Best Fantasy Stories

Chapter 2 ADRIFT IN THE ANTARCTIC OCEAN

Chapter 2

ADRIFT IN THE ANTARCTIC OCEANMy name is Adam More. I am the son of Henry More, apothecary,

Keswick, Cumberland. I was mate of the ship Trevelyan (Bennet,

master), which was chartered by the British Government to convey

convicts to Van Dieman's Land. This was in 1843. We made our voyage

without any casualty, landed our convicts in Hobart Town, and then

set forth on our return home. It was the 17th of December when we

left. From the first adverse winds prevailed, and in order to make

any progress we were obliged to keep well to the south. At length,

on the 6th of January, we sighted Desolation Island. We found it,

indeed, a desolate spot. In its vicinity we saw a multitude of

smaller islands, perhaps a thousand in number, which made

navigation difficult, and forced us to hurry away as fast as

possible. But the aspect of this dreary spot was of itself enough

to repel us. There were no trees, and the multitude of islands

seemed like moss-covered rocks; while the temperature, though in

the middle of the antarctic summer, was from 38 to 58 degrees

Fahr.

In order to get rid of these dangerous islands we stood south

and west, and at length found ourselves in south latitude 65

degrees, longitude 60 degrees east. We were fortunate enough not to

find any ice, although we were within fifteen hundred miles of the

South Pole, and far within that impenetrable icy barrier which, in

1773, had arrested the progress of Captain Cook. Here the wind

failed us, and we lay becalmed and drifting. The sea was open all

around us, except to the southeast, where there was a low line

along the horizon terminating in a lofty promontory; but though it

looked like land we took it for ice. All around us whales and

grampuses were gambolling and spouting in vast numbers. The weather

was remarkably fine and clear.

For two or three days the calm continued, and we drifted along

helplessly, until at length we found ourselves within a few miles

of the promontory above mentioned. It looked like land, and seemed

to be a rocky island rising from the depths of the sea. It was,

however, all covered with ice and snow, and from this there

extended eastward as far as the eye could reach an interminable

line of ice, but toward the southwest the sea seemed open to

navigation. The promontory was very singular in shape, rising up to

a peak which was at least a thousand feet in height, and forming a

striking object, easily discovered and readily identified by any

future explorer. We named it, after our ship, Trevelyan Peak, and

then felt anxious to lose sight of it forever. But the calm

continued, and at length we drifted in close enough to see immense

flocks of seals dotting the ice at the foot of the peak.

Upon this I proposed to Agnew, the second mate, that we should

go ashore, shoot some seals, and bring them back. This was partly

for the excitement of the hunt, and partly for the honor of landing

in a place never before trodden by the foot of man. Captain Bennet

made some objections, but he was old and cautious, and we were

young and venturesome, so we laughed away his scruples and set

forth. We did not take any of the crew, owing to the captain's

objections. He said that if we chose to throw away our own lives he

could not help it, but that he would positively refuse to allow a

single man to go with us. We thought this refusal an excess of

caution amounting to positive cowardice, but were unable to change

his mind. The distance was not great, the adventure was attractive,

and so the captain's gig was lowered, and in this Agnew and I rowed

ashore. We took with us a double-barrelled rifle apiece, and also a

pistol. Agnew took a glass.

We rowed for about three miles, and reached the edge of the ice,

which extended far out from the promontory. Here we landed, and

secured the boat by means of a small grappling-iron, which we

thrust into the ice. We then walked toward the promontory for about

a mile, and here we found a multitude of seals. These animals were

so fearless that they made not the slightest movement as we came

up, but stared at us in an indifferent way. We killed two or three,

and then debated whether to go to the promontory or not. Agnew was

eager to go, so as to touch the actual rock; but I was satisfied

with what we had done, and was now desirous of returning. In the

midst of this I felt a flake of snow on my cheek. I started and

looked up. To my great surprise I saw that the sky had changed

since I had last noticed it. When we left the ship it was clear and

blue, but now it was overspread with dark, leaden-colored clouds,

and the snow-flakes that had fallen were ominous of evil. A

snow-storm here, in the vicinity of the ice, was too serious a

thing to be disregarded. But one course now remained, and that was

an immediate return to the ship.

