As Chingatok had predicted, on the sixth day from Home-in-sight Island the party came to another island, where the great pack abruptly terminated. It was not large, probably ten or twelve miles in length, from the Eskimo account, but the ends of it could not be seen from the spot where they landed. At that point it was only two miles wide, and on the opposite side its shores were laved by an open sea, which was quite free from ice, with the exception of a few scattered floes and bergs—a sea whose waves fell in slow regular cadence on a pebbly beach, and whose horizon was an unbroken line barely distinguishable from the sky.

 

Close to it a few black rocks showed above the water, around which great numbers of gulls, puffins, and other sea-birds disported themselves in clamorous joy; sometimes flying to the shore as if to have a look at the newcomers, and then sheering off with a scream—it might be a laugh—to tell their comrades what they had seen.

 

“Here, then, at last, is the open Polar Sea,” said Captain Vane, after the first long silent gaze of joy and admiration. “I have no doubt of it whatever. And now we shall proceed, I hope without interruption, to the Pole!”

 

“Of course you do not intend that we should swim there, do you, uncle?” said Leo.

 

“Of course not, my boy. In those big cases, which have cost us so much labour to bring here, I have three large and stout india-rubber boats—”

 

“Ha! I guessed as much,” exclaimed Alf.

 

“No doubt,” returned the Captain, “but you did not guess all.”

 

“I hope not,” said Leo, “for to say truth I don’t much relish the idea of rowing over an unknown sea an unknown distance at the rate of three or four miles an hour. I hope you have a patent steam-engine that will drive us along somewhat faster.”

 

“No, lad, no, I have no such steam-engine or any other miraculous contrivance that sets the laws of nature at defiance, and appears only in nursery tales. This expedition has been undertaken on no haphazard or insane plan. It was all cut and dry before we left Old England, and it is much simpler than you suppose.”

 

“What, then, is to be your motive power, if not oars or sails—which last would not work well, I fear, in an india-rubber boat?” asked Leo.

 

“Kites,” replied the Captain.

 

“Kites!” repeated both Alf and Leo in surprise.

 

“Not paper ones, surely,” said Benjy, in a tone of disappointment, not unmingled with contempt.

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