Cæsar Cascabel/Part 2/Chapter II
CHAPTER II.
BETWEEN TWO CURRENTS.
[edit]AT last the Fair Rambler was on firm ground; no breaking up of the ice-field need longer be apprehended under its wheels; it is easy to surmise how much this boon was appreciated by the Cascabels.
It was quite dark by this time. The same arrangements were made as the preceding night for the camping, a few hundred paces inside the island; then both the “intellectual people and the others,” as Cæser Cascabel used to say, were duly looked after.
Indeed, relatively speaking, it was not cold. The thermometer recorded no more than four degrees below zero. It little mattered, besides. As long as they remained here they had nothing to fear from a rise in the temperature. Should it occur, they would wait until a more considerable fall had thoroughly set the ice-field. Winter in all its severity could not be far off.
There being no light, Mr. Sergius put off to the following day the exploration he wished to make of the island. The chief object they first gave their best attention to was the night encampment of the horses, who needed a good supper and a good rest, for they were literally worn out. Then, when the table was laid, the meal was hastily dispatched, eager as each one was to seek the comfort of his couch after such a hard day's toil.
The consequence was that the Fair Rambler was soon buried in sleep, and, that night, Cornelia dreamed neither of a sudden thaw nor yet of yawning gulfs swallowing up her home on wheels.
The next morning, the 25th of October, as soon as daylight was sufficient, Mr. Sergius, Cæsar Cascabel. and his two sons went and reconnoitered the state of the island.
What surprised them from the first was the incredible number of otaries that had taken refuge on it.
As a matter of fact, it is in this portion of Behring Sea, bounded to the south by the fiftieth degree of northerly latitude, that these animals are found in largest quantities.
On examining the map one cannot but be struck with the outline presented by the coast of America and by that of Asia, and especially with the resemblance they bear each other. On both sides the same figure is pretty clearly defined: Cape Prince of Wales is the counterpart of the Tchutchki peninsula, Norton Bay corresponds to the gulf of Anadyr, the extremity of the Alaskan peninsula is curved in the same way as the peninsula of Kamtchatka, and the whole is inclosed by the chainlet of the Aleutian Islands. It cannot, however, be concluded therefrom that America was abruptly severed from Asia, and Behring Strait opened by some terrestrial convulsion in prehistoric times, for the salient angles of one coast do not correspond with the internal angles of the other.
Numerous islands, too, in these parts: the Isle of St. Lawrence, already named; Nunivak Island, on the American coast; Karaghinski, on the Asiatic side; Behring Island with Copper Isle by its side, and, within a short distance of the Alaskan shore, Pribylov Islands. The resemblance of the coasts is then increased by the identical arrangement of the archipelago.
Now, these Pribylov Islands and Behring Island are in a special manner the favorite residences of the colonies of seals that frequent these seas. They could be reckoned by millions here; and, naturally, it is here that professional hunters come, not only for the otaries but for the sea loutra so common less than fifty years ago and now made scarce by wholesale destruction.
As to the otaries,—a generic name comprising the sealions, the sea-cows, the sea-bears,—they collect here in numberless flocks, and their race seems inexhaustible.
And still what a relentless hunt is carried on after them as long as the warm seasons last! Without respite, without mercy, the fishermen pursue them into their very “rookeries,” kinds of parks where the families gather together. It is the full-grown otaries especially that are pitilessly tracked, and these animals would eventually disappear, were it not for their extraordinary fecundity.
As a fact, from the year 1867 to the year 1880, 388,982 otaries were destroyed in the reserved parks of Behring Island alone. On Pribylov Islands, in the course of a century, no fewer than 3,500,000 skins have been got together by the Alaskan fishermen, and at the present time they do not supply less than a hundred thousand a year to the trade.
And how many there are on the other islands of Behring Sea, Mr. Sergius and his companions were in a position to estimate from what they saw on Diomede Island. The soil disappeared from view under a swarm of seals packed together in close groups, and nothing could be seen of the carpet of snow on which they lay so securely.
Meanwhile, if they were the object of a curious survey, they, too, examined the visitors of the island. Without stirring, but apparently uneasy, annoyed, perhaps, at this taking of possession of their domain, they made no attempt at running away, and sometimes uttered a kind of prolonged bellowing in which a note of anger was clearly discernible. Then standing erect, they would give their paws, or rather their fins, spread out like so many fans, a violent shaking to and fro.
