“The ice presses heavy on the rudder, sir.”
“Then unship it,” said McBain.
“And I’ll unship mine,” said Silas.
Unshipping rudders is a kind of drill that few save Greenland sailors ever learn, but it is very useful at times, nevertheless.
In another hour the rudders of the two ships were hoisted and laid on the bergs. So that was one danger past.
But others were soon to follow, for the swell under the ice increased, the bergs all around them rolled higher and higher. The noise from the pack was terrific, as the pieces met and clashed and ground their slippery sides together. In an hour or two the bay ice had been either ground to slush, or piled in packs on top of the bergs, so that the bergs had freedom to fight, as it were. Alas! for the two ships that happened to be between the combatants. Their position was, indeed, far from an enviable one. Hardly had an hour elapsed ere the ice-harbours McBain and Silas had prided themselves in, were wrecked and disintegrated. They were then, in some measure, at the mercy of the enemy, that pressed them closely on every quarter. The Canny Scotia was the worst off—she lay between two of the biggest bergs in the pack. McBain came to his assistance with torpedoes. He might as well have tried to blow them to pieces with a child’s pop-gun. Better, in fact, for he would have had the same sport with less trouble and expense, and the result would have been equally gratifying.
For once poor Silas lost his equanimity. He actually wrung his hands in grief when he saw the terrible position of his vessel.
“My poor shippie,” he said. “Heaven help us! I was building castles in the air. But she is doomed! My bonnie ship is doomed.”
At the same time he wisely determined not to be idle, so provisions and valuables were got on shore, and all the men’s clothes and belongings.
As nothing more could be done, Silas grew more contented. “It was just his luck,” he said, “just his luck.”