The Open Polar Basin at last! Alf washes himself in it.  
Who can imagine or describe the feelings of Captain Vane and his young relatives on finding themselves sweeping at such a magnificent rate over the great Polar basin?—that mysterious sea, which some believe to be a sea of thick-ribbed ice, and others suppose to be no sea at all, but dry land covered with eternal snows. One theorist even goes the length of saying that the region immediately around the Pole is absolutely nothing at all!—only empty space caused by the whirling of the earth,—a space which extends through its centre from pole to pole!
 
Much amusement did the Captain derive from the contemplation of these theories as he crossed over the grand and boundless ocean, and chatted pleasantly with his son, or Chingatok, or Toolooha, who formed the crew of his little boat.
 
The party consisted of thirteen, all told. These were distributed as follows:—
 
In the Captain’s boat were the three just mentioned.
 
In Leo’s boat were Butterface, Oolichuk, and Oblooria. How it came to pass that Oolichuk and Oblooria were put into the same boat no one seemed to know, or indeed to care, except Oolichuk himself, who, to judge from the expression of his fat face, was much pleased. As for Oblooria, her mild visage always betokened contentment or resignation—save when overshadowed by timidity.
 
In Alf’s boat were Anders, Ivitchuk, Akeetolik, and Tekkona. The interpreter had been given to Alf because he was not quite so muscular or energetic as the Captain or his brother, while Anders was eminently strong and practical. The Eskimo women counted as men, being as expert with oar and paddle as they, and very nearly as strong as most ordinary men.
 
What added to the romance of the first day’s experience was the fact that, a few hours after they started, a dead calm settled down over the sea, which soon became like a great sheet of undulating glass, in which the rich, white clouds, the clear sky, and the boats with their crews, were reflected as in a moving, oily mirror; yet, strange to say, the kites kept steady, and the pace of ten or twelve miles an hour did not abate for a considerable time. This, of course, was owing to the fact that there was a continuous current blowing northward in the higher regions of the atmosphere. The sun, meantime, glowed overhead with four mock-suns around him, nevertheless the heat was not oppressive, partly because the voyagers were sitting at rest, and partly because a slight current of cool air, the creation of their own progress, fanned their cheeks. Still further to add to the charm, flocks of sea-birds circling in the air or dipping in the water, a berg or two floating in the distance, a porpoise showing its back fin now and then, a seal or a walrus coming up to stare in surprise and going down to meditate, perhaps in wonder, with an occasional puff from a lazy whale,—all this tended to prevent monotony, and gave life to the lovely scene.
 
“Is it not the most glorious and altogether astonishing state of things you ever heard or dreamed of, father?” asked Benjy, breaking a prolonged silence.
 
“Out o’ sight, my boy, out o’ sight,” replied the Captain. “Never heard nor saw nor dreamed of anything like it before.”
 
“P’raps it is a dream!” said Benjy, with a slightly distressed look. “How are we ever to know that we’re not dreaming?”
 
The boy finished his question with a sharp cry and leaped up.
 
“Steady, boy, steady! Have a care, or you’ll upset the boat,” said the Captain.
 
“What did you do that for, father?”
 
“What, my boy?”
 
“Pinch me so hard! Surely you didn’t do it on purpose?”
 
“Indeed I did, Ben,” replied the Captain with a laugh. “You asked how you were to know you were not dreaming. If you had been dreaming that would have wakened you—wouldn’t it?”
 
“I dare say it would, father,” returned the boy, resuming his seat, “but I’m convinced now. Don’t do it again, please. I wish I knew what Chingatok thinks of it. Try to ask him, father. I’m sure you’ve had considerable experience in his lingo by this time.”
 
Benjy referred here, not only to the numerous conversations which his father had of late carried on with the giant through the interpreter, but to the fact that, having been a whaler in years past, Captain Vane had previously picked up a smattering of various Eskimo dialects. Up to that day he had conversed entirely through the medium of Anders, but as that useful man was now in Alf’s boat, the Captain was left to his own resources, and got on much better than he had expected.
 
Chingatok turned his eyes from the horizon on which they had been fixed, and looked dreamily at the Captain when asked what he was thinking about.
 
“I have been thinking,” said he, “of home, my home over there.” He lifted his huge right arm and pointed to the north. “And I have been thinking,” he continued, “that there must be another home up there.” He raised his hand and pointed to the sky.
 
