The Captain of the Polestar and Other Tales Story 1 - The Captain of the "Pole Star" - Part 1

Richard Kilmer (0:00)

Section 1 of The Captain of the Polestar and Other Tales This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Richard Kilmer The Captain of the Polestar and Other Tales by Arthur Conan Doyle The Captain of the Polestar Part 1 Then an extract from the singular journal of John McAllister Ray, student of medicine. SEPTEMBER 11 LATITUDE EIGHTY-ONE DEGREES FOURTY MINUTES NORTH LONGITUDE TWO DEGREES EAST Still lying, too, amid enormous ice fields, the one which stretches away to the north of us, and to which our ice anchor is attached, and cannot be smaller than an English county. To the right and left, unbroken sheets extend to the horizon. This morning the mate reported that there were signs of pack ice to the southward. Should this form of sufficient thickness debar our return, we shall be in a position of danger, as the food, I hear, is already running somewhat short. It is late in the season, and the nights are beginning to reappear.

This morning I saw a star twinkling just over the foreyard, the first since the beginning of May. There is considerable discontent among the crew, many of whom are anxious to get back home to be in time for the herring season, when labor always commands a high price upon the Scotch Coast. As yet their displeasure is only signified by sullen countenances and black looks, but I heard from the second mate this afternoon that they contemplated sending a deputation to the Captain to explain their grievance. I much doubt how he will receive it as he is a man of fierce temper, and very sensitive about anything approaching to an infringement of his rights. I shall venture after dinner to say a few words to him upon the subject. I have always found that he will tolerate from me what he would resent from any other member of the crew.

Amsterdam Island at the northwest corner of Spitsbergen is visible upon our starboard quarter, a rugged line of volcanic rocks intersected by white seams which represent glaciers. It is curious to think that at any present moment there is probably no human being nearer to us than the Danish settlements in the south of Greenland. A good nine hundred miles has the crow flies. The Captain takes a great responsibility upon himself when he risks his vestal under such circumstances. No whaler has ever remained in these latitudes till so advanced a period of the year.

Nine p.m. I have spoken to Captain Craigie. And though the result has been hardly satisfactory, I am bound to say that he listened to what I had to say very quietly, and even deferentially. When I had finished, he put on that air of iron determination which I have frequently observed upon his face, and paced rapidly backward and forward, across the narrow cabin, for some minutes. At first I feared that I had seriously offended him, but he dispelled the idea by sitting down again and putting his hand upon my arm with a gesture which almost amounted to a caress.

There was a depth of tenerness, too, in his wild dark eyes, which surprised me considerably. Look here, Doctor, he said. I'm sorry I ever took you. I am indeed. And I would give fifty pounds this minute to see you standing safe upon the Dundee Quay. It's hit or miss with me this time. There are fish to the north of us. How dare you shake your head, sir, when I tell you? I saw them blowing from the mast-head. This, in a sudden burst of fury, though I was not conscious of having shown any signs of doubt. Two and quunty fish in as many minutes as I am a living man, and not one under ten foot. Now, Doctor, do you think I can leave the country, where there is only one infernal strip of ice between me and my fortune?

If it came on to blow from the north tomorrow, we could fill the ship and be away before the frost could catch us. If it came on to blow from the south, well, I suppose the men are paid for risking their lives, and as for myself, it matters but little to me, for I have more to bind me to the other world than to this one. I confess that I am sorry for you, though. I wish I had old Angus Tate, who was with me last voyage, for he was a man that would never be missed, and you, you said once that you were engaged, did you not?

Yes, I answered, snapping the spring of the locket, which hung from my watch-chain, and holding up the little vignette of flora.