Cæsar Cascabel/Part 2/Chapter I

CHAPTER I. BEHRING STRAIT.
A SOMEWHAT narrow pass is this Behring Strait, through which the sea of the same name communicates with the Arctic Ocean. It recalls the Strait of Dover between the British Channel and the North Sea; it lies in the same direction, but is three times as wide. Whereas it is only about twenty miles from Cape Gris-Nez on the French coast to South Foreland on the English side, a distance of sixty miles separates Numana from Port Clarence.

It was, therefore, toward the port of Numana, the nearest point on the Asiatic coast, that the Fair Rambler directed its course on leaving its last halting place in America.

Naturally, by cutting obliquely across Behring Sea, Cæser Cascabel would have traveled on a lower parallel and one considerably below the polar circle. In that case, his course would have brought him southwest, toward the island of St. Lawrence, a rather important island, inhabited by numerous tribes of Eskimos, no less hospitable than the natives of Port Clarence; then, on the other side of the Gulf of Anadyr, the little troupe would have landed at Cape Navare and thence plunged into the territories of Southern Siberia. But this would have been lengthening the sea portion, or rather the ice-field portion of the journey, and therefore exposing the party for a longer period to the dangers of those fields of ice. It may be surmised that the Cascabels longed to be on land again; it would have been inopportune, therefore, to alter in any way their first intention of going straight toward Numana, barely halting in the middle of the strait at the isle of Diomede, a spot as firm on its rocky foundations as any part of the continent.

If Mr. Sergius had been in charge of a vessel, with the little caravan and its material aboard, he would have adopted quite another tack. On leaving Port Clarence, he would have sailed more to the south of Behring Island, which is greatly frequented for winter-quartering by seals and other sea mammifers; thence he would have reached one of the ports of Kamtchatka, perhaps even Petropaulovski, the capital of this government. But, for want of a ship, the best thing to do was to take the shortest cut, the sooner to set foot on the Asiatic continent.

The Strait of Behring is of no very great depth. As a consequence of the rising of the sea bottom, which has been observed since the ice period, it might even come to pass in the distant future that Asia and America should become surface-joined in this spot. This would be the bridge of Mr. Cascabel's dreams, or, more correctly, a causeway available for travelers. But, however useful to the latter, it would be a great bane to seafaring people, and especially to whalers, as it would shut them out of the Arctic Seas. Some future De Lesseps would then have to come and cut through this isthmus and re-establish things in the original condition. It will be for the descendants of our great- grandchildren to think about such an eventuality.

The soundings of hydrographers in various portions of the strait have brought out the fact that the deepest chan- nel is that which runs along the coast of Asia, near the Tchuktchi peninsula. There does the cold current from the north flow, whilst the warm current goes up the shallower half of the strait, next to the American coast.

To the north of this peninsula, near the island of Koliutchin in the bay of that name, Nordenskjold's ship, La Vega, was to be ice-bound, twelve years later, for a space of nine months (September 26, 1878, to July 15, 1879), after he had discovered the northeast passage.

Well, then, the Cascabels had started on the 21st of October, under fair conditions. It was cold and dry. The snowstorm had calmed down, the wind had slacked and shifted slightly to the north. The sky bore one uniform gray tint. Hardly could the sun be felt from behind that veil of mist which its rays, weakened by their obliquity, could not succeed in piercing. At noon, when at its maximum height, it barely rose a few degrees above the horizon in the south.

A very wise measure had been unanimously agreed on before leaving Port Clarence: they should not journey when it was dark. Here and there the ice-field presented large crevices, and, as it was impossible to avoid them in the darkness, a catastrophe might have been the result. It was therefore resolved that as soon as they could see no farther than a hundred paces ahead, the Fair Rambler would halt. Better spend a fortnight covering the sixty miles than grope along blindly when daylight would no longer be sufficient.

The snow had not ceased falling for twenty-four hours, and had formed a pretty thick carpet, which had become quite crystallized by the cold. This layer rendered locomotion less difficult on the surface of the ice-field. Should they have no more snow while they crossed the strait, they would be all right. However, it was to be feared that where the cold and the warm currents met, flowing in opposite directions, the bergs thus disturbed in their drifting course might have got heaped up on each other, and our travelers might see their road lengthened by various detours.

We have already said that Cornelia, Kayette, and Napoleona had taken their places inside the wagon. In order to lighten the load as much as possible, the men were to go on foot.

