The Voyages and Adventures of Captain Hatteras/Chapter 2.II
Towards eight o'clock in the evening the snow-clouds cleared
away for a few minutes; the constellations shone brilliantly in the
clear air. Hatteras made use of this change to get the altitude
of some stars; he went out without saying a word, carrying his
instruments with him. He wished to ascertain his position and
see if the ice-field had not been drifting again. After an absence
of half an hour he came back, lay down in a corner, and remained
perfectly still, although not asleep.
The next day snow began to fall heavily; the doctor could not help being glad that he had made his examination the day before, for a white curtain soon covered the whole expanse, and every trace of the explosion was hidden under three feet of snow.
On that day they could not set foot outside; fortunately their quarters were comfortable, or at least seemed so to the exhausted travellers. The little stove worked well, except occasionally when violent gusts drove the smoke into the room; with its heat they could make coffee and tea, which are both so serviceable beverages when the temperature is low.
The castaways, for they deserve the name, found themselves more comfortable than they had been for a long time; hence they only thought of the present, of the agreeable warmth, of the brief rest, forgetting, or even indifferent to the future, which threatened with speedy death.
The American suffered less, and gradually returned to life; he opened his eyes, but he did not say anything; his lips bore traces of the scurvy, and could not utter a sound; he could hear, and was told where he was and how he got there. He moved his head as a sign of gratitude; he saw that he had been saved from burial beneath the snow; the doctor forbore telling him how very short a time bis death had been delayed, for, in a fortnight or three weeks at the must, their supply of food would be exhausted.
Towards midday Hatteras arose and went up to the doctor, Johnson, and Bell.
“My friends,” he said to them, “we are going to take a final resolution us to the course we must follow. In the first place, I must ask Johnson to tell me under what circumstances this act of treachery came to pass.”
“Why should we know?” said the doctor; “the fact is certain, we need give it no more thought.”
“I am thinking of it, all the same,” answered Hatteras. “But after I've heard what Johnson has to say, I shall not think of it again.”
“This is the way it happened,” went on the boatswain; “I did all I could to prevent the crime---”
“I am sure of that, Johnson, and I will add that the leaders had been plotting it for some time.”
“So I thought,” said the doctor.
“And I too,” continued Johnson; “for very soon after your departure, Captain, on the very next day, Shandon, who was angry with you and was egged on by the others, took command of the ship; I tried to resist, but in vain. After that, every one acted as he saw fit; Shandon did not try to control them; he wanted to let the crew see that the time of suffering and privation had gone by. Hence there was no economy; a huge fire was lighted in the stove; they began to burn the brig. The men had the provisions given them freely, and the spirits too, and you can easily imagine the abuse they made of them after their long abstinence. Things went on in this way from the 7th to the 15th of January.”
“So,” said Hatteras, in a grave voice, “it was Shandon who incited the men to revolt?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Say nothing more about him. Go on, Johnson.”
“It was towards January 24th or 25th, that the plan of leaving the ship was formed. They determined to reach the western coast of Baffin's Bay; from there, in the launch, they could meet whalers, or, perhaps, the settlements on the eastern side. Their supplies were abundant; the sick grew better with the hope of reaching home. So they made their plans for leaving; they built a sledge for the transport of their food, fuel, and the launch; the men were to drag it themselves. This occupied them until February 15th. I kept anxiously awaiting your return, Captain, and yet I feared having you present; you would have had no influence over the crew, who would rather have killed you than have remained on board. They were wild with the hope of escape. I took all my companions aside and spoke to them, I besought them to stay; I pointed out all the dangers of such a journey, as well as the cowardliness of abandoning you. I could get nothing even from the best. They chose February 22d for leaving. Shandon was impatient. They heaped upon the sledge all the food and liquor it could hold; they took a great deal of wood; the whole larboard side had been cut away to the water-line. The last day they passed carousing; they ravaged and stole everything, and it was during this drunkenness that Pen and two or three others set fire to the ship. I resisted, and struggled against them; they threw me down and struck me; at last, these villains, with Shandon at their head, fled to the east, and disappeared from my sight, I remained alone; what could I do against this fire which was seizing the whole ship? The waterhole was frozen over; I hadn't a drop of water. For two days the Forward was wrapped in flames, and you know the rest.”
