On motionless wings an albatross hovers high above Cape Horn. His sharp

eye takes in everything. Now he sees in the distance smoke from the

funnel of a steamer, and in a couple of minutes he has tacked round the

vessel and decided to follow it on its voyage to the north. To the east

he has the coast of Chile, with its countless reefs and islands and deep

fiords, and above it rises the snow-capped crest of the Andes. As soon

as refuse is thrown overboard, the albatross swoops down like an arrow.

A second before he touches the water he raises his wings, draws back his

head, stretches out his large feet in front with expanded claws, and

then plumps down screaming, into the water. He floats as lightly as a

cork. In a moment he has swallowed all the scraps floating on the

surface, and then, turning to the wind, rises to a giddy height.

The vessel happens to be carrying goods to Santiago, the capital of

Chile, and casts anchor at its port town, Valparaiso. In the background

rises Aconcagua, the highest mountain of America.

Then the albatross steers out to sea to try his luck elsewhere. Seventy

miles from the coast he comes across the notable little island, Juan

Fernandez, and circles round its volcanic cliffs. For him there are no

frightful precipitous ascents and descents; from his height he can see

all he wishes to see. It is otherwise with explorers. Some cliffs are

inaccessible to their feet, as Carl Skottsberg found when he went out to

the island three years ago in a Chilian vessel. He saw the cliffs 3000

feet high, and heard the surf rolling in round the island. It was a

perfect picture of wild desolation. He found it difficult to land in a

small boat. He looked in vain for parrots, monkeys, and tortoises, but

found, instead, that more than half the number of the plants on the

island are such as grow on no other spot on the earth. Among them are

palms, with bright, pale-green trunks, which have been recklessly

destroyed by men to make walking-sticks. Here also are tree-ferns, and

the small, delicate, climbing ferns which gracefully festoon trunks and

boughs. And here also is the last specimen of a species of sandalwood

which, wonderful to relate, has found its way hither from its home in

Asia. A couple of hundred years ago it grew profusely on the island, but

now it has been nearly exterminated by man's cupidity. The red, strongly

scented wood was too much in demand for fine cabinet work and other

purposes. Only one small branch now produces foliage on the last

sandal-tree. In this case it is not the last tree among many, but the

last specimen of a species which is vanishing from the earth.

In a cave at the foot of a mountain, according to tradition, lived

Robinson Crusoe, and from a saddle in the crest he threw longing, eager

glances over the great ocean. A memorial tablet in the cave relates that

the real Crusoe, a Scotch sailor named Selkirk, lived alone on the

island for four years and four months in the years 1704-1709. He went on

shore of his own accord, being dissatisfied with the officers of the

ship to which he belonged. The climate was mild, the rainfall moderate,

and wild goats and edible fruits served him for food.

Such is the actual fact. How much more do we delight in the Robinson

Crusoe whose story is so charmingly depicted in a romantic dress! His

vessel foundered, and he was the only man who was thrown up by the

stormy waves upon the island. There he made himself at home, wandered

round the shore and through the woods, and filled a shooting-bag of

banana leaves with oysters, turtle's eggs, and wild fruits. With his

simple bow he shot the animals of the forest to make himself clothes of

their skins, and wild goats, which he caught and tamed, yielded him

milk, from which he churned butter and manufactured cheese. He became a

fisherman, furrier, and potter, and on the height above his cave he had

his chapel where he kept Sundays. He found wild maize, and sowed,

reaped, and made bread. As years passed on, his prosperity increased,

and he was a type of the whole human race, which from the rude

simplicity of the savage has in the course of ages progressed to a

condition of refinement and enlightenment. When he was most at a loss

for fire to prepare his food, the lightning struck a tree and set it on

fire, and we remember that he then kept up his fire for a long time,

never letting it go out. He was very grieved when it at length expired,

but a volcanic outbreak came to his assistance, and he lighted his fire

again from the glowing lava. He made himself a bread oven of bricks,

and built himself a hut and a boat.

Once when he was away on an excursion, and lay asleep far from his

dwelling, he started up in alarm at hearing some one call out his name.

It was only his own parrot, which had learned to talk, and which had

searched for him, and was sitting on a bough calling out "Poor Robinson

Crusoe!"

How well we remember his lonely walk to the other side of the island,

when he stood petrified with fear before the print of a human foot in

the sand! For eight years he had been alone, and now he found that there

were other human beings, cannibals no doubt, in the neighbourhood. He

stood, gazed, listened, hurried home, and prepared for defence. Here,

also, he is a type of peoples and states, which sooner or later awake to

a perception of the necessity of defence against hostile attacks. His

suspicions give way to certainty when one day he sees a fire burning on

the beach. He runs home, draws up the ladder over the fortification

round his dwelling, makes ready his weapons, climbs up to his look-out,

and sees ten naked savages roasting flesh round a fire. After a wild

dance they push out their canoes and disappear. At the fire are left

gnawed human bones and skulls, and Robinson is beside himself at the

sight.

At the end of the fourteenth year he is awakened one stormy night by a

shot. His heart beats fast, for now the hour of deliverance is surely at

hand. Another shot thunders through the night. Perhaps it is a signal of

distress from a ship! He lights a huge fire to guide the crew. When

morning dawns, he finds that a ship has run on to a submerged rock and

been wrecked. No sign of the crew is visible. But yes, a sailor lies

prostrate on the sand and a dog howls beside him. Crusoe runs up; he

would like a companion in his loneliness; but however long he works with

artificial respiration and other remedies, the dead will not come to

life, and Robinson Crusoe sadly digs a grave for the unknown guest.

Another year passes and all the days are alike. As he sits at his table,

breaking his bread and eating fish and oysters, he has his dog, parrot,

and goats as companions and gives them a share of his meal.

One day he sees from his look-out hill five boats come to the island and

put to shore, and thirty savages jump on land and light a fire. Then

they bring two prisoners from a boat. One they kill with a club. The

other runs away and makes straight towards Crusoe's dwelling. Only two

men pursue him, and Crusoe runs up to help him. At a sign from his

master, the dog rushes on one of the savages and holds him fast till he

gets his death-blow, and the other meets the same fate. Then Crusoe by

signs and kindly gestures makes the prisoner understand that he has

found a friend. The poor fellow utters some incomprehensible words, and

Crusoe, who has not heard a human voice for fifteen years, is delighted

to hear him speak. The other savages make off as fast as they can.

Robinson Crusoe's black friend receives the name of Friday, because he

came to the island on a Friday. In time Friday learns to speak, and

brightens and relieves the life of the solitary man. One day another

wreck is stranded on the rocks, and Robinson and Friday fetch from its

stores firearms and powder, tools and provisions, and many other useful

things. When eighteen long years have expired, the hero of our childhood

is rescued by an English ship.

ACROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN

The albatross is a knowing bird, or he would not follow vessels for

weeks. He knows that there is food on board, and that edible fragments

are often thrown out. But his power of observation and his knowledge are

much greater than might be suspected. He knows also of old where small

storm birds take their prey, and when he finds them flying along with

their catch he shoots down like lightning among them, appropriates all

he can find, and does not trouble himself in the least about the smaller

birds' disappointment.

But these vultures of the sea are still cleverer in other ways. Their

forefathers have lived on the sea for thousands of years, and their

senses have been developed to the greatest acuteness and perfection.

They know the regular winds, and can perceive from the colour of the

water if a cold or warm sea current sweeps along below them. If now our

friend the albatross, travelling westwards over the islands of

Polynesia, wishes to be carried along by the wind, he knows that he has

only to keep between the Tropic of Capricorn and the equator in order to

be in the belt of the south-east trade-wind. And no doubt he has also

noticed that this wind gives rise to the equatorial current which, broad

and strong, sets westwards across the Pacific Ocean. If he wishes to fly

north of the equator, he receives the same help from the north-east

trade-wind; but if he wanders far to the south or north of the equator,

he will meet with head winds and find that the ocean current sets

eastwards. In the northern half of the Pacific Ocean this north-easterly

current is called the Kuroshiwo, or "Black Salt." It skirts the coast of

Japan and runs right across to Canada. This current is one of the

favourite haunts of the albatross.

He knows further that the arrangement of winds and currents is just the

same in the Atlantic. There, however, the current running north-east is

called the Gulf Stream, and it is the warm water of this stream, coming

from the equator, which makes the climate of north-western Europe so

mild, and prevents even the northernmost fiords of Norway from freezing

in winter.

[Illustration: THE SOUTH SEAS.]

Meanwhile the albatross is on its course westwards, careless of winds

and currents. He heeds not the hardest storm, and, indeed, where could

he hide himself from its violence? His dwelling is the air. The sea is

high, and he skims just above the surface, rising to meet each wave and

descending into every trough, and the tips of his wings seem to dip into

the foam. The great ocean seems dreadfully dreary and deserted. The sun

glistens on the spindrift, and the albatross is reflected in the

smooth, bright roof of waves above the fairy crystal grottoes in the

depths.

He rises to see whether the island he is thinking about is visible above

the horizon. Beneath him he sees the dark, white-tipped, roaring sea.

From the west, bluish-black rain-clouds sweep up and open their

sluice-gates. Is the albatross hindered in his flight by the rain which

pelts violently down on his back and wings? Well, yes, he must certainly

be delayed, but he can foretell the weather with certainty enough to

keep clear, and he is swift enough on the wing to make his escape when

overtaken by rain. And he can always descend, fold his pinions, and rest

dancing on the waves.

The rain over, he flies higher up again and now sees Easter Island,

which from an immense depth rises above the water, terribly lonely in

the great ocean. On a sloping beach he sees several monuments of stone,

thirty feet high, in the form of human heads. They mark graves, and are

memorials of a long-vanished settlement. Now there are only about 150

natives on Easter Island, and even these are doomed to extinction. Three

white men live on the island, but it is long since news was heard of

them, for no vessel has touched there for several years. Of other living

things only rats, goats, fowls, and sea birds exist on the island.

At some distance to the north-east lies Sala-y-Gomez, a small island of

perfectly bare rocks, only inhabited by sea-fowl, and there the

albatross pays a passing visit. Now he rises again and continues his

flight westwards. Soon he comes to a swarm of insignificant islands

called the Low Archipelago. So we name the islands, but the dark-skinned

natives who by some mysterious fortune have been banished to them call

them Paumotu, or "Island Cloud." A poet could not have conceived a

better name. There lie eighty-five groups of islands, each consisting of

innumerable holms. They are really a cloud of islets, like a nebula or

star mist in the sky, and this swarm is only one among many others

studding all the western part of the Pacific Ocean.

