a minute more and “twang, twang!” came another report, and the whale-line was gone.  Only one rope now held them to the land, and prevented them being swept into the turmoil of ice, and wind, and water, from which the rocky ledge protected them.  The hawser was a good one—­a new ten-inch rope.  It sang like the deep tones of an organ, loud above the rattle of the rigging and the shrouds; but that was its death-song.  It gave way with the noise of a cannon, and in the smoke that followed its recoil they were dragged out by the wild ice, and driven hither and thither at its mercy.

With some difficulty the ship was warped into a place of comparative security in the rushing drift, but it was soon thrown loose again, and severely squeezed by the rolling masses.  Then an attempt was made to set the sails and beat up for the land; but the rudder was almost unmanageable owing to the ice, and nothing could be made of it, so they were compelled to go right before the wind under close-reefed top-sails, in order to keep some command of the ship.  All hands were on deck watching in silence the ice ahead of them, which presented a most formidable aspect.

Away to the north the strait could be seen growing narrower, with heavy ice-tables grinding up and clogging it from cliff to cliff on either side.  About seven in the evening they were close upon the piling masses, to enter into which seemed certain destruction.

“Stand by to let go the anchor!” cried the captain, in the desperate hope of being able to wind the ship.

“What’s that ahead of us?” exclaimed the first mate suddenly.

“Ship on the starboard bow, right in-shore!” roared the look-out.

The attention of the crew was for a moment called from their own critical situation towards the strange vessel which now came into view, having been previously concealed from them by a large grounded berg.

“Can you make her out, Mr. Bolton?”

“Yes, sir; I think she’s a large brig, but she seems much chafed, and there’s no name left on the stern, if ever there was one.”

As he spoke, the driving snow and fog cleared up partially, and the brig was seen not three hundred yards from them, drifting slowly into the loose ice.  There was evidently no one on board; and although one or two of the sails were loose, they hung in shreds from the yards.  Scarcely had this been noted when the Dolphin struck against a large mass of ice, and quivered under the violence of the shock.

“Let go!” shouted the captain.

Down went the heaviest anchor they had, and for two minutes the chain flew out at the hawse-hole.

“Hold on!”

The chain was checked, but the strain was awful.  A mass of ice, hundreds of tons weight, was tearing down towards the bow.  There was no hope of resisting it.  Time was not even afforded to attach a buoy or log to the cable, so it was let slip, and thus the Dolphin’s best bower was lost for ever.