Having manoeuvred the Bird of Freedom until she was bows on to the obstacle, Ranworth brought her slowly towards the lowermost visible part of the slope, until the two foremost wheels touched the ice.
For a brief instant the forepart of the sleigh reared itself clear of the water; then, with a dull splash, it slipped backwards. Even the spiked wheels could obtain no grip on the hard, polished surface.
Again and again the Bird of Freedom returned to the charge, but without success.
"If only we could get the whole under surface of both bands to grip, we would manage it," declared Ranworth. "Come aft, all hands, and see if we can lift the bows clear of the water."
Manipulating the steering gear by means of two cords fixed to two opposite points of the wheel, Ranworth made yet another attempt. This time the sleigh drew itself completely clear of the water.
Success seemed within the grasp of her crew, when the wheels began to race, sending out showers of crushed ice. With a thud that threatened to break her back, the Bird of Freedom belied her name by slipping backwards into the sea.
"Try the runners, sir," suggested Rogers. "If she won't crawl over the ice like a blessed caterpillar p'r'aps she'll slide over it."
"Very good," assented Ranworth.
The steel runners were lowered to transfer the weight of the sleigh from the caterpillar wheels, and the air propellers were again put in motion.
This time, success seemed even more within their grasp, for under the action of the huge propellers, the sleigh ran more than half-way up the incline. Then her pace began to diminish appreciably, until she came to a standstill within her own length of the summit of the slope, the traction of the propellers being just sufficient to overcome the force of gravity.