Chapter XIV: Across Greenland

VAUGHAN WHITTINGHAME was one of those men who make up their minds almost on the spur of the moment, yet possessing the rare capability of weighing the pros and cons of the issue with lightning speed.

Admiral Sir Hardy Staplers must have communicated with the Admiralty with the least possible delay, for one of Whittinghame's conditions was that he and his crew should receive official recognition. By giving him the title of Captain the authorities had tacitly expressed their consent.

Apart from that the appeal for aid was such that no man with humane principles could refuse.

The undertaking--navigating a huge airship through the intensely cold atmosphere of the Arctic--was a hazardous one, but Whittinghame was ready and willing to attempt the task.

In obedience to a general order all hands were mustered in the large compartment of No. 4 section. Officers, deck-hands and mechanics all wondering what had happened to cause the Captain to suspend suddenly the operation of unmooring, eagerly waited for Whittinghame to address them.

"My lads," said he, "I have been asked to make a voyage of three thousand four hundred miles and back. Not to Valderia but to a region where the climate is quite different. To be brief, the Admiralty have informed me that Lieutenant Cardyke and four men who made a dash for the North Pole some weeks ago are in pressing danger. Their Lordships appeal to me to proceed to his assistance, and I have signified my intention of so doing.

"It will be a hazardous task, for there are conditions to be met with that were not taken into consideration when the 'Meteor' was projected. Since you, my men, were not engaged to undertake a Polar Relief Expedition, I must ask for volunteers. All those who are willing to take part in this work will step two paces to the front."

Without the faintest hesitation every man stepped forward. A flush of pleasure swept across the face of their young Captain.

"Thank you," he said simply. "This is just what I expected. Now, dismiss. There will be half an hour's 'stand easy.' If any man wish to take advantage of that interval to write to his relatives or friends, opportunity will be found to send the letters ashore."

While the ship's company were thus employed, Whittinghame stood by the entry-port, pondering over his plans for the voyage.

As he did so, he became aware that the flotilla of boats still hovered around, and prominently in the foreground was the pressman, who seemed none the worse for his involuntary bath.

"May as well do the chap a good turn," soliloquised Whittinghame, and beckoning him to approach waited till the boat was alongside the rope-ladder.

"Sorry I had to drop you overboard, but you asked for it, my friend," said the Captain blandly. "I hope you bear no ill will."

"Not in the least," replied the reporter with a laugh. "It's not the first time I've been 'chucked out.' Besides, as you say, I asked for it. Are you going to invite me for a trip, sir?"

"No," replied Whittinghame, "but here's some information for you: it's perfectly genuine."

The man caught a folded slip of paper on which Whittinghame had written a few words. He opened it, then gave a searching glance at the Captain's face. He had been hoaxed before and was consequently cautious.

But that glance was sufficient. He was convinced. With a few words of thanks to Whittinghame he bade the boatman row like greased lightning for the shore. Twenty minutes later the "Weekly Lyre" issued a special with the exclusive information that the airship "Meteor" was to proceed to the relief of the British Arctic Expedition.

Meanwhile, Sir Hardy Staplers came on board to bid the departing aircraft God-speed, while, acting upon an "immediate demand note," suits of Arctic clothing were sent aboard from the clothing department of Royal Clarence Yard.

By twenty minutes past four all preparations were complete, and for the first time in her brief yet exciting career the "Meteor" hoisted the Blue Ensign; an Admiralty warrant having been hurriedly granted for that purpose.

Amid the deafening cheers of the thousands of spectators the "Meteor" rose majestically to a height of four hundred feet, then gathering way, darted forward in a northerly direction towards the desolate regions of the Far North.

Whittinghame, knowing that every moment was precious, gave orders for every possible knot to be screwed out of the motors, and nobly the engineers responded to the call. Within ten minutes of the start the speed indicators hovered around the two hundred miles an hour mark.

"Seventeen hours ought to do it," remarked the doctor.

"Hardly," corrected Whittinghame. "In the rarefied air we shall have to slow down a trifle. There will be less resistance to the vessel and correspondingly less resistance to the propeller blades. With luck we ought to reckon on twenty hours."

The navigation of the "Meteor" was entirely in Dacres' hands. There could be no rest for him until the voyage ended, for he alone of all on board could shape a course in these high latitudes, when the compass is useless to any but men skilled in the art of applying complicated magnetic variation adjustments.

Already the needle was pointing thirty degrees west of north, while hourly the angle was increasing.

Just before eleven Dacres pointed to the setting sun.

"That's the last sunset we'll see for some days, I fancy, doctor," he remarked. "We are nearing the Arctic Circle."

"Of course, I didn't think of that," replied Hambrough. "I was imagining us ploughing along in the pitch dark night with our searchlight on."

"It would be looking for a needle in a haystack were it not for the midnight sun," said Dacres. "By Jove, it is getting cold in spite of the hot water pipes. Would you mind bringing my coat from the cabin?"

By the time the doctor returned Dacres was able to report that the coast of Iceland was in sight.

"Where are you making for?" asked Hambrough. "The west coast of Greenland?"

"No," replied Dacres. "Here's the chart. We're making almost a bee-line for Cape Columbia. That will take us across Greenland from Scoresby's Land to the Humboldt Glacier and over the icy-clad plateau which the eye of man has never yet seen. Excuse me a minute while I look up this variation chart."

"You must be tired," observed Hambrough.

"Can't afford to be," said his companion. "It's a thirty-hour watch for me. All the same, doctor, if you can give me something to overcome this sleepy feeling I shall be glad. I suppose it is being unaccustomed to the altitude."

"I'll fix you up all right," declared Hambrough. "It won't do for you to be knocked up, or we'll be in a bit of a hole."

"It's not that. The 'Meteor' is quite capable of finding her way back to temperate regions. It was young Cardyke I was thinking of."

"You know him, then?"

"Rather. Lucky youngster obtained his promotion over the 'Independencia' affair."

Before Dacres could relate the incident Whittinghame entered the navigation room.

"How goes it?" he asked.

"Right as rain," replied Dacres cheerfully.

"Good! Now you take a spell and have some food. I'll stand by the helm and you can sing out the compass-course as you re eating. I'm sorry I didn't apply to the Commander-in-Chief for a navigator to take turns with you. Honestly, flying to a course in these regions is beyond me."

Already--it was twenty minutes past twelve by Greenwich time--the sun was rising--a pale, watery-looking disc. Six thousand feet beneath the airship could be seen the sea dotted with masses of floating ice, dwarfed into insignificance when viewed from above.

"We've struck the drift-ice rather far south, I think," remarked Dacres. "It's rather a bad sign, although, of course, there may be a higher temperature in the corresponding latitude in Baffin Bay."

"Let us hope so, in any case," rejoined the captain. "But isn't Parsons doing well? I don't think our speed has dropped to 190 since we started. I mustn't boast, though."

Hour after hour Whittinghame remained with the navigator. He scorned to sleep when such a luxury was denied his comrade.

On nearing the Greenland coast the "Meteor's" speed was reduced in order that Dacres could go on deck and take an observation. The cold cut him like a knife. His fingers could scarcely feel the vernier-screw of the sextant.

"I'm not cut out for an Arctic explorer," he muttered as he hastened below to work out his position. "If it's like this on the coast what will it be like over there, I wonder?"

"Well?" asked Whittinghame anxiously, as his companion straightened himself after bending over the set of figures.

"Here we are," announced Dacres, pricking off the portion on the chart. "Twenty miles farther north than I expected. We must have under-estimated the strength of the wind. I'll take good care to make allowance for that in the future."

"What a waste of desolation!" ejaculated the Captain, looking down upon the snow-clad land. They were far above the northern limit of trees. The ground rose steeply in places, black granite precipices loomed menacingly against the white mantle which covered the gentle slopes.

Lower and lower fell the temperature. The crew, muffled in their fur garments, were already feeling numbed in spite of the hot-water apparatus. Higher and higher rose the airship, until a height of twelve thousand feet above the sea level was recorded. Yet less than nine hundred feet below was the summit of that ice-bound plateau--the portals of death.

Presently Parsons, the chief engineer, entered the navigation room.

"We'll have to shut off the heating pipes in the cabins, sir," he announced, "or the water will freeze and burst them. The heat of the motors is not enough to warm the jacket of the cylinders. I've even had to melt the oil before I could fill up the lubricators."

"Very well; carry on," replied Whittinghame. "We must endure the cold as best we may. Are the engines all right otherwise?"

"Running splendidly, sir."

"What temperature have you in the motor-rooms?"

"Minus ten for'ard and a point above zero aft, sir."

The Captain glanced at the thermometer on the navigation room bulkhead. The mercury stood at minus twenty-five degrees or fifty-seven below freezing point.

"I almost wish we had taken the east coast route and gone through Davis Strait," remarked Whittinghame. "It wouldn't have been anything like so cold."

"She'll do it all right, sir," declared Parsons. "Besides, we shan't find it any colder at the Pole itself."

"And it will save us at least six hours," added Dacres.

Acting under his suggestion two quarter-masters took ten minute spells at the wheel, for beyond that period a man's outstretched arms would be numbed.

Mile after mile was reeled off with the utmost rapidity. There was nothing to be seen but the dreary expanse of cliffs, snow and ice--cliffs that outvied the canons of Colorado for height, and snow and ice that had covered what at one time might have been a fertile land for perhaps millions of years. It was a vision of the earth during the Glacial Age.

At seven o'clock, or twenty-two hours after the "Meteor" had left Portsmouth, Dacres pointed to a huge winding track of ice that, according to the most modest estimate, was at least fifty miles wide.

"We're nearly there, sir," he said. "We've struck the head of the Humboldt Glacier. With luck we ought to sight the open sea in another hour. We are covering one degree of longitude every three minutes now."

Whittinghame nodded. It was almost too cold to talk. Speaking was accompanied by a volume of white vapour that, rapidly congealing, fell upon the floor in showers of fine ice. To touch a piece of metal with bare hands caused painful blisters, as many of the crew learnt to their cost. The airship was little more than a floating icebox.

Presently Dacres touched his comrade on the shoulder.

"The sea!" he exclaimed.

It was the sea. Right ahead was an expanse of open water, though greatly encumbered with huge bergs, for the "Meteor" was now passing over the birth-place of those enormous mountains of floating ice that find their way down into the Atlantic as far south as the fortieth parallel.

Even as he spoke there was a terrific crash, like that of a peal of thunder. The voyagers were just in time to see a mass of ice, nearly three miles in width, topple over the end of the glacier and fall into the sea. Almost instantaneously the placid surface changed to that of a tempestuous sea, as the iceberg rolled and plunged ere it gained a position of stability.

Ten seconds later the "Meteor" struck the first of the air-waves caused by the sudden disturbance of the atmosphere.

Well it was that she was of the non-rigid type, for otherwise the shock would have broken her back. As it was she writhed like a tortured animal. The crew, holding on like grim death, looked at each other in amazement akin to terror. At one moment her bow was pointing upwards at an angle of forty-five degrees; at the next the airship was banking steeply downwards.

It was a nasty two minutes while it lasted, but by the time the "Meteor" settled on an even keel she was tearing over the open sea.