CHAPTER XXVII

HOW COMMANDER PEARY REACHED THE POLE

After the trouble with Estankawak and Muckaloo, Mr. Dawson had a close conference with Olalola. He found the latter as faithful as ever, and so put him in sole charge of the dogs and sledges, and warned him to keep a close watch on the others.

"Do not let them steal anything," said the explorer, "and when we return to civilization you shall be richly rewarded. I will give you a boat, a gun, and a hunting knife."

This, to the Esquimau, was riches indeed, and he promised to keep watch day and night. He had a stern talk with Estankawak and Muckaloo and came close to thrashing them both. After that the mutinous natives caused but little trouble.

Two days went by, and slowly but surely the party drew closer to the Pole. The professor took another observation, and announced that they had now but sixty-eight miles more to cover to reach the Top of the World.

"That wouldn't be so bad if walking was good, but it seems to grow worse," said Andy. He had already worn out two pairs of walrus-hide foot-coverings, and now the third pair looked woefully ragged.

"I'd like to know something of Commander Peary," observed Chet. "He must be in this region."

"He is," answered Barwell Dawson. "But just where, there is no telling. Perhaps he has been to the Pole, and is now coming back."

They would have been much surprised if they had known that Commander Peary was at that moment less than a hundred miles away from their camp. This intrepid explorer had pushed his way steadily northward over the ice from Cape Columbia, to which point he journeyed from Cape Sheridan during the latter part of February. His outfit at this time consisted of seven members of the expedition, seventeen Esquimaux, 133 dogs, and nineteen sledges. It was the largest and best outfit Lieutenant Peary had ever had at his command for this work.

It was the explorer's plan to establish supply stations all along the route, and for this purpose some of the party were at first sent ahead. They found conditions very similar to those which I have already described, and lost several sledges and a good many dogs, while some of the natives became sick and had to be sent back.

By hard work Commander Peary reached the 85th degree of north latitude on March 18th, and five days later managed to cover another degree. It was intensely cold, the thermometer registering fifty and more degrees below zero. One man had his foot frozen, and had to be sent back to one of the bases of supplies.

Feeling that the goal was now within his grasp, Commander Peary kept on steadily, and soon passed the 87th degree of latitude--his highest point during the expedition previously taken. This was a day of rejoicing. Here he dispensed with his last supporting party, and pushed into the Great Unknown with only a handful of faithful followers.

At the end of March he was held up most unexpectedly by open water, and every one of the party was much disheartened. But this water was crossed April 2d, and two days later the great explorer found himself within one degree of his goal.

Despite the intense bitterness of the cold, he pushed on as steadily as ever. It was a nerve-racking ordeal, yet he had but one thought, one ambition--to reach the goal for which he had been striving for twenty years. He could scarcely sleep and eat, so anxious was he to get to the end of the task he had set for himself.

At last he stopped, on April 6th, to take another observation. This showed him to be within a few miles of the Pole, and if he went wild with joy, who can blame him? He called to those with him, and away they went over the ice, paying no heed to the keen wind that cut like a knife.

And then came the supreme moment of joy. The North Pole was gained--the height of his ambition had at last been realized. He really and truly stood upon the Top of the World. It was to him the moment of moments, and yet he could not realize it, for it all seemed so commonplace. At the Pole it did not look different from what it did for miles around the sought-for spot. All was a field of ice and snow, vast and desolate.

Thirty hours were spent at and around the Pole, taking observations and photographs, and in planting the Stars and Stripes, and also some records. Then Commander Peary started back, to break the news of his success to a world that had just been astonished by the reports of Dr. Cook's achievements of the year before.

It was but a few hours after the professor had made the announcement that they had but sixty-eight miles more to cover that the party under Barwell Dawson came to another lead. It was wide and of great depth, as a sounding proved, and how to cross this became the next problem. Even Olalola shook his head.

"There is no end to it," he said, sadly. "I go with you, but how?"

"We must find a way," answered the explorer, and he and Chet went out on a tour of discovery.

They came back discouraged, and that night all rested on the edge of the lead, wondering what they should do next. At last Barwell Dawson called the boys and the professor to him.

"I think it best that we make the rest of the journey alone," said he. "We can take the best of the dogs, and the best sledge, and try to make a quick dash, leaving the others here to await our return. What do you say?"

The boys were willing to do anything, and the professor was of a like turn of mind.

"But how are you going to get over the lead?" asked Andy.

"I'll find some kind of a way," answered the explorer.

The matter was explained to Olalola. He was sorry to have them leave him, but promised faithfully to look after the camp, and after Dr. Slade, who was still ill, while they were gone. He said that by following the lead westward, they might be able to cross it.

