'Midst Arctic Perils: A Thrilling Story of Adventure in the Polar Regions

Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen

'MIDST ARCTIC PERILS By PERCY F. WESTERMAN

'Midst Arctic Perils

[Illustration: With a fearful lurch she heeled to starboard. _Frontispiece._ See page 14.]

'Midst Arctic Perils

A Thrilling Story Of Adventure In The Polar Regions

BY PERCY F. WESTERMAN Author of "The Young Cavalier," "The Nameless Island," &c.

London C. Arthur Pearson Ltd. Henrietta Street 1919

CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. RUN DOWN II. A STRUGGLE FOR LIFE III. RESCUED IV. ON BOARD THE "POLARITY" V. TRAPPED IN AN ICEBERG VI. AN UNPLEASANT SURPRISE VII. THE MOTOR SLEIGH IS TAKEN OUT VIII. NECK OR NOTHING IX. AN ADVENTUROUS JOURNEY X. THE SLEEP OF DEATH XI. CROSSING THE ICE BARRIER XII. TWO DAYS OUT XIII. THE DASH FOR OBSERVATION CAMP XIV. GOOD WORK IN THE BLIZZARD XV. JUST IN TIME XVI. THE CREVASSE XVII. GUY IN COMMAND XVIII. THE END OF THE MAMMOTH XIX. THE LOST "BIRD OF FREEDOM" XX. ABANDONED XXI. RESCUED

Illustrations

With a fearful lurch she heeled to starboard _Frontispiece_

On three sides rose a continuous wall of ice

A huge polar bear standing on its hind legs

The _Bird of Freedom_ toppled, and like an arrow, plunged into the sea

He could see Ranworth dangling inertly at the end of the first rope

With a terrific crash the _Bird of Freedom_ toppled completely over

Holding one of the hooks in his gloved hand, Travers deftly engaged the hook in the ring-bolt at the bow of the sleigh

Right into the eye of the wind the four well-nigh exhausted men struggled

'Midst Arctic Perils

Chapter I

Run Down

"I MANAGED it all right, Guy," announced Leslie Ward excitedly. "Old Runswick's a brick. Says he'll take us both for a week's cruise. The _Laughing Lassie_ sails at high water this evening."

Leslie Ward, the fifteen-year-old son of a distinguished electrical engineer, and his chum, Guy Anderson, were spending a holiday at the small fishing village of Pilgrimswick, situated on a remote part of the Yorkshire coast.

The friendship between the two boys was of only few weeks' duration, but it was a friendship that was fated to be a life-long one, cemented by peril and adventure.

Both lads were of almost the same age. Leslie Ward was tall, broad-shouldered, and well set-up. He looked older than his actual years. He was apt to be a trifle impulsive, and, possessing an abundance of energy, was always ready to tackle any difficulty that presented itself. His knowledge of mechanics and physics was extensive, and even his father--a cool, calculating man, who never erred upon the side of exaggeration--was forced to admit that Leslie showed great promise of becoming a first-rate consulting engineer.

Guy Anderson was of a different build and disposition. A good three inches shorter than his chum, and slight of build, he lacked the physical strength that Leslie possessed. Nevertheless, he was well-knit and wiry, and capable of withstanding the strain of fatigue. Their parents' permission to undertake a trip in the _Laughing Lassie_ had been obtained even before the matter had been broached to the gruff yet kind-hearted skipper of the ketch, and now, the latter business having been satisfactorily concluded, it only remained for the two lads to provide themselves with suitable clothing and a generous contribution in the way of eatables to the ship's stores.

By the time Leslie and Guy arrived at the tidal harbour, the _Laughing Lassie_ was already afloat.

"Evenin', young gents," was Skipper Runswick's curt greeting. Then, eyeing the big hamper that accompanied his guests, he added, with typical Yorkshire candour: "An' what might you be? Dost tha' think tha'lt not be fed properly?"

"Oh, no, Captain Runswick," Leslie hastened to explain. "It's our contribution to be shared by all hands."

"Let's hope that you'll be ready to do your share o' things," rejoined the skipper grimly, as he regarded his two amateurs in their spotless white duck overalls with certain amount of disdain. "Stow the gear over agin' yon hatchway. Andrew'll pass it below in a minute. Now clap on yon rope and heave till you crack your ribs."

The voyage to the fishing grounds had begun in earnest.

Skipper Runswick had sailed the _Laughing Lassie_ for nearly forty years. She was by no means a new boat when he first set foot upon her deck; but, like many another veteran of the North Sea, the ketch was soundly and powerfully built. She was a Weatherly craft, with a fair turn of speed. It wasn't safe for anyone to say a word against her in the skipper's presence.

The "old man" was one of an old school. He knew the fishing grounds as well as a Londoner knows the Strand--perhaps better. The use of the sextant was beyond him, yet solely by the aid of compass and lead-line would he find his way across the vast, trackless expanse of the North Sea to his favourite "grounds," where a cast of the trawl never failed to produce a goodly haul. Putting his trust in Providence, bad weather failed to daunt him.

Their work done for the time being, Leslie and Guy went aft, and, sitting on a coil of rope close to the taffrail, watched the rapidly receding cliffs of the rugged Yorkshire coast, thrown into strong relief by the setting sun.

The watch on deck, consisting of Old Mick and George the cook, commonly referred to as Long Garge--had trimmed and fixed the red and green navigation lamps. The wind had fallen light, and the _Laughing Lassie_ rolled laboriously in the long, sullen swell.

Old Mick was standing at the tiller, with legs stretched wide apart, and his hands in his pockets. His work for the time being consisted in doing nothing, for the ketch barely carried steerage way. Long Garge was for'ard scratching the foremast and whistling blithely in the hope, common to the old-time seamen, that the joint action would result in a breeze.

"Better now than when we've got the holds full of fish," declared the skipper, commenting upon the lack of wind.

Leslie and Guy slept badly that night. The bunks felt uncomfortable, weird noises overhead and strange groanings as the old vessel strained in the long, oily swell, the somewhat close atmosphere 'tween decks, all combined to disturb the slumbers of the two chums. Glad were they when, at the first blush of dawn, they were able to leave their strange beds and go on deck.

It was a glorious morning. The sun had just risen above a low-lying bank of haze. The surface of the North Sea was ruffled by a gentle breeze. All around the sea and sky met in an unbroken horizon. Not another sail was to be seen.

The only member of the crew already on deck was Peter, the ship's boy, who was steering with the skill of a born sailorman, keeping the stiff little ketch "full and bye" without shiver in her well-stretched canvas.

"Good-morning, Peter," said Guy. "It looks as if it's going to be a jolly fine day."

"Not for trawling," replied Peter sagely. "Might do for pleasure folk, but the wind'll die down when the sun gets up, and more'n likely there'll be a fog."

"Where do we wash?" inquired Leslie innocently. Peter grinned.

"There's a canvas bucket up for'ard," he informed his questioner. "Just you strip, and get t' other gent to swill you down. That's what we do."

As Peter had prophesied, the wind did fall to a dead calm. Leslie and Guy had a swim over the side, getting on board again by means of a tarry rope.

For the rest of the day the _Laughing Lassie_ drifted idly, until about an hour before sunset, when a smart breeze helped her on her way.

Skipper Runswick declared that the nets would be shot directly the ketch arrived at her favourite fishing ground. It would mean a night's work, he admitted, but no doubt the young gents would sleep throughout the noise on deck.

"We'd rather remain up, if you don't mind," said Leslie, remembering the hard bunk in the little cabin. Besides, it was the novelty of seeing the trawls, laden with glittering fish, being hauled on board, that was one of the objects of his trip.

"All right," replied Runswick, good-humouredly. "No doubt we can make you properly useful." Acting upon the skipper's advice, the two lads turned in for a few hours on the understanding that they would be called directly the nets were ready to be shot.

Contrary to their expectations, they slept like logs until one in the morning, when Peter, knocking loudly at the cabin door, announced that all was in readiness.

Putting on thick sweaters, Leslie and Guy went on deck. It was pitch dark, except for the feeble glimmer of two lanterns hung vertically from the forestay. Not a star was visible. There was hardly any wind, while the sea was calm and strangely phosphorescent.

Slowly Long Garge and Peter, assisted by the two "supernumeraries," paid out yard after yard of carefully coiled nets, for the speed at which the _Laughing Lassie_ was moving was so slight that any attempt to shoot the nets hurriedly would result in a disastrous tangle.

"All out, Cap'n!" announced Long Garge, as the last of the cork floats disappeared overboard. "But, blow me, if there ain't thick weather a-comin' on."

In a very short space of time the deck of the _Laughing Lassie_ was hidden in a pall of vapour. It was impossible to see the regulation lights from the after-part of the ketch.

"'Tis thick," agreed Skipper Runswick. "Peter, you nip below and get out the fog-horn. It'll keep you busy. Thank goodness we're out of the regular steamer tracks," he added under his breath.

Although the night had hitherto been warm and humid, a cold clamminess accompanied the fog. In spite of their thick sweaters, the lads shivered.

"Nothin' doin' for a bit," said the skipper, almost colliding with his guests, as he made his way for'ard. "Go below to the cabin. Unless the fog lifts pretty soon, we'll not get the nets in afore dawn. If you're still of a mind to see the job being done, I'll give you the word."

"Thanks awfully," said Leslie, his teeth chattering as he spoke. "We would like to be called if you do haul in the nets."

Although neither had cared to admit it, both boys were glad to retreat to the snug shelter of the cabin. The lamp lit, they made no attempt to turn in, but talked and read, to the accompaniment of the minute blasts upon the foghorn, which Peter used with vigour.

"It must be nearly daylight," said Guy at length. "It's now nearly three o'clock, and the sun rises at half-past four. I'm not in the least bit tired, are you?"

Before Leslie could reply, there was a violent scuffling of feet overhead, and a chorus of shouts from Skipper Runswick and his crew.

The lads looked at each other in wonderment, then, seized by a common impulse, made for the companion ladder.

Before they were clear of the doorway, a terrific crash shook the _Laughing Lassie_ like a rat in the mouth of a terrier; then with a fearful lurch she heeled to starboard.

The swinging lamp, hurled from its gimbals, was smashed into a thousand fragments against the skylight, plunging the little cabin into intense darkness. The two lads, in company with every article that was not securely fixed, rolled to leeward in a confused heap.

Before they could regain their feet, they were dimly aware that water was pouring into the stricken vessel.

The _Laughing Lassie_ was making her last voyage--this time to the bed of the North Sea. Cut half-way through amidships by a lumbering tramp, the skipper of which, with a ruthless disregard for the Rules of the Road at Sea, was driving his craft at full speed ahead, the ketch was doomed.

In a very short space of time, barely sufficient for the crew to clamber on to the bows of the ramming vessel, the tramp had drawn clear, while the _Laughing Lassie_, with Leslie and Guy still in the cabin, was already on the point of disappearing beneath the waves.

Chapter II

A Struggle For Life

LESLIE WARD was the first to pull himself together, for the sudden shock had temporarily numbed the senses of his companion and himself.

The partial recovery of the stricken ketch gave him an opportunity of grasping Guy by the wrist and dragging him to the foot of the companion ladder. By this time the surging water was up to their knees.

"Up with you, old man!" he shouted. "You're not hurt?"

"Don't think so!" gasped Guy breathlessly, for in falling he had tripped across some article of furniture and been winded. "You go first!"

Leslie demurred. Even in the moment of peril each lad seemed inclined to enter into a discussion as to who should precede the other. The gradually rising water settled the argument, and, seized by a temporary panic, the pair scuttled through the companion and gained the deck.

It was still pitch dark. The fog was as "thick as pea soup." Somewhere, although the ship was completely invisible from the deck of the waterlogged craft, could be heard the hiss of escaping steam, the churning of the propeller, and the shouts of the now excited crew of the tramp.

The _Laughing Lassie's_ bows by this time were under water. Her stern was tilted a few feet above the surface, while from the taffrail the inboard end of her nets could just be distinguished.

Leslie realised the new danger. Even if the two lads could swim clear of the doomed ketch, there was a great risk of being caught by the drift of nets, and, once enmeshed, being carried in them to the bottom by the disappearing vessel.

He remembered having seen during the day that a lifebuoy was resting upon the flat top of the cabin skylight. It had vanished, having been knocked overboard by the tremendous impact. There were two others, lashed to the mizzen shrouds. The cords that bound them were jammed by the action of the moisture and refused to be untied.

Even as Leslie fumbled desperately with the resisting knots, the _Laughing Lassie_ quivered, then in a turmoil of foam and escaping air, slid entirely beneath the surface. Foam, sea, and fog seemed blended into a horrible chaos as Leslie found himself struggling in the water. Although a good swimmer, he was frantic, for the bight of a rope held him entangled. More by chance than design, his efforts to free himself from the rope were successful, only to be quickly followed by a worse predicament.

Already he was about five or six feet below the surface. As he struck out to regain the air, his head came in contact with the ratlines of the mizzen shrouds. It was like being caught in a huge net.

Instinctively he struggled to force his way between the shrouds, but in vain. The _Laughing Lassie_, sinking deeper every moment, was again dragging him down beneath the surface.

Suddenly a swirl of water, caused by the release of a considerable amount of air trapped in the sinking ship, swept him clear of the shrouds. Dimly he realised that he was free, and feebly he again struck out for the surface.

He could hold his breath no longer. A rush of salt water poured down his throat. At first it irritated him greatly, then the distressing symptoms gave place to a strange and unnatural calm. A thousand incidents of his comparatively short life flashed across his mind. Then everything became blank.

Meanwhile Guy had been more fortunate. Swept apart from his companion as the _Laughing Lassie_ made her final plunge, he found himself swimming for dear life. He had no idea of direction.

His immediate danger lay in the fact that momentarily fragments of wood, casks, and fish "trunks" came bobbing to the surface with terrific violence. Had one of the objects struck him from underneath, the force of the blow would have either killed him outright or deprived him of breath, in which case he would have failed to keep himself afloat.

A few strokes took him out of that particular danger zone, then, realising that he ought not to tire himself by swimming, he made for a large, empty box. Just as he was on the point of grasping it, the box disappeared from view.

In the faint light he became aware of a rush of some ill-defined object through the water. It was the line of corks supporting the drift nets. A few feet nearer and Guy would have been entangled in the meshes and dragged in the track of the sinking vessel.

In spite of his saturated clothing and boots, Guy swam strongly, until, satisfied that another danger had been avoided, he trod water and began to look for another means of support. Then, and only then, he missed his chum.

"Leslie!" he called, as loudly as his well-nigh breathless condition would allow.

He listened intently. There was no reply. In the distance he could detect the rapidly receding thud of the propeller of the vessel which had been the cause of the calamity. For some strange reason it seemed that the tramp was making off.

"The callous brutes!" he murmured.

As a matter of fact, it was ignorance, not callousness on the part of the crew of the colliding vessel. Not a man could speak English, and by the time Skipper Runswick contrived to make anyone understand that two of the _Laughing Lassie's_ crew were missing, the tramp had lost her bearings in the fog.

For a long time she circled slowly, hoping to find the floating débris from the sunken ketch, but owing to the darkness and the fog her efforts were in vain. Each complete circle took her well clear of her objective, until, coming to the conclusion that there were no more survivors, her master steadied her on her course for a distant Norwegian port.

Presently Guy saw a barrel floating close to him. This he made for, but the curved surface afforded no grip. After wasting valuable strength in a vain attempt to secure a place of refuge, he gave the barrel up in despair. For some minutes he swam, looking for other flotsam. By this time débris seemed very scarce. He wondered whether he were swimming farther and farther away from the spot where the ketch had disappeared.

Again and again he shouted, but in vain. His staying powers, though good, were being severely taxed. Unless a means of support were speedily forthcoming, his chances of rescue would be rendered still more remote.

Then it occurred to him to get rid of his coat, sweater, and boots. Thanks to previous experience of how to do this--at Guy's school fancy swimming was a favourite pastime--the lad contrived to untie the laces and kick off his boots. The coat was quickly thrown off.

