Wild Adventures round the Pole

“And the bun,” added Silas. “And the bun,” repeated Rory after him. “And won’t my little wife make you welcome, too! you may bet your fiddle on that!”

Then these two sworn friends grasped hands over the table, and the conversation dropped for a time.

But there perhaps never was a much happier Greenland skipper than Silas Grig, when he found his ship lying secure among the ice, with thousands on thousands of old seals all around him. The weather continued extremely fine for a whole week. The little wind there had been, died all away, and the sun shone more warmly and brightly than it had done since the Arrandoon came to the country. The seals were so cosy that they really did not seem to mind being shot, and those that were scared off one piece of ice almost immediately scrambled on to another. “Fire away!” they seemed to say; “we are so numerous that we really won’t miss a few of us. Only don’t disturb us more than you can help.”

So the seals hugged the ice, basking in the bright sunshine, either sleeping soundly or gazing dreamily around them with their splendid eyes, or scratching their woolly ribs with their flippers for want of something to do.

And bang, bang, bang! went the rifles; they never seemed to cease from the noon of night until mid-day, nor from mid-day until the noon of night again.

The draggers of skins went in pairs for safety, and thus many a poor fellow who tumbled into the sea between the bergs, escaped with a ducking when otherwise he would have lost his life.

Ralph – long-legged, brawny-chested Saxon Ralph – was among “the ducked,” as Rory called the unfortunates. He came to a space of water which was too wide even for him. He would not be beaten, though, so he pitched his rifle over first by way of beginning the battle. Then he thought, by swinging his heavy cartridge-bag by its shoulder-strap the weight would help to carry him over. He called this jumping from a tangent. It was a miserable failure. But the best of the fun – so Rory said, though it could not have been fun to Ralph – was this: when he found himself floundering in the water he let go the bag of cartridges, which at once began to sink, but in sinking caught his heel, and pulled him for the moment under water. Poor Ralph! his feelings may be better imagined than described.

“I made sure a shark had me!” he said, quietly, when by the help of his friend Rory, he had been brought safely to bank.

It was not very often that Ralph had a mishap of any kind, but, having come to grief in this way, it was not likely that Rory would throw away so good a chance of chaffing him.

He suddenly burst out laughing at luncheon that day, at a time when nobody was speaking, and when apparently there was nothing at all to laugh about.

“What now, Rory? what now, boy?” said McBain, with a smile of anticipation.

“Oh!” cried Rory, “if you had only seen my big English brother’s face when he thought the shark had him!”

“Was it funny?” said Allan, egging him on.

“Funny!” said Rory. “Och I now, funny is no name for it. You should have seen the eyes of him! – and his jaw fall! – and that big chin of his. You know, Englishmen have a lot of chin, and – ”

“And Irishmen have a lot of cheek,” cried Ralph. “Just wait till I get you on deck, Row boy.”

“I’d make him whustle,” suggested the doctor.

“Troth,” Rory went on, “it was very nearly the death o’ me. And to see him kick and flounder! Sure I’d pity the shark that got one between the eyes from your foot, baby Ralph.”

“Well,” said Ralph, “it was nearly the death of me, anyhow, having to take off all my clothes and wring them on top of the snow.”

“Oh! but,” continued Rory, assuming seriousness, and addressing McBain, “you ought to have seen Ralph just then, sir. That was the time to see my baby brother to advantage. Neptune is nobody to him. Troth, Ray, if you’d lived in the good old times, it’s a gladiator they’d have made of you entirely.”

Here came a low derisive laugh from Cockie’s cage, and Ralph pitched a crust of bread at the bird, and shook his fingers at Rory.

But Rory kept out of Ralph’s way for a whole hour after this, and by that time the storm had blown clean away, so Rory was safe.

Allan had his turn next day. The danger in walking on the ice was chiefly owing to the fact that the edges of many of the bergs had been undermined by the waves and the recent swell, so that they were apt to break off and precipitate the unwary pedestrian into the water.

Here is Allan’s little adventure, and it makes one shudder to think how nearly it led him to being an actor in a terrible tragedy. He was trudging on after the seals with rifle at full cock, for he expected a shot almost immediately, when, as he was about to leap, the snowy edge of the berg gave way, and down he went. Instinctively he held his rifle out to his friend, who grasped it with both hands, the muzzle against his breast, and thus pulled him out. It seemed marvellous that the rifle did not go off.

