Countless little crackling points of dull fire revealed the presence of broken ice. Here and there a spire, or hummock, rose to a considerable height from the surface. Tom Swift and his friends began to realize for the first time just what a search for a particular iceberg in these cold regions might mean.
They were utterly dependent on Captain Olaf Karofsen, it seemed. If he failed to remember how the berg looked on which he had last seen the marooned party of sailors and passengers, it would be very difficult for the searchers to find them.
“Looking for a needle in a haystack wouldn’t be in it!” exclaimed Ned.
Captain Karofsen took Tom’s glasses and peered steadily at the shore line ahead. He spied out at last the little collection of houses he had in mind, and Tom slightly changed the course of the seaplane to more nearly hit the port.
There was a breakwater and fishing boats; and at one point a tall staff which they soon made out to be rigged with wireless antennæ. Late as it was in the evening (nearly midnight now) they saw the inhabitants of the fishing port moving about. As the flying boat dropped lower, it was plain that there was some excitement below.
The great gasoline tanks were built on an iron bridge over the water and inside the breakwater. Captain Karofsen said there was plenty of hose with which the tank of the seaplane could be connected with the supply tank. There was an open field on the edge of the water where the flying boat might be brought down in safety.
But the sight of that wireless outfit had made Tom a little suspicious. Instead of sweeping down at once to the land, he shot the great boat out to sea, and then headed back again, facing the gas tanks. The pool of water inside the breakwater was fairly smooth.
“I see some more of those armed and uniformed men there,” he said to Captain Karofsen. “We left Reykjavik without permission of the authorities. If your governor is one of those pompous fellows, he like enough has wirelessed an order over here to arrest us if we come down for gasoline.”
“He could do dot,” agreed the schooner captain, wagging his shaggy head like a nodding mandarin.
“I am going to drop inside the breakwater,” Tom said quickly. “I can see there is room there. And we can make our jump-off all right after filling the tank. Ned, pass the guns to the crew; but no ammunition. We may have to make a show of force, but of course there must be no shooting.”