Kitabı oku: «First at the North Pole: or, Two Boys in the Arctic Circle», sayfa 14

CHAPTER XXVII – HOW COMMANDER PEARY REACHED THE POLE

After the trouble with Estankawak and Muckaloo, Mr. Dawson had a close conference with Olalola. He found the latter as faithful as ever, and so put him in sole charge of the dogs and sledges, and warned him to keep a close watch on the others.

“Do not let them steal anything,” said the explorer, “and when we return to civilization you shall be richly rewarded. I will give you a boat, a gun, and a hunting knife.”

This, to the Esquimau, was riches indeed, and he promised to keep watch day and night. He had a stern talk with Estankawak and Muckaloo and came close to thrashing them both. After that the mutinous natives caused but little trouble.

Two days went by, and slowly but surely the party drew closer to the Pole. The professor took another observation, and announced that they had now but sixty-eight miles more to cover to reach the Top of the World.

“That wouldn’t be so bad if walking was good, but it seems to grow worse,” said Andy. He had already worn out two pairs of walrus-hide foot-coverings, and now the third pair looked woefully ragged.

“I’d like to know something of Commander Peary,” observed Chet. “He must be in this region.”

“He is,” answered Barwell Dawson. “But just where, there is no telling. Perhaps he has been to the Pole, and is now coming back.”

They would have been much surprised if they had known that Commander Peary was at that moment less than a hundred miles away from their camp. This intrepid explorer had pushed his way steadily northward over the ice from Cape Columbia, to which point he journeyed from Cape Sheridan during the latter part of February. His outfit at this time consisted of seven members of the expedition, seventeen Esquimaux, 133 dogs, and nineteen sledges. It was the largest and best outfit Lieutenant Peary had ever had at his command for this work.

It was the explorer’s plan to establish supply stations all along the route, and for this purpose some of the party were at first sent ahead. They found conditions very similar to those which I have already described, and lost several sledges and a good many dogs, while some of the natives became sick and had to be sent back.

By hard work Commander Peary reached the 85th degree of north latitude on March 18th, and five days later managed to cover another degree. It was intensely cold, the thermometer registering fifty and more degrees below zero. One man had his foot frozen, and had to be sent back to one of the bases of supplies.

Feeling that the goal was now within his grasp, Commander Peary kept on steadily, and soon passed the 87th degree of latitude – his highest point during the expedition previously taken. This was a day of rejoicing. Here he dispensed with his last supporting party, and pushed into the Great Unknown with only a handful of faithful followers.

At the end of March he was held up most unexpectedly by open water, and every one of the party was much disheartened. But this water was crossed April 2d, and two days later the great explorer found himself within one degree of his goal.

Despite the intense bitterness of the cold, he pushed on as steadily as ever. It was a nerve-racking ordeal, yet he had but one thought, one ambition – to reach the goal for which he had been striving for twenty years. He could scarcely sleep and eat, so anxious was he to get to the end of the task he had set for himself.

At last he stopped, on April 6th, to take another observation. This showed him to be within a few miles of the Pole, and if he went wild with joy, who can blame him? He called to those with him, and away they went over the ice, paying no heed to the keen wind that cut like a knife.

And then came the supreme moment of joy. The North Pole was gained – the height of his ambition had at last been realized. He really and truly stood upon the Top of the World. It was to him the moment of moments, and yet he could not realize it, for it all seemed so commonplace. At the Pole it did not look different from what it did for miles around the sought-for spot. All was a field of ice and snow, vast and desolate.

Thirty hours were spent at and around the Pole, taking observations and photographs, and in planting the Stars and Stripes, and also some records. Then Commander Peary started back, to break the news of his success to a world that had just been astonished by the reports of Dr. Cook’s achievements of the year before.

It was but a few hours after the professor had made the announcement that they had but sixty-eight miles more to cover that the party under Barwell Dawson came to another lead. It was wide and of great depth, as a sounding proved, and how to cross this became the next problem. Even Olalola shook his head.

“There is no end to it,” he said, sadly. “I go with you, but how?”

“We must find a way,” answered the explorer, and he and Chet went out on a tour of discovery.

They came back discouraged, and that night all rested on the edge of the lead, wondering what they should do next. At last Barwell Dawson called the boys and the professor to him.

“I think it best that we make the rest of the journey alone,” said he. “We can take the best of the dogs, and the best sledge, and try to make a quick dash, leaving the others here to await our return. What do you say?”

The boys were willing to do anything, and the professor was of a like turn of mind.

“But how are you going to get over the lead?” asked Andy.

“I’ll find some kind of a way,” answered the explorer.

The matter was explained to Olalola. He was sorry to have them leave him, but promised faithfully to look after the camp, and after Dr. Slade, who was still ill, while they were gone. He said that by following the lead westward, they might be able to cross it.

