THE SOUND OF A VOICE
For hours the fog showed no signs of lifting. The three remained
seated near the carcass of the polar bear, discussing the one question
that had already been discussed so long, until there really seemed
nothing left to say.
Not long after the collision between the icebergs a singular thing
took place. It was evident that the two were acted upon each by a
diverse current, but the preponderating bulk of the greater was not
disturbed by the smaller. The latter, however, as if anxious to break
away from its master, began slowly grinding along the face, until,
after awhile, it swung clear and gradually drifted out of sight in the
misty vapor.
"She will know better than to tackle one bigger than herself," was the
remark of Rob Carrol, "which reminds me that if there should happen to
be a bigger iceberg than this floating around loose we sha'n't be in
any danger."
"And why not?"
"Because being so big it will be under the influence of the same
current as this and going in the same direction, so there won't be
much chance of our coming together."
"Unless the big one should overtake us," suggested Fred.
"Even then it would find it hard to run over us, so there isn't much
to be feared from that; what I do dread is that we shall strike some
shallow place in the sea that will make this thing turn a somersault."
"It would be a terrible thing," said Fred, unable to drive it from his
thoughts.
"Is it possible for the berg to strike something like that and stick
fast, without shifting its centre of gravity?"
The question was addressed to Jack Cosgrove, but he did not attempt to
answer until the last clause was explained to him.
"Oh! yes; that has been seen many times. A berg will ground itself
just like a boat, and stay for days and weeks until a storm breaks it
up, or it shakes itself loose. I don't believe if we do strike bottom
again that there's much danger of capsizing."
"Why didn't you tell us that before?" asked Rob, reprovingly; "we
might have been saved all this worry."
"It's only guesswork, any way, so you may as well keep on worrying,
for, somehow or other, you seem to enjoy it."
"I think there is a thinning of the fog," remarked Fred, some time
later.
"A little, but not much; it's growing colder, too; we'll run into keen
weather afore reaching the Pole."
"I shouldn't wonder if it came pretty soon. Hello!" added Rob, looking
at his watch; "it is past noon."
"Do you want your dinner?" asked Jack, with a grin.
Both lads gave an expression of disgust, the elder replying:
"I can stand it for twenty-four hours before hankering for another
slice of bear steak, and I shouldn't be surprised if Fred feels the
same way."
"You are correct, my friend."
"Ah, you chaps can get used to anything!" was the self-complacent
remark of the sailor, as he assumed a comfortable attitude on the ice.
While the boys talked thus, Jack was carefully noting the weather. He
saw with pleasure that the fog was steadily clearing, and that, before
night, the atmosphere was likely to be wholly clear again. That fact
might avail them nothing, but it was a thousand-fold better than the
mist, in which they might drift within a hundred feet of friends
without either party suspecting it.
From what has been told, it will be understood that no one of the
three built any hope of a rescue by the "Nautilus." The violent gale
had driven her miles away, and a search on her part for this
particular iceberg would be like the hunt of one exploring party for
another that had been lost years before.
But it was not to be supposed that Captain McAlpine would quietly
dismiss all care concerning the lads from his mind. One of them was a
son of a leading director of the Hudson Bay Company, and the other was
a favorite of the son and his father. For the skipper to return to
London at the end of several months with the report that he had left
them on an iceberg in the Greenland Sea would be likely to subject him
to unpleasant consequences.
The most natural course of the captain, as it seemed to the sailor,
after making the best search he could, was to put into some of the
towns along the coast, and organize several parties to go out in
search of them.
"He is no fool," thought Jack, as he turned the subject over in his
mind without speaking, "and he must have took the bearings of the ship
and the berg as I did. He won't be able to keep track of us, but he
will know better than to sail exactly in the wrong direction, as most
other folks would do. Yes," he remarked to his friends, as he looked
off over the sea, "the weather is clearing and the fog will be all
gone before night."
This was gratifying information, though neither youth could tell
precisely why it should give them special ground for hope.
You will understand one of the trials of the boys when adrift on the
iceberg. The latter was moving slowly, and, though in a direction
different from the surface current, yet it was barely perceptible. No
other objects were in sight than the berg itself, which gave the
impression to the passengers that it was motionless on the vasty deep.
You know how much harder it is to wait in a train at a station than it
is in one in motion. If they could have realized that the berg was
actually moving, no matter in what direction, the relief would have
been great. As it was, they felt as though they were simply waiting,
waiting for they knew not what.
The afternoon was more than two-thirds gone when the last vestige of
the fog vanished. The sun shone out, and, looking off to sea, the
power of the eye itself was the only limit to the vision.
Without explaining the meaning of his action, Jack Cosgrove made his
way down the path to the place where they had spent most of the
preceding night, and climbing upon a slight elevation, stood for a
full minute looking fixedly off over the sea. He shaded his eyes
carefully with his hand, and stood as motionless as a stone statue.
"He either sees or expects to see something," said Rob, who, like his
companion, was watching him with much interest.
"He is so accustomed to the ocean that his eyes are better than ours,"
said Fred.
"I can't make out anything."
Suddenly Jack struck his thigh with his right hand and wheeled about,
showing a face aglow with feeling.
"By the great horned spoon, I knowed it."
"What have you discovered, Jack?"
"You chaps just come this way," he said, crooking his stubby
forefinger toward them, "and put yourself alongside of me and take the
sharpest squint you can right over yonder."
Doing as directed, they finally agreed, after some hard looking, that
they saw what seemed to be a long, low, white cloud in the horizon.
"That's Greenland," was the astonishing reply; "I don't know what
part, but it's solid airth with snow on it."
This was interesting, indeed, though it was still difficult to
understand what special hope the fact held out to them.
It seemed to grow slightly more distinct as the afternoon advanced.
Since it was hardly to be supposed that the iceberg was approaching
land, this was undoubtedly caused by the contour of the coast.
When night began closing in the party fired their guns repeatedly,
thinking possibly the reports might attract notice from some of the
natives fishing in the vicinity. The chance, however, was so
exceedingly slight that they made preparations for spending the night
as before--that is, huddled together against the projecting ice. There
was hardly a breath of air stirring, though the temperature continued
falling.
"I hear it!" exclaimed Fred, starting to his feet, within five minutes
after seating themselves as described.
"What's that?" asked the amazed Rob; "are you crazy?"
"Listen!"
They did so. There was no mistake about it. They caught the sound of a
vigorously moved paddle, and, had any doubt remained, it was
dissipated by the loud call in a peculiar voice, and with an odd
accent:
"Holloa! holloa! holloa!"