CHAPTER TEN 



The Rescue 



BUT FOR AN unexpectedly early onset of winter in the 

 Davis Straits during that late July the ice that held the 

 Pilgrim in its grip might well have dispersed sufficiently for 

 the little whaler to gain the open water; but the falling 

 temperature caused the massed floes to freeze together into 

 a solid area of ice that completely covered the sea as far as 

 the distant Greenland shore to the eastward and for several 

 miles out into the Straits to the westward. 



As the days passed the ship's timbers bent inwards 

 under the merciless pressure of ice and all hope of saving 

 her was slowly abandoned. 



The blizzard passed and the low sun shone on a desert of 

 dazzling white. 



Alongside the brave, shattered little whaler that had 

 now become almost obscured by a mantle of snow the 

 gaunt-faced Quaker captain gathered his men around 

 him. 



'My friends,' he began in a voice that was now tinged 

 with humbleness, 'we have ventured beyond the limits 

 that God intended and He has ordained that we shall 

 forsake this ship and all the fruits of our recent labours. 

 We must repair the boat and fit her with sledges,' and 

 turning to the diminutive second mate he said, 'That will 

 be the task of thy watch, Mr. Todd.' Then, addressing 



