The Giant of the North: Pokings Round the Pole

About this time the threatened war with the northern Eskimos had unfortunately commenced.

The insatiable Grabantak had made a descent on one of Amalatok’s smaller islands, killed the warriors, and carried off the women and children, with everything else he could lay hands on. Of course Amalatok made reprisals; attacked a small island belonging to Grabantak, and did as much general mischief as he could. The paltry islet about which the war began was not worthy either of attack or defence!

Then Amalatok, burning with the righteous indignation of the man who did not begin the quarrel, got up a grand muster of his forces, and went with a great fleet of kayaks to attack Grabantak in his strongholds.

But Grabantak’s strongholds were remarkably strong. A good deal of killing was done, and some destruction of property accomplished, but that did not effect the conquest of the great northern Savage. Neither did it prove either party to be right or wrong! Grabantak retired to impregnable fastnesses, and Amalatok returned to Poloeland “covered with glory,”—some of his followers also covered with wounds, a few of which had fallen to his own share. The success, however, was not decided. On the whole, the result was rather disappointing, but Amalatok was brave and high-spirited, as some people would say. He was not going to give in; not he! He would fight as long as a man was left to back him, and bring Grabantak to his knees—or die! Either event would, of course, have been of immense advantage to both nations. He ground his teeth and glared when he announced this determination, and also shook his fist, but a sharp twinge of pain in one of his unhealed wounds caused him to cease frowning abruptly.

There was a sound, too, in the air, which caused him to sit down and reflect. It was a mixed and half-stifled sound, as if of women groaning and little children wailing. Some of his braves, of course, had fallen in the recent conflicts—fallen honourably with their faces to the foe. Their young widows and their little ones mourned them, and refused to be comforted, because they were not. It was highly unpatriotic, no doubt, but natural.

Amalatok had asked the white men to join him in the fight, but they had refused. They would help him to defend his country, if attacked, they said, but they would not go out to war. Amalatok had once threatened Blackbeard if he refused to go, but Blackbeard had smiled, and threatened to retaliate by making him “jump!” Whereupon the old chief became suddenly meek.

This, then, was the state of affairs when Benjy and Leo went shooting, on the morning to which we have referred.

But who can hope to describe, with adequate force, the joyful feelings of Benjamin Vane as he moved slily about the lakelets of Paradise Isle in the water-tramp? The novelty of the situation was so great. The surrounding circumstances were so peculiar. The prolonged calms of the circumpolar basin, at that period of the year, were so new to one accustomed to the variable skies of England; the perpetual sunshine, the absence of any necessity to consider time, in a land from which night seemed to have finally fled; the glassy repose of lake and sea, so suggestive of peace; the cheery bustle of animal life, so suggestive of pleasure—all these influences together filled the boy’s breast with a strong romantic joy which was far too powerful to seek or find relief in those boisterous leaps and shouts which were his usual safety-valves.

Although not much given to serious thought, except when conversing with his father, Benjy became meditative as he moved quietly about at the edge of the reeds, and began to wonder whether the paradise above could exceed this paradise below!

Events occurred that day which proved to him that the sublunary paradise was, at least, woefully uncertain in its nature.

“Now, just keep still, will you, for one moment,” muttered Benjy, advancing cautiously through the outer margin of reeds, among the stems of which he peered earnestly while he cocked his gun.

The individual to whom he spoke made no reply, because it was a goose—would that it were thus with all geese! It was a grey goose of the largest size. It had caught a glimpse of the new and strange creature that was paddling about its home, and was wisely making for the shelter of a spot where the reeds were more dense, and where Benjy would not have dared to follow. For, it must be remembered that our young sportsman was sunk to his waist in water, and that the reeds rose high over his head, so that if once lost in the heart of them, he might have found it extremely difficult to find his way out again.

Anxious not to lose his chance, he gave vent to a loud shout. This had the effect of setting up innumerable flocks of wild-fowl, which, although unseen, had been lurking listeners to the strange though gentle sound of the water-tramp. Among them rose the grey goose with one or two unexpected comrades.