(Both these adventures are sketched from the life.)

When safe to bank, and when he noticed the manner in which he had been helped out, poor Allan felt sick, there is no other name for it.

“Oh, Ralph, Ralph!” he said, clutching his friend by the shoulder to keep himself from falling, “what if I had killed you?”

When told of the incident that evening after dinner, McBain, after a momentary silence, said quietly, —

“I’m not sorry such a thing should have happened, boys; it ought to teach you caution; and it teaches us all that there is Some One in whose hands we are; Some One to look after us even in moments of extremest peril.”

But I think Allan loved Ralph even better after this.

Two weeks’ constant sealing; two weeks during which the crews of the Arrandoon and Canny Scotia never sat down to a regular meal, and never lay down for two consecutive hours of repose, only eating when hungry and sleeping when they could no longer keep moving; two weeks during which nobody knew what o’clock it was at any particular time, or which was east or west, or whether it were day or night. Two weeks, then the seals on the ice disappeared as if by magic, for the frost was coming.

“Let them go,” said Silas, shaking McBain warmly by the hand. “Thanks to you, sir, I’m a bumper ship. Why, man, I’m full to the hatches. Low freeboard and all that sort of thing. Plimsoll wouldn’t pass us out of any British harbour. But, with fair weather and God’s help, sir, we’ll get safely home.”

“And now,” McBain replied, “there isn’t a moment to lose. We must get out of here, Captain Grig, or the frost will serve us a trick as it did before.”

With some difficulty the ships were got about and headed once more for the open sea.

None too soon, though, for there came again that strange, ethereal blue into the sky, which, from their experiences of the last black frost, they had learned to dread. The thermometer sank, and sank, and sank, till far down below zero.

The Arrandoon took her “chummy ship” in tow.

“Go ahead at full speed,” was the order.

No, none too soon, for in two hours’ time the great steam-hammer had to be set to work to break the newly-formed bay ice at the bows of the Arrandoon, and fifty men were sent over the side to help her on. With iron-shod pikes they smashed the ice, with long poles they pushed the bergs, singing merrily as they worked, working merrily as they sang, laughing, joking, stamping, shouting, and cheering as ever and anon the great ship made another spurt, and tore along for fifty or a hundred yards. Handicapped though she was by having the Scotia in tow, the Arrandoon fought the ice as if she had been some mighty giant, and every minute the distance between her and the open water became less, till at last it could be seen even from the quarter-deck. But the frost seemed to grow momentarily more intense, and the bay- ce stronger and harder between the bergs. Never mind, that only stimulated the men to greater exertions. It was a battle for freedom, and they meant to win. With well-meaning though ridiculous doggerel, Ted Wilson led the music, —

“Work and keep warm, boys; heave and keep hot,Jack Frost thinks he’s clever; we’ll show him he’s not.        Beyond is the sea, boys;        Let us fight and get free, boys;One thing will keep boiling, and that is the pot.        With a heave O!        Push and she’ll go.To work and to fight is the bold sailor’s lot.Heave O – O – O!“Go fetch me the lubber who won’t bear a hand,We’ll feed him on blubber, we’ll stuff him with sand.        But yonder our ships, boys,        Ere they get in the nips, boys,We’ll wrestle and work, as long’s we can stand,        Then cheerily has it, men,                Heave O – O – O!        Merrily has it, men,                Off we go, O – O – O!”

Yes, reader, and away they went, and in one more hour they were clear of the ice, the Arrandoon had cast the Scotia off, and banked her fires, for, together with her consort, she was to sail, not steam, down to the island of Jan Mayen, where they were to take on board the sleigh-dogs, and bid farewell to Captain Cobb, the bold Yankee astronomer. – There was but little wind, but they made the most of what there was. Silas dined on board that day, as usual. They were determined to have as much of the worthy old sailor as they could. But before dinner one good action was performed by McBain in Captain Grig’s presence. First he called all hands, and ordered them aft; then he asked Ted Wilson to step forward, and addressed him briefly as follows:

“Mr Wilson, I find I can do with another mate, and I appoint you to the post.”

Ted was a little taken aback; a brighter light came into his eyes; he muttered something – thanks, I suppose – but the men’s cheering drowned his voice. Then our heroes shook hands with him all around, and McBain gave the order, —

“Pipe down.”

