His chums’ excitement was quite as great as Bob’s as they ranged themselves by his side at the rail and saw the magnificent spectacle that had provoked his outburst.
Moving along majestically and slowly were scores of icebergs, their icy pinnacles catching the rays of the sun and throwing them back in a thousand prismatic lights. They were of all sizes and areas and shapes. Some of them were solid, irregularly formed masses of ice; others had great passageways in them like Gothic arches; still others towered aloft like mighty cathedrals, with spires and towers shooting toward the skies.
The Radio Boys were breathless with rapt admiration. No painter’s brush could ever have rendered the glory of the scene. No dreamer’s imagination could have compassed it. It was sublime, supremely and compellingly beautiful.
“Must be nearly a hundred,” conjectured Jimmy.
“Fully that many,” conceded Bob. “But I don’t want to count them. I just want to look at them. It’s even a grander sight than the aurora last night.”
“Look at that big one on the right,” said Joe. “That must be hundreds of feet high. The top looks as though it were going right up into the sky.
“What’s that noise?” exclaimed Herb, as a sharp succession of reports came to their ears.
The question was promptly answered. The giant peak to which Joe had pointed began to sway to and fro with a rhythmic motion, and then, with one last thunderous roar, fell over into the sea, sending a column of water hundreds of feet high into the air.
“What made that, I wonder!” exclaimed Joe, when their first stunned sensation had subsided.
“I guess it was about due to fall,” remarked Bob. “That’s the way they go to pieces. Perhaps just the wash from the Meteor disturbed its balance and set it going. They’re something like the avalanches that get started sometimes just by a hand clap or the sound of the human voice. Now just watch, and I’ll bet that the noise caused by that fall will start lots of the others to going.”