The yard-arms had been hauled fore-and-aft, else they would have touched the snow.

To live on board now was impossible for days and days to come.

But boats and provisions were landed, and every preparation made to journey northward over the great ice-pack, should the ship go down after again righting herself.

The wind was bitterly cold, even in the poor ship's lee, but they managed to light fires and to cook, though it was indeed a wretched time.

Enveloped in rugs, the boys, with Viking, huddled together at night, but for a long time after lying down sleep was impossible. And when slumber did at last seal their eyes, the dreams they dreamt were far indeed from pleasant.

But now came a warm and almost pleasant wind from the north-north-west, and the ice began to open.

Captain Talbot's anxiety was now at its greatest, for there was water on the starboard side of the ship and the berg or floe on which she lay.

Ropes were therefore attached to her masts, and all hands upon the ice bent on to these, pulling slowly with a long pull and a strong pull.

For more than an hour they made no impression on the vessel, and it was evident the cargo had shifted somewhat.

Talbot gave the steward an order to splice the mainbrace.

He countermanded this almost immediately after, however, for it was now evident the vessel was doing her best to get righted.

"Pull now, lads! Pull steadily all! Heave-oh and she comes!"

Every hand is laid on the ropes; every nerve is braced, and the veins start on the men's perspiring foreheads as they keep up the strain.

Viking barks as if to encourage them.

It is all the poor dog can do.

"Heave and she goes! Heave and she rips! Hurrah! lads, hurrah!"

"She is coming, boys! Heave-oh, again! Another pull does it! Easy!

Slack off! Hurrah!"

A wild cheer rent the air as the brave and st.u.r.dy barque slid downwards off the floe and took the water like a duck or a penguin.

The men and officers paused now to wipe their faces.

Then all hands got on board and manned the pumps.

No, she was safe. Not a drop of extra water had she made, or was making.

What a relief!

The sun was already sinking low on the horizon, and his last beams lit up the great snow plain 'twixt the ship and sky, as if a ca.n.a.l of crimson blood was there.

Talbot was happy now. The recovery of the ship from her serious position was like a good omen, so, as soon as everything was got on board, he thought it high time to splice the main-brace.

And so did the men also.

All hands were as merry that night as the winning team after a football match.

The wind had gone down, but the weather continued fairly mild, and there was not a sound to be heard on the pack.

On board, however, there were plenty of sounds--sounds of mirth and music in the galley. For Frank had gone forward with his fiddle, and a dance was the natural consequence.

Johnnie Shingles, and old mother Pen, were once more in glorious form, and their dancing brought down the house, and elicited rounds and rounds of applause.

Then dancing became general.

But the fatigues of the day had been very great, so that it is no wonder pipes were soon got out, and a wide and cheerful circle formed about the fire. Songs and yarns were now to be the order of the evening, and although it was not Sat.u.r.day night it bore a very strong resemblance to it.

Just one song--written and sung by Frank himself, was to-night twice encored. As to its composition I say nothing, except that everything pleases the true-born British sailor that has got the ring of the sea about it.

FRANK'S SONG.

And now, my boys, sit round the fire, And pa.s.s the gla.s.ses round; Our troubles all we'll soon forget When we are homeward bound.

Ah! many a danger we've defied, We've weathered many a gale, Nor stormiest seas, nor grinding ice, Have ever made us quail!

Though bergs are still about us, boys, Far north the billows sound, And we'll welcome every breeze that blows, When we are homeward bound.

Why should we mourn for pals we've lost, Or let the tear-drops fall, They sleep in peace, their sorrows o'er, Beneath the snow's soft pall.

So crowd around the fire, dear lads, And pa.s.s the gla.s.ses round; Our friends are moored on heavenly sh.o.r.es-- And we are homeward bound.

CHAPTER XV.--THE ISLES OF DESOLATION.

If to be sailing northwards and east with a spanking breeze, and the great sea of southern ice in which, and on which, so many adventures had been had, was being homeward bound--then were our heroes homeward bound.

It is a nice thing to sing about anyhow of an evening around a cheerful fire; but ah! as I've said before there is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, and there is nothing certain at sea save the unexpected.

However, bold Captain Talbot had no intentions of returning to England with what he called only half a voyage.

"I'm going to do my level best," he told the boys about a fortnight after they had got clear and away, "to have a b.u.mper ship, that shall recoup us all for our outlay, to say nothing of our sufferings."

"And now we're bearing up for Kerguelen, aren't we?" said Conal.

"That's the place, lad; and I'm a Dutchman if we don't find the elephant-seals there in countless thousands."

"And when we fill up, what then?"

"O, that question I was considering last night in bed, and I've concluded we had better leave our cargo at the Cape. We can sell well there at present, for oil is much needed. Then we shall clean ship thoroughly, and sail northwards by the Indian Ocean, picking up a cargo at the Cape, at Zanzibar, and wherever else we can find it. We can't go wrong."