Part 5 - Among the Ice Packs
For the next forty-five days our time was employed in dodging icebergs and
hunting channels; indeed, had we not been favored with a strong south wind
and a small boat, I doubt if this story could have ever been given to the
world. At last, there came a morning when my father said: "My son, I think
we are to see home. We are almost through the ice. See! the open water
lies before us." However, there were a few icebergs that had floated far
northward into the open water still ahead of us on either side, stretching
away for many miles. Directly in front of us, and by the compass, which
had now righted itself, due north, there was an open sea. "What a
wonderful story we have to tell the people of Stockholm," continued my
father, while a look of pardonable elation lighted up his honest face.
"And think of the gold nuggets stowed away in the hold!" I spoke kind
words of praise to my father, not alone for this fortitude and endurance,
but also for this courageous daring as a discoverer, and for having made
the voyage that now promised a successful end. I was grateful, too, that
he had gathered the wealth of gold we were carrying home. While
congratulating ourselves on the goodly supply of provisions and water we
still had on hand, and on the dangers we had escaped, we were startled by
hearing a most terrific explosion, caused by the tearing apart of huge
mountain of ice. It was a deafening roar like the firing of thousand
cannon. We were sailing at the time with great speed, and happened to be
near a monstrous iceberg which to all appearances was as immovable as a
rockbound island. It seemed, however, that the iceberg had split and was
breaking apart, whereupon the balance of the monster along which we
sailing was destroyed, and it began dipping from us. My father quickly
anticipated the danger before I realized its awful possibilities. The
iceberg extended down into the water many hudreds of feet, and, as it
tipped over, the portion coming up out of the water caught our
fishing-craft like a lever on a fulcrum, and threw it into the air as if
it had been a foot-ball. Our boat fell back on the iceberg, that by this
time had changed the side next to us for the top. My father was still in
the boat, having become entangled in the rigging, while I was thrown some
twenty feet away. I quickly scrambled to my feet and shouted to my father,
who answered: "All is well." Just then a realization dawned upon me.
Horror upon horror! The blood froze in my veins. The iceberg was still in
motion, and its great weight and force in toppling over would cause it to
submerge temporarily. I fully realized what a sucking maelstorm it would
produce amid the worlds of water on every side. They would rush into the
depression in all their fury, like white-fanged wolves eager for human
prey. In this supreme moment of mental anguish, I remember glancing at our
boat, which was lying on its side, and wondering if it could possibly
right itself, and if my father could escape. Was this the end of our
struggles and adventures? Was this death? All these questions flashed
through my mind in the fraction of a second, and a moment later I was
engaged in a life and death struggle. The ponderous monolith of ice sank
below the surface, and the frigid waters gurgled around me in frenzied
anger. I was in a saucer, with the waters pouring in on every side. A
moment more and I lost consciousness. When I partially recovered my sences,
and roused from the swoon of a half-drowned man, I found myself wet,
stiff, and almost frozen, lying on the iceberg. But there was no sign of
my father or of our little fishing sloop. The monster berg had recovered
itself, and, with its new balance, lifted its head perhaps fifty feet
above the waves. The top of this island of ice was a plateau perhaps half
an acre in extent. I loved my father well, and was grief-stricken at the
awfulness of his death. I railed at fate, that I, too, had not been
permitted to sleep with him in the depths of the ocean. Finally, I climbed
to my feed and looked about me. The purple-domed sky above, the shoreless
green ocean beneath, and only an occasional iceberg discernible! My heart
sank in hopeless despair. I cautiously picked my way across the berg
toward the other side, hoping that our fishing craft had righted itself.
Dared I think it possible that may father still lived? It was but a ray of
hope that flamed up in my heart. But the anticipation warmed my blood in
my veins and started it rushing like some rare stimulant through every
fiber of my body. I crept close to the precipitous side of the iceberg,
and peered far down, hoping, still hoping. Then I made a circle of the
berg, scanning every foot of the way, and thus I kept going around and
around. One part of my brain was certainly becoming maniacal, while the
other part, I believe, and do to this day, was perfectly rational. I was
conscious of having made the circuit a dozen times, and while one part of
my intelligence knew, in all reason, there was not a vestige of hope, yet
some strange fascinating aberration bewitched and compelled me still to
beguile myself with expectation. The other part of my brain seemed to tell
me that while there was no possibility of my father being alive, yet, if I
quit making the circuit-... ...ous pilgrimage, if I paused for a single
moment, it would be acknowledgement of defeat, and, should I do this, I
felt that I should go mad. Thus, hour after hour I walked around and
around, afraid to stop and rest, yet physically powerless to continue much
longer. Oh! horror of horrors! to be cast away in this wide expanse of
waters without food or drink, and only a treacherous iceberg for an
abiding place. My heart sank within me, and all semblance of hope was
fading into black despair. Then the hand of the Deliverer was extended,
and death-like stillness of a solitude rapidly becoming unbearable was
suddenly broken by the firing of a signal-gun. I looked up in startled
amazement, when, I saw, less than a half-mile away, a whaling-vessel
bearing down toward me with her sail full set. Evidently my continued
activity on iceberg had attracted their attention. On drawing near, they
put out a boat, and, descending cautiously to the water's edge, I was
rescued, and a little later lifted on board the whaling-ship. I found it
was Scotch whaler, "The Arlington." She had cleared from Dundee in
September, and started immediately for the Antarctic, in search of whales.
The captain, Angus MacPherson, seemed kindly disposed, but in matters of
discipline, as I soon learned, possessed of an iron will. When I attempted
to tell him that I had come from the "inside" of the earth, the captain
and mate looked at each other, shook their heads, and insisted on my being
put in a bunk under strict surveillance of the ship's physician. I was
very weak fo want of food, and had not slept for many hours. However,
after a few days, I got up one morning and dressed myself without asking
permission of the physician or anyone else, and told them that I was as
sane as anyone. The captain sent for me and again questioned me concerning
where I had come from, and how I came to be alone on an iceberg in the far
off Antarctic Ocean. I replied that I had just come from the "inside" of
the earth, and proceeded to tell him how my father and myself had gone in
by way of Spitzbergen, and come out by way of the South Pole country,
whereupon I was put in irons. I afterward heard the captain tell the mate
that I was as crazy as a March hare, and that I must remain in confinement
until I was rational enough to give a truthful account of myself. Finally
after much pleading and many promises, I was released from irons. I then
and there decided to invent some story that would satisfy the captain, and
again refer to my trip to the land of "The Smoky God," at least until I
was safe among friends. Within a fortnight I was permitted to go about and
take my place as one of the seamen. A little later the captain asked me
for an explanation. I told him that my experience had been so horrible
that I was fearful of my memory, and begged him to permit me to leave the
question unanswered until some time in the future. "I think you are
recovering considerably," he said, "but you are not sane yet by a good
deal." "Permit me to do such work as you may assign," I replied, "and if
it does not compensate you sufficiently, I will pay you immediately after
I reach Stockholm - to the last penny." Thus the matter rested. On finally
reaching Stockholm, as I have already related, I found that my good mother
had gone to her reward more than a year before. I have also told now,
later, the treachery of a relative landed me in a madhouse, where I
remained for twenty-eight years - seemingly unending years - and, still
later, after my release, how I returned to the life of a fisherman,
following it sedulously for twenty-seven years, then how I came to
America, and finally to Los Angeles, California. But all this can be of
little interest to the reader. Indeed, it seems to me the climax of my
wonderful travels and strange adventures was reached when the Scotch
sailing-vessel took me from an iceberg on the Antarctic Ocean.