Under the Sea to the North Pole

by Pierre Mael

  When February came the cold was not much more than from twenty-five to thirty-two degrees. As a change for the men Captain Lacrosse ordered them out on expeditions. The first detachment, under the command of the valiant Guerbraz, went off to Cape Washington and reached it after six days’ hard work. He left there two of his men and brought back serious news. Lieutenant Remois had succumbed to an internal complaint due to the extreme cold, and with him two sailors, both Canadians, had died.

  These three deaths made up the number of the victims of the expedition to twelve.

  There remained thirty-one men and two women. A conference took place on board the ship to decide if they should maintain the two stations. It seemed in fact to be more practical and. more prudent to unite the crew either on the steamer or in the house at Cape Washington. That would make it easier to attend to the invalids, and enable the two doctors to work together. And what was a valuable advantage, it would considerably reduce the expenditure of light and fuel.

  It was decided to recall the men from the southern station, and bring them as soon as possible on board the Polar Star.

  A consultation also took place with regard to the fate of Schnecker, who had all the time been under guard.

  Pronounced guilty unanimously, and condemned to death, the chemist only owed his safety to the prayers of Isabelle, who presented herself with tears in her eyes before his judges.

  “Gentlemen,” she said, “I only bring forward one thing to induce you to be merciful. Twelve of us have already died on the field of honour of our enterprise. Others, whose number we as yet know not, will probably die before long, and my heart is already in mourning for a life which is particularly dear to me. I entreat you, by the execution of a sentence as rigorous as it is just, not to add a new means to those by which death has mowed into our ranks. Do not let a stain of blood, however honourable, rest on your hands. I know that the man is a scoundrel, and that he has attempted the lives of us all and of everyone in the ship. I know that through his crime two of our bravest are dead, and that the chief of our expedition, my father himself, has been the victim of veritable attempt at assassination directed against him by this wretch. But I would forget his crimes in the remembrance of the services he has rendered, and above all that this man has been the companion of our sufferings and our efforts. Give him time to realize the greatness of his crime and to repent.”

  The council were touched at this affecting appeal.

  At once they ordered the rascal to be brought into the presence of his improvised advocate, and he was told that on her demand, they had given him the benefit of extenuating circumstances, and that consequently he would be kept on board under guard until their return. But once he was landed in French territory, his judges would hand him over to a competent authority before which he would have to answer to the charge.

  Schnecker thanked his benefactress in a way that showed his gratitude was considerably less than his satisfaction at escaping immediate execution. He was then taken back to his cabin and placed under the guard of a sailor who was relieved every two hours. Soon, owing to the manifest impossibility of escape, this vigilance was relaxed and he was allowed to move about as he pleased.

  The crew then began the necessary preparations, not only for the return of the men from Cape Washington, but also for the eventual departure of the steamer. The continual rise in the temperature, the prevalence of storms from the south, and the breaking up of the ice field, gave every sign of an early and exceptionally mild spring.

  Meantime Hubert D’Ermont, Lieutenant Hardy, Doctor Servan, DeKeralio and Isabelle employed a part of their leisure in drawing up a report of their voyage, a record of this unprecedented expedition, so full of moving dangers and unexpected results.

  On the loth of March the men from Cape Washington arrived, and that under circumstances which, none of the members of the expedition were ever likely to forget.

  As soon as the decision had been come to and notified to the winterers on the Greenland coast, a detachment of six men went out every day from the ship, and ventured as far away on the pack as they could go to meet those whose coming was expected. These excursions were not without danger, for the ice was daily subject to profound alterations on its surface and in its constitution. At every step the well-known obstacles arose; the ocean whose presence was felt in the incessant agitation of the unstable crust which covered its surface, displayed the same terrible snares; cracks closing as soon as they opened; strips of unexpected water, fissures in the hummocks. And according to the observations of Lockwood and Brainard, the men of the Polar Star were justified in thinking that in spite of the terrible cold of winter, the Greenland coast was not so safe as the sheet of ice which stretched beyond it. On this occasion the column had gone out about six miles when they saw before them the party they had come to meet.

  The twelve men who composed it seemed to be coming at their best speed. They were running as fast as the snowshoes they wore would permit. They had with them only one sledge and a few dogs.

  It became manifest to the Polar Star men that their companions were in flight from some imminent danger.

  Soon there was no doubt as to this. The first to come up explained the motives of their flight. They had got about seven kilometres from Cape Washington when the dogs had given signs of terror. Justly surprised at this, the sailors had gathered round the sledges, and greatly to their disgust saw two gigantic bears a few hundred yards ahead. Contrary to their usual indifference, these formidable plantigrades had not beaten a retreat: but they had moved off a little when fired at.

  This first meeting had been almost forgotten, when at the end of another ten kilometres, three other bears showed themselves. These had seemed to be less bold but more tenacious than their predecessors, and they had followed the party, but at a respectful distance, up to the place of its encampment. During the night the poor sailors passed on the ice, they were haunted by terrible dreams; but luckily their ferocious travelling companions had kept at a distance. Inborn caution made them distrust the proximity of men with fire-arms.