Relieved of these incumbrances, Guy struck out once more. Unknowingly he had been swimming in a vast circular direction, and gradually he was again approaching the scene of the disaster.

Suddenly, when hope seemed on the point of dying, he saw a white object a few feet ahead of him. It was the cabin skylight of the _Laughing Lassie_. The copper bolts which held it to the deck beams had corroded badly, and when the ketch sank the pressure of the confined air had caused the fastenings to give way, and had blown the skylight to the surface.

It was waterlogged, and floating bottom upwards. The plate glass, firmly set in fixed frames and protective iron bars, was still intact; but, owing to the heaviness of the teak and its fittings, there was very little buoyancy.

As Guy grasped the upturned edge, the skylight tilted and dipped. The lad took advantage of this to allow himself to float over the submerged side, then as the skylight resumed its former position of flotation he felt his feet touch the roof.

For the time being he was safe, and, unless cold, and exhaustion gained the upper hand, he stood a fair chance of being picked up when daylight came.

As he crouched on his frail shelter, with the water up to his neck, he began to wonder what had become of Leslie. Not for one moment did he entertain the idea that his chum had perished. No doubt he had managed to be picked up by the colliding steamer.

"It's getting beastly cold," murmured Guy, after a while. "I wonder if I could get rid of some of this water."

The sea was fairly calm. There was a slight swell, but no crested waves. If he could increase the freeboard of the water-logged skylight, so much the better.

He groped with his hands below the surface. The panes, he discovered, were intact. Cautiously treading over the roof, he also found that none of the planks appeared to be strained.

He began to bale with his palms, somewhat dubiously at first; but as the edge of the skylight began to rise higher out of the water he worked with renewed energy. The effort began to tell upon his cramped arms. Warmth and a sense of feeling began to take possession of him as he baled. In a quarter of an hour the level of the water inside the upturned skylight was several inches lower than that of the sea.

All at once Guy stopped and looked as if unable to credit his senses. Dawn was breaking, and with it the fog was lifting considerably. Less than twenty yards from him was something that looked like a human body floating well on the surface. The body was floating on its back with the head turned away, but it was Leslie right enough.

Guy shouted. He heard no reply, but there was a distinct movement of Leslie's head.

"It might be the lift of the waves," thought Guy. "I'll have to get to him somehow."

His first impulse was to leap from his place of refuge and swim to his chum's aid; but that meant destroying the added buoyancy of the skylight. Waterlogged, it would support one person, but certainly not two. Baled as it now was, it would afford shelter for perhaps three or four.

For want of a paddle, Guy leant cautiously over the edge, and, dipping his hand, used it to propel the unwieldy skylight. His progress was slow, but by dint of paddling with one hand over each of two adjacent sides, Guy found that he was able to approach his luckless chum.

Tormented with the thought that perhaps Leslie was dead, Guy struggled frantically. As he drew near, he saw the reason why Leslie remained afloat. When the skylight had been wrenched from the deck it released several of the buoyant contents of the cabin. Amongst them was one of the hair mattresses of the bunk. As it came to the surface it rose immediately underneath Leslie's unconscious body, and sagging in the centre and rising at each end, it formed a lifebuoy, and at the same time prevented the lad from rolling off.

But already the horsehair was becoming saturated with water; its reserve of buoyancy was quickly vanishing. Another few minutes and it would fail to maintain the good work it had hitherto done.

A few more strokes brought Guy within arm's length of his friend. He grasped him by the shoulder and turned his head.

Leslie's face was deathly pale. His eyes were closed, and his mouth open. Whether there was any life left in him, Guy could not say.

His next act was to get Leslie into the skylight. It was a manoeuvre that called for both skill and strength, for the stability of the impromptu refuge was none too great, while Leslie's inert body and saturated clothes were astonishingly heavy.

Guy managed the task at the cost of an additional amount of water which poured over the sill of the skylight.

A hurried examination revealed the fact that Leslie was still alive. Another problem confronted the rescuer. Ought he to bale out the remaining quantity of water or at once proceed to revive the unconscious lad?

At first he decided upon the latter course, but on propping Leslie in one corner of the skylight he found that the erratic motion caused him to slide inertly into he water on the floor. Setting to work, Guy soon disposed of the water, and again turned his attention to his patient.

A quarter of an hour later Leslie opened his eyes and gazed dully around him.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed feebly. "What's up? Ah, I remember--but where am I?"

"All right," said Guy consolingly. "We'll be picked up before very long."

An hour passed. By this time the warmth of the sun began to make itself felt, and the two youths were able to discard their sodden clothing and spread it out to dry.

The fog had disappeared. Only a slight haze obscured the horizon. The sea was calm, and almost as smooth as glass, only a sullen swell remaining to remind them hat they were far out to sea, and not upon some landlocked estuary or lake.

"I could do with something to drink," remarked Leslie, who, rapidly recovering from the effects of his immersion, was beginning to feel a burning thirst from the salt water he had swallowed.

"So could I," agreed Guy. "I wish I hadn't tackled the skipper's salt pork. That's what has done it."

"In your case--perhaps," was the rejoinder. "I feel as if I had swallowed quarts of salt water. What's that?"

He pointed to a slender, pole-like object bobbing up and down about fifty yards from their unwieldy craft.

Without replying, Guy cautiously got astride one side of the skylight, then slipped gently into the sea. Swimming strongly, he quickly gained the floating pole and returned with it in triumph.

"It's a boathook," he announced. "The metal head is keeping it in a vertical position. We'll tie a shirt to it and hoist it as a signal of distress. It will be more likely to attract attention."

During the morning the smoke of several distant steamers could be discerned. Once a large barque tacked and stood in within a couple of miles of the wreckage, but the lads' signal of distress escaped notice, for the sailing vessel went about, filled, and stood away on the other tack.

During the afternoon no sail was sighted. The heat was most oppressive, for the sunlight was so strong that it shimmered in rolls of vapour upon the surface of the sea. There was every prospect of another fog as soon as night fell.

Both lads were now feeling the effects of prolonged hunger and thirst. Their throats began to ache, and their tongues to swell to such an extent as to render breathing a matter of difficulty. Talking was almost out of the question.

"See anything?" asked Leslie after a long interval.

"No."

"If we are not sighted pretty soon, it will be a rotten business for us."

"We've only had a few hours of it. Men have been known to exist on rafts for days without food."

"Shouldn't have thought that the North Sea was so deserted," remarked Leslie.

"Something will come our way," rejoined his companion cheerfully. "You take a nap; I'll watch for a bit."

By this time the interior of the skylight was quite dry, for the small quantity of sea water that Guy had left after ceasing his baling operations had evaporated under the rays of the sun, while the swelling of the wood completely closed the seams and effectively prevented the ingress of any more water.

"Jolly rummy sort of boat this," said Leslie drowsily as he coiled himself up in the bottom of the skylight and saw through one of the panes of glass the level of the sea several inches above his head.

Guy made no reply. He was eagerly scanning the horizon.

"There's a vessel, I think!" he exclaimed after a while.

"Where?" asked Leslie drowsily.

"There, coming straight towards us!" declared Guy.

"Bothered if I can see any ship."

"You can't? You must be as blind as a bat. I can see her sails easily."

Leslie again looked in the direction indicated. He could see nothing but the blurred blending of the sea and sky. Then a sudden fear flashed across his mind. Perhaps his companion's brain was affected by the heat and exposure.

"No doubt you are right, old man," he said. "I'm afraid I can't see it now; but when it comes a bit closer let me know."

Leslie was fully alert by this time. Sitting down and propping his shoulder against one side of the skylight, he narrowly watched his chum.

A couple of minutes passed, then Guy gave vent an exclamation of disappointment.

"I can't see the vessel now!" he declared. "She couldn't have disappeared. But everything is turning a funny colour."

Leslie looked into his companion's eyes. The "whites" were bloodshot.

"You've got a touch of sunstroke, I'm afraid," he said, as calmly as possible. "Look here, let's both go to sleep for a few hours. Should any vessel come within a mile or so of us, they'll spot our signal of distress."

Guy required no persuasion. He was already on the point of collapse. Five minutes later both lads were in a deep slumber, drifting aimlessly and unconsciously upon the surface of the North Sea.

Chapter III

Rescued

"WHAT do you make of that, sir?"

The speaker was Paul Travers, the second mate of the s.s. _Polarity_.

Captain Stormleigh brought his binoculars to bear upon the indistinct object his subordinate had indicated, road on the port beam.

"Wreckage, I should imagine," he observed.

"Worth while investigating, sir? I believe I can see a flag or something of the sort hoisted on a pole."

"Certainly," replied Captain Stormleigh decisively, and, calling to the steersman, ordered him to starboard his helm.

The s.s. _Polarity_ was not a graceful-looking craft by any stretch of imagination. Of barely 1500 tons' displacement, her straight stem, heavy short counter and wall sides were not objects of pleasing nautical architecture. She had three stumpy masts. The foremast, contrary to usual practice, was several feet taller than the main. A short distance below the fore-truck was a large upright barrel, fitted with a slightly conical roof. That alone would proclaim to experienced mariners the role of s.s. _Polarity_, for the barrel formed the crow's nest, and at once classed the vessel as one engaged in work in Polar seas.

Her engine-room was well aft, a tall, black funnel rearing itself between main and mizzen masts, while just abaft the mainmast, in order to leave the 'midship portion clear for stowage of cargo, was the bridge with the usual chart-room.

Just as the _Polarity_ altered her course, a tall, broadshouldered man of about thirty years of age sprang up the bridge ladder.

"Why are you starboarding your helm, Captain Stormleigh?" he asked, with a tinge of anxiety in his voice. "Not another breakdown, I trust?"

"No, sir," replied the skipper. "We've just sighted some wreckage, and we're standing in a bit to see what it actually is."

"But we really cannot afford the time; every moment is of vital importance," expostulated the new arrival.

Captain Stormleigh drew himself up to the full extent of his five feet two inches.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, "but I am in charge of this ship. Of that there can be no question. I fully admit that I am in your employ, but upon my judgment depends everything connected with her navigation. My contract is to take the _Polarity_ to Desolation Inlet in Nova Cania with the utmost dispatch, and subject to the exigencies of navigation. This, Mr. Ranworth, is one of the exigencies; therefore I have given orders for the ship's course to be changed."

For a few moments John Ranworth and Captain Stormleigh eyed each other in silence, each trying to gauge the mental strength of the other.

Finally Ranworth's features relaxed into a smile.

"Pardon, Captain!" he exclaimed. "I think I quite understand our relative positions now. I totally withdraw my objections."

John Ranworth had reason to be impatient, for, as he had stated, every moment was precious.

Nearly a twelvemonth previously, his brother, Claude Ranworth, had set out on a scientific and geological expedition to Nova Cania, a large island, hitherto but slightly explored, almost due north of Franz Josef's Land, and within five degrees of the Pole.

Owing to the peculiarities of the Arctic drift current, approach to Nova Cania is generally possible only during the latter part of August and September. At other periods of the year an impassable barrier of pack ice cuts off all possibility of direct communication.

Claude Ranworth's expedition had been equipped with a wireless installation of a range of about three hundred miles. Thus it was possible to communicate with the outside world for six months of the year by means of the international station at Thorsden, on Spitzbergen.

The expedition had been successful. Investigations resulted in the discovery of vast quantities of platinum, sufficient to disturb the commercial value of that hitherto highly precious metal.

Suddenly news was received that a disastrous blizzard had played havoc with the stores of the expedition. Unless rescue were speedily forthcoming, slow death by starvation stared them in the face.

At the same time reports from Danish whalers stated that the pack ice to the northward of Spitzbergen was dispersing considerably earlier than usual, and the experienced skippers expressed an opinion that it was quite possible to approach Desolation Inlet--the only safe harbour of Nova Cania--a fortnight or three weeks sooner than is usually the case.

Already in anticipation of going to bring his brother's expedition home, John Ranworth had chartered and fitted out the _Polarity_. The news that Desolation Inlet might be accessible did not therefore catch him napping. Within six hours of the momentous wireless news, the _Polarity_ left Hull for the desolate Arctic.

Before the _Polarity_ had rounded Spurn Head, an engine-room defect had caused her to put back for repairs, and twenty-four hours' delay was the result.

Now, when once more the ex-whaler was on her way, another delay chafed John Ranworth's highly-strung mind.

"By Jove, sir! It's a raft or something of the sort. There are two people in it. I can see their heads as the thing lists this way," reported Travers.

"Very good," replied Captain Stormleigh calmly. He was too much of a man to twit his employer with a galling "I told you so." "Get the whaler ready for lowering, Mr. Travers. You might pass the word for the cook to see that there's plenty of hot water under way."

At her utmost speed, which was a bare fourteen knots, the _Polarity_ approached the derelict object. Even John Ranworth temporarily forgot his anxiety at the sight of the drifting box--for such it appeared to be--with its human freight.

_Clang, clang!_ went the engine-room telegraph bell.

Before the way was off the ship, the whaler, with its crew and the second mate in charge, was lowered from the out-swung davits. Dexterously the falls were disengaged, and, bending to their oars, the rowers gave way with a will.

"My goodness!" ejaculated Ranworth, as the whaler returned with two additional and unconscious forms in her stern sheets. "They are two youngsters. Are they alive?"

"Yes, sir," replied Travers. "But another six hours or so would have settled them, I fancy."

"I'm glad you altered course, Captain Stormleigh," declared Ranworth frankly, as the unconscious lads were passed below. "The question is, what are we to do with them?"

"That's where you have me, sir," replied the captain, knitting his shaggy brows. "Of course, I wouldn't suggest putting back. When it's a case of fifteen men's lives against the personal comfort of a couple of youngsters, the youngsters don't count. If we fall in with a homeward-bound vessel engaged in the Norwegian or Baltic trade--and we're just in the track of the latter--well, then, it's an easy matter to tranship them. However, sir, time will tell. Meanwhile, we must get the lads back to life. They've had a terrible doing."

Having been relieved by McMurdo, Captain Stormleigh quitted the bridge, and, accompanied by Ranworth, went below to see how the two rescued youths were progressing. As they were discussing the mystery of their appearance, one of the lads opened his eyes and sat up, his forehead narrowly missing the deck-beam.

"Hullo! Where am I?" he asked wonderingly.

"You're safe and sound on board the _Polarity_, my lad," announced Ranworth soothingly.

"Where's my chum, Leslie?"

"In the bunk underneath yours," replied the charterer of the _Polarity_. "He's still sound asleep. What's your name?"

"Guy Anderson."

"A smack's boy?"

Guy smiled, then winced, for the action caused his scorched face to smart terribly.

"Hardly! We were on board the _Laughing Lassie_ for a holiday cruise, and she was run down in a fog. I don't think anyone else was saved."

"What's your friend's name?" asked Ranworth.

"Leslie Ward; his people live at St. Albans."

"Surely he's not the son of Decimus Ward, the well-known electrical engineer?"

"Yes, sir," replied Guy. "Mr. Ward is now spending his holidays at Pilgrimswick--that's the port to which the _Laughing Lassie_ belonged."

"All right, my lad. We'll let your people know you're safe," declared Ranworth. "Now you just swallow that soup and then go to sleep, and you'll be all right in the morning."

Five minutes later a message was sent from the _Polarity_ to Scarborough wireless station, reporting the rescue of Guy Anderson and Leslie Ward, and requesting that the information should be telephoned to Pilgrimswick.

"We must give those lads a shakedown in my cabin, Captain," said Ranworth. "They'll be all right where they are to-night. It only proves that one cannot judge by appearances."

"Just so, sir," agreed Captain Stormleigh. "They certainly did look as if they had come aboard through the hawsepipe. But the sooner we get them out of the ship the better. Every hour lessens our chances of falling in with a homeward-bound ship, and the Arctic's no place for a couple of inexperienced lads."

"It is not," agreed Ranworth. "I sincerely trust that we will soon be able to shift the responsibility of them upon other shoulders."

