Chapter IX: Terrible Sufferings--Victory

There was much talk of home to-night, between Curtis and Ingomar. The former told his friend all about his English roof-tree, and cheerfully of his doings while living there as a boy, all his sports, and fun, and play, and his practical jokes on the old gardener. About the horses his father rode to the hounds, and about the hounds themselves. There had only been two in the family, two children, I mean, and sister had a pony as well as he, and, oh! the glorious scampers they had had over his father’s wide and beautiful estate, which usually ended, he said, in getting into grief or trouble.

But father was dead, and mother and sister too, and although the land was now his, somehow he did not care to go back and live there. It would be so sad and lonesome. It was grief that had caused him to work so hard, and to take to the study of the sciences, even when but a small cadet on board the old _Britannia_.

“For study, my friend, will kill care, or lessen it. Is it not so, Ingomar?”

“And grief is the parent of Fame, often enough, Curtis.”

“I got away on long leave to travel on a semi-scientific expedition with some geologists, and you know it was there I met your beautiful sister. I wonder, brother, if we three shall ever meet again--Marie, you, and I.”

“I’ll tell you,” said Ingomar,

“‘When the hurly-burly’s done,
When the battle’s lost and won.’

And now to bag, my boy, for the hurly-burly must begin in earnest to-morrow.”

* * * * *

It was snowing fast next day when they turned their backs on the great Antarctic sea of ice, and began to retrace their steps back to the camp, where they had left their companions.

No snow nor tempest must bar their progress now, if they would return before their food stores were finished.

Somehow going back is a less exciting experience than going forward with an object in view. The object is gained, and one must think of something else to keep one’s spirits up.

* * * * *

Even in the absence of their friends, Ingomar and Lieutenant Curtis, during the month of January and the first two weeks of February, the lads, Charlie and Walter, found something to do. It is good old Watts, I believe, who tells us that--

“The devil still some mischief finds
For idle hands to do.”

But, like brave British boys, they did not mean to wait for the devil to suggest anything. They had brought some books with them, it is true, but their muscles needed exercise, their joints needed lubricants to keep them in health.

So on every available day, every day, indeed, on which a bird could have flown, had there been any birds here, they were off, after breakfast, either on a sleighing trip or a scamper on snow-shoes, accompanied by Nora and Nick.

Gruff and Growley sometimes took it into their wise heads to make two of the party, and Grumpey with Meg would come shuffling up behind, accompanied by their own particular pets, the three Yak dogs that had slept in their den at sea.

They used to return hungry as hunters to the modest midday dinner.

The ponies were never forgotten, we may be sure. It was felt to be a sacred duty to take them out twice a day.

But this was not all, for something, I know not what, had induced the boys to bring with them in the sledge-baggage not only a supply of hockey sticks and balls, but two footballs as well. And so a game of footer was carried on right merrily when weather permitted, halfway down the glen, where the snow was level and hard.

The sailors enjoyed this immensely, so, too, did the Eskimos. So, for the matter of that, did Nick and Nora, although they introduced some new features into the game, which never before had been dreamt of.

Never mind, it was the best of fun. So, too, was hockey. Here, although the dogs took good care not to mingle in a close tussle, they hung round on the outskirts, and pinched the ball and retrieved it.

Anxiety and melancholy began to take possession of the hearts of the expedition, after the time had long gone past wherein Curtis and Ingomar ought to have returned.

The weather was getting very inclement, too. Short, wild storms were becoming more and more frequent, and wind blowing at the rate of ninety miles an hour, breaking the falling snow into suffocating ice-dust.

On such days, hardly even the dogs dared to show face outside. To go beyond the threshold of the igloo gave one a touch of asthma. For the summer was waning, and, as usual, winding up with short snaps of storm and tempest.

The sun was getting very near to the horizon now, at midnight, and soon would set.

Why came they not? Would they never return?

Hoping against hope, Captain X. proposed giving the men some solid work to do.

Tools of excavation or digging had been brought out, for Curtis meant to try to make an opening in some hillside for the purpose of studying geology.

“Why not make use of these now, while we all await in such suspense? Men,” he added, “it’ll keep the fingers of us from gettin’ frozen, and better a blister than a frost-bite.”

Dr. Wright readily gave his consent.

Now, right across the glen, not more than three-quarters of a mile distant, rose a rounded, but somewhat cliffy hill. There was a tantalizing piece of glacier, part ice, part snow, hanging over one cliff, in the shape of a waterfall, though it did not reach quite to the bottom.

Mac was itching to blast it, and lay open a portion at least of the hillside.

And so one day he set to work, and busy picks and shovels soon excavated a hole big enough to admit and bury the explosive.

It was to be fired by electricity from a safe distance, and all hands were there to look on.

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It was great fun for the boys. They both liked Mac, and when, with a kindly twinkle in his blue eyes, he turned round and said, “Now, which of you boys will touch the button and fire the mine?” both said “Oh!” and their faces beamed.

“I won’t,” said Charlie, “because Walt is six weeks younger.”

“Brave boy. Well, Walt, _you_.”

And Walt took the thing in hand at once. The explosion that followed was a terrible one; the sky was filled with smoke, and dust, and _débris_, and the dull roar seemed to shake the hills on every side.

When the hillside was thus exposed, every one was puzzled to observe something dark at the foot of it, which resembled the entrance to a cave.

A strong accumulator for electric light had been brought by Curtis, in case it might be needed, and next day, when the cave had had time to ventilate itself from the outside, Mac, Dr. Wright, and the two boys ventured half-fearfully inside.

