This is a world of alternations. We need not turn aside to prove that. The calm with which the voyage of our discoverers began lasted about four days and nights, during which period they advanced sometimes slowly under oars, sometimes more or less rapidly under kites—if we may so express it—according to the state of the wind.
And, during all that time the discipline of two and two—at watch, or at sleep, if not at work—was rigidly kept up. For none knew better than Captain Vane the benefit of discipline, and the demoralising effect of its absence, especially in trying circumstances. It is but just to add that he had no difficulty in enforcing his laws. It is right also to state that the women were not required to conform, even although they were accustomed to hard labour and willing to work as much as required. In all three boats the bow was set apart as the women’s quarters, and when Toolooha, Oblooria or Tekkona showed symptoms of a desire to go to sleep—(there was no retiring for the night in these latitudes)—a blanket stretched on two oars cut their quarters off from those of the men, and maintained the dignity of the sex.
But soon the serene aspect of nature changed. Grey clouds overspread the hitherto sunny sky. Gusts of wind came sweeping over the sea from time to time, and signs of coming storm became so evident that the Captain gave orders to make all snug and prepare for dirty weather.
“You see, lads,” he said, when the three boats were abreast, and the kites had been furled, “we don’t know what may happen to us now. Nobody in the world has had any experience of these latitudes. It may come on to blow twenty-ton Armstrongs instead of great guns, for all we know to the contrary. The lightning may be sheet and fork mixed instead of separate for any light we’ve got on the subject, and it may rain whales and walruses instead of cats and dogs; so it behoves us to be ready.”
“That’s true, father,” said Benjy, “but it matters little to me, for I’ve made my will. Only I forgot to leave the top with the broken peg and the rusty penknife to Rumty Swillpipe; so if you survive me and get home on a whale’s back—or otherwise—you’ll know what to do.”
“This is not a time for jesting, Ben,” said Alf rather seriously.
“Did I say it was?” inquired Ben, with a surprised look.
Alf deigned no reply, and Butterface laughed, while he and the others set about executing the Captain’s orders.
The arrangements made in these india-rubber boats for bad weather were very simple and complete. After the lading in each had been snugly arranged, so as to present as flat a surface on the top as possible, a waterproof sheet was drawn over all, and its edges made fast to the sides of the boat, by means of tags and loops which were easily fastened and detached. As each sheet overhung its boat, any water that might fall upon it was at once run off. This, of course, was merely put on to protect the cargo and any one who chose to take shelter under it. The boat being filled with air required no such sheet, because if filled to overflowing it would still have floated. All round this sheet ran a strong cord for the crew, who sat outside of it as on a raft, to lay hold of if the waves should threaten to wash them off. There were also various other ropes attached to it for the same purpose, and loops of rope served for rowlocks.
When all had been arranged, those whose duty it was to rest leaned comfortably against the lumps caused by inequalities of the cargo, while the others took to their oars.
“It’s coming!” cried Benjy, about half-an-hour after all had been prepared.
And unquestionably it was coming. The boy’s quick eyes had detected a line on the southern horizon, which became gradually broader and darker as it rose until it covered the heavens. At the same time the indigo ripple caused by a rushing mighty wind crept steadily over the sea. As it neared the boats the white crests of breaking waves were seen gleaming sharply in the midst of the dark blue.
“Clap the women under hatches,” shouted the Captain, with more good sense than refinement.
Benjy, Butterface, and Anders at the word lifted a corner of their respective sheets. Obedient Toolooha, Oblooria, and Tekkona bent their meek heads and disappeared: The sheets were refastened, and the men, taking their places, held on to the cords or life-lines. It was an anxious moment. No one could guess how the boats would behave under the approaching trial.
“Oars out,” cried the Captain, “we must run before it.”
A hiss, which had been gradually increasing as the squall drew near, broke into a kind of roar, and wind and waves rushed upon them as the men bent their backs to the oars with all their might.
