When Mr. Gibbs and his party returned to the Dipsey, after descending
the iceberg, their report created a lively sensation.
“Why, it's like goin' home,” said Mrs. Block. “Perhaps I may find my
shoes.”
It was not a very strange thing that they should have again met with
this little ice-locked lake, for they had endeavored to return by a
route as directly south as the other had been directly north. But no one
had expected to see the lake again, and they were not only surprised,
but pleased and encouraged. Here was a spot where they knew the water
was deep enough for perfectly safe submarine navigation, and if they
could start here under the ice they would feel quite sure that they
would meet with no obstacles on the rest of their voyage.
As there was no possible entrance to this lake from the point where the
Dipsey now lay at the end of her canal, Sammy proposed that they should
make a descent into the water at the place where they were, if, after
making soundings, they should find the depth sufficient. Then they might
proceed southward as well as if they should start from Lake Shiver.
But this did not suit Mr. Gibbs. He had a very strong desire to reach
the waters of the little lake, because he knew that at their bottom lay
the telegraphic cable which he had been obliged to abandon, and he
had thought he might be able to raise this cable and re-establish
telegraphic communication with Cape Tariff and New Jersey.
Sammy thought that Mr. Gibbs's desire could be accomplished by sinking
into the water in which they now lay and sailing under the icebergs to
the lake, but Mr. Gibbs did not favor this. He was afraid to go under
the icebergs. To be sure, they had already sailed under one of them when
the Dipsey had made her way northward from the lake, but they had found
that the depth of water varied very much in different places, and the
icebergs in front of them might be heavier, and therefore more deeply
sunken, than those which they had previously passed under.
If it were possible to extend their canal to Lake Shiver, Mr. Gibbs
wanted to do it, but if they should fail in this, then, of course, they
would be obliged to go down at this or some adjacent spot.
“It's all very well,” said Captain Hubbell, who was a little depressed
in spirits because the time was rapidly approaching when he would no
longer command the vessel, “but it's one thing to blow a canal through
fields of flat ice, and another to make it all the way through an
iceberg; but if you think you can do it, I am content. I'd like to sail
above water just as far as we can go.”
Mr. Gibbs had been studying the situation, and some ideas relating to
the solution of the problem before him were forming themselves in his
mind. At last he hit upon a plan which he thought might open the waters
of Lake Shiver to the Dipsey, and, as it would not take very long to
test the value of his scheme, it was determined to make the experiment.
There were but few on board who did not know that if a needle were
inserted into the upper part of a large block of ice, and were then
driven smartly into it, the ice would split. Upon this fact Mr. Gibbs
based his theory of making an entrance to the lake.
A climbing party, larger than the previous one, set out for the iceberg,
carrying with them, on several sledges, a long and heavy iron rod, which
was a piece of the extra machinery on the Dipsey, and some explosives of
a special kind.
When the iceberg had been reached, several of the party ascended with a
hoisting apparatus, and with this the rod was hauled to the top and set
up perpendicularly on a central spot at the summit of the iceberg, the
pointed end downward, and a bomb of great power fastened to its upper
end. This bomb was one designed to exert its whole explosive power in
one direction, and it was so placed that this force would be exerted
downward. When all was ready, the electric-wire attachment to the bomb
was carried down the iceberg and carefully laid on the ice as the party
returned to the Dipsey.
Everybody, of course, was greatly interested in this experiment.
The vessel was at least two miles from the iceberg, but in the clear
atmosphere the glittering eminence could be plainly seen, and, with a
glass, the great iron rod standing high up on its peak was perfectly
visible. All were on deck when Mr. Gibbs stood ready to discharge the
bomb on top of the rod, and all eyes were fixed upon the iceberg.
There was an explosion--not very loud, even considering the
distance--and those who had glasses saw the rod disappear downward. Then
a strange grating groan came over the snow-white plain, and the great
iceberg was seen to split in half, its two peaks falling apart from each
other. The most distant of the two great sections toppled far backward,
and with a great crash turned entirely over, its upper part being
heavier than its base. It struck an iceberg behind it, slid upon the
level ice below, crashed through this, and sank out of sight. Then it
was seen to slowly rise again, but this time with its base uppermost.
