TEN THOUSAND YEARS IN ICE
By Robert Duncan Milne
While lounging listlessly along the sea-wall one afternoon about the beginning of August last—the eighth, I think it was—enjoying the sunshine and inhaling the sea-breeze, my attention was attracted to an unusual bustle and commotion on the quay of Section Two. I could see from where I was that considerable exertions were being made to transfer some heavy object from a vessel moored alongside the quay to the quay itself. As I got nearer I discovered by the name on the stern that the vessel was the whaling-bark Marion, and that the object which the crew, assisted by a number of longshoremen, were making such efforts to get on shore was an immense rectangular block, measuring some nine feet in length by about four in breadth and thickness. Had it been a block of granite, the men could not have worked harder, prying it with rollers and levers along a gangway made of a dozen or so of stout planks laid abreast from the ship’s deck to the quay. As, however, this object, whatever it was, was swathed and enveloped with a plentiful supply of sacking, I could form no opinion as to its nature.
While standing abstractedly by, looking on and speculating as to what this very heavy object might be, and wondering what it could be doing aboard a whaler, I was tapped gently on the shoulder by somebody, and, looking round, my eyes rested on a heavily bearded and bronzed individual in pea-jacket and rough trousers, with a laughing eye, who said, cheerily: “What! don’t you know me?”
I was certain I had never seen the man before, though something in the voice sounded familiar. My doubts, however, were speedily set at rest by this individual exclaiming: “Don’t you recollect Joe Burnham? Has a year made such a difference? If so, I’m glad of it. You couldn’t have paid me a better compliment.”
“Can it be possible?” I said, in surprise, as I grasped his hand; “why, Joe, who would have expected to meet you coming off a whaler? And with a heavy beard, too!”
“Why, I thought you knew all about it,” he returned, with equal surprise; “just wait a minute,” he added, as he turned to give some directions to the men who had now got the heavy object safe on shore, and were proceeding to hoist it upon a dray.
While he was thus engaged, I recalled some circumstances which served to explain the unexpected and original appearance of my friend.
Joe Burnham, the son of the well-known millionaire mining-man, had, I knew, been recommended to go abroad for change of air about a year before, owing to failing health arising from too intense application to study. This, however, was all I knew, and I had no idea that he had concluded to take his change of air aboard a whaler. But knowing his taste for scientific pursuits of any and every character, I can not say that I was very much surprised to meet him again as I had just done. At any rate, the trip had certainly been most beneficial, as he had changed from a sickly and rather delicate student to a hale, hearty, and robust man.
“Yes,” he remarked, as he came back from the dray, which was now moving slowly off, the four sturdy horses which drew it evidently straining under the weight with which it was loaded, “my doctor prescribed absolute freedom from brain-work of any kind. He shook his head when I suggested Europe. There was too much, he said, to be seen in Asia, or, in fact, in any other quarter of the globe, to insure the perfect repose he thought necessary. Even a prolonged yachting excursion did not meet his views. That, he said, would be worse than anything else. Its very monotony and loneliness would drive me to cogitation. The sea part of it, he admitted, was capital. If a sea voyage could be combined with excitement and something to do—but would I work? Then some lucky inspiration seemed to flash across my mind, and I asked him if there were any objections to a whaling trip. ‘The very thing,’ he said; ‘you have plenty of money and can go more as a passenger than as a sailor. You won’t have much time to study on board that kind of a vessel, and I’ll risk all the chances you get to indulge in the study of the flora and fauna of the Arctic.’ And now you see how it is that I happen to be disembarking at the present moment from the stanch bark Marion.”