Chapter VII: A Fearful Night--Antarctic Land-Ice

“Land ho!” This is a cheering cry at times to the mariner. More especially if it be the chalky cliffs of Britain bold, and he is just returning from a long and weary voyage.

It is not so cheering if the ship is out of her course, and the shore looks a forbidding and inhospitable one, and if soon after this shout you hear another “Ready about!”

Nor did the looks of these storm-rent and surf-tormented rocks tend to raise the spirits of the wanderers in the _Walrus_ to a very high degree.

But it was land all the same, and curiosity was excited in the heart of every one. Even Nick and Nora must stand with their paws on the bulwarks, and sniff longingly towards it.

As often as not, these islands or islets are enveloped in rain-clouds, snow-clouds, or fog, the wildest of waves wash their rocky shores, and it can hardly be said that there is a green thing upon them. But the birds love them all the same, and find sustenance in the nesting season in various kinds of algæ or seaweeds, and in the shrimps with which the sea abounds.

A boat or two was lowered, and a landing-place found, and, as usual, observations and soundings were taken. The glass remained high, and there was every prospect of fine weather for a day or two at least, so sea-fishing was gone into with some success, eggs were collected, and made a valuable addition to the larder.

Then the voyage was continued, and the _Walrus_ made in the direction of Marion Island, one of the Prince Edward group, lying in the same latitude.

The wind continued fair for a week, but somewhat ahead.

Then one afternoon it blew a little warmer, and veered more to the north.

“I fear we’re in for a blow,” said Captain Mayne Brace’s acting mate. “Weather looks very dirty, sir, all about. Horizon creeping nearer, wind coming in nasty puffs, sea with a swell on it, and a falling glass, and----”

“That’s enough, mate; take in sail and reef. Just make her fit to encounter anything; and, I say”--the mate had touched his cap and was retiring--“I think we might as well have fires ready to light, in case, you know.”

“Ay, ay, sir. Thank you.”

“Going to be bad weather, captain?” said Ingomar, entering the saloon just then.

“Not sure. Nothing is certain in these seas. It is dark enough to have the lights turned on, but that makes things look gloomy when one goes on deck.”

“Yes; and the sudden transition from bright light to comparative darkness is certainly somewhat depressing.”

“Anyhow, boys all, there’s two things I don’t mean to do, and one I’ve made up my mind to. I’m not going to be blown back if I can help it; I’m not going to waste my precious coals so as to have to burn the bulkheads in an emergency; and if the wind doesn’t go with me, why, I’ll go with the wind.”

“Hurrah!” cried Ingomar. “That is capital policy all through.”

The boys clapped their hands, because it occurred to them that it was the best thing to do.

Everything was conducted during this voyage with the greatest regularity. The very same precautions as to lights was taken at night--though small, indeed, was the likelihood of a ship being met--as would have been observed in steering up or down our own English Channel. There were three watches, so that, in these inclement seas, the men might not suffer from fatigue; the temperature of the water and air had to be taken each watch; the sky and clouds observed, and the force of the wind marked, etc., and all was logged. Notes were taken even of the appearance of seals or whales, the flight of birds, the colour of the sea and floating seaweed. _One_ well-kept log of a voyage is of great use to future mariners who sail the same seas; from _many_ logs so kept, are deduced about all that science knows of winds and seas and ocean currents.

In a few minutes after the mate had gone on deck, the ship seemed to stop suddenly short, to stand suddenly still, and the sails began to flap uncertainly. There was much confusion now on deck, and slacking off of sheets and shouting of orders, for the mate knew not from which side the wind would come next.

Then there was a vivid flash of lightning, which almost blinded the eyes of those below. Another and another followed quickly, and were succeeded by louder thunder than most people ever listen to.

Then the wind!

The shifting, ever shifting wind! For the _Walrus_ was in a little cyclone. Certainly not little as regarded force, but still in extent small enough to be called a whirlwind. Yet such whirlwinds as these are strong enough to sink any ship that ever sailed if not most carefully handled.

There was another circular squall after this, then a third and fourth, and lo! the steady gale came on in earnest, blowing terrifically from the N.N.W.

Now God save the good ship in the darkness of such an awful night as this!

