"Our glacier!" repeated a jackie. "Long may she glide!"
The course was set at an angle to the island. This would carry them past any treacherous sand-bars. They would then take another tack and resume their former course.
At a few minutes before noon that day they rose far from the island. The sun, a pale yellow disk, shone through a thin haze close to the surface of the pack. And yet it was high noon. This was, perhaps, to be their last bearing taken by the light of the sun. Henceforth, the moon and the stars must guide them. Whereas all former polar expeditions were carried forward only during the summer months, when the sun shone night and day, they, as well as their rivals, must drive on straight into the deep mysteries of the dreaded Arctic night.
CHAPTER XVI
WRECKED
"All aboard! Change here for all way stations; our next stop is the Pole!"
Barney, the daring aviator, sang the words cheerfully, as he settled himself in his place at the wheel. He hardly felt the cheerfulness his tone implied. True, they had spent twelve days repairing the damage done to the plane by the wind and its collision with the white bear, but it was a rather patched-up affair now it was finished—as it needs must be with the few materials and tools at their command. As he had expressed it to Bruce only the night before: they had a crippled wing, and a bird with a broken pinion never soars so high again, even if it is a bird of fabric, wood and steel.
However, he was truly glad to be getting away on what they hoped might be their last lap. The grave-like silence of the Arctic, with its glistening whiteness everywhere, had gripped his nerves.
"Well, here's hoping," he murmured to Bruce, as the plane hopped off.
As for the Major, he sat with face fixed as a bronze statue. His gaze was toward the Pole.