“So faint, sir, I can’t tell yet.”
A couple of hours later the low, murmurous roar could be heard from the deck by listening attentively; but it was impossible to say whether it was caused by breakers on a rocky coast, which might be that of Jan Mayen, or by the sea beating on the vast icy barrier lying to the north, near which the officers felt that they must be. So the engine was slowed till the rate of progress was deemed to be sufficient to keep the vessel from drifting south, and then they waited for the first breathings of the wind which would break up the dense mist that shut them in, chilly, wet, and horribly depressing; and night and day seemed to Steve always the same, just as if they had sailed into a latitude where everything was Welsh flannel in a state of solution.
This lasted for many hours, during which time Johannes ascended to the crow’s-nest again and again, and then one of his companions took his turn.
He had hardly reached his lofty perch, when it seemed to Steve on the deck that the noise of the breakers suddenly grew louder, and he was about to say so when there was a shout from aloft.
“Fog’s lifting, sir.”
And then, as if it were a magical change, the mist overhead grew opalescent, then lighter still, as there was a warm breath of air sweeping over the dingy, murky sea. At that moment the dull, distant murmur of water beating against an obstacle grew louder, as the fog rolled away from the ship off to the north, and five minutes later the crew burst into a loud cheer; for, flashing from the waters and dazzling their eyes, the sun burst through the now iridescent mist, and so quickly that it was hard to realise the truth that astern, and to southward, the sea was sparkling like some wondrous stretch of sapphire blue, while the yards, stays, and ropes of the ship, which were hung with great mist-drops, glittered like diamonds in the glorious light.
The change was indeed wonderful, and, feeling as if he must climb up somewhere and shout, and then that he should like to run to the door of the galley and shake hands with Watty Links, Steve drew in long, deep breaths of soft, warm air. But he neither shouted nor shook hands with the cook’s boy, for he stood with Captain Marsham and the doctor, waiting for the explanation of the heavy, increasing roar which came from somewhere behind the vast curtain of mist which lay drifting to the north-west, a couple of hundred yards on the starboard bow, and rising up to the skies, now one glorious span of silver and gold.
They had not long to wait, for the fog was gliding away fast before the soft, summer wind.
All at once the blue water stretching from them to the foot of the mist began to look white, a minute later it could be seen to be in wild commotion, and in another minute to north and south there lay, not more than a mile away, a wave-beaten beach, upon which the blue waves beat and fell back in dazzling silver and diamond spray with a tremendous roar.
But there was plenty yet to see; for, as the mist reached the shore, it seemed to grow more dense, and began to roll in great clouds up some vast slope, and then higher and higher, revealing a long, narrow beach; then a line of chaotic rocks, which had fallen from above; then higher and higher, cliff upon cliff, weather-beaten to a hundred hues; and up above these again, towering mountains; lastly, as if to give the culminating beauty to the scene, the clouds rolled away from one tremendous peak, attended by a score of minor heights, crowned with dazzling ice and snow, vivid and beautiful in the glorious summer sun.