The stars shone with extraordinary brilliancy, and no sounds broke the stillness of the night but the rippling of the waves and the splash of pieces of ice as they fell into the sea. The colonists, stretched upon the ground in scattered groups, were as motionless as corpses on an abandoned wreck.
Sometimes Sergeant Long rose and peered into the night-mists, bat seeing nothing, he resumed his horizontal position. The bear, looking like a great white snowball, cowered motionless at the very edge of the strip of ice.
This night also passed away without any incident to modify the situation. The grey morning dawned in the east, and the sun rose and dispersed the shadows of the night.
The Lieutenant’s first care, as soon as it was light, was to examine the piece of ice. Its perimeter was still more reduced, and, alas! its mean height above the sea level had sensibly diminished. The waves, quiet as they were, washed over the greater part of it; the summit of the little hill alone was still beyond their reach.
Long, too, saw the changes which had taken place during the night, and felt that all hope was gone.
Mrs. Barnett joined Lieutenant Hobson, and said to him—
“It will be today then!”
“Yes, madam, and you will keep your promise to Kellet!”
“Lieutenant Hobson,” said the lady solemnly, “have we done all in our power!”
“We have, madam.”
“Then God’s will be done!”
One last attempt was, however, made during the day. A strong breeze set in from the offing, that is to say, a wind bearing to the southeast, the direction in which were situated the nearest of the Aleutian Islands. How far off no one could say, as without instruments the bearings of the island could not be taken. It was not likely to have drifted far, however, unless under the influence of the current, as it gave no hold to the wind.
Still it was just possible that they might be nearer land than they thought. If only a current, the direction of which it was impossible to ascertain, had taken them nearer to the much-longed-for Aleutian Islands, then, as the wind was bearing down upon those very islands, it might drive the strip of ice before it if a sail of some kind could be concocted. The ice had still several hours to float, and in several hours the land might come in sight, or, if not the land, some coasting or fishing vessel.
A forlorn hope truly, but it suggested an idea to the Lieutenant which he resolved to carry out. Could not a sail be contrived on the islet as on an ordinary raft? There could be no difficulty in that; and when Hobson suggested it to Mac-Nab, he exclaimed—
“You are quite right, sir;” adding to his men, “bring out all the canvas there is!”
Everyone was quite revived by this plan, slight as was the chance it afforded, and all lent a helping hand, even Kellet, who had not yet reminded Mrs. Barnett of her promise.
A beam, which had once formed part of the roof of the barracks, was sunk deep into the earth and sand of which the little hill was composed, and firmly fixed with ropes arranged like shrouds and a stay. A sail made of all the clothes and coverlets still remaining fastened on to a strong pole for a yard, was hoisted on the mast This sail, or rather collection of sails, suitably set, swelled in the breeze, and by the wake it left, it was evident that the strip of ice was rapidly moving towards the southeast.
It was a success, and everyone was cheered with newly-awakened hope. They were no longer stationary; they were advancing slowly, it was true, but still they were advancing. The carpenter was particularly elated; all eagerly scanned the horizon, and had they been told that no land could be sighted, they would have refused to believe it.
So it appeared, however; for the strip of ice floated along on the waves for three hours in the centre of an absolutely circular and unbroken horizon. The poor colonists still hoped on.
Towards three o’clock, the Lieutenant took the Sergeant aside, and said to him—
“We are advancing at the cost of the solidity and duration of our islet.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean that the ice is being rapidly fretted away as it moves along. Its speed is hastening its dissolution, and since we set sail it has diminished one-third.”
“Are you quite sure?”
“Absolutely certain. The ice is longer and flatter. Look, the sea la not more than ten feet from the hill!”
It was true, and the result was what might naturally have been expected from the motion of the ice.
“Sergeant,” resumed Hobson, “do you think we ought to take down our sail?”
“I think,” replied Long, after a moment’s reflection, “that we should consult our comrades. We ought all to share the responsibility of a decision now.”
The Lieutenant bent his head in assent, and the two returned to their old position on the little hill.
Hobson put the case before the whole party.
“The speed we have given to the ice,” he said, “is causing it to wear away rapidly, and will perhaps hasten the inevitable catastrophe by a few hours. My friends, you must decide whether we shall still go on.”
“Forwards!” cried all with one voice.
So it was decided, and, as it turned out, the decision was fraught with consequences of incalculable importance.
At six o’clock p.m. Madge rose, and pointing to a point on the southeast, cried—
“Land!”
Everyone started up as if struck by lightning. Land there was indeed, on the southeast, twelve miles from the island.
“More sail! more sail!” shouted Hobson.
He was understood, and fresh materials were hastily brought. On the shrouds a sort
