Chapter XXIX: A Land of the Heart’s Desire 243 (2)

But Miss Gale re-entered at that moment. She had made some slight changes in her toilet, and was more entrancing than ever. Her father had been right, I thought, only he had named too long a period. He had said “in a week.” His prophecy was already fulfilled.

“I say, Johnnie,” greeted Gale, “why wouldn’t our wireless telegraphy scheme go well with this expedition, especially with the balloon part? How about that, Chase? Would it fit in?”

“Perfectly, but Marconi seems to have it all in his own hands, as yet.”

“Not by a jug-full! Johnnie’s got a young man, I was just going to mention him when she came in, a sort of portigee——”

“_Protégé Papa!_ Though he’s not that, either. He’s——”

“Oh, well, _protyshay_, then. Anyway, he’s got a system that beats Macarony’s to death. I call this chap Macarony, too, because he’s Italian, and his name is a good deal the same.”

“His name is Ferratoni, Papa, and the other isn’t Macaroni, either, but Marconi. Papa never calls anything by its right name, if he can help it,” she apologized. “He gets into dreadful trouble sometimes, too, and I’m glad of it. He should be more particular.”

“All right, then, it’s Ferry—Ferry what? How is it again, Johnnie?”

“Fer-ra-toni.”

“Now we’ve got it. Oh, well, let’s compromise and call him Tony, for short. Well, Tony’s got a system that does all that Macarony’s does, and goes it one better. Obstructions in the way don’t seem to make much difference, and you can use it with a telephone attachment instead of a—a what do you call it—a knocker?”

“A sounder, Daddy.”

“A sounder, that’s it, instead of a sounder. We tried it here the other day, and could talk to him over in the Tract building as well as if we’d been connected with the central office. He’s perfecting it now for long distance, and we might take him right along with us, and let him experiment between the balloon and the ship. How’s that?”

“It would complete our plans perfectly,” I agreed, “if his system of communication prove successful. But do you think he would care to go on such a voyage?”

Gale looked at his daughter.

“Do you think he would go, Johnnie?” he asked, and I thought there was a suggestion of teasing in his voice. Also, it seemed to me that there was a little wave of confusion in Miss Gale’s face, though the slight added color there may have been due to other causes.

“I—why, I think he might——” she began hesitatingly. “I think he would consider it an opportunity. He is deeply interested in what he calls chorded vibrations. Wireless telegraphy, or telephoning, is like that, you know, but Mr. Ferratoni goes much farther. He attributes everything to vibrations. He analyzes my poor little hobby until there’s nothing left of it. He may be here to luncheon to-day, and you can talk with him,” she added, and I thought the blush deepened.

Assuredly he would come to luncheon, and of a certainty he would go to the South Pole, or anywhere that Edith Gale went, and would let him go. It was too late now, however, for me to raise objections. My only comfort lay in the memory of her father’s assurance that it was in their talents, and not in her protégés themselves, that his daughter was interested.

Still, I argued miserably, there must some day come a time—I was sure she had blushed——

A cabin boy entered bearing a tray on which there was a card. He presented it to Miss Gale.

“Mr. Ferratoni,” she said, glancing at it, and an instant later I saw in the doorway a slender figure, surmounted by a beautiful beardless face—the face of southern Italy—of a poet.

My heart sank, but I greeted him cordially, for I could not withstand the beauty of his face and the magnetism of his glance. It seemed to me that it was a foregone conclusion, so far as Miss Gale was concerned, and then I suddenly realized that the South Pole without Edith Gale would not be worth looking for. Even a whole warm Antarctic continent would be a desolation more bleak than people had ever believed it. Yet I would find it for her if I could—and then my reward—she had said I should name it—it had been but a jest, of course——

I realized that Miss Gale was speaking.

“We were just talking of you, Mr. Ferratoni. We have a plan which we think will interest you. Mr. Chase will talk to us about it during luncheon.”

VI.
WHERE ALL THINGS BECOME POSSIBLE.

We passed out into the dining saloon—a counterpart, I learned later, of the dining-room in Mr. Gale’s former cottage at Hillcrest. We were presently joined by a stout and grizzled man of perhaps sixty, with a slight sinister obliquity in one eye. He was arrayed in a handsome blue uniform, and was presented to me as Mr. Joseph Biffer, captain of the Billowcrest. I was pleasantly surprised to see that Mr. Sturritt was also to be with us. The customs on the Billowcrest, as I presently learned, were quite democratic, and William Sturritt, though nominally steward, remained the trusted friend and companion of Chauncey Gale, as he had been for many years. It is true there was an officers’ mess, at which both Mr. Sturritt and Captain Biffer usually preferred to dine, but at the Admiral’s table (they had conferred the title of Admiral on Gale) there was always a welcome for his officers, while on occasions such as this they were often present by request. Gale and his daughter were seated at opposite ends of the table, Ferratoni and myself next Miss Gale, while Captain Biffer and Mr. Sturritt occupied the same relative position to the Admiral.

The Admiral wasted no time in coming to the fun.

“Captain Biffer,” he said, “we want you to take us to the South Pole.”

Mr. Biffer continued the grim process of seasoning his soup for several seconds without replying. Perhaps some rumor of the expedition had already come to him. Then he fixed his sound eye severely on Gale, while he withered the rest of us, and particularly myself, with the other.

“When do you want to start?” he asked.

