of time, and is not unlikely to continue puzzling them to the
end? Had they not the moon and the stars, which latter shone with a
brilliancy almost indescribable, and among them the now doubly
interesting Pole star, right overhead, with several new and gorgeous
constellations unknown to southern climes?
Besides all this, had not Captain Vane his scientific investigations,
his pendulum experiments, his wind-gauging, his ozone testing, his
thermometric, barometric, and chronometric observations, besides what
Benjy styled his kiteometric pranks? These last consisted in attempts
to bring lightning down from the clouds by means of a kite and cord, and
in which effort the Captain managed to knock himself down, and well-nigh
shattered the North Pole itself in pieces!
Moreover, had not Leo to act the part of physician and surgeon to the
community? a duty which he fulfilled so well that there never had been
before that time such a demand for physic in Flatland, and, it is
probable, there never will be so many sick people there again. In
addition to this, Leo had to exercise his marvellous powers as a
huntsman. Benjy, of course, played his wonted _role_ of mischief-maker
and jack-of-all-trades to the entire satisfaction of everybody,
especially on that great occasion when he succeeded in killing a polar
bear single-handed, and without the aid of gun or spear or any lethal
weapon whatever;--of which great event, more hereafter. Anders, the
southern Eskimo, made himself generally agreeable, and Butterface became
a prime favourite, chiefly because of his inexhaustible fund of fun and
good humour, coupled with his fine musical qualities.
We have not said much on this latter point hitherto, because we have
been unwilling to overwhelm the reader with too sudden a disclosure of
that marvellous magazine of power which was latent in our band of
heroes; but we feel it to be our duty now to state that the negro sang
his native melodies with such pathos that he frequently reduced,
(perhaps we should say elevated), the unsophisticated Eskimos to floods
of tears, and sometimes to convulsions of laughter. As, at Benjy's
suggestion, he sometimes changed his moods abruptly, the tears often
mingled with the convulsions, so as to produce some vivid illustrations
of Eskimo hysteria.
But Butterface's strong point was the flute! No one who had not
witnessed it could adequately conceive the poutings of thick red lips
and general contortions of black visage that seemed necessary in order
to draw the tones out of that simple instrument. The agonies of
expression, the hissing of wind, and the turning up of whites of large
black eyes,--it is past belief! The fruitless efforts of the Eskimos to
imitate him were as nothing to the great original, and their delight at
the sound was only equalled by their amazement at the sight.
Alf assisted the Captain scientifically and otherwise. Of course he was
compelled, during the long winter, to lay aside his geological hammer
and botanical box; but, then, had he not the arrangement and naming of
his specimens? His chief work, however, was to act the unwonted, and,
we may add, unexpected work of a lawgiver.
This duty devolved on him thus:
When Grabantak recovered health--which he was very long in doing--his
spirit was so far subdued that he agreed--somewhat sulkily, it is true--
to all that his prime minister had done while he held the reins of
government. Then he was induced to visit Great Isle, where he was
introduced to his mortal foe Amalatok, whom he found to be so much a man
after his own heart that he no longer sighed for the extraction of his
spinal marrow or the excision of his liver, but became a fast friend,
and was persuaded by Alf to agree to a perpetual peace. He also took a
great fancy to Chingatok, who begged of Alf to read to the chief of
Flatland some of the strange and new ideas contained in his little book.
Alf willingly complied, and for hours these northern savages sat in rapt
attention listening to the Bible story.
"My son," said Grabantak one evening to Chingatok, "if we are henceforth
to live in peace, why not unite and become one nation?"
"Why not?" echoed Chingatok.
When Amalatok and Makitok heard the question propounded, they also said,
"Why not?" and, as nobody objected, the thing was settled off-hand then
and there.
"But," said the prime minister of Flatland, starting a difficulty, "who
is to be _greatest_ chief?"
Amalatok, on whose mind the spirit of Christianity had been gradually
making an impression, said promptly, "Let Grabantak be chief. He is
wise in council and brave in war."
Grabantak had instantly jumped to the conclusion that _he_ ought to be
_greatest_ chief, and was about to say so, when Amalatok's humility
struck him dumb. Recovering himself he replied--
"But there is to be no mere war! and I have been a warrior. No, let
Amalatok be great chief. He is old, and wisdom lies with age."
"I am not so sure of _that_!" muttered Captain Vane to himself in
English; then to the giant in Eskimo, "What says Chingatok?"
"May I speak, my father?" said the giant, dutifully, to Amalatok.