The next day passed almost without incident. Leslie and Guy were transferred to Mr. Ranworth's cabin, where, owing to the privations they had undergone, they were kept in their bunks.

On the following morning they dressed and went on deck.

"Good morning," was Paul Travers' greeting. "I think I've met you before."

"I don't remember you," said Leslie.

"I'm not surprised," rejoined the second mate with a breezy laugh. "Considering I hauled you into the boat, and you were both as limp as that coil of rope, it's not to be wondered it."

"Then we've to thank you for saving our lives?"

"No thanks required," declared Travers, shrugging his broad shoulders. "It's a case of duty; that's what I'm on board for."

"A jolly fine ship," observed Leslie, as he took a survey of the crowded deck. "I wish I were off to the Arctic in her."

"You stand a jolly good chance, anyway," announced the second mate. "We are now out of the regular steamer tracks, and we are not putting into any Norwegian ports, so it seems a case of have-to."

Chapter IV

On Board The "Polarity"

HOURLY Leslie Ward's and Guy Anderson's chances of being sent back diminished. The _Polarity_, forging steadily ahead on a northerly course, never sighted a single sail until in the latitude of Bergen, when she fell in with a Norwegian timber ship, homeward bound.

"There's a chance for you fellows," announced Ranworth, as the two vessels exchanged the customary greetings of the sea. "They'll take you into Bergen, and there you'll be pretty certain to find a British vessel bound for Hull or Grimsby."

"If you don't mind, sir, we'd rather not."

Ranworth whistled.

"Why not?" he asked.

"Apart from the uncertainty of finding a ship----"

"There's still more uncertainty, so far as we are concerned, my lad."

"We don't mind that," Leslie hastened to explain. "Thanks to you, our people know we are safe. I should just love to take part in a Polar expedition."

Leslie spoke with conviction. The possibilities of a voyage to the Arctic appealed to him. Guy was of different mould. Polar research had very little or no interest for him. He could not understand why men should risk their lives and suffer all the hardships of a winter in Polar regions merely for the sake of it.

Often he would argue with his school chums on the subject, his favourite question being, what definite advantage was derived from the fact that explorers had discovered the North and South Poles?

Was the world in general one whit the better when the Yankee Stars and Stripes were planted at the North Pole, and the Norwegian Ensign at the South Pole? Apart from Captain Scott's heroic efforts, were the results of his expedition worth the price in life and money?

Nevertheless, when Leslie had broached the subject of "getting round" Mr. Ranworth and obtaining his permission to accompany the rescue party, Guy offered no objection.

The love of adventure was strong within him. He would have preferred vastly to have been _en route_ for a Central African expedition, where territory likely to be of some use was to be explored. Eventually he decided that even the chance of a Polar expedition was better than swotting at a public school, and, after all, there was the voyage out and home to be taken into consideration.

"You may be awfully keen," admitted Ranworth, "but there is another side to the question. When I chartered this vessel and picked my companions, it was with a definite object in view. I had heaps of fellows--friends of mine--offering their services, but I was forced to decline the lot. Every man on board has his particular job. Now, I'll put a blunt question: What special qualifications have each of you that can be usefully employed to further the success of this expedition?"

Leslie and Guy were silent for a few moments.

"I'm a good shot with a rifle," announced Guy.

"We're not likely to fall in with cannibals or Somalis," Ranworth reminded him.

Guy knitted his brows in perplexity. Reduced to rock-bottom level, his qualifications seemed absurdly few.

"Can you cook a meal for twenty men?"

"Might, if it came to a push, sir," replied Guy. "At any rate, I'd have a jolly good shot at it."

"A willing heart goes a long way, my lad," said Ranworth. "Now, Leslie, what are you proficient at?"

"I have a fairly practical knowledge of electric motors," replied the boy.

"Indeed--of what types?" inquired the leader of the rescue party. "You're young to take up that profession; I should have imagined that you were still at school."

"I have to thank my father for that."

"And his name is, I believe, Decimus Ward?"

"How did you know that, sir?" asked Leslie, somewhat astonished.

"That's a secret," replied Ranworth, winking at Guy. "As a matter of fact, he designed the motor-sleigh we have on board."

"Then I do know something of that," declared Leslie. "The pater showed me the plans and explained the details. Of course, he didn't tell me the name of his client."

"You'd like to see the definite result of your father's ingenuity?" asked Ranworth; then, receiving an eager affirmative, he added: "Very well; come along; but before we go below you might ask Mr. Hawke to see me."

Leslie and Guy had already made the acquaintance of Aubrey Hawke, the motor specialist to the expedition. He was a dapper little man of about thirty. In height he only just came up to Leslie's shoulder, while he turned the scale at eight stone seven pounds. He had gained considerable fame as an aviator, but owing to an accident he had reluctantly been compelled to give up flying.

Surviving a fall from an aeroplane which would have ended fatally in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, Aubrey Hawke's vitality carried him through a long illness.

One result of the accident was that he was a victim to nervousness, but studiously concealing that failing, he had accepted a post with the Nova Cania rescue expedition in the hope that he might even yet recover his lost nerves.

"I've just discovered an assistant for you, Mr. Hawke," said Ranworth, indicating Leslie. "He's rather keen, I believe, upon electrical matters."

"So I understand," replied Hawke. "We've had one or two confidential chats already."

The motor-sleigh was securely stowed in the main hold, which, like the rest of the interior of the _Polarity_, was electrically lighted. It was quite unlike the general type of sleigh. It reminded Guy of an engine on the Underground Railway, for outwardly it consisted of a double-ended contrivance, twenty-five feet in length and seven in breadth, with sloping sides and a curved roof.

Round, brass-rimmed scuttles, fitted with thick plate glass, afforded an outlook on all sides, while fore and aft were searchlight projectors, protected from possible damage by massive gunmetal guards.

Above the roof were three metal brackets, forming bearings for a horizontal shaft, which was actuated by a chain driven with the motors. For the present the two aerial propellers were unshipped, in order to be safe from damage caused by the motion of the ship in a heavy sea-way.

The sleigh was intended primarily for use on smooth ice, being designed for a speed of forty miles an hour under the action of the aerial propellers. But since smooth ice is the exception rather than the rule within the Arctic circle, provision had to be made for travelling over rough ground, and possibly open water.

To meet the former case, the motor-sleigh was fitted with four broad wheels. Each fore and aft pair was connected by means of an endless band of phosphor-bronze links, while on the actual face of the chain were affixed broad plates of studded steel, after the manner of Army "Decapod" traction engines.

By an ingenious contrivance, the sleigh-runners could be raised at will, allowing the weight to be taken by the wheels; while, should the contrivance be compelled to cross the open water, the body was made boat-shaped and watertight, a subsidiary driving-chain for the aerial propeller shafting actuating a marine propeller astern.

"Show the way in, Leslie!" exclaimed Ranworth, wishing to put the lad's knowledge to a test. Making his way to the rearmost scuttle on the righthand side, the youth deftly unscrewed the metal rim from its flange. Then, inserting his arm through the opening, his hand came in contact with a lever. This he depressed, with the result that a part of the wall swung open, revealing a doorway of about four feet in height and two in breadth. So well fitted was the door that at a very short distance off it was not possible to detect the seams.

"Good man, Leslie!" exclaimed Ranworth, approvingly. "Now, Guy, in you go; there's plenty of room inside for all."

The interior was lined with wood, a space of four inches separating the inner lining from the outer metal shell. The intervening space was packed with a patent fibre in order to render it so far as possible impervious to the intense cold of the Polar regions. Even the plate glass in the scuttles was duplicated.

Two-thirds of the interior space was devoted to accommodation for passengers and "crew." Aft was the motor-room with its reserve storage batteries, and a bewildering complication of switches and levers.

"We carry a sufficient charge to run continuously for eight days," announced Aubrey Hawke. "If we are longer, then it will be a case of get out and walk, since the sleigh is a little too heavy to push."

"I wonder you didn't have a petrol motor," remarked Guy. "There's room to carry gallons of fuel."

"No, thank you; not for Arctic work," objected Ranworth. "The intense cold does not agree with petrol motors. My brother took an aeroplane with him, but I heard that it was not a success. I had no details, but I should imagine that, apart from engine troubles, an aeroplane within the Arctic circle is at the mercy of the frequent snowstorms. It wouldn't take long for half a ton of snow to accumulate upon the planes, you know. Now I'll leave you two fellows to Hawke's tender mercies. He'll put you up to the practical side of the contrivance, Leslie. Guy can tail on and make himself generally useful. Unless I'm much mistaken, he'll come in jolly handy after all--not necessarily to cook a meal for twenty men," he added with a chuckle.

Chapter V

Trapped In An Iceberg

THE _Polarity_ was rapidly approaching her destination. Her stokehold staff were working like niggers, while the engineers did their utmost to raise every possible ounce of steam.

However urgent had been the call for aid, that call was now even greater, for on getting within wireless range of Claude Ranworth's apparatus, the _Polarity's_ people learnt that another misfortune had overtaken the explorers.

In spite of strenuous precautions, the dreaded scurvy had broken out, and five men had already succumbed to its ravages. In addition, nearly all the Esquimaux dogs used for drawing the sleighs had died from some unaccountable reason, and the explorers were compelled to shelter in snow huts at a spot nearly forty-five miles inland from Desolation Inlet.

Already the crew had donned their Arctic clothing, for the temperature was falling rapidly as the vessel reached the high latitudes.

Drifting bergs, some several hundred feet in height, were constantly being met, proving the Norwegian whaler's statement that the ice was breaking up earlier than usual. There was no longer any night. During the whole twenty-four hours of each day the sun was visible, a pale, watery orb in a misty sky.

Just as Captain Stormleigh was congratulating himself upon having made a quick passage, the _Polarity_ encountered a belt of fog. For forty-eight hours it was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. Speed had to be reduced to five knots, not on account of the possibility of colliding with other vessels, but with obstructions that are without means of indicating their presence--the dreaded "growlers," or masses of ice showing only a few feet above the surface.

Icebergs, of course, constituted a danger, but their presence can generally be detected by a rapid fall of temperature, and frequently by the cracking and rending of the berg itself.

On the second day of the fog, Leslie and Guy had just gone on board after dinner when they heard the engine-room telegraph-bell ring. Quickly the engines were reversed, the two propellers throwing a cascade of white foam past the entire length of the ship.

For'ard, both the look-out men were shouting at the same moment, with the result that what they said was unintelligible to the officers on the bridge. Then, with a terrific crash, the foremast was shattered twenty feet below the truck, the broken spar with the crow's nest attached to it falling upon the deck, together with a large fragment of ice.

Hearing the crash, but unable to see what had happened owing to the fog, the two lads groped their way for'ard, until their progress was barred by the débris of the foremast.

Another grinding sound pierced the veil of mist. The _Polarity_, still forging ahead, in spite of the reversed engines, had run into an almost perpendicular wall of ice. Fortunately she carried but little way, otherwise the impact would have stove in her bows. As it was, the shock was sufficient to throw both lads to the deck.

Leslie realised that the ship was in collision, but he was still ignorant of the nature of the obstruction.

The perils of the situation were magnified by the grim nature of the surroundings, for if the _Polarity_ had sustained a mortal blow the whole of her crew were doomed. It might be possible to take to the boats, but that would only prolong the agony. No human being could survive a lengthy voyage in an open boat in that Arctic weather.

As the lads were picking themselves up, Paul Travers bumped heavily into them. The second officer was on his way for'ard to ascertain the nature of the damage.

"It's all right, sir!" he shouted. "She's not making any water. The stem is twisted a bit, and the bow plates are slightly buckled above the water-line."

Captain Stormleigh heaved a sigh of relief. He was a brave seaman, but the perils of a fog at sea he dreaded, more especially in the present case. Having escaped lightly this time, he decided to back astern for at least a couple of miles and lay to until the fog lifted.

"Berg astern, sir!" shouted one of the seamen, who was stationed right aft.

The _Polarity_, having hit a berg when travelling ahead, was now in danger of hitting another when going astern.

Again the telegraph-bell clanged. This time the ship's way was more readily stopped, since her speed astern was barely two knots.

"How's that, Captain Stormleigh?" asked a voice, which Leslie and Guy recognised as that of Mr. Ranworth. "If we are retracing our course, how is it that we missed this berg before?"

"Can't say, sir," replied Captain Stormleigh abruptly. He was but dimly conscious of the question; his whole attention was centred upon the perils that beset him.

Slowly the ship forged ahead, this time circling to starboard. Five minutes later came a warning shout:

"Bergs ahead!"

The _Polarity_ had attempted three different courses, and each attempt had been foiled by the presence of ice. Unwittingly she had entered a veritable trap.

"Mr. Travers!" sang out the captain.

"Aye, aye, sir!"

"Take a cast with the lead."

"Aye, aye, sir!"

The second mate called to a seaman, who, armed with the "dipsey"--deep-sea lead--clambered on to the bow bulwark by the main shrouds.

The cast gave bottom at six fathoms.

"Great Scott!" ejaculated Travers. "There ought to be six hundred fathoms at the very least."

"What does it mean?" asked Ranworth, when the second mate had made his report to the bridge.

"Simply that we are inside an iceberg," replied Captain Stormleigh calmly, for now that way was off the ship his anxiety had considerably lessened. "There's a wall of ice on three sides of us at least, since we've sighted it. There's ice under us, otherwise the lead would give a jolly sight more than six fathoms, and there is, or was, ice above us, otherwise we shouldn't have lost part of our foremast."

"What's to be done?" asked Ranworth anxiously.

"Grope our way out--if we can," replied the skipper. "Unless I'm very much mistaken----"

His words were interrupted by a low rumble that quickly increased into a roar like thunder. Almost at the same time the hitherto calm sea was strangely agitated. A dull shock was distinctly felt under the ship's keel.

"Berg breaking up," remarked Captain Stormleigh, as calmly as possible, yet fear was gripping his mind. He alone knew the danger. The _Polarity_ was almost in contact with a mountain of ice, which was on the point of toppling over. Every minute was precious, and a way had yet to be found to extricate the ship from her hazardous position.

Suddenly--owing to the disturbance of the atmosphere caused by the fall of a huge portion of the berg--the fog was riven asunder, and an awe-inspiring sight met the eyes of the two lads.

The _Polarity_ lay in a deep narrow inlet. On three sides rose a continuous wall of ice, terminating three hundred feet above the surface in pinnacles of fantastic shape. From this precipice masses of ice jutted out at varying angles. It was against one of these unstable projections that the foremast of the ship had struck.

The opening by which the _Polarity_ had, by a pure fluke, entered the ice-incircled inlet was now visible; a gap roughly a hundred yards in width at the surface, and two-thirds of that distance from the nearmost of the opposite peaks. It was this part of the berg that threatened to collapse next. The overlapping mass was groaning ominously. Should a slide occur, the _Polarity_ would be hopelessly trapped.

Not only was the ship almost surrounded by the berg, but underneath her keel was a ledge of ice that was part and parcel of the floating mountain of frozen water.

Again a terrific crash announced that another fall of the ice had taken place. Evidently the slide was of great size, sufficient to imperil the stability of the whole berg. The waters of the inlet were violently agitated as the towering mass swayed.

[Illustration: On three sides rose a continuous wall of ice. To face page 44.]

The _Polarity_, lying broadside on and without way, in the trough of the waves, was in danger of being hurled violently upon the jagged cliff of ice.

Captain Stormleigh saw his chance and seized it. His sole hope lay in getting steerage way upon the ship, and making for the narrow outlet to the open sea. Ordering "Easy ahead, both engines," he steadied the vessel on her helm. Beyond the gap, the fog-bank still held as heavily as before. In that pall of vapour other bergs perhaps existed, but in any case it was better to risk the perils of the fog than to be entombed by the overturning of the berg.

Slowly--ever so slowly--the _Polarity_ began her bid for safety. There was a possibility that by this time the berg had tilted sufficiently to reduce the depth of water over the "bar" of the inlet, in which case the escape of the ship would be prevented. All, then, that could be done would be to take to the boats on a forlorn and almost hopeless dash for the nearest whaling station.