“I think so myself,” answered Mr. Dawson.

The start was made early the next day, Andy and Chet taking turns at driving the six dogs, the pick of what were left of the pack. The course was along the lead westward, and after a mile had been covered, they reached a spot where some new ice covered the water.

“Do you think it will hold us?” asked Andy.

“I’ll test it and see,” was Mr. Dawson’s reply.

After an examination the explorer came to the conclusion that they might risk the new ice.

“But we must go over it quickly,” he cautioned. “Don’t let the dogs stop.”

They walked a distance back, and set the sledge in motion. Then out on the ice they spun, Chet cracking his long whip in true Esquimau fashion. The new ice cracked and groaned under their weight, and when they were in the middle of the lead it began to buckle.

“Spread out – don’t keep together!” yelled Barwell Dawson. “Chet, whip up the dogs and let ’em go it alone!”

The boy understood, and gave the canines the lash. Away they sped at breakneck speed. Then Chet leaped to one side, and he and the others continued on their way a distance of fifty or more feet from each other.

It was a great risk they had assumed, and each instant they thought the ice would break and let them down in the water. A rescue under such conditions, – with the thermometer standing at fifty-three degrees below zero, – would have been out of the question.

“The ice is going down!” screamed Andy, just as he was within a rod of the north shore. “Hurry up!”

There was no need to sound the warning, for all understood the peril only too well. They increased their speed, and slid the remaining few feet. Then, just behind them, they saw the ice buckle and break, allowing a stream of icy water to run over it.

“Safe, and thank Heaven for it!” murmured Barwell Dawson, when he could catch his breath.

“Don’t ask me to take another such run,” panted Professor Jeffer. “I thought we’d surely be drowned!”

As soon as they had recovered somewhat from the dash, they walked on to where the dogs had stopped. In letting them go, Mr. Dawson had known that they were in no physical condition to run out of sight. When the travelers came up, they found the canines stretched out resting. The harness was in a snarl, and it took them the best part of a quarter of an hour to get the team straightened out again.

“Did you notice that the ice looks purple?” remarked Andy, as they went on once again.

“I did,” answered Barwell Dawson. “It is as peculiar as it is beautiful.”

He had noticed the purple ice several days before, and also several mirages in the sky, – mirages that looked like hills and mountains, but which he knew were only optical delusions. Coming northward, the party had also had a splendid view of the aurora borealis, or Northern Lights, that mysterious glow thought to be electrical or magnetic. Once Andy had said that he could hear the lights, and that they sounded like the low hissing of steam.

It grew colder that night, and it was all the explorers could do to keep from freezing. They had a small quantity of tea left – a quarter of a pound – and after melting some snow over their alcohol stove, drank the beverage boiling hot. Then they made themselves a hot stew of pemmican and ground-up peas. Each of the dogs received a chunk of frozen walrus meat, something they gnawed on savagely, so great was their hunger.

The next day the sun was clouded, so that it was impossible for the professor to take any observations. But they knew they had not yet reached their goal, and so they pushed on, over ice that was hummocky, but not nearly as bad as it had been.

“Hello!” cried Andy, about the middle of the afternoon. “What’s that yonder?”

He pointed to their left, where a dark object lay on the ice, half covered with loose snow.

“Might as well see what it is,” said Barwell Dawson, who was as curious as the others. So far, in that land of desolation, they had seen absolutely nothing but ice, snow, and open water.

They moved to the spot and saw that the dark object was the carcass of a dog, frozen stiff. Beside the dog lay a board of a sledge.

“Look!” exclaimed Barwell Dawson, as he held up the board. “Do you see what it says?”

All looked at the bit of wood and saw, burnt upon it, the following:

PEARY – 1909

“It is something from the Peary expedition!” said Professor Jeffer. “He must have gotten up here ahead of us!”

“It certainly looks that way,” answered Barwell Dawson. “Well, he deserved to reach the Pole, after his many years of untiring efforts.”

Leaving the board as a silent monument, the four continued on their way northward. Again the wind was blowing from the west, and they calculated that it was on the increase.

“With the thermometer down so low, if it blows very strong we’ll be frozen stiff,” declared Chet. “Why, a winter in Maine is a hothouse alongside of this!”

The next day, owing to the wind, they made but scant progress. It was cloudy, yet just around noon the sun peeped from behind the clouds, and Professor Jeffer hurried to take an observation. Barwell Dawson gave him the correct time, and the old scientist quickly succeeded in making his computations.

“Well, how do we stand?” asked Mr. Dawson, when Professor Jeffer had finished.

“We are within twenty-two miles of the Pole,” was the answer that thrilled the hearts of all.

CHAPTER XXVIII – THE TOP OF THE WORLD AT LAST

“We’ll get there tomorrow!”

