CHAPTER XV
THE MAGNETIC POLE
The nearer Hatteras approached the Strait, the more his anxiety increased. He felt the fate of his voyage was about to be decided, for though he had outstripped all his predecessors up to this time, as even McClintock, the most fortunate of them, had taker fifteen months to reach the same place, it mattered little, indeed nothing, if he could not succeed in getting through Bellot's Strait.
He would trust the look-out to no one, but went up to the "crow's-nest" himself, and stayed there the greater part of Saturday morning.
The crew understood perfectly their critical position, and preserved an unbroken silence. The engine had slackened speed, and the brig kept to the shore as closely as possible; but it needed a practiced eye to discover the least opening among those close packs.
Hatteras was comparing his charts and the coast. The sun broke out for a brief instant before noon, and Shandon and Wall managed to take a pretty correct observation, which they reported aloud to Hatteras.
It was a trying morning for all; but at last, about two o'clock, a cry resounded from the mast-head:
"To the west, and put on steam!"
The brig instantly obeyed. She turned her prow in the given direction, and rushed forward between two ice-streams.
The entrance was found, and Hatteras gave up his post to the ice-master, and came down on the poop.
"Well, captain," said the Doctor, "we have actually entered this famous strait at last."
"Yes," replied Hatteras, lowering his voice, "but it is not enough to enter, we have to get out again."
Without another word he turned, and walked off to his cabin.
"He is right," said the Doctor, "for we are in a mousetrap, without much room to do anything; and if we are blocked in for the winter, well, we are not the first that have got into this same fix, and they got out, so I suppose we shall!"
The Doctor was right. It was in that very place that McClintock wintered in 1858, and the little dock was then
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