Well would it have been for the _Grampus_ had Captain Anderson followed her example; but he would not.

"She can go," he said; "she is a full ship, and only a sailing ship.

Now let us get but two other 'fish,' then hey for the sunny south, boys."

For a whole month they remained dodging about in that open sea, but without seeing another whale. All their good luck seemed to have gone with the Dutchman, and the captain was about to bear up, and force his way once more out through the southern ice to the open sea beyond, when suddenly a change came o'er the spirit of the scene. To their surprise, if not to their horror, the ice began to close in around them in all directions. Nearer and nearer came the mighty floes. They came from the north; they came from the south and the east; they even deployed into two long lines, or horns, that crept along the land until they met.

At the same time a heavy swell began to roll in from seawards.

"There is a gale of wind outside," the captain said to Chisholm, "and this is the result; but come, I don't mean to be caught like a mouse in a trap." Then, addressing the mate, "Call all hands, Mr Lewis. Get out the ice-saws and anchors."

"Ay, ay, sir," replied the mate.

"Now, my lads," continued the captain, when the men came aft in a body, "you've all been to Greenland before, and you know the danger we are in as well as I can tell you. If we are caught between two floes in that heaving pack, we'll be crunched like a walnut-sh.e.l.l. So we'll have to work to make a harbour. That alone can save us. Call the steward.

Steward! we'll splice the main brace."

The men gave a cheer; they stripped off coats and jackets, and even their gloves. They meant business, and looked it. Meanwhile the _Grampus_ was going ahead at full speed, straight towards the ice in sh.o.r.e. Why, it looked to our heroes as if the captain was positively courting destruction; for he was steering for the very largest berg he could find, and presently he was alongside it. The ship was stopped, and every man that could be spared sent over the side. The anchors were got out speedily, and made fast to the berg. Then the men began to work.

The iceberg against which they directed their operations was indeed a mighty one. Although not very high close to the edge, it towered above them many hundreds of feet, a snow-clad mountain of ice, its green and rugged sides glittering in the beams of the mid-day sun. It was soon evident to Chisholm O'Grahame that the captain's object was to hollow out a temporary harbour in the side of the berg, sufficiently wide to enable the ship to fit into it, so that she might be safe from being ground into matchwood when the whole pack was joined.

"Come," he cried, to his comrades, "three hands of us here idle! We can work too, captain. Only tell us what to do, and we'll do it."

"Bravo! my lads," said the captain, cheerily. "Over the side with you then, and help with the ice-saws."

Those great ice-saws were about twenty feet long, and had four cross handles at the top, so that when let down, on the perpendicular, against the piece, four men standing above could work one saw. Frank and his two friends, with Mr Lewis, the mate, took charge of a saw, and the work went on cheerily. The men sang as they laboured, and there was as much laughing and joking as if they had been husbandmen working together in the harvest-field, instead of men working for their dear lives. By eight o'clock the harbour was complete.

By eight o'clock the ice had almost closed upon them.

And now to get the ship into this _portus salutis_. There was so little time; other giant bergs were close aboard of them, rising and falling on the swelling waves with a noise that was simply appalling. The captain had to give his orders through the speaking-trumpet, and even then his voice was often drowned by the grinding, shrieking din of the heaving floes. But at last they have worked her in, and now for a time at least she is safe, for she rises and falls with the ice; and, though hemmed in on all sides, has nothing to fear.

The _Grampus_ was "beset;" and from that very hour began one of the dreariest seasons of imprisonment that ever a beleaguered ship's crew experienced. They were far away from aid of any kind that they knew of, the ice was terribly heavy, and, worse than all, the summer season was far advanced, and already the sun dipped very close to the northern horizon at midnight.

The storm abated; in twelve hours the ice had ceased to rise and fall, and a silence, deep as death, reigned once more over the frozen sea.

"We must do the best we can," said brave Captain Anderson, "to amuse ourselves and each other. G.o.d only knows when we may get clear, but we can trust in Him who rules the sea as well as the dry land."

"Amen!" said Chisholm, in a quiet and earnest voice.

"We'll make off skins now for a week or two," said the captain; "that will help to pa.s.s the time."

So it did, reader, and it also brought the birds around them in millions. These, as usual, they shot for feathers and fresh meat.

Bears in twos, and sometimes in threes, prowled round the ship to pick up the offal. Ugly customers they looked, and ugly customers they were.

