"When your opinion is wanted it will be asked," said Ranworth sternly.
Mumbling to himself, the man went aft, and for some minutes the two malcontents conversed in low tones.
The Bird of Freedom was now nearing the foam-swept bar. Already the undulations were more rapid and erratic. With very little grip upon the water she rocked heavily. Her stability was in peril.
"Lie down, all hands," ordered Ranworth.
The order was promptly carried out, and with more than a quarter of a ton of live ballast as low down as possible, the Bird of Freedom showed signs of greater stability. Although she still rolled considerably, her "recovery" was more pronounced.
It was a tough business while it lasted. Lurching over the foaming breakers, enveloped in spray as the tips of the aerial propellers whisked the steep crest of the waves, the Bird of Freedom crossed the bar and was soon riding in the absolutely tranquil waters of the inlet.
So land-locked was it that not a ripple disturbed the placid surface. The hard granite rocks capped with ice and snow were faithfully mirrored in the water. It was like fairyland without life.
Rounding the next bend, the Bird of Freedom found herself in a broader reach, with the cliffs considerably lower than those nearer the open sea. Once the water was violently agitated by the fall of a huge mass of ice and snow, but the ripples subsided quickly, and the surface resumed its mirror-like aspect.
"That's what we have to look out for," commented Ranworth. "There is always the risk of a miniature avalanche taking place. Farther up, I understand, there is no such danger."
For quite five miles the Bird of Freedom threaded her way up the sinuous creek, till, rounding a precipitous bluff, her astonished crew found the Polarity at anchor.