Wallowing like a porpoise, the staunch ship gradually approached the entrance. On her port side a massive ledge of steel-blue ice jutted fully fifty feet beyond the base of the berg. So insecure did it look that it seemed in momentary danger of breaking away and crashing upon the deck of the vessel. To edge farther away to starboard was impossible, owing to the obvious presence of a ledge of ice a few feet beneath the surface.

Leslie and Guy gazed spellbound as the masthead approached the overhanging ice. It seemed as if the stout spars must crash into the obstruction. Perhaps it was as well that the foremast had been partly carried away, for, as it was, the main truck missed the lower side of the ledge by a few inches.

A few seconds of breathless suspense followed, until the _Polarity_ drew clear of the supreme danger and entered a wider and less obstructed stretch of water.

Even then the peril was not yet over. Not until the ship was in deep water, and well away from the dangerous berg, could her crew breathe freely.

Fifty yards farther on the vessel's keel grated heavily. She had grounded upon the ice floor of the inlet. Yet her way still carried her forward.

The ice appeared to give under the grinding mass of steam-propelled hull, yet, after scraping along for nearly her own length, the _Polarity_ began to hang up. The water was shoaling with considerable rapidity.

In place of the unimpeded motion of the ship in the open sea, was that lifelessness which seamen know and dread. The _Polarity_ was no longer water-borne, but on the point of being hard and fast aground.

Captain Stormleigh knew full well that once the ship's way was stopped she would never be able to get off again under her own efforts. He promptly telegraphed below for full speed ahead.

Under the action of the twin screws churning the water to the utmost capacity of the powerful engines, the _Polarity_ scraped and ground her way for another fifty yards. Then, without warning, her bows dipped sharply, her whole fabric seemed to tremble as if on a balance, and, gliding with quickened pace, she slid into deep water.

"Look!" exclaimed Guy to his chum, as the _Polarity_ drew away from the dangerous iceberg.

He pointed to a gently shelving part of the ice-mountain quite two hundred feet above the sea. On it was a large polar bear, standing with paws outstretched and neck extended as rigid as a marble statue.

"It's dead!" declared Leslie. "Frozen to death, by the look of it. I wonder how it got on the berg?"

"No fear, it's not dead!" said his companion. "You can just----"

The sentence was interrupted by a warning shout from some of the crew. The whole berg was in the act of toppling over.

Silently at first the mountainous mass of ice began to tilt. Then, amid an ever-increasing roar of the agitated water and the crash of detached pieces of the berg, the list grew more and more.

Even now it was a race between the toppling cliffs of ice and the ship, for the latter had not put a safe distance between herself and the berg.

The lads, even in the midst of this new peril, could see the now aroused bear, striving to run up the steeply shelving ice wall which a few moments previously had been almost level.

For a few yards the animal made good progress, then its massive paws began to slip. Struggling in vain for a foothold, the bear slid backwards with increasing speed till, like a stone shot from a catapult, its huge body was flung over the edge of the precipice, to disappear in a moment beneath the foam-crested waves.

The noise of the collapsing berg grew till it rivalled the crash of thunder. The sea, thrashed by huge fragments of dislodged ice, many of them forming small bergs, was churned into a heavy mass of foam.

The _Polarity_ won the race by barely her own length as the topmost pinnacle of the iceberg struck the sea.

"Hold on, men!" roared Captain Stormleigh.

But his voice could not be heard owing to the ear-splitting crashes. Nevertheless, all hands clung on like grim death as a cascade of water, topped by a fringe of foam, burst over the vessel's stern.

Clinging desperately to a life-rail, Leslie and Guy thought that the _Polarity_ was doomed.

Buried ten feet below the waves of icy water, and almost torn from their hold, they knew not whether the vessel were plunging to the bottom or otherwise. Both lads were seized by a frantic desire to release their grasp and strike out for the surface. The water trickled down their mouths and nostrils, its very coldness lacerating their throats and causing them intense pain.

Then, as suddenly as they had been overwhelmed, the rush of water subsided, as the _Polarity_ gamely shook herself clear of the giant wave.

Gasping for breath, Leslie took in the scene of confusion. Guy was sprawling on the deck, his hands still grasping a massive belaying-pin in the life-rail. To leeward, the water was pouring in eddying torrents through the scuppers, where five or six of the crew, swept across the deck, were lying in a struggling heap.

Amidships, about ten feet of the bulwarks had been carried away, while the two quarter-boats had been hurled from the davits and smashed to splinters against the battered engine-room hatchway.

Another and yet another wave followed in quick succession, each smaller than the one preceding, and although the _Polarity_ was tossed like a cork, very little water broke on deck.

"Any men lost?" shouted Captain Stormleigh, after the immediate danger was over.

"No, sir," replied Travers. "Bill Smith has fractured his thigh, and there are a few minor injuries."

"We've come out of it lightly, then," rejoined the skipper, "thanks to a merciful Providence."

"We have," agreed Ranworth; then, unbuttoning his fur coat and consulting his watch, he added: "And six precious hours wasted!"

Chapter VI

An Unpleasant Surprise

FORTUNATELY, there was spare clothing in plenty on board, and without delay all the officers and crew who had been on deck during the avalanche of water were able to change into dry kit.

For another three hours Captain Stormleigh kept the _Polarity_ on a due easterly course, literally groping his way through the fog-bank.

Beyond glancing gently against an occasional growler, the ship escaped serious collision, and when the fog lifted an expanse of open water lay in front of her. Away, broad on the port beam, could be discerned the rugged outline of the giant berg which had so nearly proved to be the tomb of the _Polarity_ and her crew.

"Five miles in length, and two hundred feet in height, at the very least," declared Travers.

"What causes an iceberg to form?" asked Guy.

"It's the seaward end of a glacier," replied the second mate. "Every year, as the temperature rises a few degrees, the mighty glaciers of the Arctic rid themselves of a few cubic miles of ice. These bergs, once they are afloat, drift southwards, gradually diminishing and toppling over, until they melt away."

"What causes them to topple?" asked Guy. "I know that, roughly, six-sevenths of a mass of floating ice is beneath the surface. It seems a lot to capsize."

"Normally six-sevenths of the bulk of a berg is underneath the surface," replied the second mate. "We may take it for granted that yonder berg is, since it has only recently taken up its present position. In that case, the berg is at least a quarter of a mile in depth. But the ice is constantly thawing in the water, although the part exposed to the air may not be. Consequently the melting process underneath proceeds until the berg becomes top-heavy, and then--well, you have just seen that specimen do a somersault."

For the next five or six hours all hands were kept busily employed in making good the damage which had been done by the destructive wave.

The crow's nest, which had marvellously escaped injury when the foremast was fractured, was again sent aloft, this time on the mainmast. The broken foremast was sawn through a couple of feet below the jagged end, and new preventer shrouds set up.

The wireless aerials, which had been carried away at the same time as the crow's nest, were placed in position again. The bulwarks were roughly repaired by bolting fir planks across the gap.

Unfortunately, the two smashed boats could not be replaced, and the only wooden ones remaining were two heavy cutters carried on deck amidships. There were also two double-ended, collapsible canvas boats, double-skinned, and, so long as the canvas remained intact, unsinkable. For use in open water these boats were invaluable, but there was always a danger of ripping the canvas on the sharp edges of the floating ice.

At "midnight," Captain Stormleigh made a solar observation, and announced that the _Polarity_ was sixty miles S.S.E. of Desolation Inlet. Unless unforeseen circumstances arose, the relief expedition ought to be at the anchorage by six in the morning.

Unfortunately, the vessel encountered pack-ice--a desolate plain of bluish-grey ice, which had only partly melted, and moved southward in the form of "growlers," and drift ice.

"Rough luck, this, sir," commented Captain Stormleigh.

Ranworth shrugged his shoulders impatiently.

"We must force a passage," he said.

"We'll try, sir," replied the captain. "There is always a danger of being caught in a southerly gale, and the old _Polarity_ wouldn't be worth much jammed up in a lot of heavy ice. Still, I'm willing to take the risk."

"Very good," assented Ranworth. "What do you propose to do?"

"Keep her at it as long as she carries way. The ice may be fairly thin, and there's every likelihood of its breaking up. If we can't force a passage that way, we'll have to blow up the ice and form a channel. Ten to one the pack isn't very broad."

"But if it extends for miles?" asked Ranworth.

"We'll have to anchor the ship in the ice and make a start with the sleigh, sir. By the time the expedition is ready to return, the ice may have broken up."

"That seems the only way," agreed the leader of the expedition. "I'll warn Hawke to get the sleigh ready for action."

Upon nearing the pack, the _Polarity_ stopped her engines. One of the canvas boats was manned and lowered, and rowed towards the edge of the ice. On returning, the officer in charge reported that the ice was "rotten," and capable of being broken by the impact of the ship's bows.

Gathering way, the staunch vessel charged the glacial barrier. Right and left, as her steel-protected bow sheared through the obstruction, fragments of ice cracked and flew in glittering showers.

For nearly a mile the _Polarity_ forced her way, then, with unpleasant suddenness, she came to a standstill.

"The hummocks are too much for her," declared Captain Stormleigh, and, hailing the crow's nest, he asked for a report of the ice-field ahead.

"Same as it is here for a couple of miles or so, sir," replied the look-out man. "But there's open water beyond."

Calling to Travers, the captain ordered him to take a couple of reliable men and fetch some dynamite cartridges from the magazine. The rest of the crew were told off to provide themselves with axes, crowbars, and augers, in order to cut holes in the ice for the reception of the explosives.

"Would you like to have a run on the ice--I was just going to say ashore?" asked Ranworth, addressing Leslie and Guy. "Aubrey Hawke is going to test one of the small motor-sleighs, so you can go with him if you like."

The two lads were only too pleased at the opportunity. Warmly clad in furs, with their feet incased in fur-lined knee-boots, and wearing goggles to protect the eyes from snow-blindness, they lowered themselves over the side of the ship and gained the ice.

Chapter VII

The Motor-Sleigh Is Taken Out

IT was not long before the motor-sleigh was slung outboard by means of a derrick. It was a comparatively light affair, to be used in connection with the base camp. In appearance it strongly resembled the usual Arctic type of sleigh, only instead of being drawn by a team of dogs, it was propelled by an aerial propeller actuated by a four-cylinder petrol motor.

"May as well take my rifle," explained Aubrey Hawke, the engineer, as he placed a fur-lined bundle in the sleigh. "We may get a chance of shooting something."

"Why have you wrapped it up like a mummy?" asked Guy.

"To save my fingers from being burnt," replied Hawke. Then, seeing the look of incredulity on the lads' faces, he added: "It stands to reason a fellow can't press a trigger when his fingers are muffled in fur gloves. If you were to take off your gloves and touch any metal object you would find that the intense cold would cause the metal to act in much the same way as if it were quite hot. It would probably peel the skin from your fingers. Stow the rifle under the seat, Guy; Leslie, you sit immediately in front of me. I'll let you take the tiller after I've got the hang of it."

The sleigh was a three-seater, with a propeller of the tractor type, the blades being protected by steel guards which would not only serve to prevent damage to them in the event of a capsize, but also obviate any chance of the passengers being struck by the whirling propeller. Steering was effected by a short steel runner with a razor-like edge. To the rudder was affixed a short, massive tiller of ash.

"This is a sort of preliminary canter before we start with the giant sleigh," explained Aubrey Hawke. "Hitherto I've had no experience in guiding a mechanically propelled sleigh, and I reckon it will take a bit of practice. Lie low, both of you, and keep your hoods well over your faces."

The lads did as they were directed, while Hawke, making his way to the front of the sleigh, prepared to start the motor. This he did by swinging the propeller, which made Guy wonder what would happen when the thing did start.

Would Hawke be in time to regain his seat before the sleigh darted off at forty miles an hour?

The motor was most refractory. Owing to the intense cold, the oil in the cylinders had frozen, but after a considerable amount of energy had been expended in swinging the engine, the petrol fired merrily. Yet the sleigh, beyond quivering under the vibration of the engine, made no attempt to move.

Almost leisurely Hawke strolled back to his seat, and having carefully adjusted his wrappings, touched several levers operating the controls.

Quickly the revolutions of the propeller increased, until the noise seemed deafening. With a jerk which almost threw the lads backward, the sleigh started, and soon attained a speed of forty miles an hour.

Three minutes were sufficient to bring the sleigh to the farthermost limits of the ice floe, then, slowing down, Hawke made a cautious turn to the left. Even then the left-hand runner rose quite two feet in the air, the tilt of the sleigh threatening to throw the crew upon the ice.

Once more on the straight, Hawke opened the throttle "all out." Like an object endowed with life, the sleigh bounded forward. Rifts in the ice it made light of, literally skimming across the deep yet narrow crevices. Hummocks of medium size it leapt at, surmounted, and, with hardly a perceptible jar, alighted upon smooth ice beyond. The only thing lacking was, in Leslie's opinion, the promised chance of steering the swiftly-moving and novel vehicle.

Suddenly Hawke throttled down and switched off the motor. Carried onwards by its own momentum, the sleigh travelled nearly two hundred yards before the pace appeared to diminish appreciably. It was a glide in glorious silence, compared with the roar of the propellers and the explosions of the engines. Only the sharp swish as the keen runners cut the ice and broke the stillness.

"A big hummock ahead," remarked Hawke, pointing to a rounded hill of ice. "It's too much for us to tackle in this affair. The big sleigh would simply do it as easy as winking. We'll pull up here and have a brisk walk. My limbs are half-frozen already."

Nothing loth, Leslie and Guy alighted, and began to stamp and swing their arms vigorously. Aubrey Hawke, picking up his rifle, gave the word, and the three set off briskly across the ice.

"This must be the end of the floe," declared Hawke. "See how the ice is piled up in great slabs. Evidently there has been a gale, and that accounts for the grotesque formation of this part of the ice. Be careful, it will be much more slippery. You two follow me, and look where you're treading."

[Illustration: A huge polar bear standing on its hind legs. To face page 57.]

For about a hundred yards the party threaded their way between huge, frozen slabs of water, until their progress was barred by a steep wall of semi-transparent ice.

"Nothing doing this way," said Guy.

"Isn't everything still?" remarked Leslie.

The remark was justifiable. The solitude of the Arctic was most impressive. Not a living creature except the three human beings was to be seen. The absence of beast and bird seemed the strange part of the business. It was a land of utter solitude.

"Best make our way back," suggested Hawke. "I don't want the motor to be 'gummed' up again. The cold is almost enough to fracture the cylinders. And, hang it, why did I trouble to bring this rifle with me?"

"I'll carry it back to the sleigh," offered Leslie.

"Right-o; mind you don't drop it," cautioned Hawke, handing the fur-encased weapon to the lad. "We'll work round to the right. It looks easier going. That's the hummock we have to make for."

A short distance farther on their progress was impeded by two slabs of ice that met in the form of a V-shaped arch, leaving a space just sufficient for a man to crawl through.

With very little difficulty Hawke negotiated the obstacle. Leslie, the next to follow, had more trouble, for in bulk he could give the former several inches. Just as the youth was regaining his feet, he was astonished to hear Hawke give a warning shout, which was immediately followed by a deep growl.

Within twenty feet of the natural archway was a huge Polar bear. It was standing on its hind legs, and waving its front paws menacingly, while its open jaws revealed two truly formidable rows of teeth. From its mouth its breath issued in a dense cloud of vapour, which reminded Leslie of the dragons of his early days.

"My rifle," shouted Hawke.

Leslie held up the roll of furs containing the weapon. Hawke wheeled to wrest it from its coverings, but directly his back was turned the bear shuffled at a great pace towards him--nine feet of ferocity.

While Hawke was still struggling to disengage his rifle, the animal struck him a violent buffet with one of its fore-paws. The force of the blow sent the man reeling against the wall of ice, while the rifle fell from his nerveless grasp. The fierce onslaught had broken Hawke's left arm.

The next instant the bear had him in his powerful embrace. Growling savagely, yet making no attempt to bite, the animal was proceeding to crush the life out of the luckless man.

Leslie's first instinct was to seek safety in flight, but the desire for self-preservation was only momentary. Scrambling over the rough ice, he drew off his cumbersome gloves, secured the rifle, then, awaiting a favourable opportunity so that he could fire without hitting his comrade, he pressed the trigger.

A sharp click was the only response. Either the cartridge was defective or the weapon was unloaded. Fortunately Leslie was no fool with firearms. He understood the mechanism perfectly. He jerked back the bolt. No cartridge flew from the open breech. The rifle had not been loaded. Hawke, for some unknown reason, had omitted to Be Prepared, and he was even now paying the penalty.

"Where are the cartridges?" shouted the lads in desperation.

Hawke's stifled reply was completely out-voiced by a deep growl from the bear, the pressure of whose enormous and powerful paws was already telling upon its victim.

"The cartridges, man; where are the cartridges?" repeated the lad, in his anxiety getting almost within reach of the terrible bear.

"My pocket," gasped Hawke. "Be quick, for the love of Heaven."

Regardless of the risk, Leslie plunged one hand into the pocket of Hawke's fur coat. His fingers came in contact with the metal cylinders. Even as he did so, he felt a violent blow on the side of his head that sent his fur hood flying a dozen yards. The bear had struck him with terrible force, its cruel talons missing him by the fraction of an inch.

It was then that Guy, who had taken some time to scramble through the arch of ice, threw himself into the fray. Armed only with a short knife, he plunged the blade again and again into the animal's side. Maddened, but not mortally wounded, the animal dropped its first victim and transferred its attention to its second assailant.

Pinned by the bear's fierce grip, Guy was lifted completely off his feet. His knife fell from his grasp. He could feel the brute's hot, sickly breath as it alternately growled and howled with fury and pain.

Rapidly, yet without fumbling, Leslie thrust a cartridge into the rifle. Stepping up till the muzzle almost touched the animal's ear he fired. The small calibre bullet fired at close range was as destructive in its effect as a dum-dum. The bear, making a convulsive movement that very nearly finished Guy's career, toppled heavily upon the ice.

Reloading the rifle, in order to Be Prepared for similar surprises, Leslie laid the weapon on the ice and devoted his immediate attention to the now unconscious Aubrey Hawke.

It was then that the lad was first aware of the practical reason for Hawke's warning, for in the excitement of the contest he had handled the rifle with ungloved hands. His finger tips and the palm of his right hand were a mass of small blisters.

"I can't leave him there; he'll be frozen to death," thought Leslie, manfully striving, in spite of the intense pain in his hands, to lift the helpless man.

"Guy," he shouted. "Come and bear a hand."

Guy Anderson, although considerably shaken in the encounter, came to his assistance, but owing to the incumbrance of their thick clothing and the weight of their injured comrade, their combined efforts failed to move Hawke for more than a few yards. They were quite a quarter of a mile from the sleigh.

"Cut back to the ship and get help," suggested Guy. "You may be able to get the sleigh going. I'll stay here."

Leslie shook his head.

"It's too jolly cold to leave Hawke here," he objected. "If there were any snow, I'd bury him in it and risk it. No; we must get back."

"I have it!" exclaimed Guy. "We'll have to drag him back to the sleigh. Tie his wrists together so that his arms won't come in contact with the rough ice. His fur coat will protect his back."

The unconscious man's wrists were secured by means of a muffler, while the rifle sling was passed round his ankles as a very rough and ready drag-rope. Guy, carrying the rifle in his left hand, grasped the sling with his right, while Leslie also laid hold with his left. Stumbling and slipping over the ice, the two lads made their way back to the sleigh, dragging their human burden behind them.

"That's good!" ejaculated Leslie, as Hawke was propped up on the middle seat. "Now comes the tricky business; suppose I can't get the motor to start--what happens then?"

Chapter VIII

Neck Or Nothing

"You hold on," objected Guy. "Your hands are as raw as uncooked beefsteak. I'll have a shot at it. I saw how Hawke did the trick."

Somewhat reluctantly Leslie gave way, at the same time cautioning Guy not to get caught by the blades of the propellers when the engine fired.

Pluckily Guy tackled the job. He did not relish it, for he knew to his cost what a back-fire meant. Once he had received a heavy blow from the starting handle of a motor-car, and that had, figuratively, knocked the stuffing out of him. Yet he was a lad who could be relied upon to come up to the scratch in a tight corner; so, setting his jaw tightly, he gave the propeller a lusty swing. Nothing favourable resulted.

Again and again he swung the blades, till his forehead was covered with frozen beads of perspiration. Sheer exhaustion forced him to desist.

"I believe the petrol is frozen," he declared breathlessly.

Then Leslie tried his utmost, but without success. It seemed as if the sleigh with its three occupants were fated to be stranded miles from the ship.

"We'll have to drag the beastly thing," declared Guy. "It won't take much effort, once we get it going."

Leslie thought otherwise. He could see the former track of the runners fading into the distance. Between them and the _Polarity_ were obstacles in the shape of several small fissures and long ridges of ice that could not be overcome by manual labour.

Just then Hawke opened his eyes, wearily, like a man aroused from a deep slumber.

"What's up?" he asked vacantly.

Leslie came straight to the point.

"You've been badly knocked about by the bear. We've settled him all right. We want to take you back to the ship, but we can't restart the engine."

With a considerable effort Hawke turned his head and looked at the controls by the seat behind him.

"I don't wonder," he replied. "The ignition's switched off. Press that catch down and try again."

He attempted to rise, but being aware for the first time that his left arm was useless, he subsided with a groan.

"Knocked clean out," he murmured, loud enough for Leslie to overhear. "And Ranworth wants the big sleigh to start as soon as possible. I've kippered the whole scheme by letting that bear maul me. What a fool I was not to keep the rifle loaded."

At the next attempt the motor fired easily. Taking his seat, Leslie cautiously manipulated the controls. Away glided the sleigh, but at a broad angle to the previous tracks.

The lad grasped the tiller. He was soon to find out how sensitive the rudder of an ice-craft can be, for the sudden application of the helm all but capsized the sleigh.

"Steady, man!" shouted Guy warningly, at the same time keeping Hawke in his seat, for the injured man had fainted again.

A very little practice on the smooth ice convinced Leslie that he had the sleigh under control. He had yet to negotiate the hummocks and the gaps of open water.

As the sleigh gathered way and finally settled to a forty-mile-an-hour pace, the lust of speed possessed the youthful helmsman.

The exhilaration of the swift motion made him forget his surroundings. He was beginning to enjoy something akin to the sensation of flight. As a passenger he had revelled in the outward trip; now, as helmsman and operator, he knew what being in charge of the speedy sleigh meant.

The first hummock Leslie took almost "bows on." The sleigh, striking the slopes rather obliquely, seemed to leap upwards and sideways in the air; then, hitting the ice with tremendous force, it rocked from side to side for about a hundred yards, before it steadied itself on its main runners.

Suddenly Leslie saw before him a broad gap in the ice. It must have widened considerably since the outward journey.

Approaching the dangerous crevasse almost at the rate of an express train, there was no avoiding it. To attempt to swerve sufficiently would mean disaster; to take it otherwise than "bows on" would spell certain death. Even as it was, it seemed impossible for the sleigh to leap across the widening space.

"Neck or nothing," thought Leslie. He shut his jaws tightly and gave the motor full throttle.

As luck would have it, the breaking of the ice had resulted in a small mound being thrown near the edge of the gap. Like a bird the sleigh mounted the incline, and with its own momentum completely cleared the death-trap beyond. Well it was that the runners were strong and true, and that the body of the sleigh was well sprung, for with a crash the swiftly-moving vehicle alighted on the far side.

"Twelve feet if it's an inch," murmured Leslie. "She took it splendidly, but all the same I don't want to have to repeat the experiment."

Fortunately, although there were other cracks in the ice, there were no obstacles of such size as the one they had just overcome, and without further incident the sleigh came to a standstill within twenty feet of the ship.

"What has happened?" asked Ranworth anxiously, as he caught sight of Aubrey Hawke's unconscious form.

Briefly Leslie related what had taken place.

"Hawke showed an error of judgment in not keeping his rifle loaded," commented Ranworth. "Of course, we are all apt to do that, but in his case it was most unfortunate. Goodness only knows what will happen as regards the electric sleigh. Our chief asset is now practically useless. But it is no use worrying. What is done cannot be undone."

"I brought this sleigh back, sir," began Leslie, then, self-conscious at his spontaneous boast, he stopped.

"Yes, you did remarkably well, my lad," agreed Ranworth.

"Then couldn't I have a shot at the big sleigh?" continued Leslie. "I understand the mechanism, and from what Mr. Hawke has told me the steering is very similar to that of the one I have just brought back. I'll do my level best, sir; and Guy will lend me a hand."

Ranworth paused before replying. He had already proof of Leslie's courage; he knew that the lad had a better knowledge of the giant sleigh than any other member of the expedition, Aubrey Hawke excepted. Since Aubrey Hawke was crippled with a broken arm, and suffering from shock, it was doubtful whether he would again be able to take an active part in the expedition.

Yet, Ranworth reflected, Leslie Ward was but a lad. It seemed too risky to entrust him with the important mission of piloting the electric sleigh to the aid of the sorely-pressed explorers.

"Let the youngster have a cut at it, sir," broke in Captain Stormleigh. "If the worst comes to the worst, we can fetch him back by means of the other sleigh, and do our best to get in touch with your brother's party by tramping it. But it strikes me, sir, that the lad is one who gets there somehow, as they say in the States. Let him try his hand, sir."

"How long do you think will it take to cut a passage for the _Polarity_?" demanded Ranworth.

"Five days, sir, at the present rate of progress. Less, if the pack is breaking up; more if the ice is 'jamming' away to the nor'ard."

"And five days even may be too late," rejoined Ranworth. "Leslie, I must accept your offer, and may good fortune attend our efforts."

The amended plan was forthwith put into operation. The hatches were uncovered, and the huge sleigh hoisted out by means of a derrick and landed on the ice. While Leslie was superintending the fitting of the twin propellers, upon the delicate adjustment of which depended the easy running of the enormous fabric, Ranworth, assisted by the second mate, was busily engaged in loading up the sleigh with stores and provisions necessary for the trip.

Ranworth was to take charge of the rescue party, and to be responsible for the correct course from Desolation Inlet to Observation Camp. Having no experience in mechanism or electrical engineering, he was compelled to entrust the care of the motors to Leslie Ward.

On the lad's skill the success of the dash to Observation Camp would largely depend, for in the event of a mechanical breakdown that could not be rectified by the person in charge, the sleigh and its occupants would be helplessly stranded, while the chances of rescuing Claude Ranworth's party would be very slight.

Guy was to accompany Leslie as his assistant, while two seamen having previous experience in Polar work, completed the crew of the sleigh.

At length the preparations were complete. A preliminary trial of the motors alone was necessary before setting out on the dash into the unknown.

Accordingly, the sleigh was anchored by two stout ropes attached to grapnels imbedded in the ice. There was no need to swing the propellers; a patent starting device enabled the operator to work everything in connection with the motors from the seat within the for'ard cabin.

The engines started without a hitch. The huge contrivance trembled and strained at the mooring ropes, as if eager to dash into the fray. To Leslie's great satisfaction, the "pull" of each propeller was equal to the other. It was a triumph for his skill in adjusting the other.

"Everything correct, sir," he reported, after having switched off the current.

"Good," ejaculated Ranworth. "We'll start at once. Nothing overlooked in your department, Rogers; nor in yours, Payne?"

Both seamen expressed their opinion that the gear for which they were responsible was quite in order.

"Good-bye, my lads," exclaimed Ranworth, addressing the ship's company.

The work of cutting a channel for the _Polarity_ had been temporarily suspended in order that the men might bid the rescue party God speed. Led by Captain Stormleigh, the men gave three rousing cheers, waving their ice-axes and crowbars with the utmost enthusiasm.

"Cast off, there!" ordered Captain Stormleigh.

Half a dozen of the _Polarity's_ crew promptly released the grapnels. The sleigh was now free to proceed.

Ranworth turned towards Leslie and held up his hand.

A touch on a switch, and both propellers began to spin rapidly. For a brief interval the sleigh quivered, without making any definite progress; then, almost imperceptibly gathering way, she glided smoothly in the direction of Desolation Inlet.

Chapter IX

An Adventurous Journey

IT did not take the sleigh more than five minutes from the time of starting to traverse the belt of comparatively smooth ice. In fact, Leslie had hardly begun to increase the speed of the motors before Ranworth signalled for them to be switched off.

Leslie promptly obeyed, while Guy, acting upon previous instructions, applied the brakes, two saw-edged supplementary runners, which when in action transferred the weight of the sleigh from the smooth steel ones.

Having brought his charge to a standstill, Leslie looked out from the forward observation scuttle.

Although the temperature of the open air was twenty-five degrees below freezing point, and that of the interior of the cabin of the sleigh was hovering around sixty, there were no signs of moisture upon the glass, which had been specially treated to prevent the inconvenience of condensation.

The lad was now able to understand the reason for the unexpected halt. The sleigh was about to make a sea voyage across the forty miles of open water between the northern limit of the drifting ice and the island of Nova Cania.

Between the smooth ice and the sea a barrier of drift ice had piled itself up to a height of twenty feet. The irregular blocks appeared insurmountable, so steep did their visible face look when viewed through the cabin scuttle.

"Decapod!" ordered Ranworth, briefly.

"That lever, Guy; not too smart with it," exclaimed Leslie, indicating a small steel rod on the after bulkhead of the engine-room.

Acting upon instructions, Guy slowly depressed the lever. As he did so, he became aware of the fact that the whole fabric was rising. The sleigh was no longer supported by the runners, but by four flanged wheels; each pair coupled in a fore and aft direction by a broad spiked chain.

Throwing the clutch into the lowest gear, Leslie restarted the motors. At a speed of two miles an hour the huge vehicle moved towards the icy barrier. The motion was decidedly uncanny. It reminded Leslie of the erratic waddle of a tortoise. The lack of speed in spite of the fact that the motors were purring at a high rate of revolution, seemed to irritate him. He felt inclined to let the engine "all out."

Presently the sleigh began to tilt, the fore part rearing as the wheels encountered the stiff slope. Ranworth had chosen the easiest path, yet it necessitated a fifteen feet climb over a wall of ice, inclined at an angle of thirty degrees to the perpendicular.

Above the purr of the motors could be heard the crunching of the ice under the grip of the spiked wheels. Once or twice the vehicle faltered, then, recovering itself, slowly made its way up the steep incline.

Small projections of ice it simply pounded to a powder. Narrow fissures it bridged without any apparent effort, and although the crew had to hang on to the nearest support to prevent themselves sliding against the after-bulkhead, the lumbering "house on wheels" advanced with the ease of a fly walking on a ceiling.

Again Ranworth signalled for the motors to be switched off. The sleigh was now on the summit of the drift ice. In front of it lay the sea, the surface of which was quite twenty feet below the level on which the sleigh was perched.

"A tough job, Leslie," remarked Ranworth. "Think she'll do it?"

"She will right enough, sir," replied Leslie, confidently.

"Of course," added Ranworth, with a grim laugh. "But the question is, will she smash herself up in the attempt? There's no checking her, remember, once she gets over the brink."

"I'm willing to risk the dive, sir," replied Leslie.

The boy had abundant confidence in the specifications and plans his father had made. Provided the makers had implicitly followed Mr. Ward's instructions, the material of the sleigh was quite strong enough to resist the shock of a twenty-feet dive into the sea.

"And so am I," added Ranworth. "At the same time, there's a risk, and it is obviously unfair to keep all the crew on board when two will be ample for this occasion."

Despite the protestations of Guy and the two seamen, Rogers and Payne, the trio were ordered to leave the cabin and take their place on the ice. If things went amiss, and the cabin walls were stove in, the sleigh would sink like a stone, without the faintest chance of escape for Ranworth and Leslie. In that case, Guy and the two men would be able to retrace their way on foot to the _Polarity_.

