I could still talk to Gale, however, and I told him just what we had seen before we struck. I said I would go back over there now and take another look. But this he counselled against, as we were still grinding away at the wall, and there would be great danger from crumbling fragments. I realized, now, why the older bergs were battered and so much smaller. Pounding along that wall for a thousand miles or so is not calculated to encourage the growth or improve the appearance of even the best constructed iceberg. Then Gale told me what had happened on the ship. Officer Larkins and one sailor had been on deck when the upheaval came. They had seized ropes on the upward lift, and though very wet and breathless after the plunge, had come up safely. The water had not been fierce, but very deep. Larkins had interviewed, and named, a few fish while he was down. The Billowcrest had fully earned her title. “But where were _you_?” I called. “Playing euchre with Biffer, in the cabin. It was my deal. I shuffled as we went up and dealt as we came down. I had plenty of time to get through and turn trump while we were under. Then Biff said, ‘I order you up!’ and up we come. ‘Guess our Pacemaker’s hit the South Pole,’ says Biff, ‘an’ knocked it over!’ Then I remembered right away about you an’ Johnnie.” A little later he called to me that “Johnnie” had got back safely. When the upheaval came, the launch had been swamped but did not sink because of her air-tight compartments. The men had scrambled to the berg and had the water about pumped out by the time Miss Gale reached them. I might expect rescue any time, and I’d better walk about to keep warm. I could do this and talk, too. Edith Gale took the telephone then, and told me in detail all that had happened, and encouraged me in my long waiting. Incidentally I looked about for a way down, but without success. By and by I heard her speaking to some one, but so low that I could not distinguish the words. Then to me, and it seemed that there was a note of anxiety in her voice: “How wide is the chasm, now?” I walked over nearer and answered. “About as it was—perhaps narrower. It seems to be drawing together again.” “Oh, I’m _so_ glad!” “Why, has anything——?” “Oh, no, don’t be frightened! But the men have returned and can’t find any place to scale the berg on that side. They are going now with ropes and ladders to get you across the chasm.” I tried to reply, but the first effort was unsuccessful. I could never, even as a boy, walk a beam that was more than ten feet from the ground. The thought of crossing that chasm on anything to which I was not securely tied made me colder than any Antarctic climate. “Oh,” I managed to say at last, “tell them to bring ropes, plenty of them, and a—a derrick, if they happen to have such a thing.”