An Antarctic Mystery Part 4

The mound in the center was melting rapidly; before the end of the day nothing would remain of the fragment of ice which had been carried by the currents so high up as the forty-fifth parallel.

Captain Len Guy gazed at it steadily, but he now needed no gla.s.s, and presently we all began to distinguish a second object which little by little detached itself from the ma.s.s, according as the melting process went on--a black shape, stretched on the white ice.

What was our surprise, mingled with horror, when we saw first an arm, then a leg, then a trunk, then a head appear, forming a human body, not in a state of nakedness, but clothed in dark garments.

For a moment I even thought that the limbs moved, that the hands were stretched towards us.

The crew uttered a simultaneous cry. No! this body was not moving, but it was slowly slipping off the icy surface.

I looked at Captain Len Guy. His face was as livid as that of the corpse that had drifted down from the far lat.i.tudes of the austral zone. What could be done was done to recover the body of the unfortunate man, and who can tell whether a faint breath of life did not animate it even then? In any case his pockets might perhaps contain some doc.u.ment that would enable his ident.i.ty to be established. Then, accompanied by a last prayer, those human remains should be committed to the depths of the ocean, the cemetery of sailors who die at sea.

A boat Was let down. I followed it with my eyes as it neared the side of the ice fragment eaten by the waves.

Hurliguerly set foot upon a spot which still offered some resistance. Gratian got out after him, while Francis kept the boat fast by the chain. The two crept along the ice until they reached the corpse, then drew it to them by the arms and legs and so got it into the boat. A few strokes of the oars and the boatswain had rejoined the schooner. The corpse, completely frozen, having been laid at the foot of the mizen mast, Captain Len Guy approached and examined it long and closely, as though he sought to recognize it.

It was the corpse of a sailor, dressed in coa.r.s.e stuff, woollen trousers and a patched jersey; a belt encircled his waist twice. His death had evidently occurred some months previously, probably very soon after the unfortunate man had been carried away by the drift. He was about forty, with slightly grizzled hair, a mere skeleton covered with sldn. He must have suffered agonies of hunger.

Captain Len Guy lifted up the hair, which had been preserved by the cold, raised the head, gazed upon the scaled eyelids, and finally said with a sort of sob,-- "Patterson! Patterson!"

"Patterson?" I exclaimed.

The name, common as it was, touched some chord in my memory. When had I heard it uttered? Had I read it anywhere?

At this moment, James West, on a hint from the boatswain, searched the pockets of the dead man, and took out of them a knife, some string, an empty tobacco box, and lastly a leather pocket-book furnished with a metallic pencil.

"Give me that," said the captain. Some of the leaves were covered with writing, almost entirely effaced by the damp. He found, however, some words oll the last page which were still legible, and my emotion may be imagined when I heard him read aloud in a trembling voice: "The Jane... Tsalal island... by eighty-three... There... eleven years... Captain... five sailors surviving... Hasten to bring them aid."

And under these lines was a name, a signature, the name of Patterson!

Then I remembered! Patterson was the second officer of the Jane, the mate of that schooner which had picked up Arthur Pym and Dirk Peters on the wreck of the Grampus, the Jane having reached Tsalal Island; the Jane which was attacked by natives and blown up in the midst of those waters.

So then it was all true? Edgar Poe's work was that of an historian, not a writer of romance? Arthur Gordon Pym's journal had actually been confided to him! Direct relations had been established between them! Arthur Pym existed, or rather he had existed, he was a real being! And he had died, by a sudden and deplorable death under circ.u.mstances not revealed before he had completed the narrative of his extraordinary voyage. And what parallel had he reached on leaving Tsalal Island with his companion, Dirk Peters, and how had both of them been restored to their native land, America?

I thought my head was turning, that I was going mad--I who accused Captain Guy of being insane! No! I had not heard aright! I had misunderstood ! This was a mere phantom of my fancy!

And yet, how was I to reject the evidence found on the body of the mate of the Jane, that Patterson whose words were supported by ascertained dates? And above all, how could I retain a doubt, after James West, who was the most self-possessed among us, had succeeded in deciphering the following fragments of sentences:-- "Drifting since the 3rd of June north of Tsalal Island... Still there... Captain William Guy and five of the men of the Jane--the piece of ice I am on is drifting across the iceberg... food will soon fail me... Since the 13th of June... my last resources exhausted... to-day... 16th of June... I am going to die."

So then for nearly three months Patterson's body had lain on the surface of this ice-waif which we had met on our way from the Kerguelens to Tristan d'Acunha! Ah! why had we not saved the mate of the Jane!

I had to yield to evidence. Captain Len Guy, who knew Patterson, had recognized him in this frozen corpse! It was indeed he wbo accompanied the captain of the Jane when he had interred that bottle, containing the letter which I had refused to believe authentic, at the Kerguelens. Yes! for eleven years, the survivors of the English schooner had been cast away there without any hope of succour.

Len Guy turned to me and said, "Do you believe-- now?"

"I believe," said I, falteringly; "but Captain William Guy of the Jane, and Captain Len Guy of the Halbrane--"

"Are brothers!" he cried in a loud voice, which was heard by all the crew.

Then we turned our eyes once more to the place where the lump of ice had been floating; but the double influence of the solar rays and the waters in this lat.i.tude had produced its effect, no trace of the dead man's last refuge remained on the surface of the sea.

Chapter VII.

Tristan d'Acunha.

Four days later, the Halbrane neared that curious island of Tristan d'Acunha, which may be described as the big boiler of the African seas. By that time I had come to realize that the "hallucination" of Captain Len Guy was a truth, and that he and the captain of the Jane (also a reality) were connected with each other by this ocean waif from the authentic expedition of Arthur Pym. My last doubts were buried in the depths of the ocean with the body of Patterson.

And now, what was Captain Len Guy going to do? There was not a shadow of doubt on that point. He would take the Halbrane to Tsalal Island, as marked upon Patterson's note-book. His lieutenant, James West, would go whithersoever he was ordered to go; his crew would not hesitate to follow him, and would not be stopped by any fear of pa.s.sing the limits a.s.signed to human power, for the soul of their captain and the strength of their lieutenant would be in them.

This, then, was the reason why Captain Len Guy refused to take pa.s.sengers on board his s.h.i.+p, and why he had told me that his routes never were certain; he was always hoping that an opportunity for venturing into the sea of ice might arise. Who could tell indeed, whether he would not have sailed for the south at once without putting in at Tristan d'Acunba, if he had not wanted water? After witat I had said before I went on board the Halbrane, I should have had no right to insist on his proceeding to the island for the sole purpose of putting me ash.o.r.e. But a supply of water was indispensable, and besides, it might be possible there to put the schooner in a condition to contend with the icebergs and gain the open sea--since open it was beyond the eighty-second parallel---in fact to attempt what Lieutenant Wilkes of the American Navy was then attempting.

The navigators knew at this period, that from the middle of November to the beginning of March was the limit during which some success might be looked for. The temperature is more bearable then, storms are less frequent, the icebergs break loose from the ma.s.s, the ice wall has holes in it, and perpetual day reigns in that distant region.

Tristan d'Acunha lies to the south of the zone of the regular south-west winds. Its climate is mild and moist. The prevailing winds are west and north-west, and, during the winter--August and September--south. The island was inhabited, from 1811, by American whale fishers. After them, English soldiers were installed there to watch the St. Helena seas, and these remained until after the death of Napoleon, in 1821. Several years later the group of islands populated by Americans and Dutchmen from the Cape acknowledged the suzerainty of Great Britain, but this was not so in 1839. My personal observation at that date convinced me that the possession of Tristan d'Acunha was not worth disputing. In the sixteenth century the islands were called the Land of Life.

On the 5th of September, in the morning, the towering volcano of the chief island was signalled; a huge snowcovered ma.s.s, whose crater formed the basin of a small lake. Next day, on our approach, we could distinguish a vast heaped-up lava field. At this distance the surface of the water was striped with gigantic seaweeds, vegetable ropes, varying in length from six hundred to twelve hundred feet, and as thick as a wine barrel.

