"What is your opinion, Bob, about the men?" asked Captain Sumner, as Bob took his place at the table. "I mean the rascals I had to iron up last week."
"Well, sir," replied our hero, "they seem to go about their duty all right, but after our experience, we must never trust them."
"It's that scoundrel, Nockey, that I mistrust. The others are more fools than knaves. He will never forgive that flogging I gave him."
"It served him all right," broke in Bob. "When we gave them the choice of taking a couple of dozen or going ashore, not one hesitated."
"Well, even now, we have only eight hands and ourselves."
"What do you mean to do, papa?" broke in Viola. "Surely not go further among these dreadful icebergs? I have read that ships are often crