George Manville Fenn (continued 4)

“Hadn’t you better stay below here, sir?” said the man; “there’s nothing to be done on deck.”

“We’ll come down again,” replied the doctor. “Why, Steve,” he cried, “Captain Marsham is on the bridge!”

For at that moment there was a sharp ting upon the gong just overhead, which the engineer responded to by seizing the lever and altering the number of revolutions per minute of the screw. The next moment he staggered, and would have fallen but for his grasp of the lever, the doctor staggered up against the side, and Steve caught hold of the engineer, while Watty Links was pitched from his seat on to the iron flooring, and evidently uttered a yell, though it was not heard in the terrific noise of the storm; neither did they hear a tremendous crash; but all knew that they had struck something, for there was a fearful shock, and a peculiar thrill ran through the vessel just as if she were being shaken to pieces and her timbers were about to fall apart.

Chapter Nineteen.

In the Grip of Nature.

The doctor seized and pressed Steve’s hand in silence as he hurried up on deck to struggle aft to the captain, fully expecting that they were going down. But he was invisible in the driving snow. They made out somehow, though, that he was on the bridge in company with the mate; and, unable to reach and question him, they crept together right aft to the wheel, where Steve found himself at Johannes’ feet.

The big Norseman did not wait to be questioned. He knew why the lad had come, and, bending down, he roared in his ear:

“Ice—struck bows!”

That was all, and the man stood immovable once more at his post.

“Come away!” cried the doctor. “We have no business here.”

Closely as his lips were pressed to Steve’s ear, the words were hardly heard; but the movement he made was suggestive, and though he longed to stay there by the big Norseman, he felt that it was right, and he followed his companion, stopping just under the bridge, and, unable to resist the desire, he began to creep up the steps.

The wind pressure was fearful, and everything he touched was coated with ice; but he persevered till he could touch the captain’s leg. In an instant he had stooped down to the boy, to shout, as loudly as he could:

“Go down!”

It seemed hard to the boy, when the touch only meant a desire to show that he was thinking about the man so bravely facing the fierce storm; but he obeyed, and, somehow or other, he hardly knew how, reached the cabin, where the doctor, after several tries, lit the lamp.

As the light shone out Steve stared in wonder at his companion, and then around him at what should have been the snugly furnished cabin. Now all was changed; the white snow had penetrated through door-cracks and the ventilator, covering everything.

But they could breathe and talk here as they rubbed the snow from their faces and hair; though their coats were like so much armour, and were too stiff to bend.

“Awful, Steve, my boy! Awful!” shouted the doctor. “What a fearful storm!”

The noise increased just then, for the door was quickly opened, but as quickly shut, and a white figure stood before them; and for the moment they thought it was the captain; then the icy helmet upon the man’s head was with some difficulty taken off, revealing the face of Mr Lowe, the mate.

“The captain says you are not to run such a risk again, my lad. You can do us no good, and it troubles him when he wants all his energy to save the ship.”

“Then we are in great danger?” cried Steve.

“Yes, my lad, I think so,” was the reply; “but the captain will save us if it is to be done.”

“What was that awful crash?”

“Ice beneath our bows. We have it all round now, and it is impossible to avoid it. All we can do is to keep her head to the wind, and drift. We can make no headway with full steam on, and we dare not if we could.”

“But—”

“Can’t stop,” was the reply; “going forward to the men;” and the mate replaced his ice-laden cap and passed out into the storm.

“The captain was thinking of your safety, Steve, my lad; but we must think for him and the crew. Exposure such as they are going through is murderous. Let’s wait for a bit, and then take them all some more hot drink.”

He led the way out of the whitened cabin, and they struggled back through the driving snow to the engine-room, down into whose warm glow they crept just as there was another blow, which jarred the whole ship. Then the gong sounded.

“Slower,” said the engineer, as he moved the lever. “There, that’s about as little as we can do. Just enough to give her steering power.”

No more was said, and Steve looked round, as he warmed his numbed hands, to see that Watty was lying with his face in his hands, close to the side.

“Asleep?” said Steve, with his lips to the cook’s ear; but the man shook his head.

“Fright!” he replied.

A few minutes later one of the Norwegians and three of the crew came down all covered with ice, and one of the furnace doors was opened to send out a genial glow, lighting up the whole place, which was now dripping wet with thawed snow, and the stream rose up to float out through the hatch.

“Mate sent us down for a warm,” said one of the men. “To stay half an hour, and then relieve some more. We can do nothing on deck.”

“Let’s leave them,” said the doctor in Steve’s ear; and after warning the cook to be ready with the refreshment in half an hour, they made their way back to the cabin.

Those refreshments were not taken to the men on deck, for in turn all were sent down to the engine-room for warmth and food; and at last, to Steve’s great delight, the captain entered the cabin, to reply to the grips of the hand given him, and then drink with avidity the hot coffee ready on the table.

“I don’t like leaving the deck,” he said cheerfully; “but I must have coal and water for my engine, or I cannot work. No, no, don’t question me; I have no news. We are in an awful storm, and are being carried with the drifting ice, Heaven only knows where.”

That storm lasted forty-eight hours—hours of as great trial as man could go through, and live. Steve had borne up till, in spite of the danger, his eyes would keep open no longer, and then he had slept a troubled nightmare-like sleep to dream of shipwreck and struggling with the wind and waves. Every now and then he would start awake suffering from cold, and draw the great skin rug in which he had nestled closer round him, and drop off again into what was almost a stupor.

There was one time, or else he dreamed it—he never quite knew which—when he crept all about the deck again, to find it deeply encumbered with snow. Then he was back in the cabin lying on a locker, and he opened his eyes and saw the captain rolled up in a blanket lying asleep on the table. The next minute he was looking about again, to find that the captain had gone, and that the doctor only was there. Once it was Mr Lowe, but he, too, disappeared, and then all was blank, till he started into wakefulness, to find that the deafening rush and roar had ceased, and that a peculiar weird light was forcing its way into the cabin; while at intervals there came a curious grinding, cracking sound, followed every now and then by a loud, rending crash. The ship was rolling slowly upon a heaving sea, and steaming slowly, for the vibration of the screw made the things in the cabin quiver. Then there was more light in the cabin, for the door was opened with a crackling sound, as of moving broken ice, and the captain, glistening and white, entered the cabin.

“Awake, Steve?” he said in a low, weary voice.

“Yes, I’m so ashamed. Then the storm is over?”

“Yes, my lad,” said the captain, sinking down on the locker with his great oil-skin coat crackling loudly; “at last, thank God!”

There was a deep, heartfelt ring in Captain Marsham’s voice as he uttered those words, and for some moments Steve was silent, conscious now that the doctor was lying on the cabin floor sleeping soundly.

“And we ought to have been on deck to help you, sir,” said Steve at last.

“No, my lad, I sent word for you to stay below; man or boy could not help us then. We could only wait.”

“But we are safe?”

“For the present, yes.”

“And where are we?”

The captain smiled faintly.

“Where are we?” he said. “That’s more than I can tell. In the ice, Steve, and for aught I can tell, right up somewhere toward the North Pole.”

Chapter Twenty.

No Man’s Land.

The cold pierced Steve through and through, as he hurriedly shook himself together; and his first thought now was to help Captain Marsham, who was utterly prostrate from anxiety, want of sleep, and long exposure.

“I shall be all right, my lad,” he said kindly, “as soon as I’ve had some hot tea and a nap. It was a long fight, but the storm is over. The wind swept round, and we’ve been carried north with the ice, which has been ripped up into endless lanes of clear water. As soon as I can take an observation we shall see where we are.”

Their talking roused the doctor, who sprang up to reproach himself after Steve’s fashion.

“I am so ashamed, Marsham!” he cried warmly.

“For doing your duty as a non-combatant man?” replied the captain, smiling. “Nonsense! You did me the greatest service you could by keeping out of my way.”

In a short time the sailor who acted the part of steward appeared, to show that the routine of the ship, interrupted by that fearful storm, had been resumed, and that the cook had his galley fire going; for a good breakfast was spread upon the table, after which Steve hurried out on deck, leaving the captain to have an hour or two’s rest.

He gazed about him wonderingly, his eyes dazzled by the brilliant light; for the sun was shining brightly, and flashing and sparkling from the ice and snow floating in every direction and in motion in the water, which appeared by contrast absolutely black.

The Hvalross was under steam, for the ropes and sails were thickly coated with ice and snow; but the aim of the man who was now on the bridge was not to attempt progress so much as to avoid coming in contact with the masses and fields of ice which from time to time threatened to close in around and crush her like a shell. For there were masses of ice from the size of one of the boats right up to detached fields that were hundreds of yards across; and feeling as if they had escaped a horrible danger, and in perfect ignorance of the fact that their position was as perilous as ever, Steve feasted his eyes on the glorious spread of fantastic beauty before him, and felt as if he had just awakened in a world where everything was silver, even to the vessel in which he sailed.

There were no towering icebergs such as are encountered floating in the Atlantic, for the ice here consisted of the broken-up surface of the frozen sea, the largest pieces not being twenty feet in height, and looking, from their irregularity, as if one field had been forced over another by the rushing waters, which ripped and tore and broke up the ice barrier at whose edge they had so often sailed. But these pieces exhibited every shade of lovely blue, side by side with the glittering as of crystallised silver, for their inequalities were in places covered with soft powdery snow such as three of the men were scraping up and brushing from the deck and tops of the deckhouses where it lay piled.

Forward the sturdy Norsemen were standing armed with hitchers and poles, which they held ready to try and ease off the floating masses of ice, to keep them from driving hard on to the ship’s bows, with the result that generally the Hvalross was spared a heavy concussion, and the blocks went scraping along the sides. Every now and then there was a loud crushing up of the smaller pieces between the larger, some being shivered to atoms, while others were forced upward one above another, explaining the noises heard in the cabin; and soon after Steve had another startling experience in the splitting across of a great field of ice, which, consequent upon the undulating motion given by the sea, snapped with a noise like thunder; and this was followed by crashing and splitting of a nature that gave appalling evidence of the power of nature under circumstances like these.

“Well, Mr Steve,” said the mate, as the lad mounted to the bridge beside him. “Mind; it’s very slippery here.”

“I’ve found that out,” said the boy merrily; for he had hurt his shin in climbing the icy steps of the ladder.

“Yes, it is awkward. Well, what do you think of this?”

“Wonderful! Grand!” cried the boy. “Never saw anything so beautiful before.”

“Oh yes, very beautiful,” said the mate grimly; and Steve saw how haggard and weary he looked. “But I could do with a little less beauty and more open water, my lad.”

“Yes; it is awkward to steer amongst all this.”

“Very,” said the mate drily, as there was a sharp concussion against a great floating piece of ice, which the strong prow of the Hvalross, cased with iron to meet such contingencies, cut in two as if it had been snow.

“You like it, then?” said the mate.

“Like it! Why, it’s grander than anything I can imagine.”

“Yes; grand enough to crush up the Hvalross like an eggshell,” muttered the mate.

“Yes; but you’ll take care it does not!” cried Steve, smiling. “She would go to pieces on rocks, but you and the captain will mind that she does not.”

The mate’s grim, weary face brightened into a smile, and he clapped one of his fur-gloved hands on Steve’s shoulder.

“Bravo, boy!” he said. “It’s a fine thing to be your age, full of hope and confidence. Yes, we’ll do our best not to get crushed; but it’s a very awkward position to be in.”

“Why?” said Steve. “The storm’s over.”

“Yes, the storm’s over; but look where we are drifting north with all this. Suppose we come to the stationary ice, with all these great floes behind us?”

“Well, what then?”

“What then?” said the mate, with a laugh at this questioner’s innocence. “Why, the drifting ice behind us, pressed forward with a power of millions of tons, will force us against the fixed ice, and then we shall either be lifted right out of the water, or go, as I said, like an eggshell.”

“Ah! but that’s only what might happen,” said Steve. “I say, though, Mr Lowe, whereabouts are we? Not up by the North Pole?”

“No,” said the mate, smiling as he gave a look round, shading his eyes with his hand; “I don’t see it sticking up out of the snow. We’re not anywhere near the North Pole, but I can give a pretty shrewd guess as to where we are.”

“Can you?”

“We’ve been driven right through the opened-up ice somewhere a long way east and north of Spitzbergen. I should say about where land was sighted in one of the expeditions up beyond Gillis Land, toward where the Austrians saw a coast which they called Franz Josef.”

“Ah!”

“I don’t say that’s it; but we’re somewhere thereabouts, and—”

He stopped short to use his glass for a few minutes, Steve watching him impatiently.

“Yes,” he said at last, “there’s land yonder.”

“Where? amongst that ice?”

“Yes; look,” said the mate, handing the glass; “right in the nor’-east yonder. There’s land miles away. Quite mountainous. See it?”

“I can see a glittering pyramid of ice; yes, and a big, heavy mass beside it.”

“That’s right; that’s it.”

“But it’s ice and snow, not land.”

“The land’s under it, my lad,” said the mate. “The ice and snow don’t pile up like that without something to stand on. The captain ought to know this; but he’s so done up I wouldn’t wake him. He could do no good if he came on deck.”

“Then shall you make for that land?”

“Yes; there’s nothing else to be done. We must go forward now, as there’s open water. All astern is ice, where we should certainly be nipped. That’s safety for us if we can steam there, for we should be sure to find some cove or fiord, and shelter from the pressure of the ice.”

“But suppose we should get into a fiord, and the ice blocked us in, what then?” said Steve, more anxiously.

“Why, then we should have to wait till it opened again and let us out.”

“But it might be a long time.”

“Perhaps so; but that’s better than getting our ship crushed, eh?”

“Of course,” said Steve; and soon after he went down to talk to the Norsemen forward, the momentary depression at the idea of being shut in having passed away.

There was a low, whimpering muttering as he neared the galley, the door of which was ajar, and he heard the cook say angrily:

“Look here, sir, if you don’t stop that snivelling, I’ll stand you outside to let the tears freeze. I’m not going to have you turning on the rain here. Do you want to put my fire out?”

“Aw canna help it,” said Watty piteously. “Aw was thenking aboot my mither.”

“Thinking about your ‘mither,’ you great calf! Well, other people think about their ‘mithers,’ but they don’t go on blubbering when they’ve got some potatoes to wash. Hullo! Tut, tut, tut! They’ll have to go overboard. Here, take these from close by the stove. Those others are frozen.”

“She never meant me to come oop here in the cauld to be starved to death.”

“What?” cried the cook. “Eh? Oh, it’s you, Mr Steve. How are you, sir? Managed to get you a good breakfast this morning.”

“Yes, thank you. It was grand. What’s the matter with Watty Links?”

“Why, sir, he had a lot of biscuits and fried bacon an hour ago, and a quart of hot coffee to wash it all down, and now he says that his ‘mither’ never meant him to come up here to be starved.”

“I didn’t!” cried Watty angrily. “I never said a word aboot eatin’ and drinkin’. I said ‘starved wi’ the cauld.’”

“Hey, but you’re a poor, weak, sappy kind of a fellow,” cried the cook. “There’s precious little solid meat on you, I’m afraid. Going, Mr Steve, sir?”

“Yes, I must be off.”

“Right, sir. Roast venison for dinner to-day. The deer meat will be prime.”

Steve nodded, and was turning away, when his eyes encountered those of the boy, who had evidently forgotten all about his “mither,” and was grinning at him derisively, and in a way which made Steve’s fingers tingle to tighten up into a fist and teach the lad a lesson. But he went out and shut the door, before going forward to where the four Norwegians were fending off the ice.

“Morning,” he cried; and the great, sturdy fellows greeted him with a pleasant smile on their grave faces.

“Glad to see you out and well, Mr Steve,” said Johannes; and the others uttered something which was evidently meant as acquiescence in their companion’s greeting.

“Oh, I’m all right,” said Steve, “only a bit cold; but I say, have all you chaps had plenty of breakfast?”

“Plenty, sir, plenty!” they cried, as they levelled their poles to meet the charge of a great block which was coming on to them.

The concussion staggered them a little, but the mass of ice was turned aside, and they had a few minutes’ respite.

“What an awful storm!” said Steve.

“Yes, sir, it was. The worst we were ever in,” replied Johannes; “but it’s brought us close up to a grand land for hunting.”

“What, that land over yonder?” cried Steve, pointing.

“Yes, sir. It’s many years since any one reached that land, if it ever was reached, and we’re thinking all of us that the walrus will be there in herds.”

“But did Mr Lowe tell you that was land yonder?”

“No, sir; we saw him pointing with his glass, and Jakobsen there has wondrous eyes; he could see the tops of the mountains when he looked. There’s good coming out of evil, sir; and you’ll see we shall load up with oil when we get there.”

“But do you really think we shall find the sea-horses there. I want to see a walrus.”

“We feel sure of it, sir, because they have been hunted and driven back farther and farther every year of late; and we all felt that they must have retired to somewhere farther north, and by a great stroke of good fortune the ice has opened enough for us to get there.”

“Then the storm was all for the best, Johannes?”

“Yes, sir, I hope so,” said the man, joining another in sending off a great block as he spoke.

“But I say,” said Steve anxiously, “suppose we get frozen up there, and can’t get back.”

“We don’t talk like that, sir, at the beginning of summer out here,” said the Norseman. “If it was September, it would be different. We’ve got nearly three months for the ice to keep on melting and breaking up.”

“Yes, I see, and a better chance for exploring and searching for the Ice Blink!”

“Yes, sir, of course,” said the man, with a slight change in his voice; and Steve left them to go and talk to Andrew and Hamish, who were both aft, the latter being at the wheel.

“They don’t think we shall ever find the poor fellows,” thought Steve sadly. “I could see it in their looks when I spoke. But they can’t tell any more than I can; and, for all we know, they may be frozen-in, waiting for the ice to break up. Yes; as it has broken up, so that we may come across them at any time.”

Just then he encountered the doctor in a heavy sheep-skin coat. He had been in the cabin.

“Captain’s sleeping like a top,” said the doctor. “I’ve been to see. Couldn’t you and I relieve Mr Lowe here?”

He looked up as he spoke, for they were just below the bridge, and the mate leaned over and spoke.

“No, thank you, gentlemen,” he said. “I can stand it for a couple of hours longer, and then the captain will wake up and relieve me. You could not con the vessel through this ice, and there’s only one man on board to whom I’d give up my place—the captain.”

“We seem very helpless people here. Let’s go and talk to our two Scotch friends. But look here, my lad, hadn’t you better get on a fur coat?”

“I’m not cold,” replied Steve; and they went on to the man by the wheel, where Andrew greeted them with a grin.

“The pipes are a’ recht, Meester Steve,” he said. “She’ll like to hear them the noo?”

“I don’t believe they’d go.”

“She ton’t pelief they’d go?”

“No. The potatoes were frozen in the cook-house, and I’ll be bound to say they’re spoiled.”

Andrew McByle’s face was a study as he looked from the speaker forward, and then turned hastily to Hamish.

“She’ll mind ta wheel her nainsel,” he said huskily, “while she goes to see aboot her pipes.”

He turned to Steve again, and saw the twinkle in the lad’s eye.

“She’s lairfin’!” he cried. “The pipes are quite safe a’ wrapped oop in her auld plaidie”; and he shook his head and laughed heartily.

“Look!” cried Hamish excitedly, pointing to their right.

“What is it?”

“A seal. Ay, there’s twa bonnie laddies. Look at them watching us, and looking like twa bodies after having a swim.”

Steve did not see the animals at once, for a piece of ice intervened. The next moment, though, they came into sight, where they lay upon the snow, and raised their round heads to gaze at the ship.

“No wonder that some of the old mariners who first saw these large seals fancied that there were mermen and mermaids at sea,” said the doctor, as they watched the peculiar semi-human faces of the creatures gazing at them with their great, soft eyes.

“You might almost fancy, if you saw one of them looking over a rock at you at a little distance, that it was some kind of savage.”

“Yes, but it would have to keep its body out of sight.”

“She has never seen the walrus, then?” said Andrew.

“Only a stuffed specimen.”

“Nay, she tidn’t say a stuff spessaman; she said ta walrus, sir.”

“No, I never saw a live walrus,” said the doctor, smiling.

“Then she’ll just wait a wee till she sees a big bull walrus lift her het oot o’ ta watter and look, and she’ll say tat she’s seen a chiant having a swim.”

The captain came on deck about an hour after with the haggard, drawn look gone out of his face, and he mounted the bridge at once to the mate, who handed him the glass, and Steve saw him take a long look to the north-east before closing the telescope. Directly after Mr Lowe descended and fetched the instruments to take their observations, with the result that soon after the mate went below for a rest, leaving the captain to direct the movements of the vessel.

There was so much open water around them now, and so direct a channel toward the land, while all the rest of the space about them was hemmed in with ice drifting northward, that to go to the north coast was the least perilous course.

“I should like to get an observation from the crow’s-nest,” said the captain, looking upward, “but everything is so coated with ice and slippery that I hardly like to send a man aloft.”

“I’ll go!” cried Steve eagerly.

The captain shook his head.

“Too dangerous, my lad,” he said.

“But you did not tell us where you made out we had been driven,” said the doctor, as Steve stood looking up at the ratlines thick with ice, and the glassy look of shroud and stay, while great icicles hung from the tops and yards.

“I beg your pardon,” said the captain. “I was thinking of the land yonder. I make out that we have been driven right up to 82 degrees north latitude and about 45 east longitude.”

“But what does that mean?” said Steve, laughing.

“Not very far from being as near to the North Pole as any one has reached in this direction,” said the captain, “and that we are close to land that in all probability man has never set foot upon yet.”

“Hooray!” cried Steve excitedly.

“We have come north at an exceptional time. Generally the icy barrier stops all progress. This year that storm has broken it up in masses, and it is quite possible that we may be able to penetrate farther yet.”

“To the North Pole?” cried Steve.

“No,” said the captain, smiling. “My dear boy, you have North Pole on the brain. Would you be ready to go with me if I said that I would try and penetrate the ice as far as I could?”

“Of course,” cried Steve. “But you have no confidence in me, sir.”

“What do you mean?”

“You will not let me go up even to the crow’s-nest to use the glass.”

“Yes, I will, my lad,” replied the captain. “Take the glass and go up. But warily, mind. No excitement. You will be quite cool?”

“Yes,” cried Steve, snatching at the glass and starting for the main-mast shrouds.

“Stop!” cried the captain. “Come here.”

Chapter Twenty One.

Among the Natives.

Steve walked back to the captain looking puzzled, and feeling damped by this sudden change, while his eyes gazed questioningly in his leader’s.

“What did I say to you?” cried Captain Marsham.

“I was to go up to the crow’s-nest and make observations,” replied the boy.

“Coolly, warily, and without excitement, because you were going to make a dangerous ascent, over what is ten times as slippery as glass.”

“Yes,” said Steve; “and I was going.”

“Going!” cried the captain angrily. “Yes, just as if you were about to run up somebody’s carefully sanded steps to the front door.”

“But I should have been as careful as could be as soon as I started, sir.”

“It looked like it. What do you say, doctor?”

“That he seemed to me as if he would have given me a job to mend some of his bones before he was half-way to the main-top.”

“Oh, Mr Handscombe!” cried Steve reproachfully.

“It’s a fact, sir,” said the captain sternly. “I dare not let you go about so serious a task in that jaunty way. There, give me the glass.”

Steve slowly handed the glass, in so despondent a fashion that the captain spoke more quietly.

“I can’t help it, my lad. I regret checking you; but you see the state of the rigging, and that a slip might be fatal. I dare not let you go.”

Steve said nothing, but glanced up at the crow’s-nest, which glistened like silver in the sunshine; and he noted again how the rope ladders were all coated with ice, and he found it hard to imagine that he had been jaunty and careless; he told himself he had only been eager to do what was required, and hence it seemed to be doubly hard.

“I did mean to be very careful, sir,” he said at last.

“I know it, my lad,” replied the captain quietly; “but I was wrong to think of it, and your quick, eager way showed me the risk, and made me wiser.”

“But I don’t think it is so dangerous, sir,” cried Steve. “Let me try.”

“I do think it dangerous,” said the captain. “There, you shall hear another opinion. Johannes!”

The Norseman answered the hail, and came quickly aft, after laying down his pole.

“Can you get up to the crow’s-nest, and make a few observations?”

The man looked up at the ice-hardened rigging, and his eyebrows contracted a little.

“Yes,” he said. “Shall I take a glass?”

“There!” cried Steve quickly.

“You shall go,” said the captain. “I will send him instead, Johannes.”

The man’s quiet, stolid manner passed away in an instant.

“It is dangerous for the boy, sir,” he said. “The rigging is all ice.”

“Yes, but I’m going to be very careful, Johannes,” cried Steve. “Let me see; can’t I sling the glass somehow?”

“Don’t take that,” said the captain. “Go to the cabin and fetch my large binocular in its case. You can sling that over your shoulder.”

Steve made a dart for the cabin, but stopped short, turned, gave the doctor a quick look, and then walked slowly to the cabin door, disappeared, and came back quite deliberately, adjusting the strap of the glass over his arm.

“Yes, that will be powerful enough for the purpose,” said the captain quietly. “Now listen: what I want to know is in what directions the lanes of open water lead. You will have an excellent view from up there. Try and make out whether there is open water right up to the land.”

“Yes, I see,” said Steve quietly; and he was about to take off his gloves.

“Stop! What are you going to do?” cried the captain.

“Take off my gloves. I can hold on so much better.”

“And perhaps leave the skin of your hands on the ropes. You do not feel the cold much now because the air is perfectly still and the sun shining brightly; but the mercury is very low, and it is growing colder. Keep your gloves on, and be slow and careful. Now go.”

Steve started once more, reached the main shrouds, swung himself up on to the bulwark, and instantly had his first lesson in the peril of his task, for all at once a foot glided along the top of the bulwark, and then went off and downward. But he had taken a good grip of the shrouds and saved himself, otherwise he must have gone overboard, and a curious sensation of heat came over him, as he at once began to climb with the ratlines feeling hard and thick like the staves of a ladder, while his hold upon he icy ropes was awkward and strange. And now he began to awaken to the fact that the job was a much harder one than he had imagined it would be, and felt more and more the necessity for the greatest of caution. Glancing down as he heard talking in a low, earnest voice below, he saw that Johannes was speaking to the captain; but it did not occur to him that it was about him till he had reached the main-top, where he paused for a few moments, holding on by the ropes.

“Hadn’t I better kick some of these icicles and this snow down, sir?” he cried.

“Yes; all you can, my lad,” replied the captain.

“Stand from below!” Steve shouted. And then there was the rattle and crackling of the pieces of ice he broke away, till he had made some clearance; and he was then about to start upward, when he became aware of the fact that Johannes was three parts of the way up to the top where he stood.

“Hullo!” he cried, “what do you want?” and as he spoke he saw that the man had a little coil of line over one arm.

“Only coming to keep you company, Mr Steve,” he said, drawing himself up the last few feet and reaching the boy’s side.

“Oh, but it’s too bad!” cried Steve hotly. “It’s treating me as if I were a child. You’ve brought this line up to tie me on.”

