“Shout again! Up and down, up and down, once more across the snow,—shout! shout all in chorus! but it is of no use.
“The bows fall off; the vessel turns back upon her course. Where is she going now? is she homeward bound?
“O no! she steers for the land; she nears it; she passes beyond a point below us, and is out of sight! Where has she gone?
“We follow after her, hurrying all we can. Miles of rough travelling over rocks and through deep gorges,—climbing down one side and up the other. The savages are with us.
“What is our hope? It is that the vessel, failing to get through the ice, has sought the land for shelter, and will find an anchorage and there remain until the ice opens ahead, and gives the ship once more a chance to go upon her course.
“Soon we round a lofty cliff that rises almost squarely from the sea, with only a narrow, rugged track between it and the water, and we come upon a narrow bay. A little farther, and there the vessel lies before us,—quietly at anchor, with her sails all furled.
“Again we see the men upon the deck,—faintly, but still we see them.
“Again we shout.
“We see a man halting by the bulwarks; something glitters in his hand. Is it a spyglass?
“No; he moves away.