"Perhaps there's a channel wide enough for her," suggested Guy.
"Possibly; I'll sound Rogers on the point."
The Polar veteran, on the suggestion being put before him, resolutely shook his head.
"Too jolly risky, sir," he said. "Not that I mind taking risks, sir, you'll understand. You see, sir, it's like this: the whole drift is 'lively.' The floes are all moving according to wind and tide. We might get her a couple of hundred yards in and find we're done: then before we could get clear we might be properly trapped. An' if this 'ere packet got nipped, she wouldn't stand a dog's chance. She'd be stove in like an egg-shell."
A continuous dull roar, as a thousand detached pieces of ice ground against each other, added weight to the sailor's objections.
"Then what do you suggest?" asked Ranworth impatiently, for the plight of the men he was on his way to rescue was always in his mind. "You've had experience in these matters."
"Yes, sir; in a triple-planked, heavily-timbered whaler, but not in a glorified band-box, if you'll pardon my way of expressing myself, sir," said Rogers. "Even then I remember quite well getting a nasty nip. Stove a hole in our port bow, but luckily above the water-line. The best thing to do, sir, is to sheer off and run a few miles to the westward. You'll probably find the drift doesn't extend very far; only a matter of an hour's run."
"Your advice sounds goods Rogers," remarked Ranworth.
"Sure, sir, it always is," rejoined the man, not from any motives of self-conceit. "I'll allow you'll find I'm right before another hour's past an' gone."
Keeping within half a mile of the edge of the newly-encountered barrier, the Bird of Freedom maintained a steady, unswerving course. In order carefully to examine the ice for a possible passage, her speed had to be materially reduced.