 Chapter 1 of the English at the North Pole. Tomorrow at low tide, the break forward, Captain K. Z., Richard Shandon made, will start from New Princess Docks for an unknown destination. The foregoing might have been read in the Liverpool Herald of April 5th, 1860. The departure for break is an event of little importance for the most commercial port in England. Who would notice it in the midst of vessels of all sorts of tonnage and nationality that six miles of docks can hardly contain? However, from daybreak on the 6th of April, a considerable crowd covered the wharves of New Princess Docks. The innumerable companies of sailors of the town seemed to have met there. Workmen from the neighbouring wharves had left their work, merchants, their dark counting houses, tradesmen, their shops. The different coloured omnibuses that ran along the exterior wall of the docks brought cargoes or spectators at every moment. The town seemed to have but one preoccupation, and that was to see the forward go out. The forward was a vessel of 170 tons, charged with a screw and steam engine of 120 horsepower. It might easily have been confounded with the other bricks in the port, but though it offered nothing curious to the eyes of the public, connoisseurous remarked certain peculiarities in it that the sailor cannot mistake. On board the Nautilus anchored at a little distance. A group of sailors were hazarding a thousand conjectures about the destination of the forward. I don't know what to think about its musting, said one. It isn't usual for steamboats to have so much sail. That ship, said a quartermaster with a big red face, that ship will have to depend more on her mast than her engine, and the top sails are the biggest, because the others will be often useless. I haven't got the slightest doubt that the forward is destined for the Arctic or Antarctic seas, where the iceberg stops the wind more than is good for a brave and solid ship. You must be right, Mr Cornhill, said the third sailor. Have you noticed her stern? How straight it falls into the sea! Yes, said the quartermaster, and it is furnished with a steel cutter, a sharp as a razor, and capable of cutting a three-decker in two, if the forward were thrown across her at top speed. That certain said the mercy pilot, for that the vessel runs her fourteen knots an hour with her screw. It was marvellous to see her cutting the tide when she made her trial trip. I believe you she's a quicken. The canvas isn't intricate either, answered Mr Cornhill. It goes straight before the wind, and can be managed by hand. That ship is going to try the polar seas, or my name isn't what it is. There's something else. Do you see the wide helm port that the head of the helm goes through? It's there, sure enough, answered one. But what does that prove? That proves, my boys, said Mr Cornhill, with disdainful satisfaction, that you don't know how to put two and two together and make it four. It proves that they want to be able to take off the helm when they like, and you know it's a maneuver that's often necessary when you have eyes to deal with. That certain answered the crew of the Nautilus. Besides, said one of them, the way she is loaded confirms Mr Cornhill's opinion. One told me, the forward is victualed and carries Cole enough for five or six years. Cole's and Victual's are all its cargo, with the stock of woolen garments and seal-skins. Then said the quartermaster, there's no more doubt than the matter. But you, who know Clifton, didn't he tell you anything about her destination? He couldn't tell me. He doesn't know. The crew was engaged without knowing. She'll only know where he's going when he gets there. I shouldn't wonder if they were going to the devil, said an unbeliever. It looks like it. And such pay, said Clifton's friend, getting warm, five times more than the ordinary pay. If I hadn't been for that, Richard Shandon wouldn't have found a soul to go with him. A ship with a queer shape, going nobody knows where, and looking more like not coming back than anything else. It wouldn't have suited this child. Whether it would have suited you or not, answered Cornhill, you couldn't have been one of the crew of the forward. And why, pray? Because you don't fulfill the required conditions. I read that all married men were excluded, and you are in the category, so you need to talk. Even the very name of the ship is a bold one. It's the forward, where it is to be forwarded, too. Besides, nobody knows who the captain is. Yes, they do, said the simple-faced young sailor. Why, you don't mean to say that you think Shandon is the captain of the forward, said Cornhill. But, answered the young sailor, why Shandon is a commander and nothing else. He is a brave and bold sailor, an experienced whaler, and a jolly fellow worthy in every respect to be the captain. But he isn't any more captain than you or I. As to who is going to command after God unborn, he doesn't know any more than we do. When the moment he has come, the true captain will appear. No one knows how nor where. For Richard Shandon has not said and hasn't been allowed to say to what quarter of the globe he is going to direct his ship. But Mr. Cornhill continued the young sailor. I assure you that there is someone on board, who was announced in the letter, and that Mr. Shandon was offered the place of second to. What, said Cornhill frowning, do you mean to maintain, that the forward has a captain on board? Oh, yes, Mr. Cornhill. Where did you get your precious information from? From Johnson, the boatsman. From Johnson? Yes, sir. Johnson told you so. He not only told me so, but he showed me the captain. He showed him to you, said Cornhill stupefied. And who is it, pray? A dog. What do you mean by a dog? A dog on four legs. Stupefaction reigned amongst the crew of the Nautilus, and there any other circumstances they would have burst out laughing. A dog captain of a vessel of a hundred and seventy tons burden. It was enough to make them laugh, but really the forward was such an extraordinary ship, that they felt it might be no laughing matter, and they must be sure before they denied it. Besides, Cornhill himself didn't laugh. So Johnson showed you the new sort of captain, did he, I did he, addressing the young sailor, and you saw him. Yes, sir, as plainly as I see you now. Well, and what do you think about it? Asked the sailors of the quartermaster. I don't think anything, he answered shortly, I don't think anything, except that the forward is a ship belonging to the devil or madman fit for nothing but bedlam. The sailors continued silently, watching the forward, whose preparations for departure were drawing to an end. There was not one of them, who pretended that Johnson had only been laughing at the young sailor. The history of the dog had already made the round to the town, and amongst the crowd of spectators many a one looked out for the dog captain, and believed him to be a supernatural animal. Besides, the forward had been attracting public attention for some months past. Everything about her was marvelous. Her peculiar shape, the mystery which surrounded her, the incognito kept by the captain, the way Richard Shandon had received the proposition to direct her. The careful selection of the crew, her unknown destination suspected only by a few, all about her was strange. To a thinker, dreamer or philosopher, nothing is more affecting than the departure of a ship. His imagination plays round the sails, sees her struggles with the sea, and the wind in the adventurous journey, which does not always end in port. And in addition to the ordinary incidents of departure, there are extraordinary ones. Even minds little given to credulity let their imagination run wild. So it was with the forward, and though the generality of people could not make the knowing remarks of quartermaster Cornhill, it did not prevent the ship forming the subject of Liverpool gossip for three long months. The ship had been put in dock at Birkenhead on the opposite side of the mercy. The builders Scott and Co, amongst the first in England, had received an estimate and detailed plan from Richard Shandon. It informed them of the exact tonnage, dimensions, and storeroom that the break was to have. They saw by the details given that they had to do with a consummate seamen. As Shandon had considerable funds at his disposal, the work advanced rapidly, according to the recommendation of the owner. The brick was constructed of a solidity, to withstand all tests. It was evident that she was destined to resist enormous pressure. For her ribs were bought of teakwood, a sort of Indian oak, remarkable for its extreme hardness, and wear besides plated with iron. Others asked why the hull of a vessel made so evidently for resistance was not built of sheet iron like other steam boats, and were told it was because the mysterious engineer had his own reasons for what he did. Little by little the brick grew on the stalks, and her qualities of strength and delicacy struck concerners. As the sailors of the Nautilus had remarked, her stern formed a right angle with her keel. Her steel prow cast in the workshop of Eric Hawthorne, of Newcastle, shone in the sun, and gave a peculiar look to the break, though otherwise she had nothing particularly warlike about her. However, a sixteen pounder cannon was installed on the forecastle. It was mounted on a pivot, so that it might easily be turned in any direction. But neither the cannon nor the stern, steel-clad as they were, succeeded in looking warlike. On the 5th of February, 1860, the strange vessel was launched, and they made stuff an immense concourse of spectators, and the trial trip was perfectly successful. But if the break was neither a man of war, a merchant vessel, nor a pleasure yacht, for a pleasure trip is not made with six years' provisions in the hold. What was it? Was it a vessel destined for another Franklin expedition? It could not be, because in 1859, the preceding year, Captain Mack Lentock had returned from the Arctic seas, bringing the certain proof of the loss of the unfortunate expedition. Was the foreword going to attempt the famous Northwest Passage? What would be the use? Captain Mack Clure had discovered it in 1853, and his Lordland, Creswell, was the first who had the honor of rounding the American continent, from Bering Straits to Davis Straits. Still, it was certain to come pretend judges that the foreword was prepared to face the ice regions. Was it going to the South Pole, farther than the Whaler-Wedler or Captain James Ross? But if so, what for? The day after the break was floated, her engine was sent for Hawthorne's foundry at Newcastle. It was of 120 horsepower, with oscillating cylinders taking up little room. Its power was considerable for a 170 tonne brick, with so much sail, too, and of such flitness. Her trial trips had left no doubt on that subject, and even the boatsmen Johnson had thought right to express his opinion on Clifton's friend. When the foreword uses her engine and sails at the same time, her sails will make her go the quickest. Clifton's friend did not understand him, but he sought anything possible of a ship commanded by a dog. After the engine was installed on board, the stowage of provisions began. This was no slight work, for the vessel was to carry enough for six years. They consisted of dry and salted meat, smoked fish, biscuit and flour. Cans of tea and coffee were thrown down the shafts in perfect avalanches. Richard Shandon presided over the management of his precious cargo, like a man who knows what he is about, always stowed away, dictated a numbered in perfect order. A very large provision of the Indian preparation called Pemmican, which contains many nutritious elements in a small volume, was also embarked. The nature of the provisions left no doubt about the length of the cruises, and the sight of the barrels of lime juice, lime drops, packets of mustard, grains of sorrel and cojolaria, all anti-scorbutic, confirmed the opinion on the destination of the brig for the ice regions. Their influence is so necessary in polar navigation. Shandon had doubtless received particular instructions about this part of the cargo, which along with the medicine chest he attended to particularly. Although arms were not numerous on board, the powder magazine overflowed. The one Canon could not pretend to use the contents. That gave people more to think about. There were also gigantic saws and powerful instruments, such as levers, lead and maces, hand saws, enormous axes, etc., without counting a considerable quantity of blasting cylinders, enough to blow up the Liverpool customs. All that was strange, not to say fearful, without mentioning rockets, signals, powder chests, and beacons of a thousand different sorts. The numerous spectators of the wharfs of Prince Docs admired likewise a long mahogany whaler, a thin pierog covered with gutter perch, and a certain quantity of hulket boots, a sort of indiorubber cloaks that can be transformed into canoes by blowing in their lining. Expectation was on the quibi for the forward with going out with the tide. End of Chapter 1, Chapter 2 of the English at the North Pole. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Part 1 of the Adventures of Captain Heterus, the English at the North Pole, by Jules Verne. Chapter 2, an Unexpected Letter. The letter received by Richard Shandon eight months before ran as follows. Aberdeen, August the 2nd, 1859, to Mr. Richard Shandon, Liverpool. Sir, I beg to advise you that the sum of 16,000 pounds sterling has been placed in the hands of Messiers, Markuart and Co., bankers of Liverpool. I join her with a series of checks signed by me, which will allow you to draw upon the said Messiers, Markuart for the above mentioned sum. You do not know me, but that is of no consequence. I know you, that is sufficient. I offer you the place of second on board, the brick forward, for a voyage that may be long and perilous. If you agree to my conditions, you will receive a salary of 500 pounds, and all through the voyage it will be augmented one-tenth at the end of each year. The forward is not yet in existence. You must have it built so as to be ready for sea at the beginning of April, 1860, at the latest. Herewith is a detailed plan and estimate. You will take care that it is crouplessly followed. The ship is to be built by Messiers, Scott and Co., who will settle with you. I particularly recommend you the choice of the forward crew. It will become both of a captain, myself, of a second, you, of a third officer, a boatsman, two engineers, an ice pilot, eight sailors and two others, 18 men in all, comprising Dr. Clobony of this town, who will introduce himself to you when necessary. The forward's crew must be composed of Englishmen without incumbrance. They should be all bachelors and sober, for no spirits, nor even beer, will be allowed on board, ready to undertake anything and to bear with anything. You will give the preference to men of sanguine constitution, as they carry a greater amount of animal heat. Offer them five times the usual pay, with an increase of one-tenths for each year of service. At the end of the voyage, five hundred pounds will be placed at the disposition of each, and two thousand at yours. These funds will be placed with Messiers, Marquardt and Co. The voyage will be long and difficult, but honorable, so your need not hesitate to accept my conditions. We are good enough to send your answer to KZ, Postaristante Göteborg, Sweden. Postscriptum On the 15th of February next, you will receive a large Danish dog with hanging lips, a towny coat with black stripes. You will take it on board and have it fed with oat and bread mixed with tallow grease. You will acknowledge the reception of the said dog to me under the same initials as above, Postaristante, Lake Horn, Italy. The captain of the forward will introduce himself to you when necessary. When you are ready to start, you will receive further instructions. The captain of the forward, KZ. End of Chapter 2, Chapter 3 of the English at the North Pole This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Part 1 of the Adventures of Captain Hatteras The English at the North Pole by Jules Verne Chapter 3, Dr. Klobberney Richard Shandon was a good sailor. He could be commander of whalers in the Arctic seas for many years, and had a wide reputation for skill. He might well be astonished at such a letter, and so he was. But astonished like a man used to astonishments. He fulfilled, too, all the required conditions. He had no wife, no children, or relations. He was as free as a man could be. Having no one to consult, he went straight to Messiers-Marcourts Bank. If the money is there, he said to himself, I will undertake the rest. He was received by the firm with all the attention, due to a man with sixteen thousand pounds in their safes. Sure of that fact, Shandon asked for a sheet of letter paper, and sent his acceptance in a large sailor's hand to the address indicated. The same day he put himself in communication with the Birkenheads shipbuilders, and twenty-four hours later the keel of the foreword lay on the stalks in the dockyard. Richard Shandon was a bachelor of forty, robust, energetic, and brave, free sailor-like qualities, giving their possessor confidence, vigor, and sank-froid. He was reputed jealous and hard to be pleased, so he was more feared than loved by his sailors. But this reputation did not increase the difficulty of finding a crew, for he was known to be a clever commander. He was afraid that the mystery of the enterprise would embarrass his movements, and he said to himself, The best thing I can do is to say nothing at all. There are sea-dogs who will want to know the why and the wherefore of the business, and as I know nothing myself I can't tell them. KZ is a queer fish, but after all he knows me, and has confidence in me, that's enough. As to the ship, she will be a handsome lass, and my name isn't Richard Shandon, if she is not destined for the frozen seas. But I shall keep that to myself and my officers. Upon which Richard Shandon set about, recruiting his crew, upon the conditions of family and health, exacted by the captain. He knew a brave fellow, and capital sailor, named James Wall. Wall was about thirty, and had made more than one trip to the North Seas. Shandon offered him the post of third officer, and he accepted blindly. All he cared for was to sail, and he was devoted to his profession. Shandon told him and Johnson, whom he engaged as Botswain, all he knew about the business. Just as soon go there as anywhere else, answered Wall, if it's to seek the north-west passage, many have been and come back. Being yes, but come back I don't answer for, said Johnson, but that's no reason for not going. Besides, if we are not mistaken in our conjectures, said Shandon, the voyage will be undertaken under good conditions. The foreword's a bony lass, with a good engine, and will stand where and tear. Eighteen men are all the crew we want. Eighteen men, said Johnson, that's just the number that the American came, had on board, when he made his famous voyage towards the North Pole. It's a singular fact, that there's always some private individual trying to cross the sea, from Davis straits to Bering straits. The Franklin expeditions have already cost England more, than seven hundred and sixty thousand pounds, without producing any practical result, whose at devil means to risk his fortune in such an enterprise. We are reasoning now on a simple hypothesis, said Shandon. I don't know if we are really going to the northern or southern seas. Perhaps we're going on a voyage of discovery. We shall know more when Dr. Clobony comes. I dare say he will tell us all about it. There's nothing for it but to wait, answered Johnson. I'll go and hand up some solid subjects, Captain, and as to their animal heat I guarantee beforehand you can trust me for that. Johnson was a valuable acquisition. He understood the navigation of these high latitudes. He was quartermaster on board the Phoenix, one of the vessels of the Franklin Expedition of 1853. He was witness of the death of the French loignant, Bellot, whom he had accompanied in his expedition across the ice. Johnson knew the meriting population of Liverpool, and started at once on his recruiting expedition. Shandon, Wall, and He did their work so well that the crew was complete in the beginning of December. It had been a difficult task. Many, tempted by the high pay, felt frightened at the risk, and more than one enlisted boldly, who came afterwards to take back his ward and lend listening money, dissuaded by his friends from undertaking such an enterprise. All of them tried to pierce a mystery and worried Shandon with questions. He sent them to Johnson. I can't tell you what I don't know, he answered invariably. You'll be in good company, that's all I can tell you. You can take it or leave it alone. And the greater number took it. I have only to choose, added the Botswain. Such salary has never been heard of in memory of sailors. And then, the certainty of finding a handsome capital when we come back. The only thing, it's tempting enough. The fact is, and through the sailor, it is tempting, enough to live on till the end of one's days. I don't hide from you, continued Johnson, that the crews will be long, painful and perilous, that is formally stated in our instructions, and you ought to know what you undertake. You will very likely be required to attempt all that is possible for human beings to do, and perhaps more. If you are at least a bit frightened, if you don't think you may just as well finish yonder as here, you'd better not enlist, but give way to a bolder man. But Mr. Johnson continued the sailor, for the want of something better to say. At least you know the captain. The captain's Richard Shandon till another comes. Mr. Shandon, in his secret heart, hoped that the command would remain with him, and that at the last moment he should receive precise instructions as to the destination of the forward. He did all he could to spread the report in his conversations with his officers, or when following the construction of the brig, as it grew in the Birkenhead cut dockyard, looking like the ribs of a whale turned upside down. Captain and Johnson kept strictly to their instructions, touching the house of the sailors, who were to form the crew. They all looked hail and hearty, and had enough heat in their bodies, to suffice for the engine of the forward. Their supple limbs, their clear and florid complexions, were fit to react against the action of the intense cold. They were confident and resolute men, energetically and solidly constituted. Of course they were not all equally vigorous. Shandon had even hesitated about taking some of them, such as the sailors Gripper and Gary, and the Harpooner Simpson, because they looked rather thin. But on the whole their build was good, they were a warm-hearted lot, and their engagement was signed. All the crew belonged to the same sect of the Protestant religion. During these long campaigns prayer is common, and the readings of the Bible have a good influence over the men, and sustains them in the hour of discouragement. It was therefore important that they should be all of the same way of thinking. Shandon knew by experience the utility of these practices, and their influence on the mind of the crew. They are always employed on board ships, that they are intended to winter in the polar seas. The crew once got together, Shandon and his two officers set about the provisions. They strictly followed the instructions of the captain. These instructions were