unexpected and novel situation in which the agents of the Company now
found themselves, and Hobson did so with his chart before him.
He could not ascertain the longitude of Victoria Island—the original
name being retained—until the next day, and the latitude had
already been taken. For the longitude, the altitude of the sun must be
ascertained before and after noon, and two hour angles must be measured.
At two o’clock P.M. Hobson and Black took the height of the sun above
the horizon with the sextant, and they hoped to recommence the same
operation the next morning towards ten o’clock A.M., so as to be able
to infer from the two altitudes obtained the exact point of the Arctic
Ocean then occupied by their island.
The party did not, however, at once return to the fort, but remained
talking together for some little time on the promontory. Madge declared
she was quite resigned, and evidently thought only of her mistress, at
whom she could not look without emotion; she could not bear to think of
the sufferings and trials her “dear girl” might have to go through
in the future. She was ready to lay down her life for “Paulina,” but
what good could that do now. She knew, however, that Mrs Barnett was not
a woman to sink under her misfortunes, and indeed at present there was
really no need for any one to despair.
There was no immediate danger to be dreaded, and a catastrophe might
even yet be avoided. This Hobson carefully explained to his companions.
Two dangers threatened the island floating along the coast of North
America, only two.
It would be drawn by the currents of the open sea to the high Polar
latitudes, from which there is no return.
Or the current would take it to the south, perhaps through the Behring
Strait into the Pacific Ocean.
In the former contingency, the colonists, shut in by ice and surrounded
by impassable icebergs, would have no means of communication with their
fellow-creatures, and would die of cold and hunger in the solitudes of
the north.
In the latter contingency, Victoria Island, driven by the currents to
the western waters of the Pacific, would gradually melt and go to pieces
beneath the feet of its inhabitants.
In either case death would await the Lieutenant and his companions, and
the fort, erected at the cost of so much labour and suffering, would be
destroyed.
But it was scarcely probable that either of these events would happen.
The season was already considerably advanced, and in less than three
months the sea would again be rendered motion less by the icy hand of
the Polar winter. The ocean would again be converted into an ice-field,
and by means of sledges they might get to the nearest land—the coast
of Russian America if the island remained in the east, or the coast of
Asia if it were driven to the west.
“For,” added Hobson, “we have absolutely no control over our
floating island. Having no sail to hoist, as in a boat, we cannot guide
it in the least. Where it takes us we must go.”
All that Hobson said was clear, concise, and to the point. There could
be no doubt that the bitter cold of winter would solder Victoria Island
to the vast ice-field, and it was highly probable that it would drift
neither too far north nor too far eouth. To have to cross a few hundred
miles of ice was no such terrible prospect for brave and resolute
men accustomed to long excursions in the Arctic regions. It would be
necessary, it was true, to abandon Fort Hope—the object of so many
hopes, and to lose the benefit of all their exertions, but what of that?
The factory, built upon a shifting soil, could be of no further use to
the Company. Sooner or later it would be swallowed up by the ocean, and
what was the good of useless regrets? It must, therefore, be deserted as
soon as circumstances should permit.
The only thing against the safety of the colonists was—and the
Lieutenant dwelt long on this point—that during the eight or nine
weeks which must elapse before the solidification of the Arctic Ocean,
Victoria Island might be dragged too far north or south.
Arctic explorers had often told of pieces of ice being drifted an
immense distance without any possibility of stopping them.
Everything then depended on the force and direction of the currents from
the opening of Behring Strait; and it would be necessary carefully to
ascertain all that a chart of the Arctic Ocean could tell. Hobson had
such a chart, and invited all who were with him on the cape to come to
his room and look at it; but before going down to the fort he once more
urged upon them the necessity of keeping their situation a secret.
“It is not yet desperate,” he said, “and it is therefore quite
unnecessary to damp the spirits of our comrades, who will perhaps not be
able to understand, as we do, all the chances in our favour.”
“Would it not be prudent to build a boat large enough to hold us
all, and strong enough to carry us a few hundred miles over the sea?”
observed Mrs Barnett.
“It would be prudent certainly,” said Hobson, “and we will do it.
I must think of some pretext for beginning the work at once, and give
the necessary orders to the head carpenter. But taking to a boat can
only be a forlorn hope when everything else has failed. We must try all
we can to avoid being on the island when the ice breaks up, and we must
make for the mainland as soon as ever the sea is frozen over.”
