Still, as Cabot hopefully pointed out, the Newfoundland coast was in
plain sight, and the ice held as firm as ever. He had hardly spoken
when there came a distant roaring, that quickly developed into a sound
of crashing and grinding not to be mistaken.
"The ice is moving!" gasped White.
"Then," said Cabot bravely, "we'll move too. Come on, old man. We'll
leave the sled, and I'll get you ashore even if I have to carry you.
It isn't so very far now."
With this the speaker disengaged his hauling straps and turned to
assist his comrade, but, to his dismay, the latter lay on the ice pale
and motionless. What with pain, over-exertion, and excitement, White
had fainted, and Cabot must either carry him to the shore, remain
beside him until he recovered, or leave him to his fate and save
himself by flight over the still unbroken ice. He tried the first
plan, picked White up, staggered a few steps with his helpless burden,
and discovered its futility. Then he proceeded to put the second into
execution by calmly unloading the sled and making such arrangements as
his slender means would allow for his comrade's comfort. The third
plan came to him merely as a thought, to be promptly dismissed as
unworthy of consideration.
In the meantime the ominous sounds of cracking, grinding, rending, and
splitting grew ever louder, and came ever closer, until, at length,
Cabot could see and feel that the ice all about him was in motion.
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