clear, precise and detailed, and the least articles were put down with their quality and quantity. Thanks to the checks and the commander's disposition, every article was paid for at once, with a discount of 8%, which Richard carefully placed to the credit of KZ. Crew provisions and cargo were ready by January 1860. The forward began to look ship-shape, and Shandon went daily to Birkenhead. On the morning of the 23rd of January, he was, as usual, on board one of the mercy ferry boats, with the helm at either end, to prevent having to turn it. There was a thick fog, and the sailors of the river were obliged to direct their course by means of the compass. Though the passage lost scarcely ten minutes, but the sickness of the fog did not prevent Shandon seeing a man, of short stature, rather fat, with an intelligent and merry face, and an amiable look, who came up to him, took him with the two hands and shook them with an ardour, a petulance and a familiarity, quite mariginal, as a Frenchman would have said. But if this person did not come from the south, he had got his temperament there. He talked and gesticulated with volubility. His thought must come out, or the machine would burst. His eyes, small as those of witty men, generally are. His mouth, large and mobile, were safety pipes, which allowed him to give a passage to his overflowing thoughts. He talked and talked and talked so much and so fast, that Shandon couldn't understand a word he said. However, this did not prevent the forewords made, from recognizing the little man he had never seen before. A lightning flash traversed his mind, and when the other pulls to take a breath, Shandon made haste to get out the words, Dr. Clobony, himself in person, commander, have been at last half a quarter of an hour looking for you, asking everybody everywhere, just think how impatient I got, five minutes more and I should have lost my head. And so you are the commander, Richard. You really exist, you are not a myth. Your hand, your hand, I want to shake it again. It's Richard Shandon's hand. And if there is a commander Shandon, there is a break forward to command. And if he commands, he will start, and if he starts, he will take Dr. Clobony on board. Well, yes, Dr. and Richard Shandon. There is a break forward, and it will start. That's logic, answered the doctor, after taking in a large provision of breathing air. That's logic, and I'm ready to jump for joy at having my dearest wishes gratified. I have wanted to undertake such a voyage. Now with you, commander, I don't begin Shandon. With you, continued Clobony, without hearing him. We are sure to go far and not to draw back for a trifle, but began Shandon again. For you have shown what you are made of, commander. I know your deeds of service, your fine sailor. If you will allow me, no, I won't have your bravery, audacity and skill put an instant in doubt, even by you. The captain who chose you for his mate is a man who knows what he's about, I can tell you. But that's nothing to do with it, said Shandon, impatient. What is it then? Don't keep me in suspense another minute. You don't give me time to speak. Tell me, if you please, doctor, how it comes that you are to take part in the expedition of the forward. Read this letter, this forcing letter, the letter of a brave captain, very laconic but quite sufficient. In which the doctor held out the following letter to Shandon. In Bernus, January 22, 1860, to Dr. Clobony. If Dr. Clobony wishes to embark on board the forward for a long cruise, he may introduce himself to the commander, Richard Shandon, who has received orders concerning him. The captain of the forward, KZ. This letter reached me this morning, and here I am, ready to embark. But doctor, do you know where we are going to? I haven't the slightest idea, and I do not care, so that it's somewhere. They pretend that I'm learned, they're a mistaken commander, I know nothing, and if I have published a few books that don't sell badly, I ought not to have done it. The public is silly for buying them. I know nothing, I tell you, I'm only an ignorant man. When I have the offer of completing, or rather of going over again, my knowledge of medicine, surgery, history, geography, botany, mineralogy, conology, geodesy, chemistry, natural philosophy, mechanics, and hydrography, why I accept, of course. Then, said Shandon, disappointed, you do not know where the forward is bound for. Yes, I do. It's bound for where there is something to learn, to discover and to compare, where we shall meet with other customs, other countries, other nations, to study in the exercise of their functions. It's going in short, where I have never been. But I want to know something more definite than that, cried Shandon. Well, I have heard that we are bound for the northern seas. At least, asked Shandon, you know the captain. Not the least bit in the world, but he is an honest fellow, you may believe me. The commander and the doctor disembarked at Birkenhead. The former told the doctor all he knew about the situation of things, and the mystery inflamed the imagination of the doctor. The sight of the brick caused him transports of joy. From that day he stopped with Shandon, and went every day to pay a visit to the shell of the forward. Besides, he was specially appointed to overlook the installation of the ship's medicine chest. For Dr. Gloubonny was a doctor, and a good one, still practicing little. At the age of twenty-five he was an ordinary practitioner. At the age of forty he was a savant, well known in the town. He was an influential member of all the literary and scientific institutions of Liverpool. His fortune allowed him to distribute councils, which were none the worse for being gratuitous. Beloved is a man eminently lovable, must always be. He had never wronged anyone, not even himself. Lively and talkative he carried his heart in his hand, and put his hand into that of everybody. When it was known in Liverpool that he was going to embark on board the forward, his friends did all they could to dissuade him, and only fixed him more completely in his determination. And when the doctor was determined to do anything, no one could prevent him. From that time the suppositions and apprehensions increased, but did not prevent the forward being launched on the 5th of February, 1860. Two months later she was ready to put to sea. On the 15th of March, as the letter of the captain had announced, a dog of Danish breed was sent by railway from Edinburgh to Liverpool, addressed to Richard Shandon. The animal seemed surly, peevish and even sinister, with quite a singular look in his eyes. The name of the forward was engraved on his brass collar. The commander installed it on board the same day, and acknowledged its reception to KZ at Lake Horn. Thus, with the exception of the captain, the crew was complete. It was composed as follows. 1. KZ, captain. 2. Richard Shandon, commander. 3. James Wall, third officer. 4. Dr. Clooney. 5. Johnson, Bootsman. 6. Simpson, harpoonier. 7. Bell, carpenter. 8. Brunton, chief engineer. 9. Plover, second engineer. 10. Strong, a negro, cook. 11. Fokker, ice master. 12. Wollstone, smith. 13. Bolton, assailor. 14. Gary, assailor. 15. Clifton, assailor. 16. Gripper, assailor. 17. Penn, assailor. 18. Wern, stalker. End of Chapter 3. Chapter 4 of the English at the North Pole. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Part 1 of the Adventures of Captain Hatteras. The English at the North Pole, by Jules Verne. Chapter 4. Dog, captain. The day of departure arrived with the 5th of April. The admission of the doctor on board had given the crew more confidence. They knew that where the worthy doctor went, they could follow. However, the sailors were still uneasy, and shandon, fearing that some of them would desert, wish to be off. With the coast out of sight, they would make up their mind to the inevitable. Dr. Clobony's cabin was situated at the end of the poop, and occupied all the stern of the vessel. The captain's inmates' cabins gave up on deck. The captains remained hermetically closed, after being furnished with different instruments, furniture, traveling garments, books, clothes for changing, and utensils, indicated in a detailed list. According to the wish of the captain, the key of the cabin was sent to Lübeck. He alone could enter his room. This detailed waxed shandon, and took away all chance of the chief command. As to his own cabin, he had perfectly appropriated it to the needs of the presumed voyage, for he thoroughly understood the needs of a polar expedition. The room of the third officer was placed under the lower deck, which formed a vast sleeping room for the sailors' use. The men were very comfortably lodged, and would not have found anything, like the same convenience on board any other ship. They were cared for like the most priceless cargo. A vast stow occupied all the centre of the common room. Dr. Clobony was in his element. He had taken possession of his cabin on the 6th of February, the day after the forward was launched. The happiest of animals, he used to say, is a snail, for it can make a shell exactly to fit it. I shall try to be an intelligent snail. And considering that the shell was to be his lodging for a considerable time, the cabin began to look like home. The doctor had a savance or a child's pleasure in arranging his scientific traps. His books, his herbals, his set of pigeonholes, his instruments of precision, his chemical apparatus, his collection of thermometers, barometers, kigrometers, rain gouges, spectacles compasses, sextants, maps, plants, flasks, powders, bottles for medicine chest, were all clasped in an order that would have shamed the British Museum. The space of six square feet contained incalculable riches. The doctor had only to stretch out his hand without moving to become instantaneously a doctor, a mathematician, an astronomer, a geographer, a botanist, or a conologist. It must be acknowledged that he was proud of his management and happy in his floating sanctuary, which three of his thinnest friends would have suffice to fill. His friends came to it in such numbers that even a man as easygoing as the doctor might have said with Socrates, my house is small, but may it please heaven never to fill it with friends. To complete the description of the foreword, it is sufficient to say that the kettle of the Lord's Danish dog was constructed under the window of the mysterious cabin, but its savage inhabitant preferred wandering between decks and in the hold. It seemed impossible to tame him and no one had been able to become his master. During the night he hold lamentably, making the hollows of the ship ring in a sinister fashion. Was it regret for his absent master? Was it the instinct of knowing that he was starting for a perilous voyage? Was it the presentment of the interest to come? The sailors decided that it was for the latter reason and more than one pretended to joke, who believed seriously that the dog was of a diabolical kind. Ben, who was a brutal man, was going to strike him once when he fell unfortunately against the angle of the capstan and made a frightful wound in his head. Of course, this accident was placed to the account of the fantastic animal. Clifton, the most superstitious of the crew, made the singular observation that when the dog was in the poop, he always walked on the windward side. And afterwards, when the brick was out at sea and altered its tack, the surprising animal changed its direction with the wind, the same as the captain of the forward would have done in his place. Dr. Clobony, whose kindness and caresses would have tamed the tiger, tried in vain to win the good graces of the dog. He lost his time and his pains. The animal did not answer to any name, either written in the dog calendar, and the crew ended by calling him captain for