The other and nearest section, much smaller, fell against an adjacent
iceberg, where it remained leaning for some minutes, but soon assumed an
erect position. The line of cleavage had not been perpendicular, and
the greater part of the base of the original iceberg remained upon the
nearer section.
When the scene of destruction had been thoroughly surveyed from the
deck of the Dipsey, volunteers were called for to go and investigate the
condition of affairs near the broken iceberg. Four men, including Mr.
Gibbs and Mr. Marcy, went out upon this errand, a dangerous one, for
they did not know how far the ice in their direction might have been
shattered or weakened by the wreck of the iceberg. They found that
little or no damage had been done to the ice between them and the nearer
portion of the berg, and, pursing an eastward course on their sledges,
they were enabled to look around this lofty mass and see a body of open
water in the vicinity of the more distant section almost covered with
floating ice. Pressing forward still farther eastward, and going as
far south as they dared, they were enabled at last to see that the
two portions of the original iceberg were floating at a considerable
distance from each other, and that, therefore, there was nothing to
prevent the existence of an open passage between them into the lake.
When the party returned with this report work was suspended, but the
next day blasting parties went out. The canal was extended to the base
of the nearer iceberg, a small boat was rowed around it, and after a
careful survey it was found that unless the sections of the iceberg
moved together there was plenty of room for the Dipsey to pass between
them.
When the small boat and the sledges had returned to the vessel, and
everything was prepared for the start along the canal and into the
lake, one of the men came to Captain Hubbell and reported that the Pole
Rovinski was absent. For one brief moment a hope arose in the soul of
Samuel Block that this man might have fallen overboard and floated under
the ice, but he was not allowed to entertain this pleasant thought. Mr.
Marcy had seized a glass, and with it was sweeping the icy plain in all
directions.
“Hello!” he cried. “Someone come here! Do you see that moving speck off
there to the north? I believe that is the scoundrel.”
Several glasses were now directed to the spot.
“It is the Pole!” cried Sammy. “He has stolen a sledge and is running
away!”
“Where on earth can he be running to?” exclaimed Mr. Gibbs. “The man is
insane!”
Mr. Marcy said nothing. His motor sledge, a very fine one, furnished
with an unusually large wheel, was still on the deck. He rushed towards
it.
“I am going after him!” he shouted. “Let somebody come with me. He's up
to mischief! He must not get away!”
“Mischief!” exclaimed Mr. Gibbs. “I don't see what mischief he can do.
He can't live out here without shelter; he'll be dead before morning.”
“Not he,” cried Sammy. “He's a born devil, with a dozen lives! Take a
gun with you, Mr. Marcy, and shoot him if you can't catch him!”
Mr. Marcy took no gun; he had no time to stop for that. In a few moments
he was on the ice with his sledge, then away he went at full speed
towards the distant moving black object.
Two men were soon following Mr. Marcy, but they were a long way behind
him, for their sledges did not carry them at the speed with which he was
flying over the ice and snow.
It was not long before Rovinski discovered that he was pursued, and,
frequently turning his head backward, he saw that the foremost sledge
was gaining upon him; but, crouching as low as he could to avoid a
rifle-shot, he kept on his way.
But he could not help turning his head every now and then, and at one
of these moments his sledge struck a projecting piece of ice and was
suddenly overturned. Rovinski rolled out on the hard snow, and the
propelling wheel revolved rapidly in the air. The Pole gathered himself
up quickly and turned his sledge back into its proper position. He did
this in such haste that he forgot that the wheel was still revolving,
and therefore was utterly unprepared to see the sledge start away at a
great speed, leaving him standing on the snow, totally overwhelmed by
astonishment and rage.
Marcy was near enough to view this catastrophe, and he stopped his
sledge and burst out laughing. Now that the fellow was secure, Marcy
would wait for his companions. When the others had reached him, the
three proceeded towards Rovinski, who was standing facing them and
waiting. As soon as they came within speaking distance he shouted:
“Stop where you are! I have a pistol, and I will shoot you in turn
if you come any nearer. I am a free man! I have a right to go where I
please. I have lost my sledge, but I can walk. Go back and tell your
masters I have left their service.”
Mr. Marcy reflected a moment. He was armed, but it was with a very
peculiar weapon, intended for use on shipboard in case of mutinous
disturbances. It was a pistol with a short range, carrying an ammonia
shell. If he could get near enough to Rovinski, he could settle his
business very quickly; but he believed that the pistol carried by the
Pole was of the ordinary kind, and dangerous.
