Another day dawns upon the castaways, with again a bright sun on the
horizon; and Ned Gancy and Henry Chester, who have risen early, as they
look out over the water, become witnesses of the curious behaviour of
another Fuegian fishing-bird--the cormorant.
One of these birds, seemingly regardless of their presence, has come
close to the ledge where the boat is lying, and has there caught a fish.
But instead of gobbling it up or tearing it to pieces, as might be
expected, the captor lets it go again, not involuntarily, but, as soon
appears, designedly. The fish, alive and apparently uninjured, makes
away through the water; but only for a short distance, ere it is
followed by the cormorant and caught afresh. Then it is dropped a
second time, and a third time seized, and so on through a series of
catchings and surrenderings, just like those of a cat playing with a
mouse.
In this case, however, the cruel sport has a different termination, by
the cormorant being deprived of the prey it seemed so sure of. Not
through the efforts of the fish itself, which now, badly damaged, swims
but feebly; nor do the gulls appropriate it, but a wingless biped--no
other than Ned Gancy.
"Chester, we shall have that fish for breakfast," he says, springing to
his feet, and hastily stripping for a swim. Then, with a rush over the
ledge, he plunges in, sending the cormorant off in affright, and taking
possession of the prey it has left behind.
The fish proves to be a species of smelt, over two pounds in weight, and
a welcome addition to their now greatly reduced larder.
As they have passed a restful night, all the members of the forlorn
little party are up betimes; and soon "the doctor" is bestirring himself
about their breakfast, in which the cormorant-caught fish is to play a
conspicuous part.
The uprising sun reveals the landscape in a changed aspect, quite
different from that seen at its setting, and even more surprisingly
picturesque. The snowy mantle of Mount Darwin is no longer pure white,
but of hues more attractive--a commingling of rose and gold; while the
icicled cliffs on the opposite side of the cove, with the facades of
glaciers, show every tint of blue from pale sky to deep beryl, darkening
to indigo and purple in the deep sea-water at their bases. It is, or
might be called, the iridescence of a land with rocks all opals, and
trees all evergreens; for the dullest verdure here seems vivid by
contrast with its icy and snowy surroundings.
"Oh, mamma! isn't it glorious?" exclaims Leoline, as she looks around
upon the wonderful landscape. "It beats Niagara! If I only had my box
of colours, I'd make a sketch of it."
To this outburst of enthusiastic admiration, the mother responds with
but a faint smile. The late danger, from which they have had such a
narrow escape, still gravely affects her spirits; and she dreads its
recurrence, despite all assurances to the contrary. For she knows they
are but founded on hope, and that there may be other tribes of cruel and
hostile savages to be encountered. Even Seagriff still appears
apprehensive, else why should he be looking so anxiously out over the
water? Seated on the trunk of a fallen tree, pipe in mouth, he sends up
wreathing curls of smoke among the branches of the Winter's-bark
overhead. But he is not smoking tranquilly, as is his wont, but in
short, quick puffs, while the expression on his features, habitually
firm, tells of troubled thought.
"What are you gazing at, Chips?" questions Captain Gancy, who has
noticed his uneasy look.
"At that glasheer, Captin'. The big 'un derect in front of us."
"Well, what of it?"
"Tears to me it bulges out beyond the line o' the cliff more'n we mout
like it to. Please let me have a squint at it through the glass. My
eyes aren't wuth much agin the dazzle o' all that ice an' snow."
"By all means. Take the glass, if that will help you," says the
Captain, handing him the binocular, but secretly wondering why he wishes
to examine the glacier so minutely, and what there is in the mass of
blue congelation to be troubled about. But nothing further is said, he
and all the rest remaining silent, so as not to interfere with Seagriffs
observation. Not without apprehension, however, do they await the
result, as the old sealer's words and manner indicate plainly that
something is amiss.
And their waiting is for a short while only. Almost on the instant of
getting the glacier within his field of view, Seagriff cries out, "Jest
as I surspected! The end o' the ice air fur out from the rock,--ten or
fifteen fathoms, I should say!"
"Well, and if it is," rejoins the skipper, "what does that signify to
us?"
"A mighty deal, Captin'. Thet air, surposin' it should snap off _jest
now_. An' sech a thing wouldn't be unusual. I wonder we haven't seed
the like afore now, runnin' past so many glasheers ez we hev. Cewrus,
too, our not comin' acrost a berg yet. I guess the ice's not melted
sufficient for 'em to break away."
But now an appetising odour more agreeable to their nostrils than the
perfume of the fuchsias, or the aromatic fragrance of the Winter's-bark,
admonishes them of breakfast being served; the doctor likewise soon
proclaiming it. And so for a time the glacier is forgotten.