Ah! if these thousands of seals had been endowed with the gift of speech, according to young Sander's wish, what a thunder of “papas” would have come out of their mouths!
Needless to say that neither Mr. Sergius nor John thought of firing on this legion of animals. Yet, there was a fortune of “peltry on foot” there before them, as Cascabel put it. But it would have been a useless, as well as a dangerous slaughter. Formidable as they were by their number alone, the seals might have greatly endangered the position of the Fair Rambler; hence Mr. Sergius recommended the greatest caution.
And now, was not the presence of these seals on Diomede Island a sign which it was right not to neglect? Were it not prudent to consider why they had thus sought a refuge on this heap of rocks, which offered them no resources?
This was the subject of a very serious discussion, in which Mr. Sergius, Cæsar Cascabel, and his eldest son took part. They had walked on toward the central part of the island, while the women looked after household matters, and Clovy and Sander were busy with the “animal element” of the troupe.
Mr. Sergius was the first to broach the question:
“My friends,” said he, “we must consider whether it would not be better to leave Diomede Island, as soon as the horses are rested, than to prolong our stay.”
“Mr. Sergius,” eagerly replied Cascabel, “I am of opinion we should not tarry here, playing the ‘Swiss Robinson family’ on this rock! I confess it, I am longing to feel a bit of the Siberian coast under my heel.”
“I understand that, father,” answered John, “and yet, it would not be right to go and expose ourselves again as we did when we so impatiently started across the strait. But for this island, what would have become of us? Numana is still some thirty miles away from us—”
“Well, John, with a good pull and a strong pull, we might cover that distance in two or three stages, perhaps.”
“It would be hard to do so, even if the state of the icefield permitted it.”
“I think John is right,” observed Mr. Sergius. “That we should be in a hurry to be on the other side of the strait is but natural. But seeing how much milder the temperature has become, it seems to me it would hardly be prudent to leave terra firma. We left Port Clarence too soon; let us try and not leave this island too hastily. What we may be sure of is that the strait is not completely frozen over its whole surface.”
“Where do those crackling sounds come from, which I heard even as late as yesterday?” added John. “Evidently they are due to the insufficient cohesion of the iceblocks.”
“That is one proof,” rejoined Mr. Sergius; “and there is one other.”
“Which?” inquired John.
“One which seems to me of equal importance: it is the presence of these thousands of seals that have instinctively invaded this island. No doubt, after leaving the upper regions of the sea, these animals were making their way toward Behring Island or the Aleutian Islands, when they foresaw some imminent atmospheric disturbance, and felt they should not remain on the ice-field. Are we on the eve of a breaking up of the ice-field under the influence of the temperature or through some submarine phenomenon? I know not. But, if we are in a hurry to reach the Siberian coast, these creatures are not less anxious to reach their rookeries on Behring Island or Pribylov Islands, and as they halted here, they must have had very good reasons for doing so.”
“Well then, what do you advise, Mr. Sergius?” asked Mr. Cascabel.
“My advice is that we should stay here until the seals show us, by starting off themselves, that we may resume our journey without danger.”
“That's awkward, and no mistake!”
“It is not as bad as it might be, father,” said John; “may we never have worse to put up with!”
“Besides, this cannot last very long,” continued Mr. Sergius. “Let the winter be ever so late this year, here is the end of October coming on, and although the thermometer, at this very moment, is only at zero, it may fall some twenty degrees from one day to another. If the wind happens to shift to the north, the ice-field will be as solid as a continent. I propose then, after due consideration, that we wait, if nothing compels us to go.”
This was prudent, to say the least. And so it was agreed that the Fair Rambler should stay on Diomede Island, as long as the safety of her journey across would not be assured by an intense frost.
Throughout this day, Mr. Sergius and John partly surveyed the granite rock that offered them such security. The islet measured less than three miles in circumference. Even in summer it must have been literally barren. A heap of rocks, nothing more. None the less, it would have been able to support the pier of the famous Behring bridge, wished for by Mrs. Cascabel, in the event of the Russian and American engineers ever thinking of joining two continents,—contrary to what Mr. Lesseps is so fond of doing.
In the course of their ramble, the visitors took good care not to frighten the seals. And still, it was evident that the presence of human beings kept these animals in a singular state of excitement. There were huge males, whose hoarse cries sounded like an alarm for the members of their families, and in a moment one sire would be seen surrounded by forty or fifty of his full-grown offspring.
These unfriendly dispositions could not but cause some anxiety to Mr. Sergius, especially when he noticed a certain tendency on the part of the seals to move nearer and nearer toward the encampment. Taken individually they were not formidable, of course; but it would be difficulty, nay impossible, to resist such enormous masses if they ever resolved on driving off the intruders, who did not leave them the sole and exclusive possession of Diomede Island. John, too, was greatly struck with this peculiarity, and both Mr. Sergius and he came home somewhat alarmed.
The day passed off without incidents, save that the breeze, which blew from the southeast, turned to squalls. Evidently some big storm was brewing, one of those Arctic tempests, perhaps, which last for several days; an extraordinary fall of the barometer left no doubt on this point; it had gone down seventy-two centimeters.
The approach of the night was full of ill-omens therefore. And, to add further to them, as soon as the travelers had taken their places inside the Fair Rambler, howls, on the nature of which there was no mistake to make, increased the roar of the elements. The seals had shuffled their way close to the vehicle; presently it would be overborne by them. The horses neighed with fright, dreading an attack from this unknown foe, against which Wagram and Marengo barked in vain. The men had to get out of bed, rush out and bring Vermont and Gladiator nearer to the wagon, to watch over them. The revolvers and the guns were loaded. However, Mr. Sergius recommended that they should not be used till the very last extremity.
The night was dark. As nothing could be distinguished in the intense obscurity, torches had to be lit. Their fitful rays enabled them to see thousands of seals arrayed around the Fair Rambler and doubtless only waiting for daylight to attack it.
“If they attack us, resistance will be a matter of impossibility,” said Mr. Sergius, “and we should run the risk of being overwhelmed!”
“What are we to do then?” asked John.
“We must start off!”
“When?” inquired Cascabel.
“This very moment!”
Was Mr. Sergius right in his resolve to leave the island, great though the danger was which gloomed ahead? Surely, it was the only thing to be done. Very probably the only object the seals had in view was to drive away the intruders who had invaded their domain, and they would not trouble to pursue them beyond its limits on to the field of ice. As to scattering these animals by force, an attempt would have been more than imprudent. What could guns and revolvers do against their thousands?
The horses were put to, the women re-entered their apartments, the men, ready on the defensive, stood by each side of the wagon, and the journey westward was resumed.
So foggy was the night that the torches cast their light scarcely twenty paces ahead. At the same time the storm broke out with greater fury. It did not snow; the flakes fluttering in the air were those that the wind lashed off the surface of the ice-field.
With all this, had the solidification but been complete! Unfortunately, it was far from it. You could feel the blocks getting severed from each other with long, crackling sounds. Now and again fissures would gape and send up sheaves of sea water.
Mr. Sergius and his companions went on thus for an hour, afraid every moment to see the ice-field breaking up under their feet. Keeping in one direction became impracticable, and yet John endeavored to guide himself somehow on the needle of the compass. Luckily, this tramp toward the west differed from their journeying toward Diomede Island, which they might easily have passed by, either too far south or too far north, without recognizing it; the Siberian coast lay for a distance of some thirty miles on three-fourths of the horizon, and they could not miss it.
But they should manage to get there first, and the chief condition of their doing so was that the Fair Rambler should not go to the bottom of Behring Sea.
Meanwhile, if this danger was the most formidable, it was not the only one. At every moment, caught on the flank by the southeasterly wind, the wagon ran the risk of being upset. By way of precaution, Cornelia, Napoleona, and Kayette had been made to alight, and it required all the efforts of Mr. Sergius, Cascabel, John, Sander, and Clovy, tugging at the wheels, to keep the Fair Rambler erect against the blast. Needless to tell what little headway was made by the horses under these conditions, when they felt the ground continually yielding under their feet.
About half-past five o'clock in the morning,—the 26th of October,—in the midst of the very deepest obscurity, the vehicle was compelled to stop; the horses could not go a step further. The surface of the field, upheaved by the swell driven by the squall from the lower regions of Behring Sea, now presented a series of various levels.
“What are we to do?” said John.
“We must go back to the island!” exclaimed Cornelia, who was unable to appease Napoleona's terror.
“That's out of the question now!” replied Mr. Sergius.
