“But,” asked Gripper, “shan’t we lose them if we go back without the captain?”
“No,” answered Clifton, “if we can prove that it was absolutely necessary to return.”
“But the captain—still—”
“Don’t be uneasy, Gripper,” answered Pen; “we shall have a captain, and a good one, whom Mr. Shandon knows. When a captain goes mad, he is dismissed and another appointed. Isn’t that so, Mr. Shandon?”
“My friends,” answered Shandon, evasively, “you will always find me devoted to you. But let us wait and see what turns up.”
The storm, as may be seen, was gathering over Hatteras’s head; but he pushed on boldly, firm, energetic, and confident. In fact, if he had not always managed the brig as he wanted to, and carried her where he was anxious to go, he had still been very successful; the distance passed over in five months was as great as what it had taken other explorers two or three years to make. Hatteras was now obliged to go into winter-quarters, but this would not alarm men of courage, experience, and confidence. Had not Sir John Ross and MacClure spent three successive winters in the arctic regions? Could not he do what they had done?
“Yes, of course,” Hatteras used to say, “and more too, if need be. Ah!” he said regretfully to the doctor, “why was I unable to get through Smith’s Sound, at the north of Baffin’s Bay? I should be at the Pole now!”
“Well,” the doctor used invariably to answer—if necessary he could have invented confidence—“we shall get there, Captain, but, it is true, at the ninety-ninth meridian instead of the seventy-fifth; but what difference does that make? If every road leads to Rome, it is even surer that every meridian leads to the Pole.”
August 31st, the thermometer fell to 13°. The end of the summer was evidently near; the Forward left Exmouth Island to starboard, and three days afterward she passed Table Island, lying in the middle of Belcher Channel. Earlier in the season it would have been possible to reach Baffin’s Bay through this channel, but at this time it was impossible to think of it. This arm of the sea was completely filled with ice, and would not have offered a drop of open water to the prow of the Forward; for the next eight months their eyes would see nothing but boundless, motionless ice-fields.
Fortunately, they could still get a few minutes farther north, but only by breaking the new ice with huge beams, or by blowing it up with charges of powder. They especially had cause to fear calm weather while the temperature was so low, for the passes closed quickly, and they rejoiced even at contrary winds. A calm night, and everything was frozen!
Now the Forward could not winter where she was, exposed to the wind, icebergs, and the drift of the channel; a safe protection was the first thing to be found; Hatteras hoped to gain the coast of New Cornwall, and to find, beyond Point Albert, a bay sufficiently sheltered. Hence he persisted in crowding northward.
But, September 8, an impenetrable, continuous mass of ice lay between him and the north; the temperature fell to 10°. Hatteras, with an anxious heart, in vain sought for a passage, risking his ship a hundred times and escaping from his perils with wonderful skill. He might have been accused of imprudence, recklessness, folly, blindness, but he was one of the best of sailors.
The situation of the Forward became really dangerous; in fact, the sea was closing behind her, and in a few hours the ice grew so hard that men could run upon it and tow the brig in perfect safety.
Hatteras, not being able to get around this obstacle, determined to attack it boldly in front. He made use of his strongest blasting cylinders, containing eight or ten pounds of powder. The men would dig a hole in the broadest part of the ice, close the orifice with snow, after having placed the cylinder in a horizontal position, so that a greater extent of ice might be exposed to the explosion; then a fuse was lighted, which was protected by a gutta-percha tube.
In this way they tried to break the ice; it was impossible to saw it, for the fissures would close immediately. Still, Hatteras was hoping to get through the next day.
But during the night the wind blew a gale; the sea raised the crust of ice, and the terrified pilot was heard shouting—
“Look out there aft, look out there aft!”
Hatteras turned his eyes in that direction, and what he saw in the dim light was indeed alarming.
A great mass of ice, drifting northward with the tide, was rushing towards the brig with the speed of an avalanche.
“All hands on deck!” shouted the captain.
This floating mountain was hardly half a mile away; the ice was all in confusion and crashing together like huge grains of sand before a violent tempest; the air was filled with a terrible noise.
“That, Doctor,” said Johnson, “is one of the greatest perils we have yet met with.”
“Yes,” answered the doctor, quietly; “it is terrible enough.”
“A real attack which we must repel,” resumed the boatswain.
“In fact, one might well think it was an immense crowd of antediluvian animals, such as might have lived near the Pole. How they hurry on, as if they were racing!”
“Besides,” added Johnson, “some carry sharp lances, of which you had better take care, Doctor.”
“It’s a real siege,” shouted the doctor. “Well, let us run to the ramparts!”
He ran aft where the crew, provided with beams and bars, were standing ready to repel this formidable assault.
The avalanche came on, growing larger at every moment as it caught up the floating ice in its eddy; by Hatteras’s orders the cannon was loaded with ball to break the threatening line. But it came on and ran towards the brig; a crash was heard, and as it came against the starboard-quarter, part of the rail had given
