"Far in the west there lies a desert land, where the mountains
Lift through perpetual snows their lofty and luminous summits;
Billowy bays of grass, ever rolling in shadow and sunshine;
Over them wander the buffalo herds and the elk and the roebuck;
Over them wander the wolves, and herds of riderless horses;
Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ishmael's children,
Staining the desert with blood: and above their terrible war trails,
Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the vulture,
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaughtered in battle."
Longfellow.
Scene: A green sea tempest-tossed, the waves houses high. White clouds
massed along the windward horizon, giving the appearance not only of
ice-clad rocks and towers, but of a great mountainous snow-land. And
above this a broad lift of deepest blue, and higher still--like the top
scene on a stage--a curtain-cloud of driving hail. One ship visible,
staggering along with but little sail on her.
It was near sunset when Captain Blunt came below to the cabin of the
_Gloaming Star_. "It is a bitter night, Leonard," he said, rubbing his
hand and chafing his ears. "The wind is as cold as ever we felt it in
Greenland."
"Blowing right off the ice, isn't it?"
"Yes, with a bit of west in it, and I do think somehow that the wind of
the Antarctic is keener, rawer, and colder than any that ever blows
across the pack at the other Pole."
Soon after this Leonard himself went on deck. Here was his friend
Douglas, muffled up in a monkey-jacket with a sou'-wester on his head,
and great woollen gloves on his hands, tramping up and down the deck as
if for a wager.
"How do you like it, Doug?"
"Ha!" said Douglas, "you're laughing, are you? Well, your watch comes
on at four in the morning. There won't be much laughing then, lad. How
delightful the warm bed will seem when--"
"There, there, Douglas, pray don't bring your imagination to bear on it.
It will be bad enough without that."
The two now walked up and down together, only stopping occasionally to
gaze at the sky.
There was little pleasure in looking weatherward, however, only a clear
sky there now, with the jagged waves for an uneven shifting horizon, but
where the sun had gone down the view was inexpressibly lovely. The
background beneath was saturnine red, shading into a yellow-green, and
higher up into a dark blue, and yonder shone a solitary star, one glance
at which never failed to carry our sailors' thoughts homeward.
Now something over three years had elapsed since the _Gloaming Star_
sailed away from the Clyde, since the wild Arran hills were last seen in
the sunset's rays, and the rocky coast of this romantic island had grown
hazy and faint, and faded at last from view.
Years of wandering and adventure they had been, too--years during which
many a gale had been weathered, here and there in many lands, and many a
difficulty boldly faced and overcome.
As our two heroes, Leonard and Douglas, walk up and down the deck, and
the wind blows loud and keen from off the Antarctic ice, I will try to
recount a few of those adventures, though to tell them all would be
impossible. I will but dip into their logs, and read you off the
entries on a few of the leaves thereof.