The islet, or rock, for it was little more, which the explorers had reached, was low and extremely barren. Nevertheless it had on it a large colony of sea-fowl, which received the strangers with their wonted clamour of indignation—if not of welcome.
As it was near noon at the time, the Captain and Leo went with their sextants to the highest part of the island to ascertain its position; the Eskimos set about making an encampment, unloading the boats, etcetera, and Alf, with hammer and botanical box, set off on a short ramble along the coast, accompanied by Benjy and Butterface.
Sometimes these three kept together and chatted, at other times they separated a little, each attracted by some object of interest, or following the lead, it might have been, of wayward fancy. But they never lost sight of each other, and, after a couple of hours, converged, as if by tacit consent, until they met and sat down to rest on a ledge of rock.
“Well, I do like this sort o’ thing,” remarked Benjy, as he wiped his heated brow. “There is something to me so pleasant and peaceful about a low rocky shore with the sun blazing overhead and the great sea stretching out flat and white in a dead calm with just ripple enough to let you know it is all alive and hearty—only resting, like a good-humoured and sleepy giant.”
“Why, Ben, I declare you are becoming poetical,” said Alf with a smile; “your conceptions correspond with those of Buzzby, who writes:—
“‘Great Ocean, slumb’ring in majestic calm,
Lies like a mighty—a mighty—’
“I—I fear I’ve forgotten. Let me see:—
“‘Great Ocean, slumb’ring in majestic calm,
Lies like a mighty—’”
“Giant in a dwalm,” suggested Benjy.
“We’ll change the subject,” said Alf, opening his botanical box and taking out several specimens of plants and rocks. “See, here are some bits of rock of a kind that are quite new to me.”
“What’s de use ob dem?” inquired Butterface with a look of earnest simplicity.
“The use?” said Benjy, taking on himself to reply; “why, you flat-nosed grampus, don’t you know that these bits of rock are made for the express purpose of being carried home, identified, classified, labelled, stuck up in a museum, and stared at by wondering ignoramuses, who care nothing whatever about them, and know less. Geologists are constantly going about the world with their little hammers keeping up the supply.”
“Yes, Butterface,” said Alf, “Benjy is partly correct; such specimens will be treated as he describes, and be stared at in blank stupidity by hundreds of fellows like himself, but they will also be examined and understood by geologists, who from their profound knowledge of the plans which our Creator seems to have had in arranging the materials of the earth, are able to point out many interesting and useful facts which are not visible to the naked and unscientific eye, such, for instance, as the localities where coal and other precious things may be found.”
“Kin dey tell whar’ gold is to be found, massa Alf?”
“O yes, they can tell that.”
“Den it’s dis yer chile as wishes,” said Butterface with a sigh, “dat he was a jollygist.”
“Oh! Butterface, you’re a jolly goose at all events,” said Benjy; “wouldn’t it be fun to go and discover a gold mine, and dig up as much as would keep us in happy idleness all the rest of our lives? But I say, Alf, have you nothing better than geological specimens in your box—no grubological specimens, eh?”
Alf replied by producing from his box a paper parcel which contained some of the required specimens in the shape of biscuit and pemmican.
“Capital! Well, you are a good fellow, Alf. Let us make a table-cloth of the paper—now, you undisciplined black, don’t glare so at the victuals, else you’ll grow too hungry for a moderate supply.”
When the trio were in the full swing of vigorous feeding, the negro paused, with his mouth full, to ask Alf what would be the use of the North Pole when it was discovered.
“Make matches or firewood of it,” said Benjy just as he was about to stop up his impudent mouth with a lump of pemmican.
“Truly, of what use the Pole itself may be—supposing it to exist in the form of a thing,” said Alf, “I cannot tell, but it has already been of great use in creating expeditions to the Polar regions. You know well enough, Butterface, for you’ve been round the Capes of Good Hope and Horn often enough, what a long long voyage it is to the eastern seas, on the other side of the world, and what a saving of time and expense it would be if we could find a shorter route to those regions, from which so many of our necessaries and luxuries come. Now, if we could only discover an open sea in the Arctic regions which would allow our ships to sail in a straight line from England across the North Pole to Behring’s Straits, the voyage to the East would be reduced to only about 5000 miles, and we should be able to reach Japan in three or four weeks. Just think what an advantage that would be to commerce!”
“Tea at twopence a pound an’ sugar to match—not to mention molasses and baccy, you ignorant nigger!” said Benjy;—“pass the biscuits.”
“An’ now, massa Alf,” said Butterface with an eager look, “we’s diskivered dis open sea—eh!”
“Well, it seems as if we had.”
“But what good will it do us,” argued Benjy, becoming more earnest in the discussion, “if it’s all surrounded by a ring of ice such as we have passed over on sledges.”
“If,” repeated Alf, “in that ‘if’ lies the whole question. No doubt Enterprise has fought heroically for centuries to overleap this supposed ring of ice, and science has stood expectant on the edge, looking eagerly for the day when human perseverance shall reveal the secrets of the Far North. It is true, also, that we at last appear to have penetrated into the great unknown, but who shall say that the so-called ice-ring has been fully examined? Our explorations have been hitherto confined to one or two parts of it. We may yet find an ever-open entrance to this open Polar sea, and our ships may yet be seen sailing regularly to and fro over the North Pole.”
“Just so,” said Benjy, “a North Pole steam line once a month to Japan and back—first class accommodation for second class fares. Walrus and white bear parties dropped on the way at the Pole Star Hotel, an easy trip from the Pole itself, which may be made in Eskimo cabs in summer and reindeer sleighs in winter. Return tickets available for six months—touching at China, India, Nova Zembla, Kamtschatka, and Iceland. Splendid view of Hecla and the great Mer de Glace of Greenland—fogs permitting.—Don’t eat so much, Butterface, else bu’stin’ will surely be your doom.”
