Chapter IV: In Feather-Land--A Terrible Accident

“How are you, old man?”

“By George, Jack, I _am_ glad to see you!”

“How well you’re looking, Tom!”

“Why, Jim, is that really your silly old self?”

“Me, and nobody else, lad. How’ve ye been?”

“Been roughing it a trifle. Got driven out of our track a piece, you know. Something smashed and we couldn’t make up our leeway.”

“So glad to see you!”

“Been long here?”

“Three whole blessed weeks. The _Elephant_ behaved splendidly all through, except in a typhoon. A real Indian Oceaner that were, Jack. But we called at Mauritius and got letters.”

“Letters?”

“Ay, lad--letters from home. The last we’ll have for many a long month and year.”

These scraps of conversation are but specimens of those heard on board the good _Sea Elephant_, fore and aft, when the _Walrus_ people boarded her at Kerguelen, after dropping anchor in a natural rock-girt harbour of that Isle of Desolation.

Captain Mayne Brace was himself in charge of the whaler which had brought them here, with Ingomar and Charlie; and now they were below in the sister-ship’s cosy saloon, and for a whole hour the conversation never lagged nor flagged.

Everybody was just as jolly as jolly could be, and Dr. Wright had scarcely a case on the sick-list worth talking about.

True that in hoisting the crow’s-nest a rope which had been dried at the galley-fire, and was somewhat scorched in one place, had snapped. The crow’s-nest was hurled to the deck again, but only one man had been injured.

There was no work done to-day. The mariners visited each other, and gave themselves up to enjoyment. When the music from a merry little string band was not sounding from the ’tween decks of the _Sea Elephant_, you could hear it distinctly enough swelling over the water from another merry little string band on board of the _Walrus_, and hear the shouting, and even the laughter, of the crew as well.

Now and then came the coughing roar of the great bears or the shrill but joyful barking of the dogs. Gruff couldn’t understand why he and his wife were not permitted to join the dancers on deck. But this might have been somewhat awkward for the sailors of the _Elephant_ who were visiting the _Walrus_, for though King Gruff knew every one of his own crew, from the captain down to the ship’s cat, he might have treated strangers a trifle roughly. Those who have had the pleasure or pain of waltzing with a Polar bear on the Arctic ice, have been heard to admit afterwards that it is possible to find a much more gentle partner.

This first evening or night--for the days were now long and bright--was one that the crews of those barques would remember long after this under far more dreary circumstances.

But the letters? Ah, yes; a swift mail steamer had brought those to the capital of Mauritius Isle, and now they were handed over to the officers and crew of the _Walrus_. They nearly all brought joy and comfort.

Charlie’s and Walt’s were especially nice, and the same may be said of Ingomar’s letter from his father and sister.

The young fellow had written weeks before he had left England, and here were the answers. The sister’s letter was sweet, as sisters’ letters seem always to be; and the father’s--well, his son could read between the lines, and he felt certain that there had been tears in the good but proud old man’s eyes as he penned the following lines: “You are a brave boy, Hans. You are a true Armstrong, and it is just possible I may have been a trifle harsh to you. I would rather, however, you had not gone away, especially to the wild and treacherous seas around the Antarctic Pole. Come back to me, boy--I say come back to me, because I feel certain you will with honour. Come back to your sister and mother.”

“I’ll return with honour, dad,” said Ingomar to himself, as he folded the letter and placed it in his pocket. “I’ll come back to you with honour, or never return again. It is a handsome letter, and, father, you have a heart that I was cruel enough to vex and chafe. I’ll never part with this letter, for, ah! dad, it shows, however you try to hide it, that you have already forgiven your prodigal son.”

He looked very handsome as he stood there in his little cabin, to which he had stolen away to read the letters from home _over again_.

There was the rattle of oars in rowlocks, and he knew a boat from the _Elephant_ was coming swinging alongside.

Then footsteps overhead, and presently entered his friend Lieutenant Curtis.

“Hillo, Armstrong!”

“Hillo, Curtis!”

They shook hands.

“There is going to be a council of war--war with the ice--to-morrow forenoon, and you and I have to be there. But meanwhile I want you to come for a cruise on shore to have a look at the birds.”

“I’m with you; and I suppose there will be room for the boys?”

“Lots. They can take an oar each. They are strong enough.”

The extreme dreariness and loneliness of these rugged, dark, and hilly shores during some months of the year can be better imagined than described.

Kerguelen was the first to discover the isle. He was a French admiral, but evidently he did not like the looks of it, and his examination must have been but cursory, for he made but one or two half-hearted attempts to examine the place, putting it down in his log as a portion of the great Antarctic continent, about which we have all heard so much.

But other brave mariners managed to put the world to rights, and so Kerguelen was found to be an island.

The rivalry that exists between all nations in the exploration of the great snow lands and seas of ice has done much good. We have most of us had a share in it, and so whether the first man to find either Pole be British or American, or even a Dane or Frenchman, no one else will begrudge him the honour.