“If the weather permits, Andy.”

“Oh, we must get there, Chet! Just think of it – only twenty-two miles more! Why, it’s nothing alongside of what we have already traveled.”

“Well, food is running very low.”

“Oh, I know that. Didn’t I take an extra hole in my belt last night after supper? I feel as flat as a board.”

A day had been spent in camp, with the wind blowing furiously, and a fine, salt-like snow falling. They had tried to go on, but had covered less than half a mile when Barwell Dawson had called a halt.

“It’s no use,” he had said, with a sigh. “We can’t do anything in this wind. Let us keep our strength until it subsides.”

They had spent the day in mending the sledge, which was in danger of going to pieces, and in fixing up their foot coverings, which were woefully ragged.

It was still blowing when they started again on their journey. But it was not nearly so bad as before, and the snow had ceased to come down. The sun, however, was still under the clouds, and the sky looked gray and sullen.

“I don’t know that I’d care to live here the year round,” said Andy, with an attempt at humor. “It would be too hard to dig the potatoes.”

“Or go swimming,” answered Chet. “Every time a fellow wanted a bath, he’d have to chop a hole in the ice.”

“Or tumble in a lead.”

“But, just the same, if we do reach the Pole, what a story we’ll have to tell when we get back!”

“We’ll not be the first at the Pole.”

“We’ll be the first boys at the Pole.”

“Right you are.”

They trudged on, occasionally urging the lagging dogs. The canines seemed to realize the loneliness of the situation, and occasionally stopped short, squatted down, and rent the air with dismal howlings.

“They don’t see any food and shelter ahead, and I don’t blame them,” said Barwell Dawson.

By nightfall they calculated they had covered twelve miles. If that was true, only ten miles more separated them from their goal.

“And we’ll make that tomorrow or bust!” cried Andy. He was dead-tired, and ached in every limb, but a strange light shone in his eyes – the same fire that lit up the eyes of Barwell Dawson.

In the morning the sky looked more forbidding than ever. But there was only a gentle breeze, and the thermometer registered forty-eight degrees, – several degrees warmer than it had been.

“We’ll travel until noon,” announced Barwell Dawson. “Then we’ll make camp, and wait until we can take an observation.”

They progressed almost in silence, the boys occasionally cracking the whip and urging the dogs. Barwell Dawson and Professor Jeffer were busy with their thoughts. Their fondest hopes seemed about to be realized. The boys thought of home. Would they ever see Maine again?

“Seems like a lifetime since we left Pine Run!” remarked Chet once.

“Two lifetimes,” responded Andy. “One such trip as this is enough for me.”

The lads were footsore and weary to the last degree, but neither complained. They did not want to worry Barwell Dawson, and what would have been the use? He could not aid them. It was now a question of every one for himself.

It was one o’clock when the explorer called a halt. On every hand was the field of ice and snow. But far ahead could be seen something which looked like a big iceberg. The sun was still under a cloud.

“I think we have gone far enough,” said Barwell Dawson. “We’ll camp here, and wait until we can take an observation.”

No time was lost in gathering cakes of ice and building a fair-sized igloo. The boys worked with renewed interest. Had they really and truly reached the North Pole at last?

“At the most we cannot be over a mile or two away from it,” said the explorer.

All were glad to rest, yet sleep was almost out of the question. The one thought of each member of the party was, “Are we at the Pole, or how much further have we to go?”

Early in the morning it was cloudy, but about ten o’clock the sun came out faintly.

“Unless it comes out full, I cannot take an accurate observation,” said the professor.

All waited impatiently and watched the sky. When it was a quarter to twelve the clouds rolled away to the eastward, and the sun burst forth with dazzling brightness.

“Now is our chance!” cried Chet.

All assisted the professor in his preparations to take the all-important observation. The old scientist’s chronometer was compared with that of Barwell Dawson.

“A difference of but three seconds,” said the former. “We will split the difference when I take the observation,” and this was done.

The sextant was raised, and the old scientist looked through it with great care. His artificial horizon had been arranged but a short distance away.

“Time!” roared Barwell Dawson, and the professor set the thumbscrew of his instrument. Then, through the magnifying glass, he read the figures and set to work with pen and pencil, making his computations, with his Nautical Almanac before him. All awaited breathlessly what he might have to say. Suddenly the aged man threw down the paper and pencil and threw his arms into the air.

“We are at the 90th degree of north latitude!” he cried. “We have reached the North Pole!”

“Hurrah!” yelled Andy and Chet, simultaneously, and Barwell Dawson joined in the cheer.

“You are certain of that?” asked the explorer. “We must make no mistake.”

“Read the observation for yourself,” answered the old scientist.

“It is true,” said Barwell Dawson, when he had verified the figures. “We are really and truly at the North Pole. Now, then, to raise the flag!”

