“I have never doubted his courage,” said Altamont, “but his success.”
“Let us follow him again,” resumed the doctor. “In the month of March, being on two-thirds rations, at the end of a very severe winter, when no game was to be had, MacClure determined to send back half of his crew to England, either by Baffin’s Bay, or by Mackenzie River and Hudson’s Bay; the other half was to bring the Investigator back. He chose the weakest men, who could not stand a fourth winter; everything was ready, and their departure settled for April 15th, when on the 6th, MacClure, who was walking on the ice with his lieutenant, Creswell, saw a man running northward and gesticulating; it was Lieutenant Pim of the Herald, lieutenant of the same Captain Kellet whom two years before he had left at Bering Strait, as I said when I began. Kellet, having reached Winter Harbor, found the paper left there by MacClure; having heard in that way of his position in Mercy Bay, he sent Lieutenant Pim to meet the captain. He was followed by a detachment of the men of the Herald, among whom was a midshipman of a French ship, M. de Bray, who was a volunteer aid of Captain Kellet. You don’t doubt this meeting?”
“Not at all,” answered Altamont.
“Well, see what followed, and whether the Northwest Passage was really made. If you join Parry’s discoveries to those of MacClure, you will see the northern coast of America was rounded.”
“But not by a single ship,” said Altamont.
“No, but by a single man. Let us go on. MacClure went to see Captain Kellet at Melville Island; in twelve days he made the one hundred and seventy miles between Winter Harbor and the island; he agreed with the commander of the Herald to send him his sick, and returned; many others would have thought, had they been in MacClure’s place, that they had done enough, but this bold young man determined to try his fortune again. Then, and please observe this, Lieutenant Creswell, with the sick and disabled men of the Investigator, left Mercy Bay, reached Winter Harbor, and from there, after a journey of four hundred and seventy miles on the ice, reached Beechey Island, June 2nd, and a few days later, with twelve of his men, he took passage on board of the Phoenix.”
“In which I was at the time,” said Johnson, “with Captain Inglefield, and we returned to England.”
“And October 7, 1853,” continued the doctor, “Creswell arrived at London, after having crossed over the whole distance between Bering Strait and Cape Farewell.”
“Well,” said Hatteras, “to enter at one end and go out by the other, isn’t that going through?”
“Yes,” answered Altamont, “but by going four hundred and seventy miles over the ice.”
“Well, what difference does that make?”
“The whole,” answered the American. “Did MacClure’s ship make the passage?”
“No,” answered the doctor, “for after a fourth winter, MacClure was obliged to leave it in the ice.”
“Well, in a sea-voyage it’s important to have the ship reach her destination. If the Northwest Passage ever becomes practicable, it must be for ships and not for sledges. The ship must accomplish the voyage, or if not the ship, the launch.”
“The launch!” shouted Hatteras, who detected the hidden meaning in the American’s words.
“Altamont,” said the doctor, hurriedly, “you make a puerile distinction, and we all consider you wrong.”
“That is easy, gentlemen,” answered the American; “you are four to one. But that won’t keep me from holding my own opinion.”
“Keep it,” said Hatteras, “and so closely that we need hear nothing about it.”
“And what right have you to speak to me in that way?” asked the American in a rage.
“My right as captain,” answered Hatteras.
“Am I under your commands?” retorted Altamont.
“Without doubt, and look out for yourself, if—”
The doctor, Johnson, and Bell intervened. It was time; the two enemies were gazing at one another. The doctor was very anxious. Still, after a few gentler words, Altamont went off to bed whistling “Yankee Doodle,” and, whether he slept or not, he did not speak. Hatteras went out and paced up and down for an hour, and then he turned in without saying a word.
XVI
Northern Arcadia
On May 29th, for the first time, the sun did not set; it merely touched the horizon and then rose at once; the day was twenty-four hours long. The next day it was surrounded by a magnificent halo, a bright circle with all the colors of the prism; this apparition, which was by no means rare, always attracted the doctor’s attention; he never failed to note the date and appearance of the phenomenon; the one he saw on that day was of an elliptic shape, which he had seldom seen before.
Soon the noisy flocks of birds appeared; bustards and wild geese came from Florida or Arkansas, flying northward with inconceivable rapidity and bringing the spring with them. The doctor shot a few, as well as three or four cranes and a single stork. However, the snow was melting everywhere beneath the sun; the saltwater, which overran the ice-field through the crevasses and the seal-holes, hastened the melting; the ice which was mingled with saltwater formed a soft slush. Large pools appeared on the land near the bay, and the exposed soil seemed to be a production of the arctic spring.
The doctor then resumed his planting; he had plenty of seed; besides, he was surprised to see a sort of sorrel growing naturally between the dried rocks, and he wondered at the force of nature which demanded so little in order to
