Beside the hut there stood a small truncated cone about fifteen feet high, on the summit of which sat an old white-bearded man, who intently watched the approaching travellers.

"Behold—Makitok!" said Teyma as they drew near.

The old man did not move. He appeared to be over eighty years of age, and, unlike Eskimos in general, had a bushy snow-white beard. The thin hair on his head was also white, and his features were good.

Our travellers were not disappointed with this strange recluse, who received them with an air of refinement and urbanity so far removed from Eskimo manners and character, that Captain Vane felt convinced he must be descended from some other branch of the human family. Makitok felt and expressed a degree of interest in the objects of the expedition which had not been observed in any Eskimo, except Chingatok, and he was intelligent and quick of perception far before most of those who surrounded him.

"And what have you to say about yourself?" asked the captain that evening, after a long animated conversation on the country and its productions.

"I have little to say," replied the old man, sadly. "There is no mystery about my family except its beginning in the long past."

"But is not all mystery in the long past?" asked the Captain.

"True, my son, but there is a difference in my mystery. Other Eskimos can trace back from son to father till they get confused and lost, as if surrounded by the winter-fogs. But when I trace back—far back—I come to one man—my first father, who had no father, it is said, and who came no one knows from where. My mind is not confused or lost; it is stopped!"

"Might not the mystery-bundle that you call buk explain matters?" asked Alf.

When this was translated, the old man for the first time looked troubled.

"I dare not open it," he said in an undertone, as if speaking to himself. "From father to son we have held it sacred. It must grow— ever grow—never diminish!"

"It's a pity he looks at it in that light," remarked Leo to Benjy, as they lay down to sleep that night. "I have no doubt that the man whom he styles first father wrapped up the thing, whatever it is, to keep it safe, not to make a mystery of it, and that his successors, having begun with a mistaken view, have now converted the re-wrapping of the bundle by each successive heir into a sacred obligation. However, we may perhaps succeed in overcoming the old fellow's prejudices. Good-night, Benjy."

A snore from Benjy showed that Leo's words had been thrown away, so, with a light laugh, he turned over, and soon joined his comrade in the land of dreams.

For two weeks the party remained on Great Isle, hunting, shooting, fishing, collecting, and investigating; also, we may add, astonishing the natives.

During that period many adventures of a more or less exciting nature befell them, which, however, we must pass over in silence. At the end of that time, the youth who had been sent for the Captain's sextant and other philosophical instruments arrived with them all—thermometers, barometers, chronometers, wind and water gauges, pendulums, etcetera, safe and sound.

As the instruments reached Cup Valley, (so Benjy had styled Makitok's home), in the morning, it was too early for taking trustworthy observations. The Captain therefore employed the time in erecting an observatory. For this purpose he selected, with Makitok's permission, the truncated cone close to the recluse's dwelling. Here, after taking formal possession and hoisting the Union Jack, he busied himself, in a state of subdued excitement, preparing for the intended observations.

"I'll fix the latitude and longitude in a few hours," he said. "Meantime, Leo, you and Benjy had better go off with the rifle and fetch us something good for dinner."

Leo and Benjy were always ready to go a-hunting. They required no second bidding, but were soon rambling over the slopes or wading among the marshes of the island in pursuit of game.

Leo carried his repeater; Benjy the shot-gun. Both wore native Eskimo boots as long as the leg, which, being made of untanned hide, are, when soaked, thoroughly waterproof. (See Note.)

Oolichuk and Butterface carried the game-bags, and these were soon filled with such game as was thought best for food. Sending them back to camp with orders to empty the bags and return, Leo and Benjy took to the uplands in search of nobler game. It was not difficult to find. Soon a splendid stag was shot by Leo and a musk-ox by Benjy.

Not long after this, the bag-bearers returned.

"You shoots mos' awful well, Massas," said Butterface; "but it's my 'pinion dat you bof better go home, for Captain Vane he go mad!"

"What d'you mean, Butterface?" asked Leo.

"I mean dat de Capp'n he's hoed mad, or suffin like it, an' Massa Alf not mush better."

A good deal amused and surprised by the negro's statement, the two hunters hastened back to Makitok's hut, where they indeed found Captain Vane in a state of great excitement.

"Well, uncle, what's the news?" asked Leo; "found your latitude higher than you expected?"

"Higher!" exclaimed the Captain, seizing his nephew by both hands and shaking them. "Higher! I should think so—couldn't be higher. There's neither latitude nor longitude here, my boy! I've found it! Come—come up, and I'll show you the exact spot—the North Pole itself!"

He dragged Leo to the top of the truncated cone on which he had pitched his observatory.

"There, look round you," he cried, taking off his hat and wiping the perspiration from his brow.

"Well, uncle, where is it?" asked Leo, half-amused and half-sceptical.

"Where! why, don't you see it? No, of course you don't. You're looking all round it, lad. Look down,—down at your feet. Leonard Vandervell," he added, in sudden solemnity, "you're on it! you're standing on the North Pole now!"

Leo still looked incredulous.

"What I you don't believe? Convince him, Alf."

"Indeed it is true," said Alf; "we have been testing and checking our observations in every possible manner, and the result never varies more than a foot or two. The North Pole is at this moment actually under our feet."

As we have now, good reader, at last reached that great point of geographical interest which has so long perplexed the world and agitated enterprising man, we deem this the proper place to present you with a map of Captain Vane's discoveries.

"And so," said Benjy with an injured look, "the geography books are right after all; the world is 'a little flattened at the Poles like an orange.' Well, I never believed it before, and I don't believe yet that it's like an orange."

"But it is more than flattened, Benjy," said Leo; "don't you see it is even hollowed out a little, as if the spinning of the world had made a sort of whirlpool at the North Pole, and no doubt there is the same at the South."

Chingatok, who was listening to the conversation, without of course understanding it, and to whom the Captain had made sundry spasmodic remarks during the day in the Eskimo tongue, went that night to Amalatok, who was sitting in Makitok's hut, and said—

"My father, Blackbeard has found it!"

"Found what, my son?—his nothing—his Nort Pole?"

"Yes, my father, he has found his Nort Pole."

"Is he going to carry it away with him in his soft wind-boat?" asked the old chief with a half-humorous, half-contemptuous leer.

"And," continued Chingatok, who was too earnest about the matter to take notice of his father's levity, "his Nort Pole is something after all! It is not nothing, for I heard him say he is standing on it. No man can stand on nothing; therefore his Nort Pole which he stands on must be something."

"He is standing on my outlook. He must not carry that away," remarked Makitok with a portentous frown.

"Boh!" exclaimed Amalatok, rising impatiently. "I will not listen to the nonsense of Blackbeard. Have I not heard him say that the world stands on nothing, spins on nothing, and rolls continually round the sun? How can anything spin on nothing? And as to the sun, use your own eyes. Do you not see that for a long time it rolls round the world, for a long time it rolls in a circle above us, and for a long time it rolls away altogether, leaving us all in darkness? My son, these Kablunets are ignorant fools, and you are not much better for believing them. Boo! I have no patience with the nonsense talk of Blackbeard."

The old chief flung angrily out of the hut, leaving his more philosophic son to continue the discussion of the earth's mysteries with Makitok, the reputed wizard of the furthest possible north.

————————————————————————————————————

Note. The writer has often waded knee-deep in such boots, for hours at a time, on the swampy shores of Hudson's Bay, without wetting his feet in the slightest degree.



CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

TELLS, AMONG OTHER THINGS, OF A NOTABLE DISCOVERY.

Soon after this, signs of approaching winter began to make their appearance in the regions of the North Pole. The sun, which at first had been as a familiar friend night and day, had begun to absent himself not only all night, but during a large portion of each day, giving sure though quiet hints of his intention to forsake the region altogether, and leave it to the six months' reign of night. Frost began to render the nights bitterly cold. The birds, having brought forth and brought up their young, were betaking themselves to more temperate regions, leaving only such creatures as bears, seals, walruses, foxes, wolves, and men, to enjoy, or endure, the regions of the frigid zone.

Suddenly there came a day in October when all the elemental fiends and furies of the Arctic circle seemed to be let loose in wildest revelry. It was a turning-point in the Arctic seasons.

