Chapter VIII

"Eighty-six below," announced Captain Triplett the next morning, "an' a fine, starry night."

Old Ezra was right. Night had fallen while we slept. The long Arctic blackness had followed our twilight sleep, and we were now in the grip of its intense cold.

How strangely fate works her miracles! But for my first glimpse of Ikik and our subsequent meeting, we should inevitably have perished, clad as we were in our light linen-mesh and flannels. But the Eskimos had foreseen our peril and supplied us with roomy garments from their own abundant store. No gift in their possession was withheld by these warm-hearted people. Gauntlets, socks, boots and great hooded oomiaks were pressed upon us in which, as soon as we had become accustomed to their overpowering odor, we were extremely comfortable and were able to go about during the less severe weather without danger of being frozen unawares, a very real risk for the novice.[23]

Makuik was insistent that both parties join in sharing the protection of his sub-surface home.

"My meat, yours ... my woman, yours ... you know."

His words were accompanied by the Kryptok sign of blood-brotherhood reserved for members of the clan. Were I to divulge it here I should some day feel the thrust of Makuik's salmon-spear between my shoulder blades. It was a dramatic feature of Kryptok ritual that a sin against blood brotherhood may only be washed out by the blood of the offending brother.

But though I realized the closeness of the tie which bound me to this furry friend, though every fibre of my being cried out to accept the gift which he offered so gladly, a gift which meant warmth, happiness, love!--knowing all this, I was firm in my refusal.

In the face of a temptation, the greatest perhaps of my life, I resisted, I fought, I struggled.

My reasons were many and complicated. If they were right or not I do not know, but they seemed so at the time.

To begin with I knew in my heart that the beginning of close clan relations with these magnificent Klinkas meant the end of the Traprock Expedition! That we should ever again return to civilization was absolutely unthinkable. Here, in this winter solitude, I saw the first glimmerings of the truth over which the scientific world has so long puzzled. Here was the answer to the old, old, question, "Why do explorers leave home?" Why have so many never returned?

They have been absorbed by, and eventually into, one of these magnificent tribes. They have disappeared, or if they have found their way back to civilization, having proved failures in their new environment, they are tongue-tied, evasive, ashamed.

If I accepted Makuik's hospitality, in full, I saw another inevitable result. He would eventually have to die at my hands. There is room in a small nomadic tribe for but one leader, one "Kalok" or "Strong man." This is the ancient law of evolution. Bound as I was to Makuik I hesitated to take the first step which spelt his doom.

THE BATTLE ON THE BRINK

Students of the text of this volume will recall that a distinct
rivalry existed between two of the principal characters, Sausalito
and Ikik. The author makes what to us seems a delicate distinction
regarding the object of this rivalry. "It was," he says, "not so much
me as my love." There is something almost astral in this subdivision.
Be that as it may, a strong feeling of competition existed between
the two ladies which vented itself in frequent passages between them
similar to that illustrated.

In this case the struggle started, as usual, in the most friendly
manner, its object being the possession of a stub of candle, the
last of the great dip presented to Ikik by Dr. Traprock. Developing,
as such things do, from playful wrestling to rough-house, it was
not long before the Klinka maiden found that she was struggling for
her life. Sausalito's experience in catch-as-catch-can work, gained
up and down the Barbary coast, was an equal match for the supple
strength of her adversary and there is little doubt that the result
would have been fatal to one or both participants had it not been for
the timely intervention of Makuik who, seeing how things were going
and fearing possible damage to one of his favorite wives, kicked over
the icy stage upon which the drama was being enacted, at the same
instant throwing the carcass of a bull-seal where it would intercept
the fall of the contestants. Had it not been for the skill of Makuik
in throwing the bull we can well imagine what would have happened.
The animal weighed 220 poks or "meals," that is, approximately 2200
lbs., a "meal" being reckoned as 10 lbs. of any form of food-supply.

After the fall described above a temporary truce was patched up but
the feeling of rivalry remained acute. As the philosophical author
observes, "Being in love with two women is one thing: being loved by
them is another."

A final consideration, though not one which bore much weight, was that there were not enough Klinkas to go round. I have, perhaps, indicated in my previous chapter, that the process of natural selection, though far from home, had not ceased to operate. The Klinka women, while filled with joyous camaraderie, clearly had their favorites and the pairing which I noted most often was that of Swank and Yalok, Frissell and Snak, and Whinney and Lapatok.

