Keen it was, but without the sting of the frost, and its sharpness was tempered by the warming rays of the sun.
Stepping out on to the wet and glistening deck, Silas moored the vessel securely by her stern cable to a projecting pinnacle of ice, then turned and gazed about them.
Above rose the heights of the barrier range, towering peak above peak for thousands of feet into the splendour of the Arctic sky; before him, silent and deserted as a sea of the dead, rolled the mighty waters of the Polar Sea.
“Glorious!” breathed Mervyn rapturously. “Glorious!” and he shaded his eyes from the glare of the sun, as he gazed in an ecstasy of enthusiasm across the shimmering wave-crests.
Then, from far away, came a low, rumbling roar, as of distant thunder.
“What was that?” the scientist asked sharply; “not thunder, surely?”
“Hardly,” returned Seymour; “but now let us turn in for a spell. It’s been over forty-eight hours since we had a wink of sleep.”
“You’re right, Seymour,” admitted the scientist; “do you all go below for an hour or two. I will take the watch; I cannot sleep until I know the result of our quest.”
Despite the persuasions of his comrades, the Professor’s determination remained unshaken, and at length they left him and went below.
For an hour Mervyn paced the deck excitedly, listening to the thunder-like detonations, which rolled up at frequent intervals from the far horizon; then, for the first time, he became conscious that the vessel was quivering beneath him, as though in motion.