The World of Ice

by R. M. Ballantyne

“Shut up yer tatie trap and open yer weather eye,” muttered Buzzby, who had charge of the gang, “there’ll be time enough to speak after we’re off.”

Gradually, as the tide rose, the ice and the ship moved, and it became evident that the latter was almost afloat though the former seemed to be only partly raised from the ground. The men were at their several posts ready for instant action, and gazing in anxious expectation at the captain, who stood, watch in hand, ready to give the word.

“Now, then, fire!” he said in a low voice.

In a moment the ice round the ship was rent and upheaved, as if some leviathan of the deep were rising from beneath it and the vessel swung slowly round. A loud cheer burst from the men.

“Now, lads, heave with a will!” roared the captain.

Round went the capstan, the windlass clanked, and the ship forged slowly ahead as the warps and hawsers became rigid. At that moment a heavy block of ice, which had been overbalanced by the motion of the vessel, fell with a crash on the rudder, splitting off a large portion of it, and drawing the iron bolts that held it completely out of the stern-post.

“Never mind; heave away—for your lives!” cried the captain. “Jump on board all of you!”

The few men who had until now remained on the ice scrambled up the side. There was a sheet of ice right ahead which the ship could not clear, but which she was pushing out to sea in advance of her. Suddenly this took the ground and remained motionless.

“Out there with ice-chisels. Sink a hole like lightning. Prepare a canister, Mr Bolton; quick!” shouted the captain in desperation, as he sprang over the side and assisted to cut into the unwieldy obstruction. The charge was soon fixed and fired, but it only split the block in two, and left it motionless as before. A few minutes after, the ship again grounded; the ice settled round her; the spring tide was lost, and they were not delivered.

Those who know the bitterness of repeated disappointment, and of hope deferred, may judge of the feelings with which the crew of the Dolphin now regarded their position. Little, indeed, was said, but the grave looks of most of the men, and the absence of the usual laugh, and jest, and disposition to skylark, which on almost all other occasions characterised them, showed too plainly how heavily the prospect of a winter in the Arctic regions weighed upon their spirits. They continued their exertions to free the ship, however, for several days after the high tide, and did not finally give in until all reasonable hope of moving her was utterly annihilated. Before this, however, a reaction began to take place; the prospects of the coming winter were discussed, and some of the more sanguine looked even beyond the winter, and began to consider how they would contrive to get the ship out of her position into deep water again.