In accordance with the prearranged marching order, John scouted, ahead of the party, to reconnoiter the state of the ice-field; he might be relied upon. He had a compass with him, and although very accurate landmarks were a matter of considerable difficulty, he made for the west with sufficient precision.

At the head of the horses stood Clovy, ready to hold up or to pick up Vermont and Gladiator in the event of their stumbling; but they were rough-shod and steady on their legs. Besides, the surface was so level that there was noth- ing they could stumble against.

Close to the wagon Mr. Sergius and Cæsar Cascabel, with their wooden winkers before their eyes, and fur-clad from head to foot like all their companions, walked and chatted along.

As to young Sander, it would have been hard to assign any one place to him, or at least to keep him there. He went and came, and ran and gamboled like the two dogs, and now and again indulged in a good old slide. Still there was something wanting to his happiness: his father would not give him leave to put on his racket-shoes.

“With those skates on,” he would say, “I should run across the strait in a few hours!”

“And what would be the use of that?” Mr. Cascabel would reply, “since our horses don't know how to skate!”

“I must teach them, some day!” answered the youngster, accompanying his remark with a somersault.

Meanwhile, Cornelia, Kayette, and Napoleona were busy in the kitchen, and a tiny streak of smoke, of good omen, came out of the little chimney-pot. Although they did not suffer from the cold, hermetically closed as were their apartments, they should think of those who were outside. And they did so; for they kept always in readiness for them a few cups of warm tea, strengthened with a little of that Russian “water of life,” that vodka, which would bring a dead man back to life again.

As to the horses, they had sufficient food to bring them to the other side of the strait, thanks to the bundles of dried grass supplied by the Eskimos of Port Clarence.

Wagram and Marengo seemed quite pleased with the flesh of the elk, and of that they could have plenty.

Besides, the ice-field was not so bare of game as might be thought. In their running hither and thither, the two dogs raised thousands of ptarmigans, guillemots, and other birds peculiar to the polar regions. These birds, dressed with care, and rid of their oily taste, are very acceptable eating. But as nothing could have been more useless than shooting them, since Cornelia's pantry was amply supplied, it was agreed that the two sportsmen's guns should lie quiet during the journey from Port Clarence to Numana.

Of amphibious animals, seals, and other mammifers so numerous in these seas, not one was seen during the first twenty-four hours of the journey.

Bright and cheerful as the first start had been, it was not long ere Mr. Cascabel and his companions began to feel that undefinable impression of sadness which seems begotten by those interminable plains, those endless tracts of whiteness where the weary eye seeks in vain for the horizon.

By eleven o'clock they were already unable to see the highest rocks of Port Clarence; even the lofty head of Cape Prince of Wales was lost in the gray of the distant mist. No object was visible more than a mile and a half away, and, as a consequence, it would be long ere they could perceive the summit of East Cape on the Choukotsky peninsula. Still, this height would have been an excellent landmark for them and would have enabled them to direct their course accurately.

The Isle of Diomede, lying about midway across the strait, is marked by no rocky uprisings. As its mass is hardly raised above the level of the sea, our travelers would not recognize it until the wheels would crackle by crushing the layer of snow on its stony soil.

On the whole, with his compass in his hand, John guided the Fair Rambler without too much trouble, and they proceeded, if not swiftly, at least safely.

While going along, Mr. Sergius and Cæsar Cascabel would talk of their present situation. This crossing of the strait, which before starting had seemed so simple a thing and would appear simpler still when accomplished, forcibly struck them as very dangerous, now that they had set about it.

“All the same, it's a hard job we have attempted!” Mr. Cascabel would say.

“No doubt,” answered Mr. Sergius. “Crossing Behring Strait with a heavy wagon is an idea that would not have struck everybody!”

“I believe you, Mr. Sergius. Well, what can be done? When a man has got it into his head to go home, nothing can stop him! Ah, if it was only a question of going a few hundred miles through the Far West or through Siberia, I would not cast a second thought on it. There you walk on firm ground! There is no chance of the soil gaping under your feet. While sixty miles on a frozen sea, with a wagon and horses, a good load and all the rest of it!—My word! I wish we were the other side! The hardest part, or at least the most dangerous part of our journey would be over!”

“Quite so, my dear Cascabel, especially if the Fair Rambler, on the other side of the strait, can get quickly to the south of Siberia. An attempt to follow the coast line, in the heart of winter, would be too imprudent. So, as soon as we reach Numana, we must cut toward the southwest and pick out a good little village for our winter-quarter.”

“So we shall. You must be acquainted with the country, Mr. Sergius?”

“Only with that part of it between Yakoutsk and Okhotsk, which I crossed after my escape. As to the road leading from Europe to Yakoutsk, all I remember is the horrible sufferings undergone day and night by the prisoners on their journey. What sufferings!—I would not wish them to my deadliest enemy!”

“Mr. Sergius, have you given up all hope of returning to your country, I mean as a free man? Will your government never allow you to return?”

“Not unless the Czar proclaimed an amnesty applying to Count Narkine and all the patriots sentenced along with him. Will political circumstances occur that would render such an eventuality possible? Who knows, my dear Cascabel?”

“Well, it must be a sad thing, living in exile! Just as if a man had been turned out of his own house!”

“Yes, far from all the loved ones!—And my father, now so old, that I would love to see again—”

“You shall see him again, Mr. Sergius! Take the word of an old showman who has often foretold events when telling people their fortunes. You will make your entry into Perm along with us! Aren't you one of the Cascabel artists? By the way, I must teach you a legerdemain trick or two; it might be useful some day; not to speak of the trick we shall play the Russian police, the day we enter the country under their very noses!”

And Cæsar Cascabel could not keep from bursting with laughter. Only fancy! Count Narkine, a great Russian nobleman, lifting weights, juggling with bottles, giving the answers to clowns, and taking in coppers for it!

About three in the afternoon, the Fair Rambler had to stop. Although night had not come yet, a thick mist considerably shortened the distance that the eye could reach. John returned from his scouting and suggested a halt. Directing one's self under these conditions was a matter of great uncertainty.

Besides, as had been foreseen by Mr. Sergius, in this part of the strait, furrowed by the channel of the eastern current, the unevenness of the ice-field, the unequal levels of the iceblocks were felt through the snow. The wagon jolted violently; the horses stumbled almost at every step; half a day's journey had been sufficient to wear them out with fatigue.

Six miles, at very most, had our party been able to cover during this first stage of theirs.

As soon as the horses had come to a stand-still, Cornelia and Napoleona had alighted, carefully wrapped up from head to foot on account of the sudden transition from an indoor temperature of ten degrees above zero to an open-air temperature of ten degrees below. As to Kayette, accustomed to the severity of the Alaskan winter, she little thought of putting her warm furs on.

“You must cover yourself warmer than that, Kayette,” said John to her; “you run a chance of catching cold.”

“Oh,” said she, “I am not afraid of cold! We know all about it in the valley of the Yukon.”

“No matter, Kayette.”

“John is quite right,” said Mr. Cascabel, intervening. “Run in, and put on something warm, my little Kayette. Besides, I warn you that if you catch cold, it is I will doctor you up, and that will be terrible. I'll go the length, if necessary, of cutting your head off to make you stop sneezing!”

In the face of such a threat, there was nothing for the young girl to do but obey, and she did so.

Then all set about organizing the camping. In truth, it was very simple this time. No wood to cut in the forest for want of a forest; no fire to light, for want of fuel; no grass even to gather for the horses' food. The Fair Rambler stood there, offering to its guests its usual comfort, its good temperature, its little couches ready prepared, its table ready laid, its never-failing hospitality.

All that was required was to provide for Vermont's and Gladiator's meal with a portion of the grass brought from Port Clarence. This done, the two horses were wrapped up in thick blankets, and could now enjoy a long rest till the following day.

Nor did they forget the parrot in his cage, the ape in his nest, or the two dogs, who seemed so fond of their dried meat and ate it voraciously.

“Well now, well now!” exclaimed Cascabel, “this may be the first time that Frenchmen sat down to such a nice supper, in the middle of Behring Strait!”

“That's probable,” answered Mr. Sergius. “But, before three or four days, I hope we shall sit at our meals on firm ground.”

“At Numana?” inquired Cornelia.

“Not yet; on Diomede Island, where we shall make a stay of a day or two. We get on so slowly, it will take us a week, at least, to reach the coast of Asia.”

When meal was over, although it was only five o'clock in the evening, nobody declined to retire to rest. A whole night of a stretch on one's back, under warm covering, and on a soft mattress, was not to be despised after the hardships of a tramp on an ice-field. Mr. Cascabel did not even think it necessary to see to the security of the little camp. There were no awkward encounters to be dreaded in such a desert. Besides, the dogs would be a reliable watch, and would announce the approach of the rovers, should there be any, who would come near the Fair Rambler.

None the less, Mr. Sergius got up two or three times to observe the state of the ice-field; a sudden change in the temperature might modify it at any moment; this was, perhaps, his greatest anxiety.

