The World of the Variants

by J. -H. Rosny aîné

  In brief, in spite of acute suffering, no one had died after ten days of travel. I found en route the markers that I had placed two years before; I was, in consequence, sure that we were heading in the right direction. Besides, I recognized the broad outlines of certain locations. Another week, and we would reach the proximity of Eskimo tribes with which I had made alliance—when I say “proximity” I mean, of course, a chance of proximity, my Eskimos being nomads.

  On the 12th day, the old woman, who had been manifesting symptoms of lassitude since the previous day, and who had become torpid, suddenly died. We buried her in the snow. I do not know whether her companions missed her much; at any rate, they did not appear unduly grief-stricken. At the most, they manifested a slight increase in anxiety.

  On the 14th day, Wanawanoûm was overtaken by a sort of delirium. He talked very loudly, telling fragmentary stories of old times of which no one had any memory. He fell into a coma and died without recovering consciousness.

  Our suffering increased, even though the temperature continually became less rigorous. Our strength was decreasing gradually, and the mammoth was showing signs of distress. The young women were dejected; Namhâ’s second-born was growing weaker. Only Awah retained all his strength, and, animated by his youth, even regained hope, wanting to see the southern lands where the Sons of the Mammoth had once hunted.

  We had three horrible days, although we were beginning to emerge from the murderous wilderness, and encountered occasional traces of vegetation. Namhâ was growing progressively torpid, and the mammoth’s speed was decreasing by the hour. It was a courageous beast, though, patient and prodigiously resilient. I firmly believe that it had a confused awareness of the situation, and that a profound instinct was bearing it toward the lands of the South where salvation was to be found. At any rate, it supported us with an extraordinary good will, and the more it weakened the more submissive it became.

  For two further days, the mammoth struggled on with grim courage—but on May 19, in the morning, it uttered a sort of hoarse plaint, turned its head toward me, and collapsed in a heap.

  XIII.

  I precipitated myself out of the sled. The enormous body of the mammoth was palpitating feebly. When it saw me standing there, beside it, it raised its trunk as if it were an arm and looked at me steadily. A tragic gentleness emanated from its brown eyes, with I know not what intelligence and instinct, more poignant than rational intelligence. No human dolor has touched me more than the dolor of that immense beast, in whom the last vestige of a species doomed for millennia would be extinguished. It did not last long. The pupil vitrified; the breath faded away; the formidable organism fell into unconsciousness. It took less than an hour to die, and it did not appear to suffer.

  When the mammoth was no longer moving, despair overwhelmed Awah and the two women. They had seen Wanawanoûm and the old woman perish without any great emotion, but it seemed that their own race was disappearing with the mammoth.

  “The Sons of the Mammoth will be annihilated!” Awah murmured.

  He was so discouraged that I was afraid that he might let himself die of hunger and cold. Fortunately, I had an idea.

  “There are mammoths in the lands of the Sun!” I affirmed. I was thinking of elephants. It would not be very difficult for me to make my primitives believe that they were the descendants of the colossi that grazed the prehistoric forests and savannahs.

  “Is that true?” Touanhô exclaimed, always quicker to understand than the others.

  “Certainly!” I affirmed. “I’ve seen them.”

  Awah took some time to get the idea into his head, but as soon as he succeeded, he was gripped by an extraordinary ardor and he harnessed himself to the sled alongside me.

  That day was much harder than any we had yet experienced. We advanced slowly, five times more slowly than with the mammoth, but the temperature was getting steadily higher; we were arriving in a region into which the Eskimos came, and even touching the zone in which I had left the tribe with which our expedition had been allied.

  The night was relatively peaceful. The death of our companions had increased our individual shares of the rations and left us a surplus of garments and blankets. We had a copious meal, which gave us back some of our strength and, although bent double, we progressed by 15 kilometers in the course of the following day.

  That evening, we were worn out by fatigue. For some unknown reason, it was not very cold, and that circumstance contributed to rendering our ordeal less painful. Touanhô’s spirits had recovered; she was now almost as resilient as Awah, who was displaying a magnificent energy. Even Namhâ was battling successfully against fatigue. One might have thought that the young flesh of all three was infused with new energy. As for me, I was on the up again. Without having Awah’s extraordinary endurance, I was giving no more sign of distress. All the same, our speed slowed down the following day; we had great difficulty covering 12 kilometers.

  The next day, it was even worse. The terrain became difficult. It was continually necessary to make detours. Furthermore, an enormous bear started following us toward dusk, and when we were out of harness it remained on watch, uttering intermittent growls that disturbed us much less in itself than because it might have attracted other predators.

  Suddenly, a sharp joy: a group of huts appeared in the coppery light—snowy huts that I knew well, and the sight of which caused me to cry out.

  Awah had stopped, full of suspicion.

  “It’s a friendly tribe!” I told him.

  “Are they Sons of the Mammoth?”

  “No,” I replied, for I knew that the appearance of Eskimos differed too much from that of my prehistoric people, “but I’ve made an alliance with them.”

