Kane, in 1853, were kept prisoners by the ice for several weeks. The
odd form of the Devil's Thumb, the dreary deserts in its vicinity,
the vast circus of icebergs--some of them more than three hundred
feet high--the cracking of the ice, reproduced by the echo in so
sinister a manner, rendered the position of the _Forward_ horribly
dreary. Shandon understood the necessity of getting out of it and
going further ahead. Twenty-four hours later, according to his
estimation, he had been able to clear the fatal coast for about two
miles, but this was not enough. Shandon, overwhelmed with fear, and
the false situation in which he was placed, lost both courage and
energy; in order to obey his instructions and get further north, he
had thrown his vessel into an excessively perilous situation. The
men were worn out by the hauling; it required more than three hours
to hollow out a channel twenty feet long, through ice that was usually
from four to five feet thick. The health of the crew threatened to
break down. Shandon was astonished at the silence of his men and their
unaccustomed obedience, but he feared that it was the calm before
the storm. Who can judge, then, of his painful disappointment,
surprise, and despair when he perceived that in consequence of an
insensible movement of the ice-field the _Forward_ had, during the
night from the 18th to the 19th, lost all the advantage she had gained
with so much toil? On the Saturday morning they were once more opposite
the ever-threatening Devil's Thumb, and in a still more critical
position. The icebergs became more numerous, and drifted by in the
fog like phantoms. Shandon was in a state of complete demoralisation,
for fright had taken possession of the dauntless man and his crew.
Shandon had heard the dog's disappearance spoken about, but dared
not punish those who were guilty of it. He feared that a rebellion
might be the consequence. The weather was fearful during the whole
day; the snow rose up in thick whirlpools, wrapping up the _Forward_
in an impenetrable cloak. Sometimes, under the action of the storm,
the fog was torn asunder, and displayed towards land, raised up like
a spectre, the Devil's Thumb.

The _Forward_ was anchored to an immense block of ice; it was all
that could be done; there was nothing more to attempt; the obscurity
became denser, and the man at the helm could not see James Wall, who
was on duty in the bow. Shandon withdrew to his cabin, a prey to
unremi