There was that about Mr. Biffer’s tone and attitude which indicated, so far as he was concerned, an entire lack of humor in the proposition. Even Gale, I thought, seemed a trifle subdued as he answered:

“Oh, I don’t know; we’ll consider that after Mr. Chase has told us what we are going to need to be ready. In three or four months, perhaps.”

Once more the deflected vision of Captain Biffer laid its scorn heavily upon us.

“And get down there and stuck in the ice below Cape Horn about the middle of March, just when their winter and six months’ night begins.”

It was a clean hit for the Captain, and I gave him credit. Gale was clearly out of it for the time being, and looked at me helplessly. His very dismay, however, encouraged me. A man must be in earnest, I thought, to look like that. I hastened to his rescue.

“I have naturally considered the Antarctic solar conditions,” I said, with some dignity, though I confess that with the Captain’s piercing searchlight upon me, the latter was not easy to maintain. “I am aware that their seasons are opposed to ours, and that the year at the poles is divided into a day and a night of six months each.”

Gale, who had been regarding me anxiously, at this point relieved himself in an undertone.

“Six months,” he murmured. “Think of going out to make a night of it in a country like that! Oh, Lord, what is life without a latch-key?”

“I have considered these facts,” I repeated, “and while a period of several months of semi-darkness and cold is not a cheering anticipation to those accustomed to the more frequent recurrence of sunlight, I am convinced that, under favorable conditions, it is not altogether a hardship; also, that in the pleasant climate which I believe exists about the earth’s axis, the extended interval of darkness and semi-twilight would be still less disturbing, and may have been overcome in a measure, or altogether, by the inhabitants there, through artificial means.”

I could see that Chauncey Gale was reviving somewhat as I proceeded, and this gave me courage to continue, in spite of the fact that the Captain’s contempt was only too manifest. As for Mr. Sturritt, he was non-committal, while Ferratoni appeared to have drifted off into a dream of his own. But Edith Gale sustained me with the unshaken confidence in her eyes, and my strength became as the strength of ten.

“As for the time of starting,” I continued——

“Wait,” interrupted Gale, “go over the whole scheme again for the benefit of those who didn’t hear it before. Then we can consider ways and means afterwards.”

Accordingly, and for the third time that day, I carefully reviewed my theories and plans for the expedition. As I proceeded I observed that Captain Biffer’s contempt softened into something akin to pity, while, on the other hand, Chauncey Gale rapidly regained his buoyant confidence.

“That’s where you come in, Bill,” he laughed, as I spoke of the balloon car and its condensed stores.

Mr. Sturritt nodded eagerly.

“And you, Johnnie,” as I referred again to the possible inhabitants in the undiscovered world.

“And Mr. Ferratoni is not to be left out,” answered Miss Gale. “Mr. Chase says that a wireless telephone is the one thing needed to make his plan perfect.”

“To keep the balloon in communication with the ship, in event of our making the voyage overland would be of the greatest advantage,” I admitted, “if it can be done.”

Ferratoni’s face flushed.

“Yes, oh, yes,” he said anxiously, “it can be done. It is the chance.”

“And would you be willing to go on a voyage like that, and leave behind your opportunities of recognition and fortune?” I asked.

Ferratoni’s face grew even more beautiful.

“Fortune? Recognition?” He spoke musically, and his English was almost perfect. “It is not those that I would care for. It is the pursuing of the truth, the great Truth! Electricity—it is but one vibration. There are yet many others—thought, life, soul! Wireless communication—the answering of electric chords—it’s but a step toward the fact, the proving of the Whole Fact. To-day we speak without wires across the city. Later, we shall speak across the world. Still later, between the worlds—perhaps even—yes, yes, I will go! I have but shown the little step. I would have the time and place to continue. And then the new world too—yes, oh, yes, I will go, of a certainty!”

A respectful silence had fallen upon the table. Chauncey Gale’s face showed thoughtful interest. Mr. Biffer was evidently impressed. Me he had regarded as a crazy land-lubber with fool notions of navigation. In Ferratoni he acknowledged a man of science—a science he did not understand and therefore regarded with reverence and awe. Edith Gale’s face wore the exalted expression which always gave it its greatest beauty. For myself, I had been far from unmoved by Ferratoni’s words. I felt that it would be hard to feel jealousy for a man like that, and still harder not to do so. Gale recovered first, and turned to me.

“What about the superintending of the balloon?” he asked. “Who have you got for that?”

I knew as little of practical ballooning as of navigation, but as a boy I had experimented in chemistry, and the manufacture of gases. More lately I had done some reading, and I had ideas on the subject. I said therefore, with becoming modesty, that I had made some study of aeronautics and that, as the science had not yet progressed much beyond the first principles of filling a bag with gas and waiting until the wind was in the right quarter, I believed I might safely undertake to oversee this feature of the enterprise, including the construction of the boat-sledge-car combination.

“And I can take a hand in that, too,” said Gale.

“I’ve got a pretty good mechanical head myself; I’ve planned and built about a million houses, first and last. Commuters say I can get more closets and cubbyholes into a six-room cottage than anybody else could set on the bare lot. I’ll take care of that boat. Now, how about the time, Chase? When do we start?”

“I had thought,” I answered, “that it might require a year for preparation. If we started a year from now, or a little later, we would reach the Antarctics easily by the beginning of the day or summer season, and might, I believe, hope to reach a desirable position at or near the ice-barrier by the beginning of the winter night. During this we would make every added preparation for the inland excursion to be undertaken on the following summer——”

“Say, we’d be apt to get some frost on our pumpkins laying up against an ice-wall through a six months’ night, wouldn’t we?” interrupted Gale.

