Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen
'MIDST
ARCTIC PERILS
By
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
'MIDST ARCTIC PERILS
[Illustration: With a fearful lurch she heeled to starboard.
_Frontispiece._ See page 14.]
'MIDST ARCTIC
PERILS
A THRILLING STORY OF ADVENTURE IN THE
POLAR REGIONS
BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "The Young Cavalier," "The Nameless Island," &c.
London
C. Arthur Pearson Ltd.
Henrietta Street
1919
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. RUN DOWN
II. A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE
III. RESCUED
IV. ON BOARD THE "POLARITY"
V. TRAPPED IN AN ICEBERG
VI. AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE
VII. THE MOTOR SLEIGH IS TAKEN OUT
VIII. NECK OR NOTHING
IX. AN ADVENTUROUS JOURNEY
X. THE SLEEP OF DEATH
XI. CROSSING THE ICE BARRIER
XII. TWO DAYS OUT
XIII. THE DASH FOR OBSERVATION CAMP
XIV. GOOD WORK IN THE BLIZZARD
XV. JUST IN TIME
XVI. THE CREVASSE
XVII. GUY IN COMMAND
XVIII. THE END OF THE MAMMOTH
XIX. THE LOST "BIRD OF FREEDOM"
XX. ABANDONED
XXI. RESCUED
ILLUSTRATIONS
With a fearful lurch she heeled to starboard _Frontispiece_
On three sides rose a continuous wall of ice
A huge polar bear standing on its hind legs
The _Bird of Freedom_ toppled, and like an arrow, plunged into
the sea
He could see Ranworth dangling inertly at the end of the first rope
With a terrific crash the _Bird of Freedom_ toppled completely over
Holding one of the hooks in his gloved hand, Travers deftly engaged
the hook in the ring-bolt at the bow of the sleigh
Right into the eye of the wind the four well-nigh exhausted
men struggled
'MIDST ARCTIC PERILS
CHAPTER I
RUN DOWN
"I MANAGED it all right, Guy," announced Leslie Ward excitedly. "Old
Runswick's a brick. Says he'll take us both for a week's cruise. The
_Laughing Lassie_ sails at high water this evening."
Leslie Ward, the fifteen-year-old son of a distinguished electrical
engineer, and his chum, Guy Anderson, were spending a holiday at the
small fishing village of Pilgrimswick, situated on a remote part of
the Yorkshire coast.
The friendship between the two boys was of only few weeks' duration,
but it was a friendship that was fated to be a life-long one,
cemented by peril and adventure.
Both lads were of almost the same age. Leslie Ward was tall,
broad-shouldered, and well set-up. He looked older than his actual
years. He was apt to be a trifle impulsive, and, possessing an
abundance of energy, was always ready to tackle any difficulty that
presented itself. His knowledge of mechanics and physics was
extensive, and even his father--a cool, calculating man, who never
erred upon the side of exaggeration--was forced to admit that Leslie
showed great promise of becoming a first-rate consulting engineer.
Guy Anderson was of a different build and disposition. A good three
inches shorter than his chum, and slight of build, he lacked the
physical strength that Leslie possessed. Nevertheless, he was
well-knit and wiry, and capable of withstanding the strain of
fatigue. Their parents' permission to undertake a trip in the
_Laughing Lassie_ had been obtained even before the matter had been
broached to the gruff yet kind-hearted skipper of the ketch, and now,
the latter business having been satisfactorily concluded, it only
remained for the two lads to provide themselves with suitable
clothing and a generous contribution in the way of eatables to the
ship's stores.
By the time Leslie and Guy arrived at the tidal harbour, the
_Laughing Lassie_ was already afloat.
"Evenin', young gents," was Skipper Runswick's curt greeting. Then,
eyeing the big hamper that accompanied his guests, he added, with
typical Yorkshire candour: "An' what might you be? Dost tha' think
tha'lt not be fed properly?"
"Oh, no, Captain Runswick," Leslie hastened to explain. "It's our
contribution to be shared by all hands."
"Let's hope that you'll be ready to do your share o' things,"
rejoined the skipper grimly, as he regarded his two amateurs in their
spotless white duck overalls with certain amount of disdain. "Stow
the gear over agin' yon hatchway. Andrew'll pass it below in a
minute. Now clap on yon rope and heave till you crack your ribs."
The voyage to the fishing grounds had begun in earnest.
Skipper Runswick had sailed the _Laughing Lassie_ for nearly forty
years. She was by no means a new boat when he first set foot upon her
deck; but, like many another veteran of the North Sea, the ketch was
soundly and powerfully built. She was a Weatherly craft, with a fair
turn of speed. It wasn't safe for anyone to say a word against her in
the skipper's presence.
The "old man" was one of an old school. He knew the fishing grounds
as well as a Londoner knows the Strand--perhaps better. The use of
the sextant was beyond him, yet solely by the aid of compass and
lead-line would he find his way across the vast, trackless expanse of
the North Sea to his favourite "grounds," where a cast of the trawl
never failed to produce a goodly haul. Putting his trust in
Providence, bad weather failed to daunt him.
Their work done for the time being, Leslie and Guy went aft, and,
sitting on a coil of rope close to the taffrail, watched the rapidly
receding cliffs of the rugged Yorkshire coast, thrown into strong
relief by the setting sun.
The watch on deck, consisting of Old Mick and George the cook,
commonly referred to as Long Garge--had trimmed and fixed the red and
green navigation lamps. The wind had fallen light, and the _Laughing
Lassie_ rolled laboriously in the long, sullen swell.
