CHAPTER XI.

SURROUNDED BY ARCTIC ICE.

There is nothing more dreary or depressing in the whole experience of a fisherman’s hard life than to be awakened from a sound sleep and turned out from snug quarters to fight against ice. In either form, as it drifts down upon his vessel from arctic seas, or as it accumulates in the form of frozen spray upon her bows, until, to reduce the great weight that endangers her safety, he must attack it with axes and iron bars, it is an enemy to be dreaded and cordially hated. So, to the tired crew of the _Vixen_, the unwelcome announcement made at the close of the last chapter brought them on deck, grumbling at their hard fate and shivering in the deadly chill of the air.

There was no time to spare, for they could plainly distinguish, looming from out the gloom on their starboard bow, the vast form that threatened their destruction. They could already feel its icy breath, colder even than the chill of the night, and note that its motion, aided by converging currents of air and water, was such that within a few minutes it must sweep over the very place they were occupying.

As many as could man the bars sprang to the windlass and began to get up the anchor. One hurriedly cast off the stops from the furled foresail, while another loosed the jib. Then the former was hoisted, and at the same instant the cable was announced as “hove short;” but the anchor obstinately refused to break out. Once, twice, and again they heaved on it in vain.

The steady but silent advance of the monster now close upon them was awful in its relentlessness, and finally, given added strength by the terror of its nearness, the straining crew at the windlass made one last effort that tore the unwilling anchor from its hold just as the skipper had raised his axe to cut the cable.

The big jib seemed to run up the stay of its own accord, while powerful arms held its clew well over to windward. Breeze, who had tugged and strained with the others at the windlass until he was dripping with perspiration, sprang aft to the wheel and rolled it hard over. Then slowly, oh, so slowly! as it seemed to the breathless crew, the schooner began to pay off, and then to forge ahead. Even then they did not know but that they were too late. Already the small drift-ice pushed ahead of the berg was grinding against the vessel’s sides, while the towering mass was cutting off the wind from her sails and leaving her becalmed to await its pleasure.

It revolved slowly as it drifted, and all at once this rotary motion opened up to them a deep cleft in its formation, through which whirled a sudden gust of wind. As it struck the out-spread sails the schooner heeled over before it and bounded forward, as though only then awakened to the consciousness of her danger.

She just cleared it, and that was all. For her and her crew, five little seconds and a cat’s-paw of wind spanned the infinite gulf that separates safety from destruction, life from death. For a moment they could hardly realize they had escaped, and as the monster swept sullenly past them, still revolving like a gigantic millstone seeking to grind to powder all who dared oppose it, they gazed at it in silence and with bloodless faces.

But the reaction came quickly. The men who fish on the Newfoundland Banks learn to forget their perils almost before they have passed. At the hoarse command of “Ready about! Stand by the jib-sheets!” the crew of the Vixen seemed to awaken as from a troubled dream.

Within fifteen minutes their vessel was again at anchor in nearly the same place she had occupied before the berg drove them from it. Her sails were furled, and all who could be accommodated at the little mess-table were eating, with a relish, the breakfast that the cook had been steadily preparing amid all the exciting scenes that had just passed. He knew that, to live and to work, men must eat, and that so long as the vessel held together and floated, it was his duty to prepare food for them.

The berg that had caused all this trouble and anxiety was a solitary rover that had left its frigid companions in order to pursue its own erratic course. It was not even accompanied by large floe-cakes, but only by quantities of the small drift or “lolly” ice. This would not interfere to any great extent with the handling of the trawls, though it would render the work particularly cold and disagreeable.

As the daylight strengthened, however, practised eyes on board the _Vixen_ detected a pale glimmer on the northern horizon that indicated the presence of those vast ice-fields that frequently sweep over the Newfoundland Banks in the spring of the year. They often carry death and destruction to the fishermen and their vessels, always bring hard, dangerous work, and threaten a disastrous loss of gear. Therefore, on the present occasion the skipper hurried the men through their meal, and despatched them as quickly as possible in the dories to haul their trawls. They were ordered to cut the lines if necessary, and to return to the schooner with all speed the moment the close approach of the ice should be indicated by the signal of the ship’s flag displayed in the main rigging.

In the present position of the schooner the trawl belonging to dory No. 6 was at some distance astern of her, and our dorymates had a long pull before reaching its outer buoy. They worked like beavers in getting the trawl aboard; and as it was nearly bare of fish, the ice having seemingly driven them away, they succeeded in hauling the whole of it before the recall signal was shown.