I called attention to the comfort with which Nansen and his associates had passed through an Arctic night with far fewer resources than we should have on a vessel like the Billowcrest.

“Look here,” said Gale, “what’s the use of waiting a year? Why not go _this_ year?”

“Why,” I suggested, “we could hardly get ready. There will be food supplies to get together, instruments, implements, the balloon, and then the engaging of such scientists as you might wish to take along——”

“Scientists,” interrupted Gale, “what kind?”

“Well, perhaps a meteorologist, a geologist, an ornithologist——”

“See here, what are all those things? What are they for?”

“To observe and record conditions,” I said. “An ornithologist, for instance, would classify and name any new birds that we might find in the Southern Hemisphere, and an——”

“Hold on,” interrupted Gale, “we don’t want any of that yet. We’ll discover the country first. We’ve got science enough right here to do that, I guess, if anybody has. Besides I’m a pretty good hand at naming things myself, and if we find any strange animals or birds wandering about down there without titles, I’ll just give ’em some.”

“Oh, Papa,” laughed Miss Gale.

“Why, yes, of course; and now as to those other things. Mr. Sturritt here can give an order in five minutes for enough provision to last ten years, and have it on board in twenty-four hours. Whatever instruments and material you need for your balloon and telephone machine can be had about as quick, I’m thinking, and if we need any mechanics of any kind I can put my finger on a hundred of them to-morrow. If we’ve got to lay up six months against an ice-wall we’ll want something to do, and will have time enough to build things to fit the case in hand. What I want to know is, if we can be ready to start from here in a week, so’s we’ll miss this winter up here and get safe in the arms of that ice-wall before winter sets in down there! I’m simply pining to get up against that two thousand foot ice-bluff, and I don’t want to wait a year to do it. What do _you_ say, Bill, can we be ready to start from here in a week?”

My heart sank. It was but a huge joke then, after all, and this was his way out of it. But Sturritt, who knew him, was taking it seriously.

“Yes—that is—why certainly, in—er—three days!” he said with nervous haste.

“I can be ready to-morrow,” said Ferratoni, quietly.

“I am ready to start to-night,” said Edith Gale.

I hastened to add that the materials needed for the balloon could doubtless be procured without delay.

“And you, Biffer?” Gale turned to the Captain who had been a silent unprotesting martyr during this proceeding. “Are you ready to start in a week for the South Pole?”

“Admiral,” said the Captain solemnly, and making a sincere effort to fix him with both eyes at once, “you own this boat and I’m hired to sail it. I don’t believe in no South Pole, but if there _is_ one, I don’t know of a better place for a crowd like this. And if you give the order to go to the South Pole, I’ll _take_ you to the South Pole, and sail off into space when we get there, if you say so!”

Mr. Biffer’s remarks were greeted with applause and a round of merriment in which the Captain paid himself the tribute of joining.

“We’ll have the balloon for navigating space, Captain Biffer,” said Edith Gale.

“And my opinion is that we’ll need it, ma’am, if we ever get back.”

But amid the now general enthusiasm Chauncey Gale had sprung to his feet. There was a flush of excitement on his full handsome face, and when he spoke there was a ring of decision in his voice.

“Everybody in favor of starting a week from to-day, for the South Pole, stand up!” he said.

There was a universal scramble. Captain Biffer was first on his feet. Gale seized a glass of wine and holding it high above his head, continued:

“To the Great Billowcrest Expedition! Missionary work for Johnnie; electricity for Ferratoni; balloons for Chase; tablets for Bill; the ship for the Captain; homes and firesides for me, and _the South Pole for us all_!”

VII.
I LEARN THE WAY OF THE SEA, AND ENTER MORE FULLY INTO MY HERITAGE.

The sun lifting higher above Long Island touched the spray under the bow and turned it into a little rainbow that traveled on ahead. I leaned far out to watch this pleasant omen of fortune, endeavoring meanwhile to realize something of the situation, now that we were finally under way and the years of youth and waiting, of empty dreams and disappointments, lay all behind.

It had been a week to be remembered. A whirl of racing from ship to shop, and from shop to factory—of urging and beseeching on my part, of excuses and protestations on the part of tradesmen and manufacturers. I had been almost despairing at last in the matter of material for the balloon bag, when one morning—it was the fourth day—I heard of a very large completed balloon, made to order for an aeronaut whose old one had missed connection with it by one day. When they had come to deliver it, the undertaker was just driving off, and the aeronaut had made his farewell ascension.

I found it to be of really enormous proportions—one of the largest ever manufactured, I was told—so large, in fact, that the maker was as glad to part with it as I was to secure it.

My associates also had been somewhat occupied. Mr. Sturritt’s delivery teams had been lined up on the Billowcrest dock from morning till night, unloading provisions in various forms, enough it would seem for an army. Ferratoni had laid in his cells, coils, transmitters, detectors and heaven only knows what besides, while Miss Gale had undertaken to supply, in addition to her own requirements, the warm clothing and bedding likely to be needed for an Antarctic winter.

As for Chauncey Gale, he had sat all day at a little table on the afterdeck and signed checks; checks, many of them, that would have wrecked my former commercial venture at any time during the ten years of its existence; and he whistled as he did it, and called out words of comfort to Captain Biffer, who, with a fierce eye on each end of the vessel, strode up and down where boxes, barrels, rolls, rope, chains, etc., were piled or still coming over the side—rending the Second Commandment into orders and admonitions that would have turned a clergyman gray in a night.

Now it was all over. The weird maelstrom of whirling days and nights that had added unreality to what was already dreamlike and impossible, had subsided. We were going down the harbor under full sail. Leaving the others still at breakfast, I had come out here alone to find myself.

I could not grasp it at all. The little farm boy who in the night had wakened and cried for the sea, going back to it, at last. The youth who had carried into manhood the fancy of a fair unknown land, and of one day sailing away to the South to find it, entering suddenly into an Aladdin-like realization of his dreams. It seemed to me that every vessel in the harbor ought to be decorated and firing salutes—that every soul of the vast city ought to be waving us adieu.

To be sure, we hadn’t told anybody. Gale was rather down on the papers, and we had left so suddenly that they had little chance to find out what we were doing. One of them—that of the millionaire editor—got an inkling of it in some way, and in its Sunday Magazine of two days before had filled a page with strange vagaries purporting to be our plans, and disturbing pictures of the lands and people we expected to discover. But as no one ever believes anything printed in a Sunday newspaper, even when backed up by sworn statements, these things appeared to have passed unnoticed. There had been one exception, however; my scientist of the snark and flipper, who had appeared on Monday morning to enter his promised protest.

He came at a busy time. About a hundred teams were backing into each other on the dock, whence arose a medley of unjoyous execration, and a line of men were waiting at Gale’s little table for checks. It was this auspicious moment that my scientist selected for his mission. Captain Biffer, to whom he first appealed, acknowledged him with an observation which no magazine would print, and waved him toward Gale.

“There’s the man _you_ want,” he snorted, “that man over there giving his money away.”

Chauncey Gale was at that moment engaged in constructing a check that ran well into four figures. He paused, however, with his hand on the way to the ink-bottle and listened for a moment with proper respect. Then he said, quite serenely:

“I wonder if you couldn’t conveniently go to hell for about three years. Perhaps by then I’ll have time to listen to you. You notice we’re pretty busy, this morning.”

I smiled now, recalling how the human seal had flopped backwards over a box of cod-fish and narrowly missed pitching overboard in his anxiety to get ashore. There had been no further interference, and no offered encouragement. We were leaving it all behind, now; the narrow, busy, indifferent world. There were no salutes, and if there were any flags, or waving, I did not see them. Nobody had been down to see us off, and impudent tugs steamed by and splashed water at us, just as if we were going out for a day’s sail, and would be back in time for the roof gardens.

Somewhat later I was joined by Edith Gale. It is customary to say “as fresh as the morning,” when referring to a fair woman at such a time, but, rare as the morning was, I could not have paid it a finer tribute than to have compared it to Edith Gale.

She came forward and leaned over at the other side of the bow-sprit.

“How pretty the little rainbow is this morning,” she said, looking down.

“Yes, I have been accepting it as an omen of success.”

Edith Gale laughed.

“I hope it doesn’t mean that we are pursuing a rainbow. We never quite capture it, you see.”

“I have been called a rainbow chaser all my life,” I answered, a little sadly.

“I suppose there is always some rainbow just ahead of us all,” she mused. “Even if we find the South Pole, and all the things we expect there, then something else will come to wish for and look forward to.”

“I am sure of it,” I answered fervently, “I——”

Her father’s warning recurred to me opportunely. We were not yet out of the harbor, and I did not wish to be set ashore at Sandy Hook.

“There is the ocean,” she said presently, “the Atlantic Ocean. How I love it!”

We had already caught the slight swell from the sea. The added exhilaration of it filled me with exultant joy. I stood up and drew in a deep breath of the salt ambrosia.

“Oh,” I said, “it is wine—nectar! It is my birthright—I have always known that I should come back to it, some day!”

Instinctively we turned for a last look at the harbor we were leaving. Farther down the deck Ferratoni was pointing out some landmark to Chauncey Gale, while from the bridge Captain Biffer was taking a silent and solemn farewell of the sky-scrapers of Manhattan. Mr. Sturritt presently came out of the cabin, beaming, and looked out to sea. The land had no further attraction for him. Our provision and the materials for his tablets were safely on board.

We faced seaward again. We were through the Narrows now, and the swell was much stronger, a long steady swing. I heard the Captain give a word of command to the helmsman and noticed that we were turning to the southward. A shoreless expanse of ocean lay ahead.

“I should think all this would appear like a dream to you,” said Edith Gale. “Aren’t you afraid you’ll wake up?”

“I have been trying to find something to convince me that I _am_ awake,” I said.

“How splendid it was that Papa took up with your plans. You know he has all sorts of things brought to him. A man came to him not long ago with some scheme for buying stocks that he said would pay a hundred per cent. a week on the investment. Papa gave him a dollar, and told him that if his theory was correct he didn’t need any partner, for the dollar would make him rich in six months.”

The pitch of the vessel became stronger. Then, too, it was not always regular. Sometimes it swung off a bit to one side, and just when I felt that it ought to lift us buoyantly and sustainingly it would disappoint me by sinking away beneath us—falling down-hill, as it were—or it would change its mind at the last minute and conclude to fall down some other hill, or perhaps give up the notion altogether. I grew discontented and wished it wouldn’t do these things. There was a bit of tarred lashing on the bow-sprit near us. In the harbor the smell of it had been fine and inspiring, but it did not attract me any more. It had become rather obnoxious, in fact, and I moved a little to one side to avoid it. Neither did I feel inclined to laugh at Edith Gale’s story. Somehow it did not seem altogether in good taste. Perhaps she was disappointed, for she referred to my own plans.

“And to think that Papa should believe in you from the start. He said he had never seen any one so much in earnest about anything as you were in your determination to find the South Pole.”

“Yes—oh, yes,” I admitted weakly, “I was in earnest, of course—but——”

The ship gave a peculiar roll and the salt spray came flying up from below. Some of it got into my mouth. It took away any remaining interest I may have had in Miss Gale’s conversation. I did not care for the South Pole, either, and the rainbow of promise had become a mockery. I remembered a particularly steady bit of rock in one of my father’s meadows. As a child this rock had been the ship on which I had voyaged through billowing seas of grass. I would have been willing now to give all my interest in both poles, the ship, and even in Miss Gale herself, to cruise once more for five minutes on that rock.

Edith Gale wiped the water from her own face, laughing merrily.

“I love the sea spray,” she said gaily, “can you taste the gold in it?”

I shook my head miserably.

“A man came to Papa, once, with a scheme to extract the gold from it,” she ran on. “Papa told him that there was so much water that he guessed he’d wait till the patent on the process became public, or ran out. Do you suppose there really is gold in it?”

I could not answer immediately.

“Do you suppose there _is_?” she repeated, and I thought there was a note of injury in her voice.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I groaned wretchedly, “but I know what _will_ be there, pretty soon, if this ship doesn’t stand still!”

She turned a startled face toward me. She said afterwards that all the colors of the ocean were reflected in mine. She had been ready to laugh at first, but her expression became one of compassion.

“Oh,” she said, “I never thought, I am such a good sailor—and the bow is the very worst place for that. You must go back amid-ships. You are seasick—I am sure of it!”

“So am I,” I gasped, “and I am also sure, now, that I am not dreaming!”

I stumbled feebly back to a steamer-chair and looked out on the horizon that one instant sank far below the rail, and the next, lifted as far above it. Between lay the tossing sea—my heritage. That which my ancestors had lived and died for. I did not blame them for dying—I was willing to do that, myself. Chauncey Gale came along just then.

“I’ve got a great scheme for the balloon boat,” he began, “a combination wind and water propeller. Ferratoni can supply the power, and——”

He caught my expression just then and the words died in his throat.

“Hello,” he laughed, “you’ve got ’em, haven’t you? Storm last week left it a little rough. Do you always get sick this way at sea?”

“I—yes—I don’t know. It—it’s my first experience.”

Gale regarded me with an amazement that was akin to respect.

“Oh, Lord!” he gasped. “Never been to sea before and planned a trip to the South Pole! What’s a bluff without a show-down!”

“Do you think I’ll be like this all the way?” I asked.

“Oh, pshaw! No! I’ll have Bill give you some of his tablets. You’ll be all right enough by lunch time.”

The suggestion of a food tablet at this particular time was the last thing needed. I went hastily below.

Gale’s prediction was not quite realized. I was absent from luncheon, but before evening the spirit of my ancestors rose within me—perhaps because there was nothing else left for that purpose—and I ascended to the dinner table.

“Well, you’ve concluded that this voyage is no dream, have you?” greeted Gale.

“A good many more will come to that conclusion before it’s over,” growled Captain Biffer, who was present.

Across the table, the place of Ferratoni was vacant. Edith Gale, radiant, beamed upon me. I could afford to laugh, now, and did so.

And thus it was I came fully into my heritage.

VIII.
THE HALCYON WAY TO THE SOUTH.

A cold plunge next morning in water combed up from the very bottom of the sea was my final baptismal ceremony. Fully restored I hastened on deck. Chauncey and Edith Gale were already there, walking briskly up and down, and I joined in the joyous march. A faint violet bank showed on the western horizon. Looking through a glass I could see that it was solid and unchanging in outline. It was land, they explained; we were off Cape Charles, and would pass Hatteras during the afternoon. I remembered an account in my old Fifth Reader of “The Last Cruise of the Monitor.” It had been always my favorite selection in the reading class. It gave me a curious feeling now to know that we were soon to pass over the waters where the sturdy little fighter had gone down. However, I had no longer a sense of unreality in my surroundings. I had been too thoroughly waked up the day before.

We were presently joined by Ferratoni—spiritually pale, but triumphant. I was not sorry, for I could not help caring for the man, and it seemed to me that after all his devotion to Edith Gale might be rather a tribute to an ideal than a genuine passion of the heart. We ascended to the bridge where we found the First Officer on watch. His name was Larkins—Terence Larkins—a sturdy Newfoundlander of forty, whose life ashore had been limited to childhood only—a period now lost in the cloudland of myth and fable. He had no prejudices concerning our destination. He was ready at any moment to go anywhere that the sea touched, and to maintain a pleasant discourse at any stage of the journey. He was big and blond, with a touch of ancestry in his speech and a proper disregard of facts—a merry Munchausen of the sea. He saluted as we approached, and pointed shoreward.

“Farrmers’ day ashore,” he said, with a serious air. “All the farrmers come to the beach to-day for their annual shwim.”

“Is this the day?” I asked, looking where he pointed. “I’ve heard of it, but I had forgotten the date.”

“Sure it is, man; an’ can’t ye see thim over there, dhriving down to the beach with their teams? An’ thim fellies puttin’ up the limonade shtands, an’ merry-go-rounds fer the farrmer lads an’ their shweetheartses?”

I reached for the glass and took a long look. The solid purple wall was as solid and purple as it had been before.

“No, really, Mr. Larkins,” I admitted, “I do not.”

“Let _me_ look, Larkins,” said Gale.

He leveled the glass and began to testify.