“Why do you think so?” asked the Captain in some surprise.
 
“Because it is so beautiful, so wonderful, so full of light and peace,” replied the Eskimo. “Sometimes the clouds, and the wind, and the rain, come and cover it; but they pass away, and there it is, just the same, always calm, and bright, and beautiful. Could such a place have been made for nothing? Is there no one up there? not even the Maker of it? and if there is, does he stay there alone? Men and women die, but surely there is something in us that does not die. If there is no spirit in us that lives, of what use was it to make us at all? I think we shall have a home up there.”
 
Chingatok had again turned his eyes to the horizon, and spoke the concluding words as if he were thinking aloud. The Captain looked at him earnestly for some time in silence.
 
“You are right, Chingatok,” he said at length, or at least attempted to say as best he could—“you are right. My religion teaches me that we have spirits; that God—your God and mine—dwells up there in what we call heaven, and that His people shall dwell with him after death.”
 
“His people!” repeated the Eskimo with a perplexed look. “Are some men his people and some not?”
 
“Undoubtedly,” replied the Captain, “men who obey a chief’s commands are his men—his friends. Those who refuse to obey, and do every kind of wickedness, are not his friends, but his enemies. God has given us free-wills, and we may reject him—we may choose to be his enemies.”
 
It must not be supposed that Captain Vane expressed himself thus clearly, but the above is the substance of what he attempted by many a strange and complicated sentence to convey. That he had made his meaning to some extent plain, was proved by Chingatok’s reply.
 
“But I do not know God’s commands; how then can I obey them?”
 
“You may not know them by book,” replied the Captain promptly; “for you have no books, but there is such a thing as the commands or law of God written in the heart, and it strikes me, Chingatok, that you both know and obey more of your Maker’s laws than many men who have His word.”
 
To this the Eskimo made no answer, for he did not rightly understand it, and as the Captain found extreme difficulty in expressing his meaning on such questions, he was quite willing to drop the conversation. Nevertheless his respect for Chingatok was immensely increased from that day forward.
 
He tried to explain what had been said to Benjy, and as that youth’s mind was of an inquiring turn he listened with great interest, but at last was forced to confess that it was too deep for him. Thereafter he fell into a mood of unusual silence, and pondered the matter for a long time.
 
Awaking from his reverie at last, he said, abruptly, “How’s her head, father?”
 
“Due north, Benjy.”
 
He pulled out a pocket-compass about the size of an ordinary watch, which instrument it was his habit to guard with the most anxious care.
 
“North!” repeated the boy, glancing at the instrument with a look of surprise, “why, we’re steering almost due east!”
 
“Ah! Ben, that comes of your judging from appearances without knowledge, not an uncommon state of mind in man and boy, to say nothing of woman. Don’t you know what variation of the compass is?”
 
“No, father.”
 
“What! have you been so long at sea with me and never heard yet about the magnetic pole?”
 
“Never a word, father. It seems to me that poles are multiplying as we get further north.”
 
“Oh, Benjy, for shame—fie! fie!”
 
“Maybe if you had told me about it I might have had less to be shamed of, and you too, father.”
 
“That’s true, Benjy. That’s true. You’re a sharp boy for your age. But don’t be disrespectful to your father, Ben; no good can ever come o’ that. Whatever you are, be respectful to your old father. Come, I’ll tell you about it now.”
 
It will have been observed by this time that little Benjamin Vane was somewhat free in his converse with his father, but it must not therefore be supposed that he was really insolent. All his freedom of speech was vented in good humour, and the Captain knew that. There was, indeed, a powerful bond not only of affection but of sympathy between the little delicate boy and the big strong man. They thoroughly understood each other, and between those who understand each other there may be much freedom without offence, as everybody knows.
 
“You must understand,” began the Captain, “that although the needle of the mariner’s compass is said to point to the north with its head and to the south with its tail, it does not do so exactly, because the magnetic poles do not coincide exactly with the geographical poles. There are two magnetic poles just as there are two geographical poles, one in the southern hemisphere, the other in the northern. D’ye understand!”
 
“Clear as daylight, father.”
 
“Well, Benjy, the famous Arctic discoverer, Sir James Ross, in 1832, discovered that the northern magnetic pole was situated in the island of Boothia Felix, in latitude 70 degrees 5 se............