Was there ever such a situation as ours? Cast away in a place wild and
wonderful beyond description, millions of miles from all human aid and
sympathy, millions of miles from the world that had given us birth! I
could, in bitterness of spirit, have laughed at the suggestion that there
was any hope for us. And yet, at that very moment, not only was there
hope, but there was even the certainty of deliverance. But, unknown to
us, it lay in the brain of the incomparable man who had brought us
hither.
I have told you that it was twilight in the valley where we lay. But
when, as frequently happened, tempests of snow burst over the mountains,
and choked the air about us, the twilight turned to deepest night, and we
had to illumine the lamps in the car. By great good fortune, Edmund said,
enough power remained to furnish us with light and heat, and now I looked
upon those mysterious black-tusked muzzles in the car with a new
sentiment, praying that they would not turn to mouths of death.
The natives, being used to darkness, needed no artificial illumination.
In fact, we had observed that whenever the sunlight had streamed over
them their great eyes were almost blinded, and they suffered cruelly from
an affliction so completely outside of all their experience. Edmund now
began to speak to us of this, saying that he ought to have foreseen and
provided against it.
"I shall try to find some means of affording protection to their eyes
when we arrive in the sunlit hemisphere," he said. "It must be my first
duty."
We heard these words with a thrill of hope.
"Then you think that we shall escape?" I asked.
"Of course we shall escape," he replied cheerfully. "I give you my word
for it, but do not ask me for any particulars yet. The exact means I have
not yet found, but find them I will. We may have to stay where we are for
a considerable time, and our companions must be made comfortable. Even
under their furry skins they'll suffer from this kind of weather."
Following his directions we took a lot of extra furs from the car, and
constructed a kind of tent, under which the natives could huddle on the
sleds. There being but little wind in the valley, this was not so
difficult an undertaking as it may seem. And the poor fellows were very
glad of the shelter, for some of them were shivering, since, not knowing
what to do, they were less active than ourselves. No sooner were they
housed than they fell to eating ravenously. Both the car and the sleds
had been abundantly provisioned, so that there was no immediate fear of a
famine among us.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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