Steve Young Part 20

"What, that silvery-looking cloud over the ice? Does that mean wind?"

"I wish it did, Steve, so as to save our coal. No, boy; it means another of those dense mists. I hope only a pa.s.sing one; but you have had a taste of what an arctic fog can be like. We must make haste; these mists creep on so swiftly. Make a signal, Johannes. The _Hvalross_ must come on and pick us up, or we shall have to cast off our fish."

The next minute a little flag was hoisted in the bows to the end of one of the lance-poles, with the result that there was soon after a cloud of black smoke rolling out of the steamer's funnel and an increase in the white water at her stern; but the boat went no faster, for the white whale was heavy, although the men pulled with a will.

"They ought to see the fog coming on in the other boat," said the captain impatiently. "Of course if we are shut in we shall be able to reach the _Hvalross_. We could do that by listening for their signals, which they would be sure to make; but I hate unnecessary anxiety, Steve, and it is very awkward to be caught by one of these dense mists-- everything is so puzzling."

He ceased speaking, and sat watching the other boat making, like themselves, slowly for the same point. And now, seeing the urgency, Johannes and his brother Nors.e.m.e.n seated themselves and put out spare oars to help on the speed. But the whale they were towing seemed to anchor them in one place; and at last, just as the steamer was still quite half a mile away, a peculiar change came over the sea. The sun was still s.h.i.+ning brightly, but the other boat grew dim and enlarged-looking, as if it were magnified and set in a bluish opal.

There was the long range of ice cliff, but it was curiously blue and undefined.

"I say," cried Steve suddenly, "what's the matter with the _Hvalross_?"

He started from his seat as he spoke, for the steamer was no longer upon the blue water,--there was no blue water,--but apparently twenty feet up in the air, and gradually rising higher till it was double the height, while the funnel, masts, and hull looked soft and swollen out of all proportion.

"An optical illusion, my boy," said the captain quietly. "Sit down.

You have heard of refraction. It is a peculiar state of the air. I daresay we look the same to them. Pull, my lads. I'm afraid the mist will be down upon us before we can reach the s.h.i.+p. Look at that."

Steve was already looking at the peculiar way in which their companion boat was dying out of sight, till it was perfectly invisible; and yet it was clear about where they were, only for a few minutes, though. Then there was a faint, gauzy film close by, into which they rowed, and as they pa.s.sed completely in, the _Hvalross_ was almost hidden; five minutes later it was not to be seen.

The mist was upon them, thickening each moment, and a curiously depressing chill came over the boy. It was as if the cold were attacking his mind as well as his body, and he quite started as the deep voice of Johannes said, the words sounding m.u.f.fled:

"Keep your helm fast, sir. We mustn't miss the s.h.i.+p."

"Mustn't miss the s.h.i.+p," thought Steve, with a strange sense of dread creeping over him now like another and darker mist. "If we did miss her, what then?"

CHAPTER TWELVE.

A STRANGE PERIL.

It seemed hard to believe, so rapidly had the change taken place. Only a few minutes before, and they were gliding along with the blue sky above and the air perfectly clear; now everything was shut out, even Johannes in the bows of the boat looking indistinct from where Steve and the captain were seated in the stern.

Captain Marsham made no verbal reply to the warning of the Norseman, but his right arm which held the steering oar grew rigid, and he did not stir from his position.

Steve was no experienced sailor, but he had seen plenty of the last fog, and as he sat there growing anxious the following problem presented itself to him after the fas.h.i.+on of the mathematical studies at school, and based on the difficulty of making a way through what was little better than black darkness. Let A, B, and C represent the points of a triangle. If three parties start together from those points to reach a common centre, and travel at different rates of speed, when will they meet?

"It looks as if the answer is--never," thought Steve. "Why, the _Hvalross_ is steaming faster--we saw her; and she'll go right on and leave us behind. This fog, too, may last for days."

"Keep cool, my lad," said the captain in a low voice; "we shall soon be on board. Listen, and try if you can hear the beat of the propeller."

