And in the channel which led out of this bay the ice had piled
itself up into a high wall. The waves in their free play outside
continually cast up floating ice upon it.

In the sound between the skerries there was a swarm of sails. All
the fishing-boats which had lain icebound off Marstrand were now
streaming out. The sea ran high and blocks of ice still floated
among the waves, but the fishermen seemed to think they had no
time to wait for safe and calm water, and they had set sail. They
stood in the bows of their boats and kept a sharp lookout. Small
blocks of ice they fended off with an oar, but when the big ones
came they put the helm over and bore away. On the high poop of the
gallias the skipper stood and watched them. He could see that they
had their troubles, but he saw too that one boat after another
wriggled through and came out into the open sea.

And when the skipper saw the sails gliding over the blue water, he
felt his disappointment so bitterly that tears came into his eyes.

But his ship lay still, and before him the wall of ice was piling
up higher and higher.

The sea outside bore not only ships and boats, but sometimes small
white icebergs came floating past. They were big ice-floes that
had been thrown one upon another and were now sailing southward.
They shone like silver in the morning sun, and now and then they
showed as pink as though they had been strewed with roses.

But high up among the whistling of the wind loud cries were heard,
now like singing voices, now like pealing trumpets. There was a