It was wearisome; and to Salve above all, who was feverishly longing to get home, and whose temperament was little suited for the endurance of such agonies of Tantalus.  He became the very embodiment of restlessness.  A hundred times a-day he went aloft to look out for some prospect of a change, and to strain his eyes after the streak of land to the north which was to be made out on clear days from the maintop-gallant mast-head, and which of course would be the coast of Norway.  The dress, the silk handkerchiefs, the rings, and what he should say to Elizabeth—­whether he should formally request a private interview with her, or wait till an opportunity offered—­were running incessantly in his head.  And particularly what he should say to her seemed now, often as he had thought it over during the long voyage and settled it to his satisfaction, to present many points of difficulty.  He must go down then to his seaman’s chest and see if the things were still there all right, and whether the moths might not have got into them; the last inspection, when he unfolded the stuff in his bunk, being conducted with uncommon precautions.

At last there came a prospect of release in the shape of thick weather, and a southerly gale setting on the Norwegian coast.  The ice too had for a day or two previously begun to show blue patches of water here and there, and when it was dark that evening they felt themselves free once more.

In spite of the salt water and the rain, which he had to wipe off his face every minute, Salve went to his look-out post forward that night, and stood there humming to himself, whilst the rest of the crew who were on duty slopped up and down on the deck-cargo below, in sea-boots and dripping oilskins, or sheltered themselves, as best they could, under the lee of the round-house or forecastle.  They had been hard at work all day, making openings in the ice; and now the groaning and whistling among the blocks and ropes, that were increasing every minute, gave little promise of rest for the night.

The captain stood upon the poop in his thick overcoat and drenched fur cap, with his trumpet under his arm, looking anxiously through the night-glass from time to time, and his voice sounded unusually stern.  There lay before him in the dark, blustering, winter night a veritable David’s choice.  The strong southerly current, aided by the gale, was fast carrying him in under the Norwegian coast; while on the other hand, if he tried to beat to windward, he risked coming into collision with the ice-floes.  Added to that, he was not very clear as to his position; and as the gale increased, he began to pace restlessly backwards and forwards, addressing, every now and then, a word down to one of the helmsmen, whose forms could be seen by the gleam from the binnacle.

“How’s her head, Jens?”

“Sou’-west, sir; she’ll lay no higher.”

“H’m! more and more on land!” he muttered, the perspiration coming out upon his forehead under his fur cap, which, in spite of the rain, he had to push back to get air.  Both life and ship would soon be at stake.