"You may speak, my son."
"Then," continued Chingatok, "I would advise that there should be three
chiefs, who shall be equal--my father, Grabantak, and Makitok. Let
these consult about our affairs. Let the people appoint twelve men to
hold council with them, and what the most of them agree to shall be
done."
After some further talk this compromise was agreed to.
"But the laws of Poloeland and those of Flatland are different," said
Amalatok, starting another objection. "We must have the same laws."
"My brother chief is wise," said Grabantak. "Let us have new laws, and
let that wise young Kablunet, Alf, make them."
"Both my brother chiefs are wise," said Makitok. "Let it be done, and
let him take the laws out of the little thing that speaks to him."
(Thus they referred to the Bible, having no word in their language by
which to name it.)
Great was the surprise of Alf at the honour and labour thus thrust upon
him, but he did not shrink from it. On the contrary, he set to work at
once with notebook and pencil, and set down the two "Great
Commandments:" "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and
with all thy soul, and with all thy mind;" and, "Thou shalt love thy
neighbour as thyself," as the first law in the new code. He set down as
the second the golden rule, "Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto
you, do ye even so to them."
Proceeding from these as a basis, he worked his way gradually down the
code till he had embraced nearly all the possibilities of Eskimo life--a
work which kept him busy all the winter, and was not quite finished when
"time and tide" obliged him and his companions to quit the land.
Now, not long after this eventful council, Benjy Vane burst rather
irreverently into his father's hut with excited looks, holding what
looked like an old book in his hand.
"What have you got there, lad?"
"I've got it at last, father! You know I've been trying to wheedle old
Makitok into letting me open his mysterious bundle. Well, I prevailed
on him to let me do it this afternoon. After unrolling bundle after
bundle, I came at last to the centre, and found that it contained
nothing whatever but this book, wrapped up in an old cotton
pocket-handkerchief. The book is _very_ old, father. See, 1611 on the
first page. I did not take time to glance at more than that, but
brought it straight away to you."
"Hand it over, Benjy," said the Captain eagerly. "This accounts for the
mysterious `buk' that we've heard so much about."
He received the little book with a look of tender curiosity and opened
it carefully, while Leo, Alf, and his son looked on over his shoulder.
"1611, sure enough," he said, "though not very legible. The characters
are queer, too. Try, Alf, what you can make of it."
Alf took the book. As he did so old Makitok entered, somewhat anxious
as to what they were doing with his treasure. Being quieted by the
Captain with a draught of cold tea, and made to sit down, the
examination of the book proceeded.
"It is much worn, and in places is almost illegible, as might be
expected," said Alf. "Let me see. `Coast of Labrador, (something
illegible here), 1611. This day the mutineers took possess ... (can't
make out what follows), and put Captain Hudson, with his son, myself,
the carpenter, and five sick men into the dinghy, casting us, (blank),
with some, (blank), and one cask of water. I begin this diary to-day.
It may never be seen by man, but if it does fall into the hands of any
one who can read it, he will do a service to ... by conveying ...
England.--John Mackintosh, _seaman_.'
"Can it be possible?" said Alf, looking up from the relic with an
expression of deep solemnity, "that we have found a record of that great
Arctic explorer, the unfortunate Henry Hudson?"
"It seems like it, Alf; read on," said Leo, eagerly.
We will not further trouble the reader with Alf's laboured deciphering
of this curious and ancient notebook, which was not only stained and
worn, but in many places rudely torn, as if its owner had seen much hard
service. We will merely run over a few of the chief points which it
cleared up. Unfortunately, it threw no additional light on the fate of
poor Hudson. Many of the first pages of the book which no doubt treated
of that, had been destroyed and the legible portion began in the middle
of a record of travelling with a sledge-party of Eskimos to the north of
parallel 85 degrees 20 minutes--a higher northern latitude, it will be
observed, than had been reached by any subsequent explorer except
Captain Vane. No mention being made of English comrades, the
presumption remained that they had all been killed or had died--at all
events that Mackintosh had been separated from them, and was the only
survivor of the party travelling with the Eskimos.
Further on the journal, which was meagre in detail, and kept in the dry
form of a log-book, spoke of having reached a far northern settlement.
Reference was also made to a wife and family, leading to the conclusion
that the seaman had permanently cast in his lot with the savages, and
given up all hope of returning to his native land.
One sentence near the end caused a considerable sensation, and opened
their eyes to a fact which they might have guessed if they had not been
too much taken up with the spelling out of the faded pencilling to think
of it at first.