he appeared perfectly conversant with his ship customs. It was evident that it was not his first trip. From such facts, it is easy to understand the Bootsman's answer to Clifton's friend and the credulity of those who heard it. More than one repeated jokingly that he expected one day to see the dog take human shape and command the one horse with a resounding voice. If Richard Shandon did not feel the same apprehensions, he was not without anxiety. On the day before his departure in the evening of April the 5th, he had a conversation on the subject with the doctor, Wall and Johnson in the poop cabin. These four persons were tasting their tents grog and probably they're lost, for the letter from Aberdeen had ordered that all the crew from the captain to the stoker should be tea-to-attellers and that there should be no wine, beer, nor spirits on board, except those given by the doctor's orders. The conversation had been going on about the departure for the last hour. If the instructions of the captain were realized to the end, Shandon would receive his last instructions the next day. If the letter said the commander does not tell me the captain's name, it must at least tell me the destination of the break or I shall not know where to take her to. If I were you, said the impatient doctor, I should start whether I get a letter or no. They'll know how to send after you, you may depend. You're ready for anything, doctor, but if so, to what quarter of the globe should you set sail? To the north pole, of course, there is not the slightest doubt about that. Why should it not be the south pole, I was told. The south pole is out of the question. No one with any sense would send a break across the whole of the Atlantic. Just reflect a minute and you'll see the impossibility. The doctor has an answer to everything, said Wall. Well, well, say Norse, continue, Shandon. What were Norse, to Spitzbergen or Greenland, Labrador or Hudson's Bay? Although all directions end in insupportable icebergs, I am not less puzzled as to which to take. Have you an answer to that, doctor? No, he answered, waxed at having nothing to say. But if you don't get a letter, what shall you do? I shall do nothing, I shall wait. Do you mean to say you won't start? cried Dr. Cloboney, agitating his gloss in despair. Certainly I do. And that would be the wisest plan, said Johnson, tranquilly, while the doctor began marching around the table, for he could not keep still. But still, if we wait too long, the consequences may be deplorable. The season is good now, if we are really going Norse, as we ought to profit by the breaking up of the ice to cross Davis Straits. Besides, the crew gets more and more uneasy. The friends and companions of our men do all they can to persuade them to leave the forward, and their influence may be pernicious for us. Besides, at the door, if one of them deserted, they all would, and then I don't know how you would get another crew together. But what can I do? cried Shandon. What you said you would do, replied the doctor, wait and wait till tomorrow, before you despair. The captain's promises have all been fulfilled up to now, with the greatest regularity. And there's no reason to believe we shan't be made acquainted with our destination when the proper time comes. I haven't the slightest doubt that tomorrow we shall be sailing in the Irish Channel, and I propose we drink a last grog to our pleasant voyage. It begins in an uncountable fashion, but with sailors like you, there are a thousand chances that we'll end well. And all four drank to their safe return. Now, Commander, continue Johnson. If you will allow me to advise you, you will prepare everything to start. The crew must think that you know what you heard about. If you don't get a letter tomorrow, set sail. Do not get up the steam. The wind looks like holding out, and it will be easy enough to sail. Let the pilot come on board, go out to the docks with the tide, and anchor below Birkenhead. Our men won't be able to communicate with land, and if the devil of a letter comes it, we'll find us easily there as elsewhere. By heavens, you're right, Johnson, cried the doctor, holding out his hand to the old sailor. So be it, answered Shandon. Then each one entered his cabin, and waited in feverish sleep for the rising of the sun. The next day, the first distribution of letters to place in the town, and not one bore the address of the commander, Richard Shandon. Nevertheless, he made his preparations for departure, and the news spread at once all over Liverpool, and as we have already seen, an extraordinary affluence of spectators crowded the wharves of new princess docks. Many of them came on board to shake hands for the last time with a comrade, or to try and dissuade a friend, or to take a look at the break and to know its destination. They were disappointed at finding the commander more taciturn and reserved than ever. He had his reasons for that. 10 o'clock struck, 11 followed. The tide began to go out that day at about one o'clock in the afternoon. Shandon from the top of the poop was looking at the crowd with uneasy eyes, trying to read the secret of his destiny on one of the faces. But in vain, the sailors of the foreword executed his orders in silence, looking at him all the time, waiting for orders which did not come. Johnson went on preparing for departure. The weather was cloudy and the sea rough, a southeastern rule with violence, but it was easy to get out of the mercy. At 12 o'clock, nothing had yet been received. Dr. Cloudbunny marched up and down in agitation, looking through his telescope, gesticulating, impatient for the sea, as he said. He felt moved, though he struggled against it. Shandon bit his lips till the blood came. Johnson came up to him and said, Commander, if we want to profit by the tide, there is no time to be lost. We shall not be clear of the docks for at least an hour. Shandon looked round him once more and consulted his watch. The 12 o'clock letters had been distributed. In despair he told Johnson to start. The boatsman ordered the deck to be cleared of spectators and the crowd made a general movement to regain the wares whilst the last moorings were unloosened. Amidst the confusion, a dog's bark was distinctly hard and all at once the animal broke through the compact mass, jumped onto the poop and as the thousands spectators can testify, dropped a letter at Shandon's feet. A letter cried Shandon, he is on board then. He was that certain, but he isn't now, said Johnson, pointing to the deserted deck. Shandon held the letter without opening it in his astonishment. But read it, read it, I say, said the doctor. Shandon looked at it. The envelope had no postmark or date. It was addressed simply to Richard Shandon, commander on board the brig, forward. Shandon opened the letter and read as follows. Sail to Fort Cape for a well. You will reach it by the 20th of April. If the captain does not appear on board, cross Davis straits and sail up Bathins Sea to Melville Bay, the captain of the forward, KZ. Shandon carefully folded this laconic epistle, put in his pocket, and gave the order for departure. His voice, which rang above the east wind, had something solemn in it. Soon the forward had passed the docks and directed by a Liverpool pilot, whose little cutter followed, went down the mercy with the current. The crowd precipitated itself onto the exterior wharf along the Victoria docks, in order to get a last glimpse of the strange berg. The two top sails, the fore sail and the brigandine sail, were rapidly set up, and the forward, worthy of its name, after having rounded bergen head point, sailed with extraordinary flitness into the Irish sea. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Of the English at the North Pole This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Part 1 of The Adventures of Captain Hatteras The English at the North Pole by Jules Verne Chapter 5 Out at Sea The wind was favourable, though it blew in April Gales. The forward cuts through the waves and towards 3 o'clock crossed the mail steamer between Liverpool and the Isle of Man. The captain hailed from his deck the last adieu that the forward was destined to hear. At 5 o'clock the pilot left the command in the hands of Richard Shandon, the commander of the brig, and regained his cutter, which turning round soon disappeared on the southwest. Towards evening the brig doubled the calf of Man at the southern extremity of the island. During the night the sea was very rough, but the forward behaved well, left the point of hour to the northwest, and directed its course for the northern channel. Johnson was right. Once out at sea the maritime instinct of the sailors gained the upper hand. Life on board went on with regularity. The doctor breathed in the sea ear with delight. He walked about vigorously in the squalls, and for a savant he was not a bad sailor. The sea is splendid, he said to Johnson, coming up on deck after breakfast. I have made its acquaintance rather late, but I shall make up for lost time. You are right, Mr. Clowbony. I would give all the continents of the world for a corner of the ocean. They pretend the sailors soon get tired of their profession, but I have been forty years on the sea, and I love it as much as the first day. It's a great pleasure to feel a good ship under one's feet, and if I'm not a bad judge, the forward behaves herself well. You judge rightly, doctor, and Sir Chandan, who had joined the talkers. She is a good ship, and I acknowledge that a vessel destined for navigation amongst ice has never been better equipped. That reminds me that thirty years ago, Captain James Ross, sailing for the Northwest Passage, and the victory, added the doctor quickly, a brig about the same tonnage as ours with a steam engine too. What you know about that? Judge if I do, answered the doctor. Machines were then in their infancy, and the victory skipped her back. The captain, James Ross, after having vainly repaired it bit by bit, finished by taking it down, and abandoned it at his first winter quarters. The devil, said Chandan, you know all about it, I see. Yes, I've read the works of Perry, Ross and Franklin, and the reports of McClure, Kennedy, Kane, and McClintock, and they'll remember something of what I've read. I can tell you, too, that the same McClintock on board the Fox, a screw-break in the style of ours, went easier to his destination than any of the men who preceded him. That's perfectly true, answered Chandan. He was a bold sailor with McClintock. I saw him at work. You may add that, like him, we shall find ourselves in Davis Straits in April, and if we succeed in passing the ice, our voyage will be considerably advanced. Unless, added the doctor, it happens to us like it did to the Fox in 1857, to be called the very first year by the ice in Baffins Sea, and have to winter in the midst of the icebergs. We must hope for better luck, answered Johnson. If a ship likes the forward can't take us where we want to go, we must renounce all hope forever. Besides, said the doctor, if the captain is on board, he will know better than we do what must be done. We know nothing as yet. His letter says nothing about what our voyage is for. It is a good deal to know which way to go, answered Chandan quickly. We can do without captain and his instructions for another month at least. Besides, you know what I think about it. A short time ago, said the doctor, I thought like you, that the captain would never appear, and that you would remain commander of the ship, but now? Now what? replied Chandan in an impatient tone. Since the arrival of the second letter, I have modified that opinion. Why doctor? Because the letter tells you the route to follow, but leaves you ignorant of the forward's destination, and we must know where we are going to. How the