"Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead."
Longfellow.
Most of our readers will understand what was meant by Mary Pratt's
"inclination of the earth's axis to the plane of its orbit;" but as there
may be a few who do not, and as the consequences of this great physical
fact are materially connected with the succeeding events of the narrative,
we propose to give such a homely explanation of the phenomenon as we
humbly trust will render it clear to the most clouded mind. The orbit of
the earth is the path which it follows in space in its annual revolution
around the sun. To a planet there is no up or down, except as ascent and
descent are estimated from and towards itself. In all other respects it
floats in vacuum, or what is so nearly so as to be thus termed. Now, let
the uninstructed reader imagine a large circular table, with a light on
its surface, and near to its centre. The light shall represent the sun,
the outer edge of the circle of the table the earth's orbit, and its
surface the plane of that orbit. In nature there is no such thing as a
plane at all, the space within the orbit being vacant; but the surface of
the table gives a distinct notion of the general position of the earth as
it travels round the sun. It is scarcely necessary to say that the axis of
the earth is an imaginary line drawn through the planet, from one pole to
the other; the name being derived from the supposition that our daily
revolution is made on this axis.
Now, the first thing that the student is to fix in his mind, in order to
comprehend the phenomenon of the seasons, is the leading fact that the
earth does not change its attitude in space, if we may so express it, when
it changes its position. If the axis were _perpendicular_ to the plane of
the orbit, this circumstance would not affect the temperature, as the
simplest experiment will show. Putting the equator of a globe on the outer
edge of the table, and holding it perfectly _upright_, causing it to turn
on its axis as it passes round the circle, it would be found that the
light from the centre of the table would illumine just one half of the
globe, at all times and in all positions, cutting the two poles. Did this
movement correspond with that of nature, the days and nights would be
always of the same length, and there would be no changes of the seasons,
the warmest weather being nearest to the equator, and the cold increasing
as the poles were approached. No where, however, would the cold be so
intense as it now is, nor would the heat be as great as at present, except
at or quite near to the equator. The first fact would be owing to the
regular return of the sun, once in twenty-four hours; the last to the
oblique manner in which its rays struck this orb, in all places but near
its centre.
But the globe ought not to be made to move around the table with its axis
perpendicular to its surface, or to the "plane of the earth's orbit." In
point of fact, the earth is inclined to this plane, and the globe should
be placed at a corresponding inclination. Let the globe be brought to the
edge of the table, at its south side, and with its upper or north pole
inclining to the sun, and then commence the circuit, taking care always to
keep this north pole of the globe pointing in the same direction, or to
keep the globe itself in what we have termed a fixed attitude. As one half
of the globe must always be in light, and the other half in darkness, this
inclination from the perpendicular will bring the circle of light some
distance beyond the north pole, when the globe is due-south from the
light, and will leave an equal space around the opposite pole without any
light at all, or any light directly received. Now it is that what we have
termed the _fixed attitude_ of the globe begins to tell. If the north pole
inclined towards the orbit facing the rim of the table, the light would
still cut the poles, the days and nights would still be equal, and there
would be no changes in the seasons, though there would be a rival
revolution of the globe, by causing it to turn once a year, shifting the
poles end for end. The inclination being to the surface of the table, or
to _the plane_ of the orbit, the phenomena that are known to exist are a
consequence. Thus it is, that the change in the seasons is as much owing
to the fixed attitude of the earth in space, as we have chosen to term its
polar directions, as to the inclination of its axis. Neither would produce
the phenomena without the assistance of the other, as our experiment with
the table will show.
Place, then, the globe at the south side of the rim of the table, with its
axis inclining towards its surface, and its poles always pointing in the
same general direction, not following the circuit of the orbit, and set it
in motion towards the east, revolving rapidly on its axis as it moves.