  He remained rooted to the spot, his face hard and stern. I had neglected to warn him in advance, fearful of his prejudices; the proximity of unknown men filled him with grim hostility. His right hand gripped a deer-antler harpoon, his left held a nephrite axe.

  “Is Awah going mad?” I said, authoritatively. “Can we fight a tribe?”

  We were slowly approaching a village—if it could be called a village. Dogs were barking. At first, we could not see anyone; then short and ridiculously wrapped-up women appeared. They ran away, uttering cries of alarm that were repeated by children of both sexes, while the dogs barked furiously.

  “We’re friends!” I shouted. “We’ve made an alliance with your chiefs!”

  Other silhouettes appeared, gliding cautiously between the huts. I counted half a dozen, short and stout. In the end, men showed themselves, having been convinced, I think, of our numeric weakness. Five or six angry dogs made as if to attack us. “We do not know you,” said one of the men, finally. “Where have you come from?”

  I pointed to the North and said: “We’ve come from out there. Before then, though, I came from the South. I was received by a great chief who became my friend.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Wandrov.”

  The Eskimos looked at one another suspiciously. As with all savages, circumstances could render them dangerous. Evidently, they felt strong; in addition to warriors they had dogs and a certain number of females skilled in combat.

  “We know Wandrov,” said the man who had spoken first, finally. “When did you make an alliance with him?”

  “It was two summers ago, less than one day’s journey from here.”

  The man exchanged a few words with his companions. Suddenly, two dogs launched themselves forward, immediately followed by the others.

  “Into the sled!” I ordered Awah.

  I had drawn my revolver from its holster and seized my rifle. I had a few cartridges left. The next minute was agonizing. If the dogs attacked in earnest; I would have to defend myself; it would be war. “Call off your dogs!” I cried, loudly. “We would rather not kill them.”

  I brandished my revolver, Awah his harpoon. The Eskimos drew their bowstrings.

  XIV.

  Whether it was because the
y knew the effect of firearms or because of a concern for hospitality, the Eskimos did not encourage their dogs—which, having arrived in the vicinity of the sled, stopped; they limited themselves to sniffing us, threatening us with their fangs and howling, with the prudence of wolves. Uncertain themselves, the men and women limited themselves to watching the dogs, and us. That game went on for two or three minutes.

  “What will you gain,” I shouted, “by letting us kill your dogs and causing several of you to perish?”

  These words appeared to have some effect. One of the Eskimos sounded a summons, swiftly followed by another. The dogs retreated, growling, while the same Eskimo said: “Wandrov’s guests will be ours!”

  We lowered our weapons; the man who had spoken advanced toward us. That was the critical moment. I knew that as soon as we were welcomed, we would be out of danger—for although not all Eskimos can be trusted, those of the region in question had a profound sense of hospitality.

  After a brief hesitation, I emerged from the sled and went forwards in my turn. I completed the rituals, with which I was quite familiar, and we headed for the village in the red dusk.

  We were given a hut, which reeked of rancid oil and putrefaction, and fed on meat and dried fish. Nightfall saved us from curiosity and intrusion. We slept well in our stinking refuge, but on the following morning it was necessary to submit to the company and investigations of our hosts.

  We spent the day negotiating our departure. I was not without resources. First of all there was the rifle and the revolver, weapons well known to my hosts, which inspired a passionate desire in them. I promised them to anyone who would accompany me as far as a settlement of white men—a relatively easy matter, since I knew the route. I had other wealth: there were sparkling pieces of quartz of various colors, of which I had made a provision in our caves, and there were a few prehistoric necklaces, which produced an extraordinary effect.

  At the end of the day, we had arrived at an agreement of sorts. It would not be sealed until the next day, because the Eskimos wanted a supplement of crystals, in addition to a staff of authority in reindeer-horn, which greatly tempted the oldest of the men who were present. I did not want to yield without haggling, knowing how important it was for them to be persuaded of the value of what I was giving them.

  We were provided with four dogs and given two men for an escort, but our sled, being too heavy, was abandoned. In exchange for the rifle, Oudalano was one of our two guides. Clever and sagacious, he knew how to select the paces where partial melting, which frequently occurred during the middle of the day, would not impede our progress. We had reached a region where vegetation and animals were reappearing; to travel over it by sled required long detours, so we advanced very slowly. All the same, I ended up recognizing, by reliable indications, the proximity of a settlement through which our expedition had passed. A recrudescence of cold gave me hope that we would soon attain that goal. On June 1, I calculated that only one long or two short stages remained to be taken. It was high time. Namhâ was dangerously weak and one of the children had fallen into a disturbing torpor.

  Until midday we made good progress. Toward 1 p.m., the sky became very dark and a nasty wind began to get up, soon accompanied by stinging snow. Immediately, we took precautions, people and animals alike piling into the large tent that I had brought from the territory. The wind blew furiously. Even though we were huddled tightly together, we were frozen. The tent clattered under the assaults of the tempest; I feared that there might be a catastrophe at any moment.

