MAROONED ON AN ICE FLOE.
"We have struck a polar reef!"
It was Captain Barrington who uttered these words after a brief
examination.
"Do you think we will be able to get off?" Frank asked Ben Stubbs, who
with the boys and the rest of the crew was in the bow peering down at
what appeared to be rocks beneath the vessel's bow, except that their
glitter in the lanterns that were hung over the side showed that the
ship was aground on solid ice.
"Hard to say," pronounced Ben. "These polar reefs are bad things. They
float along a little below the surface and many a ship that has struck
them has had her bottom ripped off before you could say 'knife.'"
"Are we seriously damaged?" asked Billy, anxiously gazing at the
scared faces around him.
"I hope not," said the old salt; "there is one thing in our favor and
that is that we were being towed so that our bow was raised quite a
bit, and instead of hitting the ice fair and square we glided up on
top of it."
Another point in favor of the ship's getting off was that there had
been no time to reshift the cargo, which, it will be recalled, had
been stowed astern when her bow was sprung off Patagonia, so that she
rode "high by the head," as sailors say. So far as they could see in
the darkness about twenty feet of her bow had driven up onto the polar
reef. The Brutus had stopped towing in response to the signal gun of
the Southern Cross in time to prevent the towing-bitts being rooted
out bodily or the cable parting.
"There is nothing to be done till daylight," pronounced Captain
Barrington, after an examination of the hold had shown that the vessel
was perfectly dry. "The glass indicates fair weather and we'll have to
stay where we are till we get daylight."
Little sleep was had by any aboard that night, and bright and early in
the morning the boys, together with most of the crew, were on deck and
peering over the bow. The day was a glorious one with the temperature
at two below zero. The sun sparkled and flashed on the great ice-reef
on which they had grounded, and which in places raised crested heads
above the greenish surface of the sea.
No water had been taken on in the night, to the great relief of the
captain, and soon a string of gaudy signal flags were set which
notified the Brutus, lying at anchor about a mile away, to stand by.
The hawser had been cast off over night and so the Brutus was free to
steam to any position her captain thought advisable. As soon as the
signalling was completed he heaved anchor and stood for a point about
half-a-mile to the leeward of the Southern Cross, where he came to
anchor once more.
Breakfast, a solid meal as befitted the latitude in which they were,
was hastily despatched and the boys bundled themselves up in polar
clothes and hurried out on deck to see what was going forward. Captain
Barrington, after a short consultation with Captain Hazzard, decided
to order out boat parties to explore the length and depth of the
ice-reef so that he could make plans to free his ship off her prison.
The boys begged to be allowed to accompany one of the boat parties and
so did the professor. Their requests were finally acceded to by the
two captains and they formed part of the crew of Boat No. 3, in charge
of Ben Stubbs.
"Wait a minute," shouted the professor, as, after the boat to which
they were assigned lay ready for lowering, the boys clambered into
her.
"What's the matter?" demanded the boys.
"I want to get my dredging bucket," exclaimed the man of science,
"this is a fine opportunity for me to acquire some rare specimens."
He dived into his cabin, the two ends of his woolen scarf flying out
behind him like the tail of some queer bird. He reappeared in a second
with the bucket, an ordinary galvanized affair, but with a wire-net
bottom and a long rope attached, to allow of it being dragged along
the depths of the sea.
"All ready!" shouted Frank, as the professor clambered into the boat.
The "falls" rattled through the blocks and the boat struck the water
with a splash, almost upsetting the professor, who was peering over
the side through his thick spectacles as if he expected to see some
queer polar fish at once. The crew swarmed down the "falls," and as
Ben gave the order, pulled away for the outer end of the reef, the
station assigned to them.
In accordance with their instructions when they arrived at the end of
the reef, the crew, headed by Ben Stubbs, left the boat and tramping
about on the slippery ice tried to ascertain its thickness and how far
under water it extended. The boys soon tired of sitting idle in the
boat and, as they had been forbidden to land on the treacherous ice of
the reef, cast about for something to do. The professor soon provided
a digression.
"Look there," he suddenly shouted, pointing at a black triangular
shaped object that was moving about on the green water a short
distance from the boat.
"What can it be?" wondered Billy.
"Some sort of rare fish, I don't doubt," rejoined the professor.
"Let's row out and see."
The boys, nothing loath, shoved off, and as Ben and the crew of the
boat were far too busy sounding and poking about on the reef to notice
them, they rowed off unobserved.
The triangular object proved elusive, and after rowing some time, the
boys found they had come quite a distance from the ship without
getting much nearer to it. Suddenly a great, shining black back curved
itself out of the water and the boys saw that the sharp triangular
thing was an immense dorsal fin attached to the back of a species of
whale they had not so far seen, although they had sighted many
varieties since entering the Antarctic regions.
"Let's give it a shot," cried Billy, and before any one could stop
him, the young reporter fired at the creature.
To their amazement, instead of diving, as do most whales when injured
by a bullet or otherwise, the creature raised its blunt head and gazed
at them out of a wicked little red eye.
"What--what--what's the matter with him do you suppose?" gasped Billy.
As he spoke the whale began lashing the water with its tail till the
white foam spread all about it, slightly flecked with red here and
there, in token that Billy's shot had struck it.
"I'm afraid that we are in for serious trouble," suddenly said the
professor.
"Why, you don't mean that the creature is bold enough to attack us?"
gasped Billy.
"That's just what I do," exclaimed the professor, apprehensively.
"The creature is a killer whale--an animal as ferocious as a shark and
far more bold. I should have recognized what it was when I saw that
sharp fin cruising about."
"We must row back," shouted Frank, and he and Harry sprang to the
oars.
But they were too late. With a flashing whisk of its tail the
ferocious killer whale dived, and when it came up its head was within
twenty feet of the boat.
"Pull for that floe!" shouted the professor, pointing to a small
island of ice floating about not far from them. It was their only
chance of escape, and the boys gave way with a will. But pull as they
would their enemy was faster than they. Just as the nose of their boat
scraped the floe the great "killer" charged.
Frank had just time to spring onto the floe and drag Harry after him
when the monster's head rammed the boat, splitting it to kindling wood
with a terrible crackling sound. The stout timbers might as well have
been a matchbox, so far as resistance to the terrific onslaught was
concerned.
Billy jumped just as the boat collapsed under him, and gained the
floe. But where was the professor?
For an instant the terrible thought that he had perished flashed
across the boys' minds, but just then a cry made them look round, and
they saw the unfortunate scientist, blue with cold and dripping with
icy water, come clambering over the other side of the little floe on
which they stood. He had been hurled out of the boat when the whale
charged and cast into the water. His teeth were chattering so that he
could hardly speak, but he still had his bucket, and insisted on
examining it to see if any creatures had been caught in it when he
took his involuntary plunge.
The whale, after its charge and the terrific bump with which it struck
the boat, seemed to be stunned and lay quietly on the water a few feet
from the floe, from which it had rebounded.
"I'll bet he's got a headache," exclaimed Billy.
"Headache or no headache, I don't see how we are going to get off this
floe unless we can attract the attention of the ship, and we are
drifting further away from it every minute," said Frank, gravely.
"Let's fire our pistols," suggested Billy.
"I didn't bring mine," said Frank.
"Nor I," said Harry.
"N-n-n-n-or I," chattered the shivering professor.
"Gee whitakers," shouted Billy, "and to top the bad luck, I left mine
in the boat. I laid it on a seat after I had fired at the whale."
"B-b-b-b-boys, w-w-w-w-w-hat are we g-g-g-oing to d-d-d-do?" shivered
the scientist.
"Shout," said Frank; "come on, all together."
They shouted at the tops of their voices, but in the clear polar air,
rarified as it is, sound does not carry as well as in northern
latitudes, and there was no response.
All the time the floe, slowly revolving in the current like a floating
bottle, was drifting further and further from the ships. The situation
was serious, and, moreover, the scientist was evidently suffering
acutely, although he made no complaint, not wishing to add to their
anxieties. Frank, however, insisted on their each shedding a garment
for the professor's benefit, and although the scientist at first
refused them, he finally consented to don the articles of dry apparel
and seemed to be much comforted by their warmth.
Faster and faster the floe drifted, and they were now almost out of
sight of the ships. The boys' faces, although they tried not to show
their fear, grew very pale. There seemed to be no prospect of their
being saved, and in the rigorous cold of that climate they knew they
could not survive many hours without food or drink.
Suddenly Frank, who had been gloomily watching the progress of the
floe, gave a shout of surprise.
"What's the matter?" said Harry.
"Are we g-g-g-g-going d-d-d-d-down?" gasped the professor.