First at the North Pole Part 40

As soon as it cleared off, Professor Jeffer brought out his s.e.xtant and his artificial horizon (a pan of mercury), and took an observation. He announced that they were close to the eighty-fourth degree of north lat.i.tude.

"That means we have but six more degrees to cover,--about four hundred miles," said Chet.

"Professor, will you explain how you take the observation?" asked Andy.

"To be sure, certainly," was the reply of the scientist. "It is very easy when one knows how. Here is the s.e.xtant, shaped, as you can see, like a piece of pie. The curved side has a scale on it, which is just one-sixth of a circle, hence the name of the instrument. Here is a telescope which is adjustable, and here are two gla.s.ses, one for the rays of the sun, or a star, and one for the horizon. At sea, I would use the natural horizon, but that is impossible here amongst the ice and snow, and so I use an artificial horizon made of a pan of mercury.

"When I want to take an observation, I watch my chronometer and wait until it is exactly twelve o'clock. Then I point the s.e.xtant in such a fashion that the rays of the sun, reflected downward, seem to meet or 'kiss' the horizon. As soon as I have the light of the sun in a direct range with the horizon, I use this thumbscrew, which sets the scale below, which, as you see, is divided into degrees, minutes, and seconds.

As soon as I have read the scale by means of this magnifying gla.s.s, I consult this book I carry, the Ephemeris, or Nautical Almanac, and knowing the alt.i.tude of the sun, I readily calculate just where we are located, in degrees, minutes, and seconds north lat.i.tude."

"It's certainly a great instrument," said Andy. "I'd like to try it some day."

"You shall do so," answered Professor Jeffer, and the very next day he allowed Andy to aid him in getting a true sight, and showed the boy how to work out the necessary calculations, and also make some allowances,--for such observations are not absolutely perfect in themselves.

They had now to advance with more caution than ever, and several days later came to some open water that looked as if it would bar all further progress. The lead was six or seven hundred feet wide, and ran east and west as far as eye could reach.

"Looks as if we were stumped," murmured Chet. "How are we ever going to get across?"

A consultation was held, and then Barwell Dawson sent one party of Esquimaux to the eastward, and another to the westward, to look for a crossing place.

The Esquimaux were gone for two days, and during that time a fierce snowstorm came up, blotting out the landscape on all sides. It was so cold that the boys could do nothing outside, and were glad enough to crouch in an _igloo_ for warmth. During the snowstorm, more of the dogs became sick, and four of the finest of the animals died.

"Something is wrong with them," said Barwell Dawson, and had Dr. Slade make an examination. It was then learned that the dogs had been poisoned by eating tainted seal meat. The meat was inspected, and over a hundred pounds thrown away.

When the natives who had been sent out came back, they reported that to the east and the west the lead was wider than ever.

"Any smooth, floating ice?" asked Barwell Dawson.

Yes, some smooth ice had been seen, and the explorer went out the next day to investigate. As a result some large cakes were floated close to the temporary camp, and these were lashed together with walrus thongs.

"What do you intend to do with those?" questioned Professor Jeffer.

"I am going to try to get across to the other side," answered Barwell Dawson. "We'll use the flat ice for a ferry."

"It's a dangerous piece of business, sir."

"I know it. But we must do something," was the firm answer.

Two of the Esquimaux agreed to get on the floating cakes of ice, taking with them one of the teams and a sledge. It was no easy matter to induce the dogs to go aboard, as it might be called, and the natives were a good hour getting started. But once afloat, they crossed the lead without serious danger, and then began the task of getting the rest of the expedition over. This took all of that day, and also the next. On one of the trips an Esquimau went overboard, and Dr. Slade also took an icy bath, but both were quickly rescued, and bundled up in clothing that was dry and warm.

"There, I am glad we are over that lead!" exclaimed Barwell Dawson, when the last of the men and sledges had crossed. "I trust we don't have any more of the sort to cross."

"I am afraid we'll have a great many," answered Professor Jeffer.

"Getting to the North Pole is going to be the hardest kind of a struggle."

"We'll get there--if we keep our health, and the provisions last," said the explorer, confidently.

Once again they turned northward, into that vast region of ice, and snow, and solitude. It was certainly a gigantic undertaking. Would they succeed, or would all their struggles go for naught?

CHAPTER XXVI

ON A FLOATING Ma.s.s OF ICE

"One hundred and thirty miles more, Andy!"

"Who said so?"

"Professor Jeffer. He just took an observation," answered Chet, as he crawled into the _igloo_ and slapped his mittened hands to get them warm.

Andy shook his head slowly. "Chet, it doesn't look as if we'd make it, does it?"

"Barwell Dawson says we are going to make it, or die in the attempt."

"Well, I'm just as eager, almost, as he is. But eagerness isn't going to make these leads close up, and isn't going to give us extra food and drink."

"Getting sick of pemmican and walrus meat?"

"Aren't you?"

"Rather--but there is no use in kicking."

"Say, do you know what day this is?"

"No."

"The first of April. Maybe some folks would call us April fools, to try to reach the Pole."

Here the two boys became silent, for both were too tired and too cold to do much talking.

The last few weeks of traveling had been very bad,--so bad in fact that half of the Esquimaux had been turned back, to make a camp and wait the return of the others. Mr. Camdal had been taken sick, and he had been left behind, and now Dr. Slade was ailing, and so were two of the natives. Sixteen of the dogs had perished, and their bodies had been fed to the other canines.

The hardships had been beyond the power of pen to describe. They had encountered numerous snowstorms, and a cutting west wind had for three days made traveling impossible. The smooth ice had given way to little hills and ridges that battered the sledges frightfully. One more had gone to pieces, and the parts had been used for mending purposes, as before.

The effects of the hardships were beginning to tell on everybody. The boys were thin and hollow-eyed, and when they walked, or, rather, toiled along, their legs felt like lead. To get up any speed was impossible, and if in ten hours' walking they managed to cover fifteen or twenty miles they thought they were doing well. The glare on the ice and snow also affected them, so that their eyes appeared like little slits.

Professor Jeffer had been in danger of having his nose frost-bitten, but the boys had noticed it just in time, and come to the old scientist's rescue by rubbing the member with soft snow, thus putting the blood again in circulation.

"Well, lads, how do you feel?" asked Barwell Dawson, as he entered the _igloo_, followed by Professor Jeffer. "Dead tired, I suppose."

"Tired doesn't fit it," answered Chet, with a sickly grin. "I am next-door to being utterly played out."

"Perhaps I had better leave you two boys behind, while Professor Jeffer and myself, with one sledge, make the final dash."

"No; now I've come so far I'm going to stick it out," answered Chet, grittily.

"And so am I," added Andy. "I guess we'll feel better after a good sleep," he went on, hopefully.