No wonder that Kerguelen and Cook himself were glad to get clear away from this island, for the gales that rage around it are often terrific in the Southern autumn. The very appearance of the sky, too, is forbidding, with its awful rolling cumulus or its hues of leaden grey or inky black.

But it was November when the men of the _Walrus_ rowed our heroes on shore, and the day happened to be calm and fine--hardly a breath of wind, hardly a cloudlet in all the firmament.

Now and then a seal’s great head would be raised above the smooth surface of the ocean, and round, wondering eyes would gaze thoughtfully on the wanderers, then slowly sink once more.

And there were gulls afloat on the water and gulls in the sky.

Cormorants could be seen, skuas, and now and then the lovely snow-white petrel.

Some of these had their nests on rocky cliffs, others on the more level shore, but the skuas preferred higher ground, and the droll and weird-looking king penguins had flocked to higher regions still, and formed crowded cities that they might build and converse in peace.

Young Curtis was a student of Nature, and had many other scientific attainments, which made him an excellent companion. There was no finding one’s self weary where Arnold was. The rocks, the birds, the fossils, the seaweeds, and medusæ, the fish, and the flora, all too rare or scarce, formed the subject of most fascinating conversation.

And this young and brave officer had already explored much of Kerguelen, and taken many observations which were bound to be useful in many branches of science. So to-day he was capable of acting as guide to the little picnic.

It was more than springtime in these latitudes. It wanted but little over a month till midsummer, so the birds were very busy indeed. The penguins were an especial study, and their droll ways amused the boys greatly.

“Arrant thieves, they are,” said Curtis. “They are at present too busy examining us. But if one sees a chance, he does not hesitate a moment to steal his neighbour’s eggs, and stick to them too.”

“It is a good thing,” said Ingomar, “we did not bring the dogs with us.”

“Yes, indeed, Hans. They would have caused much destruction and havoc.”

The men followed the officers, and brought bags of matting, in which to stow a few hundred eggs.

Birds’-nesting is sinful, but eggs are needed for food, and those of gulls and penguins are very nice eating indeed. The flesh of the birds may have a fishy taste, if the creatures have not been skinned, but the eggs have no bad taste whatever.

The females sat quietly on their nests, as fearless as frogs, and satisfied themselves with dabbing or pecking at the trousers or boots of the intruders. The cock penguins also take turn about with the hens to sit on the eggs, but at present they were not on watch. They lined the streets of this strange feather-land, and were always ready to fight if any one went too near them.

“Why are there so many birds down yonder on the water or flying about the rocks?” Walt asked.

“Oh,” replied Curtis, “that is a secret not known to all naturalists. Many of these birds are fishing for the rookery, or rather, for their own particular nest in it; but there are very many who choose not to enter into the holy bonds of matrimony at all, and great rogues and cheats these bachelors are, and seem to do their best, or rather worst, to annoy the more sober and staid married folks.

“And this is true,” he added, “of nearly all birds that congregate in colonies, and even of our own humble household British sparrow.”

After a most delightful luncheon, in which the eggs of the sea-birds figured largely, it was proposed by Curtis that they should re-embark, and, rowing round past a cape, visit a still undiscovered part of the island.

They had some difficulty in finding a landing-place, but managed to do so at last, and leaving two men with the boat, the others started off into the interior in search of adventures.

No wild beasts here, no savages, for the place is uninhabited. The hearts of our heroes were young, however; and although they journeyed quite six miles into the interior, through rugged ravines and ice-cold streams, without, of course, the vestige of a road, all were as happy as the day was going to be long.

They found many rare specimens of flora, some eggs, and a few fossils of long-extinct shells.

They were returning by what was considered a near cut, though the ground was higher and far rougher, when suddenly, on the brink of a ravine, the ground gave way under the feet of poor Curtis, and he suddenly disappeared into a kind of crevasse.

They could hear him shouting for a very short time, but his cries seemed to wax feebler and feebler, and then were heard no more.

What was to be done? To descend was impossible without a rope, and here there was none.

But Ingomar, as soon as he recovered somewhat from the grief and shock--for it was firmly believed that Curtis must be dead--despatched men back to the boat, to row in all haste to the ship and procure assistance.

This was, indeed, a sad calamity with which to wind up a very happy day.

While the men were gone, Ingomar and the boys did their very best to find some entrance on lower ground into the crevasse, but were altogether unsuccessful.

There was nothing to be done, therefore, but to wait.

Perhaps time had never seemed more long to any one than it now did to our heroes.

The sun went down at last in orange and crimson, his beams lighting up the waves with unusual splendour, but no one to-night could appreciate the scenery under such circumstances.

The men returned at length, and brought with them not only ropes, but even lanterns; for although there would be a long summer twilight, night would soon fall, and doubtless it would be dark enough at the bottom of the terrible chasm.

It was Ingomar himself who volunteered to be lowered down, and he would brook no contradiction. Was not Arnold Curtis his friend--a friend to whom somehow he had become peculiarly attached?

So the lantern was lighted, Ingomar placed his limbs in the bight of the rope, and immediately gave the order to lower away gently.

In a few seconds’ time he had sunk to the bottom of the abyss.