“The Great Spirit has forsaken us,” said Angut gloomily, as he surveyed the scene.
“That He has not,” returned the sailor, “whatever may befall.”
An exclamation from Arbalik drew attention to a particular part of the horizon.
“A flat island,” said Okiok, after a long earnest gaze; “but we cannot reach it,” he added in a low voice.
“You know not,” said Angut. “The current sets that way, I think.”
“A few minutes will show,” said Rooney.
With almost trembling eagerness they watched the islet, and, as Rooney had said, it soon became evident that the current was indeed carrying their ice-raft slowly towards the spot.
“We can scarcely expect to drift right on to it,” said Rooney, “and it is apparently our last chance, so we shall have to take to the water when near it. Can we all swim—eh?”
To this question some answered Yes and some No, while others shook their heads as if uncertain on the point. But the seaman was wrong. Straight as an arrow to a bull’s eye the raft went at that islet and struck on its upper end with such force as to send a tongue of ice high on the shore, so that the whole party actually landed dryshod. Even old Kannoa got on shore without assistance.
The joy of the party at this piece of unlooked-for good-fortune was unbounded, although, after all, the improvement in their circumstances did not seem to be great, for the islet was not more than a hundred yards in diameter, and appeared to be quite barren, with only a clump of willows in its centre. Still, their recent danger had been so imminent that the spot seemed quite a secure refuge by contrast.