Towards evening the Forward had made several miles further north, thanks to the activity of the men and Shandon’s skill, which made him take advantage of every favourable circumstance; at midnight he had got beyond the sixty-sixth parallel, and the fathom line declared twenty-three fathoms of water; Shandon discovered that he was on the shoal where Her Majesty’s ship Victoria struck, and that land was drawing near, thirty miles to the east. But now the heaps of ice, which up till now had been motionless, divided and began to move; icebergs seemed coming from every point of the horizon; the brig was entangled in a series of moving rocks, the crushing force of which it was impossible to resist. Moving became so difficult that Garry, the best helmsman, took the wheel; the mountains had a tendency to close up behind the brig; it then became essential to cut through the floating ice, and prudence as well as duty ordered them to go ahead. Difficulties became greater from the impossibility that Shandon found in establishing the direction of the vessel amongst such changing points, which kept moving without offering one firm perspective. The crew was divided into two tacks, larboard and starboard; each one, armed with a long perch with an iron point, drove back the two threatening blocks. Soon the Forward entered into a pass so narrow, between two high blocks, that the extremity of her yards struck against the walls, hard as rock; by degrees she entangled herself in the midst of a winding valley, filled up with eddies of snow, whilst the floating ice was crashing and splitting with sinister cracklings. But it soon became certain that there was no egress from this gullet. An enormous block, caught in the channel, was driving rapidly on to the Forward! It seemed impossible to avoid it, and equally impossible to back out along a road already obstructed.
Shandon and Johnson, standing on the prow, were contemplating the position. Shandon was pointing with his right hand at the direction the helmsman was to take, and with his left was conveying to James Wall, posted near the engineer, his orders for the working of the machine.
“How will this end?” asked the doctor of Johnson.
“As it may please God,” replied the boatswain.
The block of ice, at least a hundred feet high, was only about a cable’s length from the Forward, and threatened to pound her under it.
“Cursed luck!” exclaimed Pen, swearing frightfully.
“Silence!” exclaimed a voice which it was impossible to recognise in the midst of the storm.
The block seemed to be precipitating itself upon the brig; there was a moment of undefinable anguish; the men forsook their poles and flocked to the stern in spite of Shandon’s orders.
Suddenly a frightful sound was heard; a genuine waterspout fell upon deck, heaved up by an enormous wave. A cry of terror rang out from the crew whilst Garry, at the helm, held the Forward in a straight line in spite of the frightful incumbrance. When their frightened looks were drawn towards the mountain of ice it had disappeared; the pass was free, and further on a long channel, illuminated by the oblique rays of the sun, allowed the brig to pursue her track.
“Well, Mr. Clawbonny,” said Johnson, “can you explain to me the cause of that phenomenon?”
“It is a very simple one,” answered the doctor, “and happens very often. When those floating bodies are disengaged from each other by the thaw, they sail away separately, maintaining their balance; but by degrees, as they near the south, where the water is relatively warmer, their base, shaken by the collision with other icebergs, begins to melt and weaken; it then happens that their centre of gravity is displaced, and, naturally, they overturn. Only, if that one had turned over two minutes later, it would have crushed our vessel to pieces.”
CHAPTER IX
NEWS
The Polar circle was cleared at last. On the 30th of April, at midday, the Forward passed abreast of Holsteinborg; picturesque mountains rose up on the eastern horizon. The sea appeared almost free from icebergs, and the few there were could easily be avoided. The wind veered round to the southeast, and the brig, under her mizensail, brigantine, topsails, and her topgallant sail, sailed up Baffin’s Sea. It had been a particularly calm day, and the crew were able to take a little rest. Numerous birds were swimming and fluttering about round the vessel; amongst others, the doctor observed some alca-alla, very much like the teal, with black neck, wings and back, and white breast; they plunged with vivacity, and their immersion often lasted forty seconds.
The day would not have been remarkable if the following fact, however extraordinary it may appear, had not occurred on board. At six o’clock in the morning Richard Shandon, reentering his cabin after having been relieved, found upon the table a letter with this address:
“To the Commander,
“RICHARD SHANDON,
“On board the ‘FORWARD,’
“Baffin’s Sea.”
Shandon could not believe his own eyes, and before reading such a strange epistle he caused the doctor, James Wall and Johnson to be called, and showed them the letter.
“That grows very strange,” said Johnson.
“It’s delightful!” thought the doctor.
“At last,” cried Shandon, “we shall know the secret.”
With a quick hand he tore the envelope and read as follows:
“COMMANDER,—The captain of the Forward is pleased with the coolness, skill, and courage that your men, your officers, and yourself have shown on the late occasions, and begs you to give evidence of his gratitude to the crew.
“Have the goodness to take a northerly direction towards Melville Bay, and from thence try and penetrate into Smith’s Straits.
“THE CAPTAIN OF THE Forward,
“K. Z.
“Monday, April 30th,
“Abreast of Cape Walsingham.”
“Is that all?” cried the doctor.
“That’s all,” replied Shandon, and the letter fell from his hands.
“Well,” said Wall, “this chimerical captain doesn’t even mention coming on board, so I conclude that he never will come.”
“But how did this letter get here?” said Johnson.
Shandon was silent.
“Mr. Wall is right,” replied the doctor, after picking up the letter and turning it over in every direction; “the captain won’t come on board for an excellent reason–-“
“And what’s that?” asked Shandon quickly.
“Because he is here already,” replied the doctor simply.
“Already!” said Shandon. “What do you mean?”
“How do you explain the arrival of this letter if such is not the case?”
Johnson nodded his head in sign of approbation.
“It is not possible!” said Shandon energetically. “I know every man of the crew. We should have to believe, in that case, that the captain has been with us ever since we set sail. It is not possible,