Benjy had not at that time acquired the power of self-restraint necessary to good shooting. He fired hastily, and missed with the first barrel. Discharging the second in hotter haste, he missed again, but brought down one of the comrades by accident. This was sufficiently gratifying. Picking it up, he placed it on the boat-buoy in front of him to balance several ducks which already lay on the part in rear. He might have carried a dozen geese on his novel hunting-dress, if there had been room for them, for its floating power was sufficient to have borne up himself, and at least four, if not five, men.

Pursuing his way cautiously and gently, by means of the webbed feet alone, the young sportsman moved about like a sly water-spirit among the reeds, sometimes addressing a few pleasant words, such as, “how d’ye do, old boy,” or, “don’t alarm yourself, my tulip,” to a water-hen or a coot, or some such bird which crossed his path, but was unworthy of his shot; at other times stopping to gaze contemplatively through the reed stems, or to float and rest in placid enjoyment, while he tried to imagine himself in a forest of water-trees.

Everywhere the feathered tribes first gazed at him in mute surprise; then hurried, with every variety of squeak, and quack, and fluttering wing, from his frightful presence.

Suddenly he came in sight of a bird so large that his heart gave a violent leap, and the gun went almost of its own accord to his shoulder, but the creature disappeared among the reeds before he could take aim. Another opening, however, again revealed it fully to view! It was a swan—a hyperborean wild swan!

Just as he made this discovery, the great bird, having observed Benjy, spread its enormous wings and made off with an amazing splutter.

Bang! went Benjy’s gun, both barrels in quick succession, and down fell the swan quite dead, with its head in the water and its feet pointing to the sky.

“What a feast the Eskimos will have to-night!” was Benjy’s first thought as he tramped vehemently towards his prize.

But his overflowing joy was rudely checked, for, having laid his gun down in front of him, for the purpose of using the paddle with both hands, it slipped to one side, tilted up, and, disappearing like an arrow in the lake, went to the bottom.

The sinking of Benjy’s heart was not less complete. He had the presence of mind, however, to seize the reeds near him and check his progress at the exact spot. Leaning over the side of his little craft, he beheld his weapon quivering, as it were, at the bottom, in about eight feet of water. What was to be done? The energetic youth was not long in making up his mind on that point. He would dive for it. But diving in the water-tramp was out of the question. Knowing that it was all but impossible to make his way to the shore through the reeds, he resolved to reach the opposite shore, which was in some places free from vegetation. Seizing one of the reeds, he forced it down, and tied it into a knot to mark the spot where his loss had happened. He treated several more reeds in this way till he gained the open water outside, thus marking his path. Then he paddled across the lake, landed, undressed, and swam out again, pushing the empty dress before him, intending to use it as a resting-place.

On reaching the spot, he dived with a degree of vigour and agility worthy of a duck, but found it hard to reach the bottom, as he was not much accustomed to diving. For the same reason he found it difficult to open his eyes under water, so as to look for the gun. While trying to do so, a desperate desire to breathe caused him to leap to the surface, where he found that he had struggled somewhat away from the exact spot. After a few minutes’ rest, he took a long breath and again went down; but found, to his dismay, that in his first dive he had disturbed the mud, and thus made the water thick. Groping about rendered it thicker, and he came to the surface the second time with feelings approaching to despair. Besides which, his powers were being rapidly exhausted.

But Benjy was full of pluck as well as perseverance. Feeling that he could not hold out much longer, he resolved to make the next attempt with more care—a resolve, it may be remarked, which it would have been better to have made at first.

He swam to the knotted reed, considered well the position he had occupied when his loss occurred, took an aim at a definite spot with his head, and went down. The result was that his hands grasped the stock of the gun the moment they reached the bottom.

Inflated with joy he leaped with it to the surface like a bladder; laid it carefully on the water-dress, and pushing the latter before him soon succeeded in getting hold of the dead swan. The bird was too heavy to be lifted on the float, he therefore grasped its neck with his teeth, and thus, heavily weighted, made for the shore.

It will not surprise the reader to be told that Benjy felt hungry as well as tired after these achievements, and this induced him to look anxiously for Leo, and to wonder why the smoke of Oblooria’s cooking-lamp was not to be seen anywhere.

