“Who can say, sir?” replied the Norseman. “It is very hard now that we are so near a safe harbour. If the ice does join we must be crushed, for it is too high above us to lift us up.”
“And if the ship is crushed,” whispered Steve, “will it sink?”
“The minute the ice loosens its grip, sir, she must go down.”
The walls were not forty yards apart now, and the unfortunate crew could pretty well pick out the rugged prominences on their right which would just touch and drive them against the smooth, cliff-like mass on their left. More awe-inspiring still, they could see that as soon as the shock came vast pieces of piled-up ice must lose their equilibrium and topple down on the deck, crushing everything they touched; and onward still the terrible line came till it was not twenty yards away.
“The ice cliff is not moving,” said Johannes, “and the crash will be the greater. Be ready, gentlemen; in another minute the blow must come. Great heavens! what is that?”
He looked astern, as a terrible rushing noise was heard; and as all followed his example, struck by the sound, there, about a hundred yards behind them, the water was foaming and rushing toward them in a wave laden with fragments of ice.
It was plain enough: the pressure of the ice behind was driving the water compressed between those narrow walls forward, like some cataract, which looked as if it would sweep the deck before the two cliffs joined.
“Ready!” shouted the captain. “But don’t stir till the crash begins. The vessel will be at its closest to the cliff on this side.”
“But ta watter will sweep us awa’, captain!” yelled Hamish.
“Silence; the wave will pass under us!” roared the captain, his voice being hardly heard. “Wait till I give the word.”