Frank was sent to the foretop-gallant masthead to see if he could, by aid of the telescope, descry water to the nor'ards.
The sun was almost setting in the north-west, and there was plenty of light, but no water was visible, only the great white ocean of snow-clad ice, all in motion.
The scene was indeed a strange and impressive one, and after shouting down that there was no open water anywhere in sight, Frank stayed in the cross-trees for quite a long time, hardly ever feeling the cold, so interested was he in all he saw around him.
One thing, however, was evident, namely, that the huge iceberg on which they had spent so many merry hours tobogganing was fast aground down to leeward of them.
The ship passed it slowly.
"Good-bye, old chap," Frank could not help saying. "Sorry we can't take you to England with us, but can't see our way. By, by! See you later on, perhaps."
Then slowly he came below to the deck.
He was happy that it was just tea-time. The ship was now considered out of present danger, but watch after watch must remain on the ice to pole and guide, perhaps for days to come.
"I want," the skipper said, "to make a good offing, for I don't half like the look of the land in there, and should prefer to show it a pair of clean heels, and, please God, we shall before long."
The tea was very comforting, and in spite of the noise above of high winds and flapping sails, the saloon was very jolly and cosy indeed, and Frank was in no hurry to go on deck again.