But in the intervals between the squalls the sun came out warmly, the snow melted aloft, and was rapidly swept from the deck.
Three days passed like this, during which careful, slow progress had to be made, for it was early in the year yet, and June meant a month when the ice was still packed heavily and had not had time to break up and disperse, so that in even this brief time the Hvalross had sailed from summer back, as it were, into winter. Then the wind dropped, the sea grew calm, and the vessel lay rolling slowly in the heavy swell, apparently with night coming on, which seemed the more strange, for evening by evening it had grown lighter, and but for the clouds Steve’s great desire would have been gratified, and he would have seen the midnight sun.
On this particular evening, as they lay rolling there, a dense fog had settled down upon the sea, producing the aforesaid darkness; and though this thick gloom was somewhat modified by what seemed to be a dim reflection as of light trying to force its way through, the mist was so dense that the fore part of the vessel was invisible from by the wheel, as the boy stood with the captain and Dr Handscombe waiting for the fog to lift.
A man had been sent up to the crow’s-nest; but the fog was more dense there than below, and he had descended.
“This means ice close by somewhere, eh, Lowe?” said the captain.
“Yes, sir; I’ve been listening for it, but my ear is not keen enough to pierce this fog. Hullo! what’s the matter with the dog?”
For just then the big collie began to whine and sniff about uneasily, making little snaps in the air.
“His nose is sharper than your ears, then,” said the doctor. “He smells something. Can it be the land?”
“No; we must be fifty or sixty miles from the nearest land,” said the captain, and the dog barked sharply.
“What is it, Skeny?” cried Steve, stooping and patting the animal’s shaggy neck; “what is it, old fellow?”