ADRIFT
Jack Cosgrove, of the "Nautilus," was not often agitated by anything
in which he became involved. Few of his perilous calling had gone
through more thrilling experiences than he, and in them all he had
acquired a reputation for coolness that could not be surpassed.
But one of the few occasions that stirred him to the heart was when
hurrying to disembark from the iceberg, in the desperate hope of
reaching the ship before the bursting of the gale and the closing of
night, he found that the little boat had been swept from its
fastenings, and the only means of escape was cut off.
There was more in the incident than occurred to Rob Carrol and Fred
Warburton, who hastened after him. He had been in those latitudes
before, and the reader will recall the story Captain McAlpine told to
the boys of the time Jack was one of three who escaped from the
collision of the whaling ship with an iceberg in the gloom of a dark
night.
Had it been earlier in the day, and had no storm been impending, he
could have afforded to laugh at this mishap, for at the most, it would
have resulted in a temporary inconvenience only. The skipper would
have discovered their plight sooner or later, and sent another boat to
bring them off, but the present case was a hundred-fold more serious
in every aspect.
In the first place, the fierce disturbance of the elements would
compel Captain McAlpine to give all attention to the care of his ship.
That was of more importance than the little party on the iceberg, who
must be left to themselves for the time, since any effort to reach
them would endanger the vessel, the loss of which meant the loss of
everything, including the little company that found itself in sudden
and dire peril.
What might take place during the storm and darkness his imagination
shuddered to picture. Had the boat been found where he left it a short
time before, desperate rowing would have carried them to the
"Nautilus" in time to escape the full force of the storm. That was
impossible now, and as to the future who could say?
The rowboat, as will be remembered, was simply drawn a short distance
up the icy incline, where it ought to have remained until the return
of the party. Such would have been the fact under ordinary
circumstances, for the mighty bulk of the iceberg prevented it feeling
the shock of any disturbance that could take place in its majestic
sweep through the Arctic Ocean, except from its base striking the
bottom of the sea, or a readjustment of its equilibrium, as they had
observed in the case of the smaller berg. It might crush the "Great
Eastern" if it lay in its path, but that would have been like a wagon
passing over an egg-shell.
In leaving the boat as related, the stern lay in the water. Even then
it would have been secure, but for the agitation caused by the coming
gale. That began swaying the rear of the craft, whose support was so
smooth that it speedily worked down the incline and floating into the
open water instantly worked off beyond reach.
The boys knowing so little what all this meant and what was before
them, were disposed to make light of their misfortune.
"By the great horned spoon, but that is bad!" exclaimed Jack, pointing
out on the water, where the boat was seen bobbing on the rising waves,
fully a hundred yards away, with the distance rapidly increasing.
It seems as if in the few minutes intervening, night had fully
descended. The wind had risen to a gale, and, even at that short
distance the little craft was fast growing indistinct in the gathering
gloom.
"It isn't very pleasant," replied Rob, "but it might be worse."
"I should like to know how it could be worse," said the sailor,
turning reprovingly toward him; "I wonder if I can do it."
The last words were uttered to himself, and he hastily laid down his
gun on the ice by his side. Then he began taking off his outer coat.
"What do you mean to do?" asked the amazed Fred.
"I believe I can swim out to the boat and bring it back," was the
reply, as he continued preparations.
"You musn't think of such a thing," protested Rob; "the water is cold
enough to freeze you to death. If you can't reach it, you will have to
come back to us, with your clothing frozen stiff, and nothing will
save you from perishing."
"I'll chance that," said Jack, who, however, continued his
preparations more deliberately, and with his eye still on the receding
boat.
He was about to take the icy plunge, in the last effort to save
himself and friends, when he stopped, and, straightening up, watched
the craft for a few seconds.
"No," said he, "it can't be done; the thing is drifting faster than I
can swim."
Such was the evident fact. While the vast mass of ice, as has been
explained elsewhere, was under the impulse of a mighty under-current,
the small craft was swept away by the surface current which flowed in
the opposite direction.
Even while the party looked, the boat faded from sight in the gloom.
"I can't see it," said Rob, who, like the others, was peering intently
into the darkness.
"Nor I either," added Fred.
"And what's more, you'll never see it again," commented Jack, who
began slowly donning his outer garments; "younkers, I've been in a
good many bad scraps in my life, and more than once would have sworn I
was booked for Davy Jones' locker, but this is a little the worst of
'em all."
His young friends looked wonderingly at him, unable to understand the
cause of such extreme depression on the part of one whom they knew to
be among the bravest of men, and in a situation that did not strike
them as specially threatening.
"Don't you think this iceberg will hold together until morning?" asked
Rob.
"It'll hold together for months," was the answer, "and like enough
will travel hundreds of miles through the Gulf Stream before it goes
to nothing."
"Then we are sure of a ship to keep us from drowning."
"I aint meaning that," said Jack, who was rapidly recovering his
equanimity, though it was plain he was strongly affected by the woful
turn the adventure had taken.
"And," added Fred, "Captain McAlpine knows where we are; he will
remain in the neighborhood until morning--"
"How do you know he will?" broke in Jack, impatiently.
"What's to hinder him?" asked Fred, in turn, startled by the abrupt
question; "he knows how to sail the 'Nautilus,' and has taken it
through many gales worse than this."
"How do you know he has?"
"Gracious, Jack, I don't know anything about it; I am only saying what
appears to me to be the truth."
"I don't want to hurt your feelings, lads, but I can't help saying you
don't know what you're talking about. A couple of young land lubbers
like you don't see things as they show themselves to one who was born
and has lived all his life on the ocean, as you may say. I don't mean
to scare you more than I oughter, but you can just make up your minds,
my hearties, that you never was in such a fix as this, and if you live
to be a hundred years old you'll never be in another half as bad."
These were alarming words, but, inasmuch as Jack did not accompany
them with any explanation, neither Rob nor Fred were as much impressed
as they would have been had he explained the grounds for his extreme
fear. What they saw was an enforced stay on the iceberg until the
following day. Although in a high latitude, the night was not
unusually long, and, though it was certain to be as uncomfortable as
can well be imagined, they had no doubt they would survive it and live
to laugh at their mishap.