Here I should mention that for three days subsequent to the finding of the fragment of ice, Captain Len Guy came on deck for strictly nautical purposes only, and I had no opportunities of seeing him except at meals, when he maintained silence, that not even James West could have enticed him to break. I made no attempt to do this, being convinced that the hour would come when Len Guy would again speak to me of his brother, and of the efforts which he intended to make to save him and his companions. Now, I repeat, the season being considered, that hour had not come, when the schooner cast anchor on the 6th of September at Ansiedling, in Falmouth Bay, precisely in the place indicated in Arthur Pym's narrative as the moorings of the Jane.

At the period of the arrival of the Jane, an ex-corporal ol the English artillery, named Gla.s.s, reigned over a little colony of twenty-six individuals, who traded with the Cape, and whose only vessel was a small schooner. At our arrival this Gla.s.s had more than fifty subjects, and was, as Arthur Pym remarked, quite independent of the British Government. Relations with the ex-corporal were established on the arrival of the Halbrane, and he proved very friendly and obliging. West, to whom the captain left the business of refilling the water tanks and taking in supplies of fresh meat and vegetables, had every reason to be satisfied with Gla.s.s, who, no doubt, expected to be paid, and was paid, handsomely.

The day after our arrival I met ex-corporal Gla.s.s, a vigorous, well-preserved man, whose sixty years had not impaired his intelligent vivacity. Independently of his trade with the Cape and the Falklands, he did an important business in seal-skins and the oil of marine animals, and his affairs were prosperous. As he appeared very willing to talk, I entered briskly into conversation with thls selfappointed Governor of a contented little colony, by asking him,-- "Do many s.h.i.+ps put in to Tristan d'Acunha?"

"As many as we require," he replied, rubbing his bands together behind his back, according to his invariable custom.

"In the fine season?"

"Yes, in the fine season, if indeed we can be said to have any other in these lat.i.tudes."

"I congratulate you, Mr. Gla.s.s. But it is to be regretted that Tristan d'Acunha has not a single port. If you possessed a landing-stage, now?"

"For what purpose, sir, when nature has provided us with such a bay as this, where there is shelter from gales, and it is easy to lie snug right up against the rocks? No, Tristan has no port, and Tristan can do without one."

Why should I have contradicted this good man? He was proud of his island, just as the Prince of Monaco is justly proud ot his tiny princ.i.p.ality.

I did not persist, and we talked of various things. He offered to arrange for me an excursion to the depths of the 5] thick forests, which clothed the volcano up to the middle of the central cove.

I thanked him, but declined his offer, preferring to employ my leisure on land in some mineralogical studies. Besides, the Halbrane was to set sail so soon as she had taken in her provisions.

"Your captain is in a remarkable hurry!" said Governor Gla.s.s.

"You think so?"

"He is in such haste that his lieutenant does not even talk of buying skins or oil from me."

"We require only fresh victuals and fresh water, Mr. Gla.s.s."

"Very well," replied the Governor, who was rather annoyed, "what the Halbrane will not take other vessels will."

Then he resumed,-- "And where is your schooner bound for on leaving us?"

"For the Falklands, no doubt, where she can be repaired."

"You, sir, are only a pa.s.senger, I suppose?"

"As you say, Mr. Gla.s.s, and I had even intended to remain at Tristan d'Acunha for some weeks. But I have had to relinquish that project."

"I am sorry to hear it, sir. We should have been happy to offer you hospitality while awaiting the arrival of another s.h.i.+p."

"Such hospitality would have been most valuable to me," I replied, "but unfortunately I cannot avail myself of it."

In fact, I had finally resolved not to quit the schooner, but to embark for America from tile Falkland Isles with out much delay. I felt sure that Captain Len Guy would not refuse to take me to the islands. I informed Mr. Gla.s.s of my intention, and he remarked, still in a tone of annoyance,-- "As for your captain, I have not even seen the colour of his hair."

