“What?” laughed Silas; “would you clap your balloon top of her, and lift her out like?”
“No, not that; but we could hoist her high and dry on top of the ice easily enough.”
“Well, I declare,” cried Silas, clapping one brawny hand on his knee, “that is a glorious idea. And an old iceman like me to never think of it!”
Then Silas’s face fell, as he said,—
“Ah! but you couldn’t hoist me up too. The Canny Scotia would go down; that would be more of my luck.”
“Well, but I’ve thought of a plan. I have torpedoes on board. I’ll have a go at this ice, anyhow.”
“Make a kind of harbour, you mean?” inquired Silas.
“That’s it,” was the reply.
“But,” said Silas, still somewhat dubious, “you know the currents run like mill-streams in under the ice. Well, suppose your torpedoes were to be floated in under my ship, and went bursting off there?”
“Well, your ship would be hoisted,” replied McBain; “that would be all.”