By that time Captain Vane and his party had transported all their belongings to Great Isle, where they had taken up their abode beside old Makitok. They had, with that wizard's permission, built to themselves a temporary stone hut, as Benjy Vane facetiously said, "on the very top of the North Pole itself;" that is, on the little mound or truncated cone of rock, in the centre of the Great Isle, on which they had already set up the observatory, and which cone was, in very truth, as nearly as possible the exact position of that long-sought-for imaginary point of earth as could be ascertained by repeated and careful observations, made with the best of scientific instruments by thoroughly capable men.

Chingatok and his father, with a large band of their followers and some of their women, had also encamped, by permission, round the Pole, where, in the intervals of the chase, they watched, with solemn and unflagging interest, the incomprehensible doings of the white men.

The storm referred to began with heavy snow—that slow, quiet, down-floating of great flakes which is so pleasant, even restful, in its effect on the senses. At first it seemed as if a golden haze were mixed with the snowfall, suggesting the idea that the sun's rays were penetrating it.

"Most beautiful!" said Leo, who sat beside the Captain and his friends on the North Pole enjoying the view through the open doorway of the hut, and sipping a cup of coffee.

"It reminds me," said Alf, "of Buzzby's lines:—

"'The snowflakes falling softly In the morning's golden prime, Suggestive of a gentle touch And the silent flight of Time.'"

"Behold a more powerful reminder of the flight of Time!" said Benjy, pointing to the aged Makitok, who, with white beard and snow-besprinkled person, came slowly towards them like the living embodiment of "Old Father Christmas."

"Come," said Leo, hastening to assist the old man, "let me help you up the Pole."

Leo, and indeed all the party, had fallen in with Benjy's humour, and habitually referred thus to their mound.

"Why comes the ancient one here through the snow?" said Captain Vane, rising and offering Makitok his seat, which was an empty packing-case. "Surely my friend does not think we would forget him? Does not Benjy always carry him his morning cup of coffee when the weather is too bad for him to come hither?"

"Truly," returned the old man, sitting down with a sigh, "the Kablunets are kind. They never forget. Bunjee never fails to bring the cuffy, though he does sometimes pretend to forget the shoogre, till I have tasted it and made a bad face; then he laughs and remembers that the shoogre is in his pouch. It is his little way. But I come not to-day for cuffy; I come to warn. There is danger in the air. Blackbeard must take his strange things," (thus he referred to the philosophical instruments), "away from here—from—ha!—from Nort Pole, and put them in my hut, where they will be safe."

The Captain did not at once reply. Turning to his companions he said—

"I see no particular reason to fear this 'danger in the air.' I'll go and consult Chingatok or his father on the point."

"The ancient one, as you call him," said Benjy, "seems to be growing timid with age."

"The youthful one," retorted the Captain, "seems to be growing insolent with age. Go, you scamp, and tell Amalatok I want to speak with him."

Whatever faults our young hero had, disobedience was not one of them. He rose promptly, and soon returned with the chief of Poloeland.

Amalatok confirmed the wizard's opinions, and both opinions were still more powerfully confirmed, while he was speaking, by a gust of wind which suddenly came rushing at them as if from all points of the compass, converging at the Pole and shooting upwards like a whirlwind, carrying several hats of the party with volumes of the now wildly agitated snow up into the sky.

There was no room for further hesitation.

"Why, Massa Bunjay, I thought my woolly scalp he hoed up 'long wid my hat!" cried Butterface, leaping up in obedience to the Captain's hurried order to look sharp and lend a hand.

In a short time all the instruments were removed from the observatory and carefully housed in Makitok's hut. Even while they were thus engaged the storm burst on them with excessive violence. The snow which had been falling so softly, was caught up by the conflicting winds and hurled high into the air, or driven furiously over the valley in all directions, for the gale did not come from any fixed quarter; it rose and swooped and eddied about, driving the snow-drift now here, now there, and shrieking as if in wild delight at the chaotic havoc it was permitted to play.

"Confusion worse confounded!" gasped Leo, as he staggered past Alf with the last load on his shoulder.

"And yet there must be order everywhere," observed Chingatok, when, after all were safely housed in Makitok's hut that evening, he heard Leo repeat that sentiment.

"Why do you think so, Chingatok?" asked the Captain with some curiosity.

"Because there is order even in my hut," returned the giant. "Pingasuk, (referring to his wife), keeps all things in perfect order. Is the World-Maker less wise than Pingasuk? Sometimes, no doubt, when Pingasuk is cooking, or arranging, things may seem in disorder to the eye of my little boy Meltik and the small one, (referring to baby), but when Meltik and the small one grow older and wiser, they will see that it is not so."

While Chingatok was speaking, a gust of wind more furious than ever struck the hut and shook it to its foundations. At the same time a loud rumbling sound was heard outside. Most of the men leaped up, caught hold of spears or knives, and rushed out. Through the driving drift they could just see that the observatory, which was a flimsy structure, had been swept clean away, and that the more solid hut was following it. Even as they gazed they saw its roof caught up, and whirled off as if it had been a scroll of paper. The walls fell immediately after, and the stones rolled down the rocky cone with a loud rattling, which was partially drowned by the shrieking of the tempest.

For three days the storm lasted. During that time it was almost impossible to show face in the open air. On the night of the third day the fury of the wind abated. Then it suddenly became calm, but when Butterface opened the door, and attempted to go out, he found himself effectually checked by a wall of snow. The interior of the hut was pitch dark, and it was not until a lamp had been lighted that the party found they were buried alive!

To dig themselves out was not, however, a difficult matter. But what a scene presented itself to their view when they regained the upper air! No metamorphosis conceived by Ovid or achieved by the magic lantern; no pantomimic transformation; no eccentricity of dreamland ever equalled it! When last seen, the valley was clothed in all the rich luxuriance of autumnal tints, and alive with the twitter and plaintive cry of bird-life. Now it was draped in the pure winding-sheet of winter, and silent in the repose of Arctic death. Nothing almost was visible but snow. Everything was whelmed in white. Only here and there a few of the sturdier clumps of bushes held up their loads like gigantic wedding-cakes, and broke the universal sameness of the scene. One raven was the only living representative of the birds that had fled. It soared calmly over the waste, as if it were the wizard who had wrought the change, and was admiring its work.

"Winter is upon us fairly now, friends," said Captain Vane as he surveyed the prospect from the Pole, which was itself all but buried in the universal drift, and capped with the hugest wedding-cake of all; "we shall have to accommodate ourselves to circumstances, and prepare for the campaign."

"I suppose the first thing we shall have to do is to build a snow-house," said Benjy, looking ruefully round, for, as usual, he was depressed by first appearances.

"Just so, Benjy; and the sooner we go to work the better."

Now, the reader must not hastily conclude that we are about to inflict on him or her a detailed narrative of a six months' residence at the North Pole. We have no such fell design. Much though there is to tell,—much of suffering, more of enjoyment, many adventures, numerous stirring incidents, and not a few mishaps—we shall pass over the most of it in total silence, and touch only on those points which are worthy of special notice.

Let us leap, then, into the very middle of the Arctic winter. It is continuously dark now. There is no day at all at the Pole; it is night all round. The last glimmer of the departing sun left them months ago; the next glimmer of his return will not reach them for months to come. The northern Eskimos and their English visitors were well aware of that, nevertheless there was nothing of gloom or depressed spirits among them. They were too busy for that. Had not meat to be procured, and then consumed? Did not the procuring involve the harnessing of dogs in sledges, the trapping of foxes and wolves, the fighting of walruses, the chasing of polar bears; and did not the consuming thereof necessitate much culinary work for the women, much and frequent attention and labour on the part of the whole community, not to mention hours, and sometimes days, of calm repose?

Then, as to light, had they not the Aurora Borealis, that mysterious shimmering in the northern sky which has puzzled philosophers from the beginning of time, and is not unlikely to continue puzzling them to the end? Had they not the moon and the stars, which latter shone with a brilliancy almost indescribable, and among them the now doubly interesting Pole star, right overhead, with several new and gorgeous constellations unknown to southern climes?

Besides all this, had not Captain Vane his scientific investigations, his pendulum experiments, his wind-gauging, his ozone testing, his thermometric, barometric, and chronometric observations, besides what Benjy styled his kiteometric pranks? These last consisted in attempts to bring lightning down from the clouds by means of a kite and cord, and in which effort the Captain managed to knock himself down, and well-nigh shattered the North Pole itself in pieces!

Moreover, had not Leo to act the part of physician and surgeon to the community? a duty which he fulfilled so well that there never had been before that time such a demand for physic in Flatland, and, it is probable, there never will be so many sick people there again. In addition to this, Leo had to exercise his marvellous powers as a huntsman. Benjy, of course, played his wonted role of mischief-maker and jack-of-all-trades to the entire satisfaction of everybody, especially on that great occasion when he succeeded in killing a polar bear single-handed, and without the aid of gun or spear or any lethal weapon whatever;—of which great event, more hereafter. Anders, the southern Eskimo, made himself generally agreeable, and Butterface became a prime favourite, chiefly because of his inexhaustible fund of fun and good humour, coupled with his fine musical qualities.

We have not said much on this latter point hitherto, because we have been unwilling to overwhelm the reader with too sudden a disclosure of that marvellous magazine of power which was latent in our band of heroes; but we feel it to be our duty now to state that the negro sang his native melodies with such pathos that he frequently reduced, (perhaps we should say elevated), the unsophisticated Eskimos to floods of tears, and sometimes to convulsions of laughter. As, at Benjy's suggestion, he sometimes changed his moods abruptly, the tears often mingled with the convulsions, so as to produce some vivid illustrations of Eskimo hysteria.

But Butterface's strong point was the flute! No one who had not witnessed it could adequately conceive the poutings of thick red lips and general contortions of black visage that seemed necessary in order to draw the tones out of that simple instrument. The agonies of expression, the hissing of wind, and the turning up of whites of large black eyes,—it is past belief! The fruitless efforts of the Eskimos to imitate him were as nothing to the great original, and their delight at the sound was only equalled by their amazement at the sight.

Alf assisted the Captain scientifically and otherwise. Of course he was compelled, during the long winter, to lay aside his geological hammer and botanical box; but, then, had he not the arrangement and naming of his specimens? His chief work, however, was to act the unwonted, and, we may add, unexpected work of a lawgiver.

This duty devolved on him thus:

When Grabantak recovered health—which he was very long in doing—his spirit was so far subdued that he agreed—somewhat sulkily, it is true— to all that his prime minister had done while he held the reins of government. Then he was induced to visit Great Isle, where he was introduced to his mortal foe Amalatok, whom he found to be so much a man after his own heart that he no longer sighed for the extraction of his spinal marrow or the excision of his liver, but became a fast friend, and was persuaded by Alf to agree to a perpetual peace. He also took a great fancy to Chingatok, who begged of Alf to read to the chief of Flatland some of the strange and new ideas contained in his little book.

Alf willingly complied, and for hours these northern savages sat in rapt attention listening to the Bible story.

"My son," said Grabantak one evening to Chingatok, "if we are henceforth to live in peace, why not unite and become one nation?"

"Why not?" echoed Chingatok.

When Amalatok and Makitok heard the question propounded, they also said, "Why not?" and, as nobody objected, the thing was settled off-hand then and there.

"But," said the prime minister of Flatland, starting a difficulty, "who is to be greatest chief?"

Amalatok, on whose mind the spirit of Christianity had been gradually making an impression, said promptly, "Let Grabantak be chief. He is wise in council and brave in war."

Grabantak had instantly jumped to the conclusion that he ought to be greatest chief, and was about to say so, when Amalatok's humility struck him dumb. Recovering himself he replied—

"But there is to be no mere war! and I have been a warrior. No, let Amalatok be great chief. He is old, and wisdom lies with age."

"I am not so sure of that!" muttered Captain Vane to himself in English; then to the giant in Eskimo, "What says Chingatok?"

"May I speak, my father?" said the giant, dutifully, to Amalatok.

"You may speak, my son."

"Then," continued Chingatok, "I would advise that there should be three chiefs, who shall be equal—my father, Grabantak, and Makitok. Let these consult about our affairs. Let the people appoint twelve men to hold council with them, and what the most of them agree to shall be done."

After some further talk this compromise was agreed to.

"But the laws of Poloeland and those of Flatland are different," said Amalatok, starting another objection. "We must have the same laws."

"My brother chief is wise," said Grabantak. "Let us have new laws, and let that wise young Kablunet, Alf, make them."

"Both my brother chiefs are wise," said Makitok. "Let it be done, and let him take the laws out of the little thing that speaks to him." (Thus they referred to the Bible, having no word in their language by which to name it.)

Great was the surprise of Alf at the honour and labour thus thrust upon him, but he did not shrink from it. On the contrary, he set to work at once with notebook and pencil, and set down the two "Great Commandments:" "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind;" and, "Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself," as the first law in the new code. He set down as the second the golden rule, "Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them."

Proceeding from these as a basis, he worked his way gradually down the code till he had embraced nearly all the possibilities of Eskimo life—a work which kept him busy all the winter, and was not quite finished when "time and tide" obliged him and his companions to quit the land.

Now, not long after this eventful council, Benjy Vane burst rather irreverently into his father's hut with excited looks, holding what looked like an old book in his hand.

"What have you got there, lad?"

"I've got it at last, father! You know I've been trying to wheedle old Makitok into letting me open his mysterious bundle. Well, I prevailed on him to let me do it this afternoon. After unrolling bundle after bundle, I came at last to the centre, and found that it contained nothing whatever but this book, wrapped up in an old cotton pocket-handkerchief. The book is very old, father. See, 1611 on the first page. I did not take time to glance at more than that, but brought it straight away to you."

"Hand it over, Benjy," said the Captain eagerly. "This accounts for the mysterious 'buk' that we've heard so much about."

He received the little book with a look of tender curiosity and opened it carefully, while Leo, Alf, and his son looked on over his shoulder.

"1611, sure enough," he said, "though not very legible. The characters are queer, too. Try, Alf, what you can make of it."

Alf took the book. As he did so old Makitok entered, somewhat anxious as to what they were doing with his treasure. Being quieted by the Captain with a draught of cold tea, and made to sit down, the examination of the book proceeded.

"It is much worn, and in places is almost illegible, as might be expected," said Alf. "Let me see. 'Coast of Labrador, (something illegible here), 1611. This day the mutineers took possess ... (can't make out what follows), and put Captain Hudson, with his son, myself, the carpenter, and five sick men into the dinghy, casting us, (blank), with some, (blank), and one cask of water. I begin this diary to-day. It may never be seen by man, but if it does fall into the hands of any one who can read it, he will do a service to ... by conveying ... England.—John Mackintosh, seaman.'

"Can it be possible?" said Alf, looking up from the relic with an expression of deep solemnity, "that we have found a record of that great Arctic explorer, the unfortunate Henry Hudson?"

"It seems like it, Alf; read on," said Leo, eagerly.

We will not further trouble the reader with Alf's laboured deciphering of this curious and ancient notebook, which was not only stained and worn, but in many places rudely torn, as if its owner had seen much hard service. We will merely run over a few of the chief points which it cleared up. Unfortunately, it threw no additional light on the fate of poor Hudson. Many of the first pages of the book which no doubt treated of that, had been destroyed and the legible portion began in the middle of a record of travelling with a sledge-party of Eskimos to the north of parallel 85 degrees 20 minutes—a higher northern latitude, it will be observed, than had been reached by any subsequent explorer except Captain Vane. No mention being made of English comrades, the presumption remained that they had all been killed or had died—at all events that Mackintosh had been separated from them, and was the only survivor of the party travelling with the Eskimos.

Further on the journal, which was meagre in detail, and kept in the dry form of a log-book, spoke of having reached a far northern settlement. Reference was also made to a wife and family, leading to the conclusion that the seaman had permanently cast in his lot with the savages, and given up all hope of returning to his native land.

One sentence near the end caused a considerable sensation, and opened their eyes to a fact which they might have guessed if they had not been too much taken up with the spelling out of the faded pencilling to think of it at first.

Alf read it with difficulty. It ran thus:—

"Another boy born to-day. His name is Igluk. It is only the eldest boy of a family, in this tribe, who bears his father's surname. My eldest alone goes by the name of Mackintosh. His eldest will bear the same name, and so on. But these Eskimos make a sad mess of it. I doubt if my Scotch kinsmen would recognise us under the name of Makitok which is the nearest—"

"Makitok!" shouted Benjy, gazing open-eyed at the white-bearded wizard, who returned the gaze with some astonishment.

"Why, old boy," cried the boy, jumping up and seizing the wizard's hand, "you're a Scotsman!"

"So he is," said the Captain with a look of profound interest.

"And I say," continued Benjy, in a tone so solemn that the eyes of all the party were turned on him, "we did find him sitting on the North Pole!"

"And what of that, you excitable goose?" said the Captain.

"Goose, father! Am I a goose for recognising the fulfilment of an ancient prophecy? Has it not been a familiar saying, ever since I was born, that when the North Pole was discovered, a Scotsman would be found sitting on the top of it?"

"Unfortunately, Ben," returned Alf with a laugh, "the same prophecy exists in other lands. Among the Germans, I believe, it is held that a Bohemian and a Jew will be found on the top of it."

"That only confirms the correctness of prophecy in general," retorted Benjy, "for this man unites all these in his own person. Does not this notebook prove him to be a Scot? Have we not just found him? which proves him to be one of a 'lost tribe'—in other words, a Jew; and, surely, you'll admit that, in appearance at least, he is Bohemian enough for the settlement of any disputed question. Yes, he's a Scotch Bohemian Jew, or I'm a Dutchman."

This discovery seemed almost too much for Benjy. He could not think or talk of anything else the remainder of that day.

Among other things he undertook to explain to Makitok something of his origin and antecedents.

"Ancient one," he said earnestly, through the medium of Anders, when he had led the old man aside privately, "you come of a grand nation. They are called Scots, and are said to be remarkably long-headed and wonderfully cautious. Great warriors, but greater at the arts of peace. And the fellow you call your first father was a Mackintosh, (probably chief of all the Mackintoshes), who sailed nearly 270 years ago to search for this very 'North Pole' that we have got hold of at last. But your first father was not the leader, old boy. He was only a seaman. The leader was Henry Hudson—a man who ranks among the foremost of Arctic explorers. He won't be able to understand what that means, Anders, but no matter—translate it the best way you can. This Henry Hudson was one of the most thorough and extensive searchers of these regions that ever sailed the northern seas. He made many important discoveries, and set out on his last voyage intending to sail right over the North Pole to China, which I daresay he would have done, had not his rascally crew mutinied and cast him and his little son, with seven other men, adrift in a little boat—all of whom perished, no doubt, except your first father, Makitok, my ancient tulip!"

He wound up this summary by grasping and shaking the wizard's hand, and then flung off, to expend his feelings on other members of the community.



CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

A RUNAWAY JOURNEY AND A TREMENDOUS EXPERIMENT.

As winter advanced, Captain Vane continued to keep up the interest of the Eskimos, and to increase their respect for the Kablunets, by gradually unfolding the various sources of power which were at his command.

He did this judiciously, just giving them a taste of the marvellous now and then to whet their appetites. He was particularly careful, however not to practise on their credulity or to pass himself off as a conjuror. He distinctly stated that all his powers were derived from God,—their father and his,—and that he only excelled them in some matters because of having had better opportunities of acquiring knowledge.

Among other things, he effected an adaptation of his kites which produced results so surprising that we feel bound to describe them particularly.

During the winter he found, as he had expected, that the average temperature at the Pole was not nearly so cold as that experienced in lower latitudes. As far as mere feeling went, indeed, the cold seemed severe enough; nevertheless it was not sufficiently intense to freeze the great ocean, which remained an "open basin" all the year round,—a result which was doubtless owing to the upflow of the warm under-currents from the equator, referred to in a previous chapter.

This, however, did not apply to the waters lying directly around the Poloe and Flatland groups. In these archipelagos the waters being shallow, the frost was quite intense enough to cool them to the bottom. Hence the sea immediately round the islands was covered with a thick coat of solid ice, which resembled in all respects the ordinary Arctic sea-ice, being hummocky in some places, comparatively smooth in others, with a strong iceberg here and there caught and imprisoned amongst it.

As this ice surrounded all the Polar land, and stretched out to sea far beyond the reach of vision, it followed that there was little or no difference between the winter experience of our discoverers and that of all other Arctic voyagers. This realm of what we may style island-ice stretched away, all round, in the direction of the Arctic circle, getting thinner and thinner towards its outer margin, until at last it became sludgy, and, finally, melted away into the open sea. This open sea, in its turn, stretched southward, all round, to the known Arctic regions. Thus the Arctic basin was found to be a zone of open water, surrounded by ice on the south, and with a patch of ice and land in its centre.

Now, it was a strong desire on the part of Captain Vane to visit the southern edge of this central ice-patch on which he dwelt, that induced him to try the kite adaptation before referred to.

"Benjy, my boy," said he, one fine winter day, when the galaxy of stars, the full moon, and an unusually brilliant aurora, diffused a strong light over the undulations of Cup Valley, "I have a notion of taking a trip to the s'uth'ard soon."

"Which s'uth'ard d'you think of going to, father?" asked the boy.

In case any reader should hastily exclaim, "What a ridiculous question; there can be only one southward!" we beg leave to point out that at the North Pole every direction lies to the southward, and that, as there is necessarily no east or west at all, there is therefore no possibility of stating by compass to what part of the south one intends to go. Of course it was open to the Captain to have said he intended to descend south on one of the degrees of longitude, or between any two of them, and then, immediately on quitting the Pole the old familiar east and west would, as it were, return to him. But he found it more convenient, on the whole, having got beyond all latitude, to indicate his intended route by well-known objects of the land.

"I'm going to steer for the starboard side of Poloeland," he said, "pay a short visit to Grabantak and Amalatok in passing, and then carry on south to the open water."

"It'll be a longish trip, father."

"Not so long as you expect, my boy, for I mean to go by express."

Benjy's eyes twinkled, for he knew that some new device was working in his father's brain, which brain never failed to bring its plans to maturity.

"What is it to be, father?"

"You go and fetch two of the kites, Benjy, and you'll soon find out. Overhaul them well and see that everything is taut and shipshape. Let Butterface help you, and send Alf and Chingatok to me. I suppose Leo is off after musk-oxen, as usual."

"Yes; he pretends that the camp wants a supply of fresh meat. He'd pretend that as an excuse for hunting even if we were all dying of surfeit."

Soon afterwards the Captain was seen, followed by his usual companions and a company of Eskimos, dragging two sledges to the upper ridge of Cup Valley. One sledge was lightly, the other heavily, laden.

"You've brought plenty of supplies, I hope, Alf?" asked the leader.

"Yes, enough for three weeks. Will that do?"

"Quite enough, lad; but it may not be wanted, as I'm going south in a direction we've not yet tried, where I expect to find the open water close to us. It's well, however, to have enough of meat at all times."

"No fear of its being too much, father," said Benjy. "When Butterface goes with us, a three weeks' allowance usually disappears in a fortnight."

"Nebber mind, Massa," said the negro seriously. "You've plenty for tree weeks dis time, 'cause I's off my feed. Got Polar dimspepsy, or suffin' o' dat sort, I tink."

"You've brought the electrical machine, of course, and the dynamite, Alf?" asked the Captain.

"Of course. I never prepare for a trip without these. There's no saying, you see, when we may require them—either to blow up obstructions or astonish the natives."

"The natives are past astonishing now," remarked Benjy; "nothing short of a ten thousand jar battery would astonish Chingatok, and I'm quite sure that you couldn't rouse a sentiment of surprise in Oolichuk, unless you made him swallow a dynamite cartridge, and blew him inside out. But, I say, daddy, how long are you going to keep us in the dark about your plans? Don't you see that we are in agonies of suspense?"

"Only till we gain the ridge, Benjy. It will be down-hill after that, and the snow-crust comparatively smooth as well as hard."

Arrived at the ridge, one of the kites was unfolded and sent up. The breeze was steady, and sufficiently strong. It took twenty Eskimos to hold it when allowed full play, and even these it jerked about in a manner that highly diverted them. These Eskimos were very fond of kite-flying, for its own sake, without reference to utility!

"I knew you were going to try it on the sledge," exclaimed Benjy, with sparkling eyes.

"Why did you ask me about it, then?" returned the Captain.

"Do let me make the first trial, father!"

Captain Vane was fastening the drag-line to the fore part of the light sledge, and refused, at first, to listen to the boy's entreaties, fearing that some accident might befall him.

"You know how accustomed I am to manage the kites, father. There's not the least fear; and I'll be superhumanly cautious."

There was no resisting Benjy's tone and eyes. He was allowed to take his place on the sledge as manager. Butterface sat behind to steer. Steering was to be managed by means of a stout pole, pressed varyingly on the snow on either side.