Poor Tom Reid, the cooper's mate, sat on a bit of ice one day smoking, not far from the ship. A monster bear crept round a corner and clawed his heart and lungs out with one stroke of his mighty paw. The carpenter and captain were both on the ice one day, when they were suddenly confronted with the man-eater. They had no arms, and would have been instantly killed had not the danger been perceived by Fred Freeman; he fired from the deck of the _Grampus_, wounded the bear, and saved their lives. After this it was determined to hunt and kill the bears, and many good skins were thus procured. One day Fred surprised the man-eater in a corner, licking his wounded foot. The bear bellowed like a bull, and prepared to spring. Fred was too fast for him, and rolled him over at ten paces distance. Poor Fred! he did not see that this bear had a companion within hail, and that he was coming up fast and furiously and intent on revenge, not fifty yards away. Men are behind him, but they fear to fire, lest they kill Fred. Chisholm is on an adjoining floe, but the warning he shouts comes all too late; for next moment his poor friend lies helpless and bleeding in the talons of the terrible ice-king. Chisholm kneels to fire. It is a fearful risk, but it is Fred's only chance. The sound of the rifle rings out on the silent air, the bear quits his victim, springs upwards with a convulsive start, then falls dead beside the man he would have slain. It is three weeks ere Fred can crawl again.

Meanwhile the whole of the skins have been "made off." [The seal-skins, with blubber about three inches thick, are spread on boards on idle days in Greenland ships, and the fat pared off. The skins are then rubbed in salt and stowed away in a tank; the blubber also is put in tanks by itself. This is called "off."] There are no more bits of flesh and fat thrown overboard, so the birds all leave them, then the bears; and, except that a wondering seal sometimes lifts its black head for a moment out of a pool of water to stare at the ship, there is no sign or sound of animal life on all the dreary pack. They feel more lonely now than ever, but they play games on the ice and games on board, and they read much and talk a great deal about home. This last makes them feel the time still more long and monotonous, but one day--

"Happy thought!" says Fred, "let us get up theatricals."

Well, this pa.s.sed the time away pleasantly enough for a whole month, but they tired at last even of theatricals; and then a dense fog rolled in from the south and the west, and enveloped the whole pack as with a dark pall. They saw no more of the sun for two weary months, but they knew he _set_ now, and that the order of day and night had been restored; but alas! they knew likewise that it would, in a few weeks more, be all one long night, and their hearts sank at the very thoughts of it.

The mist rolled away at last, but shorter and shorter grew the days and colder and colder the weather. I hesitated before I wrote that last word "weather," for really in that ice-pack there was no weather. Never a cloud in the blue vault of heaven, and never a breath of wind--not even as much as would suffice to raise one feathery flake of the starry snow. But the silence--it was a silence that was felt at the heart; you could have heard a whisper almost a mile away, there was nothing to break it. Nature seemed asleep, and all things seemed to fear to wake her. No wonder that poor Frank said one day, as he closed his book--

"Heigho! boys, it is _such_ a treat to hear the clock tick."

Night was the most trying, cheerless time; for after they had turned into their box-like bunks, they would lie for hours before it was possible to get warm. Then in the morning each bunk looked like a little cave of snow, the breath of the occupant during the night having been frozen into h.o.a.r-frost, which covered the sides and the top, and lay half-an-inch thick on the coverlet. It was, indeed, a dreary time.

CHAPTER SIX.

WINTER IN THE ICE-FIELDS--THE ICE BREAKS UP--SAILING SOUTH--A SLEDGE ADVENTURE--THE STORM AND SHIPWRECK--AFLOAT ON AN ICEBERG--LAND! LAND!-- A TERRIBLE JOURNEY--CRONSTADT.

Was it always so silent and still in that lonely ice-pack as I have tried to describe it? Not always: there were times when the floes around the ship began to move slowly up and down, telling of a swell beneath them; then the rending, shrieking, and groaning noises were indescribable. But only twice during the months of darkness did a breeze blow, and, when it did, snow fell, or rather was borne along on the wings of the wind, with a fierce bitterness that no living being could be exposed to for an hour and live. A snow-house was built over the decks, and this served in some slight measure to mitigate the terrible cold.

And so the winter wore away, for the longest time has an end. Our heroes had borne their privations and their deprivations n.o.bly. They did not even let down their hearts when the captain told them they would have to go on "short commons," and only laughed when the steward reported the eggs finished, and the last potato vanished. The biscuits held out, however, and the soup in bouilli, so they rejoiced accordingly, and were thankful.

But when the sun showed face one day, there were no bounds to the joy that every one on board manifested. They even manned the rigging, and gave him three times three heartfelt cheers. Even Rouskia, the ship's dog, seemed glad to see the light of day again, and joined in the cheering with a kind of half hysterical bark, as if the tears were in his throat and partially stopped his utterance. The sun did not stop to look at them long, but, like an invalid in the stage of convalescence, he stayed up longer and longer every day, and his presence soon began to work a change in the appearance of the ice; the snow on the top of it became less dry, and the cold to a large extent left the air. Then the ice began to float farther apart, and, on taking the reckoning one day, the captain found, to his joy, that the whole pack was moving slowly southwards.

After many days the _Grampus_ left her harbour, and began "boring" her way through the ice. It was slow, tedious work; but slow as it was they were homeward bound, so there was happiness at the hearts of all on board. But their hopes of escape were doomed to be blighted; for once again the light wind which had begun to blow from the gentle south fell to a dead calm, winter once more resumed his sway, and the good ship _Grampus_ was beset a second time. Although the ice was not heavy, but hummock-covered or flat, it was dangerous enough in all conscience.

