The men clung together for mutual protection. Not a word escaped their lips, yet one and all knew the ghastly truth. The whole field of pack ice was breaking up. Already the outer portion had broken off; more than likely taking the Bird of Freedom with it.
"We'll have to go back a bit and dig ourselves in, sir," said Payne hoarsely. "It's our only chance. We may outlive the blizzard."
Back they went for nearly a hundred yards, literally battling every inch of the way, till they reached the lee side of a slight rise in the ice-field. Here the snow had drifted till it was nearly five feet deep.
Working desperately, the five men succeeded in scraping out a hole in the snow. Into this they crept, where, sheltered from the wind, they hoped to find a temporary shelter—at the best, so far as they could foresee, a brief respite ere death from cold and starvation overtook them.
"If this blizzard breaks up the ice-field, the Polarity will be free," declared Ranworth. "We stand a chance of being picked up by her."
"Not much, sir," replied Rogers despondently. "We're miles to the west'ard of her course. 'Tain't no use mincing matters; we're properly kippered."
Ranworth made no reply. He knew that the seaman's candid words expressed the situation. Despair, for the first time, seized upon him.
Hour after hour passed. The men squeezed close together, listening to the howling of the wind and the hiss of the frozen rain, punctuated by the sharp crackle and deep rumble of the floe as it parted.
Occasionally Ranworth consulted his compass. The steadiness of the needle showed that up to the present the ice on which the doomed men were sheltering had not separated from the main field.
The pangs of hunger began to assail them. At Rogers's suggestion the men derived some relief by sucking pieces of ice. The almost overpowering desire for sleep was upon them.