“I’ve brought the line up because it may be useful, sir,” said Johannes gravely; “and I’ve come up because the captain thought the way aloft was very dangerous.”

“And so did you, and asked him to let you come?”

Johannes was silent.

“I knew it!” cried Steve. “I do wish you people wouldn’t treat me as if I were a baby.”

“Yes, I did ask him to let me come, sir,” said the Norseman; “for it’s more dangerous than even he thinks. I saw you make that slip when you started, though he did not; and I felt that if you made a slip higher up I might be handy to help you.”

“Yes, but—” began Steve.

“And he gave me leave to come up.”

“Then you’d better go and make the observations, and I’ll go down,” said Steve sulkily.

Johannes looked pained.

“You shall not do that,” he said gravely.

“Why not?”

“Because it would not be like what I, a Norseman, would expect to see in an English gentleman’s son.”

“Oh, I say,” cried Steve, “that’s hitting foul. But it’s too bad, Johannes, and I hate it. I might just as well be pulled up by the halyards.”

“When you have been as long at sea as I have,” said Johannes, with a calm, grave smile lighting up his fine, manly face, “you will not think it a hardship in a dangerous task to have a man at your side whom you can trust, and whom you can feel is ready to help you as long as he has a bit of strength.”

“Come along,” said Steve quickly; “the captain will be wondering why I don’t go up, and thinking I am afraid.”

“Oh no,” said the Norseman, smiling, “he will not think that of you, sir. There, I’m glad to be with you, Mr Steve; for it is bad climbing, and a slip up here would be very, very risky.”

“Yes, it is bad climbing,” said Steve, as he slowly mounted higher and higher, warning his companion, who kept close below him, when he was going to kick down some of the ice which encrusted the ropes.

And so the top-mast was passed, and with the main topgallant mast they came to the ice-covered cross-spells, which had been lashed on, and directly after Steve was beneath the cask raising his hand to push open the hinged bottom; but, to his surprise, it did not yield.

“It’s frozen!” he cried; and he made effort after effort to move the trap, but in vain.

“You’ll have to let me come, sir,” said Johannes quietly. “I’m thinking that the nest is full of snow.”

Steve moved off the spell on which he stood, and held on to the shrouds upon the other side, leaving room for the Norseman to take his place.

“Well?” said Steve, as the man exerted his huge strength without effect.

“More than I can do, sir,” said Johannes quietly. “Let’s try it a little at a time.” And, taking tightly hold, he began to thrust with one shoulder up and up, until the trap began to crack and give way little by little.

Then a little powdery snow began to crumble out, and the Norseman paused to rest.

“You see I am useful,” he said, smiling. “I don’t think you could have moved that.”

“Aloft there! Can’t you get in?” came from below.

“Crow’s-nest full of ice and snow!” cried Steve.

“Knock up the bottom, and let it fall through.”

“Well, that’s what we are doing,” said Steve to himself; and then he watched as the Norseman toiled away till he could get one hand through the opening he had made.

“Mind!” cried Steve. “Put on your glove, or you’ll take the skin off.”

“No,” said Johannes gravely, “not yet awhile. It does not freeze in that way now; that is when the colder weather sets in. The sun is warming the air too much everywhere. Look, there are drips forming.” He worked as he spoke, and now sent the snow and ice showering down from the cask, till at last there was quite a little avalanche, after which he drew himself up inside, let the door close, and scraped and worked away, throwing out consolidated portions, and then sweeping the snow-dust till he could open the trap partially and shuffle it out with his feet. “Warm work, sir,” he said at last, as he looked over the edge and down at Steve.

“Let me come and have a turn, then, for it’s horribly cold here.”

“Come along, then,” said the Norseman; “there’s room now.”

There was an unusual sensation of numbness in Steve’s arms as he climbed back on to the wooden spells, and he knew that he had been motionless quite long enough; and he could not help feeling that if he had remained there another hour clinging to the icy shrouds he would not have been able to live. But the circulation began to return as soon as he exerted himself, and, after a little effort, he squeezed himself up through the bottom of the cask, the trap fell into its place, and he dragged the case of the glass round to the front so as to get at the double telescope.

The scene from the deck had been wonderful, but from the interior of the crow’s-nest the wonder was vastly increased, and Steve could have stood there for hours, sweeping with the glass in all directions, gazing with delight at the floating ice-islands of every form and size, from the little block that could be thrust aside with a boat-hook to the field or detached floe a mile across; and all in motion, drifting with the current toward the north-east, and rising and falling on the heavy swell left by the storm. There was an incessant cracking roar, too, from all around, as the blocks came in contact and ground together; while from time to time, consequent upon undulation of the surface, a field split right across with a tremendous report.

But there was no time to study the beauty of the surroundings, and Steve had to leave all contemplation of the silver islands floating upon a black sea, to try and trace the open water from where they were right up to the land.

Twice over he was at fault, as he supposed, for he followed with the glass a broad, canal-like line of clear water quite a couple of miles, and then it appeared to be blocked up with ice. He said so to Johannes; but the Norseman shook his head.

“The water goes round behind those blocks, sir,” he said.

“But can you tell that with the naked eye, Johannes?”

“Yes, sir, clearly.”

The result was that a clear way was well traced out for the Hvalross right up to the rugged land with its mountains, not more than eight miles away, so that navigation would be perfectly easy at that moment. What it would be with the vast army of ice blocks advancing to invade the shores of the unknown land, it would be impossible to say.

All these facts were communicated bit by bit to the deck, with the consequence that the speed was increased, and the vessel went gliding on in and out amongst the floating fields of ice, while Steve stayed with his companion, who kept pointing out objects worthy of notice.

“Seals yonder,” he said, pointing to one low flat of snow-covered ice; and Steve brought the glass to bear upon the cluster of animals huddled up together.

“Yonder’s a bear, too,” said Johannes after a time.

“What eyes you have!” cried Steve. “I had not even seen that with the glass. Why, he’s on quite a small island of ice, all to himself. How easily we could get to him with a boat!”

“Yes, easily enough, sir; but this is no time for hunting,” said the Norseman. “While we are drifting onward with all this ice the danger is not great; but if we lay to while boats were out fishing we should soon be fast, and it might be months before we got free. There is only one thing to do now: get the ship into a safe haven. Then we can talk about hunting.”

“How long will it take us to get there?”

“Little more than an hour if we do not meet with a check,” said Johannes, as the Hvalross glided round the edge of an ice-field into quite a winding river of black water, more open than any they had passed since the storm, and along which the vessel now made good way, while the land ahead began to grow more rugged and wild, looking grand, desolate, and apparently very much broken-up by jutting promontories and deep inlets.

“Yes,” said Johannes, after a long inspection through the glass; “there are plenty of shelter havens there, if we are not shut off from them by the ice.”

All these observations were duly communicated to the captain, who directed the course of the vessel by the instructions he received as to the lay of the water. And as Johannes had said, the places where Steve had imagined the open water to end proved to be quite clear, so that mile after mile was passed, and at last the boy gave his opinion upon the state of the navigation.

“Why, it’s easy enough,” he said; “any one might go right on like this to the North Pole.”

“It’s too easy, sir,” said Johannes, smiling. “How would you get back?”

“Wait till the tide turns and the ice is going the other way.”

“Yes, that would be a capital plan,” replied Johannes drily.

“Cold? Want to come down?” cried the captain from below.

“No, sir; quite warm shut up here,” replied Steve.

“Stay up then, for you’re making the navigation quite easy. All clear ahead?”

“Yes, sir; nothing but a few floating blocks of no consequence; and there are more openings farther on.”

“That’s right. Now look out, both of you, for a good deep inlet. That is what we want next.”

Johannes held the glass at this time, and he said to Steve, as the captain turned away:

“There are two fiords that appear to be just right if we can reach them; but I cannot make out anything for certain yet. Have a try, sir?”

Steve took the glass, rested his arms on the rail, and began to try and make out the inlets by following the course of the open water from just ahead right up to the piled-up mountainous land.

“It looks like a bit of my own country,” said Johannes, “and does not seem to be an island, for there is high ground as far as I can see.”

“More seals,” said Steve; “good big ones, too!”

“Where?”

“Away to the left of that big ice-field, right on its edge. Why, there must be fifty of them. See ’em?”

“Yes,” said Johannes gravely; “more likely a hundred, sir; and, as you say, very fine ones indeed. The captain will not have any difficulty in loading up with oil to take back.”

“Not if we can catch the seals,” said Steve, with his eyes glued to the glass. “There, I think I can make out one of the fiords now. I say, isn’t it rather funny that west coasts should be so much alike?”

“I don’t understand you, sir.”

“Why, all broken-up into fiords, as you call them. Ireland is, and Scotland, and Norway; then Spitzbergen was, and now this place seems to be the same.”

“Yes, sir; I suppose it’s the beating and washing of the sea.”

“But places like Spitzbergen and this can’t be much beaten by the sea, because they are so much frozen-in. Yes, I can see the inlet now, and the other one, too. North of it, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir; those are the two, and there is plenty of open water.”

“Plenty. Shall we tell the captain now?”

“He’s forward talking to the men,” replied Johannes.

“Then we’ll wait. But, I say, about these seals? We shall have to shoot them, I suppose?”

“No, sir, harpoon them; but they are not seals.”

“Nonsense! I saw them myself quite plainly; one of them was dragging itself out of the water.”

“Yes, I saw several do that. It is quite a large herd; but these are walrus—our sea-horses, sir.”

“Oh!” cried Steve, turning the glass in the direction of the herd. “Why, so they are. I can see the big tusks.”

“Yes, sir; there are some very fine ones among them. I thought they must have a haven somewhere up here, if it could be found. The captain has done well, and we shall have a tremendous hunting season.”

“Well?” came from the deck, “see any opening, Steve?”

“Yes, sir, two; and we’re not above a mile away from a great herd of walrus.”

“Seals, my lad—the little Jan Mayen seal.”

“No, sir,” said Johannes quietly; “they are walrus, and we’ve made our way up to their home. I have just seen another herd nearer the land.”

The men below heard this announcement, and gave a cheer, for the news promised work, excitement, and plenty of profit for all on board.

Just then there was a loud barking from Skene, who was up in his favourite place on the bows, just where he could look out well ahead.

“Look at old Skeny,” said Steve. “Any one would think he was the master of the ship. Why, there’s a walrus!”

He was quite right, for there in the black water, staring hard at the excited dog, was a peculiar round head with great soft eyes, a bristling moustache, and a pair of long white tusks sweeping down from its upper jaw in graceful curves. There was nothing visible but the head, and that only for about a minute; for the sight of the vessel gliding swiftly along startled the huge beast, so that it made a plunge and disappeared.

A sharp look-out was kept for others, and several were seen, but always at a distance; and they were forgotten directly in the excitement of the navigation which followed as they neared the land.

All had gone on well so far. The Hvalross had had to turn and double to avoid huge masses of the ice-floe; but there had always been plenty of open water, and this had grown wider as they neared a vast pile of rocks forming a promontory, to the north of which lay the fiord which the captain had marked down, becoming more and more satisfied with his choice as they drew nearer, till they were about a mile away; for it offered complete protection from the ice, which would be turned aside by the rocky buttress till such time as a change of wind and the subsidence of the heavy rocking swell should come.

All at once, with marvellous rapidity, there was a change. Beyond a little grinding and scraping they had suffered no harm from the ice, which had been floating with or following them; but now, as if the crowd of blocks and fields in motion possessed a feeling that the vessel was about to escape them and take refuge where it would be safe, there was an increase of speed in their movements; they were more agitated, rising and falling and crashing together, and appearing as if they were crowding along to crush the vessel before the refuge was reached.

This had not been noticed from the bridge, and in an excited tone Johannes hailed the deck.

“We’re just entering a swift current, sir, which is caused by the great point ahead. The ice is crowding up into it, and goes north with a heavy rush.”

“Yes, I see!” cried Captain Marsham; and he issued a few clear, sharp orders, which were as promptly obeyed.

“Stay aloft there, both of you,” he cried next, “and mark the other water ahead!”

There was a dead silence for a minute on deck, but all around a condensation of the grinding, cracking, and rending of the ice which they had heard more or less all day.

Then, as Steve’s eyes met Johannes’ stern gaze—for the lad was fully awake to the peril—the Norseman sang out:

“Turn her astarn, sir! The ice has closed up ahead.” The captain gave the order without question, the speed was checked, and the Hvalross began to glide back, when Johannes’ voice rose again in hoarse command. “Stop! There is no way back.”

“Look again!” roared Captain Marsham. “There must be. Quick!”

“No way out astarn, nor to right or left, sir!” cried Johannes; “the ice is closing in upon us.”

“But forward—is it not opening?”

“No, sir; and we’re in the current, too.”

The captain gave his orders again; but those which reached the crow’s-nest had nothing to do with the navigation of the ship; they were to the men to stow provisions as rapidly as possible in the boats.

“Johannes, what does this mean?” whispered Steve, aghast.

“That the captain means to have the boats ready, if we can use them; if not, to have provisions to heave on to the ice when we take to it.”

“When we take to the ice?” cried Steve.

“Yes, my lad; look!” said the Norseman, pointing to the narrow limits of the water in which the Hvalross lay; and as the boy gazed downward with dilating eyes, he could see that on one side there was a wall of ice almost stationary, while on the other the masses were grinding together, the smaller being forced upward above the larger to form a chaotic ridge, which was coming toward them with swift, irresistible power.

“Quick!” said the Norseman sternly. “In another five minutes we shall be crushed in the ice. We must be on deck so as to have our chance of escape with the rest when they take to the floe.”

“Ahoy! there aloft!” roared the captain, as the steam whistle began to utter its deep-toned yell, which sounded strangely amidst the roar and crack of the ice in motion. “Down with you both—quick!”

“Do you hear?” cried Johannes excitedly. “Down, my lad, quick!”

Steve made a movement to stoop and raise the trap on which he stood, and he stopped short and gazed despairingly in the great Norseman’s face.

“Well, why do you stop?” said Johannes. “Draw up the trap, and go down.”

“I cannot stir,” said Steve faintly. “I did not know it before. It’s the cold, I suppose. My legs and feet are quite numbed.”

Chapter Twenty Two.

On the Brink.

“Do you hear, aloft there?” roared the captain. “Down with you!”

“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the Norseman, as he grasped to the full their perilous situation.

“Go down, Johannes,” said Steve faintly; “never mind me.”

The Norseman uttered a low laugh.

“Yes, sir; go down and leave you here! Of course!”

But his hands were busy. He thrust the glass into the case slung from Steve’s shoulder, and taking the line he wore like a baldrick from his own, he hung it on one arm while he made fast the end round the lad’s chest.

“You can use your hands?” he cried.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Then keep yourself clear of the yards and stays as I lower you down. Don’t cling anywhere. I’ll let you down safely.”

“Are you coming?” roared the captain.

“Ay, ay, sir. Below there!” shouted back the Norseman; and with one rapid movement he whipped Steve out of the crow’s-nest, and, grasping the line, began to lower him rapidly, till he caught first here and again there, over and over again, for there was the rigging to pass through; but in a very few seconds the boy was on deck, and the line dropped after him. Then the trap was snatched up, Johannes lowered himself through, stepped down the spells, caught hold of one of the ice-covered stays, and slid down, to catch another lower, and reach the deck in turn. He joined the men in getting together biscuit, tinned meat, and flour bags, ready to cast upon the ice when the terrible nip should come, and either crack the ship’s timbers like an eggshell or force her up on to the surface, to go on drifting north, while the ice by the great pressure consolidated into a dense block.

The captain and doctor had in turn been busy, and brought up guns, rifles, and ammunition; and both now, in spite of the impending peril, had then devoted themselves to the task of restoring circulation to Steve’s lower limbs, and to so good an effect that he soon struggled to his feet.

“Don’t—don’t mind me,” he cried; “I—I will be better now.”

“Let him be,” said the doctor in a low voice; “it will do him good to exert himself.”

“I will stand by the lad, and help him,” said a voice behind the doctor; and he turned sharply to find that Johannes was standing there.

“Yes, sir,” he said; “and I will try to help as well.”

These words were hurriedly spoken in whispers, with the lips close to each listener’s ear, for their terrible position filled them with awe, and they spoke with bated breath, listening the while to the hideous crashing and creaking of the ice which moment by moment came nearer, while the huge fragments towered up on their right, and—slowly now—came on to crush the Hvalross against the cliff-like floe some fifteen feet in height on their left. For there was that difference in the walls of their prison: they had been gliding along by the side of a vast field whose movement had grown slower, while the smaller fragments on their right had increased in speed, and at times raced along as if in a flooded river of enormous size.

And now no man spoke, but all stood with blanched lips gazing at the ice cliff on their left, as if measuring its height, the crew dividing naturally into three parties—one to the shrouds of each of the three masts, ready to ascend and leap from the ratlines on to the surface of the ice, some of the more daring making up their minds to make for the top, and run out on the great yard of the big square-sail, and drop from that if there should be time.

Only one thought was common to all, and that was to reach the ice. The provisions which had been hastily brought on deck lay where they had been placed amongst the remains of the powdery snow which had not melted in the sun’s rays; and even then in those terrible moments—so strangely are little petty things mixed up with the most momentous in our lives—Steve thought to himself that when the two sides of their rapidly narrowing canal did come together, crushing the ship, not a man would stop to pick up anything to help keep himself alive.

“Mr Steve—doctor!” said Johannes suddenly, “there will be a rush for the shrouds when the nip comes, and it will be every man for himself.”

“Yes, of course,” said Mr Handscombe.

“Let them go that way; you both follow me.”

“Where?” said Steve huskily.

“For that boat;” and he nodded toward the one swinging from the davits on the port side.

“What for, man?” said the doctor coldly. “The boat must be crushed, like the ship.”

“Not before I have had time to reach the top of the ice from it. I have been measuring the distance, and I can do it and reach down to lend you both a hand up.”

“Hah! Yes!” exclaimed Steve, forgetting the cold and numbness now in the excitement of seeing a way to escape. “But the captain—tell him.”

“There is no need,” said the Norseman; “he is cleverer than I, and will know what to do. Besides, he will not stir till every man is safe; an English captain never does.”

