"Stand by to let go the anchor!" shouted the captain.
"Ay, ay, sir."
"Down your helm! Let go!"
Down went the anchor to the music of the rattling chain-cable--a sound
which had not been heard since the good ship left the shores of Old
England.
"If we were only a few yards farther in, sir," remarked the first-mate,
"we should be better. I'm afraid of the stream of ice coming round
yonder point."
"So am I," replied the captain; "but we can scarcely manage it, I fear,
on account of the shore ice. Get out a boat, Mr. Saunders, and try to
fix an anchor. We may warp in a few yards."
The anchor was fixed, and the men strained at the capstan with a will,
but, notwithstanding their utmost efforts, they could not penetrate the
shore ice. Meanwhile the wind increased, and snow began to fall in large
flakes. The tide, too, as it receded, brought a stream of ice round the
point ahead of them, which bore right down on their bows. At first the
concussions were slight, and the bow of the ship turned the floes aside;
but heavier masses soon came down, and at last one fixed itself on the
cable, and caused the anchor to drag with a harsh, grating sound.
Fred Ellice, who stood beside the second mate near the companion hatch,
looked inquiringly at him.
"Ah! that's bad," said Saunders, shaking his head slowly; "I dinna like
that sound. If we're carried out into the pack there, dear knows where
we'll turn up in the long run.
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