Each of us seized a seal and dragged it after us to the boat. We

reached it and flung them in. Just at that moment a g*n sounded

over the water. It was from the ship—the signal of alarm—the

summons from the captain for our return. We saw now that she had

been drifting since we left her, and had moved southwest several

miles. The row back promised to be far harder than the pull ashore,

and, what was worse, the wind was coming up, the sea was rising,

and the snow was thickening. Neither of us said a word. We saw that

our situation was very serious, and that we had been very

foolhardy; but the words were useless now. The only thing to be

done was to pull for the ship with all our strength, and that was

what we did.

So we pushed off, and rowed as we had never rowed before. Our

progress was difficult. The sea grew steadily rougher; the wind

increased; the snow thickened; and, worst of all, the day was

drawing to a close. We had miscalculated both as to distance and

time. Even if it had continued calm we should have had to row back

in the dark; but now the sun was setting, and with the darkness we

had to encounter the gathering storm and the blinding snow. We

rowed in silence. At every stroke our situation grew more serious.

The wind was from the south, and therefore favored us to some

extent, and also made less of a sea than would have been produced

by a wind from any other quarter; but then this south wind brought

dangers of its own, which we were soon to feel—new dangers and

worse ones. For this south wind drove the ship farther from us, and

at the same time broke up the vast fields of ice and impelled the

fractured masses northward. But this was a danger which we did not

know just then. At that time we were rowing for the ship, and amid

the darkness and the blinding snow and the dashing waves we heard

from time to time the report of signal-guns fired from the ship to

guide us back. These were our only guide, for the darkness and the

snow had drawn the ship from our sight, and we had to be guided by

our hearing only.

We were rowing for our lives, and we knew it; but every moment

our situation grew more desperate. Each new report of the gun

seemed to sound farther away. We seemed always to be rowing in the

wrong direction. At each report we had to shift the boat's course

somewhat, and pull toward the last point from which the g*n seemed

to sound. With all this the wind was increasing rapidly to a gale,

the sea was rising and breaking over the boat, the snow was

blinding us with its ever-thickening sleet. The darkness deepened

and at length had grown so intense that nothing whatever could be

seen—neither sea nor sky, not even the boat itself—yet we dared not

stop; we had to row. Our lives depended on our efforts. We had to

row, guided by the sound of the ship's g*n, which the ever-varying

wind incessantly changed, till our minds grew all confused, and we

rowed blindly and mechanically.

So we labored for hours at the oars, and the storm continually

increased, and the sea continually rose, while the snow fell

thicker and the darkness grew intenser. The reports of the g*n now

grew fainter; what was worse, they were heard at longer intervals,

and this showed us that Captain Bennet was losing heart; that he

was giving us up; that he despaired of finding us, and was now

firing only an occasional g*n out of a mournful sense of duty. This

thought reduced us to despair. It seemed as if all our efforts had

only served to take us farther away from the ship, and deprived us

of all motive for rowing any harder than was barely necessary to

keep the boat steady. After a time Agnew dropped his oar and began

to bail out the boat—a work which was needed; for, in spite of our

care, she had shipped many seas, and was one third full of water.

He worked away at this while I managed the boat, and then we took

turns at bailing. In this way we passed the dreary night.

Morning came at last. The wind was not so violent, but the snow

was so thick that we could only see for a little distance around

us. The ship was nowhere visible, nor were there any signs of her.

The last g*n had been fired during the night. All that we could see

was the outline of a gaunt iceberg—an ominous spectacle. Not

knowing what else to do we rowed on as before, keeping in what

seemed our best course, though this was mere conjecture, and we

knew all the time that we might be going wrong. There was no

compass in the boat, nor could we tell the sun's position through

the thick snow. We rowed with the wind, thinking that it was

blowing toward the north, and would carry us in that direction. We

still hoped to come within sound of the ship's g*n, and kept

straining our ears incessantly to hear the wished-for report. But

no such sound ever came again, and we heard nothing except the

plash of the waves and the crash of breaking ice. Thus all that day

we rowed along, resting at intervals when exhausted, and then

resuming our labors, until at length night came; and again to the

snow and ice and waves was added the horror of great darkness. We

passed that night in deep misery. We had eaten nothing since we

left the ship, but though exhausted by long fasting and severe

labor, the despair of our hearts took away all desire for food. We

were worn out with hard work, yet the cold was too great to allow

us to take rest, and we were compelled to row so as to keep

ourselves from perishing. But fatigue and drowsiness overcame us,

and we often sank into sleep even while rowing; and then after a

brief slumber we would awake with benumbed limbs to wrestle again

with the oars. In this way we passed that night.