While directly south of the light, it would be found that the north pole
would be illuminated, while no revolution on the axis would bring the
south pole within the circle of the light. This is when a line drawn from
the axis of the globe would cut the lamp, were the inclination brought as
low as the surface of the table. Next set the globe in motion, following
the rim of the table, and proceeding to the east or right hand, keeping
its axis always looking in the same general direction, or in an attitude
that would be parallel to a north and south line drawn through the sun,
were the inclination as low as the surface of the table. This movement
would be, in one sense, sideways, the circle of light gradually lessening
around the north pole, and extending towards the south, as the globe
proceeded east and north, diminishing the length of the days in the
northern hemisphere, and increasing them in the southern. When at east,
the most direct rays of the light would fall on the equator, and the light
would cut the two poles, rendering the days and nights equal. As the globe
moved north, the circle of light would be found to increase around the
_south_ pole, while none at all touched the _north_. When on the north
side of the table, the _northern_ pole of the globe would incline so far
from the sun as to leave a space around it in shadow that would be of
precisely the same size as had been the space of light when it was placed
on the opposite side of the table. Going round the circle west, the same
phenomena would be seen, until coming directly south of the lamp, the
north pole would again come into light altogether, and the south equally
into shadow.
Owing to this very simple but very wonderful provision of divine power and
wisdom, this earth enjoys the relief of the changes in the seasons, as
well as the variations in the length of the days. For one half of the
year, or from equinox to equinox, from the time when the globe is at a
due-west point of the table until it reaches the east, the north pole
would always receive the light, in a circle around it, that would
gradually increase and diminish; and for the other half, the same would be
true of the other hemisphere. Of course there is a precise point on the
earth where this polar illumination ceases. The shape of the illuminated
part is circular; and placing the point of a pencil on the globe at the
extremest spot on the circle, holding it there while the globe is turned
on its axis, the lines made would just include the portions of the earth
around the globe that thus receives the rays of the sun at midsummer.
These lines compose what are termed the arctic and antarctic circles, with
the last of which our legend has now a most serious connection. After all,
we are by no means certain that we have made our meaning as obvious as we
could wish, it being very difficult to explain phenomena of this nature
clearly, without actually experimenting.
It is usual to say that there are six months day and six months night in
the polar basins. This is true, literally, at the poles only; but,
approximatively, it is true as a whole. We apprehend that few
persons--none, perhaps, but those who are in habits of study--form correct
notions of the extent of what may be termed the icy seas. As the polar
circles are in 23° 28", a line drawn through the south pole, for instance,
commencing on one side of the earth at the antarctic circle, and extending
to the other, would traverse a distance materially exceeding that between
New York and Lisbon. This would make those frozen regions cover a portion
of this globe that is almost as large as the whole of the Atlantic Ocean,
as far south as the equator. Any one can imagine what must be the
influence of frost over so vast a surface, in reproducing itself, since
the presence of ice-bergs is thought to affect our climate, when many of
them drift far south in summer. As power produces power, riches wealth,
so does cold produce cold. Fill, then, in a certain degree, a space as
large as the North Atlantic Ocean with ice in all its varieties, fixed,
mountain and field, berg and floe, and one may get a tolerably accurate
notion of the severity of its winters, when the sun is scarce seen above
the horizon at all, and then only to shed its rays so obliquely as to be
little better than a chill-looking orb of light, placed in the heavens
simply to divide the day from the night.
This, then, was the region that Roswell Gardiner was so very anxious to
leave; the winter he so much dreaded. Mary Pratt was before him, to say
nothing of his duty to the deacon; while behind him was the vast polar
ocean just described, about to be veiled in the freezing obscurity of its
long and gloomy twilight, if not of absolute night. No wonder, therefore,
that when he trimmed his sails that evening, to beat out of the great bay,
that it was done with the earnestness with which we all perform duties of
the highest import, when they are known to affect our well-being, visibly
and directly.
"Keep her a good full, Mr. Hazard," said Roswell, as he was leaving the
deck, to take the first sleep in which he had indulged for four-and-twenty
hours; "and let her go through the water. We are behind our time, and must
keep in motion. Give me a call if anything like ice appears in a serious
way."
Hazard "ay-ay'd" this order, as usual, buttoned his pee-jacket tighter
than ever, and saw his young superior--the transcendental delicacy of the
day is causing the difference in rank to be termed "_senior_ and
_junior_"--but Hazard saw _his_ superior go below, with a feeling allied
to envy, so heavy were his eye-lids with the want of rest. Stimson was in
the first-mate's watch, and the latter approached that old sea-dog with a
wish to keep himself awake by conversing.
"You seem as wide awake, king Stephen," the mate remarked, "as if you
never felt drowsy!"
"This is not a part of the world for hammocks and berths, Mr. Hazard," was
the reply. "I can get along, and must get along, with a quarter part of
the sleep in these seas as would sarve me in a low latitude."
"And I feel as if I wanted all I can get. Them fellows look up well into
our wake, Stephen."
"They do indeed, sir, and they ought to do it; for we have been longer
than is for our good, in their'n."
"Well, now we have got a fresh start, I hope we may make a clear run of
it. I saw no ice worth speaking of, to the nor'ard here, before we made
sail."
"Because you see'd none, Mr. Hazard; is no proof there is none. Floe-ice
can't be seen at any great distance though its blink may. But, it seems to
me, it's all blink in these here seas!"
"There you're quite right, Stephen; for turn which way you will, the
horizon has a show of that sort----"
"Starboard"--called out the look-out forward--"keep her away--keep her
away--there is ice ahead."
"Ice in here!" exclaimed Hazard, springing forward--"That is more than we
bargained for! Where away is your ice, Smith?"
"Off here, sir, on our weather bow--and a mortal big field of it--jist
sich a chap as nipp'd the Vineyard Lion, when she first came in to join
us. Sich a fellow as that would take the sap out of our bends, as a
squeezer takes the juice from a lemon!"
Smith was a carpenter by trade, which was probably the reason why he
introduced this figure. Hazard saw the ice with regret; for he had hoped
to work the schooner fairly out to sea in his watch; but the field was
getting down through the passage in a way that threatened to cut off the
exit of the two schooners from the bay. Daggett kept close in his wake, a
proof that this experienced navigator in such waters saw no means to turn
farther to windward. As the wind was now abeam, both vessels drove rapidly
ahead; and in half an hour the northern point of the land they had so
lately left came into view close aboard of them. Just then the moon rose,
and objects became more clearly visible.
Hazard hailed the Vineyard Lion, and demanded what was to be done. It was
possible, by hauling close on a wind, to pass the cape a short distance to
windward of it, and seemingly thus clear the floe. Unless this were done,
both vessels would be compelled to ware, and run for the southern
passage, which would carry them many miles to leeward, and might place
them a long distance on the wrong side of the group.
"Is Captain Gar'ner on deck?" asked Daggett, who had now drawn close up on
the lee-quarter of his consort, Hazard having brailed his foresail and
laid his topsail sharp aback, to enable him to do so--"If he isn't, I'd
advise you to give him a call at once."
This was done immediately; and while it was doing, the Vineyard Lion swept
past the Oyster Pond schooner. Roswell announced his presence on deck just
as the other vessel cleared his bows.
"There's no time to consult, Gar'ner," answered Daggett. "There's our road
before us. Go through it we must, or stay where we are until that
field-ice gives us a jam down yonder in the crescent. I will lead, and you
can follow as soon as your eyes are open."
One glance let Roswell into the secret of his situation. He liked it
little, but he did not hesitate.
"Fill the topsail, and haul aft the foresheet," were the quiet orders that
proclaimed what he intended to do.
Both vessels stood on. By some secret process, every man on board the two
craft became aware of what was going on, and appeared on deck. All hands
were not called, nor was there any particular noise to attract attention;
but the word had been whispered below that there was a great risk to run.
A risk it was, of a verity! It was necessary to stand close along that
iron-bound coast where the seals had so lately resorted, for a distance of
several miles. The wind would not admit of the schooners steering much
more than a cable's length from the rocks for quite a league; after which
the shore trended to the southward, and a little sea-room would be gained.
But on those rocks the waves were then beating heavily, and their
bellowings as they rolled into the cavities were at almost all times
terrific. There was some relief, however, in the knowledge obtained of the
shore, by having frequently passed up and down it in the boats. It was
known that the water was deep close to the visible rocks, and that there
was no danger as long as a vessel could keep off them.
No one spoke. Every eye was strained to discern objects ahead, or was
looking astern to trace the expected collision between the floe-ice and
the low promontory of the cape. The ear soon gave notice that this meeting
had already taken place; for the frightful sound that attended the
cracking and rending of the field might have been heard fully a league.
Now it was that each schooner did her best! Yards were braced up, sheets
flattened, and the helm tended. The close proximity of the rocks on the
one side, and the secret presentiment of there being more field-ice on the
other, kept every one wide awake. The two masters, in particular, were all
eyes and ears. It was getting to be very cold; and the sort of shelter
aloft that goes by the quaint name of "crow's-nest," had been fitted up in
each vessel. A mate was now sent into each, to ascertain what might be
discovered to windward. Almost at the same instant, these young seamen
hailed their respective decks, and gave notice that a wide field was
coming in upon them, and must eventually crush them, unless avoided. This
startling intelligence reached the two commanders in the very same moment.
The emergency demanded decision, and each man acted for himself. Roswell
ordered his helm put _down_, and his schooner _tacked_. The water was not
rough enough to prevent the success of the maneuvre. On the other hand,
Daggett kept a rap full, and _stood on_. Roswell manifested the most
judgment and seamanship. He was now far enough from the cape to beat to
windward; and, by going nearer to the enemy, he might always run along its
southern boundary, profit by any opening, and would be by as much as he
could thus gain, to windward of the coast. Daggett had one advantage. By
standing on, in the event of a return becoming necessary, he would gain in
time. In ten minutes the two schooners were a mile asunder. We shall first
follow that, of Roswell Gardiner's, in his attempt to escape.
The first floe, which was ripping and tearing one of its angles into
fragments, as it came grinding down on the cape, soon compelled the vessel
to tack. Making short reaches, Roswell ere long found himself fully a mile
to windward of the rocks, and sufficiently near to the new floe to discern
its shape, drift, and general character. Its eastern end had lodged upon
the field that first came in, and was adding to the vast momentum with
which that enormous floe was pressing down upon the cape. Large as was
that first visiter to the bay, this was of at least twice if not of thrice
its dimensions. What gave Roswell the most concern was the great distance
that this field extended to the westward. He went up into the crow's-nest
himself, and, aided by the light of a most brilliant moon, and a sky
without a cloud, he could perceive the blink of ice in that direction, as
he fancied, for fully two leagues. What was unusual, perhaps, at that
early season of the year, these floes did not consist of a vast collection
of numberless cakes of ice; but the whole field, so far as could then be
ascertained, was firm and united. The nights were now so cold that ice
made fast wherever there was water; and it occurred to our young master
that, possibly, fragments that had once been separated and broken by the
waves, might have become re-united by the agency of the frost. Roswell
descended from the crow's-nest half chilled by a cutting wind, though it
blew from a warm quarter. Summoning his mates, he asked their advice.
"It seems to me, Captain Gar'ner," Hazard replied, "there's very little
choice. Here we are, so far as I can make it out, embayed, and we have
only to box about until day-light comes, when some chance may turn up to
help us. If so, we must turn it to account; if not, we must make up our
minds to winter here."
This was coolly and calmly said; though it was clear enough that Hazard
was quite in earnest.
"You forget there may be an open passage to the westward, Mr. Hazard,"
Roswell rejoined, "and that we may yet pass out to sea by it. Captain
Daggett is already out of sight in the western board, and we may do well
to stand on after him."
"Ay, ay, sir--I know all that, Captain Gar'ner, and it may be as you say,
but when I was aloft, half an hour since, if there wasn't the blink of ice
in that direction, quite round to the back of the island, there wasn't the
blink of ice nowhere hereabouts. I'm used to the sight of it, and can't
well be mistaken."
"There is always ice on that side of the land, Hazard, and you may have
seen the blink of the bergs which have hugged the cliffs in that quarter
all summer. Still, that is not proving we shall find no outlet. This craft
can go through a very small passage, and we must take care and find one in
proper time. Wintering here is out of the question. A _hundred_ reasons
tell us not to think of such a thing, besides the interests of our owners.
We are walking along this floe pretty fast, though I think the vessel is
too much by the head; don't it strike you so, Hazard?"
"Lord, sir, it's nothing but the ice that has made, and is making for'ard!
Before we got so near the field as to find a better lee, the little lipper
that came athwart our bows froze almost as soon as it wet us. I do
suppose, sir, there are now several tons of ice on our bows, counting from
channel to channel, forward."
On an examination this proved to be true, and the knowledge of the
circumstance did not at all contribute to Gardiner's feeling of security.
He saw there was no time to be lost, and he crowded sail with a view of
forcing the vessel past the dangers if possible, and of getting her into a
milder climate. But even a fast-sailing schooner will scarcely equal our
wishes under such circumstances. There was no doubt that the Sea Lion's
speed was getting to be affected by the manner in which her bows were
weighed down by ice, in addition to the discomfort produced by cold, damp,
and the presence of a slippery substance on the deck and rigging.
Fortunately there was not much spray flying, or matters would have been
much worse. As it was, they were bad enough, and very ominous of future
evil.
While the Sea Lion of Oyster Pond was running along the margin of the ice
in the manner just described, and after the blink to the westward had
changed to a visible field, making it very uncertain whether any egress
was to be found in that quarter or not, an opening suddenly appeared
trending to the northward, and sufficiently wide, as Roswell thought, to
enable him to beat through it. Putting his helm down, his schooner came
heavily round, and was filled on a course that soon carried her half a
mile into this passage. At first, everything seemed propitious, the
channel rather opening than otherwise, while the course was
such--north-north-west--as enabled the vessel to very long legs on one
tack, and that the best. After going about four or five times, however,
all these flattering symptoms suddenly changed, by the passage's
terminating in a _cul de sac_. Almost at the same instant the ice closed
rapidly in the schooner's wake. An effort was made to run back, but it
failed in consequence of an enormous floe's turning on its centre, having
met resistance from a field closer in, that was, in its turn, stopped by
the rocks. Roswell saw at once that nothing could be done at the moment.
He took in all his canvass, as well as the frozen cloth could be handled,
got out ice-anchors, and hauled his vessel into a species of cove where
there would be the least danger of a nip, should the fields continue to
close.
All this time Daggett was as busy as a bee. He rounded the headland, and
flattered himself that he was about to slip past all the rocks, and get
out into open water, when the vast fields of which the blink had been seen
even by those in the other vessel, suddenly stretched themselves across
his course in a way that set at defiance all attempts to go any further in
that direction. Daggett wore round, and endeavoured to return. This was by
no means as easy as it was to go down before the wind, and his bows were
also much encumbered with ice; more so, indeed, than those of the other
schooner. Once or twice his craft missed stays in consequence of getting
so much by the head, and it was deemed necessary to heave-to, and take to
the axes. A great deal of extra and cumbrous weight was gotten rid of, but
an hour of most precious time was lost.
By the time Daggett was ready to make sail again, he found his return
round the headland was entirely cut off, by the field's having come in
absolute contact with the rocks!
It was now midnight, and the men on board both vessels required rest. A
watch was set in each, and most of the people were permitted to turn in.
Of course, proper look-outs were had, but the light of the moon was not
sufficiently distinct to render it safe to make any final efforts under
its favour. No great alarm was felt, there being nothing unusual in a
vessel's being embayed in the ice; and so long as she was not nipped or
pressed upon by actual contact the position was thought safe rather than
the reverse. It was desirable, moreover, for the schooners to communicate
with each other; for some advantage might be known to one of the masters
that was concealed by distance from his companion. Without concert,
therefore, Roswell and Daggett came to the same general conclusions, and
waited patiently.
The day came at last, cold and dreary, though not altogether without the
relief of an air that blew from regions far warmer than the ocean over
which it was now travelling. Then the two schooners became visible from
each other, and Roswell saw the jeopardy of Daggett, and Daggett saw the
jeopardy of Roswell. The vessels were little more than a mile apart, but
the situation of the Vineyard Lion was much the most critical. She had
made fast to the floe, but her support itself was in a steady and most
imposing motion. As soon as Roswell saw the manner in which his consort
was surrounded, and the very threatening aspect of the danger that pressed
upon him, his first impulse was to hasten to him, with a party of his own
people, to offer any assistance he could give. After looking at the ice
immediately around his own craft, where all seemed to be right, he called
over the names of six of his men, ordered them to eat a warm breakfast,
and to prepare to accompany him.
In twenty minutes Roswell was leading his little party across the ice,
each man carrying an axe, or some other implement that it was supposed
might be of use. It was by no means difficult to proceed; for the surface
of the floe, one seemingly more than a league in extent, was quite smooth,
and the snow on it was crusted to a strength that would have borne a team.
"The water between the ice and the rocks is a much narrower strip than I
had thought," said Roswell, to his constant attendant, Stimson. "Here, it
does not appear to be a hundred yards in width!"
"Nor is it, sir--whew--this trotting in so cold a climate makes a man puff
like a whale blowing--but, Captain Gar'ner, that schooner will be cut in
two before we can get to her. Look, sir; the floe has reached the rocks
already, quite near her; and it does not stop the drift at all,
seemingly."
