Dick thought rapidly. It was a moment for quick decision and daring action.
“Sandy,” he cried, his mind made up, “stick by the boat. I’m going out on this floe and shove us off as soon as we get to open water on one side!”
“You’ll be drowned!” wailed Sandy.
“Got to take a chance,” was Dick’s exclamation as he leaped over the gunwale of the umiack to the slippery surface of the fragment of floe upon which they had been lifted.
“Tell me as soon as you see open water on the left,” shouted Dick to Sandy. “That’s the only way we can get off this floe. I can’t move the umiack to the other side.”
“Alright—wait,” Sandy replied tensely.
There followed many moments of suspense when each heart beat seemed painful. Little that Dick knew of the northern seas, it was enough to make the truth clear to him. If the floe they had grounded upon joined with the ice on the left, and the entire mass continued to move, they would be carried out to sea and lost on an ocean where few ships had ever navigated. It had been several minutes since they had heard the voice of Corporal McCarthy, and Constable Sloan’s shouts were barely audible behind and far to the east. Proof enough that the ice was carrying them out beyond the headland that marked the end of the bay. Tensely Dick waited, digging his boots into little chinks of ice, ready to push off at a word from Sandy.
“Watch out!” Sandy’s low exclamation steeled Dick’s muscles. “We’re breaking loose from the other ice. The crack is getting wider. Wait a minute! Alright, let her go!”
Dick drew a deep breath and bent all his strength upon the heavy umiack. There came a slight grating sound, a lurch and the umiack, with its heavy load, slid from the floe into the sea, as Dick leaped into the stern with a cry of relief.
But his relief was short lived, for when he lifted his voice to shout to the other boats, there was no reply. Again and again he shouted, until his voice was hoarse, listening intently in the intervals. Not even Sloan’s voice was audible now.