Leslie felt sorry for Guy, as his chum exchanged the comfort of the enclosed cabin for the bitter cold of the open air. In spite of his warm fur clothing, the keenness of the wind cut Guy like a knife.

With the deepest concern and anxiety, he saw the sleigh move slowly forward. At the very brink of the glacial wall it hung irresolute as the chain bands cut into the "rotten" ice. Then, tilting bows downwards, it toppled, and, like an arrow, plunged into the sea.

For several seconds the sleigh was invisible owing to the depth to which it had descended, and to the mighty column of spray it had thrown up on impact with the water.

Then, to Guy's intense satisfaction, the amphibious invention reappeared, bobbing buoyantly upon the surface. He watched it anxiously. Seconds passed, but the floating sleigh showed no signs of foundering. It had survived the shock and was undoubtedly watertight.

Under the sharp stern the water began to churn. Leslie had coupled up and was running the "nautical" propeller. To attempt to approach the wall of ice under the action of the twin aerial propellers, was to court disaster.

Adroitly manoeuvred, the sleigh was brought alongside the ice. By means of a rope fastened to a crowbar, which in turn was wedged tightly in a crevasse, Guy and the two seamen slid down to the roof--or, as Rogers expressed it, the upper deck--whence by means of a hatchway they regained the interior of the cabin.

Once clear of the ice, the floating sleigh was headed northwards, the aerial propellers were brought into action, and at a speed of twenty-five knots the unique craft glided with a hydroplane-like motion over the waves.

[Illustration: The _Bird of Freedom_ toppled, and like an arrow, plunged into the sea. To face page 72.]

Leslie was now at liberty to "stand easy." There was no immediate or apparent reason why the motors should be stopped or slowed down during the sea passage, unless small floes, rising sufficiently high out of the water, were encountered. Then the danger would arise of the aerial propellers striking the obstruction; hence to prevent such a possibility it would be necessary to use the marine propeller only.

Ranworth's decision to make use of the twin aerial propellers was determined solely by a desire to attain the greatest possible speed. In conjunction with the marine propeller, an increase of 25 per cent. in speed was obtainable.

"Going jolly well now, Leslie," observed Ranworth, enthusiastically, as the lad joined him at the foremost observation scuttle. "'Pon my word, you've managed to get a bit out of the motors."

"They're not going so badly," admitted Leslie modestly.

"It occurred to me that we ought to give the sleigh a name," continued Ranworth. "I've come to the conclusion that the word 'sleigh' is not sufficiently appropriate. What we have is really a combined cabin-boat on runners or wheels, or floating on the water according to circumstances. Hence, since she's a sort of boat, she ought to be named, Now, what do you suggest?"

"It's rather hard lines that the responsibility of giving her a name should rest with me, sir," objected Leslie, laughingly.

"Subject to mutual approval, of course," corrected Ranworth. "Now suggest something."

"The _Bird of Freedom_," replied Leslie.

"But she isn't an aeroplane; she doesn't fly in the air," remarked Guy.

"Neither does an ostrich, but it's a bird all the same," retorted Leslie. "This craft is certainly a flier both on the ice and on the water. She is proceeding to the rescue of Mr. Ranworth's brother and his companions; hence the allusion to freedom."

"The ayes have it," declared Ranworth. "The _Bird of Freedom_ she shall be. But stand by, Leslie; unless I'm much mistaken, there's trouble ahead."

At about a mile distant the open water seemed to end abruptly. So far as the eye could reach, the horizon was bounded by a line of ice, projecting with comparative regularity to a height of ten feet above the surface of the sea.

Leslie quickly reduced the speed of the motors, then, disconnecting the shafting of the aerial propellers, allowed the _Bird of Freedom_ to approach at a modest ten knots the hitherto unsuspected barrier.

It soon became apparent that the ice field consisted of a number of floes intersected by narrow channels, the width of which was constantly varying owing to the erratic motion of the whole extent of drift ice.

Had the floe been one continuous expanse, it would have been a difficult matter for the _Bird of Freedom_ to scale the almost perpendicular edge. Even if she were able to, no good result would be obtained, since the intersecting fissures were impassable.

"Now, if we could fly, what a difficulty could be overcome!" commented Ranworth. "But since the _Bird of Freedom_ cannot fly, nor swim under water, we must devise some other means."

"Perhaps there's a channel wide enough for her," suggested Guy.

"Possibly; I'll sound Rogers on the point."

The Polar veteran, on the suggestion being put before him, resolutely shook his head.

"Too jolly risky, sir," he said. "Not that I mind taking risks, sir, you'll understand. You see, sir, it's like this: the whole drift is 'lively.' The floes are all moving according to wind and tide. We might get her a couple of hundred yards in and find we're done: then before we could get clear we might be properly trapped. An' if this 'ere packet got nipped, she wouldn't stand a dog's chance. She'd be stove in like an egg-shell."

A continuous dull roar, as a thousand detached pieces of ice ground against each other, added weight to the sailor's objections.

"Then what do you suggest?" asked Ranworth impatiently, for the plight of the men he was on his way to rescue was always in his mind. "You've had experience in these matters."

"Yes, sir; in a triple-planked, heavily-timbered whaler, but not in a glorified band-box, if you'll pardon my way of expressing myself, sir," said Rogers. "Even then I remember quite well getting a nasty nip. Stove a hole in our port bow, but luckily above the water-line. The best thing to do, sir, is to sheer off and run a few miles to the westward. You'll probably find the drift doesn't extend very far; only a matter of an hour's run."

"Your advice sounds goods Rogers," remarked Ranworth.

"Sure, sir, it always is," rejoined the man, not from any motives of self-conceit. "I'll allow you'll find I'm right before another hour's past an' gone."

Keeping within half a mile of the edge of the newly-encountered barrier, the _Bird of Freedom_ maintained a steady, unswerving course. In order carefully to examine the ice for a possible passage, her speed had to be materially reduced.

Payne took the helm while Ranworth kept his binoculars upon the long, low-lying expanse of ice. Leslie and Guy, their work for the time being completed, took up their positions at one of the observation scuttles and watched the monotonous aspect of the Arctic sea.

Suddenly a column of water rose thirty or forty feet from the surface at about a hundred yards on the starboard bow.

In a loud voice that almost caused the two lads to start with alarm, Rogers shouted:

"There she blows!"

Then, realising his surroundings, the seaman added apologetically:

"Sure, I was forgetting myself entirely, sir; yon's a whale, an' for the moment I thought I was back on the old Sarah Ann of Hull."

"A true hunter's instincts, eh?"

"Don't know about that, sir," replied the imperturbable seaman. "All I know is that yonder a small fortune's goin' a-beggin', and there ain't a harpoon on board."

"Hadn't you better alter helm, Payne?" asked Ranworth. "We don't want to try conclusions with the animal."

"No need, sir," replied the helmsman reassuringly. "They're right down cowardly fish. They scoot like----"

His words were interrupted by the appearance of a dark, ill-defined object less than fifty feet from the port bow. The object resolved itself into the tail of an enormous whale.

Giving the water a blow that sounded like the explosion of a 6-inch gun, the mammal disappeared in a smother of foam and a violent upheaval of water that caused the buoyant _Bird of Freedom_ to surge and roll at an alarming angle.

"Jolly good thing we weren't closer to that fellow's tail," exclaimed Guy. "My word, what a smack."

"A miss is as good as a mile, Master Guy," declared Payne. "He's off this time--sounded, we call it. It'll be half an hour or more before he comes up again for a breather."

Guy did not feel so certain about it after the rapid collapse of Payne's previous attempt at prophecy. His doubts were soon confirmed, for a warning shout from Rogers announced the reappearance of the whale a couple of hundred yards astern.

"Well, of all the cool cheek!" he ejaculated. "Blest if I ever saw a whale do that before. Clap on steam, sir, he's coming for us."

The old whaler man was right, for the animal, possibly mistaking the sleigh for a mammoth after its own kind, was preparing to attack.

As quickly as possible Leslie coupled up the two aerial propellers, at the same time increasing the revolutions of the motor. With a decided jerk, the _Bird of Freedom_ picked up speed and fled.

"Hanged if we are even holding our own," exclaimed Ranworth, who with Guy and Rogers had gone aft to keep the pursuing whale under observation.

"We're not, sir," added Rogers calmly. "Can I have a shot at him?"

Ranworth assented. The seaman, taking a rifle from the rack, methodically adjusted the back sight. Then, unscrewing one of the two after scuttles, he rested the rifle upon the brass rim.

"Missed, by smoke!" he cried. "My own fault; the rattle of the scuttle did it. I ought to have known better."

Again levelling the weapon, Rogers took good care to hold it so that it did not come in contact with the vibrating metalwork. This time the bullet found a billet in the leather-like hide of the whale's back.

Infuriated by the pain, the animal thrashed the water with its tail and dived, only to reappear after a brief interval, and hold doggedly in pursuit.

"Can you get any more out of the motor?" asked Ranworth through a voice tube.

"She is doing her utmost, sir," replied Leslie.

The whale was now within fifty feet of the after part of the _Bird of Freedom_. Owing to her light displacement, and small rudder area, the latter could not manoeuvre quickly, otherwise Ranworth would have attempted to shake off pursuit by a rapid use of the helm.

To him the situation appeared serious, especially as the small rifle bullet seemed to have no effect in bringing the pursuer's progress to a standstill.

"Never fear, sir," declared Rogers confidently. "I'll get him properly plugged in half a jiffy."

His rifle cracked as he spoke. More by good luck than good judgment the bullet struck the whale fairly in the left eye. Throwing up a column of blood-tinged water the animal dived and did not reappear.

"Your hour's nearly up, Rogers," said Ranworth, consulting his watch.

The crew had now gone for'ard again, and although the _Bird of Freedom_ had traversed nearly fifty miles of water as she skirted the gigantic floe, no sign of an opening had yet presented itself.

The seaman merely shrugged his broad shoulders.

It wanted five minutes to the hour. "There's a likely place, sir," announced Payne, pointing to a part of the ice-barrier where, instead of ice ten to twenty feet of vertical cliff, the ice shelved towards the sea.

The _Bird of Freedom_ was headed towards the spot. As she drew nearer, it became apparent to the crew that the ice did not slope so gently as it seemed to at first sight. Yet with a little caution and skilful manoeuvring it might be possible to draw the huge bulk of the sleigh upon the level ice beyond.

"Yes, it looks scaleable," agreed Ranworth. "But we don't know what is beyond. It's no use if we find the ice is intersected by numerous crevasses. Easy with her, Leslie; we'll bring up close alongside, and get ashore. It will be worth the trouble."

Adroitly the _Bird of Freedom_ was taken close in to the ice, and a couple of grapnels thrown ashore. Securely moored, the floating sleigh could be safely left for a brief interval, since there were no indications of a change in the weather.

Armed with an ice-axe, Rogers scrambled upon the shelving, slippery ice and proceeded to cut niches in the hard, smooth surface.

As soon as he had established a means of communication with the upper portion of the floe, a rope was thrown to him. This he made fast to the handle of his ice-axe, the after part of which was driven firmly into the ice. Steadying themselves by the rope, the rest of the party rejoined Rogers on the ice.

It was excessively cold. Coming direct from the comparatively warm cabin, the explorers noticed the change acutely in spite of their thick furs. Their limbs felt like lead, their faces were lacerated by the biting wind. To talk required a strenuous effort. Their exhaled breath, rapidly congealing, fell to the ground in the form of minute particles of ice.

On and on in single file plodded the five adventurers, bending as they faced the cutting northerly wind. Ranworth led the way, keeping a compass course, while, to make additionally sure of being able to retrace their steps, long scars were cut in the ice, pointing in the direction from which the party had come.

After traversing a mile, and meeting with no fissure in the ice sufficiently wide to impede the progress of the sleigh, Ranworth called a halt.

Sheltering under the lee side of a hummock, and huddled together for mutual warmth, the pioneers rested for a quarter of an hour. Hardly a word was spoken during the interval. The men were too exhausted, after stepping and stumbling over the rough ice and facing the biting wind.

Once more they resumed their slow march. Two more miles brought them within sight of open water. A passage had been found at the expense of hours of physical and mental exertion--a distance that could be covered in the sleigh in the space of five or six minutes.

"Best be getting back, sir," said Rogers huskily, pointing with his mittened hand towards the north. "There's snow falling beyond yon grey streak. Looks a regular blizzard."

The seaman was right. Before the party had traversed a quarter of a mile of the return journey, the watery-looking sun was hidden from sight. The wind rose until it blew with considerable violence, moaning dismally as it swept over the icebound plateau.

Each man was now tormented with the same thought, yet none dared express himself to the others. With the sudden springing up of the gale, the _Bird of Freedom_ was in danger. Should the grapnels drag, or the securing ropes part under the strain, the sleigh would scud rapidly along away from the floe. The explorers, without provisions and means of shelter, would be doomed.

Then, accompanied by a rush of wind that almost threw the jaded men on their faces, came the blizzard.

Chapter X

The Sleep Of Death

WELL it was that Ranworth's party were walking with the wind, for progress against it would have been impossible. Everything within a few yards of them was blotted out by the hissing, stinging flakes of snow. In a very short time their landmarks were completely obliterated.

Everything in the matter of direction depended upon the little spirit compass that Ranworth held protected by his fur-covered mittens.

Not once, but many times, each member of the party slipped and came to the ground. At length Guy, numbed in body and mind, stumbled and fell upon the rapidly-increasing mantle of snow. It felt comfortable, did the snow. Lying there, he formed a firm resolve to rest and overtake the others later on. He was more than half asleep. With his head pillowed on his arms, there was peace.

Just then, something prompted Leslie to turn his head. Guy was missing.

Giving a shout that attracted the attention of his companion in front of him, Leslie pointed to a dark object just visible in the slanting avalanche of sleet.

Mechanically the others stopped, while Leslie turned and made his way back to the place where Guy was lying. Every step of the distance, as he faced the stinging wind, and whirling snow, was torture; yet, bravely staggering onwards, he reached his chum's side.

"Come on, old man," he said, kneeling by Guy's side and shouting into his ear. "You mustn't stop here."

Guy's only response was a drowsy movement of his head. Leslie in despair looked for his comrades. Three white figures, for the fur clothes were plastered in drifted snow, were looming up through the blizzard.

"Is he hurt?" shouted Ranworth.

"Don't think so," replied Leslie.

At a sign from their leader, Rogers and Payne assisted Leslie in setting Guy on his feet. Even then the lad showed a decided disinclination to budge.

Ranworth saw that it was a case for stern measures.

Raising his gloved hand, he gave Guy a smart blow on his face.

"Step out there!" he shouted roughly. "What do you mean by acting the goat?"

The action and the words had the desired effect. Roused by the sting of the blow, and dimly conscious that he was receiving an order, Guy stumbled forward. Leslie seized one arm, Payne took the other, and the tedious journey was resumed.

Of how long the weary tramp lasted Leslie had no idea. Suddenly he was aware that Ranworth held up one arm as a warning, and promptly sat down in the snow drift. It was the only way of checking his forward motion, so strong was the wind. At his feet was a chasm, too wide to leap across and too deep and steep to descend and climb the farthermost side.

Following their leader's example, the others threw themselves flat upon the snow. Even as they did so they saw the ice at the other side of the crevasse rock violently. Then, with a series of awe-inspiring crashes, the huge floe drifted farther away, causing the intervening abyss to increase in width.

Ten seconds later the mass of ice was lost to sight in the blizzard, while in its place was the open sea, sheltered for a short distance by the still intact part of the floe.

Beyond that space the surface of the water was lashed into a cauldron of foam by the wind and the driving, bullet-like flakes of snow.

The men clung together for mutual protection. Not a word escaped their lips, yet one and all knew the ghastly truth. The whole field of pack ice was breaking up. Already the outer portion had broken off; more than likely taking the _Bird of Freedom_ with it.