“Why, of course! And there’s a new addition laid out just below, and a little sign stuck up with—let me see—M-A-R-S-H-S-I-D-E on it. Well, that’s a funny name for an addition, ‘Marshside!’”

Edith Gale seized the glass. After a hasty glance she declared:

“Of course Mr. Chase couldn’t see anything! And you and Mr. Larkins didn’t, either.”

Ferratoni who had been gazing through another glass also shook his head. Chauncey Gale and Mr. Larkins joined in a hearty laugh at our expense.

“Oh, now,” consoled the latter, “it’s because yer eyes are not thrained to lookin’ over the sea. By the time ye get back from the South Pole they’ll be opened to a great many things.”

There came the summons to breakfast and we went below—certainly with no reluctance on my part, this time.

And now passed beautiful days; glorious shipboard days to which the slight uncertainty of a rival’s relative position gave only added zest. Ferratoni, it is true, may have had somewhat different views in this matter. He was obliged to spend the greater part of his time with Gale in the modeling of the new electrical propelling apparatus, which the latter was perfecting for the balloon. In the matter of constructive detail my assistance was not highly regarded by Gale who had really a mechanical turn of mind, as the Billowcrest itself proved; for whatever may have been the vessel’s faults from the seaman’s standpoint it was certainly all that a landsman could desire. Below stairs there was a splendidly appointed workshop, and the engineers on the Billowcrest were also skilled workers in wood and metals. The boat-car for the Cloudcrest, as we had decided to name the balloon, was a matter of daily discussion among us all, but at the point of technical intricacy I was promptly relieved for the good of all concerned.

It was but natural, therefore, that I should be a good deal in Edith Gale’s company. Also that I should feel a gentle solicitude for Ferratoni—a sweet soul whom all presently grew to love; it seemed too bad that he should not come in for his full share of paradise. My own fancies had been called poetic, but I realized daily that Ferratoni lived in a world which to me could be never more than borderland. And this I hoped consoled him somewhat for what he was missing by tinkering away his days with Gale on a dynamo for my balloon car, while I was revelling in the seventh delight of the daughter’s company, above stairs.

We cared for pretty much the same things. We liked to walk up and down the decks, discussing the books we had read, the pictures we had seen, and the purpose and possibilities of art.

“Beauty, the secret of the universe,
The thought that gives the soul eternal peace.”

was the quotation most frequently on her lips.

She had seen so much more of the world and its glories than I, and her understanding of nature was a marvel to me. She taught me to see colors that I had been blind to before. Sometimes she brought up her materials and sketched, while I looked on and loved her. When she would let me I photographed her. One day I ventured to show her some verses that I had written, and the fact that she really seemed to care for them gave me a higher opinion of us both.

And the sea racing past made a fine accompaniment to these pleasant things. She liked to watch the surge along the side and listen to its music. So did I, and often together we leaned over the rail to watch and hear it rush by.

We discussed metaphysics, and talked of life, and love, and death. Remembering Chauncey Gale’s advice, I was careful to avoid the personal note at such times. Ferratoni had touched now and then upon his theories in these matters, and these suggested speculations of our own. I was not displeased to find that Edith Gale did not quite accord with, or perhaps altogether grasp, his filmy philosophies. I preferred that she should be less ethereal—what she was, in fact—a splendid reality of flesh and blood and soul, with a love of all the joys of earth and sky. The clouds scudding across the blue, the white joy of the sunlit sails, the smash of the spray over the bow, a merry game of shuffle-board, and even hop-scotch—these things gave her life and sustenance—and then, at the end of the day, came the good dinner, and the untroubled sleep of a healthy child.

IX.
ADMONITION AND COUNSEL.

Our progress southward was hurried. We had touched at Charleston for a full supply of coal, but we were sailing under canvas only. It was still bleak winter below Cape Horn, and we did not wish to enter those somber seas before November, the beginning of the Antarctic spring.

Sometimes Edith Gale and I drew steamer chairs to the extreme bow of the boat, and looking away to the horizon, imagined the land of our quest lying just beyond. At night, from this point, we watched the new constellations of the tropics rising from the sea, and those of the North falling back, behind us.

Chauncey Gale and Ferratoni frequently joined us, and at times I was constrained through courtesy to leave Ferratoni and Edith Gale together. Perhaps it was not quite wise—the stars and sea form a dangerous combination to a man like Ferratoni.

After one such evening I was taking a morning constitutional on the deck forward when I saw a female figure emerge from the cabin. Edith Gale had often joined me in these walks, but it was not she. Neither was it our stewardess—a brawny, non-committal Scotch woman, of whom Mr. Sturritt, though her superior in rank, stood in wholesome awe. It proved to be Miss Gale’s maid and former nurse, the stout colored woman, Zarelda, or Zar, as she was commonly called. Miss Gale had long since told me of some of the peculiar sayings and eccentricities of this privileged person, but thus far my interest in her had been rather casual. Now, however, she planted herself at one end of my promenade and sternly faced my approach. I bade her a respectful and even engaging “good morning” as I came on, but the severity of her features did not relax. She nodded ominously, and proceeded to open fire.

“Look heah,” she demanded, “I wan’ know wheah you gwine wid dis ship?”

“Why, down to the Antarctics,” I said winningly. “I thought everybody knew that.”

I felt a sense of relief in being able to answer so readily. It seemed I was not quite through, however.

