Bang! Crash!
Raynor was almost thrown out of his bunk by a terrific concussion.
“Goodness! We’ve collided with Cape Race!” was his first
exclamation.
He scrambled hastily into some clothes and was soon on deck. “We are
foul of the ice!” yelled the mate, rushing forward.
“What’s that?” roared Terror Carson. “I’ll hang that rascally
look-out to the yard-arm. Down helm there. Quick, now! The sea is
full of loose ice.”
It was about midnight and intensely dark to add to the confusion. A
thin scud, borne of the cold air above the ice fields, obscured the
stars and moon. It was almost impossible to see anything. Through
the darkness orders were bawled in what appeared to be a hopeless
tangle.
Jack turned to find Noddy at his side.
“Gee! Guess we’re in a tight place,” said the Bowery boy.
“It looks that way. Did you feel that bump?”
“Did I? Gee, I tort I wuz at Coney Island bumpin’ de bumps. But say,
what’s de matter?”
“We are in a field of loose ice. We struck a small growler, I heard
the captain say.”
“I didn’t hear nuffin growl but I guess it’s all right,” observed
Noddy. “Say, do youse tink we’ll ever git out’n dis?”
“Never say die, you know,” rejoined Raynor, “but look, what’s that on
our bow?”
“Looks like a big black tenement house wid no lights in der
winders.”
“It’s a berg.”
“Holy Moses and we’re headed right bang fer um. Hold fast!”
“Light a flare there,” shouted the captain suddenly. The next moment
the ghastly blue glare of a Coston light sputtered up. The sight the
blaze revealed was a terrifying one.
There were two bergs. Both of them giants and both approaching each
other. Between them was only a narrow passage. Waves dashed against
their sides as the sea forced its way through the narrow channel.
They were fairly caught in a trap. It was impossible to go about in
that sea of ice.
“Chee, we’re goners,” cried Noddy, “we’ll git squeezed in between
’em like a lemon.”
“It looks as if there was no hope,” admitted Raynor. Then he looked
round at Terror Carson. Like a man of steel the skipper of the
_Polly Ann_ stood poised on the bulwarks, steadying himself by a
back stay. He seemed to be gauging the distance between the two
converging bergs and the schooner. Raynor almost found it in his
heart to admire his stoical calm in that supreme moment.
“Can we make it, sir?”
It was the mate speaking. He was ordinarily a calm, stolid man, but
now his voice was hoarse with tension.
“I don’t know. We must if we can. It’s the only way out,” was the
calm reply, “order all hands to sheets and braces.”
“Sheets and braces!” bawled out the mate.
There was a scampering along the decks. Every man stood at his
appointed place. Raynor and Noddy, as “idlers,” as cooks and so
forth are classed, had nothing to do but watch.
“Jove,” exclaimed Raynor, “Carson’s going to try to get us out of
it.”
“He don’t stan’ no more chance than a chicken at a nigger picnic,”
opined Noddy dolefully.
Terror Carson clambered down from his post on the bulwark. Quite
slowly, as if there was no urgent hurry, he strode back toward the
helm. Suddenly he gave a sharp order.
“Break out your topsails and keep the lights burning.”
There was a brisk breeze, and as the topsails were added to the
schooner’s canvas, the masts bent like whips. The craft heeled,
shook herself and then bounded forward like a race horse. With iron
bound muscles Carson, his legs braced apart, stood at the wheel,
gripping the spokes. His steady blue eyes gazed straight ahead. He
seemed to steer by instinct.
Raynor could almost have found it in his heart to admire him. Noddy
was outspoken in his praise.
“Gee, that guy kin sure handle a ship,” he exclaimed.
The bows of the schooner were pointed straight for the narrow
passage between the bergs, a channel which was closing in every
minute. Her rigging screeched and her hull groaned under the press
of canvas she was carrying. Raynor looked aloft anxiously. If
anything carried away now, their doom was sealed.
In the blue glare of the lights the bergs looked gigantic. Their
summits were fretted into pinnacles and steeples like those of a
cathedral. The ice shimmered and flashed as the lambent glare shone
on it. But the boys only gazed at the black channel between the two
glittering monoliths of ice.
And now the mighty tops loomed right above them. A shout they could
not repress broke from the sailors as the _Polly Ann_ darted
forward. Right for the black passage she made. The salt spray from
the waves that dashed on the icy cliffs showered the schooner’s
deck. “Get ready to jump for the ice if we strike,” breathed Raynor,
“it’s our only hope!”