The Captain of the Polestar | Page 6

the top of it standing and waiting for me seemingly. I
don't know what it was. It wasn't a bear any way. It was tall and white
and straight, and if it wasn't a man nor a woman, I'll stake my davy it
was something worse. I made for the ship as hard as I could run, and
precious glad I was to find myself aboard. I signed articles to do my
duty by the ship, and on the ship I'll stay, but you don't catch me on the
ice again after sundown."
That is his story, given as far as I can in his own words. I fancy what he
saw must, in spite of his denial, have been a young bear erect upon its
hind legs, an attitude which they often assume when alarmed. In the
uncertain light this would bear a resemblance to a human figure,
especially to a man whose nerves were already somewhat shaken.
Whatever it may have been, the occurrence is unfortunate, for it has
produced a most unpleasant effect upon the crew. Their looks are more
sullen than before, and their discontent more open. The double
grievance of being debarred from the herring fishing and of being
detained in what they choose to call a haunted vessel, may lead them to
do something rash. Even the harpooners, who are the oldest and
steadiest among them, are joining in the general agitation.
Apart from this absurd outbreak of superstition, things are looking
rather more cheerful. The pack which was forming to the south of us
has partly cleared away, and the water is so warm as to lead me to
believe that we are lying in one of those branches of the gulf- stream
which run up between Greenland and Spitzbergen. There are numerous
small Medusse and sealemons about the ship, with abundance of
shrimps, so that there is every possibility of "fish" being sighted.
Indeed one was seen blowing about dinner-time, but in such a position
that it was impossible for the boats to follow it.

September 13th.--Had an interesting conversation with the chief mate,
Mr. Milne, upon the bridge. It seems that our Captain is as great an
enigma to the seamen, and even to the owners of the vessel, as he has
been to me. Mr. Milne tells me that when the ship is paid off, upon
returning from a voyage, Captain Craigie disappears, and is not seen
again until the approach of another season, when he walks quietly into
the office of the company, and asks whether his services will be
required. He has no friend in Dundee, nor does any one pretend to be
acquainted with his early history. His position depends entirely upon
his skill as a seaman, and the name for courage and coolness which he
had earned in the capacity of mate, before being entrusted with a
separate command. The unanimous opinion seems to be that he is not a
Scotchman, and that his name is an assumed one. Mr. Milne thinks that
he has devoted himself to whaling simply for the reason that it is the
most dangerous occupation which he could select, and that he courts
death in every possible manner. He mentioned several instances of this,
one of which is rather curious, if true. It seems that on one occasion he
did not put in an appearance at the office, and a substitute had to be
selected in his place. That was at the time of the last Russian and
Turkish war. When he turned up again next spring he had a puckered
wound in the side of his neck which he used to endeavour to conceal
with his cravat. Whether the mate's inference that he had been engaged
in the war is true or not I cannot say. It was certainly a strange
coincidence.
The wind is veering round in an easterly direction, but is still very
slight. I think the ice is lying closer than it did yesterday. As far as the
eye can reach on every side there is one wide expanse of spotless white,
only broken by an occasional rift or the dark shadow of a hummock. To
the south there is the narrow lane of blue water which is our sole means
of escape, and which is closing up every day. The Captain is taking a
heavy responsibility upon himself. I hear that the tank of potatoes has
been finished, and even the biscuits are running short, but he preserves
the same impassible countenance, and spends the greater part of the day
at the crow's nest, sweeping the horizon with his glass. His manner is
very variable, and he seems to avoid my society, but there has been no
repetition of the violence which he showed the other night.

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