"I think so myself," answered Mr. Dawson.

The start was made early the next day, Andy and Chet taking turns at driving the six dogs, the pick of what were left of the pack. The course was along the lead westward, and after a mile had been covered, they reached a spot where some new ice covered the water.

"Do you think it will hold us?" asked Andy.

"I'll test it and see," was Mr. Dawson's reply.

After an examination the explorer came to the conclusion that they might risk the new ice.

"But we must go over it quickly," he cautioned. "Don't let the dogs stop."

They walked a distance back, and set the sledge in motion. Then out on the ice they spun, Chet cracking his long whip in true Esquimau fashion. The new ice cracked and groaned under their weight, and when they were in the middle of the lead it began to buckle.

"Spread out--don't keep together!" yelled Barwell Dawson. "Chet, whip up the dogs and let 'em go it alone!"

The boy understood, and gave the canines the lash. Away they sped at breakneck speed. Then Chet leaped to one side, and he and the others continued on their way a distance of fifty or more feet from each other.

It was a great risk they had assumed, and each instant they thought the ice would break and let them down in the water. A rescue under such conditions,--with the thermometer standing at fifty-three degrees below zero,--would have been out of the question.

"The ice is going down!" screamed Andy, just as he was within a rod of the north shore. "Hurry up!"

There was no need to sound the warning, for all understood the peril only too well. They increased their speed, and slid the remaining few feet. Then, just behind them, they saw the ice buckle and break, allowing a stream of icy water to run over it.

"Safe, and thank Heaven for it!" murmured Barwell Dawson, when he could catch his breath.

"Don't ask me to take another such run," panted Professor Jeffer. "I thought we'd surely be drowned!"

As soon as they had recovered somewhat from the dash, they walked on to where the dogs had stopped. In letting them go, Mr. Dawson had known that they were in no physical condition to run out of sight. When the travelers came up, they found the canines stretched out resting. The harness was in a snarl, and it took them the best part of a quarter of an hour to get the team straightened out again.

"Did you notice that the ice looks purple?" remarked Andy, as they went on once again.

"I did," answered Barwell Dawson. "It is as peculiar as it is beautiful."

He had noticed the purple ice several days before, and also several mirages in the sky,--mirages that looked like hills and mountains, but which he knew were only optical delusions. Coming northward, the party had also had a splendid view of the _aurora borealis_, or Northern Lights, that mysterious glow thought to be electrical or magnetic. Once Andy had said that he could hear the lights, and that they sounded like the low hissing of steam.

It grew colder that night, and it was all the explorers could do to keep from freezing. They had a small quantity of tea left--a quarter of a pound--and after melting some snow over their alcohol stove, drank the beverage boiling hot. Then they made themselves a hot stew of pemmican and ground-up peas. Each of the dogs received a chunk of frozen walrus meat, something they gnawed on savagely, so great was their hunger.

The next day the sun was clouded, so that it was impossible for the professor to take any observations. But they knew they had not yet reached their goal, and so they pushed on, over ice that was hummocky, but not nearly as bad as it had been.

"Hello!" cried Andy, about the middle of the afternoon. "What's that yonder?"

He pointed to their left, where a dark object lay on the ice, half covered with loose snow.

"Might as well see what it is," said Barwell Dawson, who was as curious as the others. So far, in that land of desolation, they had seen absolutely nothing but ice, snow, and open water.

They moved to the spot and saw that the dark object was the carcass of a dog, frozen stiff. Beside the dog lay a board of a sledge.

"Look!" exclaimed Barwell Dawson, as he held up the board. "Do you see what it says?"

All looked at the bit of wood and saw, burnt upon it, the following:

PEARY--1909

"It is something from the Peary expedition!" said Professor Jeffer. "He must have gotten up here ahead of us!"

"It certainly looks that way," answered Barwell Dawson. "Well, he deserved to reach the Pole, after his many years of untiring efforts."

Leaving the board as a silent monument, the four continued on their way northward. Again the wind was blowing from the west, and they calculated that it was on the increase.

"With the thermometer down so low, if it blows very strong we'll be frozen stiff," declared Chet. "Why, a winter in Maine is a hothouse alongside of this!"

The next day, owing to the wind, they made but scant progress. It was cloudy, yet just around noon the sun peeped from behind the clouds, and Professor Jeffer hurried to take an observation. Barwell Dawson gave him the correct time, and the old scientist quickly succeeded in making his computations.

"Well, how do we stand?" asked Mr. Dawson, when Professor Jeffer had finished.

"We are within twenty-two miles of the Pole," was the answer that thrilled the hearts of all.