Progress now became dangerous indeed. The boats seemed to have floated into a patch of broken ice that threatened every minute to crush the frail umiacks like so much match wood. Then, too, Corporal McCarthy’s shouts were growing fainter at every repetition.
“We’re losing ground,” called Dick to Sandy. “Work harder. Keep moving to the right!”
“That’s what I’m trying to do,” called back Sandy from the center of the boat, “but there’s a big floe pushing us to the left. We can’t seem to get around it. Sipsa is doing all he can to keep us from getting smashed up from the left. Look out!”
Sandy’s warning shout was accompanied by a violent jar that shook the umiack from bow to stern.
“We’ve hit solid ice on the left!” cried Sandy. “We’ll be smashed between two floes.”
Dick leaped up and, leaning over the side of the umiack, pushed on the ice that was threatening to crush them against the floating ice on their right.
But his efforts were of no avail. The umiack shuddered as if about to collapse under the pressure, then seemed to rise out of the water.
“The ice has shoved under us!” cried Dick, much relieved.
Dick was right. Luckily, the flat bottomed umiack had grounded on the flat ice pushing against her starboard side, and the higher ice on the lee was pushing her farther over. Presently they were almost entirely out of the water, the umiack half on the ice floe and floating along with it.
“We can’t stay on this ice,” called Sandy. “It will carry us out to sea and we’ll be lost.”