“Yes, down to Aunt Ar’tics!” she snorted, “I should say down to Aunt Ar’tics! I like to know whose kinfolks dat Aunt Ar’tics is, anyway! I ain’ nevah heard o’ none o’ Mistah Gale’s people by dat name, an’ if she some o’ yo’ po’ relation, I don’ see what foh _we_-all mus’ go trailin’ off down to de mos’ Godforlonesomest spot on dis earth, to visit in de dead o’ wintah. An’ what my Miss Edith goin’ foh, anyway? What my Miss Edith got to do wid yo’ old Aunt Ar’tics, dat’s what I wan’ to know? Humph! moah antics dan Ar’tics—dat’s what I think!”

My emotions during this assault had been rather conflicting, but I managed to maintain a proper degree of calmness.

“Why,” I said gravely, “this ‘Antarctics’ bears a relationship to us all—to the whole world, in fact.”

I rather prided myself on the cleverness of this rejoinder, but it appeared after all to have been rather poorly thought out.

“Dat’s enough! Dat settles it,” she exploded. “Now I know mighty well dey ain’ no sech pussun. Kinfolks to de whole worl’. Look heah, me an’ my Miss Edith has jes’ been deceptified long enough! I know wheah you gwine wid dis boat! You gwine to de Souf Pole—dat’s wheah you gwine! I done heah de Cap’n say so las’ night, an’ dat when he got dar he gwine to sail her off into space wid de whole kit an’ possum of us! I know mighty well somp’n gone wrong when I put Miss Edith to baid. She ain’ said two words, an’ befoah dat she been mighty chipper de whole trip. I didn’t know what it was, an’ I set an’ hol’ her han’ an’ sing to her, an’ it seem like she ain’ _nevah_ goin’ to sleep. But bimeby when I slip up on deck a li’l’, to look at de sky, I heah de Cap’n an’ Mistah Lahkins argifyin’ up on de bridge, an’ I heah de Cap’n say dat we goin’ to de Souf Pole an’, ’scusin’ de libe’ty, sah, dat you gone plum crazy on de subjec’, and dat you got de Admiral an’ Mistah Macarony an’ Mistah Sturritt all crazy, laikewise; an’ dat he gwine to sail you-all to de Souf Pole, case dat wheah you-all b’long, an’ dat you-all nevah get home, case when he get dere he gwine straight off into space wid de ship, an’ de whole caboodle in it. An’ den right away, I knowed what’s de mattah wid my Miss Edith. I knowed she been up dar a-hearin’ somp’n, too. An’ I make up my min’, right den an’ dar, dat me an’ my Miss Edith ain’ gwine. I like to see me an’ my Miss Edith flyin’ off into space, an’ us wid no wings yit, an’ fallin’ down to de bottomless pit an’ lake o’ fiah! Humph! We’s gwine de other way, we is!”

She hesitated a moment for breath, and I took advantage of the recess.

“What did Mr. Larkins say about it?” I asked.

“Mistah Lahkins! Humph, Mistah Lahkins! What he always say? He jes’ laugh an’ say dat de Souf Pole ’bout de onliest stick o’ timbah he ain’ tie up to yit, but he reckon dat it strong enough to hol’ us f’m gwine off into space. Anyway, he willin’ to take chances wid de res’. ‘An’ de Cap’n say, ‘Dat’s all right, same here,’ but dat de bosen, Frenchy, been talkin’ ’roun’ ’mong de sailors, an’ dat some get mighty oneasy an’ wan’ to be put ashoah. An’ dat’s what _I_ want. I wan’ me an’ my Miss Edith put ashoah. Den if you-all _mus’_ go on aftah de Souf Pole, why jes’ _go_, and leave me an’ my Miss Edith to go back home; an’ nex’ time tell folks wheah you gwine, an’ not make out like you takin’ all dis perwision down to some po’ kinfolks dat everybody related to, an’ nobody don’t know about.”

There was another brief intermission. The incident was entertaining enough, but there was a grave note in it as well. In the bosen, Frenchy, I recognized the sailor who on the first day had barred my entrance to the Billowcrest. I recalled my unfavorable impression of the man. He would be altogether the one, I thought, to stir up discontent among the sailors—an unpleasant prospect.

“Please, sah, won’t you put me an’ my Miss Edith ashoah, sah?” In my more serious consideration I had temporarily forgotten Zar’s presence. She had believed me hesitating, perhaps, and had adopted a persuasive tone in consequence. “Miss Edith mighty sad las’ night,” she added, “an’ I know you don’ want dat po’ gal to go spillin’ off into space like a lil’ robin when he nes’ break!”

“Not for the South Pole, Antarctics, and the whole world, Zar!” I said with a fervency that made the woman suddenly regard me with a new interest. There was a rustle behind her, and Edith Gale stepped out on deck. “Here is Miss Gale to speak for herself,” I added, with some confusion.

“What’s the matter, Zar? What do you want of Mr. Chase?”

“I want him to put we ’uns ashoah,” began the old woman. “I tol’ him we done foun’ out about gwine to de Souf Pole, an’ dat you an’ me wan’ to get off right heah, an’ go ashoah.”

“But I don’t want to get off, Zar. I’ve known all along where we are going. I _want_ to go to the South Pole with—with Papa, and we’re going to bring it back with us.”

Zar regarded her mistress a moment in silence. Then she said in a voice of grave wonderment:

“I wish you tell me what dat Paw of yours gwine to do wid dat Souf Pole when he gits it? Ain’ he got money ’nuff already? Anyhow, who gwine to buy dat pole? An’ how dey gwine know hit’s de sho nuff Souf Pole when dey sees hit? What’s to hender us gwine ’shoah right heah, an’ hackin’ down any ole pole, an’ gwine home again widout any moah foolishness? Ain’ none dem folks up in New York gwine know de diff’ence!”

