But, not unnaturally, the British Government considered that they had quite enough to do without troubling themselves about an advertisement in the New York Herald. The Foreign Office did not consider the consignee of codfish even worthy of a pigeon-hole; and the Colonial Office seemed quite ignorant of his existence until the Secretary’s attention was called to the subject, when the official reply was given that the matter was one of purely local interest, in which her Majesty’s Government had no intention of concerning themselves.
In Canada, however, some stir was made, particularly among the French; and at Quebec a syndicate was formed for the purpose of competing with the company at Baltimore. The other countries interested followed the Canadian lead. Although the Governments haughtily ignored the audacious proposition, speculative individuals were found in Holland, Scandinavia, Denmark, and Russia to venture sufficient funds for preliminary expenses with a view to acquire imaginary rights that might prove profitably transferable.
Three weeks before the date fixed for the sale the representatives of these various syndicates arrived in the United States.
The only representative of the American company was the William S. Forster whose name figured in the advertisement of the 7th of November.
Holland sent Jacques Jansen, a councillor of the Dutch East Indies, fifty-three years of age, squat, broad, and protuberant, with short arms and little bow legs, aluminium spectacles, face round and red, hair in a mop, and grizzly whiskers—a solid man, not a little incredulous on the subject of an enterprise whose practical consequences he did not quite see.
The Danish syndicate sent Erik Baldenak, an ex-subgovernor of the Greenland colonies, a man of middle height, somewhat unequal about the shoulders, with a perceptible corporation, a large head, and eyes so short-sighted that everything he read he almost touched with his nose. His instructions were to treat as beyond argument the rights of his country, which was the legitimate proprietor of the Polar regions.
The Swedes and Norwegians sent Jan Harald, professor of cosmography at Christiania, who had been one of the warmest partisans of the Nordenskiold expedition, a true type of the Norseman, with clear, fresh face, and beard and hair of the colour of the over-ripe corn. Harald’s private opinion was that the Polar cap was covered with the Palæocrystic Sea, and therefore valueless. But none the less, he intended to do the best he could for those who employed him.
The representative of the Russian financiers was Colonel Boris Karkof, half soldier, half diplomatist; tall, stiff, hairy, bearded, moustached; very uncomfortable in his civilian clothes, and unconsciously seeking for the handle of the sword he used to wear. The colonel was very anxious to know what was concealed in the proposition of the North Polar Practical Association, with a view to ascertaining if it would not give rise to international difficulties.
England having declined all participation in the matter, the only representatives of the British Empire were those from the Quebec Company. These were Major Donellan, a French-Canadian, whose ancestry is sufficiently apparent from his name, and a compatriot of his named Todrin. Donellan was tall, thin, bony, nervous, and angular, and of just such a figure as the Parisian comic journals caricature as that of an Englishman. Todrin was the very opposite of the Major, being short and thick-set, and talkative and amusing. He was said to be of Scotch descent, but no trace of it was observable in his name, his character, or his appearance.
The representatives arrived at Baltimore by different steamers. They were each furnished with the needful credit to outbid their rivals up to a certain point; but the limit differed in each case. The Canadian representatives had command of much the most liberal supplies, and it seemed as though the struggle would resolve itself into a dollar duel between the two American companies.
As soon as the delegates arrived they each tried to put themselves in communication with the North Polar Practical Association unknown to the others. Their object was to discover the motives of the enterprise, and the profit the Association expected to make out of it. But there was no trace of an office at Baltimore. The only address was that of William S. Forster, High Street, and the worthy codfish agent pretended that he knew nothing about it. The secret of the Association was impenetrable.
The consequence was that the delegates met, visited each other, cross-examined each other, and finally entered into communication with a view of taking united action against the Baltimore company. And one day, on the 22nd November, they found themselves in conference at the Wolseley Hotel, in the rooms of Major Donellan and Todrin, the meeting being due to the diplomatic efforts of Colonel Boris Karkof.
To begin with, the conversation occupied itself with the advantages, commercial or industrial, which the Association expected to obtain from its Arctic domain. Professor Harald inquired if any of his colleagues had been able to ascertain anything with regard to this point; and all of them confessed that they had endeavoured to pump William S. Forster without success.
“I failed,” said Baldenak.
“I did not succeed,” said Jansen.
“When I went,” said Todrin, “I found a fat man in a black coat and wearing a stove-pipe hat. He had on a white apron, and when I asked him about this affair, he told me that the South Star had just arrived from Newfoundland with a full cargo of fine cod, which he was prepared to sell me on advantageous terms on behalf of Messrs. Ardrinell and Co.”
“Eh! eh!” said the Councillor of the Dutch East Indies. “You had much better buy a full cargo of fine cod than throw your money into the Arctic Sea.”
“That’s not the question,” said the Major. “We are not talking of codfish, but of the Polar ice-cap—”
“Which,” said Todrin, “the codfish-man wants to wear.”
“It will give him influenza,” said the Russian.
“That is not the question,” said the Major. “For some reason or other, this North Polar Practical Association—mark the word ‘Practical,’ gentlemen—wishes to buy four hundred and seven thousand square miles round the North Pole, from the eighty-fourth—”
“We know all that,” said Professor Harald. “But what we want to know is, what do these people want to do with these territories, if they are territories, or these seas, if they are seas—”
“That is not the question,” said Donellan. “Here is a company proposing to purchase a portion of the globe which, by its geographical position, seems to belong to Canada.”
“To Russia,” said Karkof.
“To Holland,” said Jansen.
“To Scandinavia,” said Harald.
“To Denmark,” said Baldenak.
“Gentlemen!” said Todrin, “excuse me, but that is not the question. By our presence here we have admitted the principle that the circumpolar territories can be put up to auction, and become the property of the highest bidder. Now, as you have powers to draw to a certain amount, why should you not join forces and control such a sum as the Baltimore company will find it impossible to beat?”
The delegates looked at one another. A syndicate of syndicates! In these days we syndicate as unconcernedly as we breathe, as we drink, as we eat, as we sleep. Why not syndicate still further?
But there was an objection, or rather an explanation was necessary, and Jansen interpreted the feeling of the meeting when he asked—
“And after?”
Yes! After?
“But it seems to me that Canada—” said Donellan.
“And Russia—” said Karkof.
“And Holland—” said Jansen.
“And Denmark—” said Baldenak.
“Don’t quarrel, gentlemen,” said Todrin. “What is the good? Let us form our syndicate.”
“And after?” said Harald.
“After?” said Todrin. “Nothing can