Andrew Scollay, a religious old man, encourages his shipmates in their fearful position, without food, fire, or shelter.—Archy distinguishes between his false and real friend.—He takes a run over the ice with Andrew, when a sail is seen, and at last a boat approaches.

Hour after hour passed by, and still there was no abatement of the storm. Loud noises meantime were heard around, denoting the breaking up of the floe on which they floated, and they could not tell how soon the portion on which they had taken refuge might be rent from the main body and floated away. Often did Archy wish that he had remained on board, and not exposed himself to the fearful danger in which he was placed. At length old Andrew spoke to him.

“Are you happy, boy?” he asked. “But you need not tell me—I know you are not. I am sorry to find you placed in this fearful position, but it was through your own fault—you chose to come against orders. It is bad for us, but then we came because it was our duty.”

“I am sure I am very sorry I did come,” answered Archy. “But I didn’t think this would happen.”

“People never know what will happen when they do what is wrong,” said Andrew. “Satan tempts them to sin, and then leaves them to take the consequences. Lads, I speak to you all as I speak to this boy. Are you prepared to meet your God?”

“Why do you say that?” said Max, in a husky voice.

“Because I think, before many hours are over our heads, the summons will come,” said Andrew, solemnly. “Any moment the ice may break up, and the sea may wash over us, or we may sit here till we die of cold and hunger.”

“You are croaking,” said Max. “Our captain is not the man to desert us.”

“I am speaking the solemn truth,” said Andrew. “The captain will do his best to search for us, but the gale will have driven the ship miles away by this time, and before she can get up to us we may be dead. I don’t speak thus to frighten you, lads, but because I wish to see your souls saved. You may say that you are such sinners that there is no hope of that. I wish you did know that you are sinners. You heard the captain read to you the other day the account of the thief on the cross. He knew that he was a sinner, but he found the Saviour even at the last moment of his life. He trusted to Jesus, who saved him; and he had the assurance from the lips of that loving One, that he was saved. Jesus will say to you what He said to the thief on the cross, if you will even now turn to Him: ‘Now is the day of grace, now is the day of salvation.’ Oh, lads, I pray you to throw yourselves on His mercy, to trust to Him. His blood cleanseth from all sin.”

The seamen listened attentively to what Andrew said: they had often heard similar words from the lips of the captain, but they were in safety then on board their stout ship, and they had allowed them to pass away unheeded. Now, although they still hoped to escape, they could not help acknowledging that they were in a fearfully perilous position. Still no one replied. What was passing in their minds Andrew could not tell. He continued, addressing them in the same strain for some time. Again and again he told them of the Saviour’s love, and how earnestly He desired them to come to Him and be saved.

Archy, however, had drunk in every word Andrew had said.

“But would Jesus pardon me, who has so grievously offended Him?” he asked at last—“me, who have so often been told of His loving kindness and mercy?”

“Yes, lad, that He will,” said Andrew, taking Archy’s hand, “He has promised it, and His word is sure. He has sent us this blessed message:—‘The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin.’ He does not say from some sins, or from only slight sins, but from all sins.”

“Oh, then, I’ll try and give Him my heart,” exclaimed Archy. “I’ll trust to Him.”

“Yes, do that, Archy; but give him your heart now—trust to Him now,” said Andrew, earnestly. “We will pray, lad, that the Holy Spirit will help you, for He alone can carry out the work in your heart;” and the pious old man, kneeling down on the ice, lifted up his voice in prayer; and surely that prayer was not uttered in vain. Still, although the rest of the party made no response to his exhortations, he persevered; and from the loud crashing roar of the ice, as the broken fragments were dashed together, it seemed too likely that the day of grace for all would ere long be past. Hour after hour went by, and yet the portion of the floe on which they had taken refuge kept together. The storm continued to rage, and the snow still fell heavily. Piece after piece of the boat had been cut away its place being supplied with a wall and roof of snow, which the seamen gradually built up. They were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger, and they could scarcely get sufficient warmth from the small fire they were able to maintain to keep themselves from being frozen. It was near mid-summer. Had it been the winter they could not thus have existed many hours. Every now and then one of the party ran to the summit of the hillock in the hopes of seeing the ship. Still the falling snow shut out all but the nearest objects from view, and here and there alone a tall iceberg could be seen rising dimly amid the foaming seas. “No hope, no hope,” was the mournful cry of one after the other, as they returned to the hut.

“Don’t say there’s no hope,” observed old Andrew. “God can send us help, though we can’t help ourselves. Oh, lads, I again say, and it may be for the last time, put your trust in Him. I don’t tell you that He will send us relief. It may be His will that our bodies should perish on the spot where we are sitting; but I do tell you, that He offers to rescue your souls, and will certainly, if you put your trust in Him, not allow them to perish.”

Archy sat close to old Andrew, listening attentively to what he said, he had now learned to distinguish between his real and false friend. How earnestly he wished that he had not been led astray by the evil counsel of the latter. The rest of the party sat silent, their countenances exhibiting the despair which had taken possession of their hearts. Their fuel was well nigh exhausted, and suffering from hunger they knew that they could not hold out long against the cold. Andrew proposed that they should let the fire out for a time, and warm themselves by exercise.

