"Good-bye, and God be with you."
It was a prayer as heartfelt and fervent as ever fell from the lips of
an honest sailor.
The _Arrandoon_ steamed away, and soon was hidden from view behind a
lofty iceberg, and all that Silas Grig, as he stood on his own
quarter-deck, could now hear, was the sad and mournful wail of Peter's
bagpipes. Peter was playing that wild and plaintive melody which has
drawn tears from so many eyes when our brave Highland regiments were
departing for some far-off seat of wax, to be--
"Borne on rough seas to a far-distant shore,
Maybe to return to Lochaber no more."
"Heigho! matie," sighed Silas, talking to his chief officer and giving
orders all in one breath, "I don't think we'll--haul aft the jib-sheet--
ever see them again. I don't think they can--take a pull on the
main-brace--ever get back from among that fearful--luff a little, lad,
luff--ice, matie. And the poor boys, if any one had told Silas he could
have loved them as much as he does in so short a time, he would have
laughed in his face. Come below, matie, and we'll have a drop o' green
ginger. Keep her close, Mortimer, but don't let her shiver."
"Ay, ay, sir," said the man at the wheel.
In a few hours the wind got more aft, and so, heading now for more
southern climes, away went the _Canny Scotia_, with stun'sails up. I
cannot say that she bounded over the waters like a thing of life. No;
but she looked as happy and frisky as a plough-horse on a gala day, that
has just been taken home from the miry fields, fed and groomed, and
dressed with ribbons and started off in a light spring-van with a load
of laughing children.
But eastwards and north steamed the _Arrandoon_. Indeed, she tried to
do all the northing she could, with just as little easting as possible.
She passed islands innumerable; islands that we fail to see in the
chart, owing, no doubt, to the fact that they are usually covered
entirely with ice and snow, and would be taken for immense icebergs.
But this was a singularly open year, and there was no mistaking solid
rocky land for floating ice.
The bearings of all these were carefully put down in the charts--I say
charts, because not only the captain and mate, but our young heroes as
well, took the daily reckoning, and kept a log, though I am bound in the
interests of truth to say that Ralph very often did not write up his log
for days and days, and then he impudently "fudged" it from Rory's.
"Are you done with my log?" Rory would sometimes modestly inquire of
Ralph as he sat at the table busily "fudging."
"Not yet, youngster," Ralph would reply; "there, you go away and amuse
yourself with your fiddle till I'm done with it, unless you specially
want your ears pulled."
McBain landed at many of these islands, and hoisted beacons on them.
These beacons were simply spare spars, with bunches of light wood lashed
to their top ends, so that at some little distance they looked like tall
brooms. He hoisted one on the highest peak of every island that lay in
his route.
They came at length to what seemed the very northernmost and most
easterly of these islands, and on this McBain determined to land
provisions and store them. It would tend to lighten the ship; and "on
the return voyage," said the captain, "if so be that Providence shall
protect and spare us, they will be a welcome sight."
This done, the voyage was continued, and the sea becoming clearer of ice
towards the west, the course was altered to almost due north.
The wind drawing round more to the south, the fires were banked, and the
vessel put under easy sail. The water all round looked black and deep;
but, with all the caution of your true sailor, McBain had two men
constantly in the chains to heave the lead, with a watch continually in
the crow's-nest to give warning of any sudden change in the colour of
the water. More than once such a change was observed, the surface
becoming of a yellowish ashen hue away ahead of them. Then the main or
fore yard was hauled aback, and a boat despatched to investigate, and it
was found that the strange appearance was caused by myriads of tiny
shrimplets, what the northern sailor calls "whale's food." Whether this
be whale food or not I cannot say for certain, but several times our
heroes fell in with a shoal of bottle-noses, disporting themselves among
these curious ashen-hued streams.
This formed a temptation too great to resist, for the oil would do
instead of fuel when they wintered away up in the extreme north. So
boats were lowered--not two but four, for these brutes are as wild as
the winds and more wily than any old fox. No less than four were
"bagged," as Rory called it. They were not large, but the blubber
obtained from them was quite sufficient to fill one large tank. The
best of it was, that Ralph--big, "plethoric" (another of Rory's pretty
words), Saxon Ralph, made quite a hero of himself by manfully guiding
his boat towards a floundering monster that was threatening destruction
to the third whaler, which was fast to her, and skilfully spearing her
at the very nick of time.
Rory was in the same boat, and drenched in blood from head to heels
though both of them were, he must needs get up and shake his "baby
brother" by the hand.
"Oh, sure!" said Rory, with tears in his eyes, "it's myself that is
proud of the English race, after all. They haven't the fire of the
Gael; but only just awaken them!--Dear Ray, you're a broth of a boy,
entirely."
"What do you think," said McBain, one morning just after
breakfast--"what do you think, Rory, I'm going to make to-day?"
"Sure, I don't know," said Rory, all interest.
"Why, fenders," said McBain.
"Fenders?" ejaculated Rory, with wider eyes. "Fenders? troth it'll be
fire-irons you'll be making next, sir; but what do you want with
fenders?"
"You don't take," said Ralph. "It is fenders to throw overboard when
the ice is too obtrusive, isn't it, sir?"
"That's it," said the captain, laughing. "Sometimes the bergs may be a
bit too pressing with their attentions, and then I'll hang these over.
That's it."
It took nearly a fortnight to complete the manufacture of these fenders
or trusses, for each of them was some twelve feet long by three in
diameter composed of compressed straw and shielded by knitted ropework.
