“Yes, my lad; look!” said the Norseman, pointing to the narrow limits of the water in which the Hvalross lay; and as the boy gazed downward with dilating eyes, he could see that on one side there was a wall of ice almost stationary, while on the other the masses were grinding together, the smaller being forced upward above the larger to form a chaotic ridge, which was coming toward them with swift, irresistible power.
“Quick!” said the Norseman sternly. “In another five minutes we shall be crushed in the ice. We must be on deck so as to have our chance of escape with the rest when they take to the floe.”
“Ahoy! there aloft!” roared the captain, as the steam whistle began to utter its deep-toned yell, which sounded strangely amidst the roar and crack of the ice in motion. “Down with you both—quick!”
“Do you hear?” cried Johannes excitedly. “Down, my lad, quick!”
Steve made a movement to stoop and raise the trap on which he stood, and he stopped short and gazed despairingly in the great Norseman’s face.
“Well, why do you stop?” said Johannes. “Draw up the trap, and go down.”
“I cannot stir,” said Steve faintly. “I did not know it before. It’s the cold, I suppose. My legs and feet are quite numbed.”