Under the Sea to the North Pole

by Pierre Mael

  All that Schnecker had to do was to get at this, open the tap, and bring a flame near it to bring about a frightful catastrophe. A formidable explosion would follow, and the hydrogen, on account of the carburets of which it is the generator, and which are known among miners under the comprehensive name of fire-damp, would expand in whirlwinds of flame, destroying everything as it passed and burning the ship and all she held.

  Everything favoured the plan. The crew were posted at all the points where their presence was necessary, and the unexpected arrival of the bears had concentrated them in one spot. The chemist could thus reach the engine-room without being interfered with. It was empty.

  But when he got there he saw that, as a precautionary measure, Hubert D’Ermont had disconnected the tube from the expansion chamber. In the pipes there was only the hydrogen that had not reached the stoves When the tap was turned. To get at that one of the pipes must be broken, and that could only be done with a violent ‘blow. i Schnecker had no tools in his hand.

  He returned to his cabin at a run, forgetting to shut the door behind him, and seized a hammer. and a pair of pincers.

  Suddenly a gruff breath, a sort of grunt, made him turn round. . He stopped, livid, voiceless, his hair standing on end.

  The bear, seeking an outlet, and not finding one at Isabelle’s door, had pushed in. The traitor had never expected such a violation of his domicile.

  Then a dreadful scene occurred.

  The angry brute rose on his hind legs, filling up the narrow cabin with the enormous volume of his body.

  Schnecker uttered a piercing inarticulate cry. He tried to escape.

  But the monster, thinking doubtless he was about to be attacked, became the aggressor. A furious struggle began. It did not last long. It could not. In a moment or so the chemist was knocked over, seized in the bear’s paws, and crushed in the powerful arms. And twice did the hideous mouth close on Schnecker’s head and reduce it to pulp. The animal roused by this giving him a feast where he sought only an escape, set to work to devour the chemist’s body.

  However, his cry had been heard. The men came running up from all parts.

  But before all, Isabelle de Keralio, carried away by her generous bravery, had flown to the help of the miserable traitor.

  She had seized from the shelf at the head of the patient’s bed the revolver which formed part of the general arsenal of the ship. To load it and run outside took but an instant.

  But prompt as were her movements, she had been preceded.

  Salvator, the faithful Salvator, had understood that those he loved were in great danger.

  And with an impulse, without thinking of the danger he was facing, he had leapt straight at the bear’s throat.

  But the poor dog had rated his strength too high. Brave as he

  might be, he could not emerge victorious from such a strife. The monster had caught him under his enormous paw, and threatened to crush him under its pressure, and Salvator only owed his safety to a very ordinary circumstance.

  The bear being disturbed in his occupation, which was that of devouring the miserable Schnecker, had risen for an instant, and falling back on his paws, had knocked over the dog under him. And Salvator, who was half suffocated, just escaped the fatal hug.

  At this moment Isabelle very opportunely intervened.

  The revolver did marvels. Isabelle fired four shots, and these all lodged in the bear’s head and neck.

  One would have been enough, had it been well placed. Unfortunately these wounds, although serious, only exasperated the animal. He rose for the third time, shook the dog, and threw himself on Isabelle.

  It would have been all up with her, if at the moment Guerbraz had not risen before her armed with an axe.

  Brandished by his herculean hand, the weapon cut one of the monster’s paws clean off, and while howling with pain, he fell on the ground, a second blow split open his head. This time the huge beast fell never to rise, burying beneath his mass the mutilated corpse of the chemist.

  By the open hatchway the external air had penetrated only too well. Intense cold reigned in the parts of the ship which had been so warm. It was urgent to light the fires again.

  As quickly as possible they closed the dangerous opening, and allowed the gas to enter the pipes.

  At ease for the future, regarding the consequences of this invasion, the men of the Polar Star could take counsel together as to what next was to be done. The plan was promptly decided on. It was necessary as soon as possible to get rid of this “vermin,” to use the picturesque expression of the Canadians.

  It was again Guerbraz who volunteered to go out in search of information.

  The doors from the saloon to the stern gallery were carefully opened. The bold sailor, armed with a magazine rifle, and a six-shot

  revolver, climbed up to the level of the deck.

  The news he brought was satisfactory. Surprised and frightened at the reports, the bears had hastened away from this abode of trepidations and sinister sounds, and only two were left on the deck.

  Guerbraz went up again with Hubert, Captain Lacrosse, and Lieutenants Pol and Hardy, as an escort. Three well-aimed bullets sufficed to lay the bears low; after which the three detachments, notwithstanding the severity of the cold, resumed their deck duties, for any further attempt on the part of the bears had to be rendered impossible.

  Since the equinox they had again entered into the period of continual day.

  In the rays of the midnight sun, they had, except for half an hour of darkness, no want of light. The danger was evidently much less than it had been during the polar night. Nevertheless, short as the night might be, a careful watch had to be kept during its brief duration.

  Electric projectors were installed on the main-deck, whence powerful search rays were directed over the misty surface of the ice-field.

  At the same time two Hotchkiss revolving guns were prepared for action, and at their first discharge into a group of the fierce plantigrades, killed six of the vanguard in the midst of their companions.

  The cold, after so cruel an increase, began to yield, and on the 28th of March the mercury suddenly thawed and rose without a pause to 10 degrees. On the 29th, a violent storm from the south, with its attendant echoes of the cracking of the ice and the dismal groans of the bergs, awoke fresh hope in an approaching break up; and it drove the bears away for some hours.

  On the 31st the effects of the storm were visible. The Polar Star, sinking on her cradle, had bent open the steel straps, so that she rested on the ice underneath her keel. A deep crack had appeared in front of her bow. Deliverance was evidently at hand.

  But the famished bears again came into sight. There were forty of them, and their watch became more attentive than ever. It was easy to see that the brutes, rendered desperate by hunger, would soon make another attempt on the steamer.

  It took place on the next day but one, and the attack was so complete, so unanimous, that after slaying with the guns and revolver cannons a dozen of the assailants, the men had again to beat a retreat and carry on the battle from inside the ship.

  In the interval, the corpse of Schnecker had been thrown overboard. The traitor did not even have the honours of burial, and the bears devoured his remains. The scene was horrible enough, but no one complained of the fate of the criminal who had fallen at the very moment he was hastening to the perpetration of the worst of his crimes.

  The six bears that had been killed had been carefully skinned and cut up, and the proverb that there is some good in everything evil was justified to the letter, inasmuch as the adventure had given the crew some excellent furs besides an ample provision of fresh meat.

  But it was necessary at all costs to get rid of the surviving bears.

  The chemist’s idea for the destruction of the ship was adopted by Hubert for her safety. With this object he would have to sacrifice a tube of liquefied hydrogen, and, after consulting his companions, it was decided to burn it on the deck and be ready to pu
t the fire out immediately afterwards.

  The method was very simple. The pipes by which the gas was distributed inside the ship were for the moment put in communication with the outside, and so arranged that the current could be interrupted at the first signal. Then all the taps were opened at once and four hundred cubic metres of gas were set free on the deck. A flame from a torch placed at the end of a long pole was then introduced and the hydrogen immediately exploded.

  A sheet of flame swept the ship from end to end with a furious deflagration and a roar as of the wind in a chimney. The stays and shrouds being of iron, as well as the’ other parts of the ship, suffered only slightly from the burst of fire. But the bears on deck, who seemed to have taken up a residential position thereon, were horribly burnt, and leaving twelve of their number dead or dying, fled for their lives with a wild roar of pain and terror.

  This was the end of the long siege which had lasted a ^fortnight. The means employed yielded from their very violence the most fortunate and at the same time the most unexpected of results. Under the action of this. temperature of 1700 degrees the ice was melted to a depth of three feet and the Polar Star again found the road of retreat open to her. What had been but a crack the day before was now a large strip of water. The April sun assisted with its more lasting warmth in the effect produced by this violent experiment.

  From the tops Captain Lacrosse could see the ocean freeing itself and huge masses of the ice-field drifting off.