But as soon as Ted Wilson returned to his shipmates they shouldered him, and carried him high and dry right away forward, and so down below.

Chapter Twenty Eight.

A Wonderful Yankee – “Making Off” Skins – Preparing to “Bear up” – The Summer Home of the Giant Walrus – The Ships Part

In two days the ships sighted the island of Jan Mayen. As they neared it, they found the ice so closely packed around the shore that all approach even by boats was out of the question, so the sails were clewed, the ice-anchors got out, and both ships made fast to the floe.

It was not long ere Captain Cobb was on board the Arrandoon, to welcome our heroes back to “his island of Jan Mayen.”

He was profuse in his thanks for what he called the clever kindness of Captain McBain, in saving his little yacht from a fatal accident among the ice; and, of course, they would do him the honour to come on shore and dine with him. He would take it as downright “mean” if they did not.

There was no resisting such an appeal as this, so, leaving their ships in charge of their respective mates, both McBain and Silas, in company with our heroes – Sandy McFlail, Seth, and all – they trudged off over the snowy bergs to take dinner in the hut of the bold Yankee astronomer. Very unprepossessing, indeed, was the building to behold from the outside, but no sooner had they entered, than they opened their eyes wide with astonishment.

When our young friends had visited it before, the hut looked neither more nor less than a big hall, or rather barn. But now – why, here were all the luxuries of civilised life. The place was divided into ante-room, saloon, and bed-chamber, and each apartment seemed more comfortable than another. The walls of the saloon were covered with rich tapestry, the floor with a soft thick carpet. There were couches and easy-chairs and skins galore, and books and musical instruments. A great stove, of American pattern, burned in the centre, giving out warmth and making the room look doubly cheerful, and overhead swung an immense lamp, which shed a soft, effulgent light everywhere, so that one did not miss the windows, of which the hut was minus. At one end of this apartment was a dining-table, as well laid and as prettily arranged as if it stood in the dining-hall of a club-room in Pall Mall, and beside the table were two sable waiters clad in white.

Captain Cobb seemed to thoroughly enjoy the looks of bewilderment and wonder exhibited on the faces of his guests.

“Why,” said McBain at last, “pardon me, but you Yankees are about the most wonderful people on the face of the earth.”

“Waal,” said the Yankee, “I guess we like our little comforts, and don’t see any harm in having them.”

“So long’s we deserve them,” put in Seth, who, at that moment, really felt very proud of being a Yankee.

“Bravo! old man,” cried his countryman; “let us shake your hand.”

“And now, gentlemen,” he continued, “sit in. I reckon the keen air and the walk have given ye all an appetite.”

Soups, fish, entries, joints – why I do not know what there was not in the bill-of-fare. It was a banquet fit for a king.

“I can’t make out how you manage it,” said McBain. “Do you keep a djin?”

Cobb laughed and summoned the cook. If he was not a djin, he was just as ugly. Four feet high – not an inch more – with long arms, black skin, flat face, and no nose at all worth mentioning. He was dressed as a chef, however, and very polite, for at a motion from his master, he salaamed very prettily and retired.

At dessert the host produced a zither, and, accompanying himself on this beautiful instrument, sang to them. He drawled while talking, but he sang most sweetly, and with a taste and feeling that quite charmed Rory, and held Silas and the doctor spell-bound. He was indeed a wonderful Yankee.

“Do you know,” said Rory, “I feel for all the world like being in an enchanted cave? Do sing again, if only one song.”

It is needless to add that our friends spent the evening most enjoyably. It was a red-letter night, and one they often looked back to with pleasure, and talked about as they lay around their snuggery fire, during the long dreary time they spent in the regions round the Pole.

“I’m glad, anyhow,” said Captain Cobb, as he bade them good-bye on the snow-clad beach, “that I’ve made it a kind o’ pleasant for ye. Don’t forget to call as you come back, and if Cobb be here, why, Cobb will bid you welcome. Farewell.”

By eight bells in next morning watch everything was ready for a start. The dogs – twelve in number – were got on board and duly kennelled, and the old trapper was installed as whipper-in.

“But I guess,” said Seth, “there won’t be much whipping-in in the play. Trapper Seth is one of those rare old birds who know the difference between a dog and a door-knocker. Yes, Seth knows that there’s more in a good bed and a biscuit, with a kind word whenever it is needed, than there is in all the cruel whips in existence.”