Those words sent a hopeful thrill through the boy, just as his spirits were getting very low indeed, and he leaned over the boat's side listening, but the regular dip, dip of the oars was all he could distinguish. He did not speak; there was no need.

"Steady!" cried the captain suddenly, and his voice sounded as if it were shut in. "Lie on your oars for a few moments. Listen for the beat of the steamer."

There was dead silence then, and Steve began to realise for the first time in his life the meaning of the word "lost."

But no sound came to their ears from out of the mist which now surrounded them, and seemed to arch them in as if they were in a dark grey cell just big enough to hold the boat.

"Had we better cast off the fish, sir," said Johannes at last, "and pull hard?"

"No," said Captain Marsham; "matters are not so desperate as that.

Here, Steve boy, your voice is the youngest and most likely to pierce the mist; give a good ahoy."

"Ahoy!" yelled the boy, and again, "Ahoy! ahoy!" but the hail sounded as if he were shouting with his head closely shut in a box, and all felt that it was useless to listen for a reply.

"You hail, Johannes, as you would do if alone."

The Norseman rose up, placed his hands to his mouth, and uttered a bellowing roar. But though this was repeated again and again there was no reply.

"Give way!" cried the captain, and the oars began to dip, the men rowing steadily without a word, trusting themselves entirely to their captain as the one who must know best under the circ.u.mstances; while Steve, who felt that he ought to be perfectly calm and cool, knew that moment by moment he was growing more nervous and uncomfortable, haunted as he was by the idea that they might never reach the _Hvalross_, and be left alone in that icy solitude, without weapons or provisions, to try and reach Jan Mayen, and find the refuge they had thought possible for the others.

"There is the wrecked s.h.i.+p," he said to himself, as thoughts came swiftly; "it would do for a shelter, and we should have to live on sea-birds, unless we could find that after all there are some stores buried in the s.h.i.+p's hold under the sand."

"Steady!" cried the captain just then, interrupting the flow of his wild thoughts; and the men rested on their oars again, while shout after shout was sent up, but with no reply.

"We must have come far enough," muttered Captain Marsham; and he hesitated as he vainly tried to pierce the dense medium which surrounded them. "We'll lie on our oars and drift a little while," he said aloud; "the fog will pa.s.s over soon. What do you say, Johannes?"

"One never knows, sir," replied the man gravely; "but it is of no use to go on rowing; we must have pa.s.sed the s.h.i.+p, for there is a strong current here."

"Well, we shall see."

They sat listening till, growing fidgety, Steve turned to lean over the stern and take hold of the rope which held the beluga. The great fish-like creature yielded to the drag and came close up, but its head was hardly discernible, and it looked so weird and strange that the boy loosed his hold with a shudder, expecting that it would float away. But it remained stationary for a few moments, and then, urged by the current, rubbed heavily against the boat's side, imperceptibly altering its position by dragging round the stern.

After listening patiently for some time, the captain drew a little compa.s.s from his pocket and placed it beside him on the thwart, waiting till it was steady, when he exclaimed in quite a startled tone:

"Which way were we pulling, my men?"

"About due west, sir."

"But the boat's head lies south, and we have been going right away from the steamer. Here, pull hard starboard, backwater port!" he cried; and as the oars dipped he bent down and watched the compa.s.s till he found the boat's head pointing north-east, when he shouted, "All together: give way!"

It was a relief to feel that something was being done to extricate them from their awkward predicament, and the men pulled hard for the next ten minutes or so, when, at a word from Captain Marsham, they easied, and a fresh howl was sent forth to penetrate the fog. But this had no better result than the last, and once more the order was given to pull and obeyed with fresh vigour, when Steve suddenly leaped up.

"I heard it then," he said.

"Hold hard!" cried Captain Marsham, and the oars hung dripping over the side. "Heard what, my lad?"

"The steamer's whistle, quite plainly."

There was a dead silence at this as all listened, but not a sound reached them but the drip, drip, drip of the water from the blades of the oars.

"Mistaken, I'm afraid, Steve, my lad," said the captain. "Any one of you hear the whistle?"

There was no reply.

"Give way, my lads."

Splash went the oars, and at that moment Steve cried excitedly: