The ship sunk lower and lower in the black ocean, until a glance over the side could tell all too plainly that she was going to her fate.

Now the water begins to ooze through the cracks in the engine-room floor, and break in gentle ripples about the feet of the firemen.

If it rises much higher it will flood the fire-boxes, and then all will be over, for there is not one boat left on the ship--all were landed on the now invisible floe.

But just as all hope was lost there came a faint hissing of steam, the pumps began slowly moving, and then settled down into their monotonous "chug-chug," the sweetest sound, that day, those desperate mariners had ever heard.

They were saved by the narrowest of chances.
[Illustration: ADRIFT ON AN ICE-FLOE] We must pass hastily to the sequel of this seemingly irreparable disaster.
The "Polaris" was beached, winter quarters established, and those who had clung to the ship spent the winter building boats, in which, the following spring, they made their way southward until picked up by a whaler.