The Voyages and Adventures of Captain Hatteras/Chapter VII

by Jules Verne

During that day the Forward made easy progress through the loose ice; the breeze was in a good quarter, but the temperature was very low; the wind coming across the ice-fields was thoroughly chilled.

At night the strictest care was necessary; the icebergs crowded together in this narrow passage; often they could be counted by the hundred on the horizon; they had been loosened from the lofty coasts by the incessant beating of the waves and the warmth of the spring month, and they were floating down to melt away in the depths of the ocean. Often, too, they came across large masses of floating wood, which they were obliged to avoid, so that the crow's-nest was placed in position on the top of the foremast; it consisted of a sort of tub, in which the ice-master, partly sheltered from the wind, scanned the sea, giving notice of the ice in sight, and even, if necessary, directing the ship's course.

The nights were short; since the 31st of January the sun had reappeared in refraction, and was every day rising higher and higher above the horizon. But it was hid by the snow, which, if it did not produce utter darkness, rendered navigation difficult.

April 21st, Cape Desolation appeared through the mist; hard work was wearying the crew; since the brig had entered the ice, the sailors had had no rest; it was now necessary to have recourse to steam to force a way through the accumulated masses. The doctor and Johnson were talking together on the afterdeck, while Shandon was snatching a few hours of sleep in his cabin. Clawbonny was very fond of talking with the old sailor, whose numerous voyages had given him a valuable education. The two had made great friends of one another.

“You see, Dr. Clawbonny,” said Johnson, “this country is not like any other; its name is Greenland, but there are very few weeks of the year in which it deserves this name.”

“But, Johnson,” answered the doctor, “who can say whether in the tenth century this name did not suit it? More than one change of this sort has taken place on the globe, and I should astonish you much more by saying that, according to Icelandic chroniclers, two hundred villages flourished on this continent eight or nine hundred years ago.”

“You astonish me so much, Dr. Clawbonny, that I can't believe you; for it's a sterile country.”

“Well, sterile as it is, it supports a good many inhabitants, and among them are some civilized Europeans.”

“Without doubt; at Disco and at Upernavik we shall find men who are willing to live in such a climate; but I always supposed they stayed there from necessity, and not because they liked it.”

“I think you are right; still, men get accustomed to everything, and these Greenlanders appear to me better off than the workingmen of our large cities; they may be unfortunate, but they are not miserable. I say unfortunate, but that is not exactly what I mean; in fact, if they are not quite as comfortable as those who live in temperate regions, they, nevertheless, are accustomed to the severity of the climate, and find in it an enjoyment which we should never imagine.”

“We have to think so, Dr. Clawbonny, because Heaven is just; but I have often visited these coasts, and I am always saddened at the sight of its gloomy loneliness; the capes, promontories, and bays ought to have more attractive names, for Cape Farewell and Cape Desolation are not of a sort to cheer sailors.”

“I have often made the same remark,” answered the doctor; “but these names have a geographical value which is not to be forgotten; they describe the adventures of those who gave them; along with the names of Davis, Baffin, Hudson, Ross, Parry, Franklin, Bellot, if I find Cape Desolation, I also find soon Mercy Bay; Cape Providence makes up for Port Anxiety, Repulse Bay brings me to Cape Eden, and after leaving Point Turnagain I rest in Refuge Bay; in that way I have under my eyes the whole succession of dangers, checks, obstacles, successes, despairs, and victories connected with the great names of my country; and, like a series of antique medals, this nomenclature gives me the whole history of these seas.”

“Well reasoned, Doctor; and may we find more bays of Success in our journey than capes of Despair!”

“I hope so, Johnson; but, tell me, have the crew got over their fears?”

“Somewhat, sir; and yet, to tell the truth, since we entered these straits, they have begun to be very uneasy about the unknown captain; more than one expected to see him appear at the end of Greenland; and so far no news of him. Between ourselves, Doctor, don't you think that is a little strange!”

“Yes, Johnson, I do.”

“Do you believe the captain exists?”

“Without any doubt.”

“But what reason can he have had for acting in this way?”

“To speak frankly, Johnson, I imagine that he wants to get the crew so far away that it will be impossible for them to turn back. Now, if he had appeared on board when we set sail, and every one had known where we were going, he might have been embarrassed.”

“How so?”

“Why, if he wants to try any superhuman enterprise, if he wants to go where so many have failed, do you think he would have succeeded in shipping a crew? But, once on the way, it is easy to go so far that to go farther becomes an absolute necessity.”

“Possibly, Doctor; I have known more than one bold explorer, whose name alone would have frightened every one, and who would have found no one to accompany him on his perilous expeditions—”

“Except me,” said the doctor.

“And me,” continued Johnson. “I tell you our captain is probably one of those men. At any rate, we shall know sooner or later; I suppose that at Upernavik or Melville Bay he will come quietly on board, and let us know whither he intends to take the ship.”

“Very likely, Johnson; but the difficulty will be to get to Melville Bay; see how thick the ice is about us! The Forward can hardly make her way through it. See there, that huge expanse!”

“We whalers call that an ice-field, that is to say, an unbroken surface of ice, the limits of which cannot be seen.”

“And what do you call this broken field of long pieces more or less closely connected?”