"Don't go more than a mile or so, my boy," said the Captain, in a serious tone. "It's only a trial, you know. If it succeeds, we'll divide the loading of the sledges, and make a fair start in company."

Benjy promised to manipulate the check-string with care. The struggling natives were ordered to let the kite straighten the slack of the line gradually.

"Are you ready, Ben?"

"All right, father."

"Got your hand on the check-string? Mind, it will pull hard. Now—let go!"

The natives obeyed. Benjy at the same instant hauled sharply on the check-string, intending to tilt the kite well forward, and start in a slow, stately manner, but there was a hitch of some sort somewhere, for the string would not act. The kite acted, however, with its full force. Up went the fore part of the sledge as it flew off like an arrow from a bow, causing Butterface to throw a back somersault, and leaving him behind.

Benjy held on to the head of the sledge, and made violent efforts to free the check-string. Fortunately, the surface of the snow was smooth.

"After him, lads," roared the Captain, setting a brave example, and for some time heading the natives in the chase; but a few moments sufficed to prove the hopelessness of the race.

Tug as Benjy would at the regulator, it refused to act. Fortunately, being made of silk, it did not break. By this time the kite had attained its maximum speed, equal, as the Captain said, to a twenty-knot breeze. At first the surface of the snow was so smooth and hard, that Benjy, being busy with the obdurate regulator, did not appreciate the speed.

When he gave up his attempts with a sigh of despair, he had leisure to look around him. The sledge was gliding on with railway speed. One or two solitary hummocks that looked like white sentinels on the level plain, went past him with an awful rush, and several undulations caused by snow-drift were crossed in a light leap which he barely felt. Benjy was fully aware of his danger. To meet with a hummock no bigger than a wheelbarrow, would, in the circumstances, have entailed destruction; he therefore seized a pole which formed part of the sledge-gear, and tried steering. It could be done, but with great difficulty, as he had to sit in the front of the sledge to keep it down.

Recklessly jovial though he was, the boy could not contemplate his probable fate without misgiving. Nothing was visible in all the white illimitable plain save a hummock here and there, with a distant berg on the horizon. He could not expect the level character of the ice to extend far. Whither was he going? South he knew; but in that direction, his father had often told him, lay the open sea. The moon seemed to smile on him; the aurora appeared to dance with unwonted vigour, as if in glee; the very stars winked at him!

"What if a chasm or a big hummock should turn up?" thought Benjy.

The thought seemed to produce the dreaded object, for next moment a large hummock appeared right ahead. Far away though it was, the awful pace brought it quickly near. The poor boy struggled—he absolutely agonised—with the pole. His efforts were successful. The hummock went past like a meteor, but it was a horribly close shave, and Benjy felt his very marrow shrink, while he drew himself up into the smallest possible compass to let it go by.

A bump soon after told that the ice was getting more rugged. Then he saw a ridge before him. Was it large or small? Distance, the uncertain light, and imagination, magnified it to a high wall; high as the wall of China. In wild alarm our hero tugged at the regulator, but tugged in vain. The wall of China was upon him—under him. There was a crash. The sledge was in the air. Moments appeared minutes! Had the vehicle been suddenly furnished with wings? No! Another crash, which nearly shut up his spine like a telescope, told him that there were no wings. His teeth came together with a snap. Happily his tongue was not between them! Happily, too, the sledge did not overturn, but continued its furious flight.

"Oh, you villain!" exclaimed Benjy, shaking his fist at the airy monster which was thus dragging him to destruction.

If Benjy had been asked to state the truth just then, he would have found it hard to say whether consternation or delight were uppermost. It was such a glorious rush! But then, how was it to end? Well, he did not dare to think of that. Indeed he had not time to think, for troubles came crowding on him. A violent "swish!" and a sudden deluge told him that what he had taken for glassy ice was open water. It was only a shallow pool, however. Next moment he was across it, and bumping violently over a surface of broken ice.

The water suggested the fear that he must be nearing the open sea, and he became supernaturally grave. Fortunately, the last crash had been passed without dislocating the parts of either sledge or rider. A long stretch of smooth ice followed, over which he glided with ever-increasing speed.

Thus he continued to rush over the frozen sea during a considerable part of that night.

Poor Benjy! he became half-mad with excitement at last. The exaltation of his little spirit at the risky neck-or-nothing dash, coupled with horror at the certainty of a terrible climax, was almost too much for him. He gave vent to his feelings in a wild cheer or yell, and, just then, beheld an iceberg of unusual size, looming up on the horizon before him. Knowing by experience that he would soon be up to it, he used his pole with all his might, hoping to steer clear of it. As he drew nearer, he saw a dark line on either side of the berg. A feeling of deadly alarm filled him. It was the open sea! and he had to choose between being plunged into it or dashed against the berg. It occurred to him then, for the first time, that a third resource was open—he might cut the rope, and let the kite go free! Amazed at his stupidity in not thinking of this before, he took out his clasp-knife, but before applying it, made a last effort to move the regulator. Strange to say, the silken cord yielded to the first pull, as if nothing had been wrong with it at all! The head of the runaway kite was thrown forward, and it came wavering down in eccentric gyrations, while the sledge gradually lost way, and came to a standstill not fifty yards from the berg.

Up to this point what may be termed the northern island-ice continued unbroken, but beyond the berg it was broken up into floes, and, not six hundred yards out, it tailed away to the southward in what whalers term stream-ice. The berg itself was obviously aground.

The first object that met Benjy's eyes, after coming to a halt, was an enormous polar bear. This was no strange sight to the boy by that time, but it was awkward in the circumstances, for he had neither gun nor spear. Even if he had possessed the latter he was too young and light to cope successfully with the shaggy white king of Arctic beasts.

From the attitude of the animal it appeared to be watching something. In truth, it was so intently engaged with a sleeping seal that it had not observed the approach of the sledge. Profiting by this, Benjy quietly moved away round a colossal buttress of the berg, and took refuge in an ice-cave. But such refuge, he knew, could avail him nothing if the bear should scent him out and search for him. Looking hastily round and up into the dark blue cavern, he espied a projecting ledge of ice about thirteen feet above the level of the floor. On this he resolved to perch himself.

His first care was to examine the contents of the sledge. We have said it had been lightly laden at starting, which was the reason of the tremendous pace at which it travelled. Although there was neither spear nor gun, the anxious boy was somewhat comforted to find an axe strapped in its accustomed place; also a blanket, sleeping-bag, and musk-ox skin, besides a mass of frozen blubber, but there was nothing else of an eatable nature. There was, however, a box containing the captain's sextant, the electrical machine, and a packet of dynamite cartridges.

Regarding these latter objects with a sigh of disappointment, Benjy seized the axe and hastened towards the ledge of ice, muttering to himself in a confidential tone—

"You see, old boy, if that bear takes a fancy to call on you, it will be as well to be able to say, 'Not at home,' for he could make short work of you, much though you think of yourself. Yes, this ledge is high enough to bid you defiance, mister bear, and it's long and broad enough to hold me and my belongings. The knobs by which to climb to it, too, are easy—too easy—but I'll soon rectify that. Now, then, look alive, Benjy, boy, for if that bear don't catch that seal he'll be sure to look you up."

Ceasing to speak, he actively conveyed the contents of the sledge to his shelf of refuge. Then he cut away the knobs by which he climbed to it, until there was barely sufficient for his own tiny toes to rest on. That done, he went to the mouth of the cavern to look about him.

What he saw there may be guessed from the fact that he returned next moment, running at full speed, stumbling over ice lumps, bumping his shins and knees, dropping his axe, and lacerating his knuckles. He had met the bear! Need we add that he gained his perch with the agility of a tree-squirrel!

The bear, surprised, no doubt, but obviously sulky from the loss of the seal, entered the cave sedately with an inquiring look. It saw Benjy at once, and made prodigious efforts to get at him. As the monster rose on its hind legs and reached its paws towards his shelf, the poor boy's spirit seemed to melt, indeed his whole interior felt as if reduced to a warm fluid, while a prickly heat broke out at his extremities, perspiration beaded his brow, and his heart appeared to have settled permanently in his throat.

These distressing symptoms did not, however, last long, for he quickly perceived that the bear's utmost stretch did not reach nearer than three or four feet of him. Some of the alarm returned, however, when the creature attempted to climb up by his own ladder. Seven or eight times it made the attempt, while the boy watched in breathless anxiety, but each time it slipped when half-way up, and fell with a soft heavy thud on the ice below, which caused it to gasp and cough. Then it sat down on its haunches and gazed at its little foe malignantly.

"Bah! you brute!" exclaimed Benjy, whose courage was returning, "I'm not a bit afraid of you!" He leant against the wall of his refuge, notwithstanding this boast, and licked the ice to moisten his parched lips.

After a rest the bear made another trial, and twice it succeeded in planting the claws of one huge paw on the edge of the shelf, but Benjy placed his heel against the claws, thrust them off, and sent the bear down each time howling with disappointment.

Sailing softly among the constellations in the aurora-lighted sky, the moon sent a bright ray into the cavern, which gleamed on the monster's wicked eyes and glistening teeth; but Benjy had begun to feel comparatively safe by that time, and was becoming "himself again."

"Don't you wish you may get me?" he asked in a desperately facetious spirit.

The bear made no reply, but turned to examine the contents of the ice-cave. First he went to the hatchet and smelt it. In doing so he cut his nose. With a growl he gave the weapon an angry pat, and in so doing cut his toes. We fear that Benjy rejoiced at the sight of blood, for he chuckled and made the sarcastic remark, "That comes of losing your temper, old fellow!"

That bear either understood English, or the very sound of the human voice caused it irritation, for it turned and rushed at the ice-ledge with such fury that Benjy's heart again leaped into his throat. He had, however, recovered sufficiently to enable him to act with promptitude and discretion. Sitting down with his right foot ready, and his hands resting firmly on the ice behind him, he prepared to receive the charge in the only available manner. So fierce was the onset that the monster ran up the ice-cliff like a cat, and succeeded in fixing the terrible claws of both feet on the edge of the shelf, but the boy delivered his right heel with such force that the left paw slipped off. The left heel followed like lightning, and the right paw also slipped, letting the bear again fall heavily on the ice below.

This was more than even a bear could bear. He rushed savagely about the cavern, growling hideously, dashing the sledge about as if it had been a mere toy, and doing all the mischief he could, yet always avoiding the axe with particular care—thus showing that polar bears, not less than men, are quite awake to personal danger, even when supposed to be blind with rage! At last he lay down to recover himself, and lick his bloody nose and paw.

While Benjy sat contemplating this creature, and wondering what was to be the end of it all, a bright idea occurred to him. He rose quickly, took the electrical machine out of its box, and happily found it to be in good working order—thanks to Alf, who had special charge of the scientific instruments, and prided himself on the care with which he attended to them. The bear watched him narrowly with its wicked little eyes, though it did not see fit to cease its paw-licking.

Having arranged the machine, Benjy took the two handles in his left hand, pressed his knee on the board of the instrument to hold it steady, and with his right hand caused it to revolve. Then he held down the handles as if inviting the bear to come and take them.

The challenge was accepted at once. Bruin cantered up, rose on his hind legs, and stretched his neck to its utmost, but could not reach the handles, though the boy stretched downward as far as possible to accommodate him. The dirty-white monster whined and snickered with intense feeling at thus finding itself so near, and yet so far, from the attainment of its object.

Sympathising with its desires, Benjy changed his posture, and managed just to touch the nose of his enemy. The bear shrank back with a sort of gasp, appalled—at least shocked—by the result! After a little, not feeling much the worse for it, the brute returned as if to invite another electric shock—perhaps with some sinister design in view. But another and a brighter idea had entered Benjy's brain. Instead of giving the bear a shock, he tore off a small bit of seal-blubber from the mass at his side, which he dropped into its mouth. It swallowed that morsel with satisfaction, and waited for more. Benjy gave it more. Still it wanted more.

"You shall have it, my boy," said Benjy, whose eyes assumed that peculiar glare of glee which always presaged some desperate intention.

He opened another small box, and found what he wanted. It was a small object scarcely a couple of inches in length. He fastened the wires of the electric machine quickly to it, and then imbedded it in a small piece of blubber which he lowered, as before, to the bear.

"You'll probably break the wires or smash the machine, but I'll risk that," muttered Benjy through his set teeth. "I only hope you won't chew it, because dynamite mayn't be palatable. There—down with it!"

The bear happily bolted the morsel. The wires seemed to perplex him a little, but before he had time to examine the mystery, the boy gave the instrument a furious turn.

Instantly there was a stupendous crash like a very thunderbolt. The bear burst like an overcharged cannon! Benjy and the berg collided, and at that moment everything seemed to the former to vanish away in smoke, leaving not even a wrack behind!



CHAPTER THIRTY.

LEO IN DANGER NEXT! A NOVEL MODE OF RESCUE.

When the catastrophe described in the last chapter occurred, Captain Vane and his friends, following hard on the heels of the runaway, chanced to be within two miles of the berg in the bosom of which Benjy had found refuge.

"There he is!" shouted the Captain joyfully, as the flash of the explosion reached his eyes and the roar of the report his ears. "Blessed evidence! He's up to mischief of some sort still, and that's proof positive that he's alive."

"But he may have perished in this piece of mischief," said Alf, anxiously glancing up at the kite, which was dragging the heavily-laden sledge rather slowly over the rough ice.

"I hope not, Alf. Shake the regulator, Butterface, and see that it's clear."

"All right, Massa. Steam's on de berry strongest what's possible."

"Heave some o' the cargo overboard, Alf. We must make haste. Not the meat, lad, not the meat; everything else before that. So. Mind your helm, Chingatok; she'll steer wildish when lightened."

Captain Vane was right. When Alf had tumbled some of the heavier portions of lading off the sledge, it burst away like a wild-horse let go free, rendering it difficult at first for Chingatok to steady it. In a few minutes, however, he had it again under control, and they soon reached the berg.

"The dynamite must have gone off by accident," said the Captain to Alf, as they stumbled over masses of ice which the explosion had brought down from the roof of the cavern. "It's lucky it didn't happen in summer, else the berg might have been blown to atoms. Hallo! what's this? Bits of a polar bear, I do believe—and—what! not Benjy!"

It was indeed Benjy, flat on his back like a spread-eagle, and covered with blood and brains; but his appearance was the worst of his case, though it took a considerable time to convince his horrified friends of that fact.

"I tell you I'm all right, father," said the poor boy, on recovering from the state of insensibility into which his fall had thrown him.

"But you're covered from head to foot with blood," exclaimed the anxious father, examining him all over, "though I can't find a cut of any sort about you—only one or two bruises."

"You'll find a bump on the top of my head, father, the size of a cocoa-nut. That's what knocked the senses out o' me, but the blood and brains belong to the bear. I lay no claim to them."

"Where is the bear?" asked Alf, looking round.

"Where is he?" echoed Benjy, bursting into a wild laugh.

"Oh! Massa Benjy, don't laugh," said Butterface solemnly; "you hab no notion wot a awful look you got when you laugh wid sitch a bloody face."

This made Benjy laugh more than ever. His mirth became catching, and the negro's solemn visage relaxed into an irrepressible grin.

"Oh, you japan-jawed porpoise!" cried Benjy, "you should have seen that bear go off—with such a crack too! I only wish I'd been able to hold up for two seconds longer to see it properly, but my shelf went down, and I had to go along with it. Blown to bits! No—he was blown to a thousand atoms! Count 'em if you can."

Again Benjy burst into uproarious laughter.

There was indeed some ground for the boy's way of putting the case. The colossal creature had been so terribly shattered by the dynamite cartridge, that there was scarcely a piece of him larger than a man's hand left to tell the tale.

"Well, well," said the Captain, assisting his son to rise, "I'm thankful it's no worse."

"Worse, father! why, it couldn't be worse, unless, indeed, his spirit were brought alive again and allowed to contemplate the humbling condition of his body."

"I don't refer to the bear, Benjy, but to yourself, lad. You might have been killed, you know, and I'm very thankful you were not—though you half-deserve to be. But come, we must encamp here for the night and return home to-morrow, for the wind has been shifting a little, and will be favourable, I think, in the morning."

The wind was indeed favourable next morning, we may say almost too favourable, for it blew a stiff breeze from the south, which steadily increased to a gale during the day. Afterwards the sky became overcast and the darkness intense, rendering it necessary to attend to the kite's regulator with the utmost care, and advance with the greatest caution.

Now, while the Captain and his friends were struggling back to their Polar home, Leo Vandervell happened to be caught by the same gale when out hunting. Being of a bold, sanguine, and somewhat reckless disposition, this Nimrod of the party paid little attention to the weather until it became difficult to walk and next to impossible to see. Then, having shot nothing that day, he turned towards the Pole with a feeling of disappointment.