  Finally, the storm eased—but when we tried to get under way again, it transpired that one of the sleds was broken, in such a way that it was unusable. The other could only carry a part of our company. What should we do? We could not entrust the women to the Eskimos. Awah, on the other hand, would not consent to be separated from them, and I would have considered myself a coward if I had not stayed at my post. It was also impossible to separate the children from their mothers. In sum, there was only one thing to do: to trust Oudalano and his companion. They had no interest in betraying us; we retained the promised rewards. I gave the Eskimos instructions so precise that they could hardly go astray.

  “Oudalano and his companion will not only have the promised weapons,” I said, pointing to the rifle and the revolver, “but they shall receive an abundance of cartridges, which we will obtain from the white men. They shall also have more shining stones.”

  The cunning children that my Eskimos were laughed happily, and their sticky little eyes sparkled. They set off with an ardor equal to that of a Carnegie in pursuit of billions.

  When they had disappeared, I felt the solitude more keenly. In this wild country, they represented reliably instinct and the wisdom of experience. Awah, Touanhô and Namhâ, in spite of their sharp senses, could not replace them. Fortunately, they had left us two dogs, and in that tragic hour, those humble beasts represented something solid, of which I would not have wanted to be deprived at any price.

  XV.

  We lived in the corrosive suspense of waiting.

  We were condemned to immobility. Setting off into the desert would have risked those who would come to our rescue losing our trail. After 40 hours of waiting, however, I resolved to make a reconnaissance with Awah and one of the dogs.

  The weather was clear, no peril probable, and we were only proposing to go up to a height from which we could see nine or ten kilometers. Sheltered in the tent, with the second dog, Touanhô and Namhâ would be able to wait for us in total security. By way of extra precautions, I showed them how to make two or three signals, which Awah would doubtless be able to see with his naked eye, and which I could, in any event, discern with the aid of my telescope.

  My companion and I headed southwards. The terrain presented few difficulties. No melt having affected the frozen snow that day, we made easy progress. Although cold, the temperature was tolerable, even excellent for walking. We only had a few detours to make, with the result that in less than two hours we had reached the bottom of the hill. Before climbing it, we looked back; a red flag was flying over the tent—a sign that all was well.

  The ascent turned out to be quite difficult. We were stopped several times by crevasses, which we had to go around. The slope was, naturally, very slippery. When we reached the summit three hours had gone by, and we could only count on four and a half or five more hours of daylight. First we assured ourselves that the red flag as still flying, and then we peered out over the long plain that extended southwards.

  We could see for a long way. The air seemed even drier than on our departure. For league upon league, the white wilderness extended its bleak monotony. Nevertheless, on the far horizon, we perceived a few green and brown islets suggestive of habitable land.

  Animals occasionally passed by: the melancholy Arctic fauna of dismal white birds, hares, foxes and ermines. I had expected that; I knew perfectly well that the American base was out of sight—but in spite of that, I was discontented. Deep down, I had hoped to see the rescue-party, of which Oudalano and his comrade had gone in quest, approaching.

  After waiting a quarter of an hour, I said: “We have to go back!”

  Before doing so, I planted a spike terminated by a pennant, in order to guide our saviors, if they were in any doubt as to the direction to follow.

  Awah watched me silently. His face was impassive, but I understood the expression on his mouth well enough to discern disappointment. Suddenly, he murmured: “Awah would like to look through the crystal eye.”

  His request astonished me, because of his repugnance for all instruments to which he was not accustomed. By virtue of seeing me use the telescope, he must have familiarized himself with it. I gave him instructions as to how to make use of it—instructions that he understood, because he had often observed my movements while I scanned the horizon.

  After a few minutes, he uttered a joyful exclamation. “Oudalano is coming back with four sleds and men!”

  It was only after a fairly long
time that I began to see confused images appear, through the telescope. They became clearer. In my turn I made out three sleds and, seized by a sort of delirium, I shouted: “Let’s go to meet them!”

  Awah seemed passably excited. We assured ourselves that everything was in order at the tent and went down the southern slope of the hill excitedly. Even the dog seemed impatient. We trotted for an hour, and made no less than seven kilometers. For their part, the sleds were advancing at considerable speed. Soon we were only a short distance from our rescuers.

  The dog had taken the lead; it launched itself furiously toward Oudalano.

  When we met up with the expedition, I was so agitated that I was trembling in every limb. With a mixture of intoxication and affection, I saw men of my own race again. They were three Americans of various sorts, all three of whom affected a phlegmatic calmness. The first was a tall Anglo-Saxon with a thin face and a lantern jaw. His steel-gray eyes studied me circumspectly. The second, an Irishman with sparkling eyes, showed an active face that was made for laughter. The third, shorter than the other two, with a ferrety appearance, seemed to be a half-caste.

  I thanked them effusively.

  “Impossible to do otherwise!” said the Anglo-Saxon.

  “Anyway, we were bored,” said the half-caste.

  Meanwhile, the Irishman offered me his hand, saying: “Did you get close to the pole?”

  “I reached the 88th degree,” I said.

  The three men deigned to smile. “Glorious!” exclaimed the Anglo-Saxon.

  Meanwhile, they were inspecting Awah with evident curiosity. “One of your traveling-companions?” asked the half-caste.