While Andy still kept out of sight, Chet sauntered slowly across the depot platform, as if looking for somebody. Josiah Graham stared at him and leaped to his feet.
“Wot you a-doin’ here?” demanded the lazy man.
“Oh!” cried Chet, in well-assumed surprise. “Is Andy with you?” he questioned, anxiously.
“No, he ain’t,” snapped Josiah Graham.
“Do you know where he has gone?”
“Don’t you know?”
“He was at our hotel yesterday, but he isn’t there now.”
“Mebbe he’s on thet ship,” sniffed Josiah Graham.
“No, he isn’t on that ship, either.”
“Wasn’t he a-goin’ to sail with you?”
“So he said, but——” Chet paused. “Then you really don’t know where he is?”
“If I do, I ain’t a-goin’ to tell you, Chet Greene.”
“Don’t be hard on me, Mr. Graham, now I am down on my luck.”
“Humph! It’s your own fault you ain’t got no work. Why didn’t you stay around Pine Run?”
At this question Chet only sighed. He took on a very forlorn look.
“Would you—er—would you——”
“Wot?”
“I hate to ask it, but would you mind lending me the price of a ticket for Pine Run?” he said, falteringly.
“Me?” shrilled Josiah Graham. “Not much I won’t! You go an’ earn your money, young man. Serves you right if you are out o’ pocket an’ ain’t got a cent.”
“Then you won’t—er—even give me the price of a—er—a dinner?”
“Not a cent! You don’t deserve it. I see how it is,” went on Josiah Graham, craftily. “Thet man who owns the ship has got sick o’ you an’ Andy, too, an’ don’t want nuthin’ more to do with yer! Well, I don’t blame him. Now ye can both go back to Pine Run an’ go to work.”
“How can a fellow get back if he hasn’t the price of a ticket?” asked Chet, in a hopeless fashion, although he could scarcely keep from laughing.
“Go to work an’ earn money, I tell yer! I have to do it, an’ you ain’t no better nor I be.”
“Have you been working?”
“O’ course I’ve been working.”
“Then you won’t even give me ten cents for some bread and coffee?”
“No. Go to work—it will do yer good.”
“Will you tell me about Andy?”
“Well, if ye want to know so awful bad, Andy has gone back to Pine Run. He has found out the errors o’ his ways, an’ has sent fer me to take care o’ him. I don’t think he’ll be a-runnin’ away ag’in very soon.”
“Too bad! too bad!” And the mischievous Chet placed a handkerchief to his eyes.
“It’s wot a boy gits when he won’t mind his uncle,” went on Josiah Graham, stiffly. “After this I guess he’ll toe the mark! It’s a pity you ain’t got nobuddy to bring you to your senses.”
“Maybe you’d like to take me under your care?” suggested Chet, with a most woe-begone look on his face.
“No—I got my hands full with Andy. Here is my train, so I can’t talk to yer no longer. Go to work an’ earn somethin’ to eat, an’ the price o’ a railroad ticket.” And then Josiah Graham swung himself aboard the train, which pulled out from the station a moment later.
“Oh, Chet, how could you do it!” roared Andy, when the chums were alone. “I thought I’d split, listening to the talk!”
“Wouldn’t even give a fellow the price of a meal,” returned Chet, coolly. “Well, I rather think he’ll be surprised when he gets back to your cabin and finds everything locked up.” And then he, too, laughed heartily over the trick that had been played on Andy’s shiftless relative.
“Off at last, Chet!”
“Yes, and your Uncle Si didn’t stop you, either!” responded Chet, with a broad grin.
“If only we could have seen him when he got to the cabin!” exclaimed Andy. “I’ll wager he was mad!”
“Well, boys, it will be a long while before you see the United States again,” remarked Barwell Dawson as he came up. “So use your eyes for all they are worth.”
“Just what we are doing,” answered Andy.
The Ice King had cast off her lines quarter of an hour before, and a steam tug had headed her out of the harbor of Rathley. Now, under the steam of her own powerful engines, she was heading straight out into the Atlantic Ocean.
It was an ideal day, and the boys were in the best of spirits, even though they were leaving their native land for the first time. Chet was full of the hope that in some manner he would hear something about the missing whaler and his father.
The Ice King was loaded “to the brim,” as Andy expressed it. Below, every available space was filled with provisions and other necessities, and coal, and on deck many bags of coal were piled up amidships.
“To get through the ice, the ship must have a good head of steam on,” said Mr. Dawson. “And to have that, we’ve got to have coal, or oil.”
“How soon do you suppose we’ll strike ice?” questioned Chet.
“Oh, any time after we round the coast of Nova Scotia.”
At the last moment some extra supplies had come on board, and these were still awaiting proper distribution. The boys watched land slowly disappear in the blue haze of distance, and then set to work to assist in making everything ship-shape.
“It will seem queer to live on a ship, I’m thinking,” said Chet.
“I hope we don’t get sick,” answered his chum.
“Oh, I don’t think we shall.”
“Don’t be too sure.”
The boys had already become acquainted with the other members of the party, Dr. John Slade, a quiet but friendly gentleman, who had once spent two years in lower Greenland, and Mr. Samuel Camdal, an old hunter, who had shot with Barwell Dawson in the far West and in Africa. Mr. Camdal could tell some famous stories,—of hunting, and of narrow escapes from wild animals,—and the lads felt that he would make good company during the days when there was not much to do.
It was a real pleasure for the lads to put their stateroom in order. Although the room was small, it had a homelike air about it that was pleasing. Neither lad was burdened with excess baggage, so they were not as crowded as they might otherwise have been.
The course of the Ice King was to be up the coast of Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, and then into Davis Strait, to Baffin Bay. The boys had studied the chart thoroughly, for a sea trip was altogether a novelty to them.
“Shall we stop anywhere along the coast of Greenland?” asked Chet, of Barwell Dawson.
“Yes, I have arranged to stop at Upernivik, for an extra supply of coal which a collier from the lower coast is to bring up for us.”
“How long do you suppose we’ll be at Upernivik?”
“Two or three days at least—perhaps a week.”
“And can Andy and I go ashore?”
“Certainly. But it is only a small settlement, and you won’t find much of interest.”
“I wanted to make inquiries about the Betsey Andrews.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I’ll help you, Chet. But don’t be too sanguine. You may not hear a word of the whaler.”
“I want to do all I can to hear from my father.”
“I don’t blame you. I’d be that way myself, if my father were missing.”
In a few hours the Ice King was out on the broad Atlantic. The long swells made the steamer roll a good deal, and soon the two boys felt this in their legs, and then in their stomachs. Each looked at the other in a woe-begone manner.
“What’s the matter?” asked Andy.
“Nothing,” returned Chet, manfully striving to overcome a feeling he could not subdue. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing much, only—I—I feel sort of crawly inside.”
“You’re seasick, Andy!”
“How about yourself?” retorted Andy, and he made a movement toward the side of the steamer.
“I guess I—I am—with—you!” gasped Chet, and also ran for the rail.
After that, the two chums lost all interest in living for several hours. They felt as miserable as a person with a dose of seasickness can feel. They remained on deck for a while, and then sought the seclusion of their stateroom. Here Dr. Slade came to their assistance.
“Two more down, eh?” said the physician, with a little smile. “Well, I’ll do what I can to fix you up,” and he brought forth his medicine case.
“Wh—who else is sick?” asked Andy. In seasickness, “misery loves company” every time.
“Mr. Camdal and Ben Haven, the first mate.”
“The first mate?” queried Chet, between his groans. “Do sailors get sick?”
“Some of them do. I know the captain of an ocean liner who has crossed the Atlantic forty or fifty times. He told me confidentially that he is sick about every third or fourth voyage. It’s just the condition his stomach happens to be in.”
“Then it isn’t so—so babyish after all,” said Chet, and that gave him a grain of comfort.
The doctor did what little he could for the two lads, and by noon the next day they felt quite like themselves. Let me add, that during the remainder of the voyage they were not seasick again.
Although well weighted by her heavy cargo, and by the extra planking on her sides, and extra bracings inside, the Ice King made good time on her trip. It was summer, yet as the vessel turned northward it became colder daily, and soon the boys were glad enough to take Barwell Dawson’s advice and don heavier underwear. Then, as it grew still colder, they put on thicker outer garments also.
“I think we’ll see some icebergs soon,” announced Captain Williamson, one evening. “I can feel ’em in the air,” and he threw back his head to take in a deep breath. Many old sailors who have been in northern waters affirm that they can often “smell” icebergs before the bergs can be seen.
The boys retired as usual that night, and slept soundly until about five o’clock in the morning, when a tremendous thump on the vessel’s side aroused them and threw Chet sprawling on the floor.
“For goodness’ sake! what’s that!” gasped the lad, as he scrambled up.
Before Andy could speak there came another tremendous thump, which added to their alarm. A series of smaller thumps followed. On deck they heard Captain Williamson giving a series of rapid-fire orders.
“I think I know what’s up!” cried Andy, at last, as he donned his clothing with all possible speed. “We’ve struck some floating ice.”
“That must be it,” answered Chet, and he, too, began to dress with dispatch.
When the youths reached the deck, a cry of astonishment burst from their lips. It seemed as if during the night the Ice King had entered another world. On all sides were large and small cakes of floating ice, and in the distance half a dozen big icebergs loomed up.
“Looks as if we were getting to the North Pole fast,” remarked Andy, grimly.
“Phew! but it’s cold!” added Chet, as he buttoned his clothing tightly about him.
“Well, boys, how do you like this?” sang out Barwell Dawson, as he noticed them.
“Got into it kind of sudden like, didn’t we?” asked Chet.
“I think so, although the captain said last night to expect it.”
“Shall we have this all the way up now?” asked Andy.
“Hardly. I think, and so does Captain Williamson, that there is clear water beyond.”
The captain was on deck with his glass, scanning the ocean ahead anxiously. Several large icebergs appeared to be drifting directly toward the steamer, and he gave orders that the course be changed slightly.
“The Ice King won’t mind the small ice,” said he, “but there is no sense in trying the big bergs, yet. We’ll get all we want of that later.”
“Right you are, sir,” responded Barwell Dawson. “Don’t take any chances when they are not necessary.”
After watching the ice for a while the boys went below for breakfast. At the table they sat down with Professor Jeffer and Dr. Slade.
“I am going to try to get some photographs of the icebergs,” said the professor. “I trust we get close enough to them to get some good views.”
“They ought to make good pictures,” responded the doctor.
All the while the boys were eating, the small cakes of ice thumped against the sides of the steamer. But this did no damage, although, as the professor explained, there was danger of some ice getting caught in the propeller.
“And we can’t afford to have that damaged,” he added.
When the boys came on deck again, they saw that the Ice King was much closer to several of the large icebergs. In fact, the steamer appeared to be picking her way through a veritable field of floating ice.
“It is much thicker than the captain expected,” said Barwell Dawson, gravely.
“Is there any danger?” asked Andy, quickly.
“There is always danger when so much ice is floating about. But we hope to get through all right.”
The lads could readily see that not only Mr. Dawson, but also the captain, mate, and sailors were much concerned. Captain Williamson still had his glass in use, and was scanning the sea ahead.
“I think we can make it,” he said to Mr. Dawson. “But it is going to be a tight squeeze.”
“Well, we don’t want such a tight squeeze that we get our ribs stove in,” answered the explorer.
“Are we going to pass between the icebergs yonder?” asked Chet.
“We’ll have to—to reach the clear sea beyond,” answered the captain.
The speed of the steamer had been reduced, and the course again changed. They were pushing away from one of the big bergs that seemed to tower up into the sky like some giant of the polar regions.
“If that iceberg hit us, it would knock us to flinders,” was Chet’s comment, as he viewed the oncoming mass.
On one side of the ship were the icebergs, and on the other the floating cakes, the latter growing thicker every minute. The Ice King was turned into the floating cakes, which thumped and bumped loudly on the bow and sides. Then came an unexpected crashing from the stern.
“What’s that?” cried the mate, who was at the wheel, steering under Captain Williamson’s directions.
“Ice in the propeller!” answered a sailor.
As he spoke the engine stopped, and in a twinkling the steamer swung around until her bow pointed directly toward the big iceberg.
“Look! look!” yelled Andy. “We are going to be hit, sure!”
“If we are, we are doomed!” echoed Chet.
Before anything could be done the big iceberg came drifting on them, slowly and majestically, a very mountain of crystal-like whiteness. So terrible was it that it fascinated the boys, who could do nothing but stare in commingled wonder and horror. An upper mass of the iceberg hung over the top, as if ready to fall and crush the steamer beneath it.
A moment passed—to the lads it seemed an eternity,—and then the big iceberg scraped the side. There was a strange grinding and crashing, and some pieces of ice came showering on the deck. Then the steamer began to rock, and some of the shrouds became entangled in the mass that overhung the deck. The Ice King commenced to move backward.
“We are being carried along by the iceberg!” cried Barwell Dawson, and his words told the truth of the awful situation.
It was certainly a time of extreme peril, and the boys realized it fully as well as did the men. The steamer was caught in the grip of the big iceberg, and the deck was directly beneath an overhanging portion that might at any time break off and crush the vessel and all on board.
Captain Williamson had run aft to learn what could be done with the propeller, and he had already told the mate to get the sailors out with fenders to save the ship as much as possible from chafing on the side of the berg.
“The loose ice on the other side helps to keep us against the big berg,” said Barwell Dawson.
“I have tried to get some pictures, but the big iceberg is too close,” came from Professor Jeffer, who was as cool as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“Well, we’re going to get away from it mighty quick,—if we can,” answered Mr. Camdal, pointedly. The close quarters did not suit him any better than it suited Mr. Dawson and the boys.
To clear the propeller a man had to be hoisted over the stern in a sling. He carried with him a pickpole, and with this dug out the cake which had become caught in the blades of the propeller.
This work had hardly been accomplished when another grinding sound came from the big iceberg, and a shower of small ice came down on the forecastle, knocking out several lights of glass. Andy was struck on the head and hurled flat.
“Oh, Andy, are you hurt?” cried Chet, in alarm, as he rushed to his chum’s assistance.
“Not much, but that was a pretty good crack,” was Andy’s reply, as he felt his head where a lump was rapidly rising.
“You boys had better go below,” said Barwell Dawson. “You can’t do anything up here, and you may get a worse dose next time.”
But the lads were loath to retire, and so lingered on the deck, but took good care to keep out of the way of the ice that fell a little later.
Finding that the propeller would now work, Captain Williamson gave orders for full speed astern. As soon as the engines started there was more crashing of ice, the small stuff being ground down under the ship, and the ice of the pinnacle breaking off along the shrouds. Everybody on deck had to get out of the way, for the deck took on the appearance of “an ice-house upset,” as Chet put it, big chunks of the frozen material lying in all directions.
“Hurrah! we are leaving the big iceberg behind!” cried Andy, a few minutes later, and his words proved true.
“I can see clear water ahead!” called out Professor Jeffer, shortly afterwards, and then he turned, to get the photographs he wanted of the big iceberg.
The report concerning open water was correct, and, having left the vicinity of the big iceberg, Captain Williamson had the steamer steered in something of a big circle. Thus they avoided all but the small ice. The latter, however, thumped and bumped on the bow and sides as strongly as ever, and once there came a shock that threw everybody on the deck headlong.
“I hope that doesn’t damage us any,” observed Andy, when this new scare was over.
“It may start some of the seams,” answered Barwell Dawson, “although the vessel was reënforced to withstand just such knocks.”
Inside of an hour the Ice King had passed all the big icebergs and a large portion of the floating cakes. Clear blue water was ahead, for which all on board were thankful.
“I didn’t expect this, so far south,” said Captain Williamson, after making a tour of the ship, and having had the deck cleaned up. “It is unusual.”
“I know it,” answered Barwell Dawson. “I am thankful we didn’t run into the big iceberg at night.”
“Yes, darkness would have made the situation much worse.”
“Have we started any of the ship’s seams?” asked Dr. Slade.
“Not as far as I have been able to discover.”
The boys went to the forecastle to see what damage had been done there, and found the ship’s carpenter putting in some new lights of glass. One sailor had received a black eye from a chunk of falling ice, but otherwise little bodily harm had resulted.
“Well, I call that a narrow escape,” said Andy, after the excitement was over.
“So do I,” responded Chet. “I don’t want another such experience.”
“You will have to go through harder things than that up north,” said Barwell Dawson, who overheard the talk.
“We’ll be prepared then,” answered Andy. “This wasn’t expected.”
“I am afraid you boys don’t realize what you are up against,” went on the hunter and explorer. “We are going to face many perils in the polar regions. If you feel you don’t want to go further, you can leave us when we get to Upernivik.”
“No! no! we want to see this thing through, perils or no perils,” cried Andy, hastily.
“Indeed we do!” added Chet. “I guess you’ll find we can stand as much as anybody after we get used to it.”
Late that afternoon the steamer came in sight of a large flock of wild geese. Professor Jeffer calculated that there must be thousands of them, and ran for his camera, to take some snap-shots.
“Can’t we do a little shooting?” asked Chet, of Mr. Dawson. “They are heading this way.”
Permission was granted, and both boys rushed below for shotguns. When they came up, the geese were flying almost directly over the Ice King, uttering their strange cries as they did so.
It did not take Andy and Chet long to get into action, and both shotguns spoke up at almost the same time. Each youth fired twice in rapid succession. The geese were so thick they could not help but strike some of them, and three came fluttering down on the deck of the vessel.
“Not a bad haul,” was Barwell Dawson’s comment. “Now you can have roast goose stuffed with onions for tomorrow’s dinner.”
“And we’ll invite all hands to join us,” answered Chet, gaily. “I guess there will be enough to go around.”
“I don’t know about this shooting birds from the ship,” said Captain Williamson, in a low voice. “Some of the sailors don’t believe in that sort of thing. They think it brings bad luck.”
“What do you think?” asked Chet.
“Oh, I am not superstitious,” responded the commander.
The master of the vessel was right—some of his hands were very superstitious—and these deplored the killing of the geese, and refused to touch any of the meat when it was cooked.
“We’ll have trouble, see if we don’t,” said one sailor.
“Maybe it will sink us,” said another, with a serious shake of his head. Then they muttered among themselves, and cast ugly glances at Andy and Chet.
“Too bad,” whispered Chet to his chum. “If I had known the sailors would take it so seriously, I’d not have shot those geese.”
“Oh, the affair will soon blow over,” was Andy’s answer. But his surmise did not prove correct.
In the morning the boys heard that the Ice King had sprung several leaks. The captain had had the well-hole sounded, and had ordered the pumps started.
“The icebergs and the floating cakes did it,” said Barwell Dawson. “I was hopeful we would escape, but it seems not.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Andy.
“I don’t know yet—we’ll see how bad the leaks are.”
The ship’s carpenter was below, examining the seams, and now Captain Williamson and Barwell Dawson joined him. A thorough examination was effected, and when the party came on deck again they were talking earnestly.
“It’s pretty bad, I guess,” said Andy to Chet.
A consultation took place in the cabin, between the captain and the explorer, and at the conclusion the course of the vessel was changed.
“Instead of heading for Upernivik we are going to put in at Holstenborg for repairs,” explained Barwell Dawson to Professor Jeffer and the others. “I am sorry for the delay, but it cannot be helped. The ice must have hit us harder than we thought.”
“Well, the delay won’t worry me,” answered the scientist, calmly. “It will give me a chance to see something of another part of Greenland.”
“Where is Holstenborg?” questioned Chet.
“It is on the western coast of Greenland, about four hundred and fifty miles below Upernivik. It is not much of a place, but Captain Williamson thinks it would be unwise to attempt to reach Upernivik in our present condition.”
“Well, I don’t care if we do land further down the coast,” said Chet, thinking that here would be another chance to make inquiries concerning the lost whaler.
It soon became whispered around that the Ice King was leaking badly. Some of the hands took the matter calmly, but others were excited.
“It’s because those geese were shot,” cried one sailor. “It was wrong to do it, and I said so.”
“Those boys ought to be heaved overboard,” said another.
“Right you are,” answered the tar who had first found fault.
Some of this talk presently reached the ears of Ben Haven, the mate, and watching his chance, he came up to where Chet and Andy were standing amidships.
“I want to tell you lads something,” said he in a low voice.
“What is it?” asked Chet.
“If I were you boys, I’d not walk forward for the present,” went on Ben Haven. “Some of the sailors are down on you for killing those geese. Better keep out of their way until we reach port—which will be tomorrow morning.”
“Why, do you think they’d try to—to harm us?” asked Chet.
“They might—if matters get worse with the ship. Some sailors are awfully headstrong when they get frightened.”
Chet and Andy promised to heed the warning, although both were inclined to laugh at it. They kept away from the forecastle, and it was not until after supper that one of the sailors came near them. It was then reported that the steamer was leaking worse than before, and the pumps were kept going constantly.
“You boys are responsible for this,” said the sailor. He was a tall, thin individual, who rejoiced in the name of Pep Loggermore.
“What do you mean?” demanded Chet, stiffly.
“You know well enough what I mean,” growled the tar. “If we go to the bottom, there won’t be nobody to blame but you!”
“That’s nonsense,” broke in Andy. “The ice started the ship’s seams—we had nothing to do with it.”
“You shot them geese, and——”
“Oh, that’s foolishness!” cried Chet. “We don’t want to hear it. A man with sense ought to know better than to talk that way.”
“I know what I am talking about,” grumbled Pep Loggermore.
“You go on about your business,” said Andy, sharply.
Loggermore was about to argue some more, when Captain Williamson put in an appearance. He slouched off, but when out of sight, turned and shook his fist at the youths.
“I ain’t going to sail with no such fellers as you,” he muttered to himself. “And I don’t think the other men will want to sail with you, either. If we ever get ashore alive, we’ll see to it that you two fools don’t come aboard again!”
“What did that fellow want of you?” demanded the captain, of the chums.
“Oh, it wasn’t much,” answered Andy, evasively. He did not want to get Loggermore into trouble.
“Did he threaten you?”
“He didn’t like it, because we shot the geese,” said Chet.
“What tomfoolery!” muttered the captain. “Well, if he bothers you again, let me know, and I’ll teach him to mind his own business.”
“What about the leaks, Captain?” asked Andy, to change the subject.
“They are pretty bad, but I hope to reach port without serious trouble,” was the reply.
But the look on the face of the commander of the Ice King showed that he was greatly worried.
There was a good deal of ice near the coast, yet, by setting a constant watch in the crow’s nest of the steamer, Captain Williamson was able to steer a fairly straight course for Holstenborg.
“It is only a small Danish settlement,” said Barwell Dawson, in reply to a question from Chet. “Ordinarily, on account of the marine laws made by Denmark, we might have trouble in landing, but being in need of repairs, I fancy there will be no difficulty.”
A little later land was discovered, and presently the coast loomed up, dark and rocky, with the mountain tops covered with snow and ice. Then, through the glasses, they made out a few buildings, of stone and wood, clustered together near a natural harbor.
“Not much of a town, that’s sure,” was Andy’s comment.
Signals were set, and as the steamer came to anchor, a small boat came out from shore. It contained one of the government officials, a round-faced, pleasant-looking Dane, with yellowish hair and mild blue eyes.
It was with some difficulty that matters were explained, and then arrangements were made to have the Ice King towed to a spot where the necessary repairs could be made. Work on the vessel began the next day, and while this was going on the boys received permission to go ashore.
They found but little to see. There was a mine back of the settlement, where ore was being blasted out, and they watched several blasts go off. Then they walked to where a fishing vessel had just come in with, a large quantity of seals, and some fish which were called cod, but which they found to be of a different variety from those caught off the New England coast.
“Those seals ought to be valuable,” said Andy. “Think of the price of a sealskin coat!”
“Not this kind of seal,” answered Professor Jeffer, who chanced to be near at the time. “The seals from which we get sealskin coats such as you refer to come from the coast of Labrador and from Alaskan waters. These seals, as you will find by close examination, do not have a skin of fur, but one of hair, like a horse. But the Esquimaux use them for garment-making. An Esquimau woman will make herself a very fine dress out of these sealskins.”
The boys watched the fish and seals taken ashore, and then caught sight of a man in the crowd who looked as if he might be American or English.
“I’d like to talk to that man,” said Chet, and watching his chance, he called to the individual. The fellow called back, and when his work was ended, walked over to the boys.
“My name is Rooney, Jack Rooney,” he said after the youths had introduced themselves. “I’m from New Brunswick, although I once lived in Maine. Glad to know you.” And he shook hands.
“Have you been along the coast of Greenland long?” asked Chet.
“About fifteen years, off and on.”
“Then you must know something about the whalers that come up here.”
“Yes, I’ve been aboard plenty of ’em,—one time and another.”
“Did you ever see the Betsey Andrews?”
Jack Rooney stood for a moment in deep thought, and then scratched his grizzled chin.
“How long ago is it she was in these parts?”
“Oh, two years ago at least.”
“Who was her captain, do you know?”
“Captain Jacob Spark.”
“Spark? Oh, yes, I remember him! A one-armed man, an old war veteran.”
“Yes, I was told he had but one arm.” Chet’s heart began to beat a little faster. “Then you remember him and his ship?”
“Oh, yes.”
“My father was on board the Betsey Andrews. He shipped the last time she left New Bedford.”
“I see.”
“She never came back, and I can’t find out what became of her,” continued Chet.
“What! was she lost at sea? But hold on, I remember hearing something about that.” Jack Rooney scratched his head. “Let’s see, who was it told me? Oh, I remember now, Tom Fetjen. He told me something about her getting fast in the ice, but I don’t remember the particulars.”
“Who is Tom Fetjen?”
“Oh, he’s a fellow who travels up and down the Greenland coast, bartering with the Esquimaux—in a small way, you know.”
“You don’t remember what he said about the Betsey Andrews?”
“None of the particulars, no. But Fetjen could tell you, I am sure. He knew this one-armed Spark quite well. Often told stories about the captain.”
“Where is Tom Fetjen now?”
“I don’t know, but maybe I can find out,” answered Jack Rooney.
The fisherman became interested in the boys, and had Chet tell more about his missing parent. Then he went in search of some men who had business dealings with Tom Fetjen, and talked to them in Danish.
“They say Tom Fetjen went up the coast to Upernivik,” said Rooney, after the interview. “If your ship is bound for that port, you’ll probably find him there. He owns a boat called the Northland, a little two-master.”
This was all the information Chet could obtain in Holstenborg concerning the missing whaler.
“Well, that’s something,” said Andy. “You can talk to this Tom Fetjen when we reach Upernivik.”
“If he doesn’t leave there before we arrive.”
“Rooney said he was apt to stay there quite a while, Chet.”
“I know he did. Well, I suppose I can only wait and see.” And Chet heaved a deep sigh.
While Andy and Chet were ashore interviewing Jack Rooney and others who could speak English, Captain Williamson was waited on by three of his hands. The delegation was headed by Pep Loggermore.
“What do you want?” demanded the master of the Ice King, briefly. He could readily see that trouble was brewing.
“We came to speak about them boys,” replied Loggermore, doggedly. “We been talkin’ amongst ourselves, and we don’t want to take no more chances.”
“What boys?” asked the captain, although he knew perfectly well who were meant.
“The boys that shot them geese and brought us bad luck.”
“See here, Loggermore, this is all nonsense.”
“Excuse me, Cap’n, but it ain’t nonsense at all. We talked it over, and we are sure it was the killin’ of them geese——”
“You talk like a fool,” interrupted the master of the steamer. “Those boys are no more responsible for our ill luck than you or I. The ice knocked us a bit too hard, that’s all.”
“We want them boys kept ashore!” cried Pep Loggermore. “Ain’t that so, mates?” he added, turning to his companions, and they nodded.
“What! Are you going to try to dictate to me?” roared Captain Williamson.
“We ain’t asking anything but what’s right. We——”
“Not another word, Loggermore. Go for’ard, all of you, and don’t let me hear another word of this nonsense,” said the captain, sharply.
“But, Cap’n——”
“Not another word, I told you, unless you want the cat!” answered Captain Williamson.
He drew himself up, and his eyes flashed dangerously, and the men silently left him and resumed their work in the forward part of the ship.
“Sailors are queer fellows,” was Dr. Blade’s comment. “Once they get an idea in their heads, you can’t drive it out.”
“I’ll drive it out, don’t fear!” answered the captain.
“It is too bad that the boys have made such enemies,” went on the ship’s physician. “I am afraid it will spoil a good deal of their pleasure.”
When the chums came back to the steamer that evening, they noticed that two of the sailors looked at them darkly. Yet nothing was said to them of what had occurred, the sailors being afraid to speak, and the others not wishing to make the boys uneasy.
But among the sailors there was quite a talk over Andy and Chet.
“We’ll make ’em stay ashore if we can,” said Loggermore. “Just wait until we are ready to sail. I am not going to trust myself with fellows like that to bring me bad luck.”
The repairs to the Ice King took the best part of a week to make, but at the end of that time the ship’s carpenter pronounced the craft as seaworthy as ever.
“She may stay up here for a year now, and never start those seams again,” he said.
“Let us hope so,” answered Barwell Dawson. “A leaky ship isn’t at all to my liking.”
Pep Loggermore and a crony watched for a chance to catch Andy and Chet ashore. What the sailors might have done, there is no telling, but certainly they would have done all in their power to prevent the boys from returning to the Ice King. But the lads kept on the vessel, there being nothing more to visit on land.
“We might heave ’em overboard some night,” suggested Loggermore, but the other sailor would not listen to this proposal. He was willing to have the youths left behind, but that was as far as he cared to go.
“Never mind, we can watch them at Upernivik,” said the tar. “There will be a better chance to leave them behind there than there was here.” And with this proposal the affair rested, although Loggermore declared that if there was any more killing of birds from the ship he would heave the boys overboard sure. This may seem a terrible threat to some of my readers, but they must remember that some sailors, especially ignorant ones, are extremely superstitious, and they deem the killing of a bird at sea the worst kind of a bad omen.
The run up the Greenland coast was made without unusual incident. They passed a number of icebergs, but always at a distance, and the small ice did not bother them seriously. The weather moderated a little, so that life on deck proved delightful. The boys saw more wild geese, some ducks, and also some northern petrel, but, warned by Captain Williamson, did no more shooting.
“Upernivik is about the last settlement north of any importance,” said Professor Jeffer to the boys. “It can be called the most northern town in the world. It is a trading station for the Esquimaux, and also has a mine, from which large quantities of cryolite are obtained.”
“And what is cryolite?” asked Chet, curiously.
The professor smiled faintly. “It is a substance, found only in Greenland, from which washing soda is made, and also some kinds of baking powder. The metal, aluminum, is obtained from it, and it is also used in the making of certain kinds of glass. Greenland has a very large stratum or deposit of cryolite, and it is a source of considerable revenue to the mine owners, and also to the Danish government, the latter putting a heavy export tax on it.”
It was nightfall when the steamer dropped anchor in the harbor of Upernivik. From the deck of the vessel Barwell Dawson, who had visited the settlement before, pointed out the governor’s house, the Moravian church, and other buildings.
“There are quite a number of Esquimaux here, full-blooded and half-breeds,” said he. “Most of them live in the stone huts along the mountain side.”
“What do you mean by half-breeds?” questioned Andy.
“The half-breeds are the families of the Danish men who have married Esquimaux women,” replied the explorer. “Some of the half-breeds are very intelligent, and they are also much cleaner than the full-blooded Esquimaux.”
“Are the Esquimaux very dirty?” asked Chet.
“They are the dirtiest people on earth,” was the emphatic answer. “And why shouldn’t they be? They never wash, and the only thing they rub on their bodies is whale or seal oil, to keep out the cold and to help limber them up.”
