“Anders,” he said, turning abruptly to the interpreter, “ask Chingatok what he thinks. Can we pass this barrier, and, if not, what would he advise us to do?”
It was observed that the other Eskimos drew near with anxious looks to hear the opinion of their chief.
Toolooha and Tekkona, however, seemed quite devoid of anxiety. They evidently had perfect confidence in the giant, and poor little Oblooria glanced up in the face of her friend as if to gather consolation from her looks.
Chingatok, after a short pause, said:—
“The ice-mountains cannot be passed. The white men have not wings; they cannot fly. They must return to land, and travel for many days to the open water near the far-off land—there.”
He pointed direct to the northward.
Captain Vane made no reply. He merely turned and gave orders that the lashings of one of the large sledges which conveyed the baggage should be cast loose. Selecting a box from this, he opened it, and took therefrom a small instrument made partly of brass, partly of glass, and partly of wood.
“You have often wondered, Benjy,” he said, “what I meant to do with this electrical machine. You shall soon see. Help me to arrange it, boy, and do you, Leo, uncoil part of this copper wire. Here, Alf, carry this little box to the foot of the berg, and lay it in front of yon blue cavern.”
“Which? That one close to the waterfall or—”
“No, the big cavern, just under the most solid part of the berg—the one that seems to grow bluer and bluer until it becomes quite black in its heart. And have a care, Alf. The box you carry is dangerous. Don’t let it fall. Lay it down gently, and come back at once. Anders,” he added, turning round, “let all the people go back with dogs and sledges for a quarter of a mile.”