Further, a few hundred thousand
tons of ice had grounded upon the spit and upreared a glittering ridge.
"We'll have to portage," Corliss said, as Frona turned the canoe from
the bank.
La Bijou darted across the narrower channel to the sand-spit and
slipped up a little ice ravine, where the walls were less precipitous.
They landed on an out-jutting cake, which, without support, overhung
the water for sheer thirty feet. How far its other end could be buried
in the mass was matter for conjecture. They climbed to the summit,
dragging the canoe after them, and looked out over the dazzle. Floe
was piled on floe in titanic confusion. Huge blocks topped and
overtopped one another, only to serve as pedestals for great white
masses, which blazed and scintillated in the sun like monstrous jewels.
"A bonny place for a bit walk," Tommy sneered, "wi' the next jam fair
to come ony time." He sat down resolutely. "No, thank ye kindly, I'll
no try it."
Frona and Corliss clambered on, the canoe between them.
"The Persians lashed their slaves into battle," she remarked, looking
back. "I never understood before. Hadn't you better go back after
him?"
Corliss kicked him up, whimpering, and forced him to go on in advance.
The canoe was an affair of little weight, but its bulk, on the steep
rises and sharp turns, taxed their strength.
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