Old Mick was standing at the tiller, with legs stretched wide apart,
and his hands in his pockets. His work for the time being consisted
in doing nothing, for the ketch barely carried steerage way. Long
Garge was for'ard scratching the foremast and whistling blithely in
the hope, common to the old-time seamen, that the joint action would
result in a breeze.
"Better now than when we've got the holds full of fish," declared the
skipper, commenting upon the lack of wind.
Leslie and Guy slept badly that night. The bunks felt uncomfortable,
weird noises overhead and strange groanings as the old vessel
strained in the long, oily swell, the somewhat close atmosphere
'tween decks, all combined to disturb the slumbers of the two chums.
Glad were they when, at the first blush of dawn, they were able to
leave their strange beds and go on deck.
It was a glorious morning. The sun had just risen above a low-lying
bank of haze. The surface of the North Sea was ruffled by a gentle
breeze. All around the sea and sky met in an unbroken horizon. Not
another sail was to be seen.
The only member of the crew already on deck was Peter, the ship's
boy, who was steering with the skill of a born sailorman, keeping the
stiff little ketch "full and bye" without shiver in her
well-stretched canvas.
"Good-morning, Peter," said Guy. "It looks as if it's going to be a
jolly fine day."
"Not for trawling," replied Peter sagely. "Might do for pleasure
folk, but the wind'll die down when the sun gets up, and more'n
likely there'll be a fog."
"Where do we wash?" inquired Leslie innocently. Peter grinned.
"There's a canvas bucket up for'ard," he informed his questioner.
"Just you strip, and get t' other gent to swill you down. That's what
we do."
As Peter had prophesied, the wind did fall to a dead calm. Leslie and
Guy had a swim over the side, getting on board again by means of a
tarry rope.
For the rest of the day the _Laughing Lassie_ drifted idly, until
about an hour before sunset, when a smart breeze helped her on her
way.
Skipper Runswick declared that the nets would be shot directly the
ketch arrived at her favourite fishing ground. It would mean a
night's work, he admitted, but no doubt the young gents would sleep
throughout the noise on deck.
"We'd rather remain up, if you don't mind," said Leslie, remembering
the hard bunk in the little cabin. Besides, it was the novelty of
seeing the trawls, laden with glittering fish, being hauled on board,
that was one of the objects of his trip.
"All right," replied Runswick, good-humouredly. "No doubt we can make
you properly useful." Acting upon the skipper's advice, the two lads
turned in for a few hours on the understanding that they would be
called directly the nets were ready to be shot.
Contrary to their expectations, they slept like logs until one in the
morning, when Peter, knocking loudly at the cabin door, announced
that all was in readiness.
Putting on thick sweaters, Leslie and Guy went on deck. It was pitch
dark, except for the feeble glimmer of two lanterns hung vertically
from the forestay. Not a star was visible. There was hardly any wind,
while the sea was calm and strangely phosphorescent.
Slowly Long Garge and Peter, assisted by the two "supernumeraries,"
paid out yard after yard of carefully coiled nets, for the speed at
which the _Laughing Lassie_ was moving was so slight that any attempt
to shoot the nets hurriedly would result in a disastrous tangle.
"All out, Cap'n!" announced Long Garge, as the last of the cork
floats disappeared overboard. "But, blow me, if there ain't thick
weather a-comin' on."
In a very short space of time the deck of the _Laughing Lassie_ was
hidden in a pall of vapour. It was impossible to see the regulation
lights from the after-part of the ketch.
"'Tis thick," agreed Skipper Runswick. "Peter, you nip below and get
out the fog-horn. It'll keep you busy. Thank goodness we're out of
the regular steamer tracks," he added under his breath.
Although the night had hitherto been warm and humid, a cold
clamminess accompanied the fog. In spite of their thick sweaters, the
lads shivered.
"Nothin' doin' for a bit," said the skipper, almost colliding with
his guests, as he made his way for'ard. "Go below to the cabin.
Unless the fog lifts pretty soon, we'll not get the nets in afore
dawn. If you're still of a mind to see the job being done, I'll give
you the word."
"Thanks awfully," said Leslie, his teeth chattering as he spoke. "We
would like to be called if you do haul in the nets."
Although neither had cared to admit it, both boys were glad to
retreat to the snug shelter of the cabin. The lamp lit, they made no
attempt to turn in, but talked and read, to the accompaniment of the
minute blasts upon the foghorn, which Peter used with vigour.
"It must be nearly daylight," said Guy at length. "It's now nearly
three o'clock, and the sun rises at half-past four. I'm not in the
least bit tired, are you?"
Before Leslie could reply, there was a violent scuffling of feet
overhead, and a chorus of shouts from Skipper Runswick and his crew.
The lads looked at each other in wonderment, then, seized by a
common impulse, made for the companion ladder.
Before they were clear of the doorway, a terrific crash shook the
_Laughing Lassie_ like a rat in the mouth of a terrier; then with a
fearful lurch she heeled to starboard.
The swinging lamp, hurled from its gimbals, was smashed into a
thousand fragments against the skylight, plunging the little cabin
into intense darkness. The two lads, in company with every article
that was not securely fixed, rolled to leeward in a confused heap.
Before they could regain their feet, they were dimly aware that water
was pouring into the stricken vessel.
The _Laughing Lassie_ was making her last voyage--this time to the
bed of the North Sea. Cut half-way through amidships by a lumbering
tramp, the skipper of which, with a ruthless disregard for the Rules
of the Road at Sea, was driving his craft at full speed ahead, the
ketch was doomed.
In a very short space of time, barely sufficient for the crew to
clamber on to the bows of the ramming vessel, the tramp had drawn
clear, while the _Laughing Lassie_, with Leslie and Guy still in the
cabin, was already on the point of disappearing beneath the waves.