"Subject to mutual approval, of course," corrected Ranworth. "Now suggest something."
"The Bird of Freedom," replied Leslie.
"But she isn't an aeroplane; she doesn't fly in the air," remarked Guy.
"Neither does an ostrich, but it's a bird all the same," retorted Leslie. "This craft is certainly a flier both on the ice and on the water. She is proceeding to the rescue of Mr. Ranworth's brother and his companions; hence the allusion to freedom."
"The ayes have it," declared Ranworth. "The Bird of Freedom she shall be. But stand by, Leslie; unless I'm much mistaken, there's trouble ahead."
At about a mile distant the open water seemed to end abruptly. So far as the eye could reach, the horizon was bounded by a line of ice, projecting with comparative regularity to a height of ten feet above the surface of the sea.
Leslie quickly reduced the speed of the motors, then, disconnecting the shafting of the aerial propellers, allowed the Bird of Freedom to approach at a modest ten knots the hitherto unsuspected barrier.
It soon became apparent that the ice field consisted of a number of floes intersected by narrow channels, the width of which was constantly varying owing to the erratic motion of the whole extent of drift ice.
Had the floe been one continuous expanse, it would have been a difficult matter for the Bird of Freedom to scale the almost perpendicular edge. Even if she were able to, no good result would be obtained, since the intersecting fissures were impassable.
"Now, if we could fly, what a difficulty could be overcome!" commented Ranworth. "But since the Bird of Freedom cannot fly, nor swim under water, we must devise some other means."