Frissell amused Snak immensely with his outlandish noises and imitations, and Lapatok, who stayed near the cairn more than the others in order to care for little Kopek, her boy, found in the now helpless Whinney another child upon whom to lavish her affection.

Makuik smiled tolerantly at these innocent relations. The women were his, when all was said, and I have no doubt that had the faintest wave of jealousy stirred his primitive heart he would have calmed it by the old tribal method of holding the offender under water for the few seconds necessary to allow the ice-opening to freeze over.

Unfortunately the other members of the expedition did not accept the situation so calmly. Plock, Miskin and Sloff were by no means satisfied with an arrangement which so plainly left them out of it. Dane was not by nature a ladies' man, though he took the color of the others' mental attitude. On numerous occasions I was forced to intervene when a sudden minor crisis developed. Miskin took umbrage because Snak gave Frissell the largest piece of blubber, or some other tom-foolery, and before one could stop it the air was hot with suppressed antipathy.

This state of affairs frankly worried me and I was not anxious to make it worse by accentuating it in the intimacies which were bound to develop in Makuik's igloo.

I therefore issued the strictest orders that all my men should bunk on the Kawa, a regulation which I forced myself to adhere to in spite of the most terrific temptations. We had completely overhauled our running gear during the warm weather and now found that by running the Tutbury at quarter speed, thus charging the batteries, we were able to generate just the right amount of heat required to keep us comfortable.

We soon adapted ourselves to our new mode of life. All outside thermometers were hung upside down in order to read properly and whenever the temperature was above forty below we sallied forth into the night, on pleasure or profit bent.

An early inspection was made by Miskin, Sloff and myself of the rim of the ice bowl, immediately following the stupendous display of the aurora borealis, which had ushered in the winter. Makuik accompanied us and it was from the naive comments of this child of the north that we arrived at a solution of a large part of the problems in connection with this phenomenon.

As we travelled about the circumference of the bowl I was at once struck by a deep trench or moat which followed its outline. The sides of this moat, which averaged approximately 200 yards in width, were glazed with freshly formed ice which appeared at first to be black in color. A closer inspection showed that this color was derived from a sub-surface stratum of finely powdered carboniferous deposit similar to coal or cinders. At no place were we able to reach this deposit owing to the shortness of our ice picks, but both Miskin and Sloff agreed that the buried material was clearly a metallic slag which had been subjected to extreme heat.

It was at this point that Makuik injected his interesting personality into our deliberations. Observing our puzzled looks he stooped and gathered up a handful of loose snow crystals which he thrust into his mouth, at once expelling them with a mighty gust of breath. Then he clapped his stomach and said--

"Ice ... sick ... so ... pouf!" another great blast.

My mind flashed back instantly to the claims of an old scientist of whom I had heard my friend Waxman speak, one John Cleves Symmes. As far back as 1819 Symmes had advanced the theory that the earth was hollow. His exact statement reads "the earth is hollow and habitable within, being composed of a number of solid, concentric spheres." Unfortunately Symmes was unable to travel further north than the site of what is now Racine, Wis.,[24] so that his theory remained only a theory and he was eventually laughed out of court.

Now, over a century later, I was to verify a part of his suspicion. That the earth was hollow we could not doubt. Subsequent excavations in the great polar ditch confirmed what we had begun to realize. The entire section of earth crust at this end of the axis was loose! Deep in the bowels of Mother Earth still burned the terrific primal fires, occasionally venting themselves in some such upheaval as we had witnessed. Whinney later corroborated the findings of Sloff and Miskin regarding excavated specimens of the slag, namely, that they were composed of rhyolite rocks, pulverized lime and other building materials plainly produced by volcanism. The ceaseless whirl of the earth on its axis naturally throws these expanding substances toward the Pole until the bung, or world stopper, is loosened. As soon as the terrific pressure is relieved the ice cap sinks back and the melted snow at once seals the circular fissure.

It is the discovery of such long-sought truths as this which more than repays me for the hardships involved. As I pen these lines I can but bow my head in humble thankfulness to Him who knew too well to fashion this Earth without a safety valve.

