Chapter Fourteen.
The Land of Peaks.
“Here, Steve! Hi, my lad, wake up!”
“Eh? Yes! What is it, whales?” cried the boy, hurrying into his clothes.
“Come and look. You wanted something fresh.” It was the captain who roused him up the very next morning, and on reaching the deck he was perfectly astounded at the scene before him. There was no more monotony in the view, for there before him and spreading to right and left was as lovely a land as the human mind could conceive. It was twenty or thirty miles away, and as Steve Young gazed it was at peak after peak rising up toward the skies, all dazzling with ice and snow, and dyed by the distance, of the most lovely tints of amethyst and sapphire blue, while the icy pinnacles were fretted with silver and gold. Upon the slopes of the lower hills there were even patches of a dull green, made beautiful by the brilliant sunshine, while the steeper mountains were of rich orange and brown or of a clear, pure grey.
“Is this Spitzbergen?” asked Steve. “Yes, and well named,” said the captain, who was using his glass; “the land of mountain points—spitzes as they call them, or piz in North Italy among the mountains there.”
The wind still favoured them, and they rapidly glided on toward what seemed for hours to be fairyland, and so lovely that Steve spent nearly all the time upon deck, scarcely allowing himself enough to obtain the necessary meals. At last he came to the conclusion that he must be tired and surfeited with the view, for somehow it did not appear to be so beautiful as at first. The dazzling peaks of glittering ice shrank lower and lower, till they disappeared behind hills which had hardly been seen before, and now rose apparently higher and higher, with every ledge deep in snow, and the steep slopes and perpendicular precipices that in some places ran down to the sea looking grim, grey, or black as they were granite or a dark shaley slate. Not a tree was visible, only in places traces of dry-looking heathery stuff and patches of what looked to be moss. In places the water seemed to be foaming down from a great height inland to the sea; but in a short time, as they neared the land, the cascades proved to be ice, and Steve woke to the fact that the place was far more beautiful at a distance, when its rugged asperities were softened and seen through a medium which tinged everything of a delicious blue. That he was not alone in this way of thinking was soon proved by the doctor’s remark as he joined him.
“What a land of desolation, Steve!” he said.