CHAPTER IX.--TONGUES OF LURID FIRE, BLUE, GREEN, AND DEEPEST CRIMSON.
Very little was talked of during the next few days except the coming ascent of Mount Terror. In the saloon mess non-success was not even dreamt of. It was only forward about the galley fire that doubts were mooted.
"Our skipper is just about as plucky as they make them nowadays," said old Jack Forbes, taking his short pipe from his mouth, "but, bless ye, boys, look what's before 'em."
"True for you, Jack," said a mate of his, "they'll be all frozen to death, and that'll be the way of it. Hope they won't ask me to go and help to carry things."
"Nor me," said another.
Nearer and nearer to the western land drew the bonnie barque, and in the beautiful sunshine she anchored at last in a bay close under the shadow of the mountain they were to attempt to scale.
Captain Talbot made all preparations at once. There was indeed but little time to lose now, for ere long the frosts would set in, and if not clear of the southern ice ere then, hard indeed might be their lot.
When going upon a dangerous expedition it is the duty of every brave man to do all in his power to guard against failure. Talbot, therefore, left not a stone unturned to ensure success; whether he secured it or not, he seemed determined to merit it.
Alpen-stocks were made for the purpose, and so, too, were ice-axes, though these latter were necessarily primitive.
Very little ammunition and few arms were to be taken. In the lone recesses of the hills and in that wild mountain, they had nothing to fear from savage man or beast. The land in here was as desolate and barren of everything but snow and ice as that worn-out world, the moon itself.
Ropes were also to be taken, they might come in handy in many ways. The skipper was an old Alpine-club man, and well did he know his way about.
Provisions for a whole week, and just a little rum in case of illness or over-exertion, for in the bitter cold of upper regions like those they were about to visit, exhaustion may often come on soon and sudden.
The captain himself made choice of three brave sturdy fellows to accompany the expedition and carry the necessaries as well as instruments of observation.
"And now, youngsters," said Talbot one evening, "which two of the three of you are to be of the party."
"I think," he added, "you better toss for it. I daresay you are all burning to come."
Duncan and Conal smiled and nodded, but Frank shook his head.
"I expect," he said, "there will be precious little burning high up yonder unless you happen to take a header into the crater. I'm not going to get frozen, I can assure you. I want to stick to all my toes, so toss away if you like, sir. Perhaps an Irishman or two might suit you best."
"Why, Frank?" said Duncan.
"Why? Because they're all fond of a drop of the crater (crayture), don't you see?"
"How could you make so vile a pun, old Frank?"
Vike seemed to know that an expedition of some kind was being got up. He put one great paw on Duncan's knee and looked appealingly up into his face.
"You might want my assistance," he seemed to say.
"No, doggie, no, not this journey," said Duncan, smoothing his bonnie head.
So Vike lay down before the fire, heaving a deep sigh as he did so.
Although all dogs sigh more or less--their intimate association with mankind being the usual cause--still sighing seems to be an especial characteristic of the noble breed we term Newfoundland.
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Everything was ready and packed, including, of course, a long plank and a light but strong rope-ladder many fathoms in length.
It was a very bright and beautiful morning when the little expedition started; the crew manning the rigging and giving three times three of those ringing British cheers that are heard wherever our ensign--red, blue, or navy-white--flutters out on the breeze.
It was but little past sunrise. The oriel windows of the glorious S.E. were still painted in colours rare and radiant, but hardly a breath of air blew across the untrodden fields of snow that now stretched out and away to the westward--a good ten miles, until bounded at last by the great rising hills.
Silence now as deep as death.
They were deserted even by the birds.
But in a great snow-clad wilderness like this, with unseen, unheard-of dangers, mayhap, ahead, what a comfort it is to know that He who made the universe is ever near to all those who call upon Him even in thought, if in spirit and in truth.
The ship was out of sight now, hidden by bluffy ice-covered rocks; and Talbot was acting as guide to the party, taking the direction which he believed would lead him to the side of the mountain which appeared to be most accessible.
For more than a mile the "road" was rugged indeed.
"There's many a slip twixt the cup and the lip," says the old adage. But here was many a slip 'tween the toes and the lip and many a stumble also. Soon, however, they came to a wide and level plain of snow.
"Cheerily does it now, lads," cried the skipper. "Who is going to give us some music?"
A stirring old song was soon rising high on the morning air, and everyone joined in the chorus.
But when the last notes had died away, Duncan produced his great Highland bagpipes and began to get them into position across his broad right shoulder.
The skipper laughed.
"I declare," he said, "there is no end to the enthusiasm and patriotic feelings of you Scots. But tune up, lad."
Duncan strutted on in front and soon started the Gordon Highlanders' march.
The bold and beautiful notes put life and spirit into every heart.
Then he played all kinds of airs, not forgetting either the pibroch or quick-step. But not the coronach. That wild wail is--
"A lilt o' dool (grief) and sorrow ",
and all must now be brave and cheerful
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Twelve miles as the crow flies they marched. And now they were at the foot of the wondrous mountain, and a halt was called for breakfast. Water was boiled with methylated spirits, and savoury coffee with bread and meat galore soon made all hands forget their fatigue.
Then the men and the skipper himself lit their pipes, and lay down to rest for half an hour on the top if the sunlit snow. They would need all their strength and courage now without a doubt.
"Now, my brave fellows"--it was Talbot's voice that broke the intensity of silence, and a cheery one it was--"now, my lads, our motto must be that of the youth who passed in such a hurry through the Alpine village while shades of night were falling fast--Excelsior!"
"Onwards and upwards!"
"That's it, Duncan. As to the bold youth with his bold banner, I think he must have been somewhat foolish to start after sunset. Well, that was his lookout. Anyhow, we have a twenty hours' long day before us, so I must now give the word--March!"
And on they went.
On and on, and up and up.
No thoughts of singing now, however. The ascent was steep, and scarce had anyone breath enough to spend in talking.
But the brave young mountaineer Duncan, alpenstock in hand, was first, with Captain Talbot by his side, and a little farther down struggled Conal encouraging the men, and now and then helping to carry their loads.
These, however, were not very heavy. But the lightest burden seems a great weight when one is climbing a mountain.
It was one o'clock before they had succeeded in reaching an altitude of four thousand feet, and the worst was all before them.
Everyone was tired enough by this time. Tired and hungry too.
But while coffee was being warmed and provision tins opened, those not actually engaged at the work lay down to rest, Conal and Duncan, with the captain and the other carrier, among the rest.
The sun had, of course, crossed the meridian, but though still brightly shining, his rays were far indeed from warm or inspiring.
Moreover, although there was no wind on the great snow-plains below, here a breeze was blowing, and it needed not only food but the hottest of coffee to enable them to stand the cold.
They had now a much longer rest than before, and more than one man fell so soundly asleep that his pipe dropped out of his mouth.
"Now, lads," said the skipper at last, "let us put another thousand feet in it. Never say die, boys. Excelsior, you know!"
He did not speak loud. No need to; for the slightest whisper could have been heard in the silence around them, even a hundred yards away.
The silence, indeed, was solemn, awesome; a silence that could be felt; a silence that seemed to creep round the heart and senses, and which no one cared to break. Not even the light breeze made murmur, or even whisper, as it swept over the plateau on which they now sat.
But from their elevated situation the scene spread out before them was wondrous in the extreme. To the north they could gaze away and away over the far-off blue ocean, and to the east all was ice.
It was towards the south, however, that Talbot's telescope was turned, with so many longing, lingering looks, before he resumed the upward journey.
The Norsemen have a legend that around the North Polar regions-at the Pole itself, indeed--there is a great open sea; that green luxuriant islands dot its blue surface, and that thereon dwell a people who have never committed sin, but are still in a pristine state of innocence, just as God made them--"but a little lower than the angels".
Was Talbot expecting to gaze upon just such another open sea as this, I wonder? If so, he was disappointed. So he shut up the great telescope with a sigh. Higher up he would see further, however.
So the march was resumed.
And now for many miles, although the hill-gradient was not so steep, walking was infinitely more arduous, and every here and there they came upon a crevasse in the ice, which had to be bridged over at its very narrowest part by the plank. This was fearsome and truly dangerous work, for that plank was but narrow, and, moreover, it was impossible to keep it from being slippery here and there.
Talbot was ever the first to walk across that terrible bridge; but he was secured to those on the other side by the long rope; and so handy did this bridge turn out that they gained an elevation that day of six thousand feet above the level of the sea.
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At this point they reached a perpendicular ice-cliff that rose sheer up from a narrow plateau to a height of probably five hundred feet.
It was found impossible to scale it, so they had to wend their way around to the west side of this mountain, so well named Mount Terror.
The day was now far spent, and so Talbot determined to order a halt, and after supper to rest till another day should break.
Except when cliffs intervened, they had hitherto been quite in sight of the ship, and could even make out her signals. But now a shoulder of the mount itself intervened, and for a time they should see the Flora M'Vayne no more.
But now a new surprise awaited them. For just here, on this side of the hill, they found a stream, or spring of water, trickling down the mountain side, and forming in its way a clear and wonderfully-shaped icy cascade.
It was caused by the melting of the snow, certainly not by the sun's heat, but by the eternal volcanic fires that were pent up in the mountain itself.
What could be more marvellous!
Strangely beautiful, too, were these frozen cascades, for therein could be seen every colour of the rainbow, all of radiant light. Beauties certainly never designed to please man's eye.
Alas! what poor selfish mortals we human beings are! Everything made for our use, indeed! The very idea makes one who has travelled, and who has seen Nature in all its shows and forms, smile. It is a doctrine that only your poor stay-at-home mortals can possibly put faith in.
Another surprise--a cave.
They venture fearfully into it, feeling their way with their alpen-stocks.
They have not gone far ere a low, half-stifled roar, from far beneath apparently, falls upon their ears. It is like the first angry growling of a lion ere he springs upon his prey.
They pause and listen. The sound is repeated, and they will venture no farther for the present.
But here, in this vast cavern, which, when lighted up by torches which have been brought on purpose--for Talbot had expected to meet with caves--its beauty is of so extraordinary a character that it cannot be described.
A great galaxy of shining pillars that are found to be some strange form of stalactite, emitting on every side more than the light and colour and glory of a billion of diamonds!
By torch-light they ventured somewhat farther on, until an awful crevasse interrupted their progress. So dark, so deep and awesome it seemed, that all hands drew back, almost in a sweat of cold terror. But it was apparently from the bottom of this fearful gully that the muttering noises proceeded now and then, and holding each other as they gazed far down the dark abyss, they could see tongues of lurid fire, blue, green, and deepest crimson, playing about. Yet no suffocating odour arose therefrom. Hence Captain Talbot concluded that some other outlet and current of air carried these away.
Retreating some distance towards the entrance, Duncan found a piece of rock, and hurled it towards the crevasse. The result was wonderful. The hurtling thunder was deafening, and the echoes came rumbling from every portion of the cave, and continued for many minutes. But whence, or why the sound of explosions, as if cannonading were going on in every direction? Not even Captain Talbot himself, scientist though he was, could give a sufficient answer to a question like this.
But this cave must be their camping ground to-night. So once more the big spirit-stove was lit, and they prepared to enjoy their well-earned supper.
Then they sat and smoked and yarned for quite a long time.
Nor did Talbot forget to splice the main-brace, and surely no men were ever more deserving of a dram, as Duncan and Conal called it, than the three brave fellows who had struggled so far up the mountainside with their heavy loads.
"This is not Saturday night, men," said the skipper, raising his mug of coffee with a suspicion of whisky therein, "but nevertheless I must propose once more the dear old toast: 'Sweethearts and wives', and may the Lord be near them."
"Sweethearts and wives!" cried all the group. Then caps were raised, and cups were speedily drained.
"And the Lord be near us too, this night," said one of the men. "Ah! little does our people at home know where we are, sir."
"Well, the Lord is everywhere near to those who call on him," replied the skipper.
"I'm sayin', sorr," said Ted Noolan, a light-hearted Paddy whom no kind of danger could ever daunt; "saints be praised the Lord is near, but troth it's meself that's believin' the d--l--bad scran to him!--can't be far away either, for lookin' down that awful gulch, 'Ted,' says I to meself, 'if that ain't the back-door to the bad place, it's nowhere else on earth.'"
But his superstition did not prevent Paddy from curling up on his rugs when the others did, and going soundly off to sleep.
Nor did the far-off muttering thunders of the dread abyss keep anybody from enjoying a real good night's rest.