  The bears had fled. The men descended to the ice and removed section after section of the iron scaffolding which had preserved the ship from the effects of shock and pressure. The steamer, breaking through the thin crust that remained, again floated in clear water.

  At last, on the 15th of April, the channel was sufficiently open. Everything was prepared for the departure.

  The boilers of the Polar Star were kept in steam for two days before the screw was started. The steel prow with its copper facing drove its ram into the broken blocks and the battle with the floebergs began.

  It was no slight task to overcome the obstacles that ceaselessly rose before the bow of the gallant ship. But her heroic crew had triumphed over difficulties much more formidable. Invincible ardour animated them, for they all desired to victoriously regain their country.

  Clear at last from Long Creek, the Polar Star saw the desolate land of Courbet Island sink on the horizon, and the unbroken open sea rise ahead. And then a hymn of joy and gratitude was lifted to the skies. They had losses to deplore: they had known adversity and treachery. Of the forty-three who had sailed out of Cherbourg, there returned only twenty-eight, and this might not be all their losses, for they had still eight sick on board. But hope had sprung up in all their hearts, and they thought no more of the sorrows that were past.

  There could be no thought of returning to Cape Washington, for every advantage ought manifestly to be taken of the early and exceptionally warm spring. The house of planks was thus abandoned. The next expedition may perhaps be fortunate enough to find there a shelter ready for them and a store of provisions carefully preserved. Besides, it was absolutely necessary to give the sick the earliest possible opportunity of improving their position if there were still time to do so. It was a fine morning in June when the Polar Star, after two months of difficult navigation, let go her anchor in Cherbourg roads. Alas! The cruel expectations had been only too well justified. Off the Scottish coast the good nurse, Tina Le Floc’h, had expired in Isabelle’s arms, lavishing on her the tenderest words with her dying breath. Isabelle was inconsolable, although the death had been foreseen for so long, and she brought the body to be buried in that native land of Brittany, in which the poor woman had longed to rest. It took many days to disperse the cloud of sorrow from her charming- face. But she could not help feeling a noble pride in the wild acclamation of the crowd. Called to Paris by the wish of an enthusiastic people, and also by desire of the authorities, the survivors of the expedition found their last journey a march of triumph. They had to submit to all the inconveniences of glory, but they had also its delights. The President of the Republic desired to receive them and to compliment them at the Elysée. The ministers and the learned societies overwhelmed them with ovations and rewards. Even the decree was applauded that gave the cross of the Legion of Honour to the heroic young Frenchwoman, whose name figured with lustre among those of De Keralio, Captain Lacrosse, Lieutenant Hubert D’Ermont, Lieutenant Pol, Lieutenant Hardy, Doctor Servan, and Boatswain Guerbraz, the other members of the valiant crew having commemorative gold medals. At the banquet which was given to them, De Keralio, replying to the toast proposed by the Minister of Marine, remarked,— “Yes, gentlemen, we went to the Pole for the honour of our dear France, but we have done better in showing the way to future explorers.”

  And Captain Lacrosse said with a sigh,—

  “It does not matter, but it is a pity the Polar Star could not get through the barrier by herself.”

  “Captain,” said Hubert, “do not worry. Our first effort was crowned with success, but we had too many miseries to put up with. When we go on our expedition it will be in a ship entirely of steel, driven by the all-powerful agency that science has given into our hands. That day, my dear captain, we will dynamite the reef that girds the pole, and we will plant the colours of France on the very borders of the lake that traverses the axis of the globe.”

  These words of generous confidence were greeted with unanimous acclamations.

  It only remained for the explorers to enjoy their well-earned repose. All those who had shared in these fatigues and unprecedented struggles were invited to the festivities that soon took place in honour of the marriage of Isabelle de Keralio with her cousin, Hubert D’Ermont. On that day the naval officer added to his bride’s wedding presents the decree raising him to the rank of captain, at the same time as that which gave to Marc D’Ermont, member of the Academy of Sciences, the rosette of an officer of the Legion of Honour.

  And, as the wedding took place at the beginning of winter, the marvels of Cape Ritter, of Fort Esperance, and the Polar Star were renewed for the occasion. The rooms were lighted electrically and warmed hydrogenically. Excursions were made in Cherbourg roadstead on board the submarine boat, and ten superb white bears, with Guerbraz at their head, came to wish every happiness to the young couple in the Celtic and Franco-Canadian speech of the seventeenth century. Finally, a masterpiece in fireworks recalled the episode of the artificial fire on the Polar Star.

  “It is all very well,” said Guerbraz, summing up the general opinion, “there may be ice enough at the North Pole, but it is not cold enough to freeze the hearts of brave men!”

  The Conquest of Space Book Series

  Ron Miller

  About twenty years ago I came up with a bright idea for a book. It was going to be a visual chronology of every spaceship ever conceived, starting in the third century BC. This eventually wound up being a monster called The Dream Machines (Krieger: 1993), with 250,000 words and more than 3000 illustrations. In the course of researching this thing, I found myself more and more having to locate copies of scarce books and novels. Some of these I could find in libraries or private collections, but others were available only through antiquarian booksellers (if I could find them at all). All too often, this would mean an investment of many hundreds of dollars—money I simply couldn’t afford to invest in the project. This was frustrating, since I didn’t really need to own the book, I just needed the information it contained...and I couldn’t see spending, say, $500 for the privilege of looking at a single paragraph.

  I knew that other researchers have had the same problem. There were ordinary readers, too, who were looking for good reading copies of obscure books but, like me, were unwilling or unable to pay hundreds of dollars solely for the chance to read a book.

  A few years ago I decided to address this problem. Of course, by that time, at least one aspect had been solved by online archives like gutenberg.org. The text of thousands of obscur
e and rare titles were now freely available. Still. . . this wasn’t quite the same thing as owning a book and for someone who might want a little more than the bare text, it wasn’t enough. There were also some of the necessary limitations imposed by etexts, such as their inability to handle italics, foreign characters and other typographical problems. Often missing, too, were any illustrations that may have accompanied the original book.

  So I decided to set out to create a library of reprints. They would feature handsome new covers, a carefully edited text, attractive design, illustrations (where appropriate) and footnotes, appendices, etc. whenever possible. Books that bridged the gap between etexts and the original editions, books that would be easy to read, good to look at and an attractive addition to any book collector’s shelf. In addition, I tried to emphasize books that were not easy—or were even impossible—to find online. The books would also focus on a very particular theme (or two, as it turned out). The main collection consists of early books and novels that deal with space travel or rocketry. One of my motives in this activity was to illustrate how far back the concept of space travel went, to say nothing of how prescient many early writers were in anticipating everything from solar sails and rocket-powered spacecraft to spacesuits and nuclear propulsion.

  I am of course, limited myself to books that are in the public domain. However, this worked out fine for me since my main interest is in books published prior to the 1930s.

  II The Dreamers

  Until the invention of the astronomical telescope by Galileo Galilei in 1610, the heavens were thought to be no great distance from the Earth, and the Sun and the Moon were thought to be the only material bodies with which we shared the universe. Some few of the early Greek philosopher-scientists speculated on the relative distances of the sun, Moon and planets, such as Anaximander in -600. Pythagoras and Aristotle both theorized that the Moon might be spherical. But these and others were all based on quantitative measurements—little thought, if any, was given to what the Moon was. When the question was considered however, speculation knew few limits. Anaximander thought that the Moon might be a kind of fiery chariot wheel and Anaxagoras suggested that it was an incandescent solid (albeit with “plains, mountains and ravines”). But by the time Plutarch was writing, foundation for the thousand-year-long Dark Ages was being laid. During that bleak millennium the Earth was clearly the center of the universe, there were no other worlds than this one and the Moon was a perfect, pristine sphere since Providence would be incapable of creating anything less than ideal. If the Moon showed spots, these were nothing but the reflection of our own imperfect world in the Moon’s mirrorlike surface. Change and decay were limited to the Earth; the heavens were immutable and eternal. To question any of this was dangerous heresy.