There was no change, however, in the appearance of the weather, and a little northeasterly breeze glided on the surface of the strait.

The next day, the journey proceeded under the same conditions; no difficulties to overcome, properly speaking, but any amount of fatigue to undergo. Six miles had been traveled over when they halted and made the same arrangements for the night as on the preceding evening.

The following day, October 25, it was not possible to start before nine in the morning, and, even at that hour, it was barely daylight.

Mr. Sergius noticed that the cold was less piercing. Clouds were gathering in disorderly masses on the horizon, toward the southeast. The thermometer showed a tendency to rise; weaker atmospherical pressures were beginning to be felt.

“This is what I don't care for, John!” said Mr. Sergius. “So long as we are on the ice-field, we must not complain if the cold becomes more intense. Unfortunately, the barometer is going down and the wind is shifting to the west. The worst thing we have to dread is a rise in the temperature. Watch the condition of the ice-field carefully, John; do not overlook the slightest sign, and come back immediately to put us on our guard.”

“Rely on me, Mr. Sergius.”

Of course, from and after the following month on to the middle of April, the changes of which Mr. Sergius was afraid could not take place; the winter would then be permanently set in. But as the season had been late this year, its first period was marked by alternate fits of frost and of thaw which might cause a partial dislocation of the icefield. Better would it have been to undergo a temperature of twenty-five to thirty degrees below zero the whole length of the journey across the strait.

They started, then, with a kind of half daylight. The weak rays of the sun were unable to pierce the thick layer of mist, in their oblique projection. Moreover, the sky was beginning to get streaked with low and long clouds that the wind drove swiftly toward the north.

John, right ahead of the party, watched carefully the layer of snow, which had grown softer since the day before, and gave way at every step under the feet of the horses. Still, they were able to cover six miles more in this stage, and the night passed off without any incident.

The next morning, the 24th, starting time was ten o'clock. Great was Mr. Sergius's anxiety when he found a further rise in the temperature,—quite an anomalous phenomenon at this time of the year and under this latitude.

It being less cold, Cornelia, Napoleona, and Kayette wished to follow on foot, and with their Eskimo boots they tramped along with comparative ease. All had their eyes protected with the Indian spectacles already mentioned, and were getting accustomed to look through the narrow slit. These winkers always excited Sander's mirth: he, young rascal, little thought of the fatigue and skipped about like a kid in a meadow.

Truly, the wagon made but slow progress. Its wheels sank into the snow and made it heavier still for the horses to draw; and when their felly knocked against an accidental protrusion or the rough crest of an ice-block, severe shocks, which it was impossible to avoid, were the consequences. At times also, huge blocks, heaped up on each other, absolutely barred the way, and circuitous detours had to be made to get round them. This was. after all, only a lengthening of the road, and it was preferable it should be intercepted with mounds rather than with fissures. Thus, at least, the solidification of the ice-field was not compromised.

Meanwhile the thermometer kept on rising and the barometer falling, slowly but steadily. Mr. Sergius felt more and more anxious.

A little before noon the women had to return indoors. The snow began to fall abundantly, in tiny, transparent flakes that looked as if they would resolve into water. You would have thought it was a shower of light white featherlets that thousands of birds might have shaken off throughout the space.

Cæsar Cascabel suggested that Mr. Sergius should seek shelter in the Fair Rambler; the latter declined; could he not put up with what his companions endured?

As a matter of fact, this fall of snow alarmed him to the greatest extent; melting as it did, it would eventually unsolder the ice-field. It was a necessity to seek a refuge as fast as possible on the unshakable foundations of Diomede Island.

And yet, prudence made it imperative to proceed with the utmost caution. So, Mr. Sergius determined to scout ahead with John, whilst Mr. Cascabel and Clovy walked by the horses' heads; the poor brutes missed their footing every moment, and, should an accident happen to the wagon, there would be no alternative but to abandon it in the middle of the frozen sea,—which would have been an irretrievable loss.

While plodding onward with John, Mr. Sergius did his utmost with his glass to pierce the western horizon rendered a still more confused mass by the snow-storm. The eye could reach but a very short distance; their guiding was now mere guess-work, and Mr. Sergius would certainly have ordered a halt if the solidity of the field had not seemed to him very seriously endangered.

“At any cost,” said he, “we must reach Diomede Isle this day, even though we had to stop there till the cold sets in again.”

“How far do you think we are still?” asked John.

“Four or five miles, John. As we have another couple of hours' daylight, or at least that kind of half-light which enables us to see where we are going, let us do all we can to arrive before it is quite dark.”