doys are we to get a letter, now we are out at sea? On the coast of Greenland, the service of the post must leave much to wish for. I believe that our gentleman is waiting for us in some Danish settlement, at Holstenborg or Opparnavik. He has evidently gone there to complete his cargo of seal-scans, buy his slidges and dog, and in short get together all the tackle wanted for a voyage in the Arctic seas. I shouldn't be at all surprised to see him come out of his cabin one of these fine mornings and begin commanding the ship in anything but a supernatural way. It's possible, answered Chandan dryly, but in the meantime the wind is getting up, and I can't risk my gallant sails in such weather. Chandan left the doctor and gave the order to leave the top sails. He takes it to heart, said the doctor to the Botswain. Yes, answered the letter, and that's a great pity, for you may be right, Mr. Khlobani. In the evening of Saturday the four were doubled the mull of Galloway, whose lighthouse shone to the northeast. During the night they left the mull of Cantire to the north and Cape Fair on the coast of Ireland to the east. Towards three o'clock in the morning the brig, leaving Ruslan Island on her starboard side, disembarked by the northern channel into the ocean. It was Sunday the 8th of April, and the doctor read some chapters of the Bible to the assembled seamen. The wind then became a perfect hurricane, and tended to throw the brig onto the Irish coast. She pitched and rolled and tossed, and if the doctor was not seasick, it was because he would not be, for nothing was easier. At noon Cape Mullenhead disappeared towards the south. It was the lost European ground that these bold sailors were to perceive, and more than one watched it out of sight, destined never to see it again. There was then in 55 degrees 57 minutes latitude, and 7 degrees 40 minutes longitude by the Greenwich Meridian. The storm spent itself out about nine o'clock in the evening. The forward, like a good sailor, maintained her route northwest. She showed by her behavior during the day what her sailing capacities were. And as the Liverpool connoisseurs had remarked, she was above all a sailing vessel. During the following days the forward gained the northwest with rapidity. The wind weared round south, and the sea had a tremendous swell on. The brig was then going along under full sail. Some Petros and Puffins came sailing over the poop. The doctor skilfully shot one of the latter, and it fell fortunately on the deck. The harpooner, Simpson, picked it up and brought it to his owner. Nasty game that, Mr. Cloudboney, he said. It will make an excellent meal, on the contrary, said the doctor. You don't mean to say you're going to eat that thing. And so are you, old fellow, said the doctor, laughing. Poor, replied Simpson, but it's oily and rancid, like all other sea birds. Never mind, answered the doctor, I have a peculiar way of cooking that game, and if you recognize it for a seabird, I'll consent never to kill another in my life. Do you know how to cook, then? A sauvon ought to know how to do a little of everything. You'd better take care, Simpson, said the boatsman, the doctor's a clever man, and he'll make you take this puffin for a gross. The fact is, that the doctor was quite right about his foul. He took off all the fat, which all lies under the skin, principally on the thighs, and with it disappeared the rancidity and taste of fish, which is so disagreeable in a seabird. Thus prepared, the puffin was declared excellent, and Simpson acknowledged it the first. During the late storm, Richard Shandon had been able to judge of the qualities of his crew. He had watched each man narrowly, and knew how much each was to be depended upon. James Wall was devoted to Richard, and understood quickly and executed well, but he might fail in initiative. He placed him in the third rank. Johnson was used to struggle with the sea. He was an old stagger in the Arctic Ocean, and had nothing to learn, either in audacity or sang froid. The harpoonier, Simpson, and the carpenter Bell, were sure men, faithful to duty and discipline. The ice-master, Fokker, was an experienced sailor, and like Johnson, was capable of rendering important service. Of the other sailors, Gary and Bolton seemed to be the best. Bolton was a gay and talkative fellow. Gary was thirty-five, with an energetic face, but rather pale and sad-looking. The three sailors, Clifton, Gripper, and Penn, seemed less ardent and resolute. They easily grumbled. Gripper wanted to break his engagement even before the departure of the forward. A sort of shame kept him on board. If things went all right, if there were not too many risks to run, no dangerous encounter, these three men might be depended upon. But they must be well fed, for it might be said that they were led by their stomachs. Although warned beforehand, they grumbled at having to be tea-totellers. At their meals they regretted the brandy and gin. It did not, however, make them spare the tea and coffee, which was prodigially given out on the board. As to the two engineers, Brunton and Plower and the Stoker, Warren, there had been nothing for them to do as yet, and Shandon could not tell anything about their capabilities. On the 14th of April the forward got into the grand current of the Gulf Stream, which, after ascending the eastern coast of America to Newfoundland, inclines to the northeast along the coast of Norway. They were then in 57 degrees, 37 minutes latitude, by 22 degrees, 58 minutes longitude, at 200 miles from the point of Greenland. The weather grew colder, and the thermometer descended to 32 degrees, that is to say, to freezing point. The doctor had not yet begun to wear the garments he designed for the arctic seas, but he had donned a sailor's dress like the rest. He was a queer sight with his top boots, in which his legs disappeared, his vast all-quills, hat, his jacket and trousers of the same. When drenched with heavy rains or enormous waves, the doctor looked like a sort of sea animal, and was proud of the comparison. During two days the sea was extremely rough, the wind weared round to the northwest, and delayed the progress of the forward. From the 14th to the 16th of April the swell was great, but on the Mondays there came such a torrent of rain, that the sea became calm immediately. Shandan spoke to the doctor about this phenomenon. It confirms the curious observations of the whaler Scoresby, who laid it before the Royal Society of Edinburgh, of which I have the honour to be an honorary member. You see, that when it rains the waves are not very high, even under the influence of a violent wind, and when the weather is dry the sea is more agitated, even when there is less wind. But how is this phenomenon accounted for? Very simply, it is not accounted for at all. Just then the ice master, who was keeping watch on the cross-boards of the top sails, signalled a floating mass on the starboard at about 15 miles distance before the wind. An iceberg here, cried the doctor. Shandan pointed his telescope in the direction indicated, and confirmed the pilot's announcement. That is curious, said the doctor. What, you are astonished at last, that the commander laughing. I am surprised, but not astonished, answered the doctor laughing. For the brig Anne of Poole, from Greenspawn, was caught in 1813 in perfect ice fields, in the forty-fourth degree of North latitude, and her captain, Dyer Nand, counted them by hundreds. I see you can teach us something, even upon that subject. Very little, answered Clobony modestly. It is only that ice has been met with in even lower latitudes. I knew that already, doctor, for when I was cabin boy on board the war-slope fly, in 1818 continued the doctor. At the end of March, almost in April, you passed between two large islands of floating ice, under the forty-second degree of latitude. Well, I declare you astonish me, cried Shandan. But the iceberg does not astonish me, as we are two degrees further north. You are a well doctor, answered the commander, and all we have to do is to be water buckets. You will draw me dry sooner than you think for. And now, Shandan, if we could get a nearer look at this phenomenon, I should be the happiest of doctors. Just so, Johnson, said Shandan, calling his boat swaying. It seems to me that the breeze is getting up. Yes, commander, answered Johnson, we are making very little way, and the currents of Davis Straits will soon be against us. You are right, Johnson, and if we wish to be inside of Cape Farwell, on the twentieth of April, we must put the steam on, or we shall be thrown on the coast of Labrador. Mr. Wall, will you give orders to light the fires? The commander's orders were executed, and our afterward the steam was up, the sails were furled, and the screw cutting the waves sent the forward against the northwest wind. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of The English at the North Pole A short time after the flights of birds became more and more numerous, petrol, spuffins, and mates, inhabitants of those desolate quarters signaled the approach of Greenland. The forward was rapidly nearing the north, leaving to her leeward a long line of black smoke. On Tuesday, the seventeenth of April, about eleven o'clock in the morning, the ice master signaled the first sight of an ice-blink. It was about twenty miles to the north-northwest. This glaring white strip was brilliantly lighted up, in spite of the presence of thick clouds in the neighboring parts of the sky. Experienced people on board could make no mistake about this phenomenon, and declared, from its whiteness, that the blink was owing to a large ice field, situated at about thirty miles out of sight, and that it proceeded from the reflection of Laminus rays. Towards evening, the wind turned round to the south and became favorable. Shandon put on all sail, and for economy's sake caused the fires to be put out. The forward, under her top sails and fore sails, glided on towards Cape Farewell. At three o'clock on the eighteenths, they came across the ice stream, and a white thick line of glaring color cut brilliantly the lines of the sea and sky. It was evidently drifting from the eastern coast of Greenland, more than from Davis Straits, for ice generally keeps to the west coast of Baffins Sea. An hour afterwards the forward passed in the midst of isolated portions of the ice stream, and in the most compact parts the icebergs, though welded together, obeyed the movements of the swell. The next day the man at the must-head signaled a whistle. It was the Valkyrian, a Danish corvette, running alongside the forward, and making for the bank of Newfoundland. The current of the strait began to make itself felt, and Shandon had to put on sail to go up it. At this moment the commander, the doctor James Wall and Johnson, were assembled on the poop examining the direction and strength of the current. The doctor wanted to know if the current existed also in Baffins Sea. Without the least doubt answered Shandon, and the sailing vessels have much trouble to stem it. Besides there, at Dwall, you meet with it on the eastern coast of America, as well as on the western coast of Greenland. There, said the doctor, that is what gives very singular reason to the seekers of the north-west passage. That current runs about five miles an hour, and it is a little difficult to suppose that it springs from the bottom of a gulf. It is so much the more probable, doctor, replied Shandon, that if this current runs from north to south, we find in Bering Straits a contrary current, which runs from south to north, and which must be the origin of this one. According to that, replied the doctor, we must admit that America is totally unconnected with the polar lands, and that the waters of the Pacific run round the coast of America into