Right ahead, and as far to east and west as the eye could discern, rose a lofty, irregular line of glistening white, partly obscured in places by motionless clouds of light, fleecy vapour.
"Another berg!" ejaculated Leslie. "The others were mere mole-hills compared with this. It will take something to dodge that. I'll call Mr. Ranworth."
Ranworth, although newly awakened from sleep, was on the alert in an instant. Tumbling out of his bunk he hastened to the foremost scuttle.
"That's not a berg," he announced calmly. "It's solid earth covered with snow. This is your first acquaintance with Nova Cania."
CHAPTER XII
TWO DAYS OUT
As the Bird of Freedom closed with the snow-clad land, the precipitous nature of the coast became more and more apparent.
Steep and often overhanging cliffs reared themselves eight hundred feet or more above the level of the sea, their bases fringed by a line of foam. No sign of any landing place could be made out; the whole aspect was one of the wild grandeur of a dead land.
"We must have fetched too far to the westward," declared Ranworth, as he brought out his sextant from a locker. "Do you recognise any familiar outlines of the coast, Rogers?"