Next a grapnel was tried. The small boat was forced through the slush ice at the foot of the berg until a place was found where a little ledge in the shoulder seemed to offer a chance for ahold. The grapnel was thrown, but it slid off into the water. Again and again the effort was repeated. Each time it failed. The hooks of the grapnel would not catch in the slippery ice.
The backlash of the sea constantly showered the small boat with spray. All hands were soaked. The firing batteries became wet and useless, and the lieutenant put back to the Iroquois for fresh ones.
“I’m going to try the Brawiet a again,” he called up to the commander, after making known his need for dry batteries.
“Captain Hardwick,” said Henry, “why not shoot a line over that berg? Then one could hang a mine on the other end of it on the far side of the berg.”
The captain leaned over the rail of the cutter and called down to the lieutenant: “Never mind about the grapnel. Our able third-class radio man says to shoot a line over the berg, so bend your energies to that. I’ll get you a shoulder gun. It’s worth trying.” He sent a man for both the battery and the gun, and the two were passed into the rowboat.
Back to the berg went the little craft. When