“Why so?” inquired Mr. Cascabel. “Of the two I would still rather fight seals than—”
“I tell you again we must not think of returning to the island!” repeated Mr. Sergius. “We should have to go against the squall, and the wagon could not stand it. It would be smashed to pieces, if, indeed, it did not run away before the wind.”
“So long as we are not obliged to abandon it!” sighed John.
“Abandon it!” cried Cascabel. “And what would become of us without our Fair Rambler?”
“We shall do our very utmost not to be reduced in that extremity,” answered Mr. Sergius; “we shall! That wagon is our plank of salvation, and we shall endeavor to keep it at any price.”
“So, it is not possible to go back?” urged Cascabel.
“It is absolutely impossible; and we must keep on going ahead!” was the reply. “Let us be brave-hearted, keep a cool head, and surely we shall reach Numana!”
These words seemed to brace up the travelers. It was but too evident that the wind forbade their returning to Diomede Island. It blew from the southeast with such violence that neither cattle nor men could have walked against it. The Fair Rambler itself could no longer remain stationary. The merest attempt to make it resist the displacement of the air would have toppled it over.
About ten o'clock, daylight became half apparent,—a pale, misty light. The clouds, low and ragged, seemed to drag shreds of vapor after them and madly lash them about, across the strait. In the whirlwind of snow, small chips of ice, dashed off the field by the blast, flew by like a veritable volley of small shot. In such circumstances, one hour and a half was spent in covering little more than a mile, for they had, in addition, to avoid the pools of water and turn round the mounds of ice heaped upon their way. Underneath, the swell from the high sea caused sudden oscillations and a kind of billowy motion, accompanied by continuous crackling noises.
Suddenly, about a quarter to one o'clock, a violent shock was felt. A network of fissures radiated over the field around the vehicle. A crevice, measuring thirty feet in diameter, had just yawned beneath the feet of the horses.
At a shout from Mr. Sergius, his companions stopped short within a few paces of the abyss.
“Our horses! Our horses!” cried John. “Father, let us save the horses!”
It was too late. The ice had given way. The two unfortunate steeds had just disappeared. Had not the traces snapped, the Fair Rambler too would have been drawn into the depths of the sea.
“Our poor horses!” cried Cascabel, in despair.
Alas! those old friends of the showman's, who had gone the world over with him, those faithful companions, who had so long shared his roaming life, were buried in the deep. Big tears burst from the eyes of Mr. Cascabel, his wife, and his children.
“Back! Quick, back with it!” Mr. Sergius called out.
And by dint of pushing and striving, they succeeded, not without trouble, in moving the wagon away from the crevice, which was getting wider as the oscillations of the ice-field increased; and they let it stand some twenty feet inside the circle of dislocation.
The situation was none the less greatly compromised. What were they to do now? Abandon the Fair Rambler in the middle of the strait, then come back and fetch it with a team of reindeer from Numana? It seemed as though there was no other course to follow.
Suddenly John cried out:
“Mr. Sergius! Mr. Sergius! Look, sir!—We are drifting!—”
“Drifting?”
It was but too true! Not a doubt of it now; a general breaking up had just set all the ice in motion between the two banks of the strait.
The repeated shocks of the storm, added to the rise in the temperature, had split up the field insufficiently cemented in its middle part. Wide gaps had been opened in the north by the displacing of the blocks, some of which had slid up on the ice-field and others underneath it. This enabled the floating ice-island which bore the vehicle to drift at the will of the hurricane. A few bergs had remained stationary, and Mr. Sergius, using them as landmarks, was able to make out the direction of the drift.
The reader sees how alarming the situation now was, jeopardized as it had already been by the loss of the horses. There was now no possibility of reaching Numana, even after abandoning the wagon. They would now be confronted no longer by crevices that they might avoid by a detour, but by numerous gaps, which there was no means of getting over, and the direction of which shifted about according to the caprice of the swell. And as to the block that conveyed the Fair Rambler, and whose course could not possibly be controlled, how long would it withstand the shock of the billows that dashed against its sides?
No! There was nothing to be done! To dream of directing the floating berg, so as to bring it on to the Siberian coast, were above the power of man. Move about thus it would until some obstacle would stop it; and who knows if that obstacle would not be the frozen shore of the polar sea!
About two o'clock in the afternoon, thanks to the increased darkness caused by the spreading fog, the eye was already unable to pierce beyond a very short radius.