Hobson was right. It would take about three months to build a thirty
or thirty-five ton vessel, and the sea would not be open when it was
finished. It would be very dangerous to embark the whole party when
the ice was breaking up all round, and he would be well out of his
difficulties if he could get across the ice to firm ground before the
next thaw set in. This was why Hobson thought a boat a forlorn hope, a
desperate makeshift, and every one agreed with him.
Secrecy was once more promised, for it was felt that Hobson was the best
judge of the matter, and a few minutes later the five conspirators were
seated together in the large room of Fort Hope, which was then deserted,
eagerly examining an excellent map of the oceanic and atmospheric
currents of the Arctic Ocean, special attention being naturally given to
that part of the Polar Sea between Cape Bathurst and Behring Strait.
Two principal currents divide the dangerous latitudes comprehended
between the Polar Circle and the imperfectly known zone, called the
North-West Passage since McClure’s daring discovery—at least only
two have been hitherto noticed by marine surveyors.
One is called the Kamtchatka Current. It takes its rise in the offing
outside the peninsula of that name, follows the coast of Asia, and
passes through Behring Strait, touching Cape East, a promontory of
Siberia. After running due north for about six hundred miles from the
strait, it turns suddenly to the east, pretty nearly following the same
parallel as McClure’s Passage, and probably doing much to keep that
communication open for a few mouths in the warm season.
The other current, called Behring Current, flows just the other way.
After running from east to west at about a hundred miles at the
most from the coast, it comes into collision, so to speak, with the
Kamtchatka Current at the opening of the strait, and turning to the
south approaches the shores of Russian America, crosses Behring Sea,
and finally breaks on the kind of circular dam formed by the Aleutian
Islands.
Hobson’s map gave a very exact summary of the most recent nautical
observations, so that it could be relied on.
The Lieutenant examined it carefully before speaking, and then pressing
his hand to his head, as if oppressed by some sad presentiment, he
observed—
“Let us hope that fate will not take us to remote northern latitudes.
Our wandering island would run a risk of never returning.”
“Why, Lieutenant?” broke in Mrs Barnett.
“Why, madam?” replied Hobson; “look well at this part of the
Arctic Ocean, and you will readily understand why. Two currents, both
dangerous for us, run opposite ways. When they meet, the island must
necessarily become stationary, and that at a great distance from any
land. At that point it will have to remain for the winter, and when the
next thaw sets in, it will either follow the Kamtchatka Current to
the deserted regions of the north-west, or it will float down with the
Behring Current to be swallowed up by the Pacific Ocean.”
“That will not happen, Lieutenant,” said Madge in a tone of earnest
conviction; “God would never permit that.”
“I can’t make out,” said Mrs Barnett, “whereabouts in the Polar
Sea we are at this moment; for I see but one current from the offing of
Cape Bathurst which bears directly to the north-west, and that is the
dangerous Kamtchatka Current. Are you not afraid that it has us in
its fatal embrace, and is carrying us with it to the shores of North
Georgia?”
“I think not,” replied Hobson, after a moment’s reflection.
“Why not?”
“Because it is a very rapid current, madam; and if we had been
following it for three months, we should have had some land in sight by
this time, and there is none, absolutely none!”
“Where, then, do you suppose we are?” inquired Mrs Barnett.
“Most likely between the Kamtchatka Current and the coast, perhaps in
some vast eddy unmarked upon the map.”
“That cannot be, Lieutenant,” replied Mrs Barnett, quickly.
“Why not, madam, why not?”
“Because if Victoria Island were in an eddy, it would have veered
round to a certain extent, and our position with regard to the cardinal
points would have changed in the last three months, which is certainly
not the case.”
“You are right, madam, you are quite right. The only explanation I can
think of is, that there is some other current, not marked on our map.
Oh, that to morrow were here that I might find out our longitude; really
this uncertainty is terrible!”
“To-morrow will come,” observed Madge.
