IN THE ICE 



121 



the 'berg would go glancing along the rail so 

 close perhaps that we could have grabbed a 

 snowball off some projection. 



" Steady," the officer would call. 



" Steady, sir." The bow would stop in its 

 lateral swing. 



" Port." 



" Port, sir." The bow would swing the other 

 way. 



" Steady." We would be upon our old course 

 again. 



Once I remember the mate was in the crow's 

 nest and had been narrowly missing ice all day 

 for the fun of the thing — " showing off," as we 

 rather disturbed green hands said. A 'berg 

 about thirty feet high, a giant for Behring Sea 

 waters, showed a little ahead and to leeward of 

 our course. The mate thought he could pass to 

 windward. He kept the brig close to the wind 

 until the 'berg was very near. Then he saw a 

 windward passage was impossible and tried sud- 

 denly to go to leeward. 



" Hard up your wheel," he cried. 



" Hard up it is, sir." 