To the captain's foresight in making these fenders, they several times
owed the safety of their gallant ship during the winter that followed.
A whole month passed away. The sun now set every night, and the still,
long day began to get sensibly shorter.
The progress northward was hindered by dense white fogs, which at times
hugged the ship so closely that, standing by the bowsprit, you could not
see the jibboom-end. The vessel, as Sandy McFlail expressed it, seemed
enveloped in huge sheets of wet lint. Then the fog would lift partially
off and away--in other words, it seemed to retire and station itself at
some distance, with the ice looming through it in the most magical way.
At these times the ship would be stopped, and our heroes were allowed to
take boat exercise around the _Arrandoon_, with strict injunctions not
to go beyond a certain distance of the vessel. Their laughing and
talking and singing never failed to bring up a seal or two, or a
round-eyed wondering walrus, or an inquisitive bladder-nose, but the
appearance of these animals, as they loomed gigantic through the fog,
was sometimes awful in the extreme. When a malley or gull came sweeping
down towards them it looked as big as the fabulous Roc that carried away
Sinbad the Sailor, and Rory would throw himself in the bottom of the
boat and pretend to be in a terrible fright.
[The optical illusions caused among the ice by these fogs are well and
humorously described in a book just to hand called "The Voyage of the
_Vega_" (Macmillan and Co). I myself wrote on the same subject
_thirteen years ago_, in a series of articles on Greenland North.]
"Oh! Ray, boy, look at the Roc," he would cry. "I'm come for, sure
enough. Do catch hold of me, big brother. Don't let the great baste
carry me off. Sure, he'll fly up to the moon with me, as the eagle did
with Daniel O'Rourke."
I think the fog must have caused delusions in sound as well as sight,
else why the following.
They were pulling gently about, one day, in the first whaler, when,
borne along on the slight breeze that was blowing, came a sound as of
happy children engaged at play. The merry laughter and the occasional
excited scream or shout were most distinctly audible.
"Whatever can it be?" cried Allan, looking very serious, his somewhat
superstitious nature for a moment gaining the ascendency.
"Sure," said Rory, "you needn't pull so long a face, old man; it's only
the childer just got out of school."
The "childer" in this instance were birds.
"It's much clearer to-day," said Stevenson, one morning, as he made his
usual report. "We can see the clouds, and they're all on the scud. I
expect we'll have wind soon, sir."
"Very well, Mr Stevenson," was the reply, "be ready for it, you know;
have the fires lit and banked, and then stand by to get the ice-anchors
and fenders on board," (the ship was fast to a berg).
"There is a line of ice to the westward, sir, about a quarter of a mile
off, and clear water all between."
"Thank you, Mr Stevenson."
But Stevenson did not retire. He stopped, hesitatingly.
"You've something to ask me, I think?" said McBain.
"I've something to tell you," replied the mate, with a kind of a forced
laugh. "I dare say you will think me a fool for my pains, but as sure
as you gentlemen are sitting there at breakfast this morning, about five
bells in the middle watch I saw--and every man Jack of us saw--"
"Saw what?" said McBain. "Sit down, man; you are looking positively
scared."
"We saw--_the great Sea-Serpent_!"
[What is herein related really occurred as described. I myself was a
witness to the event, being then in medical charge of the barque
_Xanthus_, recently burned at sea.]
McBain did not attempt to laugh him out of his story, but he made him
describe over and over again what he had seen; then he called the watch,
and examined them verbally man by man, and found they all told the
self-same tale, talking soberly, earnestly, and truthfully, as men do
who feel they are stating facts.
The terrible monster they averred came from the northwards, and was
distinctly visible for nearly a minute, passing between the ship and the
ice-line which Stevenson had mentioned. They described his length,
which could not have been less than seventy or eighty yards, the
undulations of his body as he swept along on the surface of the water,
the elevated head, the mane and--some added--the awful glaring eyes.
It did not come on to blow as the mate predicted, so the ship made no
move from her position, but all day long there was but little else
talked about, either fore or aft, save the visit of the great
sea-serpent, and as night drew on the stories told around the galley
fire would have been listened to with interest by any one at all fond of
the mysterious and awful.
"I mean," said Rory, as he retired, "to turn out as soon as it is light,
and watch; the brute is sure to return. I've told Peter to call me."
"So shall I," said Allan and the doctor.
"So shall I," said Ralph.
"Well, boys," said McBain, "I'll keep you company."
When they went on deck, about four bells in the middle watch, they were
not surprised to find all hands on deck, eagerly gazing towards the spot
where they had seen "the maned monster of the deep,"--as poet Rory
termed him--disappear.
It was a cold, dull cheerless morning; the sun was up but his beams were
sadly shorn--they failed to pierce the thick canopy of clouds and mist
that overspread the sky, and brought the horizon within a quarter of a
mile of them. They could, however, easily see the ice-line--long and
low and white.
A whole hour passed, and McBain at all events was thinking of going
below, when suddenly came a shout from the men around the forecastle.
"Look! look! Oh! look! Yonder he rips! There he goes!"
Gazing in the direction indicated, the hearts of more than one of our
heroes seemed to stand still with a strange, mysterious fear, for there,
rushing over the surface of the dark water, the undulated body
well-defined against the white ice-edge, was--what else could it be?--
the great sea-serpent!
"I can see his mane and head and eyes," cried Rory. "Oh! it is too
dreadful."