“Gracious! I shouldn’t want to live in the same house with them!” cried Andy.
“You couldn’t live with them, that is, not for any great length of time. The smell would make you sick.”
“Well, there is one piece of luck,” said Barwell Dawson, the next morning. “Our collier is here, so we can take on coal at once, and get away from here inside of three or four days.”
“Yes, we want to take advantage of the weather while it lasts,” answered the captain of the Ice King. And the task of transferring the coal began an hour later.
Andy and Chet asked for permission to go ashore, and, after word had been sent to the governor of the place, they entered a steam launch in company with Barwell Dawson and Professor Jeffer. The explorer knew what was on Chet’s mind, and aided him to find out if the Northland was at Upernivik.
“She is here,” said Barwell Dawson, after making inquiries. “I will have you taken to her.”
Chet found Tom Fetjen, a Danish-American, tall and powerful, with a shrewd but kindly face. He listened to the boy’s story with interest, and then shrugged his big shoulders.
“I no can tell you mooch ’bout dat whaler, Betsey Andrews,” he said, slowly. “I not know for truf what happen to him. But I hear som’t’ing las’ year. Two Esquimaux men come to me an’ da say dat de whaleboat he got stuck by de ice far up dare.” And Tom Fetjen waved his hand northward.
“Stuck in the ice?” queried Chet.
“Dat is what de Esquimaux men say. Da climb up de ice mountain an’ see him ship stuck fast, but go—what you say him?—float, yes, float up dat way,” and again the trader pointed northward.
“Do you mean that the Betsey Andrews got stuck in some floating ice, and was carried northward?” asked Chet.
“Yes, dat is eet. Nobody hear more of de whaleboat.”
“Where did you hear this?”
“Hear him at Etah, las’ summer.”
“How did the Esquimaux know it was the Betsey Andrews?” asked Andy.
“One Esquimau big chief, got glass to look. He see de cap’n who got de one arm. He try to git to ship, but tumble in water—’most drown heem. Den snowstorm come big an’ can’t see de ship no more.”
This was all the trader could tell. He was of the opinion, however, that the whaler had been finally crushed in the ice, and all those aboard had been lost.
But Chet would not believe this. He shut his teeth hard and looked at his chum.
“I’ve got to have positive proof before I give up,” he said, in a voice that choked with sudden emotion.
Although the boys were not aware of it, Pep Loggermore and his crony did their best to follow them around Upernivik, hoping to place them in some position whereby it would be impossible to regain the ship. But, by mere chance, the boys kept out of the sailors’ way, and when the coaling was at an end, and the Ice King sailed, they were on the ship.
“Let us try it again at Etah,” said Loggermore to his crony.
“As you please, Pep,” answered the other. His hatred of the lads who had killed the geese had somewhat subsided. But Loggermore was as much against Andy and Chet as ever. He had it firmly fixed in his mind that if they were taken along, dire disaster would surely overtake the expedition.
The course of the Ice King was now up Baffin Bay and past Cape York to the entrance to Smith Sound. Although it was midsummer, the weather seemed to grow colder hourly, and it was not long before the boys were glad enough to don additional clothing.
“As soon as we get to Etah you will get your first taste of polar exploration,” said Barwell Dawson. “We’ll go out on a hunt.”
“Is it much of a settlement?” asked Chet.
“Hardly any settlement at all. In the summer the Esquimaux have their skin tents pitched there, and in the winter they put up a few igloos, that is, ice huts, and that’s all.”
That night came another scare. They almost ran into a tremendous iceberg that towered like a giant in the water. But the lookout saw the monster just in time—it was rather foggy, or he would have seen it sooner—and they sheered to windward.
“What a high iceberg!” exclaimed Chet, when the danger was past.
“Yes, and to think that it is much deeper in the water than out of it,” added Andy.
They reached the inlet leading to Etah in a fog, and that afternoon experienced a snowstorm that lasted for over two hours. Then the weather cleared, and they made out a number of tents lining the coast. Here and there they saw some Esquimaux in their strange little boats, fishing. The natives set up a shout when the Ice King came to anchor, and some lost no time in coming on board. They were strange-looking creatures, short of form and round of face, with straight black hair and mouths unusually large. But they were good-natured, and smiled and laughed as they talked to Barwell Dawson, Professor Jeffer, and Captain Williamson, all of whom could speak a little of the Esquimaux tongue.
The boys were allowed to go on a hunt the next day. Led by two of the Esquimaux, the party went off in one of the small boats to a point where it was said game might be found. They were out for six hours with Barwell Dawson, and came back loaded down with birds, and with a small polar bear. Chet and Andy had shot the bear between them, and were proud of their haul.
“The first polar bear!” cried Andy. “I don’t think it will be the last.”
Before returning to the ship, the two boys went off on a little excursion by themselves. Pep Loggermore followed them, and tried to think of some way of keeping them from returning to the Ice King, but got no opportunity of carrying out his plan to do them harm.
At Etah a large quantity of meat was purchased from the Esquimaux, who had been awaiting Mr. Dawson’s arrival for over a month. They had been out hunting bears, musk oxen, walrus, seals, and other game for him, and they had likewise collected for him over a hundred of the best Esquimaux dogs to be found. With the dogs they brought six sledges, that were light but strong.
“My, but those Esquimaux do smell!” was Andy’s comment when ten of them came on board and took quarters in the forward part of the ship. “They smell worse than a fish market!”
The dogs were penned up, and made the air hideous with their barking and snarling. All the supplies were taken on board, and then the Ice King steamed away from Etah on her voyage into the great Unknown.
“It’s good-by now to everything, civilized and uncivilized,” said Barwell Dawson. “From now on we have got to trust to luck as to what comes.”
It was the explorer’s plan to push as far as the ice would let him into Smith’s Sound. Then, when the Ice King could sail no further, they would disembark and prepare for the coming winter—the terrible Long Night. Now it was summer, and daylight at all hours of the twenty-four.
A good deal of floating ice was encountered within six hours after leaving Etah, and after that the thumping and grinding on the sides was kept up night and day. Although the vessel had full steam up, the engines were run slowly, as too hard a crash might result disastrously. Occasionally they could make out the shore line, but usually low icebergs shut the land from sight.
“I don’t think we can go much further,” remarked Andy, on the third day out from Etah. “The ice seems to be closing in all around us.”
Nevertheless, the next day they struck a wide “lead,” and ran through this for miles. But then the ice became thicker than ever, and Captain Williamson shook his head gravely.
