Hatteras could not make up his mind to accede to the demands of his friend, who waited for an answer which did not come.
“And if he refused to let us tear his ship to pieces!” said the captain, finally.
“In that case, you would have the right on your side; you could build the boat in spite of him, and he could do nothing about it.”
“I hope he will refuse,” exclaimed Hatteras.
“Before he refuses,” answered the doctor, “he must be asked. I will undertake to do it.”
In fact, that evening, before supper, Clawbonny turned the conversation to certain proposed expeditions in the summer months for hydrographic observations.
“I suppose, Altamont,” he said, “that you will join us?”
“Certainly,” was the reply; “we must know how large New America is.”
Hatteras gazed earnestly at his rival while he made his answer.
“And for that,” continued Altamont, “we must make the best use we can of the fragments of the Porpoise; let us make a strong boat which can carry us far.”
“You hear, Bell,” said the doctor, quickly; “tomorrow we shall set to work.”
XV
The Northwest Passage
The next day Bell, Altamont, and the doctor went to the Porpoise; they found no lack of wood; the old three-masted launch, though injured by being wrecked, could still supply abundant material for the new one. The carpenter set to work at once; they needed a seaworthy boat, which should yet be light enough to carry on a sledge. Towards the end of May the weather grew warmer; the thermometer rose above the freezing-point; the spring came in earnest this time, and the men were able to lay aside their winter clothing. Much rain fell, and soon the snow began to slide and melt away. Hatteras could not hide his joy at seeing the first signs of thaw in the ice-fields. The open sea meant liberty for him.
Whether or not his predecessors had been wrong on this great question of an open polar sea, he hoped soon to know. All chance of success in his undertaking depended on this. One evening, after a warm day in which the ice had given unmistakable signs of breaking up, he turned the conversation to the question of an open sea. He took up the familiar arguments, and found the doctor, as ever, a warm advocate of his doctrine. Besides, his conclusions were evidently accurate.
“It is plain,” he said, “that if the ocean before Victoria Bay gets clear of ice, its southern part will also be clear as far as New Cornwall and Queen’s Channel. Penny and Belcher saw it in that state, and they certainly saw clearly.”
“I agree with you, Hatteras,” answered the doctor, “and I have no reason for doubting the word of these sailors; a vain attempt has been made to explain their discovery as an effect of mirage; but they were so certain, it was impossible that they could have made such a mistake.”
“I always thought so,” said Altamont; “the polar basin extends to the east as well as to the west.”
“We can suppose so, at any rate,” answered Hatteras.
“We ought to suppose so,” continued the American, “for this open sea which Captains Penny and Belcher saw near the coast of Grinnell Land was seen by Morton, Kane’s lieutenant, in the straits which are named after that bold explorer.”
“We are not in Kane’s sea,” answered Hatteras, coldly, “and consequently we cannot verify the fact.”
“It is supposable, at least,” said Altamont.
“Certainly,” replied the doctor, who wished to avoid useless discussion. “What Altamont thinks ought to be the truth; unless there is a peculiar disposition of the surrounding land, the same effects appear at the same latitudes. Hence I believe the sea is open in the east as well as in the west.”
“At any rate, it makes very little difference to us,” said Hatteras.
“I don’t agree with you, Hatteras,” resumed the American, who was beginning to be annoyed by the affected unconcern of the captain; “it may make considerable difference to us.”
“And when, if I may ask?”
“When we think of returning.”
“Returning!” cried Hatteras, “and who’s thinking of that?”
“No one,” answered Altamont; “but we shall stop somewhere, I suppose.”
“And where?” asked Hatteras.
For the first time the question was fairly put to Altamont. The doctor would have given one of his arms to have put a stop to the discussion. Since Altamont made no answer, the captain repeated his question.
“And where?”
“Where we are going,” answered the American, quietly.
“And who knows where that is?” said the peace-loving doctor.
“I say, then,” Altamont went on, “that if we want to make use of the polar basin in returning, we can try to gain Kane’s sea; it will lead us more directly to Baffin’s Bay.”
“So that is your idea?” asked the captain, ironically.
“Yes, that is my idea, as it is that if these seas ever become practicable, they will be reached by the straightest way. Oh, that was a great discovery of Captain Kane’s!”
“Indeed!” said Hatteras, biting his lips till they bled.
“Yes,” said the doctor, “that cannot be denied; everyone should have the praise he deserves.”
“Without considering,” went on the obstinate American, “that no one had ever before gone so far to the north.”
“I like to think,” said Hatteras, “that now the English have got ahead of him.”
“And the Americans!” said Altamont.
“Americans!” repeated Hatteras.
“What am I, then?” asked Altamont, proudly.
“You are,” answered Hatteras, who could hardly control his voice—“you are a man who presumes to accord equal glory to science and to chance! Your American captain went far to the north, but as chance alone—”
“Chance!” shouted Altamont; “do you dare to say that this great discovery is not due to Kane’s energy and knowledge?”
“I say,” answered Hatteras, “that Kane’s name is not fit to be pronounced in a country made famous by Parry, Franklin, Ross, Belcher, and Penny in these seas which opened the Northwest Passage to MacClure—”
“MacClure!” interrupted the American; “you mention that man, and yet you complain of the work of chance? Wasn’t it
