"I vill vager," said the aeronaut, who stood beside them, gazing upwards at the bright light and the circling birds--"I vill vager my big balloon dat de same idea has struck me myself."

"Whisper," said the captain.

The aeronaut did so, and McBain burst out laughing.

"How funny!" he remarked; "but you are perfectly right, De Vere; only keep it dark for a bit."

"Oh yes," said De Vere, laughing in turn; "very dark; as dark as--"

"Hush?" cried McBain, clapping a hand on his mouth.

"How tantalising!" said Rory.

"You'll know all about it in good time," McBain said; "and now, boys, we've got to prepare for winter in right good earnest. Duty before pleasure, you know. Now here is what I propose."

What he did propose was set about without loss of time. Little Ap was summoned aft.

"Can you build barrows?" asked McBain.

Little Ap took an immense pinch of snuff before he replied.

"I have built many a boat," he said, "but never a barrow. But look, you see, with the help of the cooper and the carpenters I can build barrows by the dozen. Yes, yes, sir."

"Bravo, Ap!" cried McBain; "then set about it at once, for we are all going to turn navvies. We are going," he added, "to excavate a cave half-way up that brae yonder on the starboard quarter. It will be big enough, Ap, to hold the whole ship's crew, officers and all. It will be a glorious shelter from the cold, and it will--"

"Stop," cried Sandy McFlail. "Beg your pardon, sir, but let me finish the sentence: it will give the men employment and keep sickness away."

"That's it, my worthy surgeon," said McBain.

"Bravo!" said Sandy. "I look upon that now as--"

Sandy paused and reddened a little.

"As a vera judeecious arrangement," said Rory, laughing. "Out with it, Sandy, man."

Rory edged off towards the door of the saloon as he spoke; the doctor kicked over his chair and made a dart after him, but Rory had fled.

Hardly, however, was the surgeon re-seated ere his tormentor keeked in again.

"Eh! mon, Sandy McFlail," he cried; "you'll want to take a lot more salt in your porridge, mon, before ye can catch Rory Elphinston."

On the hillside, fifty feet above the sea level, they commenced operations, and in a fortnight's time the cave was almost completed; and not only that, but a beautiful staircase leading up to it. The soil was not hard after the outer crust was tapped, although some veins of quartz were alighted upon which required to be blasted. Several times they came across the trunks of huge trees that seemed to have been scorched by fire, the remains, doubtless, of the primeval forest that had once clad these hills with a sea of living green. Nor were bones wanting; some of immense size were turned up and carefully preserved.

Rory made a careful study of the remains of the animal and vegetable life which were found, and the result of this was his painting two pictures representing the Past and Present of the strange land where their vessel now lay. The one represented the _Arrandoon_ lying under bare poles and yards in the ice-locked bay, with the wild mountainous land beyond, peak rising o'er peak, and crag o'er crag, all clad in the garments of eternal winter, and asleep in the uncertain light of the countless stars and the radiant Aurora. But the other picture! Who but Rory--who but an artist-poet could have painted that? There are the same formations of hill and dale, the same towering peaks and bold bluffs, but neither ice nor snow is there; the glens and valleys are clad in waving forests; flowers and ferns are there; lichens, crimson and white, creep and hang over the brown rocks; happy birds are in the sky; bright-winged b.u.t.terflies seem flitting in the noonday sunshine, and strange animals of monstrous size are basking on the sea-sh.o.r.e.

Rory's pictures were admired by all hands, but the artist had his private view to begin with, and, among others like privileged, aft came weird old Magnus. First he was shown the picture of the Past.

He gazed at it long and earnestly, muttering to himself, "Strange, strange, strange."

But no sooner was the companion picture placed before him, than he started from the chair on which he had been sitting.

"I was right! I was right?" he cried. "Oh! bless you, boy Rory; bless you, Captain McBain. This--this is the Isle of Alba. Yonder are the dear hills. I thought I could not be mistaken, and not far off are the mammoth caves. I can guide you, gentlemen, to the place where lies wealth untold. This is the happiest day of old Magnus's life."

"Sit down, Magnus," said McBain, kindly; "sit down, my old sea-dad.

Gentlemen, gather round us; Magnus has something to tell us I know.

