The phenomenon, although explained, was no less strange. Red is a rare color in nature; the reflection of the sun’s rays on this crimson surface produced strange effects; it gave the surrounding objects, men and animals, a brilliant appearance, as if they were lighted by an inward flame; and when the snow was melting, streams of blood seemed to be flowing beneath the travellers’ feet.
The doctor, who had not been able to examine this substance when he saw it on crimson cliffs from Baffin’s Bay, here examined it at his ease, and gathered several bottlefuls of it.
This red ground, the “Field of Blood,” as he called it, took three hours’ walk to pass over, and then the country resumed its habitual appearance.
XX
Footprints on the Snow
July 4th a dense fog prevailed. They were only able with the greatest difficulty to keep a straight path; they had to consult the compass every moment. Fortunately there was no accident in the darkness, except that Bell lost his snowshoes, which were broken against a projecting rock.
“Well, really,” said Johnson, “I thought, after seeing the Mersey and the Thames, that I knew all about fogs, but I see I was mistaken.”
“We ought,” answered Bell, “to light torches as is done at London and Liverpool.”
“Why not?” asked the doctor; “that’s a good idea; it wouldn’t light up the road much, but we could see the guide, and follow him more easily.”
“But what shall we do for torches?”
“By lighting tow dipped in alcohol, and fastening to the end of walking-sticks.”
“Good!” said Johnson; “and we shall soon have it ready.”
A quarter of an hour later the little band was walking along with torches faintly lighting up the general gloom.
But if they went straighter, they did not go quicker, and the fog lasted till July 6th; the earth being cold then, a blast of north-wind carried away all the mist as if it had been rags. Soon the doctor took an observation, and ascertained that meanwhile they had not made eight miles a day.
The 6th, they made an effort to make up for lost time, and they set out early. Altamont and Bell were ahead, choosing the way and looking out for game. Duke was with them. The weather, with its surprising fickleness, had become very clear and dry; and although the guides were two miles from the sledge, the doctor did not miss one of their movements. He was consequently very much startled to see them stop suddenly, and remain in a position of surprise; they seemed to be gazing into the distance, as if scanning the horizon. Then they bent down to the ground and seemed to be examining it closely, and they arose in evident amazement. Bell seemed to wish to push on, but Altamont held him back.
“What can they be doing?” asked the doctor of Johnson.
“I know no more than you, Doctor; I don’t understand their gestures.”
“They have found the track of some animals,” answered Hatteras.
“That’s not it,” said the doctor.
“Why not?”
“Because Duke would bark.”
“Still, they’ve seen marks of some sort.”
“Let us go on,” said Hatteras; “we shall soon know.”
Johnson urged on the dogs, who quickened their pace.
In twenty minutes the five were together, and Hatteras, the doctor, and Johnson were as much surprised as Bell and Altamont.
There were in the snow indubitable traces of men, as fresh as if they had just been made.
“They are Eskimo,” said Hatteras.
“Yes,” said the doctor, “there is no doubt of that!”
“You think so?” said Altamont.
“Without any doubt.”
“Well, and this mark?” continued Altamont, pointing to another print, which was often repeated.
“That one?”
“Do you think it was made by an Eskimo?”
The doctor examined it carefully, and was stupefied. The print of a European shoe, with nails, sole, and heel, was clearly stamped in the snow. There could be no further doubt; a man, a stranger, had been there.
“Europeans here!” cried Hatteras.
“Evidently,” said Johnson.
“And still,” said the doctor, “it is so unlikely, that we ought to look twice before being sure.”
Thereupon he looked twice, three times, at the print, and he was obliged to acknowledge its extraordinary origin.
Defoe’s hero was not more amazed when he saw the footprint on the sand of his island; but if he was afraid, Hatteras was simply angry. A European so near the Pole!
They pushed on to examine the footprints; for a quarter of a mile they were continually repeated, mingled with marks of moccasins; then they turned to the west. When they had reached this point they consulted as to whether they should follow them any farther.
“No,” said Hatteras. “Let us go on—”
He was interrupted by an exclamation of the doctor, who had just picked up on the snow an object even more convincing, and of the origin of which there could be no doubt. It was the object-glass of a pocket telescope.
“Now,” he said, “we can’t doubt that there is a stranger here—”
“Forward!” cried Hatteras.
He uttered this word so sharply that each one obeyed, and the sledge resumed its monotonous progress.
They all scanned the horizon attentively, except Hatteras, who was filled with wrath and did not care to see anything. Still, since they ran the risk of coming across a band of travellers, they had to take precautions; it was very disappointing to see anyone ahead of them on the route. The doctor, although not as angry as Hatteras, was somewhat vexed, in spite of his usual philosophy. Altamont seemed equally annoyed; Johnson and Bell muttered threatening words between their teeth.
“Come,” said the doctor, “let us take heart against our bad fortune.”
“We must confess,” said Johnson, without being heard by Altamont, “that if we find the place taken, it would disgust us with journeying to the Pole.”
“And yet,” answered Bell, “there is no possibility of doubting—”
“No,” retorted the doctor; “I turn it all over in vain, and say it is improbable, impossible; I have to give it up. This shoe was not pressed into the snow without being at the end