Having finished this account, a long silence prevailed in this ice-house; the gloomy tale of the burning of the ship, the loss of their precious brig, appeared so vividly before the minds of the castaways; they found themselves before an impossibility, and that was a return to England. They did not dare to look at one another, for fear of seeing on each other's faces blank despair. There was nothing to be heard save the hasty breathing of the American.
At last Hatteras spoke.
“Johnson,” said he, “I thank you; you have done all you could to save my ship. But you could not do anything alone. Again I thank you, and now don't let us speak again of this misfortune. Let us unite our efforts for the common safety. There are four of us here, four friends, and the life of one is of no more worth than the life of another. Let each one give his opinion on what should be done.”
“Ask us, Hatteras,” answered the doctor; “we are all devoted to you, our answers shall be sincere. And, in the first place, have you any plan?”
“I can't have any alone,” said Hatteras, sadly. “My opinion might seem interested; I want to hear your opinion first.”
“Captain,” said Johnson, “before speaking on such weighty matters, I have an important question to ask you.”
“What is it?”
“You ascertained our position yesterday; well, has the ice-field drifted any more, or are we in just the same place?”
“It has not stirred,” answered Hatteras. “The latitude before we left was 80°15', and longitude 97°35'.”
“And,” said Johnson, “how far are we from the nearest sea to the west?”
“About six hundred miles,” answered Hatteras.
“And this water is---”
“Smith's Sound.”
“The same which we could not cross last April?”
“The same.”
“Well, Captain, now we know where we are, and we can make up our minds accordingly.”
“Speak, then,” said Hatteras, letting his head sink into his hands.
In that way he could hear his friends without looking at them.
“Well, Bell,” said the doctor, “what do you think is the best course to follow?”
“It is n't necessary to reflect a long time,” answered the carpenter; “we ought to return, without wasting a day or an hour, either to the south or the west, and reach the nearest coast, even if it took us two months!”
“We have supplies for only three weeks,” answered Hatteras, without raising his head.
“Well,” continued Johnson, “we must make that distance in three weeks, since it's our only chance of safety; if we have to crawl on our knees at the end, we must leave, and arrive in twenty-five days.”
“This part of the northern continent is not known,” answered Hatteras. “We may meet obstacles, such as mountains and glaciers, which will completely bar our progress.”
“I don't consider that,” answered the doctor, “a sufficient reason for not attempting the journey; evidently, we shall suffer a great deal; we ought to reduce our daily supply to the minimum, unless luck in hunting---”
“There's only half a pound of powder left,” answered Hatteras.
“Come, Hatteras,” resumed the doctor, “I know the weight of all your objections, and I don't nourish any vain hopes. But I think I can read your thoughts; have you any practicable plan?”
“No,” answered the captain, after a few moments' hesitation.
“You do not doubt our courage,” continued the doctor; “we are willing to follow you to the last, you know very well; but should we not now abandon all hope of reaching the Pole? Mutiny has overthrown your plans; you fought successfully against natural obstacles, but not against the weakness and perfidy of men; you have done all that was humanly possible, and I am sure you would have succeeded; but, in the present condition of affairs, are you not compelled to give up your project, and in order to take it up again, should you not try to reach England without delay?”
“Well, Captain?” asked Johnson, when Hatteras had remained a long time silent.
At last the captain raised his head, and said in a constrained tone,---
“Do you think you are sure of reaching the shore of the sound, tired as you are, and almost without food?”
“No,” answered the doctor; “but it's sure the shore won't come to us; we must go to it. Perhaps we shall find to the south tribes of Esquimaux who may aid us.”
“Besides,” added Johnson, “may we not find in the sound some ship that has been forced to winter there.”
“And if need be,” continued the doctor, “when we've reached the sound, may we not cross it, and reach the west coast of Greenland, and then, either by Prudhoe's hand, or Cape York, get to some Danish settlement? Nothing of that sort is to be found on the ice-field. The way to England is down there to the south, and not here to the north!”
“Yes,” said Bell, “Dr. Clawbonny is right; we must go, and go at once. Hitherto we have forgotten home too much, and those who are dear to us.”
“Do you agree, Johnson?” Hatteras asked again.
“Yes, Captain.”
“And you. Doctor?”
“Yes, Hatteras.”
Hatteras still remained silent; in spite of all he could do, his face expressed his agitation. His whole life depended on the decision he should take; if he should return, it was all over with his bold plans; he could not hope to make the attempt a fourth time.
