“But it’s ice and snow, not land.”
“The land’s under it, my lad,” said the mate. “The ice and snow don’t pile up like that without something to stand on. The captain ought to know this; but he’s so done up I wouldn’t wake him. He could do no good if he came on deck.”
“Then shall you make for that land?”
“Yes; there’s nothing else to be done. We must go forward now, as there’s open water. All astern is ice, where we should certainly be nipped. That’s safety for us if we can steam there, for we should be sure to find some cove or fiord, and shelter from the pressure of the ice.”
“But suppose we should get into a fiord, and the ice blocked us in, what then?” said Steve, more anxiously.
“Why, then we should have to wait till it opened again and let us out.”
“But it might be a long time.”
“Perhaps so; but that’s better than getting our ship crushed, eh?”
“Of course,” said Steve; and soon after he went down to talk to the Norsemen forward, the momentary depression at the idea of being shut in having passed away.
There was a low, whimpering muttering as he neared the galley, the door of which was ajar, and he heard the cook say angrily: