CHAPTER XVI.
A POLAR STORM.
Early in February the voyagers, whose progress had been slow, found themselves in a veritable sea of "Pancake ice." Everywhere in a monotonous waste the vast white field seemed to stretch, with only a few albatrosses and petrels dotting its lonely surface. The thermometer dropped to ten below zero, and the boys found the snug warmth of the steam-heated cabins very desirable. There was a fair wind, and sail had been set on the Southern Cross to aid the work of towing her, and she was driving through the ice with a continuous rushing and crashing sound that at first was alarming, but to which her company soon grew accustomed.
Captain Barrington announced at noon that day that they were then in lat. 60 degrees 28 minutes, and longitude 59 degrees 20 minutes West—bearings which showed that they would be, before many days had past, at the Great Barrier itself. Excitement ran high among the boys at the receipt of this news, and Frank and Harry, who had fitted up a kind of work-room in the warmed hold, worked eagerly at their auto-sledge, which was expected to be of much use in transporting heavy loads to and from the ship to the winter quarters.
Before the two vessels reached the Barrier, however, they were destined to encounter a spell of bad weather.
One evening Ben Stubbs announced to the boys, who had been admiring a sunset of a beauty seldom seen in northern climes, that they were in for a hard blow, and before midnight his prediction was realized. Frank awoke in his bunk, to find himself alternately standing, as it seemed, on his head and his feet. The Southern Cross was evidently laboring heavily and every plank and bolt in her was complaining. Now and again a heavy sea would hit the rudder with a force that threatened to tear it from its pintles, solidly though it was contrived.
Somewhat alarmed, the boy aroused the others, and they hastened out on deck. As they emerged from the cabin the wind seemed to blow their breath back into their bodies and an icy hand seemed to grip them. It was a polar-storm that was raging in all its fury.
As she rose on a wave, far ahead the boys could see the lights of the Brutus. Only for a second, however, for the next minute she would vanish in the trough of a huge comber, and then they could hear the strained towing cable "twang" like an overstretched piano wire.
"Will it hold?" That was the thought in the minds of all.
In order to ease the hawser as much as possible, Captain Barrington, when he had noted the drop of the barometer, had ordered a "bridle," or rope attachment, placed on the end of the cable, so as to give it elasticity and lessen the effect of sudden strains, but the mountainous seas that pounded against the blunt bows of the Southern Cross were proving the stout steel strand to the uttermost.
The boys tried to speak, but their words were torn from their lips by the wind and sent scattering. In the dim light they could see the forms of the sailors hurrying about the decks fastening additional lashings to the deck cargo and making things as snug as possible.
Suddenly there came a shout forward, followed by a loud "bang!" that made itself audible even above the roar of the hurricane.
The cable had parted!
Considering the mountainous seas in which they were laboring and the violence of the storm, this was a terrifying piece of intelligence.
It meant that at any moment they might drift helplessly into some mighty berg and be crushed like an egg-shell on its icy sides. Captain Barrington muffled up in polar clothes and oilskins, rushed past the boys like a ghost and ran forward shouting some order. The first and second officers followed him.
Presently the voice of the rapid-fire gun was heard, and the boys could see its sharp needles of white fire splitting the black night.
A blue glare far away answered the explosions. It was the Brutus signaling her consort. But that was all she could do. In the terrific sea that was running it would have been impossible to rig a fresh cable. The only thing for the two ships to do was to keep burning flare lights, in order that they might keep apart and not crash together in the tempest.
"Shall we go down, do you think?" asked Billy, shivering in spite of himself, as a huge wave towered above them as if it would engulf the polar ship, and then as she rose gallantly to its threatening bulk, went careening away to leeward as if angry at being cheated of its prey.
"We can only hope for the best," said a voice at his elbow. It was Captain Hazzard. "I have implicit confidence in Captain Barrington. He is a sailor of rare mettle."
These remarks were shouted at the top of the two speakers' voices, but they sounded, in the midst of the turbulent uproar that raged about them, like the merest whispers.
Time and again it seemed that one of the great waves that came sweeping out of the darkness must engulf them, but so far the Southern Cross rode them like a race-horse, rising pluckily to them as they rushed at her. Captain Barrington and his officers were trying to get some headsail put on the vessel to keep her head up to the huge waves, but they were unwilling to imperil any one's life by ordering him out on the plunging bowsprit, that was now reared heavenward and again plunged downward as if pointing to the bottom of the sea.
Ben Stubbs it was who finally volunteered to crawl out, and two other American seamen followed him. They succeeded, although in deadly peril half a dozen times, in getting the jib gaskets cast loose, and then crawled back half frozen to receive the warm plaudits of the officers and more substantial rewards later on. With her jib hoisted, the Southern Cross made better weather of it, but the seas were fast becoming more mountainous and threatening. The wind screeched through the rigging like a legion of demons. To add to the turmoil some casks got loose and went rolling and crashing about till they finally went overboard as a great wave toppled aboard.
"We must see how the professor is getting on," said, or rather yelled,
Frank suddenly.
He and the boys entered the cabin structure aft, which seemed warm and cosy with its light and warmth after the turmoil of the terrific battle of the elements outside.
But a prolonged search failed to reveal any trace of the man of science.
Where could he be?
A scrutiny of his cabin, even looking under the bunk, failed to reveal him. The boys began to fear he might have been swept overboard, when suddenly Frank exclaimed:
"Perhaps he is in his laboratory."
"Hiding there?" asked Billy.
"No, I don't think so. The professor, whatever his oddities may be, is no coward," rejoined Frank.
"No, his search for the Patagonian dog-flea proved that," agreed
Harry.
Frank lost no time in opening the trap-door in the floor of the main cabin, which led into what had formerly been the "valuables room" of the Southern Cross, but which had been fitted up now as a laboratory for the professor.
"There's a light burning in it," announced Frank, as he peered down.
"Oh, professor—Professor Sandburr, are you there?" he shouted the next moment.
"What is it? Is the ship going down?" came back from the depths in the voice of the professor. He seemed as calm as if it was a summer's day.
"No, but she is having a terrible fight with the waves," replied the boy.
"She has broken loose from the towing ship. The cable has snapped!" added Harry.
"Is that so?" asked the professor calmly. "Will you boys come down here for a minute? I want to see you."
Wondering what their eccentric friend could possibly wish in the way of conversation at such a time, the boys, not without some difficulty, clambered down the narrow ladder leading into the professor's den. They found him balancing himself on his long legs and trying to secure his bottles and jars, every one of which held some queer creature preserved in alcohol. The boys aided him in adjusting emergency racks arranged for such a purpose, but not before several bottles had broken and several strange-looking snakes and water animals, emitting a most evil smell, had fallen on the floor. These the professor carefully gathered up, though it was hard work to stand on the plunging floor, and placed in new receptacles. He seemed to place great value on them.
"So," he said finally, "you think the ship may go down?"
"We hope for the best, but anything may happen," rejoined Frank; "we are in a serious position. Practically helpless, we may drift into a berg at any moment."
"In that case we would sink?"
"Almost to a certainty."
"Then I want you to do something for me. Will you?"
The boys, wondering greatly what could be coming next, agreed readily to the old scientist's wish. Thereupon he drew out three slips of paper. He handed one to each of the boys.
"I wrote these out when I first thought there was danger of our sinking," he said.
The boys looked at the writing on their slips. They were all the same, and on each was inscribed:
"The man who told me that the Patagonians were a friendly race is a traitor to science. I, Professor Simeon Sandburr, brand him a teller of untruths. For Professor Thomas Tapper, who told me about the fur-bearing pollywog of the South Polar seas, I have the warmest respect. I leave all my books, bottled fishes and reptiles to the Smithsonian Institute. My servant, James, may have my stuffed Wogoliensuarious. My sister is to have my entire personal and real estate. This is my last will and testament.
"Simeon Sandburr.
"M.A.-F.R.G.S.-M.R.H.S.-Etc., etc."
"What are we to do with these papers?" asked Frank, hardly able, even in the serious situation in which they then were, to keep from laughing.
"One of you boys may escape, even if the ship does go down," said the professor, gravely: "If any of us should get back to civilization I want the world to know that the Patagonians are not a friendly race, and that I died hoping to capture the fur-bearing pollywog of the South Polar seas."
At this moment a sudden shock hurled them headlong against the glass-filled shelves, smashing several bottles and releasing the slimy, finny contents, and sending them all in a heap on the floor.
"We have struck something!" cried Frank.
"Something terrible has happened!" shouted Harry and Billy.
"We are sinking, boys," yelled the professor; "don't forget my last will and testament."