“But—” began Steve.

“Don’t talk, sir; do as I say,” said the Norseman sternly. “You will be helping the captain to escape if you leave him free to act by saving yourself.”

“I will do as you say,” replied Steve; but even as he spoke he felt as if it would be cowardly to leave Captain Marsham alone in the wreck.

Every man was now on deck, the engineer and his fireman having come up, leaving the steam blowing off with a shriek which minute by minute grew more horrible as it was confined between the two walls of ice, now not fifty yards apart.

The water looked wilder than ever where it was not covered with small fragments of ice, which came rushing up as if driven by the current beneath the towering masses on their right; and as they literally darted up they rushed on to hit against the cliff on their left, some of them striking the sides of the Hvalross blows which made her jar, and shook the ice and snow from the rigging, to come rattling down upon the deck.

“It can’t be long now,” thought Steve; and he glanced up at the boat, and then at the captain, who stood perfectly calm upon the bridge; and just then there was a sharp, whimpering bark from by the bowsprit, followed by a perfect roulade, the dog catching sight of a seal.

“Oh, poor old Skeny! We must not leave him,” muttered Steve; and he called the dog loudly.

The collie came with a rush, and crouched at his master’s feet.

“Johannes,” whispered the lad. “My poor dog,—I can’t leave him. He could not get up to the boat.”

The great calm-looking fellow turned and gave Steve a pleasant smile. Then, stooping down, he lifted the dog in his arms, reached up and placed the paws well over the side of the boat, where he hung a good seven feet above the deck. The dog whined, and seemed disposed to struggle to get free; but at a word from his master he made a scrambling effort, received a good thrust from Johannes, and the next instant was in the boat barking at them as he stood on the thwart and looked over the side, as if asking them to come there as well.

“Is it quite hopeless?” whispered the doctor.

“Who can say, sir?” replied the Norseman. “It is very hard now that we are so near a safe harbour. If the ice does join we must be crushed, for it is too high above us to lift us up.”

“And if the ship is crushed,” whispered Steve, “will it sink?”

“The minute the ice loosens its grip, sir, she must go down.”

The walls were not forty yards apart now, and the unfortunate crew could pretty well pick out the rugged prominences on their right which would just touch and drive them against the smooth, cliff-like mass on their left. More awe-inspiring still, they could see that as soon as the shock came vast pieces of piled-up ice must lose their equilibrium and topple down on the deck, crushing everything they touched; and onward still the terrible line came till it was not twenty yards away.

“The ice cliff is not moving,” said Johannes, “and the crash will be the greater. Be ready, gentlemen; in another minute the blow must come. Great heavens! what is that?”

He looked astern, as a terrible rushing noise was heard; and as all followed his example, struck by the sound, there, about a hundred yards behind them, the water was foaming and rushing toward them in a wave laden with fragments of ice.

It was plain enough: the pressure of the ice behind was driving the water compressed between those narrow walls forward, like some cataract, which looked as if it would sweep the deck before the two cliffs joined.

“Ready!” shouted the captain. “But don’t stir till the crash begins. The vessel will be at its closest to the cliff on this side.”

“But ta watter will sweep us awa’, captain!” yelled Hamish.

“Silence; the wave will pass under us!” roared the captain, his voice being hardly heard. “Wait till I give the word.”

And in those brief moments the space between the walls had grown narrower, till the yards nearly touched on either side, and the loose fragments that fell from the rugged masses on the right kept on splashing the water up on to the deck.

Just then Skene uttered a fierce bark at the coming wall, Johannes gave Steve a sharp look, and laid his hand upon the gunwale of the boat, drawing it down, the men stepped close to the shrouds, and the captain darted a sharp glance from the bridge at the top of the floe, which was to be their asylum.

Then, roaring loudly, the ice-laden wave struck the poop with a tremendous crash, lifted the vessel, and bore her onward on the breast of the furious cataract, onward and onward along the narrow passage, which seemed to open out before the rushing water. The yards scraped here and scraped there along the cliff-sides; the ice pounded them, and gave forth a peculiar, hollow, echoing roar, but, swiftly almost as an arrow, they were borne along, with the steam whistle shrieking as if the unfortunate boat were in agony.

A minute.

It seemed to all an hour of horror too terrible to be borne, and then the captain, with both hands to his mouth, roared:

“Engineer! below! stop that escape of steam!”

The man darted to the engine-room hatch, and disappeared, just as the walls behind them closed in with a deafening crash as of a thousand thunder peals, the water rushed by them as if shot from some gigantic pipe, and the Hvalross was borne forward at a speed such as she had never half achieved before. Then, as the walls behind continued to close, the vessel glided into open water, which grew clearer and clearer right ahead, where it was running like some mighty mill-race a mile wide northward, between the ice and the great promontory, which jutted out from the land.

“Steve!” said the doctor, with his lips to his young companion’s ear; “and they say the days of miracles are past!”

Without another word he went below into the cabin, and Steve felt his hand grasped from above. He looked up to see that it was Johannes leaning down from the boat.

“We are saved, my dear lad,” he said in a voice deep with emotion; and as if he, too, could participate in the general feeling of thankfulness, Skene burst into a joyful fit of barking and leaped right down upon the deck.

The sun shone more brightly than ever, the snow crystals glistened like diamonds, and the cliffs and mountains towering up on their right above the blue fiord were glorious to behold; but everything to Steve Young looked misty, and he could only see Captain Marsham as through a veil when that gentleman followed the example of Johannes and reached down from the bridge to grasp the boy’s hand.

Chapter Twenty Three.

After Storm—Calm.

There was plenty of floating ice in the open water running rapidly northward; but the task of avoiding this was easy, for the engineer had followed out the captain’s instructions, and there was a sufficiency of steam for navigating the vessel.

It was needed, too; for though they had escaped from the terrible trap in which they had been caught, the peril was not far away. A few minutes’ observation showed that the great body of ice was closing in upon the land, and that if before long the Hvalross was not placed in a safe anchorage she would certainly be crushed, the only difference being that she would be crushed between ice-floe and rock, and not between ice and ice, the doctor saying that they would have jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire.

There was the danger still coming on as they steamed northward between the moving ice and the perpendicular cliffs of the great headland on their right. But the fires were humming and roaring away below, the rattle of stoking implements and shovel was heard on the iron stoke-hole floor; and as the engine worked and panted away, and the propeller shaft made the after part of the vessel thrill, there were divers hissings and snorts which told that there would soon be plenty of steam for the captain’s purpose, as he stood on the bridge with his binocular scanning the opening on the right to see if it would give them the security he sought.

“Up aloft again, Johannes!” he cried. “Take a glass and see if you can con a way round and through those rocks.”

Steve started, and took a step forward; but the captain shook his head.

“Not this time,” he said.

The boy shrank back feeling disappointed, for this observing from the crow’s-nest seemed to have become partly his work; but he said nothing, for he felt that he had not distinguished himself very highly aloft upon two occasions, so he contented himself with watching the grand coast they had reached. He gazed at the towering cliffs a couple of hundred yards upon his right, streaked in every crevice with snow, which crossed these streaks again, lying as it did upon every ledge, and forming a gigantic network on the black rock. Higher up the streaking and netting ceased, for the rocks were not so perpendicular; and here they were coated with dazzling ice.

The sea-birds circled about the vessel by hundreds, while thousands must have been seated in rows upon the ledges, from which, as they came and went, throwing themselves off as if diving into the air, and taking a flight before resettling, they disturbed the newly-fallen, powdery snow, which fell in showers, glittering in the brilliant sunshine like diamond dust, and at times forming tiny rainbows, which came and went as the Hvalross glided on.

“We shall not starve here, Steve, in spite of the cold,” said the doctor, who now joined him. “This must be nesting time, and the storm has disturbed the birds and invaded their nests. How grand it all seems now one can look around without feeling one’s heart in one’s mouth, and thinking that the next minute may be our last!”

“Then you felt frightened, too?” said Steve.

“Frightened? Why, my good lad, do you think any one could face peril like that we have gone through without feeling frightened?”

“I should have thought brave men would.”

“I should like to see the man who could pass through what we did unmoved. Perhaps I’m wrong, my boy, but I don’t think he has been born yet. There, don’t let’s talk about it. Come and watch the man heaving the lead.”

They went forward to where Andrew was standing in the forechains busy with the lead, casting it from time to time, for there were rocks all about the entrance of the inlet or fiord they were making for; but the lead always went down and down into deep water, and was rapidly hauled up again, for all that was wanted was to know whether there was sufficient depth for the vessel to pass along in safety.

“We’re getting a lesson in arctic navigation, Steve,” said the doctor quietly. “People who sit at home at ease, as the song says, little know how difficult it is.”

“Ah! they don’t know, indeed,” said Steve. “Any one would think that all we had to do was to steam right on till we were opposite the fiord, and then turn to the right and go in at once.”

“Which does not sound very nautical, Master Steve, and would result most likely in landing the vessel upon the rocks. Water cold, Andra?” to the man, as he hauled in the lead.

“Ferry, sir, ferry cauld inteet. She feels as if she hadna got any fingers left. But it’s a coot chop to do when she tidna know her way.”

“Keep heaving more quickly!” cried the captain; and he then signalled to the engine-room for more speed, while the Norsemen in the bows went on fending off the pieces of ice through which they were now passing, the surface being quite white with fragments.

The next moment there was a horrible crashing noise from astern, and fresh orders were sent down into the engine-room, the gong sounding quite faintly now.

“Whatever is that?” whispered the doctor. “Are we on a rock?”

“No; the propeller is beating on the pieces of ice. We must go softly, or one of the blades will be broken.”

In fact, the speed was checked so that the propeller was kept barely in motion, just sufficient to give the vessel steering way, and all the time a glance to the left showed that the ice-floe was closing in upon them fast, while they were some distance yet from the opening.

Meantime, Johannes hailed the deck from time to time, enabling the captain to direct the man at the wheel, so as to avoid dangerous rocks, invisible from the bridge, but quite plain from the commanding height aloft.

And thus the position was growing to be one of extreme peril once more, and it became evident to those who, as non-combatants in this fight with the grand forces of Nature, could only look on, that, unless the captain risked the breaking of the propeller, they would be crushed by the ice against the rocks and rendered a hopeless wreck long before they could round the southern point of the fiord. Even if they could reach the inlet, it might prove to be so encumbered with rocks that they could not enter; but it was their only hope now.

Fortunately the current ran swiftly, and as the ice neared more swiftly still, and just when the position was growing most perilous, the surface became clear of floating fragments, such as would injure the screw.

Steve’s heart was sinking again, for the great ice wall was getting very close, and he had given many looks at the huge cliff to see whether it would be possible to climb up, when once more the sinking spirits rose with a bound, for, in the nick of time, Johannes shouted, “All clear ahead!” the gong sent forth its notes to order full speed, and the water was churned into a foam as the propeller began to spin round.

“Stand away with that lead!” shouted the captain; and Andrew coiled up the wet line with a sigh of relief.

“He’s going to risk the rocks now,” whispered Steve.

“Yes; I suppose it’s our only chance,” replied the doctor; and they both went as far forward as they could get to join the Norsemen who were on the look-out for danger.

They had about a quarter of a mile still to go, but now their speed was greater than that of the closing-in ice, and the men at last burst into a cheer as, in obedience to a motion of the captain’s hand, the spokes were spun round, and the Hvalross glided along in a sharp curve right in between two towering walls of rocks facing each other at a distance of some sixty yards. Then the engine was slowed down, and they passed more quietly along a rugged channel which went straight in for a short distance, and then bore sharply round to the left.

They were none too soon, for, long before they reached this curve, the ice-floe touched the headland they had passed, and there arose a crashing roar mingled with thunderous sounds that were deafening. It was as if the huge fields of ice were about to be swept right over the land, and the perpendicular rocks, as they bore the brunt, echoed the terrible volleying noise. The sight was awful in its majesty: one floe ploughed up another, and vast fragments fell over and over, to fall with a crash upon others, or into the waters of the inlet, churning them up as if in some furious tempest, driving billows up against the rocks on either side, and making the Hvalross rock and roll as she sped slowly on. And all the while, driven by the almost irresistible force behind, the ice-floes came on and on, filling up the inlet, and roaring with fury as the vessel they seemed to be pursuing kept still beyond their reach.

The lead was out again and rapidly heaved, but the water kept of a great depth, and the channel was clear of scattered rocks, so that the opening where it bore off to the left was reached with ease, and the Hvalross bore round in answer to her helm, and began once more to make for the north.

Ten minutes later the whole of the inlet that ran so nearly straight in was jammed right up with mountainous masses of ice, which ran right across the angle where they had turned off to the north, and then the ice came on, mounting over that which was below, grinding, crackling, and pressing it solid, deafening the ears of those who listened for a few minutes, and then dying off into a more and more distant sound. This soon grew fainter, heard as it seemed to be from the other side of the cliffs on their left, while the water in the fiord, which had been tremendously agitated, rushing on past the Hvalross and leaving her rolling and the crow’s-nest in which Johannes stood describing a long arc in the air, began to subside, the billows ceased to leap up the cliffs, the loose fragments of ice to eddy and rush together, and the vessel floated upon an even keel.

The peril was at an end, for the floes, after completely choking up the entrance to the fiord to the height of at least fifty feet, were now grinding and crushing their way onward outside, and the vessel lay in perfect safety. But, unless there was a way out at the other end of the fiord, they were completely sealed in by ice that, from all appearances, as it towered up from side to side, seemed as if it would take years to melt, while as likely as not it would go on consolidating and increasing in bulk till time should be no more.

No one spoke, though a strange silence gathered round them, the roar of the ice-floes upon the cliffs of this unknown land sounding hushed and strange. Every eye was fixed upon the dazzling white wall which, with its thousands of tons of ice, had been built in a few minutes right across the opening by which they had entered the now fast calming fiord. For that piled-up mass was indescribably grand as it glistened in the sunshine, every crack and depression being of the most lovely blue, from the palest sapphire to the deepest amethyst. It was magnificent, it was grand; and all started at something which was terribly incongruous; for a great flock of the northern gulls suddenly came sweeping down over the ice into the narrow fiord, shrieking, crying, and uttering sounds which were like mocking laughter, to break the solemnity of the scene.

Worse still, his duties having been interfered with in no way, and too busy to take any note of the fresh peril, the cook suddenly appeared from the galley, whose fire had been roaring away for the past two hours, and, walking under the bridge, he looked up to the captain and said loudly:

“Capital haunch of venison, roasted to a turn, sir. If you are at liberty, you can have the dinner in now.”

The grandeur, the solemnity, the thoughts of this fresh miraculous escape, all passed away on the instant. The men made a movement toward the forecastle, looking inquiringly at the mate, for they knew that their meal would be ready too, and Steve turned to the doctor so comically perplexed a face that the latter smiled.

“Hungry, Steve?” he said.

“I—I didn’t know it before, sir,” he replied; “but I suppose I am.”

“Well, il faut manger, as the French say. Come along.”

He led the way to the bridge, where the cook was still waiting, for the captain had not spoken.

“Can you come down, Marsham?” said the doctor. “It is many hours since we have broken our fast.”

“Eh?” came back. “Yes. Ahoy, there, Johannes! that will do. Come down, Handscombe?” said the captain thoughtfully. “Yes, we may as well have something to eat, for we shall have plenty of time.”

He pointed to the huge rampart of ice right across the inlet, and said quietly:

“A man needs to be well educated in the ways of nature in the north to navigate his ship. Our only hope now is—”

“Let’s talk of that when we have studied nature’s daily wants,” said the doctor, smiling. “We are safe, are we not?”

“Oh yes,” said the captain bitterly, “we are quite safe now.”

Chapter Twenty Four.

The Northern Prison.

As the doctor said, il faut manger, and, in spite of all they had gone through, their appetites were so sharp-set that they made a most hearty repast, and were ready to declare themselves prepared to encounter anything.

Steve thought that this was rather boastful, and due in a great measure to the fact that they all, himself included, felt that, for the present at any rate, they had no danger to encounter, but he said nothing.

In fact, when they returned on deck the noise of the ice had died away into a distant murmur, and the fiord, with its smooth, blue water, huge, nearly perpendicular walls, and shattered rocks of dark stone made brilliant with ice, looked so beautiful that their position appeared to be more a cause of congratulation than complaint. Certainly they were blocked in; but ice that shut them up so quickly might, by another movement, likely enough set them free; and, besides, most of these northern fiords were like those on the Norwegian or Highland coasts—channels inside islands; and consequently, for aught they knew to the contrary, there was a way out to the north which might not be closed.

But the captain had no intention of making a long exploration on that day. He was content to run on a short distance, to anchor in what looked to be a snug berth behind a jutting mass of the rocky side which sheltered them from the north wind in case it should come tearing down the channel, and faced the sunny south. The fires were then raked out, and that night, after the watch was set, those who were free indulged in a long and much-needed sleep.

Steve rose the next morning bright and cheerful, to find the others the same. The intense cold which accompanied the storm had passed, and there in the sheltered fiord the air felt, by comparison with that which they had gone through, quite salutary. The change must have taken place directly they had gone to rest, for the warm sunshine of the night had thawed the icy rigging to a great extent, so that ropes and stays had resumed their customary aspect, and the snow, which had penetrated the furled sails, was coming away in drips.

It was a wonderful and cheery change, and Steve eagerly waited for the captain’s first proceedings in this unknown land—unknown as far as any one there could say.

Watty Links was sunning himself as if in imitation of Skene, who was comfortably basking at the galley door, his head resting upon his paws, and his figure suggesting that he must be on very friendly terms with the cook.

The dog seemed to be fast asleep, but one eye opened a little as Steve approached, and his tail was raised to give three solemn raps on the deck; then, at a word, Skene sprang up, yawned, stretched himself, and followed his master.

Steve gave Watty a word, too; but that gentleman only grunted, and the lad went on to where the men were busy finishing the brushing and scrubbing of the deck.

Here he encountered Mr Lowe, the mate, who had been round the vessel in the dinghy to examine the hull as regarded damages. But she had been too well prepared for her journey into ice-land with a casing of tough wood as a kind of partial outer skin, and this had only been rubbed and channelled a little by the blocks which had tried to plough her sides, so that he had nothing but good to report to the captain, who had been about for an hour looking bright and eager for the long day’s work.

Breaking away from them, Steve joined the Norwegians, who greeted him in their frank, grave way.

“Well, Mr Steve,” said Johannes, “I suppose we shall begin hunting directly; there is plenty of game about. You and I must go and get some eggs from the shelves.”

“Eggs? there’ll be no eggs,” said Steve; “they would all be blown away by the storm. Don’t you know that these sea-birds lay their eggs on the bare stones generally? Oh, but of course you knew that,” he added hurriedly, as it struck him that the Norseman must know ten times as much as he.

“Yes,” said Johannes quietly. “I know that, and I have also noticed how wonderfully they stay on those shelves in spite of the great winds that blow. No doubt many were blown off in the storm; but many would stay.”

“Why, do the sea-birds stick them down tight?”

“No,” said Johannes, smiling. “But you have seen the strange shape of many of the eggs of sea-birds. They are not like those of other fowls.”

“No, they’re thick at one end and very thin at the other, going off quite straight instead of being rounded.”

“That is why they stay on the rocks,” said the Norseman: “when the wind strikes them the light, thin end flies round, and they begin to spin so fast that you can hardly see them turn.”

“That’s curious,” said Steve, who looked hard at Johannes, as if ready to think that the man was telling him a travellers’ tale. But the Norseman was the last man who could be expected to indulge in fiction, and the boy hastened to ask about their prospects.

“We all feel satisfied that this place abounds with game,” said Johannes. “Jakobsen here saw a couple of bears, the seals are plentiful, and we passed yesterday enough of the walrus to feel sure that there must be plenty more.”

“Here, Steve!” cried the captain just then; “breakfast! I am going up the fiord in one of the boats directly after. Do you care to go?”

“Care to go!” cried Steve. “Oh, I say, Captain Marsham, don’t leave me behind in any of your trips.”

The captain did not seem to hear him, but went to where some of the crew were busy now, unfurling and shaking out the jib preparatory to hoisting it to dry, while other men were busy with the stay-sail.

The lads brightened up at the order given, and the result was that an hour later the largest boat, well manned, and prepared for any emergencies in the way of meeting game, from walrus to wild duck, pushed off from the ship’s side, leaving her floating as snugly and as motionless as if in a dock.

The morning was glorious, and as they rowed north the various turnings of the fiord soon shut out all view of the Hvalross. After a while the huge towering cliffs, which had risen up nearly sheer from the water’s edge, began to retire, becoming less precipitous, and leaving a shore which, from being a mere ribbon, rapidly increased till there was a wide stretch of level land on either side, showing patches of green here and there where the snow had melted away; and soon after a narrow valley opened off to the right, but not going far, its upper end being choked by a glacier of great extent.

The men rowed as if glad of the chance to stretch their muscles, and soon after another valley was passed, and again another, but both on the right, the left side of the fiord being formed by a long, rocky and icy ridge, showing no gap whatever or means of getting through it toward the sea.

The valleys they still kept on passing, away east, gave plenty of promise of deer, so that, even if kept prisoners for some time, there did not appear to be any lack of food; but the other side was the more eagerly scanned by the Norsemen, who had the walrus harpoons, ropes, and lances lying ready to hand, and who longed to wield them again.

The party did not attempt to land, but travelled on for miles, and always through plenty of water, passing at last a likely-looking chasm on their left, through which ran a narrow, zigzagging, deep-looking canal; and in the hope that this might prove to be a way through to the west coast, it was left for the time being, while they pushed on for a mile or two farther. Here they came upon an unmistakable passage through a rocky defile, whose bottom was clear, dark water, going right on as far as they could see, while, leaving this too so as to finish the exploration of the main fiord first, they rowed on once more. At last, turning a headland, they came suddenly in view of a magnificent sight from the point of view of a lover of nature, but a terribly damping one to a captain whose ship was caught in a trap; for there, about a mile away, and spreading from side to side of the fiord, whose blue waters touched its foot, was another grand glacier, which looked from the distance like a frozen cataract, flowing down from high up in the mountains, to empty its solid waters into the fiord.

“No way out,” said the captain, after a few minutes’ examination of the great glacier with his glass; and he handed it to the doctor, who was fain to confess that the fiord was sealed up there as effectually as at the other end.

“It’s very grand,” he said with a sigh, “magnificent; but rather a dash to your hopes.”

“Back again!” said the captain, after Steve had had his survey as well, and longed to be rowed close up to the blue ice grottoes he could see at the foot of the glacier, beyond which many peaks towered up while the land was scored with valleys.

The oars dipped again in the blue water, and they rowed back to the rugged defile they had left to explore on their return.

Here the prospects were more cheerful as far as the boat was concerned; and they rowed at once into a chasm which seemed to be one vast rift through the mountain, as if torn open by some convulsion of nature.

There was plenty of room for the boat, and the water looked, from its blackness, of great depth; but there was room for the boat only in places, their oars almost touching the perpendicular rocks on either side, these rising so high that they almost shut out the light. There was a trace of motion, too, in this water, which soon satisfied the captain that it might be possible to pass through to the sea. And so it proved, after about an hour’s winding in and out, for the most part in twilight; for all at once the gloom gave place to a burst of sunshine, which struck in like sheaves of rays of light, and a little farther on the chasm opened out, and they were on the western side of the ridge which had divided them from the sea, while on either hand were rocks, and before them the piled-up masses of ice-floe, evidently a part of the army of floating masses which had been forced up all along the shore. This stopped further progress, and they sat with oars balanced gazing before them at a chaos of ice, where the previous day all had been open water.

At first all looked beautiful, but utterly devoid of life. Only, though, for a short time. Before long something was seen to move a short distance away; and upon the boat being paddled round an intervening block of ice, there was a sight which sent a thrill of excitement through the Norsemen, a feeling which the others shared; for there, in ample supply, they saw that which they had come for one thing to seek—a herd of the arctic sea-horses, offering themselves as a ready aim for the Norsemen’s harpoons and lances, as well as for the rifles of the captain and doctor.

“Will you try for one to-day, sir?” asked Johannes respectfully.

“It would be waste,” replied Captain Marsham. “I do not want to destroy the creatures if we cannot utilise the oil.”

“We can, sir,” said Johannes quietly. “The ship must come up to the other end of the fiord, and we can hunt here and cut up the walrus, and carry the oil out to be boiled down as easily as we could take it elsewhere.”

“Yes, you are right,” said the captain. “But how will you reach the animals?”

“You gentlemen will reach them with your guns,” said the man quietly.

“Stalk them?” said the captain.

“Yes; creep up very cautiously, for they may be shy. Try and get between them and the sea.”

So the boat was rowed close up to the edge of the forced-up ice, and the party landed for their first walrus hunt, Steve shouldering his rifle with the rest.

Chapter Twenty Five.

The Walrus’ Foe.

To stalk or crawl up to an animal within shooting distance upon a level prairie, where there is no sign of bush or tree, not so much as a big clump of grass, is a difficult task which it takes a Red Indian to achieve, with his peculiar powers of creeping along the ground almost like a caterpillar, moving, as it were, upon his crooked fingers and his toes; but out upon a rocky shore, among piled-up masses of ice, many of them big enough to hide a couple of hundred men, the stalking appeared to be simplicity itself, and the three bearers of firearms stepped jauntily along toward the walrus herd, screening themselves behind the masses of ice with more than one slip and stumble.

The scene was brilliant in the extreme, with the sun’s rays darting from the broken fragments so lately deposited by the ice pressure, which was all that remained of the terrible convulsion of nature in which the expedition so nearly came to utter destruction. Saving the cries of the sea-birds and the ripple of the waves on the shore, there was not a sound to be heard. The water had regained its balance, so to speak, and to right and left, as far as they could see, there was a dark, open space of about a quarter of a mile wide on an average between the rugged ice-piled shore and the pack, with comparatively few fragments, flashing with light as they glided along in the now gentle current.

In their passage in the boat through the gloomy chasm the cold had been intense; but a few minutes’ climbing over the ice in the clear sunshine, carrying a heavy rifle and ammunition, resulted in a pause behind a huge mass of piled-up ice, where flat piece after flat piece had been thrust one above the other, and a declaration that it was very hot.

“Hist!” whispered Johannes, who, with Jakobsen, was their companion on land once more. “A sound may alarm the walrus.”

“But I should have thought they would be tame enough up here,” said Steve. “They can’t have seen men before. Couldn’t we walk up to them boldly?”

The Norseman shook his head.

“They have other enemies beside man, sir, and they are suspicious of anything strange which they see moving. Look,” he continued, pointing downward from the height to which they had climbed.

“What at? More walrus?”

“No, sir; that shining water. We need not have left the boat. It is the continuation of the passage we came through, and you can trace it from those great blocks of ice right away in and out to the sea.”

“All but in that one place not so very far from where we left the boat.”

“Yes; the ice-floe was thrust right over it there. It may have choked it up, but perhaps there is a way under the ice. Great floes like that in motion yesterday would easily be thrust right over such a narrow canal. Look what has been done here.”