"She's grounded, I 'low!" exclaimed the skipper.
There was no further disturbance. Whatever had happened, the equilibrium of the berg had been maintained.
"I'm thinkin'," said the skipper, "that I'll take a little look about."
The skipper's "little look about" developed what appeared to be a saving opportunity. The berg had grounded; it had also jammed a wandering pack of drift-ice against the land. What that shore was, whether mainland or island, the skipper did not wait to ascertain; it was sufficient for him to know that the survivors of the Fish Killer might escape from a disintegrating berg to solid ground.
He returned, breathless, with the enlivening news; and in lively fashion, which almost approached a panic, the castaways abandoned the berg. It was a hard, painful, dangerous scramble, made in the failing light, and the cook had an unwelcome bath in the icy water between two pans; but it had a successful issue. Before dark, they were all ashore—more hopeful, now, than they had been, but still staring death in the face.
So curious was Skipper Libe that, taking advantage of the last of the light, he set out to discover the character of the refuge. He returned discouraged.
"'Tis but a rock," said he. "'Tis no more than a speck o' land."
Then night fell. Robinson's little daughter was by this time on the point of succumbing to the exposure. Cold, hunger and despair had reduced her to a pitiable silence. She was in the extremity of physical exhaustion. They made a deep hollow in the snow in the shelter of a declivity of rock; and there they bestowed her, gladly yielding their jackets to provide her with such comfort as they could. But this was small mitigation of the hardship. The child was still hopeless and cold. It was sadly apparent that she could not survive the night. And Robinson knew that to-morrow and to-morrow—a long stretch of days—lay before them all. There was no hope for a frail body; weakness was death. In his heart he frankly admitted that he was about to lose his child.
He lay down beside her. "Mary, dear," he pleaded, "don't give up!"
She pressed his hand.