The World of Ice by R. M. Ballantyne (digital e reader TXT) 📕

once or twice of a lilac tinge. The strength of the light was something greater than that of the moon in her quarter, and the stars were dimmed when the Aurora passed over them as if they had been covered with a delicate gauze veil.

But that which struck our hero as being most remarkable was the magnitude and dazzling brightness of the host of stars that covered the black firmament. It seemed as if they were magnified in glory, and twinkled so much that the sky seemed, as it were, to tremble with light. A feeling of deep solemnity filled Fred’s heart as he gazed upwards; and as he thought upon the Creator of these mysterious worlds—and remembered that He came to this little planet of ours to work out the miracle of our redemption, the words that he had often read in the Bible: “Lord, what is man that thou art mindful of him?” came forcibly to his remembrance, and he felt the appropriateness of that sentiment which the sweet singer of Israel has expressed in the words: “Praise ye him, sun and moon; praise him, all ye stars of light.”

There was a deep, solemn stillness all around—a stillness widely different from that peaceful composure which characterises a calm day in an inhabited land. It was the death-like stillness of that most peculiar and dreary desolation which results from the total absence of animal existence. The silence was so oppressive that it was with a feeling of relief he listened to the low, distant voices of the men as they paused ever and anon in their busy task to note and remark on the progress of their work. In the intense cold of an Arctic night the sound of voices can be heard at a much greater distance than usual, and although the men were far off, and hummocks of ice intervened between them and Fred, their tones broke distinctly, though gently, on his ear. Yet these sounds did not interrupt the unusual stillness. They served rather to impress him more forcibly with the vastness of that tremendous solitude in the midst of which he stood.

Gradually his thoughts turned homeward, and he thought of the dear ones who circled round his own fireside, and, perchance, talked of him; of the various companions he had left behind, and the scenes of life and beauty where he used to wander; but such memories led him irresistibly to the far north again, for in all home-scenes the figure of his father started up, and he was back again in an instant, searching toilsomely among the floes and icebergs of the Polar Seas. It was the invariable ending of poor Fred’s meditations, and, however successful he might be in entering, for a time, into the spirit of fun that characterised most of the doings of his shipmates, and in following the bent of his own joyous nature, in the hours of solitude, and in the dark night, when no one saw him, his mind ever reverted to the one engrossing subject, like the oscillating needle to the pole.

As he continued to gaze up, long and earnestly, into the starry sky, his thoughts began to wander over the past and the present at random, and a cold shudder warned him that it was time to return to the hut; but the wandering thoughts and fancies seemed to chain him to the spot, so that he could not tear himself away. Then a dreamy feeling of rest and comfort began to steal over his senses, and he thought how pleasant it would be to lie down and slumber; but he knew that would be dangerous, so he determined not to do it.

Suddenly he felt himself touched, and heard a voice whispering in his ear. Then it sounded loud. “Hallo, sir! Mr Ellice! Wake up, sir, d’ye hear me?” and he felt himself shaken so violently that his teeth rattled together. Opening his eyes reluctantly, he found that he was stretched at full length on the snow, and Joseph West was shaking him by the shoulder as if he meant to dislocate his arm.

“Hallo, West! is that you? Let me alone, man, I want to sleep.” Fred sank down again instantly—that deadly sleep, produced by cold, and from which those who indulge in it never awaken, was upon him.

“Sleep!” cried West frantically, “you’ll die, sir, if you don’t rouse up. Hallo! Meetuck! O’Riley! help here!”

“I tell you,” murmured Fred faintly, “I want to sleep—only a moment or two—ah! I see; is the hut finished? Well, well, go, leave me. I’ll follow—in—a—”

His voice died away again, just as Meetuck and O’Riley came running up. The instant the former saw how matters stood, he raised Fred in his powerful arms, set him on his feet, and shook him with such vigour that it seemed as if every bone in his body must be forced out of joint.

“What mane ye by that, ye blubber-bag?” cried the Irishman wrathfully, doubling his mittened fists and advancing in a threatening manner towards the Esquimaux; but, seeing that the savage paid not the least attention to him, and kept on shaking Fred violently with a good-humoured smile on his countenance, he wisely desisted from interfering.

In a few minutes Fred was able to stand and look about him with a stupid expression, and immediately the Esquimaux dragged, and pushed, and shook him along towards the snow-hut, into which he was finally thrust, though with some trouble, in consequence of the lowness of the tunnel. Here, by means of rubbing and chafing, with a little more buffeting, he was restored to some degree of heat; on seeing which Meetuck uttered a quiet grunt, and immediately set about preparing supper.

“I do believe I’ve been asleep,” said Fred, rising and stretching himself vigorously as the bright flame of a tin lamp shot forth and shed a yellow lustre on the white walls.

“Aslape is it! be me conscience an’ ye have just. Oh then, may I never indulge in the same sort o’ slumber!”

“Why so?” asked Fred in some surprise.

