enough.’
Hal replied, ‘There’s no north-flowing current here as there was on the other coast to warm it up a little bit. On this side there’s nothing but cold current coming from the north.’
Roger drew his parka around over his face. His breath made his face damp. He pulled his parka away in order to see. At once the moisture on his skin froze and his face was encased in ice. Even his eyelids were frozen together. He could dimly see through his lashes.
‘Why did that happen?’ he wanted to know.
‘It’s a lot colder here than on the ice cap,’ said Hal.
‘I’ll run around and get warm,’ Roger said.
‘You’d better not. You will sweat and the sweat will turn to ice. Then you’ll be covered from top to toe with ice.’
Crash, crash, crash. More and more icebergs where there were plenty already.
‘What good are icebergs anyhow?’ Roger said. ‘Why don’t the engineers find a way to prevent them?’
‘They have tried,’ said Hal. ‘They have shot them with cannon. They have bombed them. They’ve drilled and blasted them. They have painted them black to make them melt more quickly. All these measures have failed.’
‘But surely they must melt after a while.’
‘Yes, after a while. But it’s a good long while. An iceberg will last more than a year. Very large icebergs take much longer to melt. Some bergs are seven hundred feet high and weigh eight million tons. They may last for years. Storms make them crash into each other and chip off ice. But not enough is chipped off to have any great effect.’
They put up the tent and anchored it firmly so that the wind would not blow it away. Then Hal said, ‘Let’s take a walk.’
‘Where?’
‘Out on this glacier.’
‘But the glacier will take us out and drop us into the sea.’
‘I think we can get off in time,’ said Hal. ‘It only moves very slowly.’
So they walked on the groaning, grinding glacier, which was not as smooth as they expected. It had many furrows and ridges and holes. Roger got tired and went back to the tent. He crawled into his sleeping bag to warm up. He took a nap — then was roused by a scream louder than the crashing of icebergs.
He jumped out to see what was going on. He saw his brother falling through space. Hal had gone out too far on the glacier as it reached out over the sea, and when it broke off he went down with it. There, far below, was Hal floating away on an iceberg.
What could Roger do? Even if he could get down the 300-foot cliff he could do nothing. Hal’s berg was already too far away.
‘If only I had a boat,’ Roger thought.
There must be someone, somewhere, living on top of this cliff. Roger ran north through deep snow. He did just what Hal had warned him against. He began to sweat, and the sweat turned to ice. Now he was an ice man and could hardly move his joints. There was no sign of a house or hut or igloo. No one was fool enough to live here.
He turned about and ran south. All he accomplished was to make more sweat which turned into more ice on his body.
He looked out to sea, hoping he could signal a ship. There was no ship to be seen. No ship was likely to sail into this ocean of icebergs.
He must do something about this coat of ice he was wearing. It was getting more and more difficult to move.
He went into the tent and lit the little camp stove. Then he took off all of his clothes and stood as stiff as a statue while his icy armour began to melt. When it had turned to water and run off him he dried himself with a towel and dressed. Then he went out and looked but he could not see Hal now. His iceberg had floated too far away.
He felt like crying but he was too old to cry. He was a big boy and a big boy should be able to do something. But he was helpless. He went back inside and got into his sleeping bag.
He could not sleep. Every time he was about to drift off he thought someone had left him all alone at the North Pole.
‘Never mind,’ he told himself. ‘When Hal
Hal replied, ‘There’s no north-flowing current here as there was on the other coast to warm it up a little bit. On this side there’s nothing but cold current coming from the north.’
Roger drew his parka around over his face. His breath made his face damp. He pulled his parka away in order to see. At once the moisture on his skin froze and his face was encased in ice. Even his eyelids were frozen together. He could dimly see through his lashes.
‘Why did that happen?’ he wanted to know.
‘It’s a lot colder here than on the ice cap,’ said Hal.
‘I’ll run around and get warm,’ Roger said.
‘You’d better not. You will sweat and the sweat will turn to ice. Then you’ll be covered from top to toe with ice.’
Crash, crash, crash. More and more icebergs where there were plenty already.
‘What good are icebergs anyhow?’ Roger said. ‘Why don’t the engineers find a way to prevent them?’
‘They have tried,’ said Hal. ‘They have shot them with cannon. They have bombed them. They’ve drilled and blasted them. They have painted them black to make them melt more quickly. All these measures have failed.’
‘But surely they must melt after a while.’
‘Yes, after a while. But it’s a good long while. An iceberg will last more than a year. Very large icebergs take much longer to melt. Some bergs are seven hundred feet high and weigh eight million tons. They may last for years. Storms make them crash into each other and chip off ice. But not enough is chipped off to have any great effect.’
They put up the tent and anchored it firmly so that the wind would not blow it away. Then Hal said, ‘Let’s take a walk.’
‘Where?’
‘Out on this glacier.’
‘But the glacier will take us out and drop us into the sea.’
‘I think we can get off in time,’ said Hal. ‘It only moves very slowly.’
So they walked on the groaning, grinding glacier, which was not as smooth as they expected. It had many furrows and ridges and holes. Roger got tired and went back to the tent. He crawled into his sleeping bag to warm up. He took a nap — then was roused by a scream louder than the crashing of icebergs.
He jumped out to see what was going on. He saw his brother falling through space. Hal had gone out too far on the glacier as it reached out over the sea, and when it broke off he went down with it. There, far below, was Hal floating away on an iceberg.
What could Roger do? Even if he could get down the 300-foot cliff he could do nothing. Hal’s berg was already too far away.
‘If only I had a boat,’ Roger thought.
There must be someone, somewhere, living on top of this cliff. Roger ran north through deep snow. He did just what Hal had warned him against. He began to sweat, and the sweat turned to ice. Now he was an ice man and could hardly move his joints. There was no sign of a house or hut or igloo. No one was fool enough to live here.
He turned about and ran south. All he accomplished was to make more sweat which turned into more ice on his body.
He looked out to sea, hoping he could signal a ship. There was no ship to be seen. No ship was likely to sail into this ocean of icebergs.
He must do something about this coat of ice he was wearing. It was getting more and more difficult to move.
He went into the tent and lit the little camp stove. Then he took off all of his clothes and stood as stiff as a statue while his icy armour began to melt. When it had turned to water and run off him he dried himself with a towel and dressed. Then he went out and looked but he could not see Hal now. His iceberg had floated too far away.
He felt like crying but he was too old to cry. He was a big boy and a big boy should be able to do something. But he was helpless. He went back inside and got into his sleeping bag.
He could not sleep. Every time he was about to drift off he thought someone had left him all alone at the North Pole.
‘Never mind,’ he told himself. ‘When Hal
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