The exact date of this and other discoveries is indeterminate. Since the stopping of our chronometers we had gone mainly by guesswork. I was fully aware, from the advent of the polar night, that time had slipped on to approximately September 20th. Knowing our exact position (Lat. 90°, Long. 0) it was a simple matter for Triplett to re-establish a definite day schedule by the theodolite-hygrometer method combined with astronomy. The weather was now clear and excellent views of the stars were obtainable from any given point. Altair, Vega and Betelgeuse were particularly visible, but Triplett's favorite constellation was the Dipper, the handle of which he usually triangulated with Cygnus and ourselves. Three successive observations gave Saturday, September 28th as the correct answer and I forthwith posted notices of this fact, which was celebrated by a joint feast.

Night, it is said, is the time for reflection and I now had ample opportunity for this exercise. Unfortunately for the philosophic calm which might have resulted from thought, Ikik, my lovely northern sweetheart, had other ideas as to the proper disposal of the nocturnal hours. The glances which she levelled at me across the Primus were, to say the least, importunate. Little by little I felt my icy resolution thawing beneath her tropic influence.

It was an odd situation. About me the wastes of berg and floe, the mercury skulking in the basement of the thermometer, while in my heart burned an increasing glow that would not be extinguished. Yet I fought on, a St. Anthony of the North.

Christmas came, as it will even in this distant clime. The event was marked by a general celebration. As I went about the preparations for the feast I little realized how tragically the date was to stand out in my memory.

Morning dawned dark and clear. We used the Pole for our tree, having fashioned branches of oars, pogo-sticks and other suitable materials. During what would have been the fore-noon we groped our way to the edge of the ice bowl, in groups of two or three. I was in one of the groups of two. The other half was Ikik.

Sitting in silence on the edge of the earth crater, I mused sadly. How wonderful, I thought, if the great safety valve would but open and bear my love and me away in its flaming arms. But the conflagration was to be of a more human and dangerous character.

"See," whispered the maiden. "I have brought my present for you." How like her it was, to steal away from the others for this sacred presentation. I peered at the object in her hand. It was a small sack of translucent fish membrane filled with a viscous liquid.

ODE TO THE AURORA

No more poignant moment in the history of American literature has
ever been recorded by the camera than that shown with this text which
portrays Whinney, the poet-scientist, in the very act of creating his
immortal poem "Ode to Aurora," which John Farrar, the veteran critic,
pronounces "the best classic ode ever written north of the arctic
circle."

As a poet Whinney resembles Milton, in that he is blind. Though this
was only a temporary affliction,--snow-blindness,--its immediate
effects were heartrendingly pathetic. Not only did the unfortunate
traveller miss seeing the Pole and the polar fireworks but he was
also forced to master the most difficult of all literary exercises,
that of operating a typewriter with mittens on. The ancient pastime
of catching a flea while wearing boxing-gloves is child's-play
compared with this achievement. Hour after hour, day after day, the
persistent poet practised his sightless-touch system.

"What does it look like?" he would ask, submitting a page
to Sausalito who had good-naturedly assumed the duties of
nursing-secretary.

"Nothing," would be the invariable reply.

But with dogged perseverance Whinney struggled on, gaining a comma
here, and a colon there, until he had mastered his instrument. The
result all the world knows,--those deathless lines beginning:

"O Aurora! Not only East, but North as well, And West! and South! Th' extraordinary tidings tell! Flash thy bright beams And wave thy lambent paws, Clap thou thy rays In luminous applause."

For sheer glory of color the description of the aurora which forms
the main part of the ode has never been equalled. And then the solemn
close, touching in its modesty.

"Tell thou the world, That it remember shall The names of Traprock! Whinney! Swank! et al."

Since returning to this country Mr. Whinney has taken out a regular
poet's licence and is now turning out verse of the very highest
standard.

"What is it?" I asked tenderly.

I could feel her flush against my cheek.

"Walrus tears."

"Walrus tears?" Ah, yes, I remembered. Years ago an old woman in Bjarkoi had told me that the tears of a male walrus if caught fresh, were an infallible love potion.[25]

"Like Tristan and Isolde," I murmured. She shook her head, uncomprehendingly.

"Drink!" she whispered.

Smiling at the superstition, yet unwilling, unable, in fact, to resist the pleading look in her eyes, I loosed the thong and placed the sack to my lips.

The next instant she was in my arms!

My brain reeled. The stars danced dizzily overhead and were then blotted out. A moment later I became aware of a ludicrous and embarrassing circumstance. Locked in each other's embrace we were sliding down the icy incline of the bowl!

We struck fairly in the midst of a group composed of Triplett, Makuik and several others who greeted our arrival with roars of laughter; surely a strange ending to a "crise d'amour."