There was nothing to do but to wait. The party therefore separated,
all returning to their ordinary occupations. Sergeant Long informed his
comrades that the departure for Fort Reliance, fixed for the next day,
was put off. He gave as reasons that the season was too far advanced
to get to the southern factory before the great cold set in, that the
astronomer was anxious to complete his meteorological observations, and
would therefore submit to another winter in the north, that game was so
plentiful provisions from Fort Reliance were not needed. &c., &c. But
about all these matters the brave fellows cared little.
Lieutenant Hobson ordered his men to spare the furred animals in future,
and only to kill edible game, so as to lay up fresh stores for the
coming winter; he also forbade them to go more than two miles from the
fort, not wishing Marbre and Sabine to come suddenly upon a sea-horizon,
where the isthmus connecting the peninsula of Victoria with the mainland
was visible a few months before. The disappearance of the neck of land
would inevitably have betrayed everything.
The day appeared endless to Lieutenant Hobson. Again and again he
returned to Cape Bathurst either alone, or accompanied by Mrs Barnett.
The latter, inured to danger, showed no fear; she even joked the
Lieutenant about his floating island being perhaps, after all, the
proper conveyance for going to the North Pole. “With a favourable
current might they not reach that hitherto inaccessible point of the
globe?”
Lieutenant Hobson shook his head as he listened to his companion’s
fancy, and kept his eyes fixed upon the horizon, hoping to catch a
glimpse of some land, no matter what, in the distance. But no, sea and
sky met in an absolutely unbroken circular line, confirming Hobson’s
opinion that Victoria Island was drifting to the west rather than in any
other direction.
“Lieutenant,” at last said Mrs Barnett, “don’t you mean to make
a tour of our island as soon as possible?”
“Yes, madam, of course; as soon as I have taken our bearings, I mean
to ascertain the form and extent of our dominions. It seems, however,
that the fracture was made at the isthmus itself, so that the whole
peninsula has become an island.”
“A strange destiny is ours, Lieutenant,” said Mrs Barnett. “Others
return from their travels to add new districts to geographical maps, but
we shall have to efface the supposed peninsula of Victoria!”
The next day, July 18th, the sky was very clear, and at ten o’clock
in the morning Hobson obtained a satisfactory altitude of the sun,
and, comparing it with that of the observation of the day before, he
ascertained exactly the longitude in which they were.
The island was then in 157° 37’ longitude west from Greenwich.
The latitude obtained the day before at noon almost immediately after
the eclipse was, as we know, 73° 7’ 20” north.
The spot was looked out on the map in the presence of Mrs Barnett and
Sergeant Long.
It was indeed a most anxious moment, and the following result was
arrived at.
The wandering island was moving in a westerly direction, borne along by
a current unmarked on the chart, and unknown to hydrographers, which was
evidently carrying it towards Behring Strait. All the dangers foreseen
by Hobson were then imminent, if Victoria Island did not again touch the
mainland before the winter.
“But how far are we from the American continent? that is the most
important point just at present,” said Mrs Barnett.
Hobson took his compasses, and carefully measured the narrowest part of
the sea between the coast and the seventieth parallel.
“We are actually more than two hundred and fifty miles from Point
Barrow, the northernmost extremity of Russian America,” he replied.
“We ought to know, then, how many miles the island has drifted since
it left the mainland,” said Sergeant Long.
“Seven hundred miles at least,” replied Hobson, after having again
consulted the chart.
“And at about what time do you suppose the drifting commenced?”
“Most likely towards the end of April; the ice-field broke up then,
and the icebergs which escaped melting drew back to the north. We may,
therefore, conclude that Victoria Island has been moving along with
the current parallel with the coast at an average rate of ten miles a
day.”
“No very rapid pace after all!” exclaimed Mrs Barnett.
“Too fast, madam, when you think where we may be taken during the
two months in which the sea will remain open in this part of the Arctic
Ocean.”
The three friends remained silent, and looked fixedly at the chart of
the fearful Polar regions, towards which they were being irresistibly
drawn, and which have hitherto successfully resisted all attempts to
explore them.
“There is, then, nothing to be done? Nothing to try?” said Mrs
Barnett after a pause.
“Nothing, madam,” replied Hobson; “nothing whatever. We must wait;
we must all pray for the speedy arrival of the Arctic winter generally
so much dreaded by sailors, but which alone can save us now. The winter
will bring ice, our only anchor of salvation, the only power which can
arrest the course of this wandering island.”