One day they were surprised by a visit from some natives, with sledges drawn by dogs. They brought fish with them, and the carcase of a reindeer, and begged, in their strange but musical l.a.b.i.al language, for blankets and tobacco. They came from land that was visible on the starboard bow, and this country, or island, or whatever it was, Chisholm begged leave of the captain to be allowed, with his friends, to visit.

"It must be at your own risk, then, gentlemen," the captain replied; "for, although we are most likely to lie here for six weeks to come, the ice may break up at any moment."

But our heroes did risk it. They packed a sledge with many things which they knew the natives would appreciate, and off they started, the captain waving his hand and wishing them luck. It was more pleasant to run for a little way on first starting; but having by this means succeeded in starting the circulation of the blood, as Chisholm phrased it, they handed the whips to the natives, and squatted on the tops of the curious and primitive sledges.

They found the Esquimaux very friendly, and willing to barter. Their huts were mere mole-hills, and far from cleanly inside, and were built with no attempt at architecture; but they were strong, nevertheless.

The only kind of religion these people had was a kind of sun worship.

They were expert in hunting and fishing, and very brave and daring.

Chisholm soon found that he could accomplish the journey from the ship to the village of Redinvolsk in an hour; so he started a sledge, drawn by two dogs, and, great though the risk was, went on sh.o.r.e almost every day. But these little trips of his had a sad and all but fatal ending.

His team one day took fright, and, instead of running directly for the village, dashed over a precipice. Half-way down the creva.s.se the sledge was brought up by a snow-covered shelf of rock. But kindly aid was at hand, a rope was lowered by some friendly natives, and a sheathed knife.

With the latter he cut the poor plunging dogs adrift, sorry in his manly heart that he had to leave them to their fate. He was then drawn to bank much bruised and shaken, but thankful to escape with life.

One morning clouds began to bank up in the sky, and that very day the ice broke up, steam was got up, and, more quickly than before, the _Grampus_ headed homewards.

There was an air of greater gravity about the captain, as he came below to dinner that day, than ever Frank and his friends had seen.

"I hope there is nothing serious the matter, captain?" Chisholm inquired.

"Not as yet, gentlemen," replied the captain, with an uneasy kind of a smile, "but the gla.s.s is going tumbling down, and the ice grows heavier and more dangerous the nearer to the open sea we get. I fear we're going to have a blow."

He soon after went on deck, whither our heroes followed him. The floes were of great size, heavy, mischievous-looking pieces, covered with snow on the top, but with a deal of hard green stuff under water. Against these the ship was constantly b.u.mping, with a violence that made every one on deck stagger and reel. The captain himself was on the bridge giving constant orders, for the ship was being steered by the ice; the object being to strike the pieces stem on, and so save the more vulnerable bows or quarters.

The day wore gloomily away, and the night closed in dark and stormy. No one cared to lie down or seek for rest; there was a cloud on the heart of every one on board--a strange foreboding of evil to come. The wind soon increased to all the fury of a gale; the waves dashed over the ship with such violence that when struck you couldn't have told whether it was with a piece of ice or a green sea.

It was just two bells in the morning watch, and the night was at its darkest, when the good ship was caught with tremendous force between two mighty floes, which, as soon as they had done the mischief, began to part and leave the sinking ship to her sad fate. The next moment the engineer had rushed on deck to say the engines had stopped. All was now confusion on board, for there was a strange steadiness about the vessel that told she was sinking fast.

Boats were of no use in that terrible tempest-tossed ocean, so orders were given to get ready the ice-anchors. By dint of courage and strength, the anchors were thrown, and the ship made fast for a time, to the nearest berg. It was but for a time, alas! And now commenced all the hurry and horror of this pitiful disembarkation. The waves washed over both ship and berg, making the former quiver all over like some creature in the throes of death, and causing the berg itself to heel over like a great raft.

Morning broke grey and cold and dismal; but hours before, the _Grampus_ had slipped her ice-anchors, and gone down head foremost; and, out of all her crew of fifty men, fifteen only were alive to see the sunrise, and thank the G.o.d who had spared their lives--fifteen, and the ship's dog. Our heroes were saved, or this story would not be written; but, with the exception of Captain Anderson, every other officer met with a watery grave.

I have not the heart to harrow the feelings of my youthful readers with a relation of the horrors the survivors of the foundered ship had to endure on that floating iceberg. For a whole week they were tossed about among the stormy waves of that cold ocean, drifting before an eastern gale that blew with almost the force of a hurricane. But if their half-frozen hearts were still capable of feeling one atom of joy, they must surely have beat faster when the captain, gla.s.s in hand, but half buried in spray, shouted--"Land, land! I see it, I see it!"