"We'll have to go back a bit and dig ourselves in, sir," said Payne hoarsely. "It's our only chance. We may outlive the blizzard."

Back they went for nearly a hundred yards, literally battling every inch of the way, till they reached the lee side of a slight rise in the ice-field. Here the snow had drifted till it was nearly five feet deep.

Working desperately, the five men succeeded in scraping out a hole in the snow. Into this they crept, where, sheltered from the wind, they hoped to find a temporary shelter--at the best, so far as they could foresee, a brief respite ere death from cold and starvation overtook them.

"If this blizzard breaks up the ice-field, the _Polarity_ will be free," declared Ranworth. "We stand a chance of being picked up by her."

"Not much, sir," replied Rogers despondently. "We're miles to the west'ard of her course. 'Tain't no use mincing matters; we're properly kippered."

Ranworth made no reply. He knew that the seaman's candid words expressed the situation. Despair, for the first time, seized upon him.

Hour after hour passed. The men squeezed close together, listening to the howling of the wind and the hiss of the frozen rain, punctuated by the sharp crackle and deep rumble of the floe as it parted.

Occasionally Ranworth consulted his compass. The steadiness of the needle showed that up to the present the ice on which the doomed men were sheltering had not separated from the main field.

The pangs of hunger began to assail them. At Rogers's suggestion the men derived some relief by sucking pieces of ice. The almost overpowering desire for sleep was upon them.

At length the blizzard showed signs of abating. The speed of the wind decreased; the flakes of driving snow grew smaller and smaller, till presently they ceased.

The fatigued men were now able to review their position. They were within fifty yards of the open water.

During the storm, the floe had broken away considerably, since they had retired twice that distance a few hours previously. Yet the breaking up of the ice had affected only the immediate locality, for to the right and left the "pack" extended several hundred yards seaward, leaving a vast bay, dotted here and there with pieces of floating ice of varying sizes and shapes.

"Hanged if I can stick this, sir," declared Payne. "I'm off to see what's doing."

Ranworth made no reply. He had heard the seaman's remark, but an indifference owing to complete exhaustion and lack of food and sleep possessed him.

Awkwardly Payne bestirred himself and stood upright. For a brief period he remained gazing in the direction of the south-eastern part of the bay, then, stumbling and slipping, he went out into the piercing cold.

Silence fell upon the rest of the party.

An hour later Leslie yawned and attempted to move. His limbs seemed as heavy as lead. He felt that he must have been dozing. He was not cold. The warmth of his companions' bodies and the mantle of snow which had drifted into their place of shelter, tended to soften the rigours of the Arctic climate.

He had forgotten the horrors of the situation. Comparative comfort, following upon the strenuous fight in the blizzard, had dulled his brain and lulled his mind into a sense of false security. All he wished to do was to fall asleep.

"It's dangerous," he murmured drowsily, "but a few minutes' sleep won't hurt. I'll be right as rain after that."

His head fell forward, then with an exclamation of pain he bestirred himself. His cheek had come in contact with the edge of an ice-axe, and the keen metal had cut into his flesh.

Holding his mittened hand against the wound, Leslie sat up. He was annoyed, not so much at the accident, as at his companions' complete indifference to his cry of pain and surprise. Then it dawned upon him that there were only three of them, and all were sound asleep in the snow-drift--a slumber which, if prolonged, would be the sleep of death.

"Guy! Guy!" he bawled into his chum's ear.

Receiving no response, he vigorously shook the sleeping lad. The action, although it gave Leslie renewed vitality, failed to have any visible effect upon Guy.

"Perhaps he's dead already," thought Leslie, then desperately he began to pummel the unresisting form of his chum, until Guy moved, grumbled drowsily, and finally opened his eyes. Nor did Leslie relax his efforts until his friend was able to show an intelligent knowledge of his surroundings.

"Buck up!" exclaimed Leslie. "We've got to tackle the others, if it's not too late."

Rogers gave very little trouble. As soon as he opened his eyes he seemed to realise the situation.

"Pity you didn't let us stop quiet," he said bluntly. "'Twould have been an easy snuff-out. Howsomever, now we've started we'd best carry on. Where's my mate?"

Neither Leslie nor Guy knew. They could offer no solution as to Payne's disappearance.

"Hard lines!" resumed Rogers. "He was a right good sort. But how about the Boss?"

The three now fully awakened members of the party proceeded to direct their attentions to Ranworth. While Leslie and Guy vigorously worked the unconscious man's arms and legs, Rogers rubbed his face with snow, until Ranworth opened his eyes.

"Up with him!" ordered Rogers.

They set the protesting Ranworth on his feet, and with justifiable roughness compelled him to walk.

Once, when through sheer want of breath they desisted, the patient's head immediately fell forward on his chest. But for the support given by his companion, Ranworth would have again collapsed upon the snow.

"Ahoy!"

A hail, sounding loud and clear, attracted the attention of Leslie and his comrades.

Looking across the bay, they saw at a distance of about a mile and a half the figure of a man. Owing to the rarefied atmosphere, the sound of his voice travelled with startling clearness.

"Ahoy!" replied Rogers. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Payne," was the response. "Fetch up here, sharp as you can. Here's the sleigh as sound as a bell."

"Thanks be!" ejaculated Rogers. "We're saved, Master Leslie. Mr. Ranworth, do you hear? Payne has found the sleigh. He says she's all right."

Ranworth's only reply was a deep snore. Still held in an upright position, he was fast asleep.

"Can you bring her alongside here?" shouted Rogers.

"No bloomin' fear," replied the distant Payne. "I'll not tackle a craft like that. Put your best leg for'ard and get a move on."

"P'r'aps it's as well," said Rogers to his companions. "We'll foot it. Take his other arm, Master Leslie. Master Guy'll relieve you presently. Keep him going."

Supported between Leslie and the seaman, Ranworth was compelled to walk. Stumbling in his sleep, he was urged forward, until the exercise restored his circulation. He began to protest, at first drowsily, then vehemently, and finally with less and less vigour until he, too, regained his senses.

Still supported by his companions, Ranworth found himself unable to stand alone, much less walk. Once or twice he had to be dragged feet foremost across inclined stretches of ice, which Rogers and the two lads had to negotiate on their hands and knees.

Although about a mile and a half directly across the bay, the place from which Payne had hailed them was nearly three miles distant by following the edge of the ice. When within a mile of their destination they were met by the fifth member of the crew of the _Bird of Freedom_.

"Thank your lucky stars I toddled off, mates," began Payne.

"I'll thank you a jolly sight more if you'll bear a hand here," said Rogers pointedly, for he had stuck gamely to his task, having firmly declined to be relieved by either Leslie or Guy. "Considerin' as you owes me five bob, 'tain't to be wondered at that you toddled off."

"Let bygones be bygones, mate," rejoined Payne, as he took Ranworth's arm. "I'll admit I owes you two half-dollars, but you ain't got no call to remind me in the presence of these young gents."

Even in the solitude of the Arctic, while still beset by perils, the two seamen were on the point of quarrelling on the subject of a debt contracted in far-off Hull.

"Stop that!" ordered Ranworth sharply.

Notwithstanding his physical fatigue, Ranworth was quick to recognise the possibilities of friction between the two men. He knew that only stern measures would prevent them from committing a breach of discipline that would still more seriously endanger the safety of the expedition.

"Here we are, sir," reported Payne. "Best go slow; it's a bit tricky."

He pointed to a fairly steep slope of the ice, ending at the water's edge. Within twelve feet of the end of the barrier lay the _Bird of Freedom_, moored fore and aft in almost the same position as Ranworth and his companions had left her.

Being on a weather shore, the floating sleigh had been protected by the ice wall, the only difference being that the slope had increased in steepness, owing to the melting away of the ice beneath the surface.

"I've cut fresh steps, sir," continued Payne. "P'r'aps I'd best nip on board and bring a coil of rope ashore. It might save some of us from having a bath."

Ten minutes later, the whole of the party were safely on board the _Bird of Freedom_. Like men in a dream, they ravenously devoured a hastily prepared meal, then, completely worn out, threw themselves into their bunks. Now they could rest without the fear of sleeping the sleep of death.

Chapter XI

Crossing The Ice Barrier

"TURN out, all hands!"

Leslie opened his eyes, aroused by an imperative order resounding throughout the limited expanse of the _Bird of Freedom's_ cabin.

The speaker was John Ranworth. Refreshed by his profound sleep, he had completely regained his customary energy. The absolute necessity for haste urged him to waste not a moment more. The passage across the ice-barrier having been found practicable, he was determined to follow up his advantage without further delay.

Guy was still drowsy when aroused; Rogers and Payne, somewhat surly at being awakened, were inclined to resume their dispute concerning the weighty matter of the "two half-dollars."

The _Bird of Freedom_ was still held to the ice by the two cables, but during the time her crew had been asleep the gradient had increased still more. From the water's edge to the mean level of the rest of the ice was a slippery slope as steep as the high-pitched roof of a house, its surface marked only by the half obliterated notches which Payne had cut some time previously.

"There's no time to be lost," declared Ranworth. "Get her fairly on the ice and we can have breakfast while we are moving. Look alive, Leslie, with the motor, or we'll be baulked."

While the two seamen were unmooring and coiling away the rope, Leslie started the engines, coupled up the air propellers, and lowered the "decapod" wheels.

"All ready, sir," he reported.

"Then, easy ahead," ordered Ranworth.

Having manoeuvred the _Bird of Freedom_ until she was bows on to the obstacle, Ranworth brought her slowly towards the lowermost visible part of the slope, until the two foremost wheels touched the ice.

For a brief instant the forepart of the sleigh reared itself clear of the water; then, with a dull splash, it slipped backwards. Even the spiked wheels could obtain no grip on the hard, polished surface.

Again and again the _Bird of Freedom_ returned to the charge, but without success.

"If only we could get the whole under surface of both bands to grip, we would manage it," declared Ranworth. "Come aft, all hands, and see if we can lift the bows clear of the water."

Manipulating the steering gear by means of two cords fixed to two opposite points of the wheel, Ranworth made yet another attempt. This time the sleigh drew itself completely clear of the water.

Success seemed within the grasp of her crew, when the wheels began to race, sending out showers of crushed ice. With a thud that threatened to break her back, the _Bird of Freedom_ belied her name by slipping backwards into the sea.

"Try the runners, sir," suggested Rogers. "If she won't crawl over the ice like a blessed caterpillar p'r'aps she'll slide over it."

"Very good," assented Ranworth.

The steel runners were lowered to transfer the weight of the sleigh from the caterpillar wheels, and the air propellers were again put in motion.

This time, success seemed even more within their grasp, for under the action of the huge propellers, the sleigh ran more than half-way up the incline. Then her pace began to diminish appreciably, until she came to a standstill within her own length of the summit of the slope, the traction of the propellers being just sufficient to overcome the force of gravity.

"If we could only get out a rope," suggested Guy.

"What would be the use?" asked Payne. "And how are we a-going to do it? I don't mind any level risk, but I'd think twice before venturing on that ice with those propellers a-running like mad!"

"Ease her gently and let her slide back," decided Ranworth. "We're only wasting current uselessly."

Slowing down the motors sufficiently to check her descent, the _Bird of Freedom_ returned yet again to the surface of the water.

"I certainly cannot see how a rope will help us, Guy," said Ranworth. "It must be led straight ahead to get any result out of the strain, and it's a moral cert. the tips of the propeller blades will foul it; then, good-bye to the propellers. We must, I'm afraid, give up further attempts to land here, and try again some way to the west'ard."

"We've some canvas aboard, sir, I believe?" asked Leslie.

"Yes, a couple of bolts--why?"

"If we could lay them on the ice, one strip in the track of each pair of wheels, the caterpillars would be able to obtain a grip."

"By Jove, yes!" ejaculated Ranworth. "Leslie, you're a brick. We'll try it." Then, in a lower tone he added: "I can't quite make out what is the matter with Rogers and Payne. They may be a bit off colour, but they seem almost on the verge of mutiny." Payne, quick of hearing, overheard Ranworth's words.

"Mutiny, eh?" he repeated. "Don't know so much about that, sir; but me and my mate didn't sign on for no monkey tricks in this blessed hooker. Give us a seaworthy craft and we are game. So if you want to fool about with good canvas, you jolly well do it yourself. What say you, mate?"

"I'm with you," repeated Rogers, hesitatingly. "I'm fed up with this 'ere contraption."

Ranworth made a step forward and planted himself squarely in front of the first speaker.

"Look here, Payne," he said sternly. "You saved our lives some little time ago, and we are grateful. Now you are trying to undo all the good you have done, and threaten to imperil the success of the undertaking. Perhaps you are still feeling the effects of the night on the ice. So do your duty, and I'll overlook your behaviour."

"Supposin' I don't feel inclined?" demanded Payne.

"Then I shall take steps to compel you."

Payne laughed insolently.

"Remember we are two to one," he said. "You can't reckon them two youngsters; they don't count when it comes to the compelling part of the show."

With a quick movement Ranworth stepped backwards for a couple of paces and whipped out a revolver.

"Either you'll knuckle under before I count ten, or you are a dead man, Payne," he said in level tones. "One--two--three----"

"Might just as well have a bullet in my hide as----"

"Four."

"Snuff it by inches in this----"

"Five."

"Snuff it by inches, I says,"

"Six."

"--In this rotten box of tricks."

"Seven."

"Here, I say,"

"Eight."

"Hold on, sir. I was a-sayin'----"

"Nine."

"Drop that pistol, sir. I'll give in. What do you want us to do?"

"That's sensible," said Ranworth grimly. "Now get to work sharply, and I'll take a lenient view of the affair. The pair of you must go ashore and carry a couple of grapnels up to the top of the slope. There you'll wedge the flukes and await orders."

The _Bird of Freedom_ having been brought alongside the ice, the two seamen, armed with ice-axes, proceeded to recut the niches in the sloping ice. This done, they carried the two grapnels, with ropes attached, to the place Ranworth had indicated. Although they showed no zeal in their work, the men did their part satisfactorily.

"Now, Leslie," continued Ranworth, "help me to unroll the canvas. My word, I'm sorry this has happened. We can't trust these fellows. It will mean our being always on our guard. We'll have to take turn and turn about in snatching a few hours' sleep. By the bye, this revolver isn't loaded. I'll put that matter right at once."

Both lads realised the danger of being shipmates with two insubordinate men. Prudence would have suggested returning to the _Polarity_ and making a fresh start with more reliable hands. Even Ranworth revolved the thought over in his mind, but the urgent call for assistance from his brother's party compelled him to push forward at all costs. Enough time had already been spent in fruitless efforts and exasperating delays.

Having unrolled the two bolts, Ranworth attached one end of each rope to the end of each strip of canvas. Then, ordering the men to haul in, he proceeded to pay out the material until a double track of canvas extended up the slope. To prevent the fabric from slipping, it was firmly secured to the grapnels. Again the motors were started, the decapod wheels being brought into play. As the _Bird of Freedom's_ forepart touched the ice, the canvas began to give, yet the wheels gripped.

"It's only the stretch being taken out of the stuff," said Ranworth, reassuringly. "She'll do it, by Jove."

He was right in his surmise. Slowly, but yet surely, the huge bulk of the _Bird of Freedom_ raised itself from the water. The wheels, taking a firm hold of the canvas, groaned under the strain. Fortunate it was that the canvas was new and of tough material. Up and up climbed the sleigh, till, toppling over the ridge of the summit of the slope, it gained the comparatively level ground beyond.

As soon as the grapnels had been removed from their holding places, and the canvas recovered and rolled up, Rogers and Payne came on board again. They were still morose, and curtly accepting their shares of the meal which Guy had prepared, they retired to the farthermost part of the after-cabin.

"They may feel better tempered after a good feed," remarked Ranworth. "For the present I prefer to ignore their presence."

Seven minutes from the time of starting from the southern limit of the ice-barrier, the _Bird of Freedom_ glissaded down a gently-shelving slope and gained the water beyond. Only twenty miles of comparatively open sea lay between them and the nearmost point of Nova Cania.