"I don't think he has any intention of coming ash.o.r.e."

"Is he ill?"

"Not to my knowledge. But it does not concern you, since he has sent his lieutenant to represent him."

"Oh, he's a cheerful person! One may extract two words from him occasionally. Fortunately, it is easier to get coin out of his pocket than speech out of his lips."

"That's the important thing, Mr. Gla.s.s."

"You are right, sir--Mr. Jeorling, of Connecticut, I believe?"

I a.s.sented.

"So! I know your name, while I have yet to learn that of the captain of the Halbrane."

"His name is Guy--Len Guy."

"An Englishman?"

"Yes--an Englishman."

"He might have taken the trouble to pay a visit to a countryman of his, Mr. Jeorling! But stay! I had some dealings formerly with a captain of that name. Guy, Guy--"

"William Guy?" I asked, quickly.

"Precisely. William Guy."

"Who commanded the Jane?"

"The Jane? Yes. The same man."

"An English schooner which put in at Tristan d'Acunha eleven years ago?"

"Eleven years, Mr. Jeorling. I had been settled in the island where Captain Jeffrey, of the Berwick, of London, found me in the year 1824, for full seven years. I perfectly recall this William Guy, as if he were before me. He was a fine, open-hearted fellow, and I sold him a cargo of seal-skins. He had the air of a gentleman, rather proud, but good-natured."

"And the Jane!"

"I can see her now at her moorings in the same place as the Halbrane. She was a handsome vessel of one hundred and eighty tons, very slender for'ards. She belonged to the port of Liverpool."

"Yes; that is true, all that is true."

"And is the Jane still afloat, Mr. Jeorling?"

"No, Mr. Gla.s.s."

"Was she lost?"

"The fact is only too true, and the greater part of her crew with her."

"Will you tell me how this happened?"

"Willingly. On leaving Tristan d'Acunha the Jane headed for the bearings of the Aurora and other islands, which William Guy hoped to recognize from information--"

"That came from me," interrupted the ex-corporal. "And those other islands, may I learn whether the Jane discovered them?"

"No, nor the Auroras either, although William Guy remained several weeks in those waters, running from east to west, with a look-out always at the masthead."

"He must have lost his bearings, Mr. Jeorling, for, if several whalers, who were well deserving of credit, are to be believed, these islands do exist, and it was even proposed to give them my name."

"That would have been but just," I replied politely. "It will be very vexatious if they are not discovered some day," added the Governor, in a tone which indicated that he was not devoid of vanity.

"It was then," I resumed, "that Captain Guy resolved to carry out a project he had long cherished, and in which he was encouraged by a certain pa.s.senger who was on board the Jane--"

"Arthur Gordon Pym," exclaimed Gla.s.s, "and his companion, one Dirk Peters; the two had been picked up at sea by the schooner."

"You knew them, Mr. Gla.s.s?" I asked eagerly.

"Knew them, Mr. Jeorling? I should think I did, indeed! That Arthur Pym was a strange person, always wanting to rush into adventures--a real rash American, quite capable of starting off to the moon! Has he gone there at last?"

"No, not quite, Mr. Gla.s.s, but, during her voyage, the schooner, it seems, did clear the polar circle, and pa.s.s the ice-wall. She got farther than any s.h.i.+p had ever done before."

"What a wonderful feat!"

"Yes. Unfortunately, the Jane did not return. Arthur Pym and Willlam Guy escaped the doom of the Jane and the most of her crew. They even got back to America, how I do not know. Afterwards Arthur Pym died, but under what circ.u.mstances I am ignorant. As for the half-breed, after having retired to Illinois, he went off one day without a word to anyone and no trace of him has been found."

"And William Guy?" asked Mr. Gla.s.s.

I related the finding of the body of Patterson, the mate of the Jane, and I added that everything led to the belief that the captain of the Jane and five of his companions were still living on an island in the austral regions, at less than slx degrees from the Pole.