Hatteras, after noticing the outline of the coast, resolved to make the preparations for departure that very day, to launch the boat, to put the unloaded sledge on board for future excursions. That took all day; then the tent was raised, and after a comfortable meal work began. Meanwhile the doctor took out his instruments to take an observation and determine the position of a part of the bay. Hatteras hurried on the work; he was anxious to start; he wanted to leave the land, and to be in advance in case any others should reach the sea.
At five o’clock in the evening Johnson and Bell had nothing to do but to fold their arms. The launch was rocking gently in her little harbor, with her mast set, her jib lowered, and her foresail in the brails; the provisions and most of the things on the sledge had been put on board; only the tent and a little of the camping material remained to be put on board the next day. The doctor found all these preparations complete on his return. When he saw the launch quietly sheltered from the wind, it occurred to him to give a name to the little harbor, and he proposed that of Altamont. This proposition was unanimously agreed to. So it was named Altamont Harbor.
According to the doctor’s calculations, it lay in latitude 87° 5′, and longitude 118° 35′ E. of Greenwich; that is to say, less than three degrees from the Pole. The band had gone more than two hundred miles from Victoria Bay to Altamont Harbor.
XXI
The Open Sea
The next morning Johnson and Bell set about carrying on board the camping material. At eight o’clock all the preparations for departure were complete. At the moment of starting the doctor’s thoughts returned to the footprints they had seen. Were these men trying to gain the North? Had they any means of crossing the Polar Sea! Should they meet them again? For three days they had come across no trace of the travellers, and certainly, whoever they were, they could not have reached Altamont Harbor. That was a place which they were the first to set foot in. But the doctor, who was harassed by his thoughts, wanted to take a last view of the country, and he ascended a little hill about a hundred feet high, whence he had a distant view to the south.
When he had reached the top, he put his glass to his eyes. Great was his surprise when he found he could not see anything, either at a distance on the plains, or within a few feet of him. This seemed very odd; he made another examination, and at last he looked at the glass—the object-glass was missing.
“The object-glass!” he cried.
The sudden revelation may be imagined; he uttered a cry so loud as to be heard by his companions, and they were much astonished at seeing him running down the hill.
“Well, what’s the matter now?” asked Johnson.
The doctor was out of breath, and unable to speak. At length he managed to bring out—
“The footprints!—the expedition!—”
“Well, what?” said Hatteras; “are they here?”
“No, no!” resumed the doctor—“the object-glass, mine!”
And he showed his own glass.
“Oh, ho!” cried the American, “so you lost—”
“Yes!”
“But then the footprints—”
“Our own!” cried the doctor. “We lost our way in the fog! We went around in a circle, and came across our own footprints!”
“But the print of the shoes?” asked Hatteras.
“Bell’s, you know, who walked all day in the snow after breaking his snowshoes.”
“That’s true,” said Bell.
Their mistake was so clear, that they all, except Hatteras, burst out laughing, and he was none the less pleased at the discovery.
“We were stupid enough,” said the doctor, when they had stopped laughing. “What good guesses we made! Strangers up here! Really, we ought to think before speaking. Well, since we are easy on this point, we can’t do better than start.”
“Forward!” said Hatteras.
A quarter of an hour later each one had taken his place on board of the launch, which sailed out of Altamont Harbor under mainsail and jib. This voyage began Wednesday, July 10th; they were then very near the Pole, exactly one hundred and seventy-five miles from it. However small the land might be at that point of the globe, the voyage would certainly be a short one. The wind was light, but fair. The thermometer stood at 50°; it was really warm.
The launch had not been injured by the journey on the sledge; it was in perfect order, and sailed easily. Johnson was at the helm; the doctor, Bell, and Altamont were lying as best they might among the load, partly on deck, partly below.
Hatteras stood forward, with his eyes turned to the mysterious point, which attracted him with an irresistible power, as the magnetic pole attracts the needle. If there should be any land, he wanted to be the first to see it. This honor really belonged to him. He noticed, besides, that the surface of the Polar Sea was covered with short waves, like those of land locked seas. This he considered a proof of the nearness of the opposite shore, and the doctor shared his opinion.
Hatteras’s desire to find land at the North Pole is perfectly comprehensible. His disappointment would have been great if the uncertain sea covered the place where he wanted to find a piece of land, no matter how small! In fact, how could he give a special name to an uncertain portion of the sea? How plant the flag of his country among the waves? How take possession, in the name of her Gracious Majesty, of the liquid element?
So Hatteras, compass in hand, gazed steadily at the north. There was nothing that he could see between him and the horizon, where the line of the blue water met the blue sky. A few