The others understood. All through the bitter journey they had carried an American flag and a fair-sized flagpole. Once the flag had become torn but they had mended it with care.

In a twinkling the pole was brought forth, and planted in the ice and snow. Then the flag was raised, and it floated proudly in the breeze.

“Three cheers for Old Glory!” cried Barwell Dawson, and the cheers were given with a will.

“Three cheers for Barwell Dawson!” cried Andy, and he and Chet and the old scientist gave them, roundly. Then there followed a cheer for Professor Jeffer.

“And now a cheer for the first boys at the North Pole!” cried Barwell Dawson, and he and Professor Jeffer raised their voices as loudly as they could. The boys could scarcely contain themselves, and both danced a jig, and then Andy turned half a dozen handsprings, just by way of working off his superfluous spirits.

It was wonderful what a difference reaching the Pole made in them. All the hardships of the past weeks were forgotten, and even the men acted like schoolboys out for a holiday. They walked around the vicinity of the igloo, and sang and whistled, and for once completely forgot their hunger. Then, during the course of the afternoon, Professor Jeffer took more observations and a number of photographs.

The next day the sun continued to shine brightly, and promptly at noon another observation was made. This gave the same result as before, so all were assured that they were really at the 90th degree of north latitude.

“We must be at the North Pole,” said Andy. “For see, while we call one part of the twenty-four hours day and the other night, the sun goes right around us and never seems to rise or sink.”

“Yes, that is something of a test,” answered Professor Jeffer. “But it is not as infallible as that made by the sextant. The earth is more or less flat here, and that makes a difference.”

To make “dead certain” that they had covered the North Pole, the entire party journeyed five miles further ahead, and also an equal distance to the right and left. At one point they saw traces of another exploring party, but the snow and ice had covered up the records left behind.

“And now to get back,” said Barwell Dawson, at the close of the third day spent at and around the Pole. “We have no time to spare, if we want to get out of this land of desolation before winter sets in again.”

“I am ready,” answered Professor Jeffer. “I have taken all the observations and photographs I wish, and have collected a valuable amount of data.”

“You can’t get back any too quick for me,” said Chet, dryly.

“There is no use in disguising the fact that our provisions are very low,” continued Barwell Dawson, gravely. “We have very little left for the dogs.”

“What will you do with them?” asked Chet.

“One is a little lame. If the worst comes to the worst, we’ll kill him and feed him to the others.”

They left the igloo standing, and on the top placed a metallic box containing a brief record of their trip. Then they took down the flag and placed it on the sledge.

They started on the return at seven in the morning. The weather was not so cold as it had been, and going seemed to be better, so they covered the twenty-two miles to their old camp without much difficulty. Here they had to repair the sledge again, and also had to kill off the lame dog. This made a feast for the others, and gave them some food that was much needed.

“I could almost eat dog meat myself,” said Chet.

“It may come to that,” answered Andy. “I guess it is a heap better than nothing, when a chap is starving.”

They found the new ice on the lead much thicker than it had been, and so crossed with ease. But now came on a heavy fall of snow, and all traces of their former trail were wiped out.

“We’ll have to steer by eyesight and the compass,” announced Barwell Dawson.

The boys were so hungry that they kept an eye open continually for game. But not so much as a bird showed itself. It was truly the land of ice and snow, and nothing else.

On the fifth day, the case containing alcohol sprung a leak, and all of the precious stuff was lost in the snow.

“We’ll have to eat our meals cold after this,” said Barwell Dawson. “Too bad, but it can’t be helped.”

“I don’t care how cold they are, if only we could get enough,” grumbled Chet. An almost empty stomach did not tend to put him in good humor.

Another day passed, and again it snowed. The flakes were so thick they could not see around them, and so had to halt and go into camp. Their provisions were now so low that only half rations were dealt out.

“We can’t stand this,” cried Chet. “I’ve got to have something to eat.”

“Oh, Chet, don’t grumble,” answered Andy. “We are as bad off as you are.”

“To-morrow, if we find it necessary, we’ll kill off one of the dogs for food,” said Barwell Dawson. “That will leave us a team of four, and we ought to be able to get back to where we left the others with those. The sledge has next to nothing on it now.”

The morning dawned, dull and cheerless. They had a few mouthfuls of food, and then hitched up the dogs once more. Nobody felt like talking, and they started on their long journey in silence.

Painfully they covered fifteen miles. Each was footsore and weary to the last degree, and not able to go another step. They sat down on a ridge of ice, and looked at each other.

“We have got to have something to eat,” declared Chet. “I am going to have one square meal, if I have to die tomorrow!”

“Chet!” exclaimed Andy, reprovingly.

“We’ll kill one of the dogs and eat him,” said Barwell Dawson. “It’s the only way out of it.”