the Atlantic. On the other hand, the greater elevation of the waters of the Pacific gives reason to this supposition, that they fall into the European seas. But, sharply replied Shandon, there must be facts to establish that theory, and if there are any, added he with irony, our universal well-informed doctor ought to know them. Well, replied the above-mentioned, was amiable satisfaction. If it interests you, I can tell you, that whales, wounded in Davis strait, are caught sometimes afterwards in the neighborhood of Tartary, with the European harpoon still in their flanks. And unless they have been able to double-cape horn or the cape of good hope, replied Shandon, they must necessarily have rounded the subtentary or no coasts of America. That's what I call indisputable doctor. However, if you were not convinced, my dear fellow, said the doctor smiling, I could still produce other facts, such as driftwood, of which Davis straits are full, large, aspen, and other tropical trees. Now we know that the Gulfstream hinders these woods from entering the straits. If then they come out of it, they can only get in from bearing straits. I am convinced, doctor, and I owe, that it would be difficult to remain incredulous with you. Up on my honor, said Johnson, there's something that comes just in time to help our discussion. I perceive in the distance a lump of wood of certain dimensions. If the commander permits it, we'll haul it in, and ask it the name of its country. That's it, said the doctor, the example after the rule. Shandon gave the necessary orders. The brick was directed towards the piece of wood, signaled, and soon afterwards, not without trouble, the crew hoisted it on deck. It was the trunk of a mahogany tree, gnawed right into the center by worms, but for which circumstance it would not have floated. This is glorious, said the doctor enthusiastically. For as the currents of the Atlantic could not carry it to Davis Straits, and as it has not been driven into the polar basin by the streams of subterritorial America, seeing that this tree grew under the equator, it is evident that it comes in a straight line from bearing. And look here, you see those sea worms which have eaten it. They belong to a hot country species. It is evident, replied Wall, that the people who do not believe in the famous passage are wrong. Why, this circumstance alone ought to convince them, said the doctor. I will just trace you out, the itinerary of that mahogany. It has been floated towards the Pacific by some river of the Isthmus of Panama or Guatemala. From thence, the current has dragged it along the American coast, as far as bearing Straits. And in spite of everything it was obliged to enter the polar seas. It is neither so old nor so soaked that we need fear to assign a recent date to its setting out. It has had the good luck to get clear of the obstacles in that long suit of Straits, which lead out of Bathins Bay, and quickly seized by the boreal current came by Davis Straits to be made prisoner by the foreword to the great joy of Dr. Clobony, who asks the commander permission to keep a sample of it. Do so, said Shemden, but allow me to tell you that you will not be the only proprietor of such a wreck. The Danish governor of the Isle of Disco, on the coast of Greenland, continued the doctor, possesses a mahogany table made from a trunk, fished up under the same circumstances. I know it, but I don't envy him his table, for if it were not for the butter, I should have enough there for a whole bedroom. During the night from Wednesday to Thursday, the wind blew with extreme violence, and driftwood was seen more frequently. Nearing the coast offered many dangers at an epoch in which icebergs were so numerous. The commander caused some of the sails to be furrowed, and the foreword glided away under her foresail and foremast only. The thermometer sank below freezing point. Shemden distributed suitable clothing to the crew, a woolen jacket and trousers, a flannel shirt, white male stockings, the same as those the Norwegian country people wear, and a pair of perfectly waterproof sea boots. As to the captain, he contended himself with his natural fur, and appeared little sensible to the change in the temperature. He had no doubt gone through more than one trial of this kind, and besides, a dane had no right to be difficult. He was seen very little as he kept himself concealed in the darkest parts of the vessel. Towards evening the coast of Greenland peeped out through an opening in the fog. The doctor armed with his glass could distinguish for an instant a line of peaks, raged with large blocks of ice, but the fog closed rapidly on this vision, like the curtain of a see-a-through, falling in the most interesting moment of the peace. On the morning of the 20th of April, the foreword was inside of an iceberg, a hundred and fifty feet high, stranded there from time immemorial. The sails had taken no effect on it, and had respected its strange forms. Snow saw it, James Ross took an exact sketch of it in 1829, and in 1851, the French Lloyd Nan Bellot saw it from the deck of the Prince Albert. Of course, the doctor wished to keep a memento of the celebrated mountain, and made a clever sketch of it. It is not surprising that such masses should be stranded and adhere to the land, for to each foot above water they have two feet below, giving therefore to this one about eighty-fasms of depth. At last, under a temperature which at noon was only twelve degrees, under a snowy and foggy sky, Cape Farwell was perceived. The foreword arrived on the day fixed, if it pleased the unknown captain to come and occupy his position in such diabolical weather, he would have no cause to complain. There you are, then, said the doctor to himself, capes of celebrated and so well named. Many have cleared it like us, who are destined never to see it again. Is it, then, an eternal adieu, said one's European friends? You have all passed it, Throbisher, Knight, Barlow, Wohan, Scroggs, Barrens, Hudson, Blossomville, Franklin, Crozier, Belot, never to come back to your domestic hearth, and that Cape has been really for you, the Cape of Adieu. It was about the year 970 that Sam navigators left Iceland and discovered Greenland. Sebastian Cabot forced his way as far as latitude 56 degrees in 1498. Gaspard and Mitchell Quotriel, in 1502, went as far north as 60 degrees, and Martin Throbisher, in 1576, arrived as far as the bay that bears his name. Though John Davis belongs the owner of having discovered the straits in 1585, and two years later, in a third voyage, that bold navigator and great whaler reached the 63rd parallel, 27 degrees from the pole. Barrens, in 1596, Weymouth, in 1602, James Hall, in 1605 and 1607, Hudson, whose name was given to that vast bay, which hollows out so profoundly the continent of America. James Poole, in 1611, advanced far into the strait, in search of that north-west passage, the discovery of which would have considerably shortened the track of communication between the two worlds. Buffon, in 1616, found the straits of Lancaster in the sea that bears his own name. He was followed in 1690 by James Monk, and in 1790 by Knight, Barlow, Wohan and Scroggs, of whom no news has been ever heard. In 1776, Lieutenant Pickersgill sent out to meet Captain Cook, who tried to go up bearing straits, reached the 68th degree, the following year young for the same purpose, went as far north as Women's Island. Afterwards came Captain James Ross, who, in 1818, grounded the coast of Bath and Sea, and corrected the hydrographic errors of his predecessors. Lastly, in 1819 and 1820, the celebrated Perry passed through Lancaster Straits, and penetrated in spite of a number of difficulties, as far as Millville Island, and won the prize of 5,000 pounds promised by active parliament to the English sailors, who would reach the 117th meridian by a higher latitude than the 77th parallel. In 1826, Peachy touched Camiso Island. James Ross wintered from 1829 to 1833 in Prince Regent Straits, and amongst other important works discovered the magnetic pole. During this time, Franklin, by an overland route, traversed the septentrional coast of America, from the River Mackenzie to Tronegan Point. Captain Beck followed in his steps from 1823 to 1835, and these explorations were completed, in 1839, by Mr. D's and Simpson and Dr. Ray. Lastly, Thurjohn Franklin, wishing to discover the Northwest Passage, left England in 1845, on board the Erebus and the Terror. He penetrated into Bath and Sea, and since his passage across Disco Island, no news had been heard of his expedition. Said disappearance, determined the numerous investigations, which have brought about the discovery of the passage, and the survey of these polar continents, with such indented coastlines. The most daring English, French and American sailors made voyages towards these terrible countries, and thanks to their efforts, the maps of that country so difficult to make, figured in the list of the Royal Geographical Society of London. The curious history of these countries was thus presented to the doctor's imagination, as he leaned on the rail, and followed with his eyes the long track left by the break. Thoughts of the bold navigators weighed upon his mind, and he fancied he could perceive under the frozen arches of the icebergs the pale ghosts of those who were no more. During that day, the foreword cut out an easy road amongst the half-broken ice. The wind was good, but the temperature very low, the currents of air blowing across the ice fields, brought with them their penetrating cold. The night required the severest attention the floating icebergs drew together in that narrow pass. A hundred at once were often counted at the horizon. They broke off from the elevated coasts under the teeth of the grinding waves, and the influence of the spring season. In order to go and melt or to be swallowed up in the depths of the ocean. Long rafts of wood, with which it was necessary to escape collision, kept the crew on the alert. The crow's nest was put in its place on the mizzen mast. It consisted of a cask, in which the ice master was partly hidden, to protect him from the cold winds. While he kept watch over the sea and the icebergs in view, and from which he signaled danger and sometimes gave orders to the crew. The nights were short. The sun had reappeared since the 31st of January, in the consequence of the refraction, and seemed to get higher and higher above the horizon. But the snow impeded the view, and if it did not cause complete obscurity, it rendered navigation laborious. On the 21st of April, desolation cape appeared in the midst of thick mists. The crew were tired out with the constant strain on their energies, rendered necessary ever since they had got amongst the icebergs. The sailors had not had a minute's rest. It was soon necessary to have a course to steam, to cut away through the heaped up blocks. The doctor and Johnson were talking together on the stern, whilst Shandon was snatching a few hours sleep in his cabin. Cloudboney was getting information from the old sailor, whose numerous voyages had given him an interesting and sensible education. The doctor felt much friendship for him, and the boats went repaid with interest. You see, Mr. Cloudboney, Johnson used to say, This country is not like all others. They call it Greenland, but there are very few weeks in the year when it justifies its name. Who knows if in the 10th century this land did not justify its name, added the doctor. More than one revolution of this kind has been produced upon our globe, and I dare say I should astonish you, if I were to tell you, that according to Icelandic chronicles, two thousand villages flourished upon this continent about eight or nine hundred years ago. You would so much astonish me, Dr. Cloudboney, that I