“Mr. Sergius, would you like me to go on ahead and reconnoiter the situation of the island?”

“No, John, by no means! You would run the chance of losing your way in the storm, and that would be quite another complication! Let us try to go by the compass, for, should we pass above or below the island, I know not what would become of us.”

“Hark, sir, do you hear?” cried John, who had been stooping.

Mr. Sergius did the same and was able to observe that indistinct crackling sounds, like those of glass which is being chipped, were running through the ice-field. Was this the sign of at least a partial disintegration, if not of the complete breaking up of the ice? As yet no crevice starred the surface as far as the eye could see.

The situation had become extremely dangerous. Spending the night in these conditions, our travelers might be the victims of a catastrophe. Diomede Island was the only refuge held out to them, and they should reach it at any price.

How Mr. Sergius must have regretted he had not waited a few days longer, patiently, at Port Clarence!

John and he came back to the wagon, and Mr. Cascabel was acquainted with the state of things. There was no occasion to tell the women about it; they would have been needlessly frightened. It was therefore agreed they should be left inside the vehicle, and the men began to tug at the wheels to help the broken-down horses; they scarce could stand on their lamed feet; their coats reeked with sweat under the frozen breeze.

About two o'clock, the downpour of snow lessened sensibly, and was shortly reduced to a few scattered flakes that the wind whirled about in the air. It then became less difficult to keep in the right direction. The horses were urged on vigorously, determined as Mr. Sergius was that there should be no halting until the Fair Rambler stood on the rocks of Diomede Island.

From his calculations, it should now be no farther than a mile or two away, and by making one last effort they might get there perhaps within an hour's time.

Unfortunately, the light, already so uncertain, soon grew weaker and weaker, and became at last nothing more than a faint reverberation. Were they on the right track or on the wrong? Might they go on in the same direction? How could they tell?

Just then the two dogs barked loudly. Was this the approach of a danger? Had the dogs scented a band of Eskimos or of Tchuktchis on the tramp across the strait? Should it be so, Mr. Sergius would not hesitate to ask their aid, or, at least, he would try to ascertain from them the exact position of the island.

Meanwhile, one of the little windows of the wagon had been opened, and Cornelia was heard inquiring why Wagram and Marengo were barking in that manner.

She was told that they did not know yet, but that there was no cause for alarm.

“Must we get out?” she added.

“No, Cornelia,” answered Mr. Cascabel. “You and the lassies are comfortable where you are. Stay there!”

“But if the dogs have scented some animal or another, a bear for instance,—”

“Well, they will let us know! As to that, have the guns ready. But meanwhile, no getting out without leave!”

“Close your window, Mrs. Cascabel,” said Mr. Sergius. “We have not one minute to lose. We are off again this very moment.”

And the horses, that had been stopped at the first barking of the dogs, resumed their laborious toiling onward.

For half an hour the Fair Rambler was able to move somewhat quicker, the surface of the ice-field being less rough. The worn-out steeds, with downcast heads and trembling legs, still pulled away with noble spirit. But this was evidently a supreme effort on their part, and they would surely break down if it had to be kept up much longer.

It was almost night. The remnant of light diffused through space seemed to come rather from the surface of the field than from the brightness of the upper zones.

And the two dogs still kept on their barking, running forward, standing still with their noses up in the air and every muscle in their bodies stiffened, then returning to their masters.

“There is surely something extraordinary!” observed Mr. Cascabel.

“There is the Isle of Diomede!” exclaimed John.

And so saying, he pointed to a heap of rocks, the round back of which could be seen confusedly a few hundred paces away to the west.

What gave some likelihood to John's guess was that the rocky mass seemed marked with black spots, the color of which came out in relief on the whiteness of the ice.

“Yes, it must be the island,” said Mr, Sergius.

“Why! don't I see those black spots moving?” cried Mr. Cascabel.

“Moving?”

“Of course.”

“That must be just a few thousand seals that have sought a refuge on the island—”

“A few thousand seals!” repeated Cascabel.

“Goodness gracious, boss!” exclaimed Clovy, “if we could only catch them and show them at the fair!”

“And if they could all say papa!” added Sander.

Was not this the heart's cry of a young showman!

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1,2 These inconsistent dates are as given by Estoclet. The correct dates appear to be the 23d and 24th, as given on the French wikisource. Another online French version gives the 25th and 27th; dates that are inconsistent with chapter II. So the inconsistency probably originates in some French editions, rather than with the translator.

César Cascabel/Deuxième partie/Chapitre I