“You fell asleep on the ice, sir,” answered West, while he busied himself in spreading the tarpaulin and blanket-bags on the floor of the hut, “and you were very near frozen to death.”

“Frozen, musha! I’m not too shure that he’s melted yit!” said O’Riley, taking him by the arm and looking at him dubiously.

Fred laughed. “Oh yes; I’m melted now! But let’s have supper, else I shall faint for hunger. Did I sleep many hours?”

“You slept only five minutes,” said West, in some surprise at the question. “You were only gone about ten minutes altogether.”

This was indeed the case. The intense desire for sleep which is produced in Arctic countries when the frost seizes hold of the frame soon confuses the faculties of those who come under its influence. As long as Fred had continued to walk and work, he felt quite warm, but the instant he sat down on the lump of ice to rest, the frost acted on him. Being much exhausted, too, by labour and long fasting, he was more susceptible than he would otherwise have been to the influence of cold, so that it chilled him at once, and produced that deadly lethargy from which, but for the timely aid of his companions, he would never have recovered.

The arrangements for supping and spending the night made rapid progress, and under the influence of fire and animal heat—for the dogs were taken in beside them—the igloe became comfortably warm; yet the snow-walls did not melt, or become moist, the intense cold without being sufficient to counteract and protect them from the heat within. The fair roof, however, soon became very dingy, and the odour of melted fat rather powerful. But Arctic travellers are proof against such trifles.

The tarpaulin was spread over the floor, and a tin lamp, into which several fat portions of the walrus were put, was suspended from a stick thrust into the wall. Round this lamp the hunters circled, each seated on his blanket-bag, and each attended to the duty which devolved upon him. Meetuck held a tin kettle over the flame till the snow with which it was filled melted and became cold water, and then gradually heated until it boiled; and all the while he employed himself in masticating a lump of raw walrus flesh, much to the amusement of Fred, and to the disgust, real or pretended, of O’Riley. But the Irishman, and Fred too, and every man on board the Dolphin, came at last to relish raw meat, and to long for it. The Esquimaux prefer it raw in these parts of the world (although some travellers assert that in more southern latitudes they prefer cooked meat), and with good reason, for it is much more nourishing than cooked flesh; and learned, scientific men, who have wintered in the Arctic regions, have distinctly stated that in those cold countries they found raw meat to be better for them than cooked meat, and they assure us that they at last came to prefer it! We would not have our readers to begin forthwith to dispense with the art of cookery, and cast Soyer to the dogs; but we would have them henceforth refuse to accept that common opinion, and vulgar error, that Esquimaux eat their food raw because they are savages. They do it because nature teaches them that, under the circumstances, it is best.

The duty that devolved upon O’Riley was to roast small steaks of the walrus, in which operation he was assisted by West, while Fred undertook to get out the biscuit-bag and pewter plates, and to infuse the coffee when the water should boil. It was a strange feast in a strange place, but it proved to be a delightful one; for hunger requires not to be tempted, and is not fastidious.

“Oh, but it’s good, isn’t it?” remarked O’Riley, smacking his lips, as he swallowed a savoury morsel of the walrus and tossed the remnant—a sinewy bit—to Dumps, who sat gazing sulkily at the flame of the lamp, having gorged himself long before the bipeds began supper.

“Arrah! ye won’t take it, won’t ye? Here, Poker!”

Poker sprang forward, wagging the stump of his tail, and turned his head to one side, as if to say: “Well, what’s up? Any fun going?”

“Here, take that, old boy; Dumps is sulky.”

Poker took it at once, and a single snap caused it to vanish. He, too, had finished supper, and evidently ate the morsel to please the Irishman.

“Hand me the coffee, Meetuck,” said Fred. “The biscuit lies beside you, don’t give in so soon, man.”

“Thank you, sir, I have about done.”

“Meetuck, ye haythen, try a bit o’ the roast; do now, av it was only to plaaze me.”

Meetuck shook his head quietly, and, cutting a fifteenth lump off the mass of raw walrus that lay beside him, proceeded leisurely to devour it.

“The dogs is nothin’ to him,” muttered O’Riley. “Isn’t it a curious thing, now, to think that we’re all at sea a eatin’, and drinkin’, and slaapin’—or goin’ to slaape—jist as if we wor on the land, and the great ocean away down below us there, wid whales, and seals, and walrusses, and mermaids, for what I know, a swimmin’ about jist under whare we sit, and maybe lookin’ through the ice at us this very minute. Isn’t it quare?”

“It is odd,” said Fred, laughing, “and not a very pleasant idea. However, as there is at least twelve feet of solid ice between us and the company you mention, we don’t need to care much.”

“Ov coorse not,” replied O’Riley, nodding his head approvingly as he lighted his pipe; “that’s my mind intirely, in all cases o’ danger, when ye don’t need to be afeared, ye needn’t much care. It’s a good chart to steer by, that same.”

This last remark seemed to afford so much food for thought to the company that nothing further was said by anyone until Fred rose and