“There is always danger when so much ice is floating about. But we hope to get through all right.”
The lads could readily see that not only Mr. Dawson, but also the captain, mate, and sailors were much concerned. Captain Williamson still had his glass in use, and was scanning the sea ahead.
“I think we can make it,” he said to Mr. Dawson. “But it is going to be a tight squeeze.”
“Well, we don’t want such a tight squeeze that we get our ribs stove in,” answered the explorer.
“Are we going to pass between the icebergs yonder?” asked Chet.
“We’ll have to—to reach the clear sea beyond,” answered the captain.
The speed of the steamer had been reduced, and the course again changed. They were pushing away from one of the big bergs that seemed to tower up into the sky like some giant of the polar regions.
“If that iceberg hit us, it would knock us to flinders,” was Chet’s comment, as he viewed the oncoming mass.
On one side of the ship were the icebergs, and on the other the floating cakes, the latter growing thicker every minute. The Ice King was turned into the floating cakes, which thumped and bumped loudly on the bow and sides. Then came an unexpected crashing from the stern.
“What’s that?” cried the mate, who was at the wheel, steering under Captain Williamson’s directions.