“Your picture is perhaps a little overdrawn, Ben,” rejoined Alf with a smile.
“So would the ancients have said,” retorted Benjy, “if you had prophesied that in the nineteenth century our steamers would pass through the Straits of Hercules, up the Mediterranean, and over the land to India; or that our cousins’ steam cars would go rattling across the great prairies of America, through the vast forests, over and under the Rocky Mountains from the States to California, in seven days; or that the telephone or electric light should ever come into being.”
“Well, you see, Butterface,” said Alf, “there is a great deal to be said in favour of Arctic exploration, even at the present day, and despite all the rebuffs that we have received. Sir Edward Sabine, one of the greatest Arctic authorities, says of the route from the Atlantic to the Pacific, that it is the greatest geographical achievement which can be attempted, and that it will be the crowning enterprise of those Arctic researches in which England has hitherto had the pre-eminence. Why, Butterface,” continued Alf, warming with his subject, while the enthusiastic negro listened as it were with every feature of his expressive face, and even the volatile Benjy became attentive, “why, there is no telling what might be the advantages that would arise from systematic exploration of these unknown regions, which cover a space of not less than two million, five hundred thousand square miles. It would advance the science of hydrography, and help to solve some of the difficult problems connected with Equatorial and Polar currents. It would enable us, it is said, by a series of pendulum observations at or near the Pole, to render essential service to the science of geology, to form a mathematical theory of the physical condition of the earth, and to ascertain its exact conformation. It would probably throw light on the wonderful phenomena of magnetism and atmospheric electricity and the mysterious Aurora Borealis—to say nothing of the flora of these regions and the animal life on the land and in the sea.”
“Why, Alf,” exclaimed Benjy in surprise, “I had no idea you were so deeply learned on these subjects.”
“Deeply learned!” echoed Alf with a laugh, “why, I have only a smattering of them. Just knowledge enough to enable me in some small degree to appreciate the vast amount of knowledge which I have yet to acquire. Why do you look perplexed, Butterface?”
“’Cause, massa, you’s too deep for me altogidder. My brain no big ’nough to hold it all.”
“And your skull’s too thick to let it through to the little blob of brain that you do possess,” said Benjy with a kindly-contemptuous look at his sable friend. “Oh! flatnose, you’re a terrible thick-head.”
“You’s right dere, massa,” replied the negro, with a gratified smile at what he deemed a compliment. “You should ha’ seed me dat time when I was leetle boy down in Ole Virginny, whar dey riz me, when my gran’moder she foun’ me stickin’ my fist in de molasses-jar an’ lickin’ it off. She swarmed at me an’ fetch me one kick, she did, an’ sent me slap troo a pannel ob de loft door, an’ tumbled me down de back stair, whar I felled over de edge an’ landed on de top ob a tar barrel w’ich my head run into. I got on my legs, I did, wiv difficulty, an’ runned away never a bit de worse—not even a headache—only it was tree months afore I got dat tar rightly out o’ my wool. Yes, my head’s t’ick ’nough.”
While Butterface was speaking, Leo and the Captain were seen approaching, and the three rose to meet them. There was a grave solemnity in the Captain’s look which alarmed them.
“Nothing wrong I hope, uncle?” said Alf.
“Wrong! no, lad, there’s nothing wrong. On the contrary, everything is right. Why, where do you think we have got to?”
“A hundred and fifty miles from the Pole,” said Alf.
“Less, less,” said Leo, with an excited look.
“We are not more,” said the Captain slowly, as he took off his hat and wiped his brow, “not more than a hundred and forty miles from it.”
“Then we could be there in three days or sooner, with a good breeze,” cried Benjy, whose enthusiasm was aroused.
“Ay, Ben, if there was nothing in the way; but it’s quite clear from what Chingatok says, that we are drawing near to his native land, which cannot be more than fifty miles distant, if so much. You remember he has told us his home is one of a group of islands, some of which are large and some small; some mountainous and others flat and swampy, affording food and shelter to myriads of wild-fowl; so, you see, after we get there our progress northward through such a country, without roads or vehicles, won’t be at the rate of ten miles an hour by any means.”
“Besides,” added Leo, “it would not be polite to Chingatok’s countrymen if we were to leave them immediately after arriving. Perhaps they would not let us go, so I fear that we shan’t gain the end of our journey yet a while, but that does not matter much, for we’re sure to make it out at last.”
“What makes the matter more uncertain,” resumed the Captain, as they sauntered back to camp, “is the fact that this northern archipelago is peopled by different tribes of Eskimos, some of whom are of a warlike spirit and frequently give the others trouble. However, Chingatok says we shall have no difficulty in reaching this Nothing—as he will insist on styling the Pole, ever since I explained to him that it was not a real but an imaginary point.”
“I wonder how Anders ever got him to understand what an imaginary point is,” said Benjy.
“That has puzzled me too,” returned the Captain, “but he did get it screwed into him somehow, and the result is—Nothing!”
“Out of nothing nothing comes,” remarked Leo, as the giant suddenly appeared from behind a rock, “but assuredly nothing can beat Chingatok in size or magnificence, which is more than anything else can.”
The Eskimo had been searching for the absentees to announce that dinner was ready, and that Toolooha was impatient to begin; they all therefore quickened their pace, and soon after came within scent of the savoury mess which had been prepared for them by the giant’s squat but amiable mother.
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