“Well, of course!” cried Steve; “so are icebergs.”
“Are they, sir?” said the man, smiling. “Have you ever seen one?”
“No; but I’ve often read of them.”
“Wait till you see one, then, sir, and you won’t say they’re part of the frozen sea; they’re bits of the great ice rivers that run down into the sea, and then break off. Icebergs are fresh water when they’re melted—land ice. Me and my mate have heard them split off with a noise like thunder, and then they float away.”
“Ahoy, there aloft! Up she comes.”
The little wheel in the block overhead began to chirrup and squeak as the men hauled upon the line, and the tub with its iron ring and rail began to ascend rapidly higher and higher, till it reached where the three clung, and was then guided to where it was to be secured, with its bottom resting on the place where the tops of the shrouds passed round the mast.
“Hold on!” was shouted. “Make fast!” and the cask became stationary. Then the second of the two sailors stood on the newly-made ladder, and held the cask while the first passed a rope round it and secured it to the slight mast; after which there was a little lashing above to steady it, and the crow’s-nest hung there high above the deck, ready for use.
“There you are, sir,” said Johannes. “As you’ve been helping you ought to have first try. Up with you.”
“Think it’s safe?” said Steve, hesitating; and a curious sensation of shrinking came over him.
“Shouldn’t ask you to try her if she warn’t fast, sir,” replied the man bluntly; and without further ado the lad loosened his grasp of the shrouds, and stepped on to the wooden ladder, looking up at the bottom of the cask.