"Bergs ahead!"
The Polarity had attempted three different courses, and each attempt had been foiled by the presence of ice. Unwittingly she had entered a veritable trap.
"Mr. Travers!" sang out the captain.
"Aye, aye, sir!"
"Take a cast with the lead."
"Aye, aye, sir!"
The second mate called to a seaman, who, armed with the "dipsey"—deep-sea lead—clambered on to the bow bulwark by the main shrouds.
The cast gave bottom at six fathoms.
"Great Scott!" ejaculated Travers. "There ought to be six hundred fathoms at the very least."
"What does it mean?" asked Ranworth, when the second mate had made his report to the bridge.