An Antarctic Mystery (27 page)

Captain Len Guy and West did not enter the tents until they had made
certain that Hearne and his companions had gone to their usual place
of rest. I came back likewise and went to bed.

I could not tell how long I had been sleeping, nor what time it was,
when I found myself rolling on the ground after a violent shock.

What could be happening? Was it another capsize of the iceberg?

We were all up in a second, then outside the tents in the full light
of a night in the polar regions.

A second floating mass of enormous size had just struck our iceberg,
which had "hoisted the anchor" (as the sailors say) and was
drifting towards the south.

An unhoped-for change in the situation had taken place. What were to
be the consequences of our being no longer cast away at that place?
The current was now carrying us in the direction of the pole! The
first feeling of joy inspired by this conviction was, however,
succeeded by all the terrors of the unknown l and what an unknown!

Dirk Peters only was entirely rejoiced that we had resumed the route
which, he believed, would lead us to the discovery of traces of his
"poor Pym"—far other ideas occupied the minds of his companions.

Captain Len Guy no longer entertained any hope of rescuing his
countrymen, and having reached the condition of despair, he was
bound by his duty to take his crew back to the north, so as to clear
the antarctic circle while the season rendered it possible to do so.
And we were being carried away towards the south!

Naturally enough, we were all deeply impressed by the fearfulness of
our position, which may be summed up in a few words. We were no
longer cast away, with a possible ship, but the tenants of a
floating iceberg, with no hope but that our monster tenement might
encounter one of the whaling ships whose business in the deep waters
lies between the Orkneys, New Georgia, and the Sandwich Islands. A
quantity of things had been thrown into the ice by the collision
which had set our iceberg afloat, but these were chiefly articles
belonging to the
Halbrane
. Owing to the precaution that had been
taken on the previous day, when the cargo was stowed away in the
clefts, it had been only slightly damaged. What would have become of
us, had all our reserves been swallowed up in that grim encounter?

Now, the two icebergs formed but one, which was travelling south at
the rate of two miles an hour. At this rate, thirty hours would
suffice to bring us to the point of the axis at which the
terrestrial meridians unite. Did the current which was carrying us
along pass on to the pole itself, or was there any land which might
arrest our progress? This was another question, and I discussed it
with the boatswain.

"Nobody knows, Mr. Jeorling," was Hurliguerly's reply. "If
the current goes to the pole, we shall go there; and if it
doesn't, we shan't. An iceberg isn't a ship, and as it has
neither sails nor helm, it goes as the drift takes it."

"That's true, boatswain. And therefore I had the idea that if
two or three of us were to embark in the boat—"

"Ah! you still hold to your notion of the boat—"

"Certainly, for, if there is land somewhere, is it not possible
that the people of the
Jane
—"

"Have come upon it, Mr. Jeorling—at four thousand miles from
Tsalal Island."

"Who knows, boatswain?"

"That may be, but allow me to say that your argument will be
reasonable when the land comes in sight, if it ever does so. Our
captain will see what ought to be done, and he will remember that
time presses. We cannot delay in these waters, and, after all, the
one thing of real importance to us is to get out of the polar circle
before the winter makes it impassable."

There was good sense in Hurliguerly's words; I could not deny the
fact.

During that day the greater part of the cargo was placed in the
interior of a vast cave-like fissure in the side of the iceberg,
where, even in case of a second collision, casks and barrels would
be in safety. Our men then assisted Endicott to set up his
cooking-stove between two blocks, so that it was firmly fixed, and
they heaped up a great mass of coals close to it.

No murmurs, no recrimination disturbed these labours. It was evident
that silence was deliberately maintained. The crew obeyed the
captain and West because they gave no orders but such as were of
urgent necessity. But, afterwards, would these men allow the
authority of their leaders to be uncontested? How long would the
recruits from the Falklands, who were already exasperated by the
disasters of our enterprise, resist their desire to seize upon the
boat and escape?

I did not think they would make the attempt, however, so long as our
iceberg should continue to drift, for the boat could not outstrip
its progress; but, if it were to run aground once more, to strike
upon the coast of an island or a continent, what would not these
unfortunate creatures do to escape the horrors of wintering under
such conditions?

In the afternoon, during the hour of rest allowed to the crew, I had
a second conversation with Dirk Peters. I had taken my customary
seat at the top of the iceberg, and had occupied it for half an
hour, being, as may be supposed, deep in thought, when I saw the
half-breed coming quickly up the slope. We had exchanged hardly a
dozen words since the iceberg had begun to move again. When Dirk
Peters came up to me, he did not address me at first, and was so
intent on his thoughts that I was not quite sure he saw me. At
length, heleaned back against an ice-block, and spoke:

"Mr. Jeorling," he said, "you remember, in your cabin in the
Halbrane
, I told you the—the affair of the
Grampus
?"

I remembered well.

"I told you that Parker's name was not Parker, that it was Holt,
and that he was Ned Holt's brother?"

"I know, Dirk Peters," I replied, "but why do you refer to
that sad story again?"

"Why, Mr. Jeorling? Have not—have you never sam anything about
it to anybody?"

"Not to anybody," I protested. "How could you suppose I should
be so ill-advised, so imprudent, as to divulge your secret, a secret
which ought never to pass our lips—a dead secret?"

"Dead, yes, dead! And yet, understand me, it seems to me that,
among the crew, something is known."

I instantly recalled to mind what the boatswain had told me
concerning a certain conversation in which he had overheard Hearne
prompting Martin Holt to ask the half-breed what were the
circumstances of his brother's death on board the
Grampus
. Had a
portion of the secret got out, or was this apprehension on the part
of Dirk Peters purely imaginary?

"Explain yourself," I said.

"Understand me, Mr. Jeorling, I am a bad hand at explaining. Yes,
yesterday—I have thought of nothing else since—Martin Holt took
me aside, far from the others, and told me that he wished to speak
to me—"

"Of the
Grampus
?"

"Of the
Grampus
—yes, and of his brother, Ned Holt. For the first
time he uttered that name before me—and yet we have sailed
together for nearly three months."

The half-breed's voice was so changed that I could hardly hear him.

"It seemed to me," he resumed, "that in Martin Holt's
mind—no, I was not mistaken—there was something like a
suspicion."

"But tell me what he said! Tell me exactly what he asked you. What
is it?"

I felt sure that the question put by Martin Holt, whatsoever its
bearing, had been inspired by Hearne. Nevertheless, as I considered
it well that the half-breed should know nothing of the
sealing-master's disquieting and inexplicable intervention in this
tragic affair, I decided upon concealing it from him.

"He asked me," replied Dirk Peters, "did I not remember Ned
Holt of the
Grampus
, and whether he had perished in the fight with
the mutineers or in the shipwreck; whether he was one of the men who
had been abandoned with Captain Barnard; in short, he asked me if I
could tell him how his brother died. Ah! how!"

No idea could be conveyed of the horror with which the half-breed
uttered words which revealed a profound loathing of himself.

"And what answer did you make to Martin Holt?"

"None, none!"

"You should have said that Ned Holt perished in the wreck of the
brig."

"I could not—understand me—I could not. The two brothers are
so like each other. In Martin Holt I seemed to see Ned Holt. I was
afraid, I got away from him."

The half-breed drew himself up with a sudden movement, and I sat
thinking, leaning my head on my hands. These tardy questions of
Holt's respecting his brother were put, I had no doubt whatsoever,
at the instigation of Hearne, but what was his motive, and was it at
the Falklands that he had discovered the secret of Dirk Peters? I
had not breathed a word on the subject to anymm. To the second
question no answer suggested itself; the first involved a serious
issue. Did the sealing-master merely desire to gratify his enmity
against Dirk Peters, the only one of the Falkland sailors who had
always taken the side of Captain Len Guy, and who had prevented the
seizure of the boat by Hearne and his companions? Did he hope, by
arousing the wrath and vengeance of Martin Holt, to detach the
sailing-master from his allegiance and induce him to become an
accomplice in Hearne's own designs? And, in fact, when it was a
question of sailing the boat in these seas, had he not imperative
need of Martin Holt, one of the best seamen of the
Halbrane
? A man
who would succeed where Hearne and his companions would fail, if
they had only themselves to depend on?

