However, the Forward managed, by cunningly slipping into narrow passages, to gain a few more minutes north; but instead of avoiding the enemy, it was soon necessary to attack it. The ice-fields, several miles in extent, were getting nearer, and as these moving heaps often represent a pressure of more than ten millions of tons, it was necessary to give a wide berth to their embraces. The ice-saws were at once installed in the interior of the vessel, in such a manner as to facilitate immediate use of them. Part of the crew philosophically accepted their hard work, but the other complained of it, if it did not refuse to obey. At the same time that they assisted in the installation of the instruments, Garry, Bolton, Pen and Gripper exchanged their opinions.

“By Jingo!” said Bolton gaily, “I don’t know why the thought strikes me that there’s a very jolly tavern in Water-street where it’s comfortable to be between a glass of gin and a bottle of porter. Can’t you imagine it, Gripper?”

“To tell you the truth,” quickly answered the questioned sailor, who generally professed to be in a bad temper, “I don’t imagine it here.”

“It’s for the sake of talking, Gripper; it’s evident that the snow towns Dr. Clawbonny admires so don’t contain the least public where a poor sailor can get a half-pint of brandy.”

“That’s sure enough, Bolton; and you may as well add that there’s nothing worth drinking here. It’s a nice idea to deprive men of their grog when they are in the Northern Seas.”

“But you know,” said Garry, “that the doctor told us it was to prevent us getting the scurvy. It’s the only way to make us go far.”

“But I don’t want to go far, Garry; it’s pretty well to have come this far without trying to go where the devil is determined we shan’t.”

“Well, we shan’t go, that’s all,” replied Pen. “I declare I’ve almost forgotten the taste of gin.”

“But remember what the doctor says,” replied Bolton.

“It’s all very fine for them to talk. It remains to be seen if it isn’t an excuse for being skinny with the drink.”

“Pen may be right, after all,” said Gripper.

“His nose is too red for that,” answered Bolton. “Pen needn’t grumble if it loses a little of its colour in the voyage.”

“What’s my nose got to do with you?” sharply replied the sailor, attacked in the most sensitive place. “My nose doesn’t need any of your remarks; take care of your own.”

“Now, then, don’t get angry, Pen; I didn’t know your nose was so touchy. I like a glass of whisky as well as anybody, especially in such a temperature; but if I know it’ll do me more harm than good, I go without.”

“You go without,” said Warren, the stoker; “but everyone don’t go without.”

“What do you mean, Warren?” asked Garry, looking fixedly at him.

“I mean that for some reason or other there are spirits on board, and I know they don’t go without in the stern.”

“And how do you know that?” asked Garry.

Warren did not know what to say: he talked for the sake of talking.

“You see Warren don’t know anything about it, Garry,” said Bolton.

“Well,” said Pen, “we’ll ask the commander for a ration of gin; we’ve earned it well and we’ll see what he says.”

“I wouldn’t if I were you,” answered Garry.

“Why?” cried Pen and Gripper.

“Because he’ll refuse. You knew you weren’t to have any when you enlisted; you should have thought of it then.”

“Besides,” replied Bolton, who took Garry’s part because he liked his character, “Richard Shandon isn’t master on board; he obeys, like us.”

“Who is master if he isn’t?”

“The captain.”

“Always that unfortunate captain!” exclaimed Pen. “Don’t you see that on these ice-banks there’s no more a captain than there is a public? It’s a polite way of refusing us what we’ve a right to claim.”

“But if there’s a captain,” replied Bolton, “I’ll bet two months’ pay we shall see him before long.”

“I should like to tell the captain a bit of my mind,” said Pen.

“Who’s talking about the captain?” said a new-comer. It was Clifton, the sailor, a superstitious and envious man. “Is anything new known about the captain?” he asked.

“No,” they all answered at once.

“Well, I believe we shall find him one fine morning installed in his cabin, and no one will know how he got there.”

“Get along, do!” replied Bolton. “Why, Clifton, you imagine that he’s a hobgoblin — a sort of wild child of the Highlands.”

“Laugh as much as you like, Bolton, you won’t change my opinion. Every day as I pass his cabin I look through the keyhole. One of these fine mornings I shall come and tell you what he’s like.”

“Why, he’ll be like everyone else,” said Pen, “and if he thinks he’ll be able to do what he likes with us, he’ll find himself mistaken, that’s all!”

“Pen don’t know him yet,” said Bolton, “and he’s beginning to quarrel with him already.”

“Who doesn’t know him?” said Clifton, looking knowing; “I don’t know that he don’t!”

“What the devil do you mean?” asked Gripper.

“I know very well what I mean.”

“But we don’t.”

“Well, Pen has quarrelled with him before.”

“With the captain?”

“Yes, the dog-captain — it’s all one.”

The sailors looked at one another, afraid to say anything.

“Man or dog,” muttered Pen, “I declare that that animal will have his account one of these days.”

“Come, Clifton,” asked Bolton seriously, “you don’t mean to say that you believe the dog is the real captain?”

“Indeed I do,” answered Clifton with conviction. “If you noticed things like I do, you would have noticed what a queer beast it is.”

“Well, tell us what you’ve noticed.”

“Haven’t you noticed the way he walks on the poop with such an air of authority, looking up at the sails as if he were on watch?”

“That’s true enough,” added Gripper, “and one evening I actually found him with his paws on the paddle-wheel.”

“You don’t mean it!” said Bolton.

“And now what do you think he does but go for a walk on the ice-fields, minding neither the bears nor the cold?”

“That’s true enough,” said Bolton.

“Do you ever see that ’ere animal, like an honest dog, seek men’s company, sneak about the kitchen, and set his eyes on Mr. Strong when’s he ta............