CHAPTER XVIII

THE END OF THE MAMMOTH

SLOWLY the steel wire hawser, terminating in a "span" with two enormous gun-metal hooks, was lowered through the block on the derrick.

"Sleigh ahoy!" roared Captain Stormleigh. "Send a couple of hands to engage the hooks."

It was much easier said than done. At about two feet from each end of the _Bird of Freedom_ was a stout galvanised iron eyebolt. The "eye" projected above the rounded neck, while the bolt passed completely through and was secured by a nut to a massive crossbar on the underside of the floor.

Apart from the hazardous operation of engaging the hook of the span to the eyebolts--a task which necessitated two men making their way along the slippery, heaving deck--the sudden strain of the sleigh, which with motors and full complement weighed between ten and eleven tons, might burst the eyebolts asunder.

In calm weather the job would be a comparatively easy one, but the heaving and pitching of the ship and the sleigh made it impossible to obtain a gentle and gradually increasing strain on the wire hawser.

Guy looked at Leslie, and Leslie looked at Guy. They realised the terrible risk that was entailed, and that it was "up to them," as active members of the British party on board the sleigh, to carry out Captain Stormleigh's instructions.

"Come on," said Leslie at length, and without further hesitation he clambered up through the hatchway and began to crawl cautiously towards the after ring-bolt.

"Hold on! Avast there!" shouted Captain Stormleigh. "Isn't there any man on board there?"

"No, sir," shouted Leslie in reply, for it was only by raising his voice to its utmost capacity that he could make himself understood in the terrific wind.

"Then get below at once," roared the skipper.

Only too glad to escape the task which was practically certain to be beyond their powers, the lads obeyed; but they left the hatch uncovered in order to follow the impending operations.

Presently a man, whom the lads recognised as Travers, the second mate, ascended the steel rope to the block at the end of the derrick. Then, transferring the weight to the outboard part of the rope, he descended till his feet came in contact with the large ring-bolt to which the two spans were attached.

Holding one of the hooks in his fur-gloved hands, Travers awaited his opportunity and deftly engaged the hook in the ring-bolt at the bow of the sleigh.

The derrick was slung aft so that the second mate could perform a similar operation there. This part of the business was a most difficult one. At one moment the engaged span was quite slack, at the next, as the _Bird of Freedom_ sank in the trough of the waves, it was as taut as an iron bar, while the sudden strain wellnigh jerked the plucky young officer from his precarious perch. In addition, he had to fight the telling effects of the numbing cold.

At the third attempt he succeeded in engaging the after hook. With a terrific jerk the sleigh was raised ten feet above the sea as the _Polarity_ rolled to port. The next moment the return roll of the ship let the sleigh down with a resounding smack upon the white-foamed waves.

Travers, holding on like grim death to the span which he had now made fast, had slipped to the deck and was revolving round the chain in a vain endeavour to obtain a foothold upon the slippery platform.

The ship's donkey-engine was clanking. Slowly the wire rope was being wound round the drum of the windlass. Each jerk, as the _Bird of Freedom_ dropped with the waves, became less and less, until she drew entirely clear of the water.

Five minutes later the sleigh rested upon the _Polarity's_ deck. Travers, with two fingers of his left hand smashed to a pulp, slid inertly from his precarious perch. Two of the crew were just in time to break his fall. Insensible he was carried below, another victim of the grim Arctic.

The sick and wounded men were quickly transferred from the sleigh to the main cabin of the ship, which speedily resembled a hospital ward. The ship's doctor was soon hard at it, assisted by plenty of voluntary workers. John Ranworth had already recovered consciousness, and his first question was how long it would take to get the _Bird of Freedom_ ready for the second dash for Observation Camp.

Leslie and Guy, their work for the present accomplished, were sound asleep, worn out with fatigue. Aubrey Hawke, although unfit for active duty, was superintending the recharging of the accumulators and overhauling the defects in the wiring of the motors.

It was indeed wonderful that the _Bird of Freedom_ had survived her fall from the glacier. Well it was that the engines had been strongly bolted to their bearers, for had the motors been wrenched from their beds they would have crashed through the roof of the sleigh and sealed the fate of all on board.

During the whole time the work of refitting the sleigh was in progress, Leslie and Guy slept like logs. It was not until twelve hours later that they awoke, to find Captain Stormleigh in the cabin.

"Mr. Ranworth insists upon going," declared the skipper ruefully. "He's not fit. I told him so, and he promptly remarked that my business was the safety and navigation of the ship. He's right there, of course, but I did my best to persuade him to give up the idea."

"How about the doctor?" asked Leslie. "Can't he put his foot down?"

Captain Stormleigh shook his head.

"He did, but it was of no use. Mr. Ranworth told him he had done his duty by expressing his opinion as a medical man. 'I'm going at my risk, not yours, Doctor,' he declared. 'So don't say any more about it.'"

"How is the weather, sir?" asked Guy.

"'Moderating," announced Captain Stormleigh. "The wind's veered a bit, so the creek is now fairly sheltered. The northerly wind is the only one we feel here. But what I'm here for is this: Mr. Ranworth sends his compliments and wishes to know whether you'll be ready by ten o'clock."

"Yes, sir, at ten o'clock," replied both lads promptly, and without more ado they proceeded to get ready for their second journey into the interior of the desolate Nova Cania.

As soon as they had had a good meal, the lads went on deck. The _Polarity_ was no longer in her former berth. She had proceeded five miles farther up the creek, so as to be nearer to the only practicable landing-place, and in fact within sight of the glacier.

The damage to the roof of the cabin had already been made good. The motors were once more in working order, and charged ready for a thirty hours' run.

John Ranworth was standing with Captain Stormleigh under the break of the poop. His arm was in a sling, his face was pale and pinched, but the resolute look in his eyes was the same as ever. His indomitable spirit rose above bodily injuries. Rightly or wrongly, he was firmly resolved to take charge of the _Bird of Freedom_ in her second dash to Observation Camp.

"Good morning, lads," he exclaimed cheerily. "I thought you would raise no objection to accompanying me. We're taking a strong crew this time. There's Symonds, Purvis, Johnson, and Wilson."

The lads knew the men by name. They were all deck hands. Ranworth, out of consideration for the good service already performed by the lads, had refused the eager requests of some of the ship's officers to take part in the second rescue expedition.

If the next attempt were completely successful, the _Bird of Freedom_ would have to carry fifteen on the return journey; for, in addition to her new crew, numbering seven, there were five Russians, two members of Claude Ranworth's party, and O'Donovan.

Before the sleigh set out on its errand, glasses were brought to bear upon the seaward end of the glacier.

It was found that, following the breaking away of of the ice, which had all but sealed the fate of the _Bird of Freedom_, a comparatively easy gradient had been formed about eighty yards to the left of the spot where the sleigh had taken the water. Moreover, the ice appeared of a bluish tint, which meant that it was stronger and not so liable to break as the white ice.

Ranworth, in order to save his arm from additional injury, had taken his place in the cabin of the sleigh when the _Bird of Freedom_ was lowered over the side by means of the derrick.

Leslie and Guy and the four seamen promptly clambered on board, and since there was very little motion, the task of disengaging the span hooks was a simple matter.

Amidst the good wishes of the rest of the _Polarity's_ crew, expressed in the old-fashioned way of giving three rousing cheers, the sleigh gathered speed and steered for the selected landing-place on the glacier.

Although the wind was still blowing freshly from the nor'-west, the _Bird of Freedom_ made rapid progress. Without a hitch she surmounted the glacier and gained the open ground beyond.

An hour later she was passing through the defile in which the mammoth had been discovered. The strong wind had set a considerable portion of the landslide into further motion, with the result that the general slope of the debris was more gradual, while the gigantic frozen mammoth was uncovered as far as the forequarters.

"We'll have those tusks," reiterated Ranworth, "even if we have to make a third journey for them. If, however, we find that the sleigh makes light of her load, we'll stop and get the things on board on the return journey."

Ranworth, of course, could take no manual part in the management of the sleigh. He had to be content to sit at one of the two foremost scuttles, while Guy and the four seamen took turns at the steering-wheel. Leslie, having satisfied himself that the motors were running well, was able to "stand easy," since there seemed no immediate necessity to check their speed.

In exactly four hours from the time of starting from the ship, the _Bird of Freedom_ stopped at Observation Camp.

"All correct, sir," announced O'Donovan. "Faith, I'm far from being fed up with bear steaks yet. Sure, 'tis a fine place to cultivate an appetite. But what has happened to your arm, sir, if I may make so bold as to ax?"

Ranworth, as impatient as ever, was anxious to commence the return journey. The remaining members of the expedition were allowed to take their personal belongings. The Russians, having lost theirs, were soon ready.

One package only did Ranworth order to be brought into the cabin and the transporting of it was entrusted to Leslie and Guy. It was the lump of platinum, the value of which would more than cover twice the cost of the expedition.

By means of a rope made fast round the fur coverings, the lads dragged the precious metal to the side of the sleigh with little difficulty; but the task of lifting it up to the door in the side of the cabin was beyond them. Even when Symonds, the "strong man" of the party, bore a hand, the comparatively small package refused to be lifted from the ground.

"It's as heavy as lead," he growled.

"It so happens it's almost double the weight of an equal bulk of lead," remarked Leslie, "and it's ever so much more valuable than gold."

Eventually, by means of a tackle, the lump of platinum was taken on board and lashed down to the floor immediately in front of the engine-bed.

"I think we can dispense with a couple of hundredweight of those tinned provisions, Leslie," said Ranworth. "We won't need them, and they'll come in handy should we at some future time fit out another Nova Cania expedition. Get the men to stow them in one of the huts, only look sharp. The glass is falling, and I don't like the look of the sky. We are in for another blizzard, unless I'm much mistaken, so the sooner we get on board the _Polarity_ the better."

At length the _Bird of Freedom_ set out on her return, and, as the lads devoutly hoped, the final journey. By this time the wind had backed, and was now dead astern. With this circumstance in their favour, a speedy run was anticipated.

"We are in sight of the mammoth, sir," reported Guy, for Ranworth was resting in his bunk. "Do you wish us to stop?"

"How's the glass?" asked Ranworth.

"Still falling, sir."

"And with a northerly wind. It doesn't mean much."

Guy did not reply, but he recalled his chief's misgivings an hour previously.

"We'll stop," decided Ranworth. "I'll go with the men. Tell them to bring axes and saws, and some canvas and rope."

The _Bird of Freedom_ was brought to a standstill under the lee of a projecting part of the cliff, but at a sufficient distance to be out of danger of any landslide that might occur.

Ranworth, holding an iron-shod pole in his sound hand, led the way, accompanied by Guy and three seamen. Leslie remained on board with the Russians, the rest of the members of the original expedition, and Symonds and O'Donovan.

Scrambling up the sloping mass of rock and ice, the men began their task of sawing through the two enormous ivory tusks. It was a difficult business, for the tusks were as hard as iron, while frequently they had to run as hard as they could to avoid masses of rock, which tumbled over the cliffs.

"It's blowing jolly hard up there, Guy," remarked Ranworth. "We don't feel it much down here, and it's fortunate that the _Polarity_ came farther up the creek. She'd feel it pretty severely on her old moorings."

"It's beginning to snow, sir," said Guy, as a few flakes scuttled past.

"By Jove, yes. Hurry up, men. You've sawn enough. Clap a rope round the tusks and haul away."

Ranworth was sorry to have to give the order. It meant the risk of spoiling a portion of the ivory; but it was either that or having to abandon the tusks indefinitely.

The seamen obeyed promptly. They regarded the sawing as a hard, unnecessary task. The ivory meant nothing to them, beyond a relic of some worthless old fossil.

With a sharp crack the first tusk fell upon the frozen ground. The fracture was a clean one.

"Well done!" exclaimed Ranworth, as the men dragged the mass of ivory to where he stood. "Now for the other one."

Before the men could return to their task, the whole of the cliffs trembled violently. Disturbed by a violent gust of wind, the snow-field on the top of the surrounding hill was set in motion.

"Run for your lives, men," shouted Ranworth. "There's an avalanche upon you."

With a rush and roar thousands of tons of ice, snow, and rock swept over the edge of the cliff and crashed into the valley beneath. Almost by a miracle Ranworth and his companions escaped being buried by the irresistible fall of debris. When the powdered dust from the broken ice had subsided, neither the mammoth nor its severed tusk was visible. Both lay buried under thirty feet of snow and rubble.