A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 297 



timber. Consequently she met the shock of the ice, not 

 on a wooden buffer, but with her naked plates. The 

 Skule, whose bow was better protected, had not sufficient 

 engine power to drive her through the newly formed ice, 

 which was already five inches thick. In two hours, 

 we advanced about a quarter of a mile. Every now 

 and then there was a shout from Captain Johansen, our 

 ice-pilot, who was up aloft in the crow's nest. His 

 signal was answered by the rumble of the steering gear 

 or else by the siren's bellow to the Skule — the long 

 blast and a short for full speed astern, or the five long 

 blasts which were the sign that wireless communication 

 was needed. The weather was still and foggy, and there 

 was no open water to be seen. We had left all the gulls 

 behind us at Dickson. A pomatorhine skua — a bird of 

 the year — was the only living thing besides ourselves 

 that moved over the desolate waste. 



Towards evening the ice became more open, but the 

 ominous white " blink" along the horizon showed that 

 the field was a vast one. Several times we steamed 

 down a channel which looked as if it might lead to 

 safety ; but each time it proved to be a cul-de-sac, and 

 we were obliged to put about and try for another open- 

 ing. It was like wandering in a maze. The SJcule was 

 following us along the path that we carved through the 

 ice, when the two sides of the floe gradually closed up 

 before her. She was seen to stop altogether, and then 

 came a wireless message : " Stand hy, in case loe have 

 to take to the boats y The state of aftairs was serious, 

 for if the ice tightened its grip, the ship would have 

 been crushed like an egg-shell in a mailed fist. Fortun- 