Just as he had got in the last anchor, Wolfe, casting a glance in the direction of the schooner, observed the flag, though there was not now wind enough to flutter it, and exclaimed, “There it is, Breeze! the skipper’s giving us the recall, and he is not the man to do it until the last moment. You may count on the ice being close to her now, as well as on the fact that we’ve got a stiff pull ahead of us to get back in time.”

And it was a stiff pull. The strong young backs straightened out splendidly with every stroke, the tough oars bent and rattled sharply against their confining thole-pins, and the white water sped away from the prow of the old dory, as though she were a racing boat. But they had been too heavily handicapped; the ice had been allowed too great a start, and they were still several hundred feet from the schooner when a shout from her deck caused them to look around.

What they saw made them heart-sick, and for a moment their case seemed hopeless. They were already cut off from the vessel by several great cakes of ice that were grinding and crashing together angrily. Others were rapidly drifting into, and narrowing, the open space that still remained, and they could not see any chance of ever being able to pass this moving, treacherous barrier. All at once the loud cries and eager gestures of those on board the schooner directed their attention to a buoy lying on one of the cakes nearest to them. To their great joy they saw that to it was attached a line that was being paid out over the stern of the vessel. Somebody had been thoughtful enough to make this use of the cake as it drifted by.

Altering their direction slightly, the boys had, in a minute more, snatched the buoy from its ice raft, and Wolfe was making the line it had brought them fast to the rope becket in the bow of the dory. At the same moment a shout was heard from another direction. Looking up they saw another dory still farther off than they were, and evidently about to be cut off, not only from the schooner but from them, by the cruel ice.

As quick as thought, Breeze tossed one of their trawl buoys, with its line still attached, to the cake of ice that had brought help to them from the schooner, and which was still within reach. It fell so close to the edge that he had to pay out the line most carefully to prevent its being dragged off. In a few minutes he had the satisfaction of seeing the dory pulled alongside of the floating cake, and one of her crew step carefully out upon it, and walk towards the buoy.

His weight bore the ice down so that water began to flow over its edge; and just as he stooped to pick up the buoy, it floated and eluded his grasp. He made a clutch and succeeded in seizing it; but at the same instant his feet slipped from under him, and he plunged headlong into the cold waters.

The cry with which the unfortunate man disappeared from view was echoed from the dory he had just left. In it Hank Hoffer was now as effectually cut off from the schooner as though he were already miles away, instead of almost within reach of her.

For the time being the crew of dory No. 6 paid but little attention to him. All their energies were directed towards saving the man in the water, who had now come to the surface, still grasping the buoy. A great cake bore down upon him, and threatened to crush him, or at least to force him under. Fortunately the line by which he was held passed over it, and he was able to draw himself on to its slippery surface. From it he again went into the water, and thus, slipping, scrambling, jumping, and swimming, but always clinging to the line, he finally reached the dory, cut, bruised, and nearly exhausted.

Then the dorymates began to look after their own safety, for they were still in great danger of going adrift. A portion of the line that connected them with the schooner was under the ice, and might at any moment be cut or parted. There was also the danger that the sides of the dory might be crushed in or cut through by the heavy jagged cakes, some of which were fifty feet wide, and from five to ten feet thick. By jumping out on the larger cakes, and pulling the boat over them, pushing aside the smaller ones, tugging, straining, and working with all their might for half an hour, they finally got the line clear and above the ice. All this time those on the schooner had held it taut. Now it was a comparatively easy matter to pull the boat, with its brave crew and the man whom they had rescued, close under the stern of the vessel, and to hoist her clear of the water by the davits.

Thankful enough were the dorymates to tread once more the firm deck of the old _Vixen_, and hearty was the welcome given them by her crew. All the other dories, except that which held Hank Hoffer, had been got safely on board, some with all their trawls, and others with only portions of them. The lost dory, with its solitary occupant, had become but a dim speck against the white background of ice that now covered the sea as far as their sight could reach. The boys barely caught a glimpse of it as it was pointed out to them from the deck of the schooner before it vanished entirely. They both sprang into the main rigging to get another sight of it; but, though they climbed to the mast-head, they could not again discover it. They did, however, see several icebergs drifting in that direction, and it was with heavy hearts and very sober faces that they descended to the deck and reported the probable fate that had overtaken their shipmate. He had proved himself their enemy, and even among the rougher members of the crew he had made no friends. Still he was a human being, who for more than a week had formed one of their little community, and been thrown into close companionship with them. Now he was called upon to suffer terribly, and alone, a fate that might have overtaken any one of them, and they pitied him from the bottom of their hearts.

