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.