“That is true; but just think of what a supply of wood for spears and sledges! It would have been enough to last the lives of our children’s children, if not longer.”
“Did I not tell you that something would happen?” said Aglootook, coming forward at that moment.
“Yes, and something did happen,” said old Mangivik, “though I could not see how it happened, for the smoke. Did not a lump of snow fly in your face and knock you over among the children?”
The magician ignored the question altogether, and, turning to Cheenbuk, asked if he thought there was yet any chance of saving the ship.
“Not unless you manage to send some of your magic down and stop the fire.”
“That is not possible,” returned the other, with a wisely grave look. “I can do much, but I cannot do that.”
As he spoke, a fresh roar of the fire up the hatch-way attracted attention. Gathering strength, it burst up in a bright flame, showing that the quarter-deck could not long remain a place of security.
Suddenly Nazinred showed signs of excitement which were very unusual in him. Fighting the walrus or bear, or battling with the fire, had never produced such an expression as crossed his face, while he cast a hasty glance round on the women and children, whose forms were by that time lit up by the dull red glow that issued from the column of smoke.
“Cheenbuk,” he said in a low voice, “the black stuff that I put in my spouter is kept by traders in round things—I forget the name. If there is one of these round things here, and it catches fire, we shall, every one of us, with the ship, be sent up to the stars!”
The remark was meant to reach the ear of the leader alone, but several of those around heard it, and a wild rush was instantly made for the snow stair, amid feminine and juvenile shrieks. Aglootook incontinently hurled himself over the side, and fell on his hands and knees on the ice, where an opportune snow-drift saved him. Most of the party ran or leaped out of the threatened danger.