The engrossing nature of the events just described had prevented our little hero from observing that a smart breeze had sprung up, and that heavy clouds had begun to drive across the hitherto blue sky, while appearances of a very squally nature were gathering on the windward horizon. Moreover, while engaged in paddling among the reeds he had not felt the breeze.

It was while taking off the water-tramp that he became fully alive to these facts.

“That’s it,” he muttered to himself. “They’ve been caught by this breeze and been delayed by having had to pull against it, or perhaps the walruses gave them more trouble than they expected.”

Appeasing his appetite as well as he could with this reflection, he left the water-tramp on the ground, with the dripping gun beside it, and hurried to the highest part of the island. Although not much of an elevation, it enabled him to see all round, and a feeling of anxiety filled his breast as he observed that the once glassy sea was ruffled to the colour of indigo, while wavelets flecked it everywhere, and no boat was visible!

“They may have got behind some of the islands,” he thought, and continued his look-out for some time, with growing anxiety and impatience, however, because the breeze was by that time freshening to a gale.

When an hour had passed away the poor boy became thoroughly alarmed.

“Can anything have happened to the boat?” he said to himself. “The india-rubber is easily cut. Perhaps they may have been blown out to sea!”

This latter thought caused an involuntary shudder. Looking round, he observed that the depression of the sun towards the horizon indicated that night had set in.

“This will never do,” he suddenly exclaimed aloud. “Leo will be lost. I must risk it!”

Turning as he spoke, he ran back to the spot where he had left the water-dress, which he immediately put on. Then, leaving gun and game on the beach, he boldly entered the sea, and struck out with feet and paddle for Poloeland.

Although sorely buffeted by the rising waves, and several times overwhelmed, his waterproof costume proved well able to bear him up, and with comparatively little fatigue he reached the land in less than two hours. Without waiting to take the dress off, he ran up to the Eskimo village and gave the alarm.

While these events were going on among the islets, Captain Vane and Alphonse Vandervell had been far otherwise engaged.

“Come, Alf,” said the Captain, that same morning, after Leo and his party had started on their expedition, “let you and me go off on a scientific excursion,—on what we may style a botanico-geologico-meteorological survey.”

“With all my heart, uncle, and let us take Butterface with us, and Oolichuk.”

“Ay, lad, and Ivitchuk and Akeetolik too, and Chingatok if you will, for I’ve fixed on a spot whereon to pitch an observatory, and we must set to work on it without further delay. Indeed I would have got it into working order long ago if it had not been for my hope that the cessation of this miserable war would have enabled us to get nearer the North Pole this summer.”

The party soon started for the highest peak of the island of Poloe—or Poloeland, as Alf preferred to call it. Oolichuk carried on his broad shoulders one of those mysterious cases out of which the Captain was so fond of taking machines wherewith to astonish the natives.

Indeed it was plain to see that the natives who accompanied them on this occasion expected some sort of surprise, despite the Captain’s earnest assurance that there was nothing in the box except a few meteorological instruments. How the Captain translated to the Eskimos the word meteorological we have never been able to ascertain. His own explanation is that he did it in a roundabout manner which they failed to comprehend, and which he himself could not elucidate.

On the way up the hill, Alf made several interesting discoveries of plants which were quite new to him.

“Ho! stop, I say, uncle,” he exclaimed for the twentieth time that day, as he picked up some object of interest.

“What now, lad?” said the Captain, stopping and wiping his heated brow.

“Here is another specimen of these petrifactions—look!”

“He means a vegetable o’ some sort turned to stone, Chingatok,” explained the Captain, as he examined the specimen with an interested though unscientific eye.

“You remember, uncle, the explanation I gave you some time ago,” said the enthusiastic Alf, “about Professor Heer of Zurich, who came to the conclusion that primeval forests once existed in these now treeless Arctic regions, from the fossils of oak, elm, pine, and maple leaves discovered there. Well, I found a fossil of a plane leaf the other day,—not a very good one, to be sure—and now, here is a splendid specimen of a petrified oak-leaf. Don’t you trace it quite plainly?”

