CHAPTER XII

TWO DAYS OUT

As the _Bird of Freedom_ closed with the snow-clad land, the precipitous nature of the coast became more and more apparent.

Steep and often overhanging cliffs reared themselves eight hundred feet or more above the level of the sea, their bases fringed by a line of foam. No sign of any landing place could be made out; the whole aspect was one of the wild grandeur of a dead land.

"We must have fetched too far to the westward," declared Ranworth, as he brought out his sextant from a locker. "Do you recognise any familiar outlines of the coast, Rogers?"

"No, sir, I don't," replied that worthy bluntly.

Ranworth questioned him no further. By the man's manner it was clearly evident that, although he put no definite obstacles in the way, he was not the least anxious to assist his employer.

"I cannot understand their attitude," soliloquised Ranworth. "Both men had good certificates and bore excellent characters. Up to a few hours ago they worked splendidly. Either their brains have been affected by the shock of their adventures in the blizzard, or else they are doing their utmost to induce me to abandon the attempt by means of the sleigh. If that's the move, by Jove, they are making a big mistake."

It was no easy matter taking an observation, owing to the liveliness of the floating sleigh, but when Ranworth had worked out his position and had pin-pricked it on a very incomplete chart of the south coast of Nova Cania, he announced that the _Bird of Freedom_ was eighty miles to the westward of Desolation Inlet.

For hours, with both the aerial and sea propellers running at their maximum speed, the _Bird of Freedom_ skirted the iron-bound coast, until a rift in the cliffs betokened the entrance to Desolation Inlet.

As the approach opened out, the lads could see that the inlet strongly resembled a Norwegian fiord. Barely a hundred yards in width, it was bordered by cliffs rising to twice that distance. How far it extended they could not see, owing to the fact that the inlet turned sharply to the right a quarter of a mile or so beyond the entrance.

"Slow her down a bit, Leslie," ordered Ranworth. "We don't want to carry on at too great a speed and barge into something. We'll have to watch for air currents, too. It looks as if there were no wind, but it may be perfectly calm out here and blowing a gale through those ravines. By Jove, there's a sea running on the bar."

"Are you going in with this 'ere hooker, sir?" asked Payne, who, unknown to Ranworth and the two lads, had come for'ard to view the approach.

"I am," replied Ranworth coldly.

"Better wait for the old _Polarity_," continued the seaman. "How can you expect a bloomin' egg-box like this to get through a smother of sea like that? It's madness. It ain't fair on us."

"When your opinion is wanted it will be asked," said Ranworth sternly.

Mumbling to himself, the man went aft, and for some minutes the two malcontents conversed in low tones.

The _Bird of Freedom_ was now nearing the foam-swept bar. Already the undulations were more rapid and erratic. With very little grip upon the water she rocked heavily. Her stability was in peril.

"Lie down, all hands," ordered Ranworth.

The order was promptly carried out, and with more than a quarter of a ton of live ballast as low down as possible, the _Bird of Freedom_ showed signs of greater stability. Although she still rolled considerably, her "recovery" was more pronounced.

It was a tough business while it lasted. Lurching over the foaming breakers, enveloped in spray as the tips of the aerial propellers whisked the steep crest of the waves, the _Bird of Freedom_ crossed the bar and was soon riding in the absolutely tranquil waters of the inlet.

So land-locked was it that not a ripple disturbed the placid surface. The hard granite rocks capped with ice and snow were faithfully mirrored in the water. It was like fairyland without life.

Rounding the next bend, the _Bird of Freedom_ found herself in a broader reach, with the cliffs considerably lower than those nearer the open sea. Once the water was violently agitated by the fall of a huge mass of ice and snow, but the ripples subsided quickly, and the surface resumed its mirror-like aspect.

"That's what we have to look out for," commented Ranworth. "There is always the risk of a miniature avalanche taking place. Farther up, I understand, there is no such danger."

For quite five miles the _Bird of Freedom_ threaded her way up the sinuous creek, till, rounding a precipitous bluff, her astonished crew found the _Polarity_ at anchor.

They could hardly believe their eyes. They had left the staunch old ship fairly imbedded in the ice. Between her and Desolation Inlet a huge, seemingly impassable ice-barrier was known to exist; yet, in spite of these difficulties, she had reached the meeting-place before her swift courier.

The noise of the _Bird of Freedom's_ aerial propellers had already announced her approach, and the _Polarity's_ lower rigging was black with fur-clad forms, as the crew cheered the rejoining sleigh.

Leslie happened to glance at his leader's face. Ranworth showed no signs of elation; on the contrary, his features wore a strained and worried look. The mystery of the _Polarity_ forestalling him had given rise to serious doubts.

"Stand by to make fast!" he ordered, at the same time telling Leslie to disconnect the air propeller shafting.

With an agility that had been foreign to them for several hours, Rogers and Payne clambered through the hatchway in the roof and prepared to receive the mooring lines from the ship.

"Look out!" shouted Captain Stormleigh in stentorian tones, at the same time pointing astern of the approaching sleigh.

The warning came too late. Sweeping down between a gap in the low cliffs, a terrific gust of wind struck the _Bird of Freedom_ on her broadside.

The next instant the sleigh was lying on its side, pinned down by the resistless force of the wind, while it drifted to leeward like a bladder.

Ranworth and his two young companions were thrown violently against the side of the cabin, where for some moments they lay half stunned. Then, slowly, as the gust eased down, the _Bird of Freedom_ righted herself.

"Start her up, Leslie," exclaimed Ranworth breathlessly, "or she'll be ashore."

But Leslie was not equal to the occasion. His brain was whirling, everything in front of his eyes seemed to be dancing.

It was Guy who saved the situation. Having got off more lightly than his chum, he retained possession of his senses. Thanks to Leslie's tuition, he now thoroughly understood how to set the motors in motion.

"Reverse her!" shouted Ranworth.

There was not room to turn. It was doubtful whether the single sea-propeller, running full speed astern, would be sufficient to check the _Bird of Freedom's_ way and convert the forward into a backward motion.

The whole fabric of the sleigh trembled under the retarded movement. Anxiously, Ranworth watched the granite cliffs now barely ten yards ahead. Nearer and nearer they appeared to approach, but more and more slowly, until, when only a hand's breadth separated the forepart of the sleigh from the rugged rocks, the _Bird of Freedom_ came to a standstill, then slowly backed astern.

Once more man's command of science had overcome the forces of Nature.

Having withdrawn to a safe distance from the ice shore, Ranworth ordered easy ahead, and put her helm hard over. By this time the squall had entirely ceased.

Just then, from sheer force of habit, Ranworth glanced at the chronometer. It had stopped.

"Strange," he thought. "It must have had a knock when we heeled."

He looked at his watch. Like the chronometer, it was an eight-day timepiece. It also had stopped.

It was not a proper occasion to go into the matter. The _Bird of Freedom_ was again approaching the _Polarity_.

"Stand by there!" he shouted to the two seamen who had been ordered to receive the securing ropes.

There was no reply. Rogers and Payne were not likely to maintain a sullen silence when within hailing distance of Captain Stormleigh.

"Perhaps it's the noise of the motors," remarked Ranworth. "Stop her, Guy."

Guy obeyed promptly. The _Bird of Freedom_ was now to leeward of the ship, and comparatively safe from any more squalls.

Leaving the helm, Ranworth agilely ascended the steel ladder communicating with the almost flat roof. As his head and shoulders drew clear of the circular hatchway, he saw that Rogers and Payne were no longer there.

A coil of rope hurtled through the air. Securing the end, he took a couple of turns round a bollard. As he did so, Ranworth noticed that most of the men of the _Polarity_ were aft, their eyes fixed in a certain direction.

A dozen boats' lengths from the ship was the _Polarity's_ cutter. The boat's crew were backing slowly, while Travers, the second mate, was standing in the stern sheets and steadying himself with the yoke-lines.

"We've lost them, sir," shouted Captain Stormleigh. "They must have sunk like stones."

The gust that had blown the _Bird of Freedom_ upon her beam ends had precipitated Rogers and Payne into the bitterly cold water. Weighed down by their heavy clothing and sea boots, they had sunk immediately.

Having made fast the second line, Ranworth hurried below to acquaint Leslie and Guy with the news of the fatality.

"Do not say a word about the insubordination of those poor fellows," he warned them. "It will do no good. We are not here to condemn our fellow-creatures."

He could say no more. The suddenness of the calamity had temporarily unnerved him.

By this time, Leslie had nearly recovered from the effects of the _Bird of Freedom's_ attempt to turn turtle, but on the back of his head a lump the size of a pigeon's egg had already appeared, while his left hand was grazed from wrist to elbow.

"What luck, sir?" asked Captain Stormleigh, as Ranworth came over the side. "I fear our efforts have met with failure."

"Your efforts?" inquired Ranworth. "Why, Captain, you must have done splendidly, fetching Desolation Creek in this time. How did you manage it?"

It was Captain Stormleigh's turn to look perplexed.

"We stuck hard at it, sir," he replied. "But how did you fare over there?"

And he pointed in the direction of Observation Camp, where Claude Ranworth's expedition was supposed to be awaiting relief.

"Now, what do you mean, Captain?" demanded Ranworth. "Are you dreaming, or am I? We haven't been there yet; we've only just arrived at Desolation Inlet. If you----"

He broke off. The horrible suspicion which had but recently sprung up in his mind was becoming more and more pronounced.

"This is Tuesday, isn't it?" he asked.

"No, sir, Thursday," replied Captain Stormleigh.

Like a flash Ranworth understood. The stopping of both chronometer and watch was accounted for. After their exhausting experience on the ice barrier, the crew of the _Bird of Freedom_ had slept solidly--not for twelve hours as they had imagined--but for forty-eight. Thus, while the sleigh was lying inactive, the _Polarity_ had contrived to extricate herself from the ice, find a passage through the great barrier by keeping well to the eastward, and so arriving at the meeting place four hours before Ranworth and his party.

On the other hand, Captain Stormleigh, finding no trace of the sleigh, had naturally concluded that Ranworth had arrived before him, and had pushed on to the relief of the original expedition. When he saw the sleigh returning, as he thought, from the interior of Nova Cania, he could only come to the conclusion that nothing but the dead bodies of Claude Ranworth and his companions had rewarded the heroism and dash of the rescuers.

"But, man, you are in wireless communication with my brother," exclaimed Ranworth.

Captain Stormleigh shook his head.

"Up till the day before yesterday--yes," he replied. "From that time till now all attempts to communicate have proved in vain."

Ranworth clenched his fists.

"There may yet be time," he said. "Ask for two more volunteers, Captain. We'll make another start at once."