“But Andrew kept his courage up, and did his best to preserve my life, while you and the rest gave way to despair,” answered Archy. “You cannot say that he is not a brave man, though he does preach long sermons.”
“Yes, he is brave, I’ll allow,” said Max.
“Then tell me, what do you think makes him brave?” asked Archy.
“He is naturally brave, I suppose,” replied Max.
“Now, I think that it is because he trusts in God, and believes that God will take care of him,” said Archy firmly. “And he knows that if he should lose his life that he will go to heaven. That’s my opinion of the matter.”
“Your opinion, indeed,” exclaimed Max scornfully. “I should like to know what business a fellow like you has to form an opinion,” and Max turned away, unable further to answer the boy, whom he had hitherto so easily led. He took every opportunity after this of annoying Archy, and incited his godless companions to do the same.
Archy often wished that he was on board the “Kate” again, and anxiously looked out in the hopes of falling in with her. The captain had been much put out by the loss of the whale and two lines when they had been rescued, and seemed to associate them in some way with the circumstance. A few days afterwards the watch below were aroused with the welcome cry of “a fall! a fall!” a whale was fast. The remaining boats pulled away, and in a few hours the captain’s good humour was restored by having the whale alongside. All hands were now in high spirits. “One fish more, and hurrah for old England,” was the cry.
Several days passed away without any further success. In vain Andrew and Archy looked out for the “Kate.” The season was advancing, still the captain of the “Laplander,” anxious to get a full ship, cruised backwards and forwards in the hopes of killing one fish more. At length that object was attained, but one of the boats was knocked to pieces, and two of her crew drowned. The huge monster was secured alongside with all haste, the blubber was got on board, and the instant the carcase was cut adrift, the crew giving three shouts of joy at being full, sail was made, and the ship stood to the southward.
The ice, as she proceeded, gathered thickly around her. Boldly, however, she pushed on through the passages which appeared between the floes. Now she was threading a narrow lane of water, now sailing across an open lake, but still on every side appeared those threatening fields of ice, which might at any moment enclose her in their deadly embrace. The captain, or one of the mates, was constantly in the crow’s-nest, looking out for the most open passages ahead, through which the ship might be steered.
They had sailed on for some distance, when the ice on either side was seen to be moving. A tempting channel, however, appeared before them. The “Laplander” sailed into it. She had scarcely entered when the opposite floes began to approach each other. Still the breeze was strong and fair, and the captain hoped that he might be able to push through into an open space beyond before they could close. Nearer and nearer they came to each other, till the broad passage assumed the appearance of a narrow canal. It was at length seen that escape was impossible. The sails were furled, the ship was secured to the floe on one side, and an attempt was made to cut a dock in which she might remain while the inevitable concussion took place. Almost before the ice-saws could be got out and set to work, a loud crashing roaring sound was heard. The floes meeting with terrific force, vast masses rose up in the air, huge fragments being thrown upon each other, till in one instant a ridge, reaching almost to the height of the ship’s tops, was formed. The seamen, not waiting for the captain’s orders, seized their bags and bedding, and whatever they could lay hands on, and leaped out on the ice.