“We will then light it again, and it will enable us to lie down and rest without fear of being frozen,” he observed.

To this wise advice the men would not agree.

“If die we must, we will keep warm while we can,” growled out Max.

“Then, Archy, you and I will try and keep our blood flowing by using our limbs,” said Andrew. “See, the snow has ceased falling, and there’s less wind than there was.”

This was said after they had spent many hours on the ice. How many they could scarcely tell, for no sun appeared to mark the progress of the day.

Andrew, taking his young companion’s hand, rose, and together they went to the top of the hummock, and gazed around for a minute, though they could now see much further than before. No sail appeared to cheer their sight. They quickly descended, and Andrew, with the activity of a young man, ran backwards and forwards under the lee of the hummock. Archy felt the benefit of the exercise; but though his hunger had increased, his blood circulating freely, made him feel better able to endure the cold than before.

When at length they returned to the hut, they found the remaining pieces of wood burning, and that in a short time they would be left without any fire.

“If you had followed my advice it would have been better for us all,” observed Andrew.

The men made no reply; they all appeared to have fallen into a state of stupor, and to have become indifferent to their fate. Andrew and Archy sat down to rest, and to enjoy the warmth of the fire, anxiously watching the last few pieces of wood as they were gradually consumed. The embers which they scraped together afforded them heat for some time longer—then, by degrees, those died out.

“It is our duty to hold out while we can, boy,” said Andrew, when the last spark of the fire was extinguished. “Come and take another run.”

Archy felt very weak and faint from want of food, still he endeavoured to exert himself. Again they visited the top of the hummock, but still no sail was to be seen. The sea tumbled and foamed, and the surrounding masses of ice ground and crashed against each other, and the floe on which they were appeared to have decreased in size, while huge blocks, thrown up by the waves, rested on its weather side. Even Andrew was unable to run backwards and forwards as fast as before, and again they sought shelter within the hut. No questions were asked them; indeed most of their companions appeared to be asleep. Andrew in vain tried to arouse them. Archy felt that he, too, should like to lie down and go to sleep; but from doing this Andrew used every effort to prevent him, and in a short time proposed that they should take another ran to the top of the hummock. With difficulty Archy followed him.

For some time the old man stood looking round in every direction, then his eyes rested on a particular spot to the northward, and Archy saw him raise his hands as if in prayer.

“Lad,” he said suddenly, “look between those two icebergs. What do you see?”

Archy gazed with beating heart. “A sail! a sail!” he exclaimed.

“Yes—of that there’s no doubt,” said Andrew, calmly, “and may God direct her course towards us. She is at present standing this way; but should a whale be seen, she may steer in a different direction.” They anxiously watched the approaching ship for some minutes.

“We will tell our companions,” said Andrew—“the news will rouse them if they are not too far gone.”

Archy forgetting his hunger, and no longer feeling his weakness, rushed back to the hut, shouting, “a sail! a sail!” Max, and two of the other men, started as the sound reached their ears, but before they had gained their feet they again sank down on the ice. After making several efforts, they were at length able to walk, having in the meantime aroused their companions, who, sitting up, looked around with bewildered glances, as if not comprehending the news they heard. Archy again ran back, Max and the rest, with tottering steps, trying to follow him. They succeeded at length, and as they saw the ship, almost frantic with joy, they shook each other’s hands, and shouted and danced like mad people, their sufferings, their fears of death, were in a moment forgotten, and so probably also were any good resolutions they might have formed. How different was their behaviour to that of Andrew. Archy remarked it.

The ship came on with a strong breeze, threading her way amid the masses of ice in her course. She had got within a couple of miles. Still, unless the eyes of those on board were directed in their direction, the flag flying from the hummock might not be seen. She came nearer and nearer.

“She will not pass us now,” cried Max.

“We will pray to God that she may not,” said Andrew; but at that moment the vessel was seen to haul her wind, and to stand to the westward. A loud groan of bitter disappointment was uttered by Max and the other men.

“God’s will be done,” said Andrew. “See, mates, she has hove-to, she is lowering her boat. They are after a fish.”

With what eagerness did the eyes of the starving seamen watch the ship. It was impossible to say in what direction she might next steer. They no longer felt cold or hunger.

“See, see, what is that?” cried one of the men, as a dark object was discovered darting out from behind the nearest iceberg.

Directly afterwards a boat was seen fast to a whale, and following in its wake. The whale approached the floe, but while still at some distance its flukes were seen to rise in the air, and down it shot into the ocean. Although those on the ice knew that they were too far off to be heard, they shouted again and again, their voices sounding strangely hollow in each other’s ears. The first line had apparently been run out from the boat; a second had been bent on; that, too, came to an end. They could see the four oars lifted up as a signal for assistance from the ship. Once more the boat approached them at a rapid rate, dragged on by the whale. It was evident she was in great distress, and that her crew dreaded the fate they themselves had suffered. Suddenly she stopped—the line had been cut. Would they turn away? No, the crew bend to their oars—the boat-steerer stands up and waves. They are seen—help will come to them. Again the cheer.

“Let us thank God, for He has sent yonder boat to our assistance,” said Andrew.