But when the gale increased so that he could hardly face it, and the sky became obliterated by falling and drifting snow, disappointment gave place to anxiety, and he soon realised the fact that he had lost his direction. To advance in such circumstances was out of the question, he therefore set about building a miniature hut of snow. Being by that time expert at such masonry, he soon erected a dome-shaped shelter, in which he sat down on his empty game-bag after closing the entrance with a block of hard snow.

The position of our hunter was not enviable. The hut was barely high enough to let him sit up, and long enough to let him lie down—not to stretch out. The small allowance of pemmican with which he had set out had long ago been consumed. It was so dark that he could not see his hand when close before his eyes. He was somewhat fatigued and rather cold, and had no water to drink. It was depressing to think of going to bed in such circumstances with the yelling of an Arctic storm for a lullaby.

However, Leo had a buoyant spirit, and resolved to "make the best of it." First of all he groped in his game-bag for a small stove lamp, which he set up before him, and arranged blubber and a wick in it, using the sense of touch in default of sight. Then he struck a light, but not with matches. The Englishmen's small stock of congreves had long since been exhausted, and they were obliged to procure fire by the Eskimo method, namely, a little piece of wood worked like a drill, with a thong of leather, against another piece of wood until the friction produced fire. When a light had been thus laboriously obtained, he applied it to the wick of his lamp, and wished fervently for something to cook.

It is proverbial that wishing does not usually achieve much. After a deep sigh, therefore, Leo turned his wallet inside out. Besides a few crumbs, it contained a small lump of narwhal blubber and a little packet. The former, in its frozen state, somewhat resembled hard butter. The latter contained a little coffee—not the genuine article, however. That, like the matches, had long ago been used up, and our discoverers were reduced to roasted biscuit-crumbs. The substitute was not bad! Inside of the coffee-packet was a smaller packet of brown sugar, but it had burst and allowed its contents to mingle with the coffee.

Rejoiced to find even a little food where he had thought there was none, Leo filled his pannikin with snow, melted it, emptied into it the compound of coffee and sugar, put it on the lamp to boil, and sat down to watch, while he slowly consumed the narwhal butter, listening the while to the simmering of the pannikin and the roaring of the gale.

After his meagre meal he wrapped himself in his blanket, and went to sleep.

This was all very well as long as it lasted, but he cooled during the night, and, on awaking in the morning, found that keen frost penetrated every fibre of his garments and every pore of his skin. The storm, however, was over; the moon and stars were shining in a clear sky, and the aurora was dancing merrily. Rising at once he bundled up his traps, threw the line of his small hand-sledge over his shoulder, and stepped out for home. But cold and want of food had been telling on him. He soon experienced an unwonted sense of fatigue, then a drowsy sensation came over him.

Leo was well aware of the danger of giving way to drowsiness in such circumstances, yet, strange to say, he was not in the least afraid of being overcome. He would sit down to rest, just for two minutes, and then push on. He smiled, as he sat down in the crevice of a hummock, to think of the frequent and needless cautions which his uncle had given him against this very thing. The smile was still on his lips when his head drooped on a piece of ice, and he sank into a deep slumber.

Ah, Leonard Vandervell! ill would it have been for thee if thou hadst been left to thyself that day; but sharp eyes and anxious hearts were out on the icy waste in search of thee!

On arriving at his winter quarters, and learning that Leo had not yet returned, Captain Vane at once organised an elaborate search-expedition. The man who found him at last was Butterface.

"Oh, Massa Leo!" exclaimed that sable creature on beholding the youth seated, white and cold, on the hummock; but he said no more, being fully alive to the danger of the situation.

Rushing at Leo, he seized and shook him violently, as if he had been his bitterest foe. There was no response from the sleeping man. The negro therefore began to chafe, shake, and kick him; even to slap his face, and yell into his ears in a way that an ignorant observer would have styled brutal. At last there was a symptom of returning vitality in the poor youth's frame, and the negro redoubled his efforts.

"Ho! hallo! Massa Leo, wake up! You's dyin', you is!"

"Why—what's—the—matter—Butterf—" muttered Leo, and dropped his head again.

"Hi! hello! ho-o-o!" yelled Butterface, renewing the rough treatment, and finally hitting the youth a sounding slap on the ear.

"Ha! I be tink dat vakes you up."

It certainly did wake him up. A burst of indignation within seemed to do more for him than the outward buffetings. He shut his fist and hit Butterface a weak but well intended right-hander on the nose. The negro replied with a sounding slap on the other ear, which induced Leo to grasp him in his arms and try to throw him. Butterface returned the grasp with interest, and soon quite an interesting wrestling match began, the only witness of which sat on a neighbouring hummock in the form of a melancholy Arctic fox.

"Hi! hold on, Massa Leo! Don't kill me altogidder," shouted Butterface, as he fell beneath his adversary. "You's a'most right now."

"Almost right! what do you mean?"

"I mean dat you's bin a'most froze to deaf, but I's melted you down to life agin."

The truth at last began to dawn on the young hunter. After a brief explanation, he and the negro walked home together in perfect harmony.



CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

THE LAST.

In course of time the long and dreary winter passed away, and signs of the coming spring began to manifest themselves to the dwellers in the Polar lands.

Chief and most musical among these signs were the almost forgotten sounds of dropping water, and tinkling rills. One day in April the thermometer suddenly rose to eighteen above the freezing-point of Fahrenheit. Captain Vane came from the observatory, his face blazing with excitement and oily with heat, to announce the fact.

"That accounts for it feeling so like summer," said Benjy.

"Summer, boy, it's like India," returned the Captain, puffing and fanning himself with his cap. "We'll begin this very day to make arrangements for returning home."

It was on the evening of that day that they heard the first droppings of the melting snow. Long before that, however, the sun had come back to gladden the Polar regions, and break up the reign of ancient night. His departure in autumn had been so gradual, that it was difficult to say when night began to overcome the day. So, in like manner, his return was gradual. It was not until Captain Vane observed stars of the sixth magnitude shining out at noon in November, that he had admitted the total absence of day; and when spring returned, it was not until he could read the smallest print at midnight in June that he admitted there was "no night there."

But neither the continual day of summer, nor the perpetual night of winter, made so deep an impression on our explorers as the gushing advent of spring. That season did not come gradually back like the light, but rushed upon them suddenly with a warm embrace, like an enthusiastic friend after a long absence. It plunged, as it were, upon the region, and overwhelmed it. Gushing waters thrilled the ears with the sweetness of an old familiar song. Exhalations from the moistened earth, and, soon after, the scent of awakening vegetation, filled the nostrils with delicious fragrance. In May, the willow-stems were green and fresh with flowing sap. Flowers began to bud modestly, as if half afraid of having come too soon. But there was no cause to fear that. The glorious sun was strong in his might, and, like his Maker, warmed the northern world into exuberant life. Mosses, poppies, saxifrages, cochlearia, and other hardy plants began to sprout, and migratory birds innumerable—screaming terns, cackling duck, piping plover, auks in dense clouds with loudly whirring wings, trumpeting geese, eider-ducks, burgomasters, etcetera, began to return with all the noisy bustle and joyous excitement of a family on its annual visit to much-loved summer quarters.

But here we must note a difference between the experience of our explorers and that of all others. These myriads of happy creatures—and many others that we have not space to name—did not pass from the south onward to a still remoter north, but came up from all round the horizon,—up all the meridians of longitude, as on so many railway lines converging at the Pole, and settling down for a prolonged residence in garrulous felicity among the swamps and hills and vales of Flatland.

Truly it was a most enjoyable season and experience, but there is no joy without its alley here below—not even at the North Pole!

The alloy came in the form of a low fever which smote down the stalwart Leo, reduced his great strength seriously, and confined him for many weeks to a couch in their little stone hut, and, of course, the power of sympathy robbed his companions of much of that exuberant joy which they shared with the lower animals at the advent of beautiful spring.

During the period of his illness Leo's chief nurse, comforter, and philosophical companion, was the giant of the North. And one of the subjects which occupied their minds most frequently was the Word of God. In the days of weakness and suffering Leo took to that great source of comfort with thirsting avidity, and intense was his gratification at the eager desire expressed by the giant to hear and understand what it contained.

