“All right. But it’s not much of a night for a stroll outside.”
“Anything’s better than sitting in that cabin waiting for you-don’t-know-what to happen.”
“You’re getting nervous, Jack.”
“Not so much for my own sake as at the thought of all these thousands of tons of steel being raced through this fog at a twenty-four knot clip and icebergs ahead. It’s sheer madness.”
“Well, the captain’s word is law at sea, so it’s no use protesting. We must hope for the best.”
The upper decks were deserted except for the boys. On the lower deck the passengers huddled in the darkness behind canvas screens erected to prevent any chance ray of light from filtering out. It was an uncanny feeling this, of speeding through an impenetrable pall of blackness with the thought of the iceberg warning ever and anon recurring to both lads, though they tried to talk of indifferent subjects.
The hours wore on and the fog did not lighten. Chilled to the bone, although it was August, Jack and Bill had about decided to turn in when there came a sudden sharp cry from the lookout forward. Involuntarily, Bill clutched Jack’s arm. The strain had affected them both more than they cared to admit.
Suddenly, dead ahead of them, as it seemed, there reared, seen white through the mist, a monstrous spectral form. It towered above the steamer’s masts and appeared to their alarmed imaginations to hang like an impending cliff above the ship.
From the bridge came quick shouts. Orders were given and harshly echoed. Somewhere down on the passenger decks, a woman screamed. Then came cries of consternation. The next moment there was a slight shock and a long, shuddering grind passed along the vessel’s side. The mountainous ice mass appeared to sheer off, but in reality the ship was swinging clear of it. By a miracle she had escaped with a mere graze of her side. At diminished speed, she continued on her course.
“Phew, what a narrow escape!” exclaimed Jack, as the fog shut in about the monster berg they had sheered.