should have some difficulty in believing you, for it is a miserable country. However miserable it may be, it still offers a sufficient retreat to its inhabitants, and even to civilized Europeans. Without doubt, we met men at Disco and Aparnavik, who consented to live in such climates, but my ideas upon the matter were that they lived there by compulsion and not by choice. I dare say you're right, though men get accustomed to everything, and the Greenlanders do not appear to me so unfortunate as the workmen of our large towns. They may be unfortunate, but they are certainly not unhappy. I say unhappy, but the world does not translate my thought, for if these people have not the comforts of temperate countries, they are formed for a rude climate, and find pleasures in it, which we are not able to conceive. I suppose we must think so, as heaven is just. Many, many voyages have brought me upon these coasts, and my heart always shrinks at the sight of these wretched solitudes, but they ought to have cheered up these capes, promontories, and bays with more engaging names, for far-well cape and desolation cape are not names made to attract navigators. I have also remarked that, replied the doctor, but these names have a geographical interest that we must not overlook. They describe the adventures of those who gave them those names. Next to the names of Davis, Waffen, Hudson, Ross, Perry, Franklin, and Bellow, if I meet with Cape Desolation, I soon find Mercy Bay. Cape Providence is a companion to port anxiety. Repulsion Bay brings me back to Cape Eden, and leaving Turnigan Point, I take refuge in Refuge Bay. I have star under my eyes an unceasing succession of perils, misfortunes, obstacles, successes, despairs and issues, mixed with great names of my country, and like a series of old-fashioned medals, that nomenclature retraces in my mind the whole history of these seas. You are quite right, Mr. Cloudbony, and I hope we shall meet with more success base than despair capes in our voyage. I hope so too, Johnson, but I say, is the crew come round a little from its terrors? Yes, a little, but since we got into the strides, they have begun to talk about the fantastic captain. More than one of them is expected to see him appear at the extremity of Greenland, but between you and me, doctor, doesn't it astonish you a little too? It does indeed, Johnson. Do you believe in the captain's existence? Of course I do. But what can be his reasons for acting in that manner? If I really must tell you the whole of my thoughts, Johnson, I believe that the captain wished to entice the crew far enough out to prevent them being able to come back. Now if he had been on board, when we started, they would all have wanted to know our destination, and he might have been embarrassed. But why so? Suppose he should wish to attempt some superhuman enterprise, and to penetrate where others have never been able to reach. Do you believe if the crew knew it, they would ever have enlisted? As it is, having got so far, going farther becomes a necessity. That's very probable, Mr. Clawbony. I have known more than one intrepid adventurer, whose name alone was a terror, and who would never have found anyone to accompany him in his perilous expeditions. Accepting me, ventured the doctor. And me, after you, answered Johnson, and to follow you, I can venture to affirm that our captain is amongst the number of such adventurers. No matter, we shall soon see. I suppose the unknown will come as captain on board, from the coast of Aparnavik, or Melville Bay, and will tell us, at last, where it is his good pleasure to conduct the ship. I am of your opinion, Johnson, but the difficulty will be to get as far as Melville Bay. See how the icebergs encircle us from every point. They scarcely leave a passage for the forward. Just examine that immense plain over there. The whalers call that, in our language, an ice field, that is to say, a continued surface of ice, the limits of which cannot be perceived. And on that side, the broken field, those long pieces of ice, more or less joined at their edges. That is a park. If it was a circular form, we should call it a patch, and if the form was longer, a stream. And there, these floating icebergs. Those are drift ice. If they were a little higher, they would be icebergs or hills. Their contact with vessels is dangerous, and must be carefully avoided. Here, look over there. On that ice field, there is a protuberance, produced by the pressure of the icebergs. We call that a hammock. If that protuberance was submerged to its base, we should call it a calf. It was very necessary to give names to all those forms in order to recognize them. It is truly a marvelous spectacle, exclaimed the doctor, contemplating the wonders of the boreal seas. There is a field for the imagination in such pictures. Yes, answer Johnson, ice often takes fantastic shapes, and our men are not behind hand in explaining them according to their own notions. Isn't that a assemblage of ice blocks admirable? Doesn't it look like a foreign town, an eastern town, with its minarets and mosques, under the pale glare on the moon? Further on there is a long series of gothic walls, reminding one of Henry VII's chapel or the houses of parliament. They would be houses and towns very dangerous to inhabit, and we must not sail too close to them. Some of those minarets younger totter on their base, and the least of them would crush a vessel like the forward. And yet sailors dared to venture into these seas before they had steam at their command. However, could a sailing vessel be steered amongst those moving rocks? Nevertheless, it has been accomplished, Mr. Clowboney. When the wind became contrary, and that has happened to me more than once, we quietly anchored to one of those blocks, and we drifted more or less with it, and waited for a favourable moment to set sail again. I must acknowledge that such a manner of voyaging required months, whilst with a little good fortune we shall only want a few days. It seems to me, said the doctor, that the temperature has a tendency to get lower. That would be a pity, answered Johnson, for a thaw is necessary to break up these masses and drive them away into the Atlantic. Besides, there are more numerous in Davis Straits, for the sea gets narrower between Cape's Walshinkam and Holsteinbork, but on the other side of the 67th Degree, we shall find the seas more navigable during the month of May and June. Yes, but first of all we must get to the other side. Yes, we must get there, Mr. Clowboney. In June and July we should have found an open passage, like the whalers do, but our orders were precise. We were to be here in April. I am very much mistaken if our captain has not his reasons for getting us out here so early. The doctor was right in stating that the temperature was lowering, the thermometer at noon only indicated six degrees, and the northwest breeze was getting up, which, although it cleared the sky, assisted the current, in precipitating the floating masses of ice into the paths of forward. All of them did not obey the same impulsion, and it was not uncommon to encounter some of the highest masses drifting in an opposite direction, seized at their base by an undercurrent. It is easy to understand the difficulties of this kind of navigation. The engineers had not a minute's rest. The engines were worked from the deck by means of levers, which opened, stopped, and reversed them according to the orders of the officers on watch. Sometimes the brig had to hasten through an opening in the ice fields, sometimes to struggle against the swiftness of an iceberg, which threatened to close the only practicable issue. Or again, some block, suddenly overthrown, compelled the brig to back quickly, so as not to be crushed to pieces. This mass of ice carried along, broken up, and amalgamated by the northern current, crushed up the passage, and if seized by the frost, would oppose an impassable barrier to the passage of the forward. Birds were found in innumerable quantities on the coasts. Petros and other seabirds fluttered about here and there, with deafening cries. A great number of big-headed, short-naked seagulls were amongst them. They spread out their long wings, and braved in their place the snow wiped by the hurricane. This animation of the Winged Tribe made the landscape more lively. Numerous pieces of wood were floating to leeway, clashing with noise. A few enormous bloated-headed sharks approached the vessel, but there was no question of chasing them, although Simpson, the harpooner, was longing to have a hit at them. Towards evening, several seals made their appearance, nose above water, swimming between the blocks. On the 22nd, the temperature again lowered. The forward put on all steam to catch the favorable passes. The wind was decidedly fixed in the northwest. Oil's sails were furrowed. During that day, which was Sunday, the sailors had little to do. After the reading of divine service, which was conducted by Shenden, the crew gave chase to the seabirds, of which they caught a great number. They were suitably prepared according to the doctor's method, and furnished an agreeable increase of provisions to the tables of the officers and crew. At three o'clock in the afternoon, the forward had attained thin decile, sookertop mountain. The sea was very rough. From time to time, a vast and inopportuneate fog fell from the grey sky. However, at noon an exact observation could be taken. The vessel was in 65 degrees, 20 minutes latitude, by 54 degrees, 22 minutes longitude. It was necessary to attain 2 degrees more, in order to meet with freer and more favorable navigation. During the three following days, the 24th, 25th and 26th of April, the forward had a continuous struggle with the ice. The working of the machines became very fatiguing. The steam was turned off quickly, or got up again at the moment's notice, and escaped whistling from its wolves. During the thick mist, the nearing of icebergs was only known by dull thundering. Produced by the avalanches, the break was instantly veered. It ran the risk of being crushed against the heaps of fresh water ice, remarkable for its crystal transparency, and as hard as a rock. Richard Shandon never missed completing his provision of water by embarking several tons of ice every day. The doctor could not accustom himself to the optical delusions that refraction produces on these coasts. An iceberg sometimes appeared to him like a small white lump within reach, when it was at least a 10 or 12 miles distance. He endeavored to accustom his eyesight to this singular phenomenon, so that he might be able to correct its errors rapidly. At last the crew were completely worn out by their labours in hauling the vessel alongside of the ice fields, and by keeping it free from the most menacing blocks by the aid of long purchase. Nevertheless, the forward was still hailed back in the impossible limits of the polar circle. On Friday the 27th of April. However, the forward managed by cunningly slipping into narrow passages to gain a few more minutes north, but instead of avoiding the enemy, it was soon necessary to attack it. The ice fields several miles in extent were getting nearer, and as these moving heaps often represent a pressure of more than 10 million of tons, it was necessary to give a wide berth to their embraces. The ice source were at once installed in the interior of the vessel, in such a manner as to facilitate immediate use of them. Part of the crew philosophically accepted their hard work, but the other complained of it if it did not refuse to obey. At the same time that they assisted installation of the instruments, Gary, Bolton, Penn and Gripper exchanged their opinions. By a jingle, said Bolton Gailey, I don't know where the thought strikes me, that there's a very jolly tavern in