But Leslie was not equal to the occasion. His brain was whirling, everything in front of his eyes seemed to be dancing.
It was Guy who saved the situation. Having got off more lightly than his chum, he retained possession of his senses. Thanks to Leslie's tuition, he now thoroughly understood how to set the motors in motion.
"Reverse her!" shouted Ranworth.
There was not room to turn. It was doubtful whether the single sea-propeller, running full speed astern, would be sufficient to check the Bird of Freedom's way and convert the forward into a backward motion.
The whole fabric of the sleigh trembled under the retarded movement. Anxiously, Ranworth watched the granite cliffs now barely ten yards ahead. Nearer and nearer they appeared to approach, but more and more slowly, until, when only a hand's breadth separated the forepart of the sleigh from the rugged rocks, the Bird of Freedom came to a standstill, then slowly backed astern.
Once more man's command of science had overcome the forces of Nature.
Having withdrawn to a safe distance from the ice shore, Ranworth ordered easy ahead, and put her helm hard over. By this time the squall had entirely ceased.
Just then, from sheer force of habit, Ranworth glanced at the chronometer. It had stopped.
"Strange," he thought. "It must have had a knock when we heeled."
He looked at his watch. Like the chronometer, it was an eight-day timepiece. It also had stopped.