“Chief, Ay no ban sick, Ay ban vatched! Dere ban mutiny on foot here!”
Mutiny? I stared at Iversen incredulously. The men were having a veritable hell in their life there in the Arctic, but what could they gain by mutiny? And who would lead it? For an instant I had a vague suspicion, but I resolutely put that out of my mind. Preposterous! I looked at Iversen intently. But there could be no doubt as to his sincerity. He was serious, all right.
I pushed him down into a chair, ordered sharply,
“Wait there, Nelse! I’ll get the captain!” and closing the door behind me, I shot out of the dispensary and across the cabin to the captain’s stateroom forward in the poop. Fortunately De Long was there, writing in his journal.
“Come with me, skipper. I want you to hear something. Right away!”
Puzzled unquestionably at my haste, De Long dropped his pen, put down his meerschaum pipe, stretched his six-foot frame up out of his chair, and reached for his parka.
“No, you don’t need that, captain; just as you are. We’re only going to the dispensary.”
“Oh, all right. Who’s hurt now?”
“Nobody, but come along!” I started back for the dispensary with De Long following, puffing leisurely at the retrieved meerschaum which was his greatest comfort and his inseparable companion.
Iversen started up from his chair as we entered, saluted the captain, and again swiftly scanned the cabin outside before he closed the door.