“Not much further, Mr. Dawson,” he said. “I think we had best make for the shore yonder,” and he pointed with his gloved hand.
“As you think best, Captain,” was the explorer’s reply. “We have now come about as far as I thought we could go.”
The boys watched the working of the vessel until late that night. When they awoke in the morning, they found that the engines had stopped. They dressed and ran on deck.
“Well, I never!” cried Andy. “We are high and dry now, and no mistake!”
All around them were immense fields of ice and snow. The Ice King had slid up on the ice, and the big, transparent blocks held her as if in a vise. Not far away was an iceberg that looked like a small mountain.
“This is as far as the ship will go,” said Professor Jeffer to the lads. “The rest of our journey will be made by walking, or on the dog sledges.”
It was so cold the boys were glad enough to hurry below and drink some steaming coffee. While eating, they learned that Barwell Dawson had already arranged to take the most of the supplies ashore and house them on a hill not far away. The Esquimaux were getting out the sledges and dogs to do the carting.
“We’ll go off on a hunt soon,” said the explorer. “But before we do that we must get ready for winter, which will ere long be upon us.”
Several days of hard labor for all hands followed, as many of the supplies were taken off the steamer and carted on the sledges to a small hill, upon which the Americans erected a living hut and a storehouse, and the Esquimaux put up half a dozen igloos and dog shelters. The boys were glad to work, for it helped to keep their blood in circulation.
The Esquimaux had a perfect system regarding their dogs and sledges, and were under the leadership of a chief named Olalola. Olalola had the largest sledge and the best dogs, and it was a sight to see him load up and start his team of half a dozen or more.
Crack! would go the whip, and away the dogs would bound with their load. Sometimes the boys or the men would ride on the sledge, and Andy and Chet thought it the best sport they had ever experienced.
A week passed, and during that time they experienced two blinding snowstorms. But then the weather cleared off as if by magic, and Barwell Dawson asked the boys if they wanted to go off on a hunt after polar bears.
“Just the thing!” cried Andy, and Chet said practically the same.
It was decided that the party should be made up of Mr. Dawson, the boys, Olalola, and several others. The Esquimau was to take along some provisions on the sledge, for it was thought the party might be out several days.
“This is something like it!” cried Chet, as they trudged along over the snow and ice. “I hope we bag about a hundred polar bears!”
“Why not make it two hundred while you are at it?” answered his chum, dryly.
The first day was a disappointment, as no game of any sort appeared in sight. But on the following morning Olalola said there were bears ahead, and they soon came upon unmistakable traces of the game.
They were going toward an icy hill, and rounding this they saw at least a dozen bears. Telling the Esquimau and the others to remain to the rear, Barwell Dawson crept up on the bears, taking Andy and Chet with him.
“Don’t fire until I give the command,” said the hunter, and both boys nodded to signify that they understood.
It was a thrilling moment for Andy and Chet, but they were used to hunting big game, so they did not get nervous. Coming up within gunshot, Mr. Dawson gave the signal, and all three fired their weapons. One bear fell dead, and another was badly wounded.
“Hurrah! that’s the way to do it!” cried Andy. “Come on, let us bag some more!”
He ran forward, and Chet and Mr. Dawson followed. The polar bears were evidently dumfounded, and did not know for the moment what to do. Some turned to run away, but others arose on their hind legs to do battle.
“Some of ’em are coming for us!” cried Chet, in alarm, and then Mr. Dawson’s rifle spoke up, and another of the big fellows was laid low. But the other bears leaped for the boys, as if to hug them to death or eat them up.
“Look out, he’s coming for you!” shouted Barwell Dawson.
Both Chet and Andy heard the words, but paid no attention. Their guns were raised, and each was aiming at the bear nearest to him. Crack! went Andy’s firearm, and the polar bear was halted by a wound in the forepaw.
Chet was not so fortunate, as his gun failed to go off. The next instant the polar bear leaped on him and bore him to the ice. As boy and beast went down, Barwell Dawson opened fire, and the bear was hit in the side, a wound that made him more savage than ever.
Although Chet was sent sprawling, he did not lose his presence of mind. As quick as a flash he rolled over, from under the very forepaws of the polar bear, and continued to roll, down a slight hill to one side.
By this time Andy and Mr. Dawson were firing again, and Olalola, coming up, used several spears with telling effect. At the increase in noise,—the Esquimau adding his yells to the cracks of the weapons,—one after another of the bears turned and commenced to run away.
“Don’t go after them!” sang out Barwell Dawson. “They may turn again, if you do. Shoot them from a distance.”
Once more he discharged his gun, and Andy did likewise. Then Chet scrambled up and used his firearm, the piece this time responding to the touch on the trigger.
Another of the bears was now killed outright, while the largest of the group was badly wounded in the hind quarters. This bear dropped behind the others and, drawing closer, Chet let him have a shot in the ear that finished him. The other beasts disappeared behind a hummock of ice, and that was the last seen of them.
“Are you hurt?” asked Andy of his chum, as soon as the excitement was over, and while all were reloading their weapons and the Esquimau was securing his spears.
“Got a scratch on the back of the neck,” answered Chet. “It’s bleeding a little, but that’s all. Say, this is a dandy haul, isn’t it?” he continued, enthusiastically.
“We must be more careful in the future,” said Barwell Dawson. “Usually polar bears are timid and run away, but these chaps must have been very hungry, and that made them aggressive.”
The largest of the polar bears was all of eight feet long, and correspondingly heavy. To lift him on the sledge was no easy task, and with the others, the hunters found they had all the game the dogs could drag over the ice and snow.
“We may as well start for the ship at once,” said Barwell Dawson. “Olalola thinks a snowstorm is coming, and we don’t want to get caught out in it if we can help it.”
They returned to where they had encamped for the night, and picked up the few belongings left there. Then they started direct for the shelters put up near the ship.
The last half-mile of the journey was covered in a heavy snowstorm, and all were glad when they caught sight of the Ice King. They found Captain Williamson and Professor Jeffer on the deck, watching for them.
“I was afraid you would be snowbound,” said the captain.
He and the professor were astonished at the sight of the polar bears. The game was taken to one of the storehouses, where some of the natives were set to work to prepare it for use during the winter now close at hand.
It had been arranged that the Esquimaux and some of the sailors were to live on shore, while Barwell Dawson and his party, and the captain and engineer and two others, remained on the steamer. Thus all had more “elbow room” than if they had crowded the entire party in one place or the other. From the hold of the vessel several large lamps were produced and put into readiness for use.
“The darkness of the winter months is the worst feature of a trip to these parts,” explained Barwell Dawson to the boys. “Of course, I hope for a great deal of moonlight, but even so the dark days are many, and lights are absolutely necessary.”
“The darkness has a strange effect on some people,” said Professor Jeffer. “I have heard of sailors going mad because of it. But I trust nothing of the sort happens to any one in our party.”
After that, there was a good deal to do for a week around the ship and up at the hut, and the days passed swiftly. Then, one clear morning, the explorer called to Andy and Chet.
“Come with me, if you want to get your last look at the sun for some months,” said he.
They left the Ice King and walked to the top of an icy cliff a mile away. Professor Jeffer was with them, and so were Dr. Slade and Mr. Camdal.
On the top of the cliff they had to wait nearly an hour before the sun showed itself. The long beams of light flashed across the ice, and then gradually grew dimmer and dimmer, and then disappeared altogether.
“Gone!” said Chet, in a low tone. All had been very silent for several minutes.
“Yes,” answered Barwell Dawson. “And you’ll not see the sun again until next February!”
“What a night!” murmured Andy, and somehow his heart seemed to sink within him.
It was a silent party that returned to the ship. Andy and Chet both began to wonder how the long spell of darkness was going to affect them.
“It won’t be so bad the first few days—or nights,” said Andy. “But after that——” He finished with a grave shake of his head.
“Let us try to occupy our minds with work and by reading,” answered Chet. “I guess it’s the only way to keep from going crazy.”
The lights were lit after that, and kept burning brightly all through the long winter—one large lamp on the deck of the Ice King, and another equally large in front of the hut on shore. Smaller lamps were likewise kept burning constantly indoors.
Hunting continued from week to week, and the boys aided in the shooting of more polar bears, and also in bringing down several large musk oxen. The musk oxen, with heads resembling big buffalo bulls, were a source of great wonder to the lads.
“This is hunting, and no mistake,” said Andy. “I wonder what the fellows in Maine would say to these, if they could see them.”
“Beats moose hunting, doesn’t it, Andy?”
“Rather. By the way, Chet, I’d like to know how my Uncle Si is making out.”
“He ought to be up here. Phew! wouldn’t he complain of the cold! It was 38° below zero this morning!”
“I know it, and Professor Jeffer says it will be colder than that before long.”
They had to guard carefully against the cold, for it would have been an easy matter to have an ear or one’s nose frostbitten. As it was, one of the sailors had a big toe “nipped” by the frost, and suffered greatly because of it. The boys found it unwise even to touch anything metallic with a bare hand, for fear the member would get “burnt” or cling fast.
It was late in November that something happened which disturbed the party not a little. Late in the day, while Andy and Chet were dozing in their bunks, they not having anything to do, there came a curious grinding sound from the sides of the Ice King.
“What is that?” asked Andy, as he sat up and rubbed his eyes.
“Bless me if I know,” responded Chet. “Let us go on deck and see.”
They donned their fur coats and mitts, and ran out on the deck just as the grinding increased. They found Captain Williamson and Barwell Dawson engaged in earnest conversation.
“It’s the ice pack,” explained the explorer. “It is closing in on us.”
“Closing in!” cried Andy. “Why, it’s as close in now as it can get!”
“Not quite,” was the grim reply.
“Why, do you mean——” Andy stopped short.
“Isn’t the Ice King strong enough to stand the pressure?” questioned Chet.
“The steamer is braced to stand a great deal. But this ice has an enormous power,” replied Captain Williamson. “If it comes against us too strongly, it may crush the ship like an eggshell.”
At first the commander could think of nothing to do to relieve the vessel, but presently it was suggested that the ice be chopped away from the bow and one side in a slanting direction. All hands, including the boys, went at the work, with picks, and crowbars, and spades.
It was a fight against nature and the elements, and never did men and boys work harder. As they labored, the ice of the vast pack continued to move closer to the ship, causing the Ice King to groan and crack in every timber.
“If she breaks, jump for your lives!” cried Captain Williamson. He was more anxious than words can describe, yet he managed to keep cool, and directed the work as well as he was able.
By night the ice had been chopped away to the depth of a foot and a half the entire length of the vessel. Then the wind, which had been blowing strongly from one direction, shifted to another, and the pressure on the vessel let up a little.
“I think we are safe for the present,” said the captain. “All hands can rest for a few hours. But come in a hurry if I blow the whistle.”
Utterly exhausted by their labors, the boys went to their stateroom and threw themselves down to rest. Both fell asleep instantly, and it seemed to Andy that he had not slept more than five minutes when Chet shook him.
“On deck!” cried the former. “The whistle is blowing!”
They had been asleep five hours, and the rest had refreshed them greatly. They hurried again to the deck, and as they did so they felt the Ice King tremble from stem to stern.
“I’d rather be outside than in—if she is going to be crushed,” said Andy, in a voice he tried in vain to steady. He well knew what it would mean to be cast away in the Arctic regions without a ship.
Again everybody was set to work to cut away the ice at the side and the bow of the Ice King. Small holes were drilled, and cartridges exploded in them to help the work along. In the meantime the crashing of the ice pack continued, as the wind, having changed to its former course, drove the great white mass tighter and tighter against the vessel.
“I am afraid the ship is doomed!” cried Professor Jeffer. He was laboring as well as his years permitted.
“A little deeper!” cried Captain Williamson. “And throw all the coal on deck overboard!”
The coal added considerable to the weight of the ship, and when this was deposited on the ice, the vessel’s draught was lessened by several inches. With a straining and cracking she came up, and then the work of cutting the ice at her side continued.
By noon, the prospect of clearing the Ice King was almost hopeless. The interior timbers were cracking, and one had snapped in twain. To prevent a conflagration, the fires were put out, and the lamps also extinguished.
“Another hour will tell the tale,” said Barwell Dawson, almost sadly. “A little more pressure, and if she doesn’t come up she will be smashed as flat as a pancake!”
Captain Williamson was now trying to raise the vessel by means of steel cables slipped under the bow and stern. The cable ends on the ice pack side were fastened down by crowbars set in deep holes, and the other ends were hauled as near taut as possible by means of temporary windlasses.
“I believe we’ll make it!” cried the captain, presently. “Now then, one more turn on the cables!”
The windlasses groaned and twisted, and then, of a sudden, one broke from its fastenings and hit the side of the ship, letting the steel cable slip down into the water. This allowed the bow to rise and the stern to go down.
“The ice pack is moving!” yelled one man. “It’s coming in for all it is worth! The Ice King is doomed!”