“That is a pack; if it's round we call it a patch, and a stream if it is long.”

“And that floating ice?”

“That is drift-ice; if a little higher it would be icebergs; they are very dangerous to ships, and they have to be carefully avoided. See, down there on the ice-field, that protuberance caused by the pressure of the ice; we call that a hummock; if the base were under water, we should call it a cake; we have to give names to them all to distinguish them.”

“Ah, it is a strange sight,” exclaimed the doctor, as he gazed at the wonders of the northern seas; “one's imagination is touched by all these different shapes!”

“True,” answered Johnson, “the ice takes sometimes such curious shapes; and we men never fail to explain them in our own way.”

“See there, Johnson; see that singular collection of blocks of ice! Would one not say it was a foreign city, an Eastern city with minarets and mosques in the moonlight? Farther off is a long row of Gothic arches, which remind us of the chapel of Henry VII., or the Houses of Parliament.”

“Everything can be found there; but those cities or churches are very dangerous, and we must not go too near them. Some of those minarets are tottering, and the smallest of them would crush a ship like the Forward.”

“And yet men have dared to come into these seas under sail alone! How could a ship be trusted in such perils without the aid of steam?”

“Still it has been done; when the wind is unfavorable, and I have known that happen more than once, it is usual to anchor to one of these blocks of ice; we should float more or less around with them, but we would wait for a fair wind; it is true that, travelling in that way, months would be sometimes wasted where we shall need only a few days.”

“It seems to me,” said the doctor, “that the temperature is falling.”

“That would be a pity,” answered Johnson, “for there will have to be a thaw before these masses separate, and float away into the Atlantic; besides, they are more numerous in Davis Strait, because the two stretches of land approach one another between Cape Walsingham and Holsteinborg; but above latitude 67° we shall find in May and June more navigable seas.”

“Yes; but we must get through this first.”

“We must get through, Doctor; in June and July we should have found the passage free, as do the whalers; but our orders were strict; we had to be here in April. If I'm not very much mistaken, our captain is a sound fellow with an idea firm in his head; his only reason for leaving so early was to go far. Whoever survives will see.”

The doctor was right about the falling of the temperature; at noon the thermometer stood at 6°, and a breeze was blowing from the northwest, which, while it cleared the sky, aided the current in accumulating the floating ice in the path of the Forward. It did not all follow the same course; often some pieces, and very high ones, too, floated in the opposite direction under the influence of a submarine current.

The difficulties of this navigation may be readily understood; the engineers had no repose; the engines were controlled from the bridge by means of levers, which started, stopped, and reversed them instantly, at the orders of the officer in command. Sometimes it was necessary to hasten forward to enter an opening in the ice, again to race with a mass of ice which threatened to block up their only egress, or some piece, suddenly-upsetting, obliged the brig to back quickly, in order to escape destruction. This mass of ice, carried and accumulated by the great polar current, was hurried through the strait, and if the frost should unite it, it would present an impassable barrier to the Forward.

In these latitudes numberless birds were to be found; petrels and contremaitres were flying here and there, with deafening cries; there were also many gulls, with their large heads, short necks, and small beaks, which were extending their long wings and braving the snow which the storm was whirling about. This profusion of winged beings enlivened the scene.

Numerous pieces of wood were drifting along, clashing continually into one another; a few whales with large heads approached the ship; but they could not think of chasing them, although Simpson, the harpooner, earnestly desired it. Towards evening several seals were seen, which, with their noses just above the water, were swimming among the great pieces of ice.

On the 22d the temperature was still falling; the Forward carried a great deal of steam to reach an easier sailing-place; the wind blew steadily from the northwest; the sails were furled.

During Sunday the sailors had little to do. After divine service, which was read by Shandon, the crew betook themselves to chasing wild birds, of which they caught a great many. These birds, prepared according to Dr. Clawbonny's method, were an agreeable addition to the messes of the officers and crew.

At three o'clock in the afternoon, the Forward sighted the Kin of Sael, which lay east one quarter northeast, and the Mount Sukkertop, southeast one quarter east half-east; the sea was very high; from time to time a dense fog descended suddenly from the gray sky. Notwithstanding, at noon they were able to take an observation. The ship was found to be in latitude 65°20' and longitude 54°22'. They would have to go two degrees farther north before they would find clearer sailing.

During the three following days, the 24th, 25th, and 26th of April, they had uninterruptedly to fight with the ice; the management of the engines became very tedious; every minute steam was shut off or reversed, and escaped from the safety-valve.

In the dense mist their approach to the icebergs could be known only by the dull roar of the avalanches; then the vessel would shift its course at once; then there was the danger of running into the masses of frozen fresh water, which were as clear as crystal and as hard as stone. Richard Shandon used to take aboard a quantity of this ice every day to supply the ship with fresh water.

The doctor could not accustom himself to the optical illusions produced by refraction; indeed, an iceberg ten or twelve miles distant used to seem to him to be a small piece of ice close by; he tried to get used to this strange phenomenon, in order to be able by and by to overcome the mistakes of his eyesight.

At last, both by towing the brig along the fields of ice and by pushing off threatening blocks with poles, the crew was thoroughly exhausted; and yet, on the 27th of April, the Forward was still detained on the impassable Polar Circle.