Although presenting the appearance of a level plain when viewed from above, the ground was rough, and encumbered with hummocks, while here and there deep but narrow fissures required care and skill on the part of the rescue party. Occasionally a deep groaning sound betokened the appalling fact that the ground was one vast ice-floe in momentary danger of breaking up.
If the five men were still alive, how could they be indifferent to the danger that now threatened them?
Whittinghame was the first to gain the tent. With numbed fingers he cut the lashings that secured the flaps of the outer and inner coverings and peered within.
Five fur-clad forms lay upon a pile of skins, their heads buried in their arms. Whether they were sleeping the long last sleep that knows no awakening in this world, Whittinghame could not tell. Nervelessly he backed out and signed to Dacres to enter.
"Dead?" asked Dacres laconically.
CHAPTER XVI.
IN THE NICK OF TIME.
"CAN'T say," replied the Captain. "It is more——See what you make of it, Dacres."
For a moment, like a swimmer contemplating a "header" into icy cold water, Dacres hesitated; then with a swift determined movement he disappeared within the tent.
Grasping the nearmost man he turned him over on his back. His face was as black as that of a seaman engaged in a coaling ship; but to Dacres' great relief he opened his eyes and stared wonderingly at his rescuer.