For the wind brought with it its own waves, its own cold spray, its own wild showers of driving rain and sleet and hail combined. It brought something worse--it brought streams of small ice-blocks, and streams of deep snowy slush, passing through which the ship was strangely steady, because never a green sea rolled on board.

It is just on such a night as this long and terrible one that, with the horizon a mere background of blackness to the dimly lighted bulwarks, a wind that shrieks and howls like wild wolves, a wind that even head down one cannot face, but must creep side first against, clutching at rope or stay, and gasping as if engulphed in the dark cold water just beyond; it is on just such a night as this, I say, that the mariner in these far Southern seas, having taken in every bit of canvas he can spare, and done his best for his good ship from bowsprit to glimmering binnacle, must place his trust in Providence, feeling that he is in the hands of Him who can hold the ocean in His palm, and bring him safely through the danger.

The captain himself did not come below until the beginning of the middle watch. He was wet and shiny in his oilskins and sou’wester.

Ingomar had turned in.

The boys had not undressed, but had lain down to talk fearfully, just in front of the stove, with the dogs their only companions.

They had been especially terrified by the loud rattling of some sails that had carried away while the gale was still at hurricane force.

“What! not in bed yet, lads?”

“No,” said Charlie. “Fact is, sir, I’d rather be drowned with my clothes on, and Walt here thinks the same.”

Mayne Brace laughed.

“I can’t blame you, though. I was once young myself. But bustle now, boys; find your way into the pantry, switch on the light, and see what you can find to eat.”

This was very cheering language, not only because they knew that the captain would not think of having supper, if he thought the ship was going down an hour or so after, but because they themselves were hungry enough to swallow an octopus.

An exciting night of storm has always that effect on the seafarer.

Charlie with the cold beef, Walter with sardines, onions, bread, and butter, soon staggered out of the pantry again, and as speedily returned for knives and forks, and plates, and cruets, and dainty sauces.

There was hot coffee in an urn over the stove, and preserved meat; and what a glorious supper they did make to be sure! You would not have said that there was a deal of funk about those boys’ hearts had you seen them ply their knives and forks. But the funniest thing about the matter was this--hardly had they got settled down to serious eating before a state-room door opened, and lo! behold Ingomar in the robes of night (pyjamas) standing swaying and smiling, and holding fast to the bulkhead.

“I’ll join you, if you please,” said Ingomar.

And he did with a hearty good will too. The dogs, of course, partook of the banquet.

The boys felt happy and a bit drowsy after this, and turned in.

Storm still raging next morning. Uncomfortable motion. Wind still more to the north, and ship lying-to almost under bare poles.

And so it blew and blew on and off for well-nigh a week.

Then surcease of a storm and tempest, such as it is the experience of but few to face at this season of the year in these lower latitudes.

And where were they now? Why, still in the longitude or meridian of the Crozet Islands, but, despite their well-conducted war with the elements, several degrees further south. In very truth, they might just as well have sailed here to Enderby Land straight from Kerguelen.

Everybody was pleased one beautiful morning to find that wind and sea had both gone down. It was nice to sit down to a warm and comfortable breakfast, without fear of having the lower extremities parboiled with hot coffee.

The boys had had their sea-water bath this morning early at wash-decks time. This consisted simply in rushing forward, jumping, and skylarking like white savages, and having the hose played on them. But it made them hungry.

Forward, the men’s talk was chiefly about the recent heavy weather.

“Joy to you, Jack,” said Dumpty to a companion, “but this doesn’t seem much like getting round the globe, do it?”

“It don’t, Dumpty, and that’s a fact,” was the reply. “But it’s all in the voyage, little ’un, and the more months the more cash, and that’s how I looks at it.”

The captain’s face and Ingomar’s too were wreathed in smiles as they sat down to the good things sent forward.

“Seems,” said the former, “we’re going to go zigzagging round the world.”

“Yes. Going to resume your course now?”

“No; the wind brought us here. I’ll forego the Marions now, and bear up for the Boukets and Lindsays, weather permitting; but not until we now have a look at the country the storm has been unkindly enough to drive us to _nolentes volentes_.”

“I wonder where the _Sea Elephant_ is about this time?”

