Steve Young Part 10

"Na, he's a cooard!" cried Watty viciously,--"a lang, ugly cooard!

Makking a show o' gooing up aloft, and all the time had to be held on."

"You'd better not let him hear you say that, my lad, or he'll thrash you."

"Yah! not he!" whined the boy. "He's a cooard, that's what he is; and he's on deck waiting to be ane of the fust to go off in the boots, and I'm kep' doon here."

"Stop that row!" cried the cook viciously.

"I canna, I canna! Awm thenking aboot my mither!"

"Bo! you great goose! And nice and proud your mither' must be of such a b.o.o.by."

"But I dinna want to be drooned!" sobbed Watty.

"Then what are you drooning yourself for in hot water? It don't improve you a bit, only shows white streaks on your dirty face. Look here, if you don't stop that noise, I'll tell the captain when we take to the boats that you're not worth saving, and then he'll leave you behind."

"Tell him to leave him behind!" whined Watty. "He's no good."

"Listeners never hear any good of themselves," said Steve to himself as he walked aft, and then made for the way down to the engine-room. "But do I always have my hands in my pockets?"

In spite of the cold, darkness, danger, and dread the boy could not help smiling at himself and the force of habit; for at that moment there was a heavy shock caused by a loose ma.s.s of ice striking the vessel just on her sharp stem, and startled into the belief that something terrible was about to happen, Steve answered the question he had just asked himself about his hands by s.n.a.t.c.hing them from his pockets to lay hold of the vessel's side. Then as he looked over and saw the piece of ice--a large fragment that must have been many tons in weight--grinding along by the vessel's side, he could not help laughing, while directly after a thrill of delight shot through him and the men sent up a cheer. For a communication had pa.s.sed between the captain and the engine-room as a loud hissing noise was heard; and then, as an order was shouted to the man at the wheel, the _Hvalross_ quivered in every timber with a peculiar vibration.

The steam was up at last; the fans of the propeller were spinning round and churning up the icy water, and the _Hvalross_ backed away from the dangerous position.

"There, Andra!" cried Steve, as he approached the man who had just hauled up one of the wooden fenders ground down into a ma.s.s of ragged fibres, "what do you say to the steam now?"

"Joost naething, laddie. I'd hae done it better wi' hairf a capfu' o'

wint."

"But there was no wind!" cried Steve.

"Nae, there was nae wint. But it's a blessing we're awa frae the ice, for it would hae maist broke my hairt to hae left my pipes ahint."

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE LONELY ISLE.

With the steam up the captain's task became easier; but it was dangerous work in that dense fog, and some hours of nervous navigation followed amongst the ice-floes, which gathered round them of all sizes, from ma.s.ses which went spinning away at a touch from the iron prow of the _Hvalross_ to huge fields acres in extent, broken away from the icy barrier to the northward, to be carried by the current south into the warm waters, where they would gradually melt away. So heavy were some of the shocks received, in spite of all watchfulness, care, and orders to go astern, that Captain Marsham was at one time for following the example of the drifting floes and going south. But there was the knowledge that somewhere, not far from where they were creeping along, the almost unknown island of Jan Mayen must lie; and it seemed a pity to leave it now, when the first time the sun appeared they would be able to learn their position for certain; so he held on.

"I've lost count," said Steve at last. "Is it to-day or to-morrow? The clock says it's eleven; but is it eleven to-night or eleven to-morrow morning?"

"Eleven to-night, sir, if you like to call it so," said Johannes.

"We're up so far north now that the sun never sets for months."

"Never rises, you mean. Where is he?"

"You'll see soon, when the fog lifts."

"But will it break up?"

"Of course, sir. Wait a bit, and it will be all hot sunshine, and always day."

"Go aloft now, my lad," said Captain Marsham; "the fog seems to be thinner higher up. You may be able to get an observation."

Johannes started for the main shrouds, and Steve saw the captain's beard, all covered with moisture from the mist, twitch as if he were laughing.

"At me," thought the lad; and the captain evidently divined his idea, for he said quietly:

"Wait a bit, Steve, till you get a little more confidence. You would be certain to feel nervous if you went aloft now."

"I wish he'd forget all about that," muttered the lad.

A minute later there was the loud snap of the cask bottom falling into its place, and the captain hailed the Norseman.

"Clearer there?"

"Just a wee bit, sir," came from up in the clouds.

"Make out anything?"

"Can't see the length of the ship, sir; but I can hear breakers quite plain."

"Silence!" cried the captain, and, to use the familiar expression, a pin might have been heard to drop on the deck.

"I can hear nothing," said the captain softly. "Can you, my boy?"

Steve listened for some time.

"No, sir, not a sound."

"We can hear nothing below. Try once more."

Again there was silence for a few moments, and then, sounding m.u.f.fled and strange from the invisible man in the thick cloud, which made even the main-yard look indistinct, came:

"Breakers, sir, quite plain, away on the starboard bow."

"On ice or rock?"

"So faint, sir, I can't tell yet."

A couple of hours later the low, murmurous roar could be heard from the deck by listening attentively; but it was impossible to say whether it was caused by breakers on a rocky coast, which might be that of Jan Mayen, or by the sea beating on the vast icy barrier lying to the north, near which the officers felt that they must be. So the engine was slowed till the rate of progress was deemed to be sufficient to keep the vessel from drifting south, and then they waited for the first breathings of the wind which would break up the dense mist that shut them in, chilly, wet, and horribly depressing; and night and day seemed to Steve always the same, just as if they had sailed into a lat.i.tude where everything was Welsh flannel in a state of solution.

This lasted for many hours, during which time Johannes ascended to the crow's-nest again and again, and then one of his companions took his turn.

He had hardly reached his lofty perch, when it seemed to Steve on the deck that the noise of the breakers suddenly grew louder, and he was about to say so when there was a shout from aloft.

"Fog's lifting, sir."