The Log of the Flying Fish: A Story of Aerial and Submarine Peril and AdventureCollingwood, Harry
Science
The Log of the Flying Fish: A Story of Aerial and Submarine Peril and Adventure
Collingwood, Harry
Adventure stories; Sea stories
And with mutual hand-wavings and dipping of colours the two craft
separated, the _Walrus_ bearing up to intercept her boats, and the
_Flying Fish_ heading northward at a speed of about twenty knots.
For about a couple of hours the adventurous voyagers were able to
maintain that speed; but toward noon they found themselves once more
surrounded by ice; and they had no choice but either to materially
reduce their speed and slowly thread their way through narrow and
tortuous channels, or once more take flight into the air. They chose
the latter alternative; and for the next two hours the flying ship sped
northward through Smith's Sound, for the most part over an unbroken
field of pack-ice which, to any ordinary vessel, would have opposed an
utterly impassable barrier. At two o'clock in the afternoon, however,
the Greenland shore suddenly trended to the north-eastward; and after
following it for a short time the ice once more began to be intersected
with water channels, short and narrow at first, but wider as they
proceeded, until at length they found themselves once more able to
descend in a water lane some four miles in width.
"And now," said the professor, as they were nearing a bold rocky
headland on their starboard bow, "we are about to be introduced to one
of _the_ sights _par excellence_ of the Arctic regions."
"What is it?" was the question which burst simultaneously from the lips
of his three companions.
"Wait and see," answered the professor, nodding mysteriously.
Sure enough, the moment that the _Flying Fish_ rounded the point a
magnificent spectacle burst upon the travellers' enraptured gaze. It
was neither more nor less than an immense cliff of the clearest crystal
ice, towering some three hundred feet above the water's edge, and
extending so far northward along the coast that its northern extremity
lay far below the horizon. It was the magnificent Humboldt Glacier.
The afternoon sun was shining full upon its rugged face, causing the
enormous mass to flash and gleam like a gigantic diamond. As they
coasted slowly along, at a distance of about half a mile from its face,
the dazzling flashes of light were reproduced one after the other,
changing rapidly from one colour to another through every conceivable
tint of the rainbow, until the beholders' eyes fairly ached with the
contemplation of so much splendour, all of which was reflected with the
most charming variation in the mirror-like surface of the deep still
water below. The wind had died away to a dead calm, as if to give the
bold explorers an opportunity of witnessing this unrivalled sight to the
best advantage; and every now and then the still air resounded with the
sharp rifle-like _crack_ which told that, though apparently so
motionless and solid, hidden forces were at work within the heart of the
glacier, slowly but surely tending to its ultimate dismemberment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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