They called the Eskimos to their aid, and began to work with feverish haste. The ice igloo, which had been their protection for so long, but which was now no longer needed, was chopped apart and thrown overboard. They took soundings alongside, and found the ship still aground, but thought perhaps that under a full head of steam they could work her off. They sounded the wells and found she did not leak. They went over the machinery carefully and made sure that it was all ready for use, so far as they could tell from their studies of the previous winter. The thought of really moving toward home filled them with a wild exhilaration, and they hardly ate or slept for three days. In the midst of all this fever of preparation Pickalye, fat and foolish, came aboard and told them that they must wait. There was a great storm coming; his bear bite had told him so. They must not try to move before it had passed, else they would meet trouble. A bear had bitten him badly in the leg three years before. Since then, whenever there was a big storm coming, the spirit of the bear came and bit his leg again. It was biting it now. Therefore this was a warning, and he would like something from a bottle to rub his leg with. Joe furnished the liniment, and the work went on. Nevertheless, two hours afterward the wind blew up suddenly from the south, and increased in violence rapidly, bringing snow with it. The Eskimos went ashore, nor could they be prevailed upon to remain aboard ship. Their belief in the power of prophecy of Pickalye’s bear-bitten leg was strong, and they were familiar with these swift, terrible spring storms. At midnight, though the sun was well above the horizon, the clouds were so thick that it became quite dark. The boys felt the shoreward ice pressing against the side of the ship. The vessel quivered and tugged at her anchor chain. The ice was going out. They looked over the side and, to their astonishment, found that it seemed to be dropping on the ship’s side. That is, she stood up higher out of the ice than she had before. Joe pointed this out to Harry; and when they were back in the galley, where they could hear each other, he told what he thought the reason for it. “The gale,” he said, “is pushing the ice northward so fast that it is making low tide on the shore. I think the Bowhead is sliding along the bottom, dragging her anchor, pushed by the ice.”