  The sailors owed to this the fact that they were not attacked during the night.

  But at the rising of the sun, their terrors were increased beyond measure.

  It was no longer three bears with whom they had to deal, but twelve, a bear to each man.

  The danger had thus become very great, and if the unfortunate men had not during the day traversed the seventy kilometres which separated them from the Polar Star, they were only too certain to be attacked during the coming night.

  The imminence of their peril had given them wings, and their efforts had been superhuman.

  But the hungry beasts, understanding probably that their prey was about to escape them, drew nearer and nearer, and the moment came when they formed in line of attack at less than 500 metres of the fugitives. The men had, however, cleared two-thirds of the journey, and could hope to reach without too much encumbrance the ship that was to be their refuge, when suddenly a new detachment of bears appeared.

  Then they had taken heroic measures. Unharnessing one of the two sledges, they had left it behind, taking care to uncover everything that could be eaten. The dogs were added to the first sledge, on which they had put the men most exhausted by the fatigue of this forced march; and they had literally run over the pack.

  But this was only a momentary respite. The assailants had soon attacked the pieces and quarrelled over the fragments; and then refreshed by their meal, they had resumed their pursuit.

  As the fugitives came on, the relief party saw the vanguard of their enemies.

  “There are at least twenty,” said Guilvinec, the boatswain who commanded the detachment since the death of Lieutenant Remois.

  Luckily the distance from the steamer was not very great. Lieutenant Hardy, who was in charge of the relief party, sent on the new comers on the sledges while he and five companions covered the retreat.

  And not being able to resist the temptation of a goo
d shot he waited until one of the bears was within range to favour him with a steel pointed bullet in the politest manner possible.

  He had the joy and pride to see that he had made a hit. The bear received the bullet in its heart and fell dead. Notwithstanding the serious state of affairs, the men could not help expressing their admiration of this magnificent result.

  “Bravo, captain!” they exclaimed raising their fur caps.

  But this exploit was not quite useless, for the hungry animals swarmed round their dead comrade, and with many a growl soon shared his carcase amongst them.

  And when that was done, without any further thought of their brutal action, the plantigrades hurried off again on the track of the fugitives.

  But these, helped and protected by their comrades of the steamer, had at last reached the ship, and the growling bears only came up to the Polar Star when the last members of the party were clambering up the ladders and ropes thrown over for them to climb on board.

  Already, by one of the ports skilfully adapted by the master carpenter, the dogs and sledges had been run up into the ship.

  The bears were thus considerably disappointed. But, as bears are patient, philosophical animals, they assembled in council round the ship and lay siege to it in due form.

  Their presence was not so much alarming as embarrassing. While these inconvenient neighbours remained outside there could be no thought of the walks abroad required by the most elementary rules of health, and it became necessary to clear them away as soon as possible.

  It was decided not to waste words on the way in which it was done, but to do it at once.

  The besieged were divided into three sections of ten men each, the first being under Captain Lacrosse, the second under Hubert D’Ermont, the third under Lieutenant Hardy.

  Each of these had its day of duty and its special work.

  The enemy had been very lightly thought of, but his numbers increased rapidly, and he soon became the object of the greatest attention.

  “Why, it rains bears in this country!” exclaimed Lieutenant Pol, going up on deck and looking out over the pack.

  “What do you say?” asked Lacrosse, who had heard the exclamation.

  “Come and look,” said the lieutenant. “Yesterday there were twenty-two of these brutes around us. To-day there are fifty.”

  Captain Lacrosse had only to cast a glance around to see that the lieutenant had not been exaggerating. The bears were on all sides, and, extraordinary as it may be, fifty was but a moderate estimate of their number.

  “Something unusual must have happened in these parts,” said the captain anxiously.

  A consultation was held. The position, without being critical, was none the less disquieting.

  It had become impossible to go ashore, and the presence of these dangerous guests indicated that the time might come when the whole army, urged by hunger, would attack the steamer.

  In the ship the state of the invalids did not improve. About the l5th of March an increase of the cold compelled the crew to shut themselves in more closely. The mercury had again frozen and the pack ice, which had appeared to be breaking up, increased in thickness and solidity.

  Among the men in the three detachments scurvy had appeared.

  On the 20th only twenty-four sailors were fit for duty, and Dr. Le Sieur, the assistant and friend of Dr. Servan, had to take to his bed owing to the excessive hard work he had imposed on himself. This illness of the doctor had anything but a cheering effect on the crew.

  But the most depressing experience of the witnesses of this lugubrious drama was the slow agony of Tina Le Floc’h. The poor nurse, in fact, was dying, and her last hours were saddened by the impossibility of affording her ‘ any alleviation.

  Isabelle, almost worn out, never left her companion’s bedside. Tina was quite resigned to her fate, and had but one regret, that of not being able to see her native Breton land once again.

  And Isabelle increased to the utmost her energy and attention in prolonging a life that was doomed.