With the exception of a few puffy squalls, the morning had been without moving air enough to lift the ensign that still drooped listlessly from the main rigging, but about noon a breeze sprang up from the southward. With the first sign of wind the _Vixen’s_ anchor was hove up, sail was made, and she began to beat slowly in the direction taken by the missing dory, through a lead of clear water that had opened through the floe. There was not much chance that anything would ever again be seen of it or its unfortunate occupant; but they could not give him up without making an effort to save him, and so, for several hours, the almost hopeless search was continued.

Navigation was extremely difficult, for the spaces of open water were few and often very narrow. Sometimes they led abruptly into ice so closely packed that no headway could be made against it, and the schooner barely held her own, as it ground and scraped along her sides with a force that threatened to cut through even her stout planking.

At length Breeze, who had climbed to the mast-head to take a look through the skipper’s glass, reported that he could see something black that looked like a man on one of the icebergs they had noticed earlier in the day, and which they were now approaching.

After the object had been pointed out to the skipper, and he had looked at it long and carefully, he also expressed the opinion that it was a man, and ordered the schooner to be headed in that direction. Her progress was necessarily very slow, and the afternoon was well advanced before she reached a broad space of open water, beyond which rose the iceberg. It was now not more than half a mile from them; but it was surrounded by an apparently impassable barrier of floe ice. This, though in motion, was so densely packed along its outer edge that the vessel could not be forced into it. Again and again was the attempt made, but it only resulted in failure, and each successive shock threatened her with irreparable damage.

At length these efforts were abandoned, and the schooner began to cruise up and down along the barrier, seeking for some opening through which she might pass. The black object on the iceberg had remained in sight long enough for them to be certain that it was a man, but then it had disappeared. This disappearance greatly puzzled the _Vixen’s_ crew. Some of them said he must have slipped off the ice into the water, and been drowned, or else he would certainly have remained in sight to make signals to them. Others thought perhaps the berg had swung round so as to hide him from them, and that he was unable to reach any point from which he could be seen. Among the latter were Breeze and Wolfe, who, as time wore on, became very impatient at the delay caused by the icy barrier.

“If we do not get to him soon,” said Breeze, “he will certainly freeze to death. Wolfe, don’t you think we could get our dory across the floe to that iceberg, if we should try?”

“You don’t mean to say that you’d be willing to try it for the sake of that fellow, do you?” exclaimed his companion in amazement. “Why, man, the chances would be ten to one, yes a hundred to one, against your ever getting back to the schooner again.”

“That may all be,” replied Breeze, “but if they were a thousand to one against it I’d rather take the one chance than to go off and leave that poor fellow to die there without even trying to save him. I believe it can be done, and I’m going to ask the skipper to let me go.”

“Well,” said Wolfe, “you are the softest and the pluckiest fellow I ever met. I don’t believe the skipper will hear of your going, but if he should you sha’n’t go alone.”

“I was sure you’d say that!” cried Breeze, “and I’m just as sure that we’ll succeed if we are only allowed to try my plan.”

The skipper hesitated some time before giving his consent to the scheme proposed by Breeze; but at length, finding that no further headway could be made by the schooner, he yielded reluctantly, and said they might make the attempt.

The rest of the crew tried to dissuade the boys from such a foolhardy undertaking, “especially,” as one of them said, “when the man doesn’t show up, and is probably gone long before this.” When they found them determined to go, however, they lent them every assistance in their power.

Before starting, both the boys drank a cup of hot coffee and ate a hasty luncheon. Into dory No. 6 they put a box of provisions, two pairs of blankets, a coil of rope, and a hatchet. Their water-keg was already full. The skipper promised to remain within sight of that iceberg until they returned, or until he knew what had become of them, and as they started the crew gave them a hearty cheer.

They found it hard and tedious work to get their dory over the first barrier of ice, which was about a hundred yards wide. After that was passed they progressed more rapidly, and discovered so many little lanes of open water that they reached the berg much more easily than they had expected to.

As they rowed alongside of it they discovered a small level place, close to the water’s edge, upon which a landing could be made. The ends of the berg rose into points fifty or sixty feet high, but above this point was a depression that did not rise more than twenty feet above the water.

When they reached this place Breeze said, “Let me land here, Wolfe, and climb up to the top, where I can look over, while you stay in the dory.”

So saying, and taking the hatchet with him, he stepped out on the ice, and began slowly to make his way up the gentle but slippery incline. As he reached the top he stood there for a moment looking around, and then turned as though about to call out to his friend. Suddenly he seemed to slip, and to Wolfe’s dismay he threw up his arms, uttered a loud cry, and disappeared.