At four-thirty we lighted our tree and had carols, presents and general dancing. At six the feast was served, the heaping ice slabs being placed along the counter of the Kawa which was decked with her full suit of colors and all her extra riding-lights. Pemmican, blubber-steak, seal- and walrus-eyes, hide-salad and guppy-croquettes were supplemented from our waning stores of biscuit, herring, ham, candles and A-P. Even little Kopek was not denied a place and sat near his mother sipping a soapstone cup of modified whale's milk.

Swank had compounded a new drink for the occasion which he called "Traprock tea," consisting of A-P shavings dissolved in salad oil with a number of live guppys flapping about on the surface, "to give it animation" as the inventor explained.

The animation was certainly not lacking and the fun waxed fast and furious.

At an earlier date, late in November, an all night poker game had been instituted by Wigmore, with whom this sport was a ruling passion. Warned by me, the participants had signed an agreement to quit promptly on the 15th of March, in order to avoid the bickering which might be expected when some loser inevitably insisted that they play "just a week" or a "month more." The gaming element now drifted away, one by one, toward the table in the Kawa's cabin. Most of the others had also withdrawn into the obscurity. Little Kopek had long ago been put to bed. Makuik, I regret to say, was helpless.

It was then that I noticed for the first time the absence from my side of Ikik. She had stolen off, unobserved. Rising, I lurched steadily around the cairn. My head was aching, my heart full of unspeakable longing and sorrow. Was it the Traprock tea or the love philter? Probably both.

Resolutely turning my back on the camp I walked to the far edge of the ice bowl where I sat down. One by one the lights of the celebration flickered and went out. I heard the card players shouting their maudlin good-nights to each other. Once a voice shouted "Traprock!" and, following a remark I could not catch, came a burst of coarse laughter. Then all was silence.

An hour later I arose with a slight shiver; it was 38 below. Though my hands and feet were numb, in my veins throbbed liquid fire. Remorse gnawed at my heart. What had I said to Ikik that had turned her from me on this, of all nights, our first Christmas together?

Reaching the side of the Kawa, where all lay plunged in slumbers a sudden thrilling resolution flooded over me. I must see her!

I must whisper a tender good-night to the one who had grown to mean more to me than all the rest of the world.

Turning abruptly, my brain reeling, I made directly for the entrance to the igloo.

The door-block slid back noiselessly. A moment later I stood in the low room, hesitant. The single tundra wick gave a dim light through which I saw Makuik's beady eyes fixed on me. With a sweeping gesture he indicated a vacant space in the line of deep breathing figures. Then he too sank back and instantly began snoring.

With infinite care I crept over the human mounds until I sank into the space Makuik had pointed out.

Touching the figure next me I whispered in the lowest of tones.

"Dear one, I have come to say good-night."

She turned toward me, her face shadowed in her oomiak, soft arms twined stealthily about me as a vibrant voice murmured "Walter!"

I bounded to my feet with a cry of dismay that caused the sleepers to stir uneasily.

The woman followed me as I hurdled my way to the stairway. In the entrance I glanced back for a second on a face livid with passion.

It was the face of Sausalito!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 23: In 1906, off Trollebotn in Helgeland, I saw an inexperienced Niblick fisherman overtaken by a cold snap. He nearly froze to death as he was endeavoring to reach our ship (The Primrose), his motions becoming gradually slower until he finally came to a standstill, with one foot raised in act of taking a step. We got him aboard with nothing more serious than the loss of one arm which broke off as we were lifting him over the side.]

[Footnote 24: The Case Harvester Co. has meritoriously placed a monument to Symmes on the front lawn of its subsidiary plant, The Belle Terre Mfg. Co. The monument consists of a large hollow ball of local granite. Keys at res. of John Reid, Jr., Caretaker.]

[Footnote 25: The Walrus's habit of weeping when one of their number is captured is one of the most pathetic sights in the world. I once caught a small calf in the Greely Straits and was immediately surrounded by the herd which burst into tears as they rose about me. An old bull, who had hooked his tusks over the gunwhale, cried so copiously that my kayak was half full of tears which, being ignorant of their value, I foolishly gave to the natives.]

Chapter IX

_Sausalito's strategy. Orders must be obeyed. We turn southward. The
parting. Mutiny and desertion. In the grip of the Ice King. A fight
to the finish. Victory._