“Ah, it would be hard to say, but the gale that we encountered, if it has passed far on to the east, would have been more favourable for them, and they are now in open seas off Budd or even Knox Land. They’ll beat us in the race round the world, you’ll find.”

Every one had the greatest faith in the sturdy old _Walrus_, for icebergs to her were nothing, so long as she did not get into a powerful squeeze.

The “ice blink,” a reflection like snow on the horizon over the pack, was seen that forenoon early, and Mayne Brace headed away directly for it. He judged himself to be about the longitude of Cape Anne, and he was right.

Young sailors like Charlie and Walt wondered a little that they did not sooner come into fields of slush and streams of smaller ice, that of broken-up floes and hummocks.

“The reason is simply this, boys,” said the skipper. “That kind of stuff has all been hurled back to the edge of the pack on the main barrier of ice by the force of the northerly wind.

“This land-ice is quite different,” he continued, “from any you have ever encountered in the North Pole regions. Our earlier navigators in their tubs of ships sighted it, and some of them sailed along its edge for hundreds of miles; and as they could find no inlet before they were driven off by storms, they jumped to the conclusion that this great barrier, this solid, cliff-like wall of blue or green or striated ice, hundreds of feet in height at some places, went all around the Antarctic, warning them that thus far might they come but no farther.”

“But what, then,” said Charlie, “do you mean by land-ice? I’m all in a fog.”

“Well, lad, you must first imagine a time in the remote ages when this great unknown Antarctic continent was a land of mountain, forest, and flood, with rivers finding their way down very extensive valleys to pour their bright waters into the sea. Imagine, too, if you please, that these beautiful valleys were in ages far remote from ours clad in verdure, in jungle, heath, and forest, and that a fauna distinct from ours existed here, that immense mammoths and mastodons dwelt here, and mayhap flying alligators, though probably no other creature at all bearing any resemblance to the form of human beings.

“Then let this age pass out of your mind, and another and colder period slowly commence--a glacial period, for instance, during which the rivers and lakes were frozen, and there was no more rainfall, because the mists or dews driven over yonder continent were then condensed, and fell as snow. The long storms of winter would soften and the snows melt somewhat during the Antarctic summer, to form ice again when the dark, wild weather returned. So the valleys would be partially filled up with great glaciers. These must move down towards the sea, though extremely slowly--broad Mississippis of ice and snow. When this so-called land-ice reached the water, it would form a barrier, and monster bergs would get detached and float away, leaving the striated cliffs with their wave-washed caves at the edge. In the gigantic, snow-covered, square blocks that float away on the currents of ocean, these caves form archways, so that you can sometimes see right through the bergs, or even sail a boat through them.

“Well, that is land-ice, but the sea-ice is formed of something like the same pancake and hummocky ice we find in the far, far north, and the peculiarity of the Antarctic seas of ice is this--the land-bergs, if I may so call them, often get embedded or entangled in pack-ice, high above which their great bulk heaves, as towers a ship of battle above a tugboat or dinghy. In course of time the land-bergs are hollowed and tunnelled by the waves on which they float, till they break-up, or divide, forming the strangest-shaped pieces imaginable.

“Another thing which proves that a long way into the interior of this South-polar region land extends is this--_débris_ of earth and blocks of rock are brought down on the glacier that, as an examination of the sea’s bottom proves, could have descended in no other fashion.”

“It is all very wonderful!” said Charlie.

“I wonder,” said Walter, “if any mermaids dwell in these caves of ice?”

Captain Mayne Brace smiled and answered.

“I hope,” he said, “to give you an opportunity of discovering for yourself, my dear boy.”

But the _Walrus_ reached the pack of sea-ice at last; and the sight, though not perfectly new to mariners who had sailed the Arctic seas, was at least very wonderful, and had a cold kind of beauty about it, which it is difficult indeed to describe.

And far, far away in the interior, mountains covered with everlasting snow raised their great peaked heads on the horizon.

No life?

Well, no animals, not even a leopard, seal, or sea-elephant, but droves of droll penguins, standing on end, and looking, at a distance, for all the world like a crowd of lazy boys just let loose from a Sunday school, who had been warned not to soil their clothes by romping.