Amid their confusion they wandered aimlessly over the ice, at last coming to the verge of the level plain they had left.
A spectacle met their vision which held them spellbound.
The plain was no longer a vast field of ice. Some immense pressure had cracked its surface into a myriad of fragments. A white, churning sea, dotted here and there with whirling icebergs, pulsated at their feet.
The Arctic and the men they had seen on the ice had disappeared.
Far in the distance a wall of icebergs receded momentarily farther and farther from view.
“The Arctic has been borne out of view beyond the icebergs by the breaking ice,” murmured Will. “The men must have reached the ship in safety.”
Every minute the broken ice receded from the spot where they stood.
“We must be on solid ground,” said Will; “but, oh, boys, what shall we do, left here without food or arms or even the fuel for a fire?”
“What!” cried Tom, apprehensively; “you do not think we will not reach the ship again?”
“How can we?”