It was soon found that the boats had so little hold of the water that the wind and oars combined carried them forward so fast as to decrease considerably the danger of being whelmed by a falling wave. These waves increased every moment in size, and their crests were so broken and cut off by the gale that the three boats, instead of appearing as they had hitherto done the only solid objects in the scene, were almost lost to sight in the chaos of black waves and driving foam. Although they tried their best to keep close together they failed, and each soon became ignorant of the position of the others. The last that they saw of Alf’s boat was in the hollow between two seas like a vanishing cormorant or a northern diver. Leo was visible some time longer. He was wielding the steering-oar in an attitude of vigorous caution, while his Eskimos were pulling as if for their lives. An enormous wave rose behind them, curled over their heads and appeared ready to overwhelm them, but the sturdy rowers sent the boat forward, and the broken crest passed under them. The next billow was still larger. Taken up though he was with his own boat the Captain found time to glance at them with horror.
“They’re gone!” he cried, as the top of the billow fell, and nothing was seen save the heads of the four men like dark spots on the foam. The boat had in truth been overwhelmed and sunk, but, like a true lifeboat it rose to the surface like a cork the instant the weight of water was removed, and her crew, who had held on to the life-lines and oars, were still safe.
“Well done the little Hope!” cried the Captain, while Benjy gave vent to his feelings in a cheer, which was evidently heard by Leo, for he was seen to wave his hand in reply. Next moment another wave hid the Hope from view, and it was seen no more at that time.
“I feel easier now, Benjy, thank God, after that. Alf is a fair steersman, and our boats are evidently able to stand rough usage.”
Benjy made no reply. He was rubbing the water out of his eyes, and anxiously looking through the thick air in the hope of seeing Leo’s boat again. The poor boy was grave enough now. When the might and majesty of the Creator are manifested in the storm and the raging sea, the merely humorous fancies of man are apt to be held in check.
The Captain’s boat went rushing thus wildly onwards, still, fortunately, in the right direction; and for some hours there was no decrease in the force of the gale. Then, instead of abating, as might have been expected, it suddenly increased to such an extent that speedy destruction appeared to be inevitable.
“No sort o’ craft could live long in this,” muttered the Captain, as if to himself rather than to his son, who sat with a firm expression on his somewhat pale countenance, looking wistfully towards the northern horizon. Perhaps he was wondering whether it was worth while to risk so much for such an end. Suddenly he shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed intently.
“Land!” he exclaimed in a low eager tone.
“Whereaway, boy? Ay, so there is something there. What say you, Chingatok? Is it land?”
The giant, who, during all this time, had calmly plied a pair of oars with strength equal almost to that of four men, looked over his shoulder without, however, relaxing his efforts.
“No,” he said, turning round again, “it is an ice-hill.”
“A berg!” exclaimed the Captain. “We will make for it. Tie your handkerchief, Benjy, to the end of an oar and hold it up. It will serve as a guide to our comrades.”
In a wonderfully short space of time the berg which Benjy had seen as a mere speck on the horizon rose sharp, rugged, and white against the black sky. It was a very large one—so large that it had no visible motion, but seemed as firm as a rock, while the billows of the Arctic Ocean broke in thunder on its glassy shore.
“We’ll get shelter behind it, Ben, my boy,” said the Captain, “hold the oar well up, and don’t let the rag clap round the blade. Shake it out so. God grant that they may see it.”
“Amen,” ejaculated Benjy to the prayer with heartfelt intensity.
There was danger as well as safety in the near vicinity to this berg, for many of its pinnacles seemed ready to fall, and there was always the possibility of a mass being broken off under water, which might destroy the equilibrium of the whole berg, and cause it to revolve with awfully destructive power.
However, there was one favourable point—the base was broad, and the ice-cliffs that bordered the sea were not high.
In a few more minutes the western end of the berg was passed. Its last cape was rounded, and the Faith was swept by the united efforts of Chingatok, Benjy, and Toolooha, (who would not remain under cover), into the comparatively still water on the lee, or northern side of the berg.
“Hurrah!” shouted Benjy in a tone that was too energetic and peculiar to have been called forth by the mere fact of his own escape from danger.
Captain Vane looked in the direction indicated by the boy’s glistening eyes—glistening with the salt tears of joy as well as with salt sea spray—and there beheld the other two boats coming dancing in like wild things on the crests of the heaving waves. They had seen the signal of the handkerchief, understood and followed it, and, in a few minutes more, were under the lee of the ice-cliffs, thanking God and congratulating each other on their deliverance.
A sheltered cove was soon found, far enough removed from cliffs and pinnacles to insure moderate safety. Into this they ran, and there they spent the night, serenaded by the roaring gale, and lullabied by the crash of falling spires and the groans of rending ice.
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