Of course Alf, and Benjy, and the Captain, and Butterface, as well as Grabantak, Makitok, and Amalatok, with others of the Eskimos, were frequently by his side, but the giant never left him for more than a brief period, night or day.

"Ah! Chingatok," said Leo one day, when the returning spring had begun to revive his strength, "I never felt such a love for God's Book when I was well and strong as I feel for it now that I am ill, and I little thought that I should find out so much of its value while talking about it to an Eskimo. I shall be sorry to leave you, Chingatok—very sorry."

"The young Kablunet is not yet going to die," said the giant in a soft voice.

"I did not mean that," replied Leo, with the ghost of his former hearty laugh; "I mean that I shall be obliged to leave Flatland and to return to my own home as soon as the season permits. Captain Vane has been talking to me about it. He is anxious now to depart, yet sorry to leave his kind and hospitable friends."

"I, too, am sorry," returned Chingatok sadly. "No more shall I hear from your lips the sweet words of my Great Father—the story of Jesus. You will take your book away with you."

"That is true, my friend; and it would be useless to leave my Bible with you, as you could not read it, but the truth will remain with you, Chingatok."

"Yes," replied the giant with a significant smile, "you cannot take that away. It is here—and here." He touched his forehead and breast as he spoke. Then he continued:—

"These strange things that Alf has been trying to teach me during the long nights I have learned—I understand."

He referred here to a syllabic alphabet which Alf had invented, and which he had amused himself by teaching to some of the natives, so that they might write down and read those few words and messages in their own tongue which formerly they had been wont to convey to each other by means of signs and rude drawings—after the manner of most savages.

"Well, what about that?" asked Leo, as his companion paused.

"Could not my friend," replied Chingatok, "change some of the words of his book into the language of the Eskimo and mark them down?"

Leo at once jumped at the idea. Afterwards he spoke to Alf about it, and the two set to work to translate some of the most important passages of Scripture, and write them down in the syllable alphabet. For this purpose they converted a sealskin into pretty fair parchment, and wrote with the ink which Captain Vane had brought with him and carefully husbanded. The occupation proved a beneficial stimulus to the invalid, who soon recovered much of his wonted health, and even began again to wander about with his old companion the repeating rifle.

The last event of interest which occurred at the North Pole, before the departure of our explorers, was the marriage of Oolichuk with Oblooria. The ceremony was very simple. It consisted in the bridegroom dressing in his best and going to the tent of his father-in-law with a gift, which he laid at his feet. He then paid some endearing Eskimo attentions to his mother-in-law, one of which was to present her with a raw duck, cleaned and dismembered for immediate consumption. He even assisted that pleased lady immediately to consume the duck, and wound up by taking timid little Oblooria's hand and leading her away to a hut of his own, which he had specially built and decorated for the occasion.

As Amalatok had arrived that very day on a visit from Poloeland with his prime minister and several chiefs, and Grabantak was residing on the spot, with a number of chiefs from the surrounding islands, who had come to behold the famous Kablunets, there was a sort of impromptu gathering of the northern clans which lent appropriate dignity to the wedding.

After the preliminary feast of the occasion was over, Captain Vane was requested to exhibit some of his wonderful powers for the benefit of a strange chief who had recently arrived from a distant island. Of course our good-natured Captain complied.

"Get out the boats and kites, Benjy, boy," he said; "we must go through our performances to please 'em. I feel as if we were a regular company of play-actors now."

"Won't you give them a blow-up first, father?"

"No, Benjy, no. Never put your best foot foremost. The proverb is a false one—as many proverbs are. We will dynamite them afterwards, and electrify them last of all. Go, look sharp."

So the Captain first amazed the visitor with the kites and india-rubber boats; then he horrified him by blowing a small iceberg of some thousands of tons into millions of atoms; after which he convulsed him and made him "jump."

The latter experiment was the one to which the enlightened Eskimos looked forward with the most excited and hopeful anticipations, for it was that which gratified best their feeling of mischievous joviality.

When the sedate and dignified chief was led, all ignorant of his fate, to the mysterious mat, and stood thereon with grave demeanour, the surrounding natives bent their knees, drew up elbows, expanded fingers, and glared in expectancy. When the dignified chief experienced a tremor of the frame and looked surprised, they grinned with satisfaction; when he quivered convulsively they also quivered with suppressed emotion. Ah! Benjy had learned by that time from experience to graduate very delicately his shocking scale, and thus lead his victim step by step from bad to worse, so as to squeeze the utmost amount of fun out of him, before inducing that galvanic war-dance which usually terminated the scene and threw his audience into fits of ecstatic laughter.

These were the final rejoicings of the wedding day—if we except a dance in which every man did what seemed best in his own eyes, and Butterface played reels on the flute with admirable incapacity.

But there came a day, at last, when the inhabitants of Flatland were far indeed removed from the spirit of merriment.

It was the height of the Arctic summer-time, when the crashing of the great glaciers and the gleaming of the melting bergs told of rapid dissolution, and the sleepless sun was circling its day-and-nightly course in the ever-bright blue sky. The population of Flatland was assembled on the beach of their native isle—the men with downcast looks, the women with sad and tearful eyes. Two india-rubber boats were on the shore. Two kites were flying overhead. The third boat and kite had been damaged beyond repair, but the two left were sufficient. The Englishmen were about to depart, and the Eskimos were inconsolable.

"My boat is on the shore,—"

Said Benjy, quoting Byron, as he shook old Makitok by the hand—

"And my kite is in the sky, But before I go, of more, I will—bid you—all—good-b—"

Benjy broke down at this point. The feeble attempt to be facetious to the last utterly failed.

Turning abruptly on his heel he stepped into the Faith and took his seat in the stern. It was the Hope which had been destroyed. The Faith and Charity still remained to them.

We must draw a curtain over that parting scene. Never before in human experience had such a display of kindly feeling and profound regret been witnessed in similar circumstances.

"Let go the tail-ropes!" said Captain Vane in a husky tone.

"Let go de ropes," echoed Butterface in a broken voice.

The ropes were let go. The kites soared, and the boats rushed swiftly over the calm and glittering sea.

On nearing one of the outer islands the voyagers knew that their tiny boats would soon be shut out from view, and they rose to wave a last farewell. The salute was returned by the Eskimos—with especial fervour by Chingatok, who stood high above his fellows on a promontory, and waved the parchment roll of texts which he grasped in his huge right hand.

Long after the boats had disappeared, the kites could still be seen among the gorgeous clouds. Smaller and smaller they became in their flight to the mysterious south, until at last they seemed undistinguishable specks on the horizon, and then vanished altogether from view.

One by one the Eskimos retired to their homes—slowly and sadly, as if loath to part from the scene where the word farewell had been spoken. At last all were gone save Chingatok, who still stood for hours on the promontory, pressing the scroll to his heaving chest, and gazing intently at the place on the horizon where his friends had disappeared.

There was no night to bring his vigil or his meditations to a close, but time wore him out at last. With a sigh, amounting almost to a groan, he turned and walked slowly away, and did not stop until he stood upon the Pole, where he sat down on one of the Captain's stools, and gazed mournfully at the remains of the dismantled observatory. There he was found by old Makitok, and for some time the giant and the wizard held converse together.

"I love these Kablunets," said Chingatok.

"They are a strange race," returned the wizard. "They mingle much folly with their wisdom. They come here to find this Nort Pole, this nothing, and they find it. Then they go away and leave it! What good has it done them?"

"I know not," replied Chingatok humbly, "but I know not everything. They have showed me much. One thing they have showed me—that behind all things there is something else which I do not see. The Kablunets are wonderful men. Yet I pity them. As Blackbeard has said, some of them are too fond of killing themselves, and some are too fond of killing each other. I wish they would come here—the whole nation of them—and learn how to live in peace and be happy among the Eskimos. But they will not come. Only a few of their best men venture to come, and I should not wonder if their countrymen refused to believe the half of what they tell them when they get home."

Old Makitok made no reply. He was puzzled, and when puzzled he usually retired to his hut and went to bed. Doing so on the present occasion he left his companion alone.

"Poor, poor Kablunets," murmured Chingatok, descending from his position, and wandering away towards the outskirts of the village. "You are very clever, but you are somewhat foolish. I pity you, but I also love you well."

With his grand head down, his arms crossed, and the scroll of texts pressed to his broad bosom, the Giant of the North wandered away, and finally disappeared among the flowering and rocky uplands of the interior.

THE END.