Forward the sturdy Norsemen were standing armed with hitchers and poles, which they held ready to try and ease off the floating masses of ice, to keep them from driving hard on to the ship's bows, with the result that generally the _Hvalross_ was spared a heavy concussion, and the blocks went scraping along the sides. Every now and then there was a loud crushing up of the smaller pieces between the larger, some being shivered to atoms, while others were forced upward one above another, explaining the noises heard in the cabin; and soon after Steve had another startling experience in the splitting across of a great field of ice, which, consequent upon the undulating motion given by the sea, snapped with a noise like thunder; and this was followed by crashing and splitting of a nature that gave appalling evidence of the power of nature under circumstances like these. "Well, Mr Steve," said the mate, as the lad mounted to the bridge beside him. "Mind; it's very slippery here." "I've found that out," said the boy merrily; for he had hurt his shin in climbing the icy steps of the ladder. "Yes, it is awkward. Well, what do you think of this?" "Wonderful! Grand!" cried the boy. "Never saw anything so beautiful before." "Oh yes, very beautiful," said the mate grimly; and Steve saw how haggard and weary he looked. "But I could do with a little less beauty and more open water, my lad." "Yes; it is awkward to steer amongst all this." "Very," said the mate drily, as there was a sharp concussion against a great floating piece of ice, which the strong prow of the _Hvalross_, cased with iron to meet such contingencies, cut in two as if it had been snow. "You like it, then?" said the mate. "Like it! Why, it's grander than anything I can imagine." "Yes; grand enough to crush up the _Hvalross_ like an eggshell," muttered the mate. "Yes; but you'll take care it does not!" cried Steve, smiling. "She would go to pieces on rocks, but you and the captain will mind that she does not." The mate's grim, weary face brightened into a smile, and he clapped one of his fur-gloved hands on Steve's shoulder. "Bravo, boy!" he said. "It's a fine thing to be your age, full of hope and confidence. Yes, we'll do our best not to get crushed; but it's a very awkward position to be in." "Why?" said Steve. "The storm's over." "Yes, the storm's over; but look where we are drifting north with all this. Suppose we come to the stationary ice, with all these great floes behind us?" "Well, what then?" "What then?" said the mate, with a laugh at this questioner's innocence. "Why, the drifting ice behind us, pressed forward with a power of millions of tons, will force us against the fixed ice, and then we shall either be lifted right out of the water, or go, as I said, like an eggshell." "Ah! but that's only what might happen," said Steve. "I say, though, Mr Lowe, whereabouts are we? Not up by the North Pole?"