“Well, lad,” returned the Captain, frowning at the specimen, “I do believe you’re right. There does seem to be the mark of a leaf there, and there is some ground for your theory that this land may have been once covered with trees, though it’s hard to believe that when we look at it.”

“An evidence, uncle, that we should not be too ready to judge by appearances,” said Alf, as they resumed their upward march.

The top gained, a space was quickly selected and cleared, and a simple hut of flat stones begun, while the Captain unpacked his box. It contained a barometer, a maximum and minimum self-registering thermometer, wet and dry bulb, also a black bulb thermometer, a one-eighth-inch rain-gauge, and several other instruments.

“I have another box of similar instruments, Alf, down below,” said the Captain, as he laid them carefully out, “and I hope, by comparing the results obtained up here with those obtained at the level of the sea, to carry home a series of notes which will be of considerable value to science.”

When the Captain had finished laying them out, the Eskimos retired to a little distance, and regarded them for some minutes with anxious expectancy; but, as the strange things did not burst, or go up like sky-rockets, they soon returned with a somewhat disappointed look to their hut-building.

The work was quickly completed, for Eskimos are expert builders in their way, and the instruments had been carefully set up under shelter when the first symptoms of the storm began.

“I hope the sportsmen have returned,” said the Captain, looking gravely round the horizon.

“No doubt they have,” said Alf, preparing to descend the mountain. “Leo is not naturally reckless, and if he were, the cautious Anders would be a drag on him.”

An hour later they regained the Eskimo village, just as Benjy came running, in a state of dripping consternation, from the sea.

Need it be said that an instant and vigorous search was instituted? Not only did a band of the stoutest warriors, headed by Chingatok, set off in a fleet of kayaks, but the Captain and his companions started without delay in the two remaining india-rubber boats, and, flying their kites, despite the risk of doing so in a gale, went away in eager haste over the foaming billows.

After exerting themselves to the uttermost, they failed to discover the slightest trace of the lost boat. The storm passed quickly, and a calm succeeded, enabling them to prosecute the search more effectively with oar and paddle, but with no better result.

Day after day passed, and still no member of the band—Englishman or Eskimo—would relax his efforts, or admit that hope was sinking. But they had to admit it at last, and, after three weeks of unremitting toil, they were compelled to give up in absolute despair. The most sanguine was driven to the terrible conclusion that Leo, Anders, and timid little Oblooria were lost.

It was an awful blow. What cared Alf or the Captain now for discovery, or scientific investigation! The poor negro, who had never at any time cared for plants, rocks, or Poles, was sunk in the profoundest depths of sorrow. Benjy’s gay spirit was utterly broken. Oolichuk’s hearty laugh was silenced, and a cloud of settled melancholy descended over the entire village of Poloe.

Chapter Twenty One.

Fate of the Lost Ones

Leo, Anders, and timid little Oblooria, however, were not lost! Their case was bad enough, but it had not quite come to that.

On parting from Benjy, as described in the last chapter, these three went after a walrus, which coquetted with them instead of attacking, and drew them a considerable distance away from the island. This would have been a matter of trifling import if the weather had remained calm, but, as we have seen, a sudden and violent gale arose.

When the coming squall was first observed the boat was far to leeward of Paradise Isle, and as that island happened to be one of the most northerly of the group over which Amalatok ruled, they were thus far to leeward of any land with the exception of a solitary sugar-loaf rock near the horizon. Still Leo and his companions were not impressed with any sense of danger. They had been so long accustomed to calms, and to moving about in the india-rubber boats by means of paddles with perfect ease and security, that they had half forgotten the force of wind. Besides, the walrus was still playing with them provokingly—keeping just out of rifle-shot as if he had studied fire-arms and knew their range exactly.

“The rascal!” exclaimed Leo at last, losing patience, “he will never let us come an inch nearer.”

“Try ’im once more,” said Anders, who was a keen sportsman, “push him, paddle strong. Ho! Oblooria, paddle hard and queek.”

Although the interpreter, being in a facetious mood, addressed Oblooria in English, she quite understood his significant gestures, and bent to her work with a degree of energy and power quite surprising in one apparently so fragile. Leo also used his oars, (for they had both oars and paddles), with such good-will that the boat skimmed over the Arctic sea like a northern diver, and the distance between them and the walrus was perceptibly lessened.