I became lost in this labyrinth of hypotheses, and it must be
admitted that its complications added largely to the troubles of an
already complicated position.

When I raised my eyes, Dirk Peters had disappeared; he had said what
he came to say, and he now knew that I had not betrayed his
confidence.

The customary precautions were taken for the night, no individual
being allowed to remain outside the camp, with the exception of the
half-breed, who was in charge of the boat.

The following day was the 31st of January. I pushed back the canvas
of the tent, which I shared with Captain Len Guy and West
respectively, as each succeeded the other on release from the
alternate "watch," very early, and experienced a severe
disappointment.

Mist, everywhere! Nay, more than mist, a thick yellow,
mouldy-smelling fog. And more than this again; the temperature had
fallen sensibly: this was probably a forewarning of the austral
winter. The summit of our ice-mountain was lost in vapour, in a fog
which would not resolve itself into rain, but would continue to
muffle up the horizon.

"Bad luck!" said the boatswain, "for now if we were to pass by
land we should not perceive it."

"And our drift?"

"More considerable than yesterday, Mr. Jeorling. The captain has
sounded, and he makes the speed no less than between three and four
miles."

"And what do you conclude from this?"

"I conclude that we must be within a narrower sea, since the
current is so strong. I should not be surprised if we had land on
both sides of us within ten or fifteen miles."

"This, then, would be a wide strait that cuts the antarctic
continent?"

"Yes. Our captain is of that opinion."

"And, holding that opinion, is he not going to make an attempt to
reach one or other of the coasts of this strait?"

"And how?"

"With the boat."

"Risk the boat in the midst of this fog!" exclaimed the
boatswain, as he crossed his arms. "What are you thinking of, Mr.
Jeorling? Can we cast anchor to wait for it? And all the chances
would be that we should never see it again. Ah! if we only had the
Halbrane
!"

But there was no longer a
Halbrane
!

In spite of the difficulty of the ascent through the half-condensed
vapour, I climbed up to the top of the iceberg, but when I had
gained that eminence I strove in vain to pierce the impenetrable
grey mantle in which the waters were wrapped.

I remained there, hustled by the north-east wind, which was
beginning to blow freshly and might perhaps rend the fog asunder.
But no, fresh vapours accumulated around our floating refuge, driven
up by the immense ventilation of the open sea. Under the double
action of the atmospheric and antarctic currents, we drifted more
and more rapidly, and I perceived a sort of shudder pass throughout
the vast bulk of the iceberg.

Then it was that I felt myself under the dominion of a sort of
hallucination, one of those hallucinations which must have troubled
tile mind of Arthur Pym. It seemed to me that I was losing myself in
his extraordinary personality; at last I was beholding all that he
had seen! Was not that impenetrable mist the curtain of vapours
which he had seen in his delirium? I peered into it, seeking for
those luminous rays which had streaked the sky from east to west! I
sought in its depths for that limitless cataract, rolling in silence
from the height of some immense rampart lost in the vastness of the
zenith! I sought for the awful white giant of the South Pole!

At length reason resumed her sway. This visionary madness,
intoxicating while it lasted, passed off by degrees, and I descended
the slope to our camp.

The whole day passed without a change. The fog never once lifted to
give us a glimpse outside of its muffling folds, and if the iceberg,
which had travelled forty miles since the previous day, had passed
by the extremity of the axis of the earth, we should never know it.

So this was the sum of all our efforts, trials and disappointments!
Not to speak of the destruction of the
Halbrane
, the expedition had
already cost nine lives. From thirty-two men who had embarked on the
schooner, our number was reduced to twenty-three: how low was that
figure yet to fall?