Here was a cavern, indeed, and one of immense size. It had never been made by human hands, that was certain. The light was turned on the walls and floor in every direction. All were black and bare, but dry.

The mystery lay in the fact, that on touching the floor it was found to be warm. And yet the rocks around were certainly not igneous.

And there was another mystery; on bending down and applying the ear to the floor, a distinct murmuring sound could be heard.

“If it’s no fire,” said Mac, “it must be steam, and that is the short and the long of it.

“And,” he added, “if we have to stay here for many months mair, what a comfortable bield[F] for baith man and beast this cave will mak.”

But there was still a third mystery, for far away at the other end lay a dark pile, and, on advancing and turning the light on this, Mac, sturdy though he was, staggered back in fear and dread.

“God save us a’!” he cried; “that’s the banes (bones) o’ some awfu’ defunct dragons that must hae roamed the woods and forest here millions and millions of years ago!”

“I think,” said Dr. Wright, “we had better not touch them till Mr. Curtis arrives.”

“Lord love you!” cried honest Mac. “I wadna’ touch them wi’ the tae o’ ma beet (toe of my boot).”

Another week passed away, and so wearily, for there were no signs of the return of the wanderers.

The weather began now to get most inclement, and so it was resolved to remove everything into the cave they had so providentially discovered. This took some time.

But though there was ample room for even the bears, neither they nor the Yak dogs would enter. They preferred the old camp and the snow.

“I dinna wonder,” said Mac, “at their no likin’ to come in here, for, gweed save us, doctor, it looks an awfu’ uncanny place.”

Another week of weary suspense, then, one morning, in rushed Slap-dash himself. He could only say hurriedly that the sledge team was within five miles, but dogs and men were too exhausted to come further.

* * * * *

Curtis and Ingomar were brought in that forenoon. The meeting was a very joyful one, although Dr. Wright at once forbade all talking for the time being.

He then put them all on the sick list, and in three days’ time they were able to talk, though but feebly, and tell of their sufferings and dangers. How, when they could not have been more than two days’ journey from the camp, they were overwhelmed by a sudden and fearful storm in which one dog was killed. How nearly all the meagre remainder of biscuits was destroyed, how they struggled on and on, too weak, almost, to wish to live, the poor dogs lying down almost at every mile, for their feet were swollen and bleeding, and even when they did move, it was with listless, hanging heads, for they seemed to have abandoned all hope. How they (Curtis and Ingomar) took to their snow-shoes, although their limbs were hot and swollen, and their faces blistered. How they lost the road, for the photographs were now of no use, and at last lay down among the dogs to die.

Oh, it was a pitiful story, but a record of sufferings borne manfully and uncomplainingly, for they had done their best, and were leaving the rest to God.

“No,” said Ingomar; “we felt no pain of any kind, not even cold, when we fell, rather than lay down. Drowsy, though; yes, very drowsy, and I knew the drowsiness was that of death. The last thing I remember was poor Wallace licking my cheek. But for that dog and Slap-dash we should have been buried in the snow. But cheerily does it, Curtis, old man. We have more harm yet to do, if we can only get back home to do it.”

The dogs were soon themselves again, and fit for anything; but another fortnight elapsed before Curtis and Ingomar were strong enough to take much interest in anything.

One day Dr. Wright proclaimed them quite out of danger. They had only to eat, and so an extra allowance of good things was given them, and they grew well after this, as if by magic.

There could be no thought of returning, however, to the seashore now, until winter was past. _If_ they could but live through it. An ugly little “if” that.

“It won’t be half so bad as we think,” said Macdonald, cheerily. “We’ve plenty to eat, though we might dae wi’ a drap mair whisky.

“I dinna believe half what I read about the rigours o’ the Antarctic winter, only you sair-footit Englishmen are brocht up to be frichtened at a pickle snaw. Noo, if I had you in the Hielans----”

“Hush, hush! Mac,” cried Curtis, laughing. “Don’t give us any more Hielans just at present”--it was at breakfast. “Listen, old man, our provisions will last us through the remains of the autumn, and through the darkness of the long winter, till the sun comes out again; but we must work now while it is called to-day, and I am going to examine these wonderful bones of yours this very forenoon.”

“_My_ bones! What’s the matter wi’ my bones? I’ve Hielan’ bones and Hielan’ blood, and if----”

“I know, Mac, I know. But I mean that heap!”

“I’ll tak’ naething to do wi’t. It’s hardly canny to bide (stay) in the same room wi’ such an awful cairn. But to touch them--Ugh!”

But the men were not so superstitious, and heavy though they were, soon had most of them carried out to the light, and, under Curtis’s direction, they were arranged to form complete skeletons.

Even this young scientist himself was a little puzzled until he had examined the strata of the cave, for what had been bones originally were now petrified, or turned into stone by the drip of water containing silicates, etc., from above.

The monsters had belonged to ages long past, when the now snow-capped Antarctic continent was a world of life and wild beauty. The biggest skeleton was sixty-four feet long, and with terrible jaws and teeth. They were evidently saurians of a prehistoric period, with the bodies of gigantic snakes, and the flippers of seals to enable them to seek their prey in the water as well as on the dry land.

A mystery of the past! They were carefully restored, but some day will doubtless be seen in one of the great museums of Paris or London.

But autumn was now far advanced, and it was not without some degree of uncertainty that Curtis himself looked forward to the long dark night of winter.