“Jammed tight everywhere, and we must go back,” said the mate.
“Is there no opening anywhere?”
“None; but the ice looks weak on the port hand.”
“Keep her for it, and put her in,” roared the captain.
“Ay, ay, sir! Starboard a little; steady—steady as she goes.”
And down we bore upon the ice, the rakish bow and stem of the Panther well up out of the water, and looking defiant, as if it were a matter of no kind of consequence to her what amount of ice lay before her. It seemed as if she could crush it down, and trample on it, and ride over it rough-shod, and never wink until the affair was finished. Perhaps the captain’s threat—seemingly made in earnest—to “put her through, or knock her bloody eyes out,” may have had some effect upon her, and have inspired her with additional resolution.
We were soon so near the ice that the opening could be seen from the bridge, and the mate was called below. “Mind your helm, Mick,” said the captain to the man at the wheel; “mind your helm there!”
And still on we went, still rushing towards the ice at full speed, the screw grinding fiercely, and making the ship tremble in every timber. It was soon too late to check her headway, even if the captain should have desired it; to wheel round now was quite impossible. We braced ourselves for the shock that was coming—every man catching hold of something to steady himself with. The captain watched the point he wished to make ahead. “Port—port a little—steady, steady, as she goes.”
Cr-r-r-r-ash—the solid iron cut-water of the Panther has taken the ice. She cuts into it, slides upon it, and crushes it down; the ship rides up again, and sinks, and buries herself one full length in the body of the floe; but still she slides up once more and crushes the ice farther on, but going slower now; and then she stops and settles down to her proper level, and the groaning of the ice seems to be a cry of relief and satisfaction from the noble ship, which only wants a little breathing-time before she begins again.
She isn’t hurt—not in the least. Her masts are all standing right, her bows are sound as ever, her solid, iron-bound sides have not a scratch. Pretty well for a first beginning; and no one now doubts the Panther’s ability for any thing.