The kennelling for the poor animals was got up under the supervision of Ap and Seth himself. It was built on what the trapper called “scientific principles.”

There was a yard or ran in common for the whole pack; but the large, roomy sleeping compartment had a bench, on which all twelve dogs could sleep or lie at once, yet nevertheless it was divided by boards about a foot high into six divisions. This was to prevent the dogs all tumbling into a heap when the ship rolled. The bedding was straw and shavings; of the former commodity McBain had not forgotten to lay in a plentiful supply before leaving Scotland. There was, besides, a whole tankful of Spratts’ biscuits, so that what with these and the ship’s scraps, it did not seem at all likely that the dogs would go hungry to bed for some time to come.

Seth was now much happier on board than ever he had been, because he had duties to perform and an office to fill, humble though it might be.

At half-past eight Silas came on board the Arrandoon to breakfast. Allan and Rory were tramping rapidly up and down the deck to keep themselves warm, for, though the wind was blowing west-south-west, it was bitterly cold, and the “barber” was blowing. The barber is a name given to a light vapoury mist that, when the frost is intense and the wind in pertain directions, is seen rising off the sea in Greenland. I have called it a mist, but it in reality partakes more of the nature of steam, being due to the circumstance of the air being ever so much colder than the surface of the water.

Oh! but it is a cold steam – a bitter, biting, killing steam. Woe be to the man who exposes his ears to it, or who does not keep constantly rubbing his nose when walking or sailing in it, for want of precaution in this respect may result in the loss of ears or nose, and both appendages are useful, not to say ornamental.

“Good morning,” cried Silas, jumping down on to the deck.

“The top of the morning to you, friend Silas,” said Rory; “how do you feel after your blow-out at Captain Cobb’s?”

“Fust-rate,” said Silas – “just fust-rate; but where is Ralph and the captain?”

“Ralph!” said Rory; “why, I don’t suppose there is a bit of him to be seen yet, except the extreme tip of his nose and maybe a morsel of his Saxon chin; and as for the captain, he is busy in his cabin. Breakfast all ready, is it, Peter? Thank you, Peter, we’re coming down in a jiffy.”

Just as they entered the saloon by one door, McBain came in by another.

“Ah! good morning, Captain Grig,” he cried, extending his hand. “Sit down. Peter, the coffee. And now,” he continued, “what think you of the prospect? It isn’t exactly a fair wind for you to bear up, is it?”

“The wind would do,” said Silas; “but I’m hardly what you might call tidy enough to bear up yet. It’ll take us a week to make off our skins, and a day more to clean up. I’d like to go home not only a bumper ship, but a clean and wholesome sweet ship.”

“Well, then,” McBain said, “here is what I’ll do for you.”

“But you’ve done so much already,” put in Silas, “that really – ”

“Nonsense, man,” cried McBain, interrupting him; “why, it has been all fun to us. But I was going to say that instead of lying here for a week, you had better sail north with us, Spitzbergen way, and my men will help you to make off and tidy up. Who knows but that after that you may get a fair wind to carry you right away south into summer weather in little over a week?”

“Bless your heart!” said Silas; “the suggestion is a grand one. I close with your offer at once. You see, sir, we Greenlandmen generally return to harbour all dirty, outside anyhow, with our sides scraped clean o’ paint, and our masts and spars as black as a collier’s.”

“You shan’t, though,” said McBain. “We’ll spend a bucket or two of paint over him, won’t we, boys?”

“That will we,” said Ralph and Allan, both in one breath.

“And I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” added Rory.

“Something nice, I’m certain,” said Silas.

“I’ll paint and gild that Highland lassie of yours that you have for a figure-head.”

“Glorious! glorious!” cried Silas Grig.

“Why, my own wife won’t know the ship. And, poor wee body! she’ll be down there looking anxiously enough out to sea when she hears I’m in the offing. Oh, it will be glorious! Won’t my matie be pleased when he hears about it!”

“I say, though,” said Rory, “I’ll change the pattern of your Highland lassie’s tartan. She came to the country a Gordon, she shall return a McGregor.”

“Or a McFlail,” suggested Sandy.

“Ha! ha! ha!” This was an impudent, derisive laugh from Cockie’s cage, which made everybody else laugh, and caused Sandy to turn red in the face.

