A gentle breeze began to blow from the southward, and the haze broke up a little. Smith began to get nervous about the ice, and finally ordered all his people back into the boat, where they huddled and shivered, hungry but no longer thirsty.
During all these hours there had been no further sign of the other boats. Smith knew that at least ten of them had gone clear of the sinking ship. The chief mate's boat was the one he was most interested in at present. He wanted to see the man who had indirectly caused the disaster; the man whom Brownson was playing up for the berth of second officer. The thing was a reality now since the tragedy. Before it, he had looked upon the matter as slight indeed.
The second mate headed his boat out and kept clear of the drifting ice; but always under the lee of the berg, which offered considerable shelter from both wind and sea, which were rising. The danger of floating ice was not great during daylight, and he swung the small boat close and rode easily, keeping her dry and clear of water. He dreaded the plunging he must inevitably undergo in the open ocean with that load of women.
With the increasing breeze, the haze lifted entirely until the horizon showed clear all around. There was no sign of the other boats. Smith knew then that they had steered off to the southward to avoid the ice. As the sea began to grow, the masses of ice broke adrift with distinct and loud reports, the plunging pieces from the higher parts making considerable noise above the deepening roar of the surge upon the base.
At three in the afternoon, Smith began to feel nervous. The ice was breaking up fast, and immense pieces were floating in the sea which bore them toward him. They grew more and more dangerous to the small craft, and the officer headed away from the vicinity and sought the open at last.
By five that afternoon, when the light was fading, he was riding a heavy sea, that grew rapidly and rolled quickly, the combers breaking badly and keeping two men busy bailing the boat. She made water fast.
The night came on with all its terrors, and the small boat was in great danger. Smith tried his best to keep her headed to the sea, which was now running high and strong. His men began to weaken under the continuous strain; and by ten that night they could no longer hold the boat's head to the sea. She fell off once or twice, and nearly filled when in the trough. There was little to do but make a last effort to hold her. The steady second officer came to his last resource.
There were five oars in the boat. Four of these he lashed into a drag by fastening two of them in the shape of a cross, and then lashing the other two across the end of the cross. He had a spare line of some length in the boat; and with this bent to the painter, he had a cable of at least twenty fathoms, which he led over the bows and to the drag. The drag was weighted with some chain that lay forward. The fifth oar he kept aboard, and used it himself for a sweep to hold her head as nearly as possible behind the drag and to the sea.
He was tired, sore, and hungry, but he kept the boat's head true for hours, and his people huddled down in the bottom, and prayed or swore as the humor took them. The children wept, and some of the older women fainted and lay prone. These gave no trouble. Some of the younger ones still insisted on moving about, and brought the wrath of the mate upon them in no uncertain manner. Smith was making a fight for their lives, and would not tolerate any hysteria. He smote all who disobeyed with his usual impersonal and rough manner; but the two girls were now too much cowed to give him trouble. They lay in the boat's bottom and wept and sobbed the night long, holding to each other, while the boat tossed high in the air or fell far down the slopes of ugly seas. And all the time the water broke over her low gunwales as she sat well down under her load of living freight.
It was about midnight when the old man, who had been unruly from the first, sprang upon a thwart and plunged over the side with a shrill scream.