Now the albatross soars round the rocks of the "Island Cloud." He can

see them easily from up above, but it is a harder matter for a vessel to

make its way between the treacherous rocks and reefs. Though they are so

many, the aggregate area amounts to less than four square miles. Almost

all are formed of coral, and most of them are atolls. Reef--building

corals are small animals which extract lime from the water. They

multiply by budding, and every group forms a common clan where living

and dead members rest side by side. Coral animalculæ demand for their

existence a firm, hard sea bottom, crystal-clear water, sufficient

nutriment brought to them by waves and currents, and lastly a water

temperature not falling below 68°. Therefore they occur only in tropical

seas and near the surface, for the water becomes colder with the depth.

At depths greater than 160 feet they are rare. They die and increase

again and again, and therefore the coral reefs grow in height and

breadth, and only the height of water at ebb tide puts a limit to their

upward growth. The continual surf of the sea and stormy waves often

break off whole blocks of coral limestone, which roll down and break up

into sand. With this all cavities are filled in, and thus the action of

the sea helps to consolidate and strengthen the reef. Other

lime-extracting animalculæ and also seaweeds establish themselves on the

reef. In the course of time the waves throw up loose blocks on the top

of the reef, so that parts of it are always above the water-level. When

the water rises during flood-tide, white foaming surf indicates the

position of the reef at a long distance. During the ebb the reef itself

is exposed and the sea is quiet. Between ebb and flood the fairway is

dangerous, for there is nothing to warn a vessel, and it may run right

on to a coral reef and be lost.

Reefs have various forms and lengths. The great Barrier Reef, which lies

off the north-east coast of Australia, is 1200 miles long. When reefs

form circles they are called atolls. By means of winds, birds, and ocean

currents, seeds are carried about the ocean, and strike root on any

parts of the reef which lie above the level of the flood-tide. In the

fulness of time the atoll is completed, built up by animalculæ and

plants. The "Island Cloud" is the largest continuous atoll region in all

the world. There the circular coral islands lie like a collection of

garlands thrown down upon the sea. Within them the water may be as much

as 230 feet deep, and in the lagoons of some atolls all the fleets of

the world could find room. The minute coral animalculæ have provided by

their industrious labour shelter for the largest vessels.

On many of the atolls grow cocoa palms, and only then are the

ring-shaped islands inhabitable. How curious they look to one

approaching on a vessel! Only the crowns of the palms are seen above the

horizon; the island, being low, is out of sight. One might be coming to

an oasis in the boundless Sahara. At last the solid coral ground of

the island comes into sight (Plate XXXVII.). Breakers dash against the

outer side of the ring, but the lagoon within is smooth as a mirror in

the lea of the corals and palms.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXVII. A CORAL STRAND.]

Four thousand natives of Polynesian race live on the holms of the

"Island Cloud," a couple of hundred on each atoll. They gather pearls

and mother-of-pearl, and barter them for European goods at a

ridiculously low price. On some islands, bread-fruit trees, pineapples,

and bananas are grown. Animal life is very poor--rats, parrots, pigeons,

thrushes, and lizards--but all the richer is the life in the sea

outside. The natives are most excellent seamen, and it is hard to

believe that they are lifelong prisoners on their islands. They sail

with sails of matting made by the women, and have outriggers which give

stability to their boats, and they cross boldly from island to island.

What does the albatross care if the French have hoisted their

tricoloured flag over the atolls of the "Island Cloud" and their nearest

neighbours to the west? He is absolute ruler over them all, and seizes

his prey where he will.

Now he makes for the Society Islands, and takes a circuit round the

largest of them, Tahiti, the finest and best known of all the islands in

the southern sea. There again he sees volcanoes long since extinct,

grand wild cliffs thickly covered with wood, impenetrable clumps of

ferns, and luxuriant grass, while down the slopes dance lively brooks to

the lagoon separated from the sea by the breakwaters of the coral

master-builders. On the strand grow the ever-present cocoa palms, as

distinctive of the islands of the southern sea as the date palms are of

the desert regions of the Old World. Here the weather is beautiful, a

warm, equable, tropical sea climate with only three or four degrees

difference between winter and summer. The south-east trade-wind blows

all the year round, and storms are rare visitors. The rain is moderate,

and fever is unknown.

The natives take a bright and happy view of life. They deck their hair

with wreaths of flowers, their gait is light and easy, and they knew no

sorrow until the white man came and spoiled their life and liberty.

Now the original inhabitants of Tahiti are dying out, and are being

replaced by Chinamen, Europeans, and natives from other islands to the

north-west. They still, however, till their fields, put out their

fishing-canoes in the lagoon, and pull down cocoa-nuts in their season.

They still wear wreaths of flowers in their hair, a last relic of a

happier existence. Pigeons coo in the trees, and green and blue and

white parrots utter their ear-piercing screams. Horses, cattle, sheep,

goats, and swine are newcomers; lizards, scorpions, flies, and

mosquitoes are indigenous. The luxuriant gardens with their natural

charms Europeans have not been able to destroy, and the frigate bird,

the eagle of the sea, with the tail feathers of which the chiefs of

Tahiti used to decorate their heads, still roosts in the trees on the

strand, and seeks its food far out in the sea. The albatross cannot but

notice the frigate bird. He sees in him a rival. The latter does not

make such long journeys, and does not venture so far out to sea; but he

is a master in the art of flying, and he is an unconscionable thief. He

follows dolphins and other fishes of prey to appropriate their catch,

and forces other birds to relinquish their food when they are in the act

of swallowing it. When fishermen are out drawing up their nets, he skims

so low over the boat that he may be stunned with an oar, and he is so

attracted by bright and gaudy colours that he will shoot down recklessly

on to the pennants of ships as they flutter in the wind, swinging to and

fro with the roll of the vessel. He soars to an immense height, like the

eagle, and no telescope can match the sharpness of his eyesight. Up

aloft he can see the smallest fish disporting itself on the surface of

the water. Especially he looks out for flying-fish, and catches them in

the air just as they are hovering on expanded fins above the waves, or

else dives after them and seizes them down below. When he has caught a

fish he soars aloft, and if the fish does not lie comfortably in his

bill he drops it, and catches it again before it reaches the water; and

he will do this repeatedly until the fish is in a convenient position

for swallowing.

Our far-travelled storm-bird continues his long journey westwards, and

his next resting-place is the Samoa Islands, which he recognises by

their lofty volcanic cliffs, their tuff and lava, their beautiful woods

and waterfalls, as much as 650 feet high, and surrounded by the most

luxuriant vegetation. Over the copses of ferns, and climbing plants, and

shrubs, reminding one of India, flutter beautiful butterflies.

Around their oval huts, with roof of sugar-cane leaves and the floor

inside covered with cocoa mats, are seen the yellowish-brown

Polynesians, of powerful build and proud bearing. The upper parts of

their bodies are bare, and they wear necklaces of shells and teeth, deck

themselves with flowers and feathers, smear their bodies with cocoa oil,

and tattoo themselves. Of a peaceful and happy disposition, they, too,

have been disturbed by white men, and have been forced to cede their

islands to Germany and the United States.

It rains abundantly on the Samoa Islands. Black clouds sink down towards

the sea, violent waterspouts suck up the water in spiral columns which

spread out above like the crowns of pine-trees, and deluges of rain come

down, lasting sometimes for weeks. Everything becomes wet and sodden,

and it is useless to try to light a fire with matches. Almost every year

these islands are visited by sudden whirlwinds, which do great damage

both on sea and land. Wreckage is thrown up on the shore, fields and

plantations are destroyed, leaves fly like feathers from the cocoa

palms, and if the storm is one of the worst kind, the trees themselves

fall in long rows as if they had been mown down by a gigantic scythe.

The albatross knows of old the course of the great steamboat liners. He

sees several steamers at the Samoa Islands, and afterwards on his flight

to the Fiji Islands, and if the weather is overcast and stormy he leaves

his fishing-grounds in the great ocean deserts and makes for some

well-known steamer route. For in stormy weather he can find no soft

cephalopods, but from a vessel refuse is thrown out in all weathers. He

knows that the Samoa Islands are in regular communication with the

Sandwich Islands, and that from these navigation routes radiate out like

a star to Asia, America, and Australia.

He sails proudly past the Fiji Islands. He does not trouble himself to

make an excursion to the Solomon Islands and the world of islands lying

like piers of fallen bridges on the way to the coast of Asia. Though New

Caledonia is so near on the west, he is not attracted to it, as the

French use it as a penal settlement.

Rather will he trim his wings for the south, and soon he sees the

mountains on the northern island of New Zealand rise above the horizon.

Among them stands Tongariro's active volcano with its seven craters, and

north-east of it lies the crater lake Taupo among cliffs of

pumice-stone. North of this lake are many smaller ones, round which

steam rises from hot springs, and where many fine geysers shoot up,

playing like fountains.

He sees that on the southern island the mountains skirt the western

coast just as in Scandinavia, that mighty glaciers descend from the

eternal snow-fields, and that their streams lose themselves in most

beautiful Alpine lakes. He gives a passing glance at the lofty mountain

named after the great navigator Cook, which is 12,360 feet high. On the

plains and slopes shepherds tend immense flocks of sheep. The woods are

evergreen. In the north grow pines, whose trunks form long avenues, and

whose crowns are like vaultings in a venerable cathedral. There grow

beeches, and tree-ferns, and climbing plants; but the palms come to an

end half-way down the southern island, for the southernmost part of the

island is too cold for them.

Formerly both islands were inhabited by Maoris. They tattooed the whole

of their bodies in fine and tasteful patterns, but were cannibals and

stuck their enemies' heads on poles round their villages. Now there are

only forty thousand of them left, and even these are doomed to

extinction through white men--as in the struggle between the brown and

black rats. Formerly the Maoris stalked about with their war clubs over

their shoulders; now they work as day labourers in the service of the

whites.

At last our albatross rises high above the coast and speeds swiftly

southwards to the small island of Auckland. There he meets his mate, and

for several days they are terribly busy in making ready their nest. They

collect reeds, rushes, and dry grass, which they knit into a kind of

high, round ball. The month of November is come and the summer has

begun. In the southern hemisphere midsummer comes at Christmas and

midwinter at the end of June. Then the albatrosses assemble in enormous

flocks at Auckland and other small, lonely islands to breed.

ACROSS AUSTRALIA

There are still districts in the interior of the fifth continent which

have never been visited by Europeans. There stretch vast sandy deserts

and the country is very dry, for the rain of the south-east trade-wind

falls on the mountain ranges of the east, where also the rivers flow.

Fifty years ago very little was known of the interior of Australia, and

a large reward was offered to the man who should first cross the

continent from sea to sea.

Accordingly a big expedition was set on foot. It was equipped by the

colony of Victoria. Large sums of money were contributed, and Robert

Burke was chosen as leader. He was a bold and energetic man, but wanting

in cool-headedness and the quiet, sure judgment necessary to conduct an

expedition through unknown and desolate country.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXVIII. COUNTRY NEAR LAKE EYRE.]

Two dozen camels with their drivers were procured from north-west India.

Provisions were obtained for a year, and all the articles purchased,

even to the smallest trifles, were of the best quality money could buy.

