THE TOP OF THE WORLD AT LAST
"We'll get there tomorrow!"
"If the weather permits, Andy."
"Oh, we must get there, Chet! Just think of it--only twenty-two miles
more! Why, it's nothing alongside of what we have already traveled."
"Well, food is running very low."
"Oh, I know that. Didn't I take an extra hole in my belt last night
after supper? I feel as flat as a board."
A day had been spent in camp, with the wind blowing furiously, and a
fine, salt-like snow falling. They had tried to go on, but had covered
less than half a mile when Barwell Dawson had called a halt.
"It's no use," he had said, with a sigh. "We can't do anything in this
wind. Let us keep our strength until it subsides."
They had spent the day in mending the sledge, which was in danger of
going to pieces, and in fixing up their foot coverings, which were
woefully ragged.
It was still blowing when they started again on their journey. But it
was not nearly so bad as before, and the snow had ceased to come down.
The sun, however, was still under the clouds, and the sky looked gray
and sullen.
"I don't know that I'd care to live here the year round," said Andy,
with an attempt at humor. "It would be too hard to dig the potatoes."
"Or go swimming," answered Chet. "Every time a fellow wanted a bath,
he'd have to chop a hole in the ice."
"Or tumble in a lead."
"But, just the same, if we do reach the Pole, what a story we'll have to
tell when we get back!"
"We'll not be the first at the Pole."
"We'll be the first boys at the Pole."
"Right you are."
They trudged on, occasionally urging the lagging dogs. The canines
seemed to realize the loneliness of the situation, and occasionally
stopped short, squatted down, and rent the air with dismal howlings.
"They don't see any food and shelter ahead, and I don't blame them,"
said Barwell Dawson.
By nightfall they calculated they had covered twelve miles. If that was
true, only ten miles more separated them from their goal.
"And we'll make that tomorrow or bust!" cried Andy. He was dead-tired,
and ached in every limb, but a strange light shone in his eyes--the same
fire that lit up the eyes of Barwell Dawson.
In the morning the sky looked more forbidding than ever. But there was
only a gentle breeze, and the thermometer registered forty-eight
degrees,--several degrees warmer than it had been.
"We'll travel until noon," announced Barwell Dawson. "Then we'll make
camp, and wait until we can take an observation."
They progressed almost in silence, the boys occasionally cracking the
whip and urging the dogs. Barwell Dawson and Professor Jeffer were busy
with their thoughts. Their fondest hopes seemed about to be realized.
The boys thought of home. Would they ever see Maine again?
"Seems like a lifetime since we left Pine Run!" remarked Chet once.
"Two lifetimes," responded Andy. "One such trip as this is enough for
me."
The lads were footsore and weary to the last degree, but neither
complained. They did not want to worry Barwell Dawson, and what would
have been the use? He could not aid them. It was now a question of every
one for himself.
It was one o'clock when the explorer called a halt. On every hand was
the field of ice and snow. But far ahead could be seen something which
looked like a big iceberg. The sun was still under a cloud.
"I think we have gone far enough," said Barwell Dawson. "We'll camp
here, and wait until we can take an observation."
No time was lost in gathering cakes of ice and building a fair-sized
_igloo_. The boys worked with renewed interest. Had they really and
truly reached the North Pole at last?
"At the most we cannot be over a mile or two away from it," said the
explorer.
All were glad to rest, yet sleep was almost out of the question. The one
thought of each member of the party was, "Are we at the Pole, or how
much further have we to go?"
Early in the morning it was cloudy, but about ten o'clock the sun came
out faintly.
"Unless it comes out full, I cannot take an accurate observation," said
the professor.
All waited impatiently and watched the sky. When it was a quarter to
twelve the clouds rolled away to the eastward, and the sun burst forth
with dazzling brightness.
"Now is our chance!" cried Chet.
All assisted the professor in his preparations to take the all-important
observation. The old scientist's chronometer was compared with that of
Barwell Dawson.
"A difference of but three seconds," said the former. "We will split the
difference when I take the observation," and this was done.
The sextant was raised, and the old scientist looked through it with
great care. His artificial horizon had been arranged but a short
distance away.
"Time!" roared Barwell Dawson, and the professor set the thumbscrew of
his instrument. Then, through the magnifying glass, he read the figures
and set to work with pen and pencil, making his computations, with his
Nautical Almanac before him. All awaited breathlessly what he might have
to say. Suddenly the aged man threw down the paper and pencil and threw
his arms into the air.
"We are at the 90th degree of north latitude!" he cried. "We have
reached the North Pole!"
"Hurrah!" yelled Andy and Chet, simultaneously, and Barwell Dawson
joined in the cheer.
"You are certain of that?" asked the explorer. "We must make no
mistake."
"Read the observation for yourself," answered the old scientist.
"It is true," said Barwell Dawson, when he had verified the figures. "We
are really and truly at the North Pole. Now, then, to raise the flag!"