But after the meal has been dispatched, it again becomes the subject of
discourse, as the old sealer once more begins to regard it through the
glass with evident apprehension.
"It 'ud seem beyond the possibility of belief," he says, "thet them
conglomerations uv ice, hard froze an' lookin' ez tight fixed ez a
mainstay, for all thet hev a downard slitherin' motion, jest like a
stream o' water, tho' in coorse thousands or millions o' times slower."
"Oh! that's well understood," asserts the skipper, acquainted with the
latest theory of glacier movement.
"So it may be, Captin'," pursues Seagriff; "but thar's somethin' 'bout
these breakin' off an' becomin' bergs ez ain't so well understood, I
reckin'; leastways, not by l'arned men. The cause of it air well enough
know'd 'mong the seal-fishers ez frequent these soun's an' channels."
"What is the cause, Chips?" asked young Gancy, like all the others,
interested in the subject of conversation.
"Wall, it's this, Mister Ned. The sea-water bein' warmer than the ice,
melts the glasheer when thar's high-tide, an' the eend of it dips under;
then at low tide,--bein', so to speak, _undermined_, an' not havin' the
water to rest on,--it naterally sags down by its own weight, an' snaps
off, ez ye'll all easily understan'."
"Oh! we quite understand," is the universal response, every one
satisfied with the old sealer's explanation as to the origin of
icebergs.
"How I should like to see one launched," exclaims Leoline; "that big one
over there, for instance. It would make such a big plunge! Wouldn't
it, Mr Chips?"
"Yes, Miss, sech a plunge thet ef this child tho't thar was any
likelihood of it comin' loose from its moorin's while we're hyar, he
wouldn't be smokin' his pipe so contented. Jest look at thet boat."
"The boat! what of her?" asks the skipper, in some apprehension, at
length beginning to comprehend the cause of Seagriff's uneasiness.
"Wall, Captin', ef yon glasheer war to give off a berg, any sort of a
big 'un, it mout be the means o' leavin' us 'ithout any boat at all."
"But how?"
"How? Why, by swampin' or smashin' the only one we've got, the which--"
"Thunder an' airthquakes! See yonder! The very thing we're talkin'
'bout, I vow!"
No need for him to explain his words and excited exclamations. All know
what has called them forth: the berg is snapping off. All see the
breaking up and hear the crash, loud as the discharge of a ship's
broadside or a peal of thunder, till at length, though tardily, they
comprehend the danger, as their eyes rest on a stupendous roller, as
high as any sea the _Calypso_ had ever encountered, coming toward them
across the strait.
"To the boat!" shouts Seagriff, making down the bank, with all the men
after him. They reach the landing before the roller breaks upon it,
but, alas! to no purpose. Beach, to draw the boat up on, there is none,
only the rough ledge of rocks; and the only way to raise it on this
would be to lift it bodily out of the water, which cannot be done. For
all that, they clutch hold of it, with determined grip, around the edge
of the bow. But their united strength will prove as nothing against
that threatening swell. For the roller, entering the confined water of
the cove, has increased in height, and comes on with more tempestuous
surge. Their effort proves futile, and nigh worse than futile to Henry
Chester. For, as the boat is whisked out of their hands and swung up
fathoms high, the English youth, heedless of Seagriff's shout, "Let go!"
hangs on, bulldog-like, and is carried up along with her.
The others have retreated up the slope, beyond reach of the wave which
threatens to bear him off in its backward flow. Seeing his danger, all
cry out in alarm; and the voice of Leoline is heard above, crying out to
her mother, "Oh! Henry is lost."
But no, Henry is not lost. Letting go before the boat comes down again,
with a vigorous bound backward the agile youth heads the roller, getting
well up the bank ere it washes over him. Wash over him it does, but
only drenches him; for he has flung his arms around a barberry-bush, and
holds it in firm embrace; so firm and fast that, when the water has
surged back, he is still seen clinging to it--safe. But by the same
subsidence the boat is dashed away, the keel striking on some rocks with
a harsh sound, which tells of damage, if not total destruction. Still
it floats, drifting outward, and for a while all seems well with it.
Believing it to be so, the two youths rush to the tent, and each
snatching an oar from it, prepare to swim out and bring the boat back.
But before they can enter the water, a voice tells them their hope is
vain, Captain Gancy himself calling out, "It's no use, boys! The gig's
got a hole in its bottom, and is going down. Look!"
They do look, and they see that the boat is doomed. Only for an instant
are their eyes upon it, before it is seen no more, having "bilged" and
gone under, leaving but bubbles to mark the place of its disappearance.