Adventure and adventurers -- Juvenile fiction; Arctic regions -- Juvenile fiction
"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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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