Under the Polar Star; or, The Young Explorers

He called himself a ship carpenter, and he was one, for no member of that craft ever did finer work than that he was now engaged on. Before him, upon the bench, fast assuming artistic proportions, was what had been a rough block of wood, what was now very nearly a carved animal’s head.

The old man’s eyes filled with tears and his thin hand trembled more than once as he viewed the few tools at his command, and ever and anon glanced past the half open door which led into the living rooms of the humble cottage he called home.

For at the present moment grim poverty and want hovered over that threshold, and his brave heart that had never faltered before, became sad and oppressed.

From the window he could see the quaint Maine town and the shipping in the harbor. Here in Watertown he had lived, man and boy, for nearly half a century, had brought up a happy family, had accumulated almost a fortune.

Within two years that family had been sadly bereaved, the fortune cut down to a pittance, and one trouble succeeding another rapidly, had made Solomon Bertram a prematurely old man.

Chip, chip!

The mallet and chisel moved less deftly now, for the hand that wielded them was fast growing weary, and the task was almost completed.

There was a sudden interruption that made the work cease entirely. Followed by the smart, quick tramp of hurrying footsteps on the walk outside, a boisterous form dashed through the house and the work-room door, and a bright, boyish face intruded itself upon the carpenter’s solitude.

“Is the ship’s head done, father?” its possessor asked eagerly, with a glance at the work bench.

“Almost, Will. Where have you been, and what does that mean?”

The boy’s eyes danced with delight and his face flushed excitedly as he laid several small silver coins on the bench.

“It means money, father,” he cried; “it means that I heard you tell mother this morning that there was not enough in the house to buy a pound of flour, and I made up my mind to earn some. Look, father, nearly four shillings!”

The old man’s eyes were suffused with tears as the boy rattled on volubly, and something choked in his voice as he sought to murmur, “My brave boy!”

“You know I’m old enough to begin work, father, and I know it too. There is not much chance for employment in the town, though, unless it’s among the shipping, and you won’t hear of my going to sea.”

“No, no!”

“Not even when the old tars say I’m a natural sailor and nimble as a monkey among the rigging?”

“Not even then, Will. The sea cost me one brave son. I can’t spare the other.”

“Well, I remembered that, and went among the shops. No work anywhere. Finally I came to the new building they are putting up on the public square, and there I met my luck, as the boys say.”

“How, Will?” inquired the interested Mr. Bertram.

“They were just putting on the spire to the tower, and, ready to arrange the tackle and climb the ropes, was the steeple Jack.”

“What’s a steeple Jack?” inquired the mystified old man.

“He’s a professional climber who makes a business of going up to high places like steeples and towers. They had sent to Portland for him. He wanted one of the workmen to help him by going to the top of the tower, but they said it was too risky, and they were more used to platforms than ropes. Well, to make a long story short, I offered my services.”

“Oh, Will, always venturesome and running into danger!” spoke a reproachful voice.

Will turned and surveyed his mother, who had come unobserved to the door, with a quizzical smile.

“Now, don’t scold, mother,” he said. “I’m at home among the ropes, as the man soon found. I was on the tower before he was half way up, and when he had set the vane on the tower, two hours later, he told me he wished he had me for an apprentice. Anyway, I earned a little money, and there it is. To-morrow I’ll start in for more, and then you’ll receive pay for the ship’s head, father, and we’ll get along famously.”

Old Solomon Bertram shook his head sadly.

“I shall get no pay for that work, Will,” he said.

“No pay, when you’ve put a week’s time on it! Why, what do you mean, father?”

Mr. Bertram looked anxiously at his wife as if silently questioning her. She nodded intelligently and withdrew.

“Sit down near me, Will,” said Mr. Bertram, seriously. “I promised to have the figure head done to-day, so I will have to work while I talk. You’re a good boy, Will; a dutiful son and a help and comfort to your old parents, and I don’t feel like clouding your life with our troubles.”

“Don’t worry about that, father,” cried Will, eagerly. “If there are any clouds we’ll drive them away.”

Mr. Bertram smiled at Will’s boyish enthusiasm and said:

“Well, up to two years ago, when your brother Alan sailed away for the far north on a whaling voyage, we were happy and comfortable. I owned the house and lot here and another piece of property, besides having two thousand dollars in bank. This I put together and purchased a share in the Albatross. That was the ship poor Alan was captain of.”

“Yes, I remember,” assented Will murmuringly.

“If the whaling voyage proved a success I should have made enough to buy Alan a ship of his own. Alas, my son, the staunch old Albatross and its brave captain never came back to Watertown again!”

Mr. Bertram stopped his work to wipe away a tear that trickled down his furrowed cheek.

“But one year afterwards,” he finally resumed, “the mate of the doomed ship returned--Stephen Morris. He told a thrilling tale of adventure. The Albatross, he said, had gone far north beyond the icebergs, but had met its fate among the glaciers, and all on board had been crushed in an ice floe but himself.”

“Do you believe him, father?” asked Will, a look of dislike in his face at the mention of Morris’ name.

“He surely would have no object in spreading a wholesale falsehood. No, no, his story seemed true. He said that he saw ship and men ground under a mighty wall of ice, and that he miraculously escaped by being on the ice floe away from the ship when the catastrophe occurred. For months he froze and starved amid a horrible solitude, and one day was discovered and rescued by a whaler. He landed at Boston, but came here at once and told the story of his adventures.”

“And he has been here since, hasn’t he, father?”