The others understood. All through the bitter journey they had carried
an American flag and a fair-sized flagpole. Once the flag had become
torn but they had mended it with care.
In a twinkling the pole was brought forth, and planted in the ice and
snow. Then the flag was raised, and it floated proudly in the breeze.
"Three cheers for Old Glory!" cried Barwell Dawson, and the cheers were
given with a will.
"Three cheers for Barwell Dawson!" cried Andy, and he and Chet and the
old scientist gave them, roundly. Then there followed a cheer for
Professor Jeffer.
"And now a cheer for the first boys at the North Pole!" cried Barwell
Dawson, and he and Professor Jeffer raised their voices as loudly as
they could. The boys could scarcely contain themselves, and both danced
a jig, and then Andy turned half a dozen handsprings, just by way of
working off his superfluous spirits.
It was wonderful what a difference reaching the Pole made in them. All
the hardships of the past weeks were forgotten, and even the men acted
like schoolboys out for a holiday. They walked around the vicinity of
the _igloo_, and sang and whistled, and for once completely forgot their
hunger. Then, during the course of the afternoon, Professor Jeffer took
more observations and a number of photographs.
The next day the sun continued to shine brightly, and promptly at noon
another observation was made. This gave the same result as before, so
all were assured that they were really at the 90th degree of north
latitude.
"We must be at the North Pole," said Andy. "For see, while we call one
part of the twenty-four hours day and the other night, the sun goes
right around us and never seems to rise or sink."
"Yes, that is something of a test," answered Professor Jeffer. "But it
is not as infallible as that made by the sextant. The earth is more or
less flat here, and that makes a difference."
To make "dead certain" that they had covered the North Pole, the entire
party journeyed five miles further ahead, and also an equal distance to
the right and left. At one point they saw traces of another exploring
party, but the snow and ice had covered up the records left behind.
"And now to get back," said Barwell Dawson, at the close of the third
day spent at and around the Pole. "We have no time to spare, if we want
to get out of this land of desolation before winter sets in again."
"I am ready," answered Professor Jeffer. "I have taken all the
observations and photographs I wish, and have collected a valuable
amount of data."
"You can't get back any too quick for me," said Chet, dryly.
"There is no use in disguising the fact that our provisions are very
low," continued Barwell Dawson, gravely. "We have very little left for
the dogs."
"What will you do with them?" asked Chet.
"One is a little lame. If the worst comes to the worst, we'll kill him
and feed him to the others."
They left the _igloo_ standing, and on the top placed a metallic box
containing a brief record of their trip. Then they took down the flag
and placed it on the sledge.
They started on the return at seven in the morning. The weather was not
so cold as it had been, and going seemed to be better, so they covered
the twenty-two miles to their old camp without much difficulty. Here
they had to repair the sledge again, and also had to kill off the lame
dog. This made a feast for the others, and gave them some food that was
much needed.
"I could almost eat dog meat myself," said Chet.
"It may come to that," answered Andy. "I guess it is a heap better than
nothing, when a chap is starving."
They found the new ice on the lead much thicker than it had been, and so
crossed with ease. But now came on a heavy fall of snow, and all traces
of their former trail were wiped out.
"We'll have to steer by eyesight and the compass," announced Barwell
Dawson.
The boys were so hungry that they kept an eye open continually for game.
But not so much as a bird showed itself. It was truly the land of ice
and snow, and nothing else.
On the fifth day, the case containing alcohol sprung a leak, and all of
the precious stuff was lost in the snow.
"We'll have to eat our meals cold after this," said Barwell Dawson. "Too
bad, but it can't be helped."
"I don't care how cold they are, if only we could get enough," grumbled
Chet. An almost empty stomach did not tend to put him in good humor.
Another day passed, and again it snowed. The flakes were so thick they
could not see around them, and so had to halt and go into camp. Their
provisions were now so low that only half rations were dealt out.
"We can't stand this," cried Chet. "I've got to have something to eat."
"Oh, Chet, don't grumble," answered Andy. "We are as bad off as you
are."
"To-morrow, if we find it necessary, we'll kill off one of the dogs for
food," said Barwell Dawson. "That will leave us a team of four, and we
ought to be able to get back to where we left the others with those. The
sledge has next to nothing on it now."
The morning dawned, dull and cheerless. They had a few mouthfuls of
food, and then hitched up the dogs once more. Nobody felt like talking,
and they started on their long journey in silence.
Painfully they covered fifteen miles. Each was footsore and weary to the
last degree, and not able to go another step. They sat down on a ridge
of ice, and looked at each other.
"We have got to have something to eat," declared Chet. "I am going to
have one square meal, if I have to die tomorrow!"
"Chet!" exclaimed Andy, reprovingly.
"We'll kill one of the dogs and eat him," said Barwell Dawson. "It's the
only way out of it."