CROSSING THE ICE BARRIER
"TURN out, all hands!"
Leslie opened his eyes, aroused by an imperative order resounding throughout the limited expanse of the Bird of Freedom's cabin.
The speaker was John Ranworth. Refreshed by his profound sleep, he had completely regained his customary energy. The absolute necessity for haste urged him to waste not a moment more. The passage across the ice-barrier having been found practicable, he was determined to follow up his advantage without further delay.
Guy was still drowsy when aroused; Rogers and Payne, somewhat surly at being awakened, were inclined to resume their dispute concerning the weighty matter of the "two half-dollars."
The Bird of Freedom was still held to the ice by the two cables, but during the time her crew had been asleep the gradient had increased still more. From the water's edge to the mean level of the rest of the ice was a slippery slope as steep as the high-pitched roof of a house, its surface marked only by the half obliterated notches which Payne had cut some time previously.
"There's no time to be lost," declared Ranworth. "Get her fairly on the ice and we can have breakfast while we are moving. Look alive, Leslie, with the motor, or we'll be baulked."
While the two seamen were unmooring and coiling away the rope, Leslie started the engines, coupled up the air propellers, and lowered the "decapod" wheels.
"All ready, sir," he reported.
"Then, easy ahead," ordered Ranworth.