“Yes,” replied Steve.
“Then there is only one winter’s ice around you, and therefore you ought to be free by the end of July.”
Steve groaned.
“What’s the matter, my lad?”
“You don’t know that the ice-floes jammed up the mouth of the fiord after we were in.”
“Indeed! Well, boy, nature must unjam it when the ice is in motion again. Mouths of inlets are always opening and closing here. Let’s wait and see. I want to see Marsham, though, look different from this.”
He had his wish, and within a week; for all idea of the Ice Blink’s going back was put an end to by a succession of terrible gales. When at last the weather settled again the moon was growing old, and a trip right up a valley on the far side of the glacier, where they had never explored at all, led them toward the mountains whose pass was so choked with snow that the party were forced to return to the Hvalross, where they were quartered for the next six weeks.
Their coming and the example of the acclimatised men worked wonders, so that by the end of those six weeks there was hardly a sick man left; and when daylight and the hardened snow gave them opportunities journey after journey was made to the Ice Blink for the most valuable of the skins the crew had collected, the rest being left in the hope of the Hvalross sailing round to that side of the great promontory, so as to get within easy distance, and then load up with all worth taking.
But that was never done, for it was quite the end of August, and a feeling of despair was creeping over both crews, as it seemed that they must prepare for another winter in the ice, when a terrific gale swept down the fiord one night.
It had its results.