With such an equipment all Australia might have been explored little by

little. When the expedition set out from Melbourne, the capital of

Victoria, there was great enthusiasm; many people came out really to to

look at the camels, for they had never seen this animal before, but most

of them looked forward to a triumph in geographical exploration.

Burke was not alone. He had as many as fifteen Europeans with him. Some

of them were men of science, who were to investigate the peculiar

vegetation of the country, and the singular marsupials, the character of

the rocks, the climate, and so on. One of them was named Wills. Others

were servants, and had to look after the horses and transport.

The caravan started on August 20, 1860. That was the first mistake, for

the heat and drought were then setting in. The men marched on

undismayed, however, crossed Australia's largest river, the Murray, and

came to its tributary, the Darling. There a permanent camp was pitched,

and the larger part of the caravan was left there. Burke, Wills, and six

other Europeans went on with five horses and sixteen camels towards the

north-west, and in twenty-one days reached the river Cooper, which runs

into Lake Eyre.

Here another camp was set up, several excursions were made in the

neighbourhood, and a messenger was sent to the Darling to hurry up the

men left behind. The messenger loitered, however, one week passed after

another, and when nothing was heard of the men, Burke decided to march

northwards with only three companions, Wills and the two servants King

and Gray, six camels, two horses, and provisions for three months, and

cross the continent to the coast of Queensland on the Gulf of

Carpentaria. The other four were to remain with their horses and camels

where they were until Burke came back, and were to leave the place only

if absolutely obliged to do so.

All went well at first, but the country was troublesome and rough, wild

and undulating (Plate XXXVIII.). As long as the explorers followed the

sandy bed of the Cooper River they found pools of water in sufficient

numbers. At midday the temperature in the shade was 97°, but it fell at

night to 73°, when they felt quite cold.

Then they passed from bed to bed of temporary streams, carrying water

only in the rainy season, and there the usual pools of water remained in

the shade of dense copses of grass-trees, boxwood and gum-trees or

eucalyptus. The last named were evidently not of the same species as the

world-renowned blue gum-tree which occurs in Victoria and Tasmania, for

this dries up marshes and unhealthy tracts and grows to its height of 65

feet in seven years. But the giant gum-tree is still more remarkable,

for it attains a height of over 400 feet, and another species of

eucalyptus has reached 500 feet.

The party had also to cross dreary plains of sand and tracts of clay

cracked by the drought, and there they had to have their leather sacks

filled with water. Sometimes they saw flocks of pigeons flying

northwards, and were sure of finding water soon if they followed in the

same direction. At some places there had been rain, so that a little

grass had sprung up; in others the saltbushes were perishing from

drought.

The animal life was very scanty. In the brief notes of the expedition

few forms are mentioned except pigeons and ducks, wild geese, pelicans

and certain other waders, parrots, snakes, fishes, and rats. They saw no

kangaroos--those curious jumping and springing animals which carry their

young for seven months in a pouch on the belly, and are as peculiar to

Australia as the llama to South America; nor do the travellers speak of

dingoes, the wild dogs of Australia, which are a terror to sheep

farmers.

They saw Australian blacks clad with shields, long spears, and

boomerangs, and nothing else. These naked, low-typed savages sometimes

gave them fish in exchange for beads, matches, and other trifles. They

were active as monkeys in the trees when they were hunting the beasts of

the forest, but when they saw the camels they usually took to their

heels. They had never seen such kangaroos before, with long legs both

back and front, and also humpbacked.

After the travellers had crossed a hilly tract they had not far to go to

the coast. From the last camp Burke and Wills marched through swamps and

woods of palms and mangroves, but they never caught sight of the waters

of the Gulf of Carpentaria. Forests hid them and swamps intervened when

they were quite close to the shore. Burke had attained his aim: he had

crossed Australia. But his exploit was of little use or satisfaction,

least of all to himself, for his return was a succession of disasters,

the most terrible journey ever undertaken in the fifth continent.

Thunder, lightning, and deluges of rain marked the start southwards. The

lightning flashes followed one another so closely that the palms and

gum-trees were lighted up in the middle of the night as in the day. The

ground was turned into a continuous swamp. In order to spare the camels,

the tents had been left behind. Everything became moist, and the men

grew languid; and when the rain ceased drought set in again and

oppressive, suffocating heat, so that they longed for night as for a

friend.

An emaciated horse was left behind. A snake eight feet long was killed,

and following the example of the savages they ate its flesh, but were

sick after it. Once when they were encamping in a cave in a valley, a

downpour of rain came, filled the valley, and threatened to carry away

themselves and their camp. Mosquitoes tormented them, and sometimes they

had to lose a day when the ground was turned into slough by the rain.

One man sickened and died, but on April 21 the three men were in sight

of the camp where their comrades had been ordered to await their return.

Burke thought that he could see them in the distance. How eager they

were to get there! Here they would find all necessaries, and, above all,

would be saved from starvation, which had already carried off one of the

four.

But the spot was deserted. Not a living thing remained. There were only

on a tree trunk the words "Dig. April 21." They digged and found a

letter telling them that their comrades had left the place the same day,

only a few hours before. Fortunately they found also a supply of flour,

rice, sugar, and dried meat enough to last them until they reached a

station inhabited by whites. But where were the clothes to replace their

worn rags, which would scarcely hang together on their bodies? After

four months of hard travelling and constant privations they were so

overcome by weariness that every step was an effort, and now they had

come to the camp only to find that their comrades had gone off the same

day, neglecting their duty. Fate could not have treated them more

cruelly.

Burke asked Wills and King whether they thought that they could overtake

their comrades, but both answered no. Their last two camels were worn

out, whereas the animals of the other men were, according to the letter,

in excellent condition. A sensible man would have tried to reach them,

or at least have followed their trail, and this Wills and King wanted

to do. But Burke proposed a more westerly route, which he expected would

be better and safer, and which led to the town of Adelaide in South

Australia. It ran past Mount Hopeless, an unlucky name.

All went well at first, as long as they had flour and rice and could

obtain from the natives fish and _nardoo_, ground seeds of the clover

fern. They even ate rats, roasting them whole on the embers, skin and

all, and found them well flavoured. One camel died, and the other soon

refused to move. He supplied them with a store of meat. But their

provisions came to an end, and, what was worse, water ceased on the way

to Mount Hopeless.

Then they decided to return to the abandoned camp. On the way they kept

alive on fish which they sometimes procured from natives, having nothing

else but _nardoo_ seeds plucked from the clover fern. Half dead with

hunger and weariness they came back to the camp.

Midwinter, the end of June, was come, and the nights were cold. It was

decided that Burke and King should go out and look for natives. Wills

was unable to go with them, and was given a small supply of seeds and

water.

After two days slow travelling Burke could go no farther. King shot a

crow, which they ate, but Burke's strength was exhausted. One evening he

said to his servant, "I hope that you will remain with me until I am

really dead. Then leave me without burying me." Next morning he was

dead.

Then King hurried back to Wills and found him dead also. The last words

he had entered, four days before, in his journal were: "Can live four or

five days longer at most, if it keeps warm. Pulse 48, very weak."

When the travellers were not heard of, the worst fears were entertained,

and relief expeditions were despatched from Melbourne, Adelaide, and

Brisbane, and in Sydney and other towns Burke's fate was discussed with

anxiety. At length they found King, who had gained the confidence of the

natives and had sojourned with them for two months, living as they did.

He was unrecognisable and half out of his mind, but he recovered under

the careful treatment he received. The two dead men were buried, Burke

wrapped in the Union Jack. Later on his remains were carried to

Melbourne, where a fine monument marks his grave. This is almost all

that remains of an expedition which started out with such fair

prospects, but which came to grief at the foot of Mount Hopeless.

VI

THE NORTH POLAR REGIONS

SIR JOHN FRANKLIN AND THE NORTH-WEST PASSAGE

We have now surveyed the earth's mainland, islands, and seas. We have

seen how man by his endurance and thirst for knowledge has penetrated

everywhere, how he has wandered over the hottest deserts and the coldest

mountains. The nearer we come to our own times, the more eager have

explorers become, and we no longer suffer blank patches to exist on our

maps. The most obstinate resistance to the advance of man has been

presented by the Poles and their surroundings, where the margin of the

eternal ice seems to call out a peremptory "Thus far shalt thou come,

but no farther." But even the boundless ice-packs could not deter the

bold and resolute seafarers. One vessel after another was lost, crew and

all, but the icy sea was constantly ploughed by fresh keels. The North

Pole naturally exercised the greater attraction, for it lies nearer to

Europe, amidst the Arctic Ocean, which is enclosed between the coasts of

Asia, Europe, and North America.

In the "forties" of last century, English and American explorers were

occupied in searching for a north-west passage, or a navigable channel

for vessels making by the shortest route from the North Atlantic to the

Pacific Ocean. Let us look at the story of a famous expedition which set

out to find this passage.

Sir John Franklin was an officer in the Royal Navy. He had led

expeditions by land and sea, in both the northern and southern

hemispheres, and in particular had mapped considerable areas of the

north coast of America east of Behring Strait. Most of the coast of the

mainland was thus known, and it remained only to find a channel between

the large islands to the north of it. Such a passage must exist, but

whether it was available for navigation was another question. A number

of learned and experienced men decided to send out a large and

well-furnished expedition for the purpose of effecting the north-west

passage. The whole English people took up the scheme with enthusiasm.

Hundreds of courageous men volunteered for the voyage, and Admiral Sir

John Franklin was appointed leader of the expedition, from which neither

he nor any of his subordinates was ever to return.

[Illustration: THE NORTH POLAR REGIONS.]

The ships chosen were the _Erebus_ and _Terror_, which (as we shall see

later) had already made a voyage to South Polar regions, and which were

now refitted from keel to topmasts. Captain Crozier was the second in

command and captain of the _Terror_, while Franklin hoisted his flag on

the _Erebus_, where Captain James was under him. The members of the

expedition were chosen with the greatest care, and when they were all

mustered, the vessels had on board twenty-three officers and a hundred

and eleven men. Provisions were taken for three years, and the vessels

were fitted with small auxiliary engines, which had never before been

tried in Polar seas.

The constituted authorities drew up a plan which Franklin was to follow,

but he was left free to act as he thought proper when circumstances

demanded alterations. The main thing was to sail north of America from

the Atlantic side and come out into the Pacific Ocean through Behring

Strait.

The _Erebus_ and _Terror_ left England on May 19, 1845. All officers and

men were full of the most lively expectations of success, and were

resolved to do all in their power to achieve the object of the

expedition. They passed the Orkney Islands and on Midsummer Day saw the

southern extremity of Greenland, Cape Farewell, disappear to windward.

Next day they encountered the first ice, huge floating icebergs of wild,

jagged form or washed into rounded lumps by the action of the waves, and

ten days later the ships anchored near Disko Island, on the west coast

of Greenland. Here they met another vessel which had come up north with

an additional store of provisions and equipment. Its captain, the last

man who spoke with Franklin and the members of the expedition, said that

he had never seen a finer set of men so well prepared and so eager for

their work. He thought that they could go anywhere.