The doctor, seeing the captain was silent, again spoke.
“I ought to add, Hatteras,” he said, “that we ought not to lose an instant; we ought to load the sledge with all our provisions, and take as much wood as possible. A journey of six hundred miles under such circumstances is long, I confess, but not insuperable; we can, or rather we ought, to make twenty miles a day, which would bring us to the coast in a month, that is to say, towards March 26th.”
“But,” said Hatteras, “can't we wait a few days?”
“What do you hope for?” answered Johnson.
“I don't know. Who can foretell the future? Only a few days yet! It's hardly enough to rest your wearied bodies. We couldn't go two stages without dropping from weariness, without any snow-house to shelter us!”
“But a terrible death certainly awaits us here!” cried Bell.
“My friends,” continued Hatteras in a tone almost of entreaty, “you are despairing too soon! I should propose to seek safety to the north, were it not that you would refuse to follow me. And yet are there not Esquimaux near the Pole, as well as at Smith's Sound? That open sea, of which the existence is uncertain, ought to surround a continent. Nature is logical in everything it does. Well, we ought to believe that vegetation appears when the greatest cold ceases. Is there not a promised land awaiting us at the north, and which you want to fly from without hope of return?”
Hatteras warmed as he spoke; his heated imagination called up enchanting visions of these countries, whose existence was still so problematical.
“One more day,” he repeated, “a single hour!”
Dr. Clawbonny, with his adventurous character and his glowing imagination, felt himself gradually aroused; he was about to yield; but Johnson, wiser and colder, recalled him to reason and duty.
“Come, Bell,” he said, “to the sledge!”
“Come along!” answered Bell.
The two sailors turned towards the door of the snow-house.
“Johnson! you! you!” shouted Hatteras. “Well, go! I shall stay!”
“Captain!” said Johnson, stopping in spite of himself.
“I shall stay, I say! Go! leave me like the rest! Go!---Come, Duke, we two shall stay!”
The brave dog joined his master, barking. Johnson looked at the doctor. He did not know what to do; the best plan was to calm Hatteras, and to sacrifice a day to his fancies. The doctor was about making up his mind to this effect, when he felt some one touch his arm.
He turned round. The American had just left the place where he had been lying; he was crawling on the floor; at last he rose to his knees, and from his swollen lips a few inarticulate sounds issued.
The doctor, astonished, almost frightened, gazed at him silently. Hatteras approached the American, and examined him closely. He tried to make out the words which the poor fellow could not pronounce. At last, after trying for five minutes, he managed to utter this word:
“Porpoise.”
“The Porpoise?” asked the captain.
The American bowed affirmatively.
“In these seas?” asked Hatteras with beating heart.
The same sign from the sick man.
“To the north?”
“Yes.”
“And you know where it lies?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly?”
There was a moment's silence. The bystanders were all excited.
“Now, listen carefully,” said Hatteras to the sick man; “we must know where this ship lies. I am going to count the degrees aloud; you will stop me by a sign.”
The American bowed his head to show that he understood.
“Come,” said Hatteras, “we'll begin with the longitude. One hundred and five? No. — Hundred and six? Hundred and seven? Hundred and eight? Far to the west?”
“Yes,” said the American.
“Let us go on. Hundred and nine? Ten? Eleven? Twelve? Fourteen? Sixteen? Eighteen? Nineteen? Twenty?”
“Yes,” answered Altamont.
“Longitude one hundred and twenty?” said Hatteras. “And how many minutes? I shall count.”
Hatteras began at number one. At fifteen Altamont made a sign for him to stop.
“All right!” said Hatteras. “Now for the latitude. You understand? Eighty? Eighty-one? Eighty-two? Eighty-three?”
The American stopped him with a gesture.
“Well! And the minutes? Five? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty? Twenty-five? Thirty? Thirty-five?”
Another sign from Altamont, who smiled slightly.
“So,” continued Hatteras, in a deep voice, “the Porpoise lies in longitude 120°15', and 83°35' latitude?”
“Yes!” said the American, as he fell fainting into the doctors arms. This exertion had exhausted him.
“My friends,” cried Hatteras, “you see that safety lies to the north, always to the north! We shall be saved!”
But after these first words of joy, Hatteras seemed suddenly struck by a terrible thought. His expression changed, and he felt himself stung by the serpent of jealousy.
Some one else, an American, had got three degrees nearer the Pole! And for what purpose?