After breakfast the ice-anchors were cast off and got on board, and sail set. The Arrandoon led, keeping well clear of the ice, and taking a course of north-east and by north. When well off the ice, and everything working free and easy, McBain called all hands, and ordered the men to lay aft.

“Men,” he said, “you all signed articles to complete the voyage with me to the Polar regions and back. Most of you knew, as you put your names to the paper, what you were about, because you had been here before, but some of you didn’t. Now I am by no means short-handed, and if any of you thinks he has had enough of it already, and would like to return to his country, step forward and say so now, and I’ll make arrangements with Captain Grig for your passage back.”

Not a man stirred.

“I will take it as a favour,” continued the captain, “if any one who has any doubts on his mind will come forward now. I want only willing hands with me.”

“We are willing, we are willing hands,” the men shouted.

“Beg your pardon, sir,” said bold Ted Wilson, stepping forward, “but I know the crew well. I’m sure they all feel thankful for your kind offer, but ne’er a man Jack o’ them would go back, if you offered to pay him for doing so.”

The captain bowed and thanked Ted, and the men gave one hearty cheer and retired.

Once fairly at sea, McBain sent two whalers on board the Scotia, their crews rigged out in working dress, and making off was at once commenced.

Upright boards were made fast here and there along the decks; the skins, with their two or three inches of blubber attached, were handed up from below, and the men set to work in this way – they stood at one side of the board and spread the skin in front of them on the other; then they leant over, and first cutting off all useless pieces of flesh, etc, they next cleaned the blubber from off the skin. This was by other hands cut into pieces about a foot square, carried away, and sent below to be deposited in the tanks. Other workmen removed the cleaned skins. These were dashed over with rough salt, rolled tightly and separately up, and cast into tanks by themselves. This latter duty devolved upon the mates, and old Silas himself stood, with book in hand, “taking tally,” that is, counting the number of skins as they were passed one by one below. The refuse, or “orra bits,” as Scotch sailors call them, were thrown overboard by bucketfuls, and over these thousands of screaming gulls fought on the surface of the water, and scores of sharks immediately beneath.

It was a busy scene, and one that can only be witnessed in Greenland north.

In three days all the skins were made off and stowed away. All this time the men had been as merry as sheep-shearers, and only on the last day did Silas splice the main-brace, even then diluting the rum with warm coffee.

Then came the cleaning up, and scouring of decks below and above, and white-washing and mast-scraping. After this McBain sent his painters on board, and in less than four-and-twenty hours she looked like a new ship.

And Rory was busy below on the ’tween decks. The Highland lassie had been unshipped, and taken below for him to paint and gild. Rory, mind you, did not wish it to be unshipped. He would have preferred being swung overboard. There would have been more fun in it, he said. But Silas would not hear of such a thing. The cold, he feared, would benumb him so that he might drop off into the sea, to the infinite joy and satisfaction of a gang of unprincipled sharks that kept up with the ship, but to the everlasting sorrow of him, Captain Silas Grig.

When the ship was all painted, and the masts scraped and varnished, and the Highland lassie – brightly arrayed in gold and McGregor tartan – re-shipped, why then, I do not think a prouder or happier man than Silas Grig ever trod a quarter-deck.

The day after this everybody on the Arrandoon was busy, busy, busy writing letters for home.

They were thus engaged, when a shout came from the crow’s-nest, —

“Heavy ice ahead!”

It was the ice-bound shores of the southernmost islands of Spitzbergen they had sighted. They passed between several of these, and grandly beautiful they looked, with their fantastically-shaped sides glittering green and blue and white in the sunshine. These islands seemed to be the northern home or summer retreat of the great bladder-nosed seal and the giant walrus. They basked on the smaller bergs that floated around them, while hundreds of strange sea-birds nodded half asleep on the snow-clad rocks.

It was here where the two ships parted, the Canny Scotia bearing up for the sunny south, the Arrandoon clewing sails and lighting fires to steam away to The Unknown Land.

There were tears in poor Rory’s eyes as he shook hands with Silas, and he could not trust himself to say much. Indeed, there was little said on either hand, but the farewell wishes were none the less heartfelt for all that. There is always somewhat of humour mixed up with the sad in life. It was not wanting on this occasion. Silas had brought a servant with him when he came to say adieu. This servant carried with him a mysterious-looking box. It was all he could do to lift it. Seeing McBain look inquiringly at it, —