On July 26 the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ were seen, for the last time, by an

English whaler. After that day the fate of the most unfortunate of all

Polar expeditions was involved in an obscurity much denser than that

which surrounded Gordon in Khartum after the telegraph line was cut.

What is known only came to light many years later through the relief

expeditions that were sent out, or was communicated by parties of

wandering Eskimos.

Meanwhile the voyage was continued north-westwards between two large

islands into Lancaster Sound. Soon progress was delayed by masses of

pack ice, and the engines were found to be so weak that they could be

used only in smooth, open water. In another sound, to the north, the

water was open, and here the ships managed to sail 150 miles before the

ice set fast again. Then they passed through another open sound back to

the south. Early autumn had now come, and all the hills and mountains

were covered with snow and fresh ice was forming in the sound. Here

Franklin laid the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ up for the winter, having found

fairly sheltered anchorage at a small island.

What kind of life the men led on board during the long winter we do not

know. We can only conjecture that the officers read and studied, and

that the men were employed in throwing up banks of snow reaching up

above the bulwarks to keep in the warmth; that snow huts were built on

the ice and on land for scientific observations; and that a hole was

kept open day and night that water might always be procurable in case of

fire when the pumps were frozen into pillars of ice. When the long night

was over and February came with a faint illumination to the south, and

when the sky grew brighter day by day till at last the expedition

welcomed the return of the sun, probably men and officers made

excursions to the neighbouring islands to hunt. Their hopes revived with

the increasing light. Only 260 miles of unknown coast remained of the

north-west passage, and they believed that the New Year would see them

return home. The sun remained longer and longer above the horizon, and

at last the long Polar day commenced.

When the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ were released in late summer from their

prison of ice, and the small island could at last be left, three sailors

remained on the beach. Their gravestones, carved with a few simple

words, were found five years later by a relief expedition, and they

constitute the only proof that Franklin wintered at this particular

spot.

To the south lay an open channel, and this southern passage must in time

bend to the west. Mile after mile the vessels sailed southwards,

carefully avoiding the drifting ice. East and west were seen the coasts

of islands, and in front, in the distance, could be descried King

William Land, a large island which is the nearest neighbour to the

mainland. The north-west passage was nearly accomplished, for it was now

only about 120 miles westward to coasts already known. How hopelessly

long this distance seemed, however, when the vessels were caught in the

grip of the ice only a day or two later! Firmer and firmer the ice froze

and heaped itself up round the _Erebus_ and _Terror_; the days became

shorter, the second winter drew on with rapid strides, and preparations

to meet it were made as in the preceding year. The vessels lay frozen in

on the seventieth parallel, or a little south of the northernmost

promontory of Scandinavia; but here there was no Gulf Stream to keep the

sea open with its warm water. Little did the officers and crew suspect

that the waves would never again splash round the hulls of the _Erebus_

and _Terror_.

We can well believe that they were not so cheerful this winter as in the

former. The vessels were badly placed in the ice, in an open roadstead

without the shelter of a coast. They lay as in a vice, and the hulls

creaked and groaned under the constant pressure. Life on board such an

imprisoned vessel must be full of unrest. The vessel seems to moan and

complain, and pray that it may escape to the waves again. The men must

wonder how long it will hold out, and must be always prepared for a

deafening crash when the planks will give way and the ship, crushed like

a nutshell, will sink at once. But worst of all is the darkness when the

sun sets for the last time.

However, the winter passed at last, and the sun came back. It grew

gradually light in the passages below deck, and it was no longer

necessary to light a candle to read by in the evening. Soon there was no

night at all, but the sun shone the whole twenty-four hours, and all the

brighter because the vessels were surrounded by nothing but ice and

snow. Far to the south and east were seen the hills on King William

Land. If only the ice would release its hold and begin to drift! But the

pack-ice still remained to the westward, and it was possible of course

that the vessels had been damaged by the pressure.

Two officers with six men undertook a journey to the south coast of King

William Land, whence the mainland of North America could be descried in

clear weather. At their turning-point they deposited in a cairn a

narrative of the most important events that had happened on board up to

date. This small document was found many years after. The little party

returned with good news and bright hopes, but found sorrow on the ships.

Admiral Franklin lay on his deathbed. The suspense had lasted too long

for him. He just heard that the north-west passage had been practically

discovered, and died a few days later, in June, 1847. This was fortunate

for him. His life had been a career of manliness and courage, and he

might well go to sleep with a smile of victory on his lips. But we can

imagine the gloom cast upon the expedition by the death of its leader.

It was now the season when the ice begins to move, and open water may

be expected. No doubt they made excursions in all directions to find out

where the surge of the salt sea was nearest. Perhaps they resorted to

ice saws and powder to get out, but in vain; the ice held them fast.

However, they were delighted to find that the whole pack was moving

southwards. Could they reach the mainland in this way? A great American

company, named after Hudson's Bay, had small trading-posts far in the

north. If they could only reach one of them they would be saved.

Autumn came on, and their hope of getting free was disappointed. To try

and reach the mainland now when winter was approaching was not to be

thought of, for in winter no game is to be found in these endless

wastes, and a journey southwards meant therefore death by starvation. In

summer, on the other hand, there was a prospect of falling in with

reindeer and musk oxen, those singular Polar animals as much like sheep

as oxen, which live on lichens and mosses and do not wander farther

south than the sixtieth parallel. In the western half of North America

the southern limit of the musk ox coincides with the northern limit of

trees. A herd of twenty or thirty musk oxen would have saved Franklin's

distressed mariners. If they could only have found Polar bears, or, even

better, seals or whales, with their thick layer of blubber beneath the

hide; and Arctic hares would not have been despised if in sufficient

numbers! But the season was too far advanced, and the wild animals had

retreated before the cold and the abundant snow which covered their

scanty food. No doubt the officers deliberated on the plan they should

adopt. They had maps and books on board and knew fairly accurately how

far they had to travel to the nearest trading-posts of the Hudson's Bay

Company, and on the way they had every prospect of finding game and

meeting Eskimos. It was decided to pass the third winter on board.

The cold increased day by day, and the length of the days became

shorter. The sun still rose, described a flat arch to the south, and

sank after an hour and a half. Soon the days lasted only half an hour,

until one day they had only a glimpse of the sun's upper curve

glittering for a moment like a flashing ruby above the horizon. Next day

there was twilight at noon, but at any rate there was a reflection of

the sunset red. During the following weeks the gloominess became more

and more intense. At noon, however, there was still a perceptible light,

and the blood-red streak appeared to the south, throwing a dull purple

tinge over the ice-pack. Then this dim illumination faded away also,

and the Polar night, which at this latitude lasts sixty days and at the

North Pole itself six months, was come, and the stars sparkled like

torches on the bluish-black background even when the bell struck midday

in the officers' mess.

Those who for the first time winter in high northern latitudes find a

wonderful charm even in the Polar night. They are astonished at the deep

silence in the cold darkness, at the rushing, moaning howl of the

snowstorms, and even at the overwhelming solitude and the total absence

of life. Nothing, however, excites their astonishment and admiration so

much as the "northern lights." We know that the magnetic and electric

forces of the earth time after time envelop practically the whole globe

in a mantle of light, but this mysterious phenomenon is still

unexplained. Usually the aurora is inconstant. It flashes out suddenly,

quivers for a moment in the sky, and then grows pale and vanishes. Most

lasting are the bow-shaped northern lights, which sometimes stretch

their milk-white arches high above the horizon. It may be that only one

half of the arch is visible, rising like a pillar of light over the

field of vision. Another time the aurora takes the form of flames and

rays, red below and green above, and darting rapidly over the sky.

Farther north the light is more yellowish. If groups of rays seem to

converge to the same point, they are described as an auroral crown.

Beautiful colours change quickly in these bundles of rays, but

exceedingly seldom is the light as strong as that of the full moon. The

light is grandest when it seems to fall like unrolled curtains

vertically down, and is in undulating motion as though it fluttered in

the wind.

To the sailors in the ice-bound ships, however, the northern lights had

lost their fascination. Enfeebled and depressed, disgusted with bad

provisions, worn out with three years' hardships, they lay on their

berths listening to the ticking of their watches. The only break in

their monotonous existence was when a death occurred. The carpenter had

plenty of work, and Captain Crozier knew the funeral service by heart.

Nine officers and eleven of the crew died during the last two winters,

and certainly a far greater number in the third. This we know from a

small slip of paper well sealed up and deposited in a cairn on the

coast, which was found eleven years afterwards.

At length the months of darkness again came to an end. The red streak

appeared once more in the south, and it gradually grew lighter.

Twilight followed in the footsteps of darkness, and at last the first

sun's rays glistened above the horizon. Then the men awakened once more

to new hope; Brahmins on the bank of the Ganges never welcomed the

rising sun with more delight.

With increasing daylight came greater opportunity and disposition to

work. Several sledges were made ready, heavy and clumsy, but strong.

Three whale-boats, which for three years had hung fast frozen to the

davits, were loosened and hauled on to the ice. The best of the

provisions still remaining in the store-room were taken out, and great

piles of things were raised round the boats. When everything to be taken

was down on the ice, the stores, tents, instruments, guns, ammunition,

and all the other articles were packed on the sledges. The three

whale-boats were bound with ropes, each on a separate sledge, and a

sledge with a comfortable bed was assigned to the invalids. During all

this work the days had grown longer, and at last the men could no longer

control their eagerness to set out. This early start sealed their fate,

for neither game nor Eskimos come up so far north till the summer is

well advanced, and even with the sledges fully laden, their provisions

would last only forty days.

On April 22, 1848, the signal for departure was given, and the heavy

sledges creaked slowly and in jerks over the uneven snow-covered ice.

Axes, picks, and spades were constantly in use to break to pieces the

sharp ridges and blocks in the way. The distance to King William Land

was only 15 miles, yet it took them three days to get there. The masts

and hulls of the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ grew smaller all too slowly, but

they vanished at last. Captain Crozier perceived that it was impossible

to proceed in this manner, so all the baggage was looked through again

and every unnecessary article was discarded. At this place one of the

relief expeditions found quantities of things, uniform decorations,

brass buttons, metal articles, etc., which no doubt had been thought

suitable for barter with Eskimos and Indians.

With lightened sledges, they marched on along the west coast. They had

not travelled far when John Irving, lieutenant on the _Terror_, died.

Dressed in his uniform, wrapped in sailcloth, and with a silk

handkerchief round his head, he was interred between stones set on end

and covered with a flat slab. On his head was laid a silver medal with

an inscription on the obverse side, "Second prize in Mathematics at the

Royal Naval College. Awarded to John Irving, Midsummer, 1830." Owing to

the medal the deceased officer was identified long after, and so in time

was laid to rest in his native town.

Two bays on the west coast of King William Land have been named after

the unfortunate ships. At the shore of the northern, Erebus Bay, the

strength of the English seamen was so weakened that they had to abandon

two of the boats, together with the sledges on which they had been drawn

so far uselessly. At their arrival at Terror Bay the bonds of

comradeship were no longer strong enough to keep the party together, or

it may be that they agreed to separate. They were now less than a

hundred men. At any rate, they divided into two parties, probably of

nearly equal strength. The one, which evidently consisted of the more

feeble, turned back towards the ships, where at least they would obtain

shelter against wind and weather, and where there were provisions left.

The other continued along the south coast with the whale-boat, and

intended to cross to the mainland and try to reach the Great Fish River.

No doubt, when they had been succoured themselves, they meant to return

to their distressed comrades.

Terrible must have been the march of the returning party, and terrible

also that of those who went on. Of the former we know next to nothing.

The latter marched and marched, dragging their heavy sledges after them

till they died one after another. There was no longer any thought of

burying the dead. Every one had to take care of himself. If a dying man

lagged behind, the others could not stop on his account. Some died as

they were walking: this was proved afterwards by the skeletons which

were found lying on their faces. Not a trace of game was found in May

and June on the island, and they dragged their heavy ammunition boxes

and guns to no purpose, not firing a shot.

Now the small remnant waited only for open water to cross the sound to

the mainland. At the beginning of June the ice broke up, and it may be

taken for granted that at this time the survivors actually crossed, for

the boat was afterwards found in a bay called Starvation Cove. If only

the boat had been found here, it might have been drifted over by wind

and waves; but skeletons and articles both in and outside the boat were

found, showing that it was manned when it passed over the sound and when

it landed.

Many circumstances connected with this sad journey are mysterious. Why

did the men drag the heavy whale-boat with them for two months when

they must have seen the mainland to the south the year before, on the

excursion which they undertook when the Admiral was lying on his

deathbed? Where the sound is narrowest it is only three miles broad;

and, besides, they could have crossed anywhere on the ice. But as all

died and as not a line in a diary came to light, we know nothing about

it.

When no news was heard of Franklin after two years, the first relief

expeditions were sent out. Time passed, and it became still more certain

that he was in need of help. In the autumn of 1850 fifteen ships were on

the outlook for him. The most courageous and energetic of all, who for

years would not give up hope of seeing him again, was Franklin's wife.

She spent all her means in relief work. In the course of six years the

English Government disbursed £890,000 in relief expeditions. Most of

them were useless, for when they set out the disaster had already taken

place. One expedition which sailed in 1848 was caught in the ice, and

resorted to a singular means of sending information to the distressed

men, wherever they might be. About a hundred foxes were caught and

fitted with brass collars, in which a short description of the position

of the relief ship was engraved, and then the foxes were let loose

again.

In 1854 the names of Franklin, Crozier, and all the other men were

removed from the muster roll of the Royal Navy. A statue of Franklin was

set up in his native town, and a memorial of marble was erected in

Westminster Abbey with the words of Tennyson:

Not here! the white North has thy bones; and thou

Heroic sailor-soul,

Art passing on thine happier voyage now

Toward no earthly pole.

THE VOYAGE OF THE "VEGA"

A brilliant remembrance of the Arctic Ocean is the pride of the Swedes.

The north-west passage had been discovered by Englishmen; but the

north-east passage, which for 350 years had been attempted by all

seafaring nations, was not yet achieved. By a series of voyages to

Spitzbergen, Greenland, and the Yenisei, Adolf Nordenskiöld had made

himself an experienced Polar voyager. He perfected a scheme to sail

along the north coasts of Europe and Asia and through the Behring

Strait out into the Pacific Ocean. His plan, then, was nothing less than

to circumnavigate Asia and Europe, an exploit which had never been

performed and which the learned declared to be impossible. It was

thought that the ice-pack always lay pressed up against the Siberian

coast, rendering it impossible to get past; parts had been already

sailed along and stretches of coasts were known, but to voyage all the

way to the Behring Strait was out of the question.

Now Nordenskiöld reasoned that the ice must begin to drift in summer,

and leave an open channel close to the land. The great Siberian rivers,

the Obi, the Yenisei, and the Lena, bring down volumes of warm water

from southern regions into the Arctic Ocean. As this water is fresh, it

must spread itself over the heavier sea water, and must form a surface

current which keeps the ice at a distance and the passage open. Along

the ice-free coast a vessel could sail anywhere and pass out into the

Pacific Ocean before the end of summer.

Accordingly he made ready for a voyage in which the _Vega_ was to sail

round Asia and Europe and carry his name to the ends of the earth. The

_Vega_ was a whaler built to encounter drift ice in the northern seas. A

staff of scientific observers was appointed, and a crew of seventeen

Swedish men-of-war's men were selected. The _Vega_ was to be the home of

thirty men, and provisions were taken for two years. Smaller vessels

were to accompany her for part of the voyage, laden with coal.

The _Vega_ left Carlskrona in June, 1878, and steamed along the coast of

Norway, past the North Cape, towards the east. The islands of Novaia

Zemlia were left behind, the waters of the Obi and Yenisei splashed

against the hull, no drift ice opposed the passage of the Swedish

vessel, and on August 19 Cape Cheliuskin, the most northern point of the

Old World, was reached.

Farther east the coast was followed to Nordenskiöld Sea. Great caution

was necessary, for the fairway was shallow, and the _Vega_ often steamed

across bays which were represented as land on maps. The delta of the

Lena was left behind, and to the east of this only small rivers enter

the sea. Nordenskiöld therefore feared that the last bit of the voyage

would be the hardest, for open water along the coast could not be

depended upon. At the end of August the most westerly of the group

called the New Siberia Islands was sighted. The _Vega_ could not go at

full speed, for the sea was shallow, and floating fragments of ice were

in the way. The prospects became brighter again, however, open water

stretching for a long distance eastwards.

On September 6 two large skin boats appeared, full of fur-clad natives

who had rowed out from land. All the men on the _Vega_, except the cook,

hastened on deck to look at these unexpected visitors of Chukchi race.

They rushed up the companion ladder, talking and laughing, and were well

received, being given tobacco, Dutch clay pipes, old clothes, and other

presents. None of the _Vega_ men understood a word they said, but the

Chukchis chattered gaily all the same, and with their hands full of

presents tumbled down to their boats again and rowed home.

Two days later the _Vega_ was in the midst of ice and fog, and had to be

moored to a floe near land. Then came more Chukchis, who pulled the

Swedes by the collar and pointed to the skin tents on land. The

invitation was accepted with pleasure by several of the _Vega_ men, who

rowed to land and went from tent to tent. In one of them reindeer meat

was boiling in a cast-iron pot over the fire. Outside another two

reindeer were being cut up. Each tent contained an inner sleeping-room

of deerskin, which was lighted and warmed by lamps of train oil. There

played small stark-naked children, plump and chubby as little pigs, and

sometimes they ran in the same light attire out over the rime between

the tents. The tiniest were carried, well wrapped up in furs, on the

backs of their fathers and mothers, and whatever pranks they played

these small wild cats never heard a harsh word from their elders.

The next day the _Vega_ tried to continue her voyage, but the fog was

too dense, and the shelter of a mass of ground ice had again to be

sought. Nordenskiöld was, however, sure of gaining the Pacific Ocean in

a short time, and when fresh visitors came on board he distributed

tobacco and other presents among them with a lavish hand. He also

distributed a number of _krona_[21] pieces and fifty earrings which, if

any misfortune happened to the _Vega_, would serve to show her course.

During the following days the ice closed up and fog lay dense over the

sea. Only now and then could the vessel sail a short distance, and then

was stopped and had to moor again. On September 18 the vessel glided

gently and cautiously between huge blocks of grounded ice like castle

walls and towers of glass. Here patience and great care were necessary,

for the coast was unknown and there was frequently barely a span of

water beneath the keel. The captain stood on the bridge, and wherever

there was a gap between the ice-blocks he made for it. It was only

possible to sail in the daytime, and at night the _Vega_ lay fastened by

her ice anchors. One calm and fine evening some of our seafarers went

ashore and lighted an enormous bonfire of driftwood. Here they sat

talking of the warm countries they would sail past for two months. They

were only a few miles from the easternmost extremity of Asia at Behring

Strait.

The _Vega_ had anchored on the eastern side of Koliuchin Bay. It was

September 28. Newly formed ice had stretched a tough sheet between the

scattered blocks of ground ice, and to the east lay an ice-belt barely

six miles broad. If only a south wind would spring up, the pack would

drift northwards, and the last short bit of the north-east passage would

be traversed.

But the Fates decreed otherwise. No wind appeared, the temperature fell,

and the ice increased in thickness. If the _Vega_ had come a few hours

sooner, she would not have been stopped on the very threshold of the

Pacific Ocean. And how easily might these few hours have been saved

during the voyage! The _Vega_ was entrapped so unexpectedly in the ice

that there was not even time to look for safe and sheltered winter

quarters. She lay about a mile from the coast exposed to the northern

storms. Under strong ice pressure she might easily drift southwards, run

aground, capsize, or be crushed.

The ice-pack became heavier in all directions, and by October 10 the

Chukchis were able to come out on foot to the vessel. Preparations were

made for the winter. High banks of snow were thrown up around, and on

the deck a thick layer of snow was left to keep the heat in. From the

bridge to the bow was stretched a large awning, under which the Chukchis

were received daily. It was like a market-place, and here barter trade

was carried on. A collection of household utensils, implements of the

chase, clothes, and indeed everything which the northern people made

with their own hands, was acquired during the winter.

The _Vega_ soon became quite a rendezvous for the three hundred Chukchis

living in the neighbourhood, and one team of dogs after another came

daily rushing through the snow. They had small, light sledges drawn by

six to ten dogs, shaggy and strong, but thin and hungry. The dogs had to

lie waiting in the snow on the ice while their masters sat bargaining

under the large awning. At every baking on board special loaves were

made for the native visitors, who would sit by the hour watching the

smith shaping the white hot iron on his anvil. Women and children were

regaled with sugar and cakes, and all the visitors went round and looked

about just as they liked on the deck, where a quantity of articles,

weapons, and utensils lay about. Not the smallest trifle disappeared.

The Chukchis were honest and decent people, and the only roguery they

permitted themselves was to try and persuade the men of the _Vega_ that

a skinned and decapitated fox was a hare. When it grew dusk the fur-clad

Polar savages went down the staircase of ice from the deck, put their

teams in order, took their seats in the sledges, and set off again over

the ice to their tents of reindeer skins.

The winter was stormy and severe. Clouds of snow swept over the ice,

fine and dry as flour. Again and again the cold scene was lighted up by

the arcs of the aurora. In the middle of December the planks in the

sides of the _Vega_ cracked as the ice pressed against her. If the

pressure had been bad, the vessel might have been broken to pieces and

have sunk in a few minutes. It would not have been so serious for the

crew as in the case of the _Erebus_ and _Terror_, for here there were

people far and near. But to ensure a safe retreat, the men of the _Vega_

carried to the nearest shore provisions, guns, and ammunition to last a

hundred men for thirty days. These things were all stacked up into a

heap covered with sails and oars. No watch was kept at the depôt, and

though the Chukchis knew that valuable goods lay under the sails, they

never touched a thing.

Near the _Vega_ two holes were kept always open. In one the captain

observed the rise and fall of the tide; the other was for water in case

of fire. A small seal splashed for a long time in one of the holes and

came up on to the ice after fishing below. One day his retreat was cut

off and he was caught and brought up on deck. When fish bought from the

Chukchis had been offered him in vain, he was let loose in the hole

again and he never came back.

A house of ice was erected for the purpose of observing the wind and

weather, and a thermometer cage was set up on the coast. Men took turns

to go out, and each observer remained six hours at the ice-house and the

cage to read off the various instruments. It was bitterly cold going out

when the temperature fell to-51°, but the compulsory walk was

beneficial. One danger was that a man might lose his way when snowstorms

raged in the dark winter nights, so a line was stretched the whole way,

supported on posts of ice, and with this guide it was impossible to go

astray.

Then came Christmas, when they slaughtered two fat pigs which had been

brought on purpose. The middle deck was swept out, all the litter was

cleared away, and flags were hung round the walls and ceiling. The

Chukchis brought willow bushes from the valleys beyond the mountains to

the south, and branches were fastened round a trunk of driftwood. This

was the _Vega's_ Christmas tree, and it was decked with strips of

coloured paper and small wax candles. Officers and men swung round in

merry dance beneath flaming lanterns suspended from the roof. Two

hundred Christmas boxes were found packed on board, parting gifts of

friends and acquaintances. For these lots were drawn, and many amusing

surprises excited general hilarity. So the polka was danced on the deck,

while cold reigned outside and snow whizzed through the frozen rigging.

For supper there was ham and Christmas ale, just as at home in Sweden.

Old well-known songs echoed through the saloon, and toasts were given of

king and country, officers and men, and the fine little vessel which had

carried our Vikings from their home in the west to their captivity in

the shore ice of Siberia.

The winter ran its course and the days lengthened in the spring. Cold

and continual storms were persistent. Even a Chukchi dog can have too

much of them. One day at the end of February a Chukchi who had lost his

way came on board, carrying a dog by the hind legs. The man had lost his

way on the ice, and had slept out in the cold with his dog. A capital

dinner was served for him on the middle deck, and the dog was rolled

about and pommelled till he came to life again.

During the spring the _Vega_ explorers made several longer or shorter

excursions with dog sledges and visited all the villages in the country.

Of course they became the best of friends with the Chukchis. The

language was the difficulty at first, but somehow or other they learned

enough of it to make themselves understood. Even the sailors struggled

with the Chukchi vocabulary, and tried to teach their savage friends

Swedish. One of the officers learned to speak Chukchi fluently, and

compiled a dictionary of this peculiar language.

Summer came on, but the ground was not free from ice until July. The

_Vega_ still lay fast as in a vice. On July 18 Nordenskiöld made ready

for another excursion on land. The captain had long had the engines

ready and the boilers cleaned. Just as they were sitting at dinner in

the ward-room they felt the _Vega_ roll a little. The captain rushed up

on deck. The pack had broken up and left a free passage open. "Fire

under the boilers!" was the order, and two hours later, at half-past

three o'clock, the _Vega_ glided under steam and sail and a festoon of

flags away from the home of the Chukchis.

Farther east the sea was like a mirror and free of ice beneath the fog.

Walruses raised their shiny wet heads above the water, in which numerous

seals disported themselves. With the wildest delight the _Vega_

expedition sailed southwards through Behring Strait. In the year 1553 a

daring Englishman had commenced the quest of the north-east passage and

had perished with all his men, and during the following centuries

numberless other expeditions had tried to solve the problem, but always

in vain; now it was solved by Swedes. The vessel glided out into the

Pacific Ocean without a leak; not a man had been lost and not one had

been seriously ill. It was one of the most fortunate and most brilliant

Polar voyages that had ever been achieved.

Yokohama was the first port, where the _Vega_ was welcomed with immense

jubilation, and then the homeward journey _via_ the Suez Canal and

Gibraltar became a continuous triumphal procession.

NANSEN

From many signs around the northern cap of the world a young Norwegian,

Fridtjof Nansen, came to the conclusion that a constant current must

flow from the neighbourhood of Behring Strait to the east coast of

Greenland.

Nansen resolved to make use of this current. Others had gone up from the

Atlantic side and been driven back by the current. He would start from

the opposite side and get the help of the current. Others had feared and

avoided the pack-ice. He would make for it and allow himself to be

caught in it. Others had sailed in unsuitable vessels which had been

crushed like nut-shells among the floes. He would build a vessel with

sides sloping inwards which would afford no hold to the ice. The more

the ice pressed the more surely would this ship be lifted up out of the

water and be borne safely on the ice with the current.

The progress would be slow, no doubt, but the expedition would see

regions of the world never before visited, and would have opportunities

of investigating the depth of the sea, the weather and winds. To reach

the small point called the North Pole was in Nansen's opinion of minor

importance.

[Illustration: PLATE XXXIX. THE "FRAM."]

Among the many who wished to go with him he chose the best twelve. The

vessel was christened the _Fram_ (Plate XXXIX.), and the captain was

named Sverdrup. He had been with Nansen before on an expedition when

they crossed the inland ice of Greenland from coast to coast. They took

provisions for five years and were excellently equipped.

The first thing was to reach the New Siberia Islands. To those the

_Vega_ had shown the way, and the _Fram_ had only to follow in her

track. Just to the west of them a course was steered northwards, and

soon the vessel was set fast in the ice and was lifted satisfactorily on

to its surface without the smallest leak. So far everything had gone as

Nansen anticipated, and the experienced Polar voyagers who had declared

that the whole scheme was madness had to acknowledge that they were not

so clever as they thought.

We have unfortunately no time to accompany the voyagers on their slow

journey. They got on well, and were comfortable on board. The ice

groaned and cracked as usual, but within the heavy timbers of the _Fram_

there was peace. The night came, long, dark, and silent. Polar bears

stalked outside and were often shot. Before it became quite dark Nansen

tried the dogs at drawing sledges. They were harnessed, but when he took

his seat, off they went in the wildest career. They romped over blocks

and holes, and Nansen was thrown backwards, but sat fast in the sledge

and could not be thrown out. In time the driving went better, and the

poor, faithful animals had always to go on sledge excursions. Two were

seized by Polar bears and two were bitten to death by their comrades.

One fine day, however, puppies came into the world in the midst of the

deepest darkness. When they first saw the sun they barked furiously.

The _Fram_ drifted north-west just as Nansen had foreseen, passing over

great depths where the two thousand fathom line did not reach the

bottom. Christmas was kept with a Norwegian festival, and when the

eightieth parallel was crossed a tremendous feast was held; but the

return of the sun on February 20 excited the greatest delight. The

spring and summer passed without any remarkable events. Kennels were

erected on the ice out of boxes, and more puppies came into the world.

Possibly these were as much astonished at the winter darkness as their

cousins had been at seeing the sun.

Nansen had long been pondering on a bold scheme--namely, to advance with

dog sledges as far as possible to the north and then turn southwards to

Franz Josef Land. The ship was meanwhile to go on with the drift and the

usual observations were to be taken on board. Only one man was to go

with him, and he chose Lieutenant Johansen. He first spoke to him about

the scheme in November, 1894. It was, of course, a matter of life or

death, so he told Johansen to take a day or two to think it over before

he gave his answer. But the latter said "Yes" at once without a moment's

hesitation. "Then we will begin our preparations to-morrow," said

Nansen.

All the winter was spent in them. They made two "kayaks," each to hold a

single man, somewhat larger and stronger than those the Eskimos use when

they go fishing or seal-hunting. With a frame of ribs and covered with

sailcloth these canoes weighed only thirty pounds. They were covered in

all over, and when the boatman had taken his seat in the middle and made

all tight around him, seas might sweep right over him and the kayak

without doing any harm. A dog sledge, harness, a sleeping-bag for two,

skis, staffs, provisions, oil cooking-stove--all was made ready.

The start took place at the turn of the year, when the most terrible ice

pressure broke loose on all sides threatening the _Fram_. Mountains of

ice-blocks and snow were thrust against the vessel, which was in danger

of being buried under them. The sea water was forced up over the ice and

the dogs were nearly drowned in their kennels and had to be rescued

quickly. Banks of ice were pushed against the vessel, rolled over the

bulwarks, and weighed down the awning on the deck; and it was pitch

dark, so that they could not find out where danger threatened. They had,

however, stored provisions for two hundred days in a safe place. By

degrees the ice came to rest again and the great rampart was digged

away.

Twice did Nansen and Johansen set out northwards, only to come back

again. Once a sledge broke, and on the other occasion the load was too

heavy. On March 14 they left the _Fram_ for the last time and directed

their steps northward. They had three sledges and twenty-eight dogs, but

they themselves walked on skis and looked after their teams. At first

the ice was level and the pace was rapid, but afterwards it became lumpy

and uneven, and travelling was slow, as first one sledge and then

another stuck fast.

After two marches the temperature fell to-45°, and it was very cold in

the small silk tent. They were able to march for nine hours, and when

the ice was level it seemed as if the endless white plains might extend

up to the Pole. So long as they were travelling they did not feel the

cold, but the perspiration from their bodies froze in their clothes, so

that they were encased in a hauberk of ice which cracked at every step.

Nansen's wrists were made sore by rubbing against his hard sleeves, and

did not heal till far on in the summer.

They always looked out for some sheltered crevice in the ice to camp in.

Johansen looked after the dogs and fed them, while Nansen set up the

tent and filled the pot with ice. The evening meal was the pleasantest

in the day, for then at any rate they were warmed inside. After it they

packed themselves in their sleeping bag, when the ice on their clothes

melted and they lay all night as in a cold compress. They dreamed of

sledges and dog teams, and Johansen would call out to the dogs in his

sleep, urging them on. Then they would wake up again in the bitter

morning, rouse up the dogs, lying huddled up together and growling at

the cold, disentangle the trace lines, load the sledges, and off they

would go through the great solitude.

Only too frequently the ice was unfavourable, the sledges stuck fast,

and had to be pushed over ridges and fissures. They struggle on

northwards, however, and have travelled a degree of latitude. It is

tiring work to march and crawl in this way, and sometimes they are so

worn out that they almost go to sleep on their skis while the dogs

gently trot beside them. The dogs too are tired of this toil, and two of

them have to be killed. They are cut up and distributed among their

comrades, some of whom refuse to turn cannibals.

When the ice became still worse and the cold white desert looked like a

heap of stones as far northwards as the eye could see, Nansen decided to

turn back. It was impossible to find their way back to the _Fram_, for

several snowstorms had swept over the ice obliterating their tracks. The

only thing to do was to steer a course for the group of islands called

Franz Josef Land. It was 430 miles off, and the provisions were coming

to an end; but when the spring really set in they would surely find

game, and they had for their two guns a hundred and eighty cartridges

with ball and a hundred and fifty with shot. The dogs had the worst of

it; for them it was a real "dog's life" up there. The stronger were

gradually to eat up the weaker.

So they turned back and made long marches over easy ice. One day they

saw a complete tree trunk sticking up out of the ice. What singular

fortunes it must have experienced since it parted from its root! At the

end of April the spoor of two foxes was seen in the snow. Was land near,

or what were these fellows doing out here on the ice-covered sea? Two

days later a dog named Gulen was sacrificed. He was born on the _Fram_,

and during his short life had never seen anything but snow and ice; now

he was worn out and exhausted, and the travellers were sorry to part

from the faithful soul.

Open water, sunlit billows! How delightful to hear them splash against

the edge of the ice! The sound seemed to speak of spring and summer, and

to give them a greeting from the great ocean and the way back home. More

tracks of foxes indicated land, and they looked out for it daily. They

did not suspect that they had to travel for three months to the nearest

island.

At the beginning of May only sixteen dogs were left. Now the long summer

day commenced in the Arctic Ocean, and when the temperature was only

twenty degrees below freezing point they suffered from heat. But the ice

was bad, and they had to force the sledges over deep channels and high

hummocks thrust up by pressure. After great difficulties they staggered

along on skis. The work became heavier for the dogs as fewer were left,

but the provisions also diminished.

A furious snowstorm compelled them to remain in a camp. There they left

one of the sledges, and some broken skis were offered to the flames and

made a grand fire. Six dogs could still be harnessed to each of the two

remaining sledges.

At the end of May they came to an expanse of ice intersected by a

network of channels with open water, which blocked the way. Now animal

life began to appear with the coming of summer. In a large opening were

seen the grey backs of narwhals rolling over in the dark-blue water. A

seal or two were seeking fish, and tracks of Polar bears made them long

for fresh meat. Nansen often made long excursions in front to see where

the ice was best. Then Johansen remained waiting by the sledges, and if

the bold ski-runner were long away he began to fear that an accident had

happened. He dared not pursue his thoughts to an end--he would then be

quite alone.

June comes. The scream of ivory gulls pierces the air. The two men

remain a week in a camp to make their kayaks seaworthy. They have still

bread for quite a month. Only six dogs are left; when only three remain

they will have to harness themselves to the sledges.

In a large strip of open water they shoved out the kayaks, fastened them

together with skis, and paddled them along the margin of the ice. On the

other side they shot two seals and three Polar bears, and therefore had

meat for a long time. The last two dogs, too, could eat their fill.

At last the land they longed for appeared to the south, and they

hastened thither, a man and a dog to each sledge. Once they had again to

cross a strip of open water in kayaks, Nansen was at the edge of the ice

when he heard Johansen call out, "Get your gun." Nansen turned and saw

that a large bear had knocked Johansen down and was sniffing at him.

Nansen was about to take up his gun when the kayak slipped out into the

water, and while he was hauling and pulling at it he heard Johansen say

quite quietly, "You must look sharp if you want to be in time." So at

last he got hold of his gun, and the bear received his death-wound.

For five months they had struggled over the ice, when at the beginning

of August they stood at the margin of the ice and had open water before

them off the land. Now the sea voyage was to begin, and they had to part

with their last two dogs. It was a bitter moment. Nansen took Johansen's

dog and Johansen Nansen's, and a couple of bullets were the reward of

their faithfulness.

Now they travelled more easily and quickly. The kayaks were fastened

together, and with masts and sails they skimmed past unknown islands.

Heavy seas forced them to land on one of them. Just as they drew up

their kayaks a white bear came waddling along, got scent of them, and

began to sniff along their track. To our travellers his visit meant

provisions for a long time. Nansen and his travelling companion took

possession of their new territory, wandered over the island, and

returned to their dinner of bear, which did them good. Next day they

looked for a suitable dwelling-place. As they could not find a cave,

they built a small stone cabin, which they roofed with skis and the silk

tent. Light and wind came in on all sides, but it was comfortable enough

and the meat pot bubbled over a fire of fat.

Nansen decided to remain on this island for the winter. The islands they

had hitherto seen were unlike any of the known parts of Franz Josef

Land, and Nansen did not know exactly where he was. It was impossible

to venture out on the open sea in the kayaks. It was better to lay in a

supply of food for the winter, for when darkness came all the game would

disappear. First of all they must build a comfortable hut. There was

plenty of stone and moss, a trunk of driftwood found on the beach would

form a roof ridge, and if they could only get hold of a couple of

walruses, their roofing would be provided.

A large male walrus was lying puffing out in the water. The kayaks were

shoved out and lashed together, and from them the colossus was

bombarded. He dived, but came up under the boats, and the whole

contrivance was nearly capsized. At last he received his death-wound,

but just as Nansen was about to strike his harpoon into him he sank.

They had better luck, however, with two others which lay bellowing on

the ice and gradually went to sleep, unconscious that their minutes were

numbered. Nansen says that it seemed like murder to shoot them, and that

he never forgot their brown, imploring, melancholy eyes as they lay

supporting their heads on their tusks and coughing up blood. Then the

great brutes were flayed, and their flesh, blubber, and hides carried

into the hut. When they brought out the sledges and knives, Nansen

thought it might be as well to take the kayaks with them also. And that

was fortunate, for while they stood cutting up as in a slaughter-house,

a strong, biting land wind sprang up, their ice-floe parted from the

land ice and drifted away from the island. Dark-green water and white

foaming surge yawned behind them. There was no time to think. They were

drifting out to sea as fast as they could. But to go back empty-handed

would have been too vexatious; so they cut off a quarter of a hide and

dragged it with some lumps of blubber to the kayaks. They reached the

land in safety, dead tired after an adventurous row, and sought the

shelter of the hut.

In the night came a bear mamma with two large cubs, and made a thorough

inspection of the outside of the hut. The mother was shot and the cubs

made off to the shore, plunged in, and swam out to a slab of ice which

would just bear them, and scrambled up. There they stood moaning and

whining, and wondering why their mother stayed so long on shore. One

tumbled over the edge, but climbed up again on to the slippery floe and

the clean salt water ran off his fur. They drifted away with the wind

and soon looked like two white spots on the almost black water. Nansen

and Johansen wanted their meat, the more because the bears had torn and

mangled all the walrus meat lying outside the hut. The kayaks were

pushed out and were soon on the farther side of the floe with the bear

cubs. They were chased into the water and followed all the way to the

beach, where they were shot.

Things now began to look better--three bears all at once! Then the first

walrus came to the surface again, and while he was being skinned another

came to look on and had to join him. It was disgusting work to flay the

huge brutes. Both the men had their worn clothes smeared with train-oil

and blood, so that they were soaked right through. Ivory and glaucous

gulls, noisy and greedy, collected from far and near and picked up all

the offal. They would soon fly south, the sea would be covered with ice,

and the Polar night would be so dismal and silent.

It took a week to get the new hut ready. The shoulder blade of a walrus

fastened to a ski served as spade. A walrus tusk tied to a broken ski

staff made an excellent hoe. Then they raised the walls of the hut, and

inside they dug into the ground and made a sort of couch for both of

them, which they covered with bearskin. After two more walruses had been

shot they had plenty of roofing material, which they laid over the trunk

of driftwood. A bear came, indeed, and pulled down everything, but it

cost him dear, and afterwards the roof was strengthened with a weight of

stones. To make a draught through the open fireplace they set up on the

roof a chimney of ice. Then they moved into the new hut, which was to be

their abode through the long winter.

On October 15 they saw the sun for the last time. The bears vanished,

and did not return till the next spring. But foxes were left, and they

were extremely inquisitive and thievish. They stole their sail thread

and steel wire, their harpoon and line, and it was quite impossible to

find the stolen goods again. What they wanted with a thermometer which

lay outside it is hard to conceive, for it must have been all the same

to the foxes how many degrees of temperature there were in their earths.

All winter they were up on the roof pattering, growling, howling, and

quarrelling. There was a pleasant rattling up above, and the two men

really would not have been without their fox company.

One can hardly say that the days passed slowly, for the whole winter

was, of course, one long night. It was so silent and empty, and an

oppressive, solemn stillness reigned during the calm night. Sometimes

the aurora blazed in a mysterious crown in the sky, at other times so

dark, and the stars glittered with inconceivable brilliance. The

weather, however, was seldom calm. Usually the wind howled round the

bare rocks lashed by millions of storms since the earliest times, and

snow swished outside and built up walls close around the hut.

The endlessly long night passed slowly on. The men ate and slept, and

walked up and down in the darkness to stretch their limbs. Then came

Christmas with its old memories. They clean up, sweep and brush, and

take up a foot's depth of frozen refuse from the floor of the hut. They

rummage for some of the last good things from the _Fram_, and then

Nansen lies listening and fancies he hears the church bells at home.

In the midst of the winter night comes New Year's Day, when it is so

cold that they can only lie down and sleep, and look out of their

sleeping-bag only to eat. Sometimes they do not put out their noses for

twenty hours on end, but lie dosing just like bears in their lairs.

On the last day of February the sun at last appears again. He is

heartily welcome, and he is accompanied by some morning birds, Little

Auks. The two men are frightened of each other when daylight shines on

them, as their hair and beards have grown so long. They have not washed

for a year or more, and are as black in the face as negroes. Nansen, who

is usually extremely fair, has now jet-black hair. They may be excused

for not bathing at a temperature of-40°.

The first bear has come. Here he is scratching at the hut and wanting to

get in; there is such a good smell from inside. A bullet meets him on

the way. And as he runs off up a steep slope he gets another, and comes

rolling down in wild bounces like a football. They lived on him for six

weeks.

While the days grew lighter they worked at a new outfit. They made

trousers out of their blankets. Shoes were patched, rope was cut out of

walrus hide, new runners were put on the sledges, the provisions were

packed, and on May 19 they left their cabin and marched farther

south-west.

Time after time they had to rest on account of snowstorms. They had

thrown away the tent, and instead they crept in between the sledges

covered with the sail. Once Nansen came down when on skis, and would

have been drowned if Johansen had not helped him up in time. The snow

lying on this ice was soaked with water. They had always to keep their

eyes open and look for firm ice. The provisions came to an end, but the

sea swarmed with walruses. Sometimes the animals were so bold that

Nansen could go up to them and take photographs. When a fine brute had

been shot the others still lay quiet, and only by hitting them with

their alpenstocks could the travellers get rid of them. Then the animals

would waddle off in single file and plunge head first into the water,

which seemed to boil up around them.

Once they had such level ice and a good wind behind them that they

hoisted sail on the sledges, stood on skis in front of them to steer,

and flew along so that the snow was thrown up around them.

Another time they sailed with the kayaks lashed together and went ashore

on an island to get a better view. The kayak raft was moored with a

walrus rope. As they were strolling round Johansen called out, "Hullo,

the kayaks are adrift."

They ran down. The wind was blowing off the land. Out on the fiord all

they possessed in the world was being mercilessly carried away.

"Take my watch," cried Nansen, and throwing off a few clothes he jumped

into the ice-cold water, and swam after the kayaks. But they drifted

more rapidly than Nansen swam, and the case seemed hopeless. He felt his

limbs growing numb, but he thought he might as well drown as swim back

without the boats. He struck out for his life, became tired, lay on his

back, went on again, saw that the distance was lessening, and put out

all his strength for a last spurt. He was quite spent and on the point

of sinking when he caught hold of one of the canoes and could hang on

and get his breath. Then he heaved himself up into the kayak, and rowed

back shivering, with chattering teeth, benumbed, and frozen blue. When

he reached the land Johansen put him in the sleeping-bag and laid over

him everything he could find. And when he had slept a few hours he was

as lively as a cricket and did justice to the supper.

Farther and farther south they continued their daring journey over ice

and waves. A walrus came up beside Nansen's canoe, and tried its

solidity with his tusks, nearly taking kayak and oarsman down with him

to the salt depths. When the animal went off, Nansen felt uncomfortably

cold and wet about the legs. He rowed to the nearest ice, where the

kayak sank in shallow water and all he possessed was wet and spoiled.

Then they had to give themselves a good rest and repair all damages,

while walruses grunted and snorted close beside them.

This journey of Nansen's is a unique feat in the history of Polar

travels. Of the crews of the _Erebus_ and _Terror_, a hundred and

thirty-four men, not one had escaped, though they had not lost their

vessels and though they lay quite close to a coast where there were

human beings and game. But these two Norwegians had now held out in the

Polar sea for fifteen months, and had preserved their lives and limbs

and were in excellent condition.

Their hour of delivery was at hand. On June 17 Nansen ascended an ice

hummock and listened to the commotion made by a whole multitude of

birds. What now? He listens holding his breath. No, it is impossible!

Yes, indeed, that is a dog's bark. It must surely be a bird with a

peculiar cry. No, it _is_ a dog barking.

He hurried back to the camp. Johansen thought it was a mistake. They

bolted their breakfast. Then Nansen fastened skis on his feet, took his

gun, field-glass, and alpenstock, and flew swiftly as the wind over the

white snow.

See, there are the footprints of a dog! Perhaps a fox? No, they would be

much smaller. He flies over the ice towards the land. Now he hears a

man's voice. He yells with all the power of his lungs and takes no heed

of holes and lumps as he speeds along towards life, safety, and home.

Then a dog runs up barking. Behind him comes a man. Nansen hurries to

meet him, and both wave their caps. Whoever this traveller with the dog

may be, he has good reason for astonishment at seeing a jet-black giant

come jolting on skis straight from the North Pole.

They meet. They put out their hands.

"How do you do?" asks the Englishman.

"Very well, thank you," says Nansen.

"I am very glad to see you here."

"So am I," cries Nansen.

The Englishman with the dog is named Jackson, and has been for two years

in Franz Joseph Land making sledge journeys and explorations. He

concludes that the black man on skis is some one from the _Fram_, but

when he hears that it is Nansen himself he is still more astonished and

agreeably surprised.

They went to Jackson's house, whither Johansen also was fetched. Both

our explorers washed with soap and brush several times to get off the

worst of the dirt, all that was not firmly set and imbedded in their

skins. They scrubbed and scraped and changed their clothes from top to

toe, and at last looked like human beings.

Later in the summer a vessel came with supplies for Jackson. With this

vessel Nansen and Johansen sailed home. At Vardö they received telegrams

from their families, and their delight was unbounded. Only one thing

troubled them. Where was the _Fram_? Some little time later Nansen was

awakened at Hammerfest one morning by a telegraph messenger. The

telegram he brought read: "_Fram_ arrived in good condition. All well on

board. Shall start at once for Tromsö. Welcome home." The sender of the

telegram was the captain of the _Fram_, the brave and faithful

Sverdrup.

FOOTNOTES:

[21] A _krona_ is a Swedish coin worth about 1s. 1-1/2d.

VII

THE SOUTH POLAR REGIONS

It is barely a hundred years since European mariners began to approach

the coasts of the mysterious mainland which extends around the southern

pole of the earth. Ross, who in 1831 discovered the north magnetic pole,

sailed ten years later in two ships, the _Erebus_ and the _Terror_

(afterwards to become so famous with Franklin), along the coast of the

most southern of all seas, a sea which still bears his name. He

discovered an active volcano, not much less than 13,000 feet high, and

named it Erebus, while to another extinct volcano he gave the name of

Terror. And he saw the lofty ice barrier, which in some places is as

much as 300 feet high.

At a much later time there was great rivalry among European nations to

contribute to the knowledge of the world's sixth continent. In the year

1901 an English expedition under Captain Scott was despatched to the sea

and coasts first visited by Ross. Captain Scott made great and important

discoveries on the coast of the sixth continent, and advanced nearer to

the South Pole than any of his predecessors. One of the members of the

expedition followed his example some years later. His name is

Shackleton, and his journey is famous far and wide.

Shackleton resolved to advance from his winter quarters as far as

possible towards the South Pole, and with only three other men he set

out at the end of October, 1908. His sledges were drawn by strong, plump

ponies obtained from Manchuria. They were fed with maize, compressed

fodder, and concentrated food, but when during the journey they had to

be put on short commons they ate up straps, rope ends, and one another's

tails. The four men had provisions for fully three months.

While the smoke rose from the crater of Erebus, Shackleton marched

southwards over snow-covered ice. Sometimes the snow was soft and

troublesome, sometimes covered with a hard crust hiding dangerous

crevasses in the mass of ice. At the camps the adventurers set up their

two tents and crept into their sleeping-bags, while the ponies, covered

with horse-cloths, stood and slept outside. Sometimes they had to remain

stationary for a day or two when snowstorms stopped their progress.

[Illustration: THE SOUTH POLAR REGIONS.]

When the sun was hidden by clouds the illumination was perplexing. No

shadows revealed the unevenness of the snowfield, all was of the purest

white, and where the men thought they were walking over level ground,

they might quite unexpectedly come down on their noses down a small

slope. Once they heard a thundering noise far away to the east. It

sounded like a cannon shot, but probably was only the immense inland ice

"calving." When the ice during its constant but slow motion towards the

coast slides out into the sea, it is lifted up by the water and is

broken up into huge, heavy blocks and icebergs which float about

independently. When these pieces break away the inland ice is said to

"calve."

Shackleton advanced towards the pole at the rate of twelve to eighteen

miles a day. His small party was lost like small specks in the endless

desert of ice and snow. Only to the west was visible a succession of

mountain summits like towers and pinnacles. The men seemed to be

marching towards a white wall which they could never reach.

On November 31 one of the ponies was shot, and its flesh was kept to be

used as food. The sledge he had drawn was set up on end and propped up

as a mark for the return journey. Five days later Shackleton came to

Scott's farthest south, and the lofty mountains with dark, steep, rocky

flanks which he afterwards had by the side of his route had never before

been seen by man.

A couple of days later a second pony was shot, and shortly afterwards a

third, which could go no farther, had to be put out of his misery. The

last pony seemed to miss his comrades, but he still struggled on with

his sledge, while the four men dragged another.

The mountain range which they had hitherto had on their right curved too

much to the east, but fortunately it was cut through by a huge glacier,

the great highway to the Pole. They ascended the glacier and crossed a

small pass between great pillars of granite. Now they were surrounded by

lofty mountains. The ice was intersected by dangerous crevasses, and

only with the greatest caution and loss of time could they go round

them. A bird flew over their heads, probably a gull. What could he be

looking for here in the midst of the eternal ice?

One day three of the explorers were drawing their sledge while the

fourth was guiding the one drawn by the pony. Suddenly they saw the

animal disappear, actually swallowed up by the ice. A snow bridge had

given way under the weight of the pony, and the animal had fallen into a

crevasse 1000 feet deep. When they bent over the edge of the dark chasm

they could not hear a sound below. Fortunately the front cross-piece of

the sledge had come away, so that the sledge and man were left on the

brink of the chasm. If the precious provisions had gone down with the

horse into the bowels of the ice, Shackleton would have been obliged to

turn back.

Now left without assistance in dragging the sledges, they had to

struggle up the glacier between rocks and slates in which coal was

imbedded. On Christmas Day the temperature was down to-47°--a fine

midsummer!

At length the four men had left all mountains behind, and now a plateau

country of nothing but snow-covered ice stretched before them. But still

the surface of the ice rose towards the heart of the South Polar

continent, and the singing headaches from which they suffered were a

consequence of the elevation. A flag on a bamboo pole was set up as a

landmark.

On January 7 and 8, 1909, they had to lie still in a hard snowstorm, and

the temperature fell to-69°. When such is the summer of the South Pole,

what must the winter be like? January 9 was the last day on their march

southwards. Without loads or sledges they hurried on and halted at 88°

23' south latitude.

They were only 100 miles from the South Pole when they had to turn back

from want of provisions. They might have gone on and might have reached

the Pole, but they would never have come back.

The height was more than 10,000 feet above sea-level, and before them,

in the direction of the Pole, extended a boundless flat plateau of

inland ice. The Union Jack was hoisted and a record of their journey

deposited in a cylinder. Shackleton cast a last glance over the ice

towards the Pole, and, sore at heart, gave the order to retreat.

Happily he was able to follow his trail back and succeeded in reaching

his winter quarters, whence his vessel carried him home again in safety.

THE END

_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_.

* * * * *

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TRANS-HIMALAYA

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|Transcriber's Note: |

| |

|Illustrations, originally had a reference to '_facing page_', and have |

|now been placed as close as possible to their original positions. |

| |

|All maps carried an acknowledgement for _Emery Walker sc._ |

| |

|The following PLATE'S also carried acknowledgements. |

| |

|Plate I. BERLIN _Photo. The Photocrom Co._ |

|PLATE II. CONSTANTINOPLE _Photo. The Photocrom Co._ |

|PLATE XXIII. THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW _Photo. The Photocrom Co._ |

|PLATE XXIV. PARIS _Photo. The Photocrom Co._ |

|PLATE XXVI. THE COLLOSEUM, ROME. _Photo. Underwood and Underwood._ |

|PLATE XXVII. POMPEII. _Photo. Abteilung, Zurich._ |

|PLATE XXXIV. CAÑONS ON THE COLORADO RIVER. _Photo. Underwood and |

|Underwood._ |

|PLATE XXXIX. THE "FRAM". _Photo. The Record Press._ |

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