Roswell made no reply; the state of the Vineyard Lion did appear to be
much more critical than he had previously imagined. Until he came nearer
to the land, he had formed no notion of the steady power with which the
field was setting down on the rocks on which the broken fragments were now
creeping like creatures endowed with life. Occasionally, there would be
loud disruptions, and the movement of the floe would become more rapid;
then, again, a sort of pause would succeed, and for a moment the
approaching party felt a gleam of hope. But all expectations of this sort
were doomed to be disappointed.
"Look, sir!" exclaimed Stimson--"she went down afore it twenty fathoms at
that one set. She must be awful near the rocks, sir!"
All the men now stopped. They knew they were powerless: and intense
anxiety rendered them averse to move. Attention appeared to interfere with
their walking on the ice; and each held his breath in expectation. They
saw that the schooner, then less than a cable's length from them, was
close to the rocks; and the next shock, if anything like the last, must
overwhelm her. To their astonishment, instead of being nipped, the
schooner rose by a stately movement that was not without grandeur, upheld
by broken cakes that had got beneath her bottom, and fairly reached the
shelf of rocks almost unharmed. Not a man had left her; but there she was,
placed on the shore, some twenty feet above the surface of the sea, on
rocks worn smooth by the action of the waves! Had the season been
propitious, and did the injury stop here, it might have been possible to
get the craft into the water again, and still carry her to America.
But the floe was not yet arrested. Cake succeeded cake, one riding over
another, until a wall of ice rose along the shore, that Roswell and his
companions, with all their activity and courage, had great difficulty in
crossing. They succeeded in getting over it, however; but when they
reached the unfortunate schooner, she was literally buried. The masts were
broken, the sails torn, rigging scattered, and sides stove. The Sea Lion
of Martha's Vineyard was a worthless wreck--worthless as to all purposes
but that of being converted into materials for a smaller craft, or to be
used as fuel.
All this had been done in ten minutes! Then it was that the vast
superiority of nature over the resources of man made itself apparent. The
people of the two vessels stood aghast with this sad picture of their own
insignificance before their eyes. The crew of the wreck, it is true, had
escaped without difficulty; the movement having been as slow and steady as
it was irresistible. But there they were, in the clothes they had on, with
all their effects buried under piles of ice that were already thirty or
forty feet in height.
"She looks as if she was built there, Gar'ner!" Daggett coolly observed,
as he stood regarding the scene with eyes as intently riveted on the wreck
as human organs were ever fixed on any object. "Had a man told me this
_could_ happen, I would not have believed him!"
"Had she been a three-decker, this ice would have treated her in the same
way. There is a force in such a field that walls of stone could not
withstand."
"Captain Gar'ner--Captain Gar'ner," called out Stimson, hastily; "we'd
better go back, sir; our own craft is in danger. She is drifting fast in
towards the cape, and may reach it afore we can get to her!"
Sure enough, it was so. In one of the changes that are so unaccountable
among the ice, the floe had taken a sudden and powerful direction towards
the entrance of the Great Bay. It was probably owing to the circumstance
that the inner field had forced its way past the cape, and made room for
its neighbour to follow. A few of Daggett's people, with Daggett himself,
remained to see what might yet be saved from the wreck; but all the rest
of the men started for the cape, towards which the Oyster Pond craft was
now directly setting. The distance was less than a league; and, as yet,
there was not much show on the rocks. By taking an upper shelf, it was
possible to make pretty good progress; and such was the manner of
Roswell's present march.
It was an extraordinary sight to see the coast along which our party was
hastening, just at that moment. As the cakes of ice were broken from the
field, they were driven upward by the vast pressure from without, and the
whole line of the shore seemed as if alive with creatures that were
issuing from the ocean to clamber on the rocks. Roswell had often seen
that very coast peopled with seals, as it now appeared to be in activity
with fragments of ice, that were writhing, and turning, and rising, one
upon another, as if possessed of the vital principle.
In half an hour Roswell and his party reached the house. The schooner was
then less than half a mile from the spot, still setting in, along with the
outer field, but not nipped. So far from being in danger of such a
calamity, the little basin in which she lay had expanded, instead of
closing; and it would have been possible to handle a quick-working craft
in it, under her canvass. An exit, however, was quite out of the question;
there being no sign of any passage to or from that icy dock. There the
craft still lay, anchored to the weather-floe, while the portion of her
crew which remained on board was as anxiously watching the coast as those
who were on the coast watched her. At first, Roswell gave his schooner up;
but on closer examination found reason to hope that she might pass the
rocks, and enter the inner, rather than the Great, Bay.