He could not venture to swim with his heavy clothing on, and besides the ice, if it came together, would crush him.
His face paled as he saw that no one was in sight on land, and that the ice was moving in a swift current.
“I am lost!” he cried, wildly. “Oh! why did I foolishly venture on the ice?”
But it was too late to remedy his error, and he could only hope he might drift to some floe.
Darkness came down over the scene. The shore had disappeared. He was afloat on a cake of ice in the open sea!
The horrors of that night poor Will never forgot. At the very verge of a swift journey home with his recovered brother, the cup of happiness seemed dashed from his lips.
In his awful peril eternity loomed before him, and, after an hour of fervent prayer, he resigned himself to his fate.
In wandering over the piece of ice he slipped and fell. The contact with a jagged edge stunned him, and he knew no more.
When he awakened to consciousness he was lying in a warm, cozy bunk, a grizzled old sailor bending over him.
His head was bandaged and he was weak and feverish.