"So this is what they call the early breaking up of the ice," remarked Ranworth, as he looked astern in the direction of the rapidly receding "pack." "The _Polarity_ is jammed in by one big floe. She has still to find a way through that barrier. We'll be lucky if we see her at Desolation Inlet on our return."

Leslie and Guy had already forgotten the hardships they had undergone. In the well-warmed cabin, refreshed by sleep, and having fed, they felt quite comfortable. Under these conditions, the dreary aspect of the frozen ice lost its terrors.

"Guy," said Mr. Ranworth after a while, "you might relieve me at the helm. Keep a sharp look-out for growlers. I've had to dodge a good many masses of floating ice. You'll soon get accustomed to the steering-gear."

Glad of an opportunity of doing something, Guy took the wheel.

"That's the course," continued Ranworth, indicating the compass, "north 88 degrees east. I'll snatch forty winks. Turn me out directly you sight land."

Ranworth had given Guy the helm with a double purpose. He knew that, owing to the strained relations on board, it was necessary for some one to be constantly on the watch. He also realised that there was always a chance of his being put out of action. With a second helmsman, the _Bird of Freedom_ would still be able to keep going.

For nearly an hour Guy stuck to the helm. Several times he had to alter course to avoid detached masses of floating ice.

"Leslie," he exclaimed. "What do you make of that?"

Right ahead, and as far to east and west as the eye could discern, rose a lofty, irregular line of glistening white, partly obscured in places by motionless clouds of light, fleecy vapour.

"Another berg!" ejaculated Leslie. "The others were mere mole-hills compared with this. It will take something to dodge that. I'll call Mr. Ranworth."

Ranworth, although newly awakened from sleep, was on the alert in an instant. Tumbling out of his bunk he hastened to the foremost scuttle.

"That's not a berg," he announced calmly. "It's solid earth covered with snow. This is your first acquaintance with Nova Cania."

Chapter XII

Two Days Out

As the _Bird of Freedom_ closed with the snow-clad land, the precipitous nature of the coast became more and more apparent.

Steep and often overhanging cliffs reared themselves eight hundred feet or more above the level of the sea, their bases fringed by a line of foam. No sign of any landing place could be made out; the whole aspect was one of the wild grandeur of a dead land.

"We must have fetched too far to the westward," declared Ranworth, as he brought out his sextant from a locker. "Do you recognise any familiar outlines of the coast, Rogers?"

"No, sir, I don't," replied that worthy bluntly.

Ranworth questioned him no further. By the man's manner it was clearly evident that, although he put no definite obstacles in the way, he was not the least anxious to assist his employer.

"I cannot understand their attitude," soliloquised Ranworth. "Both men had good certificates and bore excellent characters. Up to a few hours ago they worked splendidly. Either their brains have been affected by the shock of their adventures in the blizzard, or else they are doing their utmost to induce me to abandon the attempt by means of the sleigh. If that's the move, by Jove, they are making a big mistake."

It was no easy matter taking an observation, owing to the liveliness of the floating sleigh, but when Ranworth had worked out his position and had pin-pricked it on a very incomplete chart of the south coast of Nova Cania, he announced that the _Bird of Freedom_ was eighty miles to the westward of Desolation Inlet.

For hours, with both the aerial and sea propellers running at their maximum speed, the _Bird of Freedom_ skirted the iron-bound coast, until a rift in the cliffs betokened the entrance to Desolation Inlet.

As the approach opened out, the lads could see that the inlet strongly resembled a Norwegian fiord. Barely a hundred yards in width, it was bordered by cliffs rising to twice that distance. How far it extended they could not see, owing to the fact that the inlet turned sharply to the right a quarter of a mile or so beyond the entrance.

"Slow her down a bit, Leslie," ordered Ranworth. "We don't want to carry on at too great a speed and barge into something. We'll have to watch for air currents, too. It looks as if there were no wind, but it may be perfectly calm out here and blowing a gale through those ravines. By Jove, there's a sea running on the bar."

"Are you going in with this 'ere hooker, sir?" asked Payne, who, unknown to Ranworth and the two lads, had come for'ard to view the approach.

"I am," replied Ranworth coldly.

"Better wait for the old _Polarity_," continued the seaman. "How can you expect a bloomin' egg-box like this to get through a smother of sea like that? It's madness. It ain't fair on us."

"When your opinion is wanted it will be asked," said Ranworth sternly.

Mumbling to himself, the man went aft, and for some minutes the two malcontents conversed in low tones.

The _Bird of Freedom_ was now nearing the foam-swept bar. Already the undulations were more rapid and erratic. With very little grip upon the water she rocked heavily. Her stability was in peril.

"Lie down, all hands," ordered Ranworth.

The order was promptly carried out, and with more than a quarter of a ton of live ballast as low down as possible, the _Bird of Freedom_ showed signs of greater stability. Although she still rolled considerably, her "recovery" was more pronounced.

It was a tough business while it lasted. Lurching over the foaming breakers, enveloped in spray as the tips of the aerial propellers whisked the steep crest of the waves, the _Bird of Freedom_ crossed the bar and was soon riding in the absolutely tranquil waters of the inlet.

So land-locked was it that not a ripple disturbed the placid surface. The hard granite rocks capped with ice and snow were faithfully mirrored in the water. It was like fairyland without life.

Rounding the next bend, the _Bird of Freedom_ found herself in a broader reach, with the cliffs considerably lower than those nearer the open sea. Once the water was violently agitated by the fall of a huge mass of ice and snow, but the ripples subsided quickly, and the surface resumed its mirror-like aspect.

"That's what we have to look out for," commented Ranworth. "There is always the risk of a miniature avalanche taking place. Farther up, I understand, there is no such danger."

For quite five miles the _Bird of Freedom_ threaded her way up the sinuous creek, till, rounding a precipitous bluff, her astonished crew found the _Polarity_ at anchor.

They could hardly believe their eyes. They had left the staunch old ship fairly imbedded in the ice. Between her and Desolation Inlet a huge, seemingly impassable ice-barrier was known to exist; yet, in spite of these difficulties, she had reached the meeting-place before her swift courier.

The noise of the _Bird of Freedom's_ aerial propellers had already announced her approach, and the _Polarity's_ lower rigging was black with fur-clad forms, as the crew cheered the rejoining sleigh.

Leslie happened to glance at his leader's face. Ranworth showed no signs of elation; on the contrary, his features wore a strained and worried look. The mystery of the _Polarity_ forestalling him had given rise to serious doubts.

"Stand by to make fast!" he ordered, at the same time telling Leslie to disconnect the air propeller shafting.

With an agility that had been foreign to them for several hours, Rogers and Payne clambered through the hatchway in the roof and prepared to receive the mooring lines from the ship.

"Look out!" shouted Captain Stormleigh in stentorian tones, at the same time pointing astern of the approaching sleigh.

The warning came too late. Sweeping down between a gap in the low cliffs, a terrific gust of wind struck the _Bird of Freedom_ on her broadside.

The next instant the sleigh was lying on its side, pinned down by the resistless force of the wind, while it drifted to leeward like a bladder.

Ranworth and his two young companions were thrown violently against the side of the cabin, where for some moments they lay half stunned. Then, slowly, as the gust eased down, the _Bird of Freedom_ righted herself.

"Start her up, Leslie," exclaimed Ranworth breathlessly, "or she'll be ashore."

But Leslie was not equal to the occasion. His brain was whirling, everything in front of his eyes seemed to be dancing.

It was Guy who saved the situation. Having got off more lightly than his chum, he retained possession of his senses. Thanks to Leslie's tuition, he now thoroughly understood how to set the motors in motion.

"Reverse her!" shouted Ranworth.

There was not room to turn. It was doubtful whether the single sea-propeller, running full speed astern, would be sufficient to check the _Bird of Freedom's_ way and convert the forward into a backward motion.

The whole fabric of the sleigh trembled under the retarded movement. Anxiously, Ranworth watched the granite cliffs now barely ten yards ahead. Nearer and nearer they appeared to approach, but more and more slowly, until, when only a hand's breadth separated the forepart of the sleigh from the rugged rocks, the _Bird of Freedom_ came to a standstill, then slowly backed astern.

Once more man's command of science had overcome the forces of Nature.

Having withdrawn to a safe distance from the ice shore, Ranworth ordered easy ahead, and put her helm hard over. By this time the squall had entirely ceased.

Just then, from sheer force of habit, Ranworth glanced at the chronometer. It had stopped.

"Strange," he thought. "It must have had a knock when we heeled."

He looked at his watch. Like the chronometer, it was an eight-day timepiece. It also had stopped.

It was not a proper occasion to go into the matter. The _Bird of Freedom_ was again approaching the _Polarity_.

"Stand by there!" he shouted to the two seamen who had been ordered to receive the securing ropes.

There was no reply. Rogers and Payne were not likely to maintain a sullen silence when within hailing distance of Captain Stormleigh.

"Perhaps it's the noise of the motors," remarked Ranworth. "Stop her, Guy."

Guy obeyed promptly. The _Bird of Freedom_ was now to leeward of the ship, and comparatively safe from any more squalls.

Leaving the helm, Ranworth agilely ascended the steel ladder communicating with the almost flat roof. As his head and shoulders drew clear of the circular hatchway, he saw that Rogers and Payne were no longer there.

A coil of rope hurtled through the air. Securing the end, he took a couple of turns round a bollard. As he did so, Ranworth noticed that most of the men of the _Polarity_ were aft, their eyes fixed in a certain direction.

A dozen boats' lengths from the ship was the _Polarity's_ cutter. The boat's crew were backing slowly, while Travers, the second mate, was standing in the stern sheets and steadying himself with the yoke-lines.

"We've lost them, sir," shouted Captain Stormleigh. "They must have sunk like stones."

The gust that had blown the _Bird of Freedom_ upon her beam ends had precipitated Rogers and Payne into the bitterly cold water. Weighed down by their heavy clothing and sea boots, they had sunk immediately.

Having made fast the second line, Ranworth hurried below to acquaint Leslie and Guy with the news of the fatality.

"Do not say a word about the insubordination of those poor fellows," he warned them. "It will do no good. We are not here to condemn our fellow-creatures."

He could say no more. The suddenness of the calamity had temporarily unnerved him.

By this time, Leslie had nearly recovered from the effects of the _Bird of Freedom's_ attempt to turn turtle, but on the back of his head a lump the size of a pigeon's egg had already appeared, while his left hand was grazed from wrist to elbow.

"What luck, sir?" asked Captain Stormleigh, as Ranworth came over the side. "I fear our efforts have met with failure."

"Your efforts?" inquired Ranworth. "Why, Captain, you must have done splendidly, fetching Desolation Creek in this time. How did you manage it?"

It was Captain Stormleigh's turn to look perplexed.

"We stuck hard at it, sir," he replied. "But how did you fare over there?"

And he pointed in the direction of Observation Camp, where Claude Ranworth's expedition was supposed to be awaiting relief.

"Now, what do you mean, Captain?" demanded Ranworth. "Are you dreaming, or am I? We haven't been there yet; we've only just arrived at Desolation Inlet. If you----"

He broke off. The horrible suspicion which had but recently sprung up in his mind was becoming more and more pronounced.

"This is Tuesday, isn't it?" he asked.

"No, sir, Thursday," replied Captain Stormleigh.

Like a flash Ranworth understood. The stopping of both chronometer and watch was accounted for. After their exhausting experience on the ice barrier, the crew of the _Bird of Freedom_ had slept solidly--not for twelve hours as they had imagined--but for forty-eight. Thus, while the sleigh was lying inactive, the _Polarity_ had contrived to extricate herself from the ice, find a passage through the great barrier by keeping well to the eastward, and so arriving at the meeting place four hours before Ranworth and his party.

On the other hand, Captain Stormleigh, finding no trace of the sleigh, had naturally concluded that Ranworth had arrived before him, and had pushed on to the relief of the original expedition. When he saw the sleigh returning, as he thought, from the interior of Nova Cania, he could only come to the conclusion that nothing but the dead bodies of Claude Ranworth and his companions had rewarded the heroism and dash of the rescuers.

"But, man, you are in wireless communication with my brother," exclaimed Ranworth.

Captain Stormleigh shook his head.

"Up till the day before yesterday--yes," he replied. "From that time till now all attempts to communicate have proved in vain."

Ranworth clenched his fists.

"There may yet be time," he said. "Ask for two more volunteers, Captain. We'll make another start at once."

Chapter XIII

The Dash For Observation Camp

"How's Aubrey Hawke?" asked Ranworth, without pausing in the midst of his preparations.

"Still pretty groggy, sir," replied Travers.

"H'm; it's a pity. I'm afraid, Leslie, I must ask for your assistance once more."

"Only too pleased, sir," replied the lad, his eyes sparkling with delight.

"It's hard lines after having your skull well-nigh cracked, to say nothing of other hardships."

"I hardly feel it," declared Leslie. "But how about Guy? Can he come, too?"

"If he's quite willing," assented Ranworth. "It's well to have a second substitute; but, on the other hand, don't press him, I can get Baker or Long to assist you."

"What do you take me for?" demanded Guy, when, a minute later, Leslie broached the matter to him. "Where you go I jolly well go, too; so that settles the matter. It's only a matter of forty-four miles, isn't it? The _Bird of Freedom_ will do that on her head."

"I would vastly prefer her to do it on her runners," laughingly rejoined Leslie. "Anyhow, we're to make a start as soon as possible. Do you know that we are a couple of days out? It's Thursday instead of Tuesday."

"It might be Monday for all I know," said Guy. "This midnight sun business has muddled me up entirely--not that I am complaining. I only hope we won't have to put in a six months' night; that must be horrible."

Within three hours of the _Bird of Freedom's_ arrival at Desolation Inlet, she set out again for her dash to Observation Camp. This time Ranworth took only one seaman.

For one reason, there was to be no more sea work; the sleigh's course--except for the ascent of the inlet--lay across the frozen plains, snow-clad mountains and treacherous crevasses. For another, the carrying capacity of the _Bird of Freedom_ was somewhat limited. It was just possible she could accommodate all the survivors of Claude Ranworth's party. Failing that, two trips would have to be made.

The new member of the relief expedition sleigh party was an Irishman--Mike O'Donovan by name. He was a short, thick-set man, with a little turned-up nose, a long upper lip and a profusion of shock hair and bushy side whiskers. He was a thoroughly trustworthy fellow, although inclined to be impetuous. The ship's company of the _Polarity_ regretted his departure, from the fact that he was the life of the fo'c'sle.

For three miles the _Bird of Freedom_ threaded her way up the tortuous and ever-narrowing creek, until further progress by water was barred by the abrupt termination of the water-way.

Ahead lay a forbidding-looking defile, enclosed on both sides by tall cliffs. Through the valley thus formed, a glacier wended its way--a gigantic river of ice mingled with masses of rock brought down by its resistless march from the lofty interior of Nova Cania.

The cliffs were curious to behold. For eighty or a hundred feet above the level of the glacier they were perfectly smooth, having been polished by the flow of the ice river during countless centuries. No doubt the size of the glacier was steadily diminishing. Above the ice-worn portion of the cliffs the granite rocks were rugged and fantastically shaped.

Cautiously the sleigh approached the end of the glacier. Here the ice slid gently towards the waters of the inlet. The surmounting of the glacier would be an easy matter provided the ice would bear, for the surface, mottled by pieces of rock and small stones, afforded a good grip to her decapod wheels.

Like a seal dragging itself clear of the water, the _Bird of Freedom_ began the ascent of the glacial river. Under her weight, the ice creaked ominously.

Quite a hundred feet from the edge, and twenty feet above the sea level, the sleigh made its way, till its progress was stopped by a stretch of clear ice terminating at a ridge of large, smooth boulders extending from side to side of the ravine.

"We want an aeroplane to surmount this lot," observed Guy. "How is it these stones are found on the surface of the ice instead of at the bottom?"

Leslie did not know. He appealed to Ra