“Why, Zar,” laughed Miss Gale, “and you such a good church member!”

“Well, den, if yo’ Paw boun’ to go aftah de sho’ nuff pole, let him go, but don’ _you_ go. You cain’t he’p him any!”

“But, Zar, you know I wouldn’t leave Papa. I never could.”

The old woman tossed her head.

“Humph! Bettah not be too suah!” She regarded me with a fierceness that somehow warmed me to the soul. “Dey ain’ no man livin’ I’d go to de Souf Pole foh,” she concluded, and with this final shot she disappeared, and went rumbling down the companion-way, “no, sah, not even if I could be wid him all de way an’ back again.”

“See, there’s a vessel,” said Edith Gale. “Bring the glass, please, and let’s try to make her out.”

I hastened to obey, though with no great interest in the result. The tropics and distant vessels had been wonderfully fascinating to me, but just at this moment I was dwelling fondly on Zar’s parting salute.

A little later she sought me again.

“Look heah,” she counselled solemnly, “you turn dis ship right ’round, now, an’ go back home. You go off down dar wid my Miss Edith, an’ bofe die an’ get all froze stiff, an’ den what good is you to each other, I like to know? What good is you?”

Zar had meant this for remonstrance and admonition, but I was her sworn friend and champion from that moment.

Chauncey Gale found me staring off at the horizon and building a fair castle in which the South Pole had no part.

“Chase,” he said, “don’t you make a mistake, too, and forget what I told you about Johnnie.”

The abruptness of it startled me a bit, but there was a quality in his voice that called for confidence and sincerity.

“Thank you, Mr. Gale, and—and I believe you spoke just in time.”

“I had my suspicions of it,” he admitted. “Tony got his medicine last night, I guess.”

“Oh!” I had started a bit, and Zar’s report of Miss Gale’s depression took on a new meaning.

“Yes, he’s no good this morning. He got all tangled up on his dynamo and we had an explosion that nearly set the ship afire. Then he went off half crying and I haven’t seen him since. I guess he wishes himself ashore, now, but wishin’ won’t do any good. He might get a message there all right, but he’s got to have something more than vibrations to get himself there. You see this ain’t any matrimonial excursion. We ain’t got any preacher along, and Biff’s license don’t cover that sort of a splice. Emory’s got a doctor’s diploma, but that wouldn’t fit the case, either.”

Mr. Emory was the Second Officer of the Billowcrest—a quiet, unobtrusive man whose love for the sea had led him back to it through devious ways. A runaway cabin boy, he had returned home in early manhood to become a country doctor, a naval hospital surgeon, a ship’s doctor and officer by turns, and was now serving us in the double capacity of the last two.

“Anyway,” concluded Gale, “we’ve got the South Pole on hand, and I’m in favor of taking things in their turn. You can’t afford to get in Macarony’s fix just now. We’ll need you when we get down there below the Horn. Besides we’re a long ways from shore, and the water here’s full of sharks.”

The last was certainly true. A black knife-like fin at that instant cut the water below us, and the swish of a steel-like tail as it disappeared made me shudder.

“That chap seems to be following us,” commented Gale, “they say it means a death aboard, but I think it’s more likely he’s after the garbage. ’Twouldn’t be a good time to swim, would it?”

He walked away and left me leaning over the rail. I thought his advice kindly, on the whole encouraging, and made up my mind to remember it. I wondered if Ferratoni had really spoken to Edith Gale. “Poor fellow,” I thought, “it must have been the glamour of the tropic night that made his ideal seem real to him for the moment.” And this I still believe to have been the case; but what it was he said that night to Edith Gale, or just what she replied, I shall never know.

X.
CAPTAIN BIFFER IS ASSISTED BY THE PAMPEIRO.

Southward, and still southward.

We crossed the equator under light steam, for there was no wind and it was too warm to lie becalmed, even in that mystical, lotus-breathing sea.

Our world was turned around, now. We were going back to the year’s beginning, and springtime lay at the end of our bow-sprit. The Big Dipper and the North Star were ours no longer; the Southern Cross had become our beacon and our hope. The sun and moon were still with us, but even these had fallen behind and it was to the northward now that we turned for noonday.

Gradually the glorious sunsets of the lower tropics faded into a semblance of those we had known in our own land. It was no longer quite comfortable on deck without wraps. An April quality had come into the air, and we grew presently to realize that we were entering rapidly into what was, to us, the curious anomaly of an October spring.

To me it was all pure enjoyment. It seemed that I could never look at the sea enough, and often I got Edith Gale to help me. And Ferratoni too, sometimes, for with the cooler weather and more temperate skies he had become quite himself again.

The first frost in the air seemed a glacial feeling to us, and set us to talking with renewed interest of the Far South and the lands and peoples we had undertaken to discover. I felt sure we were extravagant in some of our expectations. The tales we had read led us to hope for marvels in the way of mechanical progress, and we treated ourselves to flying machines and heaven only knows what other luxuries. In the end, I discouraged flying machines. I said that if these were a fact with the Antarcticans, they would have come to us long since. I said also that we must not build our anticipations too big, but base everything on calm reason and sound logic. It was more than possible, I admitted, that the Antarcticans had made some advancements in mechanism that were unknown to us, but on the whole I thought we would hold our own at the next world’s exhibition.