All through the spring and summer the water had been rising in the blocked-up fiord, for that which had escaped from the chasm was very small in quantity since the crumbling down of the rocks that night; and consequently the Hvalross rode some thirty yards higher than when she was frozen-in amongst the newly formed ice. The weight of this water against the ice dam was tremendous, and there was always hope that it would force its way through; but the piled-up floe held good till the night of the gale, when there was a heavy sea on, and the ship lay tugging at her two anchors, hard set to hold her own so as not to be driven down the fiord and crushed amongst the breakers.
The canvas shelter had long before been lowered, and every one was on deck, waiting once more for the steam to be up sufficiently to enable them to go ahead a little and ease the strain on the anchors. At last there was sufficient pressure, and the familiar ting came from the engine-room gong, the propeller spun round, and the dragging at the anchors ceased. It was just in time, for all at once there was a fearful roar heard loudly above the rushing and shrieking of the wind.
“Full speed ahead!” signalled the captain; and the propeller churned up the water now rushing by them at a terrific rate, while all gazed wildly at the sides, expecting to be swept down the fiord to destruction in the masses of ice. For the great floe dam which closed them in had given way at last, and for a short time their position was one of terrible peril. But the cables proved true, eased as they were by the full power of the propeller, and half an hour after the Hvalross was riding nearly forty feet lower than she had been in the morning, with the way out to the ocean free.
In those precarious waters no opportunities can be lost. A place open one day may, by a change of wind, be closed the next by the ice-floes; and in view of this the Hvalross glided out of her prison deeply laden with the spoil of another summer in the far north, and with the two crews cheering loudly as they went. Then after various vicissitudes of being caught in the ice, freed, caught, and freed again, she made her way southward till the last lane in the ice-floes was threaded, and her head laid for Nordoe in the brightest of sunshine, and the deck in the long summer day feeling hot.
There was a warm and friendly, almost affectionate, parting from the Norwegians, Johannes looking quite mournful when he shook farewell hands with Steve; but they were cheered loudly as they stepped on to the little quay, any sadness they felt being chased away by the many friends who pressed round them to welcome them back from the icy seas.
Next morning the head of the stout little steamer was laid for home, and the crew gave vent to the heartiest of cheers, which increased to a roar of delight as Andrew, forgetful of all past suffering, made his appearance, proud and solemn-looking, to march round the deck with his pipes, driving Skene the dog below with crest and tail drooping, and his sharp, white teeth bared to the gums.
Then all settled down to the quiet monotony of the voyage home, for the stormy times were past, and the vessel glided south, heavily laden, but steady, and looking, as Steve said, perfectly satisfied with having well done her work. And so she had, for every man who had sailed was returning safe and sound, and she was bringing back the captain and crew of brave men for whom they had gone in search.
“I feel convinced,” said Captain Marsham one evening, “that we were the first visitors to those icy shores.”
“Yes,” said Captain Young; “I doubt whether any one ever reached so far north before; but I don’t like leaving my ship and so much valuable cargo behind.”
“Let them rest for the next who go there,” said Captain Marsham. “It would have been madness to have run the risk of being caught in the ice again.”