Magnus," he continued, taking the old man's thin and withered hand in his, "I have often thought you knew more about this Isle of Alba than you cared to tell. What is the mystery? You have spoken so often about these mammoth caves. How know you there is wealth of ivory lying there?"

"I have no story to relate," said Magnus, talking apparently to himself; "only a sad reminiscence of a voyage I took years and years ago to these same dreary lat.i.tudes. I had a son with me, a son I loved for his dead mother's sake and his own. I commanded a sloop--'twas but a sloop--and we sailed away from Norwegian sh.o.r.es in search of the ivory mines. We reached this very island. The year was an open one, just like this; myself and my brave fellows found ivory in abundance; in such abundance that our sloop would not carry a thousandth part of it, for, gentlemen, in ages long gone by, this island and those around it were the homes of the mammoth and the mastodon. We collected all the ivory and placed it in one cave. How I used to gloat over my treasure! It was all for my boy. He would be the richest man in Northern Europe. My boy, my dear boy, with his mother's eyes! I had only to go back to Norway with my sloop and charter a large vessel, and return to the Isle of Alba for my buried treasure."

Here poor old Magnus threw his body forward and covered his face with his skinny hands, and the tears welled through his fingers, while his whole form was convulsed with sobs.

"My boy--died!" was all he could utter. "He sleeps yonder--yonder at the cave's mouth. Yonder--yonder. To-morrow I will guide you to the cave, and we will see my boy."

The old man seemed wandering a little.

"I would sleep now," he added. "To-morrow--to-morrow."

There was a strange light in Magnus's eye next day when he joined the search party on deck, and a strange flush on his cheek that seemed to bode no good.

"I'll see my boy," he kept repeating to himself, as he led the way on sh.o.r.e. "I'll see my boy."

He walked so fast that his younger companions could hardly keep pace with him.

Along the sh.o.r.e and upwards through a glen, round hills and rocks, by many a devious path, he led them on and on, till they stood at last at the foot of a tall perpendicular cliff, with, close beside it, a spar or flagstaff.

They knew now that Magnus had not been raving, that they were no old man's dream, these mammoth caves, but a glorious reality.

"Quick, quick," cried Magnus, pointing to a spot at the foot of the spar. "Clear away the snow."

Our heroes were hardly prepared for the sight that met their eyes, as soon as Magnus had been obeyed, for there, encased in a block of crystal ice, lay the form of a youth of probably sixteen summers, dressed in the blue uniform of a Norwegian sailor, with long fair hair floating over his shoulders. Time had wrought no change on the face; this lad, though buried for twenty years, seemed even now only in a gentle slumber, from which a word or touch might awake him.

"My boy! my boy!" was the cry of the old man, as he knelt beside the grave, kissed the cold ice, and bedewed it with his tears. "Look up, look up; 'tis your father that is bending over you. But no, no, no; he'll never speak nor smile again. Oh! my boy, my boy!"

Rory was in tears, and not he alone, for the roughest sailor that stood beside the grave could not witness the grief of that old man unmoved.

McBain stepped forward and placed his hand kindly on his shoulder.

Magnus turned his streaming eyes just once upwards to his captain's face, then he gave vent to one long, sobbing sigh, threw out his arms, and dropped.

Magnus was no more.

They made his grave close to that of his boy's, and there, side by side, these twain will sleep till the sea gives up its dead.

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

THE TERRIBLE SNOWSTORM--SOMETHING LIKE AN AQUARIUM--THE MAMMOTH CAVES AND THEIR STARTLING TREASURES--THE JOURNEY POLEWARDS--COLLAPSE OF THE BALLOON--"G.o.d SAVE THE QUEEN."

Four long months have pa.s.sed away since poor old Magnus dropped dead on the grave of his son. The sun has once more appeared above the horizon, bringing joy to the hearts of the officers and crew of the _Arrandoon_.

Despite every effort to keep their spirits up, the past winter has been a weary one. Had the stars always shone, had the glorious Aurora always flickered above them, it might have been different; but shortly after the cave was finished and furnished, divided into compartments, and made comfortable with chairs and sofas, and carpets and skins, a terrible storm came on them from the north-west. Never had our young heroes, never had McBain himself, known such cold, or such fierce winds and depth of snow. For three whole weeks did this Arctic storm rage, and during this time it would have been certain death for any one to have ventured ten yards from the mouth of the cavern.