“I don’t like the looks o’ the southern sky,” said Leo, regarding the horizon with knitted brows.

“Hims black ’nough—any’ow,” said Anders.

“Hold. I’ll have a farewell shot at the brute, and give up the chase,” said Leo, laying down the oars and grasping his rifle.

The ball seemed to take effect, for the walrus dived immediately with a violent splutter, and was seen no more.

By this time the squall was hissing towards them so fast that the hunters, giving up all thought of the walrus, turned at once and made for the land, but land by that time lay far off on the southern horizon with a dark foam-flecked sea between it and them.

“There’s no fear of the boat, Oblooria,” said Leo, glancing over his shoulder at the girl, who sat crouching to meet the first burst of the coming storm, “but you must hold on tight to the life-lines.”

There was no need to caution Anders. That worthy was already on his knees embracing a thwart—his teeth clenched as he gazed over the bow.

On it came like a whirlwind of the tropics, and rushed right over the low round gunwale of the boat, sweeping loose articles overboard, and carrying her bodily to leeward. Leo had taken a turn of the life-lines round both thighs, and held manfully to his oars. These, after stooping to the first rush of wind and water, he plied with all his might, and was ably seconded by Oblooria as well as by the interpreter, but a very few minutes of effort sufficed to convince them that they laboured in vain. They did not even “hold their own,” as sailors have it, but drifted slowly, yet steadily, to the north.

“It’s impossible to make head against this,” said Leo, suddenly ceasing his efforts, “and I count it a piece of good fortune, for which we cannot be too thankful, that there is still land to leeward of us.”

He pointed to the sugar-loaf rock before mentioned, towards which they were now rapidly drifting.

“Nothing to eat dere. Nothing to drink,” said Anders, gloomily.

“Oh! that won’t matter much. A squall like this can’t last long. We shall soon be able to start again for home, no doubt. I say, Anders, what are these creatures off the point there? They seem too large and black for sea-birds, and not the shape of seals or walruses.”

The interpreter gazed earnestly at the objects in question for some moments without answering. The rock which they were quickly nearing was rugged, barren, and steep on its southern face, against which the waves were by that time dashing with extreme violence, so that landing there would have been an impossibility. On its lee or northern side, however they might count on quiet water.

“We have nothing to fear,” said Leo, observing that Oblooria was much agitated; “tell her so, Anders; we are sure to find a sheltered creek of some sort on the other side.”

“I fear not the rocks or storm,” replied the Eskimo girl to Anders. “It is Grabantak, the chief of Flatland, that I fear.”

“Grabantak!” exclaimed Anders and Leo in the same breath.

“Grabantak is coming with his men!”

Poor little Oblooria, whose face had paled while her whole frame trembled, pointed towards the dark objects which had already attracted their attention. They were by that time near enough to be distinguished, and as they came, one after another, round the western point of Sugar-loaf rock, it was all too evident that the girl was right, and that the fleet of kayaks was probably bearing the northern savage and his men to attack the inhabitants of Poloe.

Leo’s first impulse was to seize his repeating rifle and fill its cartridge-chamber quite full. It may be well to observe here that the cartridges, being carried in a tight waterproof case, had not been affected by the seas which had so recently overwhelmed them.

“What’s de use?” asked Anders, in an unusually sulky tone, as he watched the youth’s action. “Two men not can fight all de mans of Flatland.”

“No, but I can pick off a dozen of them, one after another, with my good rifle, and then the rest will fly. Grabantak will fall first, and his best men after him.”

This was no idle boast on the part of Leo. He knew that he could accomplish what he threatened long before the Eskimos could get within spear-throwing distance of his boat.

“No use,” repeated Anders, firmly, still shaking his head in a sulky manner. “When you’s bullets be done, more an’ more inimies come on. Then dey kill you, an’ me, an’ Oblooria.”

Leo laid down his weapon. The resolve to die fighting to the last was the result of a mere impulse of animal courage. Second thoughts cooled him, and the reference to Oblooria’s fate decided him.