Something must be done immediately. It was very cold; they must soon
return to the vessel. Suddenly, without a word, Mr. Marcy started his
sledge forward at its utmost speed. The Pole gave a loud cry and raised
his right hand, in which he held a heavy pistol. For some minutes he had
been standing, his glove off, and this pistol clasped in his hand. He
was so excited that he had entirely forgotten the intense coldness
of the air. He attempted to aim the pistol and to curl his forefinger
around the trigger, but his hand and wrist were stiff, his fingers were
stiff. His pistol-barrel pointed at an angle downward; he had no power
to straighten it or to pull the trigger. Standing thus, his face white
with the rage of impotence and his raised hand shaking as if it had
been palsied, he was struck full in the face with the shell from
Marcy's wide-mouthed pistol. The brittle capsule burst, and in a second,
insensible from the fumes of the powerful ammonia it contained, Rovinski
fell flat upon the snow.
When the Pole had been taken back to the vessel, and had been confined
below, Mr. Gibbs, utterly unable to comprehend the motives of the man in
thus rushing off to die alone amid the rigors of the polar regions, went
down to talk to him. At first Rovinski refused to make any answers
to the questions put to him, but at last, apparently enraged by the
imputation that he must be a weak-minded, almost idiotic, man to behave
himself in such an imbecile fashion, he suddenly blazed out:
“Imbecile!” he cried. “Weak-minded! If it had not been for that accursed
sledge, I would have shown you what sort of an imbecile I am. I can't
get away now, and I will tell you how I would have been an idiot. I
would have gone back to the pole, at least to the little house, where,
like a fool, you left the end of your cable open to me, open to anybody
on board who might be brave enough to take advantage of your imbecility.
I had food enough with me to last until I got back to the pole, and I
knew of the 'cache' which you left there. Long, long before you ever
reached Cape Tariff, and before your master was ready to announce your
discoveries to the world, I would have been using your cable. I would
have been announcing my discoveries, not in a cipher, but in plain
words; not to Sardis, but to the Observatory at St. Petersburg. I would
have proclaimed the discovery of the pole, I would have told of your
observations and your experiments; for I am a man of science, I know
these things. I would have had the honor and the glory. The north
pole would have been Rovinski's Pole; that open sea would have been
Rovinski's Sea. All you might have said afterwards would have amounted
to nothing; it would have been an old story; I would have announced it
long before. The glory would have been mine--mine for all ages to come.”
“But, you foolish man,” exclaimed Mr. Gibbs, “you would have perished
up there--no fire, no shelter but that cabin, and very little food. Even
if, kept warm and alive by your excitement and ambition, you had been
able to send one message, you would have perished soon afterwards.”
“What of that?” said Rovinski. “I would have sent my message; I would
have told how the north pole was found. The glory and the honor would
have been mine.”
When Mr. Gibbs related what was said at this interview, Sammy remarked
that it was a great pity to interfere with ambition like that, and Sarah
acknowledged to her husband, but to him only, that she had never felt
her heart sink as it had sunk when she saw Mr. Marcy coming back with
that black-faced and black-hearted Pole with him.
“I felt sure,” said she, “that we had got rid of him, and that after
this we would not be a party of thirteen. It does seem to me as if it
is wicked to take such a creature back to civilized people. It's like
carrying diseases about in your clothes, as people used to do in olden
times.”
“Well,” said Sammy, “if we could fumigate this vessel and feel sure that
only the bad germs would shrivel, I'd be in favor of doin' it.”
In less than two hours after the return of Mr. Marcy with his prisoner,
the Dipsey started along the recently made canal, carefully rounded the
nearer portion of the broken iceberg, and slowly sailed between the
two upright sections. These were sufficiently far apart to afford a
perfectly safe passage, but the hearts of those who gazed up on their
shining, precipitous sides were filled with a chilling horror, for if
a wind had suddenly sprung up, these two great sections of the icy
mountain might have come together, cracking the Dipsey as if it had been
a nut.
But no wind sprang up; the icebergs remained as motionless as if they
had been anchored, and the Dipsey entered safely the harboring waters of
Lake Shiver.