Sheltered as best they could, and turned toward the north, Mr. Sergius and his companions stood in mournful silence. What could they have said, since there was nothing to be even attempted? Cornelia, Kayette, and Napoleona, wrapped in blankets, kept closely pressed against each other. Young Sander, more surprised than alarmed. whistled a tune. Clovy busied himself tidying up the various things that had been knocked out of place in the wagon by the shock it had received.
If Mr. Sergius and John had kept cool-headed, the same could not be said of Mr. Cascabel, who blamed himself for having brought all his people into this frightful adventure.
However, it was of importance, first of all, to have a right idea of the situation.
It has not been forgotten that two currents cross each other in Behring Strait. One comes down to the south, the other flows up toward the north. The former is the Kamtchatka current, the latter the Behring. If the berg loaded with the staff and the material of the Fair Rambler got into the first current, it would of necessity retrace its course, and there were chances of its landing on the Siberian coast. If, on the contrary, it was drawn into the second, it would float in the direction of the Ice Sea, where no continent or group of islands could stop it.
Unfortunately, as the hurricane grew wilder, it shifted nearer and nearer to the south. Into the depths of that funnel formed by the strait the air was engulfed with a violence which can hardly be imagined, and little by little the wind altered its first direction.
This Mr. Sergius and John had been able to ascertain, and they saw they were losing all chance of being caught by the Kamtchatka current. Checked with the compass, the drift was found to incline toward the north. Might they hope that the berg would be carried to the peninsula of the Prince of Wales on the Alaskan coast, in sight of Port Clarence? This would have been a truly providential termination of the eventualities of this helpless drift. But the strait widens at so great an angle between East Cape and Cape Prince of Wales that no prudent man would have indulged such a hope.
Meanwhile, the state of things on the surface of the iceberg was becoming almost unbearable; no one could keep on his feet, so wildly did the storm rage. John would fain go and examine the sea from the fore part of the block, and was thrown down; indeed, but for Mr. Sergius, he would have been hurled into the waves.
What a night was spent by these ill-fated people,—these shipwrecked wanderers, we may say, for there they were, like the survivors of a wreck. What continual anguish! Huge icebergs would come sometimes and knock against their floating islet with such crashes and shocks as to threaten its smashing to pieces. Then heavy seas would roll over its surface and submerge it as though it were doomed to be swallowed up in the abyss. They were all soaked with those cold douches which the wind pulverized over their heads. The only way to avoid them would have been to get back into the wagon; but it shook so under the blast that neither Mr. Sergius nor Cascabel dared advise their companions to shelter themselves in it.
Endless hours passed by thus. The gaps became wider and wider, the drifting was more free, the shocks were less frequent. Had the block got into the narrow portion of the strait that opens out, several miles farther, into the ice sea? Had it reached the regions lying above the polar circle? Had the Behring current finally overcome the Kamtchatka current? In that case, if the American coast did not stop the berg, was there no cause to fear that it would be carried on and on, to the Arctic ice-field?
How slow was the daylight in coming!—that light which would enable them to ascertain their position. The poor women prayed. Their deliverance could now come but from God.
Daylight appeared at last; it was the 27th of October. No sign of a calm in the atmospherical disturbances; the fury of the storm seemed even to increase with the rising of the sun.
Mr. Sergius and John, compass in hand, searched the horizon. In vain did they endeavor to descry some high land toward the east and the west.
It was but too evident, their iceberg was following a northerly course under the impulse of the Behring current.
As may be imagined, this storm had caused the greatest
anxiety to the inhabitants of Port Clarence concerning the
fate of the Cascabels. But how could they have brought
help to them, since the breaking up of the ice stopped
all communication between the two shores of the strait?
There was anxiety, too, at Numana, where the two Russian agents had announced the departure of the Fair Rambler, although the feelings they experienced for its occupants did not spring from sympathy. They had been awaiting Count Narkine on the Siberian coast, as we have said, in the well-grounded hope of capturing him; and now there was every appearance of his having perished in this disaster, along with the whole Cascabel family.
There was no doubt left in their minds about this when, three days later, the corpses of two horses were washed ashore by the current, in a little creek on the coast. They were those of Vermont and Gladiator, the only horses possessed by the show people.
“'Pon my word,” said one of the agents, “it was a good thing we came across before our friends!”
“Yes,” replied the other, “but the sad part of it is to have missed such a splendid job!”