THE DESERT OF ICE
The portion of the great iceberg that was visible consisted of a good
many square miles of hills and valleys of ice, with the two more
important eminences standing close together near the middle of the
vast field.
It was so huge that its movement (and bergs are always in motion)
could not be observed at all. It seemed as immovable as the island of
Iceland itself, yet Captain Olaf Karofsen was positive that it had
drifted a good many miles southward during the two weeks since his
schooner had been wrecked on one of the outer reefs of the berg.
As the _Winged Arrow_ swooped lower, and Tom Swift drove it around
the entire outer edge of the iceberg, the schooner captain tried to
mark the spot where the _Kalrye_ had struck and sunk and the spot
where the lifeboat had been smashed.
There was not a scrap of either wreck to be seen. The changing
surface of the ice offered no certain mark of any party of castaways
having been upon it. The seaplane circumnavigated the huge berg twice
with the same result. The hearts of Tom and Ned failed them. They
feared that the disaster had been wholly tragic, after all.
But Captain Karofsen would not give up hope. He pointed out that his
five sailors were all seasoned men, used to the Arctic, and of wide
experience. First of all, he said, they would have saved the boat,
cut it up with the boat axes, and transported it and the provisions
to some sheltered place on the berg.
“There be hunderts of caves—yes? Many, many places for to hide and
keep varm. Iceland men don’t gif up so easy, Misder Swift.”
It was plain to be seen that there were many valleys and sheltered
dens in the middle of the berg into which the crew of the seaplane
could not see. The flying boat might pass back and forth over the
iceberg a hundred times and not be spied by the castaways if they
were thus holed up.
“But we do not even see any smoke,” said Ned. “If they had a fire——”
“They would be careful with their fuel,” interrupted Tom. “We might
hang around up here for a couple of days and miss seeing anything of
them if they are there——”
“A wise ‘if,’” interrupted Ned.
“Unless they come out to hunt food——”
“Hoh!” cried Ned again. “Dig potatoes, I suppose?”
“Don’t be foolish!” commanded Tom. “There are seals and bears, and
Captain Karofsen says that both Mr. Damon and Mr. Nestor had rifles.”
“That’s right,” agreed Ned. “I did not think of that.”
“So,” concluded Tom firmly, “I am going to descend into that middle
valley——”
“Not between those two peaks, Tom?” cried his friend. “That is a bad
hole to get out of.”
“I mean the valley just beyond. See! Look close.”
He managed the controls so that the great flying boat headed in
between the tall pinnacles of ice. As they rushed into the narrow
valley between the greenish-white walls of ice, they found the cleft
much deeper than they had at first supposed. There was an unexpected
draught through the passage, too.
The _Winged Arrow_ swerved unexpectedly to one side, and her right
wing scraped along the ice cliff. The plane was jarred from stem to
stern and several cables snapped.
The collision dislodged a huge mass of the ice that came tumbling
down, barely missing the tail of the boat and falling with a
thunderous crash into the bottom of the gorge.
“You’d better get out of this, Tom!” yelled Ned. “Shoot her up!”
The passage between the ice cliffs was too narrow and crooked,
however, for Tom to risk any abrupt ascent. Still rocking from the
force of that slam against the ice, the seaplane staggered on, but at
reduced speed. The valley was several miles long.
Again and yet again the end of one wing or the other touched the ice.
These slight collisions did no particular harm, but they emphasized
the fact that Tom could not govern the mechanism as perfectly as he
had before.
The balance of the plane was overset. She was likewise sinking.
When Tom signaled for a “lift,” Brannigan could not work his levers
properly. Like a huge wounded air fowl, the _Winged Arrow_ fluttered
lower and lower.
“My goodness, Tom! are we done for?” gasped his chum.
Tom’s face was pale, but he did not lose his self-control. He dared
not raise the nose of the flying boat sharply, for if he did and she
then took a tail spin she would land upon her propeller and put that
out of commission.
The craft continued to descend. Tom waved a disengaged hand toward
the right hand window. Ned and the others saw what he wished to call
their attention to.
The airtight pontoon at that end of the great wing had been smashed
in the collision with the wall of ice and now hung partly disengaged
from its proper fastenings. This had so disarranged the balance of
the boat that her management was most difficult, especially in this
narrow chasm.
Another sharp turn in the valley of ice loomed before them. Below,
Tom saw that the bottom of the gorge was comparatively smooth for
some distance. If they could make a fair landing, they might be able
to repair the pontoon and then rise on even keel again.
He quickly signaled Brannigan, who shut down the motors. The roar of
them ceased almost at once. The great flying boat sank to rest in the
heart of the giant iceberg.