Water Street, where it's comfortable to be between a glass of gin and a bottle of porter. Can't you imagine it, Gripper? To tell you the truth, quickly answered the question sailor, who generally professed to be in a bad temper. I don't imagine it here. It's for the sake of talking, Gripper. It's evident that the snow towns Dr. Cloudboney admires. Don't contain the least public where a poor sailor can get a half pint of brandy. That sure enough, Bolton, and you may as well add that there's nothing worse drinking here. It's a nice idea to deprive men of their grog when they are in the northern seas. But you know, said Gary, that the doctor told us it was to prevent us getting this curvy. It's the only way to make us go far. But I don't want to go far, Gary. It's pretty well to have come this far without trying to go, where the devil is determined we shan't. Well, we shan't go, that's all, replied Penn. I declare I've almost forgotten the taste of gin. But remember what the doctor says, replied Bolton. It's all that we find for them to talk. It remains to be seen if it isn't an excuse for being skinny with a drink. Penn may be right, after all, said Gripper. His nose is too red for that, answered Bolton. Penn needed a grumble if it loses a little of its color in the voyage. What's my nose got to do with you? sharply replied the sailor, attacked in the most sensitive place. My nose doesn't need any of your remarks. Take care of your own. Now then, don't get angry, Penn. I didn't know your nose was so touchy. I like a glass of whiskey as well as anybody, especially in such a temperature. But if I know it'll do me more harm than good, I go without. You go without, said Warren, the stalker. But everyone don't go without. What do you mean, Warren? asked Gary, looking fixedly at him. I mean that for some reason or other there are spirits on board, and I know they don't go without in the stern. And how do you know that? asked Gary. Warren did not know what to say. He talked for the sake of talking. You see, Warren don't know anything about it, Gary, said Bolton. Well, said Penn, we'll ask the commander for a ration of gin. We've earned it well, and we'll see what he says. I wouldn't if I were you, answered Gary. Why? cried Penn and Gripper. Because he'll refuse. You knew when you weren't to have any when you enlisted. You should have thought of it then. Besides, replied Bolton, who took Gary's part because he liked his character. Richard Shandon isn't master on board. He obeys like us. Who is master if he isn't? The captain. Oh, it's the unfortunate captain, exclaimed Penn. Don't you see that on these ice banks there is no more a captain than there is a public. It's a polite way of refusing us, but we've a right to claim. But if there's a captain, replied Bolton, I'll bet two months pay we shall see him before long. I should like to tell the captain a bit of my mind, said Penn. Who's talking about the captain? said the newcomer. It was Clifton, the sailor, a superstitious and envious man. Is anything new about the captain? he asked. No, they all answered once. Well, I believe we shall find him one fine morning, installed in his cabin, and no one will know how he got there. Get along, do you? replied Bolton. Why, Clifton, you imagine that he's a hobgoblin, a sort of wild child of the Highlands. Laugh as much as you like, Bolton. You won't change my opinion. Every day as I pass his cabin, I look through the keyhole. One of these fine mornings I shall come and tell you what he is like. Why, he'll be like everyone else, said Penn, and if he thinks he'll be able to do what he likes with us, he'll find himself mistaken. That's all. Penn don't know him yet, said Bolton, and he's beginning to quarrel with him already. Who doesn't know him, said Clifton, looking knowing. I don't know that he don't. What the devil do you mean? asked Gripper. I know very well what I mean, but we don't. Well, Penn had quarrelled with him before. Was the captain? Yes, the dog captain. It's all one. The sailor's looked at one another, afraid to say anything. Man or dog, muttered Penn. I declare that that animal will have his account one of these days. Come, Clifton, asked Bolton seriously. You don't mean to say that you believe the dog is the real captain? Indeed I do, answered Clifton with conviction. If you noticed things like I do, you would have noticed what a queer beast it is. Well, tell us what you have noticed. Haven't you noticed the way he walks on the poop with such an air of authority, looking up at the sails as if he were on watch? That's true enough, I do, Gripper. And one evening I actually found him with his paws on a paddle wheel. You don't mean it, said Bolton. And now what do you think? He does but go for a walk on the ice fields, minding neither the beers nor the cold. That's true enough, said Bolton. Do you ever see that R. L. M. L., like an honest dog, seek men's company, sneak about the kitchen, and set his eyes on Mr. Strong, when he is taking something good to the commander? Don't you hear him in the night, when he goes away two or three miles from the vessel? Howling fit to make your blood run cold, as if it weren't easy enough to feel that sensation in such a temperature as this. Again, have you ever seen him feed? He takes nothing from anyone. His food is always untouched, and unless a secret hand feeds him on board, I may say that he lives without eating, and if he is not unearthly, I am a fool. Upon my word, said Bale the carpenter, who had heard the Clifton's reasoning, I shouldn't be surprised if such was the case. The other sailors were silenced. Well, at any rate, where is the forward going to? I don't know anything about it, replied Bale. Richard Shandon will receive the rest of his instructions in due time. But from whom? From whom? Yes, how? asked Bolton, becoming pressing. Now then, answer Bale, chimed in all the sailors. By whom? How? Why, I don't know, said the carpenter, embarrassed in his turn. Why, by the dog, Captain, exclaimed Clifton, he has written once already. Why shouldn't he again? If I only knew half of what that animal knows, I should be embarrassed at being First Lord of the Admiralty. Though then you stick to your opinion that the dog is the Captain? Yes. Well, said Pern in a horse voice, if that our animal don't want to turn up his toes in a dog's skin, he's only got to make haste and become a man, or I'm hanged if I don't settle him. What for? asked Gary. Because I choose, replied Pern brutally. Besides, it's no business of any one. Enough talking, my boys, called out Mr. Johnson, interfering just in time, for the conversation was getting hot. Get on with your work and set up your soles quicker than that. We must clear the iceberg. What, on a Friday? replied Clifton, dragging his shoulders. You'll see, she won't get over the polar circle as easily as you think. The efforts of the crew were almost powerless during the whole day. The forward could not separate the ice fields, even by going against them full speed, and they were obliged to anchor for the night. On Saturday the temperature lowered again, under the influence of an easterly wind. The weather cleared up, and the eye could sweep over the white plains in the distance, which is a reflection of the sun's rays rendered dazzling. At seven in the morning the thermometer marked eight degrees below zero. The doctor was tempted to stay quietly in his cabin, and read the arctic voyages over again. But according to his custom, he asked himself, what would be the most disagreeable thing he could do, which he settled was to go on deck and assist the men to work in such a temperature. Faithful to the line of conduct he had traced out for himself, he left his well-warmed cabin, and came to help in hauling the vessel. His was a pleasant face, inspired of the green spectacles by which he preserved his eyes, from the biting of the reflected rays. In his future observations, he was always careful in making use of his snow spectacles, in order to avoid oftlamia, a very frequent in these high latitudes. Towards evening the forward had made several miles further north, thanks to the activity of the men, and Shandon's skill, which made him take advantage of every favorable circumstance. At midnight he had got beyond the sixty-six parallel, and the phasem line declared twenty-three phasems of water. Shandon discovered that he was on the shore where Her Majesty's ship Victoria struck, and that land was drawing near, thirty miles to the east. But now the heaps of ice, which up till now had been motionless, divided and began to move, icebergs seeming coming from every point of the horizon. The break was entangled in a series of moving rocks, the crushing force of which it was impossible to resist. Moving became so difficult that Gary, the best hamsman, took the wheel. The mountains had a tendency to close up behind the break. It then became essential to cut through the floating ice, and prudence as well as duty ordered them to go ahead. Difficulties became greater from the impossibility that Shandon found in establishing the direction of the vessel amongst such changing points, which kept moving without offering one firm perspective. The crew was divided into two tanks, Larboard and Starboard, each one armed with a long perch with an iron point, drove back the two threatening blocks. Soon the forward entered into a path so narrow, between two high blocks, that the extremity of her yards struck against the walls, hard as rock. By the crease she entangled herself in the midst of a winding volley, filled up with eddies of snow, whilst the floating ice was crashing and splitting with sinister cracklings. But it soon became certain that there was no aggress from this gulet, and the normal block caught in the channel was driving rapidly onto the forward. It seemed impossible to avoid it, and equally impossible to back out along a road already obstructed. Shandon and Johnson, standing on the prow, were contemplating the position. Shandon was pointing with his right hand at the direction the helmsman was to take, and with his left was conveying to James Wall, posted near the engineer, his orders for the working of the machine. How will this end? asked the doctor of Johnson. As it may please God, replied the boatsman. The block of ice, at least a hundred feet high, was only about a cable's length through the forward, and threatened to pound her under it. Cursed luck exclaimed Penn, swearing frightfully. Silence exclaimed a voice, which it was impossible to recognize in the midst of the storm. The block seemed to be precipitating itself upon the break. There was a moment on undefinable anguish. The men forced their poles, and flocked to the stern in spite of Shandon's orders. Suddenly a frightful sound was heard. A genuine water-spout fell upon deck, heaved up by an enormous wave. A cry of terror rang out from the crew, whilst Gary, at the helm, held the forward in a straight line in spite of the frightful incumbrance. When the frightened looks were drawn towards the mountain of ice, it had disappeared. The path was free, and further on the long channel, illuminated by the oblique rays of the sun, allowed the break to pursue her track. Well, Mr. Clobberney, Sir Johnson, can you explain to me the cause of that phenomenon? It is a very simple one, answered the doctor, and happens very often. When those floating bodies are a decent gauge from each other by the flow, they sail away separately, maintaining their balance. But by degrees, as they are near the south, where the water is relatively warmer, their base, shaken by the collisions with other icebergs, begins to melt and weaken. It then happens that their centre of gravity is displaced, and naturally, they overturn. Only if that one had turned over two minutes later, it would have crushed our vessel to pieces.