“But what about the freezing, doctor?” I ventured to remark, for the coolness with which the whole subject was treated reminded me painfully of my own deficiencies of scientific lore and rendered me proportionately modest. “I have always understood that frozen limbs are as good as dead, and that amputation alone can save the life of the rest of the organism in such a case. It seems to me that when the whole body is frozen, so much the worse.”
“So much the better,” returned the doctor, warmly; “it is much easier to work where the conditions are homogeneous.”
By this time the steam escaping from the safety-valve of the portable engine showed that the pressure was considerable, and Burnham, who had previously shifted the slide-valve so that the steam would pass straight into the exhaust, now wheeled the engine opposite the block of ice, pointed the lateral pipe, which he had connected with the exhaust, and which he manipulated on its joint by means of a fork, toward the side of the block, turned the globe-valve and let the jet of blue vapor play upon the ice. The court-yard was soon thick with clouds of steam, but the huge ice-block kept dwindling away as the steam was directed upon one point or the other, by wheeling the engine round it, till in less than half an hour the court-yard was little better than a puddle and nothing remained of the ice-block but a crystal envelope, a few inches thick, around the inclosed body, so deftly and skillfully had Burnham directed the steam-jet upon all portions alike.
“We shall now have to exercise more care,” he remarked; “the remaining ice must be removed in a more gentle manner. Help me to carry the body into the laboratory.”
So saying, we all lent a hand and transferred the ice-bound body to the zinc tray upon the trestles in the laboratory, in which a roaring stove-fire had previously been lit, and the temperature of which, when the doors were shut, was like that of a Turkish bath.
“There!” ejaculated Burnham, who, though in his shirt-sleeves, was perspiring freely and panting after his work; “so far, so good. Let us go into the studio and sit down and rest while our guest”—I was struck with the quaintness of the epithet as applied to the corpse in the next room, as also with the emphasis Burnham gave it—“sheds the remnant of the crystal mantle he has worn for who shall say how many thousand years. It will take at least half an hour before he is completely thawed out, and meanwhile, if you like, I will tell you how I managed to run across him in the Far North.”
We were all curious to know, so Burnham gave the following details:
“After leaving San Francisco in March, last year, we sailed North with the intention of reaching Behring Sea by the time the ice broke up, hoping to do well enough with whales and seals to return before the season closed. I had, of course, made my arrangements with the captain, going as a volunteer, to do duty or not as I pleased, and living in the cabin. We had the usual adventures which are part and parcel of a whaler’s experience, and which I will not bother you with, as they are not germane to the question, and I found my health improving wonderfully under the influence of the fresh air, exercise, and excitement.
“By June we had passed Behring Straits and then cruised for a good many weeks in the open sea beyond; but our luck was bad, and, owing to trying to better it before we left, we waited too long; worse than that, we were caught by a storm which blew us nearly due north for several days to a point some hundred miles east of Banks’s Land and the Parry Isles; and before we knew where we were, we found ourselves shut in by the ice, luckily in the lee of some bluffs, forming part of a small island only a few square miles in extent, to which circumstance alone we could attribute the escape of our vessel from being crushed by the ice-pack. Subsequent observations showed that we were in longitude 162 degrees W. and about latitude 76 degrees N.—a point, by the way, rarely reached by navigators even under the most exceptionally favorable circumstances. There was nothing for it, however, but to make the best of a bad job and prepare to winter it out with the best grace we could. Luckily we had plenty of provisions—I had looked after the matter of commissariat, personally, before embarking—and I think I may safely say that few whalers ever wintered in the Arctic circle better equipped in that respect than we were.
“As you can readily imagine, the life of a ship’s crew, ice-bound, during the long, dark, northern winter is not an enviable one. Suffice it to say that we got through it with probably less than the ordinary amount of hardship, and were very glad to catch a glimpse of the sun about the beginning of April, as it looked like a sign of release, though the captain did not think the ice would break up for at least six weeks longer. There was now some pleasure in rambling, as there were a few hours of sunlight to do it by, and I used to make the most of it, as one might get an occasional pop at a seal or otter, and not unfrequently the captain—we were by this time great chums—would accompany me.