Of course they realized that there was grave danger of their being dragged under the iceberg when it rolled over, or of meeting even a more terrible fate if caught in the violence of an explosion of the ice. However, they decided that they could guard against such danger only with the most cautious watchfulness. Fortunately, on either side of the elevation on which they stood was a rough irregular ridge of ice, which would afford an excellent foothold by means of which they could keep from slipping off until the iceberg had tipped to an angle of 45 degrees or more from the perpendicular.
For an hour after moving to the head of the stairway, they stood and watched and listened to the exploding and crashing of the ice. Meanwhile the Eskimos, realizing the impending danger, joined them. Finally Watson observed a slight northward listing of the mass. “It’s coming,” he said to himself. Others observed the ominous change, and only the appearance of an unexpected hope averted a panic.
This hope consisted of a tiny speck on the surface of the ocean several miles to the northeast. One of the women was first to see it, and with an hysterical cry she pointed toward the object.
“It’s a boat,” said one of the seamen after gazing eagerly for a minute or two. “But what’s she doing way out here. She can’t be more’n sixty or seventy feet long.”
Nevertheless, even so small a vessel was a Godsend to the hope-forsaken castaways. Oh, if they could only attract her attention!
They shouted, they screamed, they pulled off their coats and waved them frantically. Two of the men started a fire with some driftwood, raft decking and fish bones that had been preserved for just such purpose as this. For twenty minutes or more they were held in an agony of uncertainty, while the iceberg tipped almost to an unsafe angle. Then the thrill of hope grew stronger and stronger as they saw and realized that the boat was headed directly toward them. Nearer and nearer it came. Now it was so near that the forms of persons on board could be distinguished. A little nearer, and yes, they had seen the castaways and were signaling to them.
The upper landing of the icy stairway was now a scene of the wildest joy. Men hugged each other and wept. Indeed, the women were not more hysterical than their male companions. But while the boat was about half a mile distant and the castaways were almost reaching out to be received in the arms of friends, the long expected climax came.
The breaking of the ice had continued with frequent splittings and splashes, but these noises were almost unnoticed after the purpose of the rescuers had been determined. Guy was one of the few quieter ones. But there was a singular reason for his silence. He was gazing intently at the little vessel, wondering, doubting his sense of vision—yes, no, yes—could it be possible?
Just as he was about to give vent to a new shout of joy, a cry of another kind from one of the women checked its utterance. The cause needed no explaining. It was immediately evident. At last the floating island was slowly rolling over.
“Everybody jump out as far as possible before we slip off,” shouted Watson.