ear voice reached us on the
deck.

"Open sea!" he cried.

Unanimous cheers made answer.

The schooner's head was put to the south-east, hugging the wind as
much as possible.

Two hours later we had doubled the extremity of the ice-barrier, and
there lay before our eyes a sparkling sea, entirely open.

(1) The French word is _banquise_, which means the vast stretch of
icebergs farther south than the barriere or ice wall.

CHAPTER XIV.
A VOICE IN A DREAM.

Entirely free from ice? No. It would have been premature to affirm
this as a fact. A few icebergs were visible in the distance, while
some drifts and packs were still going east. Nevertheless, the
break-up had been very thorough on that side, and the sea was in
reality open, since a ship could sail freely.

"God has come to our aid," said Captain Len Guy. "May He be
pleased to guide us to the end."

"In a week," I remarked, "our schooner might come in sight of
Tsalal Island."

"Provided that the east wind lasts, Mr. Jeorling. Don't forget
that in sailing along the icebergs to their eastern extremity, the
_Halbrane_ went out of her course, and she must be brought back
towards the west."

"The breeze is for us, captain."

"And we shall profit by it, for my intention is to make for Bennet
Islet. It was there that my brother first landed, and so soon as we
shall have sighted that island we shall be certain that we are on
the right route. To-day, when I have ascertained our position
exactly, we shall steer for Bennet Islet."

"Who knows but that we may come upon some fresh sign?"

"It is not impossible, Mr. Jeorling."

I need not say that recourse was had to the surest guide within our
reach, that veracious narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, which I read
and re-read with intense attention, fascinated as I was by the idea
that I might be permitted to behold with my own eyes those strange
phenomena of nature in the Antarctic world which I, in common with
all Edgar Poe's readers, had hitherto regarded as creations of the
most imaginative writer who ever gave voice by his pen to the
phantasies of a unique brain. No doubt a great part of the wonders
of Arthur Gordon Pym's narrative would prove pure fiction, but if
even a little of the marvellous story were found to be true, how
great a privilege would be mine!

The picturesque and wonderful side of the story we were studying as
gospel truth had little charm and but slight interest for Captain
Len Guy;