“You’ll be sorry for this!” he exclaimed when he was free, but he followed Dan sulkily down to the boat. Dan was right. A fog was settling below. Even then it was pushing its way up the river, and before they reached the open sea it had swallowed up the river bank, which had become quite invisible beyond the river’s mouth. The boys could scarcely see two boat’s lengths ahead. The murky cloud enveloped sea, land, everything. Ice pans seemed much more numerous than when they went ashore. Now and again a pan would loom up in the fog, ominously near, rising and sinking with the swell. It was uncanny, and Paul became frightened. Dan pulled steadily at the oars for some time. At length he paused. “We should have been comin’ on she,” said he. “I’m fearin’ we’re a bit too far t’ th’ s’uthard.” He shifted his course somewhat. A moment later a huge bulk of ice appeared directly in front of them. Dan swerved the boat to port, but he was too late, and almost before they realized their danger the pan struck them with the rising swell, and nearly capsized the boat. Water at once poured in through a great rent in the starboard bow, and immediately it became apparent they were sinking. Like a flash, painter in hand, Dan sprang upon the ice pan. “Jump! Quick!” he shouted to Paul, who, without knowing how he did it, sprang to the pan, slipped, gained his feet, and was safe upon the ice. “Take this! Hold on tight!” commanded Dan, passing the painter to Paul. Working like mad, while Paul steadied the boat, Dan transferred their belongings from boat to pan, save one sleeping bag and one oar, which were washed away in spite of him. The boat lightened of its burdens, he baled the water out, and drew its bow around to the ice. “Now pull!” He had grabbed the bow of the boat. “Pull! Pull!” he encouraged, and their united strength drew the boat upon the pan. Paul had not, until then, had an opportunity to appreciate their position. Now he looked about him, and with one glance took in the critical situation in which they were placed. The pan of ice was not over sixty feet in diameter, waves were breaking over its edges, they were out of reach of land, the boat was quite useless. Then came a flash of the imagination--lost in the dark water--struggling--drowning. All this he saw in an instant. Panic seized him--a wild, awful fear of impending death--and he screamed: “Help! Help! Save us! Save us! We’re lost! Help! Help! Help!” “That’s right,” said Dan, “holler. If the ship ain’t too far off they’ll hear,” and he joined his voice to Paul’s. But no answering call came out of the fog. At length Dan said: “Tide’s risin’, wind’s n’uthard, an’ our drift’s strong t’ th’ s’uthard. They ain’t hearin’. Get your rifle, an’ I finds cartridges. We’ll be shootin’ signals.”