“The steerin’ gear’s got jammed, too,” returned Silas, with a grim smile, and he applied himself to assist Seymour with the door.
But the thing refused to budge, and at length, sweating from the violence of their exertions, they gave up the attempt.
“What the plague has taken the things?” Seymour cried angrily. “First the engines break down, then the door jams, and now you say the steering gear’s gone wrong!”
As he spoke, Mervyn re-entered the turret.
“They can’t make out what’s wrong with the engines.” he announced. “Nothing is out of place, yet they will not run. It seems as though something were holding them back!”
“Exactly,” returned the millionaire. “I guess we’ve struck the magnetic attraction of the Pole!”
For an instant this announcement, given in the coolest of tones, staggered his comrades; then Mervyn spoke:
“Then this is no current which is urging the vessel on?” he began interrogatively.
“But real fifty thousand horse-power magnetism,” replied the Yankee; “and I guess it’s goin’ to take an extra large-size miracle to get the old boat out of its grip.”
His companions stared at him incredulously for a few seconds; then, as the full significance of this statement became clear to them, both turned and glanced out of the window.