The new northland

by L. P. Gratacap

ERICKSON’S RESCUE

The story told by Coogan was a most simple one. It corroborated my expectations and of course exactly justified my conduct. The “Astrum” according to orders left Point Barrow, and steamed into the ice, which proved to be unusually negotiable, looking for us. They failed to discover any signs of us on the ice pack, but in an adventuresome trip northward, invited to the undertaking by the open water, they made a landfall, and found there the “Pluto,” our naphtha launch. It was on almost exactly the place of our landing from the storm. They concluded we had skirted the new land, reconnoitering it edgewise, as it were, or at any rate their first and prudent course was to do so. They had managed to creep on safely through broad leads between the shore ice and the big floes, until they came to the massif, that, like an out-thrust arm with clenched fist, cut the land in two. They had rather gingerly picked their way through the ice around the frowning headlands when my shots were heard. The rest is the usual story—the story I have hinted at—and my pack was safe. It lay at my feet.

Now to tell the truth I was rather reticent with Coogan and the others as to my own adventure. I did not wish then to tell them everything or even much. The whole marvel must be elsewhere and differently unfolded. It must be given to the world through science, and the national government of the United States must be empaneled for the rescue of my companions. I desired the audience of a nation, and the ears of the world. And now—deplorable reversion—I am telling it to you alone. I hid much or all, admitted that the new continent was large, that we had entered it, that the Professor and Hopkins were pursuing investigations there, and that I must return in time with a larger expedition. They seemed to understand my reticence—or was it commiseration?—and good-naturedly left me alone. About two months later we arrived safely in San Francisco.

(“Mr. Link”—the voice of the speaker perceptibly lowered, I might say perceptibly trembled—“it has been a pleasure to rehearse this wonderful experience, pleasant to recall my two friends still exiled in that mysterious continent, pleasant to believe that through the instrumentality of your publication, they may be extricated from their bewildering embarrassments, but—it is not pleasant to finish my story.”

Mr. Erickson was silent for a few moments, as if he half expected me to release him from the implied obligation of explaining more completely the origins of the predicament in which we found him. But I was relentlessly silent, and after a glance at my imperturbable and fixed gaze, he turned his head aside and resumed the “last measure of his tale.”)

I was not long in finding my former acquaintance to whom now instinctively, in my dearth of companionship, I had recourse for advice, and sensibly for succor—Carlos Huerta. Nothing could exceed the boisterous ardor of his welcome. He was overjoyed and appeared almost rapturous in his demonstrations of astonishment and delight at seeing me. Of course I succumbed all too easily to the caresses of his friendship—and then (the speaker paused again and a flood of carmine filling his cheeks and glowing warmly even in his temples, revealed his confusion), he introduced me to the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in all my life, Angelica Sigurda Tabasco, whose intimate, Diaz Ilario Aguadiente, was a gentleman of marvelous cordiality. I was literally taken to their hearts. You see, sir, plainly my state of defencelessness against these scheming reprobates—cunning parasites of fortune—whose suave geniality disarmed suspicion, and whose enthusiastic sympathy, not unintelligent either, warmed my weary heart and opened my lips.

They wormed a good deal out of me, they saw the gold—not the buckle—the radium, and they actually listened to the recital of our visit to the Gold Makers. Then they laid their plans. I was to be coaxed to New York—how many specious inducements could be given for me to go there. The season was not too late for any relief expedition, and at New York all the avenues of approach to capital could be reached. I was to give a public lecture, the best social and scientific auspices would protect it, and from New York the wave of interest would radiate to all the capitals of the world. It seemed so simple, it was so inviting, and then it was urged with such cordial plausibility and fervor, and all accompanied by that personal suasion of admiration, and the artifices of encouragement in surroundings that were sumptuous and enthralling. I was completely taken in.

I came on to New York with Huerta, who lavished every kindness on me, and whose incessant questioning as to the process of gold transmutation which I had seen easily assumed the guise of a natural curiosity. The merest accident prevented my bringing on to New York the precious pack in which the gold souvenirs, the gold buckle, and the radium mineral masses were preserved. The trio—themselves deceived by their gloating cupidity—had urged the necessity of protecting this property by placing it in a safety-deposit vault, and when the day arrived for Huerta and me to leave San Francisco, at the last moment, and just as I expected to call at the safe deposit company to claim and remove my property, I was seized with a chill that rapidly increased into a convulsive fit, followed by a temporary coma. I was alone in the room of my hotel and the seizure was so sudden that I was unable to summon assistance. When it had passed, much time had been lost, and actually fearing to reclaim the pack in my then physical condition I concluded to leave it, and have it forwarded later upon a written order.

This was quite feasible, and in some respects, so I thought at the moment, safer and more preferable, as I had taken the unusual precaution of enclosing the pack in a strong metal box.