Another morning came, and we found to our great joy that the

snow had ceased. We looked eagerly around to see if there were any

signs of the ship. Nothing could be seen of her. Far away on one

side rose a peak, which looked like the place where we had landed.

Judging from the wind, which we still supposed to be southerly, the

peak lay toward the northeast; in which case we had been carried

steadily, in spite of all our efforts, toward the south. About a

mile on one side of us the ice began, and extended far away; while

on the other side, at the distance of some ten miles, there was

another line of ice. We seemed to have been carried in a

southwesterly direction along a broad strait that ran into the vast

ice-fields. This discovery showed how utterly useless our labors

had been; for in spite of all, even with the wind in our favor, we

had been drawn steadily in an opposite direction. It was evident

that there was some current here, stronger than all our strength,

which had brought us to this place.

We now determined to land on the ice, and try to cook a portion

of our seals. On approaching it we noticed that there was a current

which tended to draw us past the ice in what I supposed to be a

southwesterly direction. This confirmed my worst fears. But now the

labor of landing and building a fire on the ice served to interest

us for a time and divert our thoughts. We brushed away the snow,

and then broke up a box which was in the boat, and also the stern

seats. This we used very sparingly, reserving the rest for another

occasion. Then we cut portions from one of the seals, and laid them

in thin strips on the flames. The cooking was but slight, for the

meat was merely singed; but we were ravenous, and the contact of

the fire was enough to give it an attractive flavor. With this food

we were greatly refreshed; and as for drink, we had all around us

an endless extent of ice and snow. Then, taking our precious

fragments of cooked meat, we returned to the boat and put off. We

could scarcely tell what to do next, and while debating on this

point we fell asleep. We slept far into the night, then awoke

benumbed with cold; then took to the oars till we were weary; then

fell asleep again, to be again awakened by the cold and again to

pull at the oars. So the night passed, and another day came.

The snow still held off, but the sky was overcast with dark,

leaden-colored clouds, and looked threatening. Ice was all around

us as before; and the open water had diminished now from ten miles

to five miles of width. The ice on one side was low, but on the

opposite side it arose to the height of one hundred feet. We saw

here, as we watched the shore, that the current which had already

borne us thus far was now stronger than ever, and was carrying us

along at a rate which made all efforts of ours against it utterly

useless. And now a debate arose between us as to the direction of

this current. Agnew suddenly declared his belief that it was

running north, while I was firm in the conviction that it ran

south.

"There's no use rowing any more," said Agnew. "If it runs south

we can't resist it. It's too strong. But I always like to look on

the bright side, and so I believe it runs north. In that case there

is no use rowing, for it will carry us along fast enough."

Then I proposed that we should go ashore on the ice. To this

Agnew objected, but afterward consented, at my earnest request. So

we tried to get ashore, but this time found it impossible; for the

ice consisted of a vast sheet of floating lumps, which looked like

the ruin of bergs that had been broken up in some storm. After this

I had nothing to say, nor was there anything left for us but to

drift wherever the current might carry us.

So we drifted for some days, Agnew all the time maintaining that

we were going north, while I was sure that we were going south. The

sky remained as cloudy as ever, the wind varied incessantly, and

there was nothing by which we could conjecture the points of the

compass. We lived on our seal, and for drink we chewed ice and

snow. One thing was certain—the climate was no colder. Agnew laid

great stress on this.

"You see," said he, "we must be going north. If we were going

south we should be frozen stiff by this time."

"Yes; but if we were going north," said I, "we ought to find it

growing warmer."

"No," said he, "not with all this ice around us. It's the ice

that keeps the temperature in this cold state."

Argument could do no good, and so we each remained true to our

belief—his leading him to hope, and mine dragging me down to

despair. At length we finished the last fragment of the seal that

we had cooked, and, finding ourselves near some firm ice, we went

ashore and cooked all that was left, using the remainder of our

wood for fuel, and all that we dared to remove from the boat.

Re-embarking with this, we drifted on as before.

Several more days passed. At last one night I was roused by

Agnew. He pointed far away to the distant horizon, where I saw a

deep red glow as of fire. We were both filled with wonder at the

sight, and were utterly unable to account for it. We knew that it

could not be caused by the sun or the moon, for it was midnight,

and the cause lay on the earth and not in the skies. It was a deep,

lurid glow, extending along the horizon, and seemed to be caused by

some vast conflagration.