  The atmosphere of the ship was becoming unbreathable. The store of liquefied oxygen had been exhausted, and there was left only one tube reserved specially for extreme cases and medical use. The aeration of the quarters was urgent, and this had only been done hitherto by opening some of the ports; but this means was insufficient and the invasion of carbonic acid made complete ventilation absolutely necessary. It was not only the gas used daily for heating purposes that fed this mephitrc atmosphere, it was the accumulated respirations of all including the invalids, and the exhalations from the kitchen, the rank odours of which not only poisoned the air, but excited the voracious appetites of the bears outside.

  The equinox had passed. The breaking up of the cold weather which had been hoped for was still delayed.

  On the and the officers, on Dr. Servan’s advice, decided that they would open the hatches, and that in spite of the temperature of thirty degrees below zero they would allow the external air to enter the ship for a few minutes, as after a long discussion it had been decided not to make use of the last tube of oxygen.

  Every precaution was consequently taken to minimize the sudden admission of the cold, for there could be no doubt that the opening of the hatches would bring about a very great lowering of the temperature, which still remained at six degrees in the interior of the ship owing to the heating by hydrogen.

  To graduate the admission as much as possible, the ports were opened one after the other. When the level of the temperature was thus reduced to zero, the gas heating was turned off ready to be resumed at a moment’s notice. Then the main hatch was thrown back.

  At this moment a strange noise on deck attracted the crew’s attention.

  Heavy steps, significant scratchings, a sound of much small breakage indicated the presence of unwelcome guests. At the first alarm the men recognized the kind of visitors with whom they had to deal.

  “Bears!” said Guerbraz, who was superintending the ventilating arrangements.

  He had no time to say more. The planks of the hatch cracked under a considerable weight and broke in like a trap bending up on its twisted support.

  The bleeding throat and red eyes of a bear appeared in the opening at the same time as a current of icy air rushed violently down into the ship.

  CHAPTER XVI

  BATTLE AND DELIVERANCE.

  THE position, this time, was critical. Allured by the emanations from the steamer, the terrible plantigrades, overcoming their fears, and encouraged by the absence of all movement on board, had resolved to swarm on the ship. They had done. this without resistance, and the opening of the hatchways now enabled them to attack the crew of the Polar Star in their last entrenchments.

  The hatch which had broken under the weight of the bear, had fallen on the shoulders of Guerbraz, and given him a formidable blow. The strong man went down the ladder with his companions, and gave the alarm within the ship.

  The bear finding the place open and the road free, entered, sniffing as he went, and when the men returned with their weapons, they found the gigantic animal at the entrance of the gangway.

  Immediately he received a warm welcome from carbines and revolvers, and at the second step he made on the waterproof carpet he fell dead. Unfortunately three other bears had entered behind him.

  Two of them, frightened at the sound of the fire-arms, returned up the ladder much more quickly than they had come.

  The third, also thoroughly frightened, mistook the way and rushed into the passage leading to the cabins.

  This was where the sick were installed. At the moment Isabelle was seated near her nurse, endeavouring to console the poor woman. A pious conversation was in progress between them, and Isabelle was talking to the Breton of the strengthening hope of immortality.

  “Life is short, my good nurse; all of us must leave it some day. Happily it is but a journey, and beyond the grave we enter the true life where mourning and suffering are unknown, where we rejoice in limitless happines
s in the presence of those we have loved in this world.”

  She was speaking thus, wiping away the tears which flowed from the poor woman’s eyes, putting all her heart in her words. And the dying woman was comforted, and thought of these things with a smile, and replied in the language she had been accustomed to use in her early years.

  “Ah, my dear little child,-” she said, “you have always been to me what you used to be long ago, the kind, good, little girl, loving God, and pitying and helping the poor! I am happy to die with you near me, I feel that in your hands, under your eyes, and in your hearing, death will be less painful for me.”

  Suddenly the report of fire-arms made the two women jump.

  Isabelle sprang up, left her chair, and ran to the door, which she half opened.

  She recoiled terror-stricken and screaming.

  The bear was but a yard away, seeking a way to escape. At the sight of the half-open door he rushed at it.

  Isabelle, fortunately, had time to shut it, and, palpitating with fear, stood with her back against it to diminish as much as possible the effect of the animal’s push.

  The push never came.

  Had the bear changed his mind, or had he retreated?

  While she was wondering, the drama she had just escaped was being enacted at the end of the passage, and resulting in an unexpected catastrophe.

  It was here that was situated the cabin of the chemist Schnecker.

  The traitor, notwithstanding the mercy that had been shown him, had in no way abjured his hatred or his resentment. Since he had been informed of his fate as soon as the Polar Star was in French waters, he had lived only for his anger, and was slowly preparing his vengeance.

  “Death for death,” he said to himself. “I may as well die in my own way in destroying every trace of this expedition which will confer so much glory on the men who have sentenced me, and whom I execrate.”

  The opportunity came for him to put his infernal project into execution.

  The order had been given to put out the fires for a few minutes, to allow the external air to purify the atmosphere, and consequently the stoves remained ready to resume combustion, and the tubes remained open with the gas still passing into the expansion chamber.