As there was no wood for fuel, we used an armful of our own kindling, which we had brought for just such occasions, and while drinking hot coffee we discussed the past, and the prospect of the future.
"I am absolutely certain of success," said Torrence; "nothing but an air ship can reach the pole, and an air ship has never yet tried to get there. What's the use of an old water-tank endeavoring to screw her way through a continent of ice. She might as well run her nose against Gibraltar, in the hope of coming out on the other side. The mystery to me is why no one has ever tried this before."
"You're not there yet, old man," I answered; "don't crow before you're out of the woods."
"Ah!" said Torrence, smiling, "I believe the worst wood we had to get out of was London; and having shot the rapids at Gravesend, I think we can go the rest of the way."
I was quite as enthusiastic as he, but being without his knowledge, had not the same convictions.
"And so Spitzbergen will be our next stopping place?" I observed, between mouthfuls of coffee.
"Yes, when we shoot off this cliff to the northward we'll set neither eye nor foot on land for five hundred miles. So make the most of this boggy sward while we have it. Five hundred miles to the north of this is pretty far north—and then——"
"And then our real journey begins," I interrupted.
"You may say so," he answered, broiling a piece of bacon with a fork over the coals. "Certainly the most interesting part begins after leaving Spitzbergen. I flatter myself that the entire voyage from that point will be one of unusual interest."
I had every confidence in our ability to reach the pole, for without the difficulty of ice to encounter, I could see no good reason why we should not. Moreover, the season of the year would insure pleasant weather in high latitudes; there would probably be no detention, as in other expeditions, and it seemed a reasonable presumption that we should reach 90° north, while the summer was yet at its height.