CHAPTER XIII.
THE CHAPEL BELL.—THE FIRST SEAL.—THE NORTH CAPE.—A SNOW-SQUALL.
The way was rough, and not without its dangers, for more than once Peter, who led the file, sprang just in time to save himself, as the treacherous crust above some yawning chasm between two heavy "Pans" crumbled under his feet; and once he fell headlong, clutching at a friendly spur, just in time to escape tumbling among a lot of jagged and flinty shards of young "crushed ice."
The wind was light at times, coming in puffs and squalls; and although the day was bright, a mist here, snowy white, there crimson with sunbeams, again darkening into purplish blue, and elsewhere of a heavy and leaden obscurity, hung over the greater part of the sky, and made it a doubtful task to prognosticate, with any degree of certainty, the state of the weather for even an hour in advance.
As they proceeded, a strangely solemn, though faint and distant, sound broke the oppressive silence. The three halted and listened intently. Again, low as the moan of the dying surges on a distant bar, the sound came thrilling over the icy sea to the southward, and each face flushed with a new hope of speedy release from their wild prison-house.
"Hark!" said Orloff, raising his hand. "I hear the sound of a church bell. We must be near the land."