“We shall have wordless telepathy, then, instead of wireless telegraphy,” I assented, “and I believe Ferratoni is nearer right than most people would admit. Why, when we are up here alone together, sometimes, it seems to me that we——” I hesitated, and she interrupted me rather hastily.
“Yes, when we are looking out at all this, we are so often silent because there are no words to convey it; but I know what you are thinking better than if you tried to tell it.”
I do not think this was quite what I had started to say, but I was grateful for the interruption. I should doubtless have got into deep water and difficulties.
Each day the sun rose earlier, shone warmer, and set later. What we referred to as night no longer bore even the semblance of a night, and its darkest hour was but a brief period of lambent twilight. The weather continued unusually good for the latitude, and Thanksgiving Day, on the edge of the Antarctic Zone, was a complete golden cycle. After a bounteous dinner planned by Mr. Sturritt, and joined in by all the officers of the Billowcrest, we ascended by turns to the fighting-top to look for the first time on the midnight sun. Captain Biffer came back to the deck rather solemnly.
“It’s more than likely we won’t see it again, right away,” he announced. “If I’m not mistaken, there’s a blow coming off there to the northeast.”
The Captain was not mistaken, this time. Within an hour after midnight we were pitching in the midst of real darkness, fearsome and impenetrable. Icy waves were breaking over the decks of the Billowcrest, and the crash of ice under her hull was terrifying in its deafening fury.
There was no sail to take in, for we were running under steam only, now, but the sailors had enough to do at first to keep everything movable from washing overboard, and then, a little later, themselves. At each end of the vessel the officers were roaring out commands, and the men striving to obey.
There was no thought of sleep, of course, and everybody was on deck or in the cabins. Zar was praying swiftly and inclusively so as to have everybody in readiness at a moment’s notice, and nobody discouraged this undertaking. From stray bits that came to me now and then above the uproar I gathered that she believed our Thanksgiving services, as well as the expedition generally, had been of a character to provoke Divine wrath.
“Oh, Lawd,” she howled, “what can dese po’ sinful people expect, a-goin’ a hop-scotchin’ aroun’ on Thanksgivin’ Day, an’ a-huntin’ foh a fool pole in a lan’ wheah dey ain’ nuffin but ice, an’ wheah de sun shine at midnight? What can dey spect, Lawd? What can dey spect?”
As a matter of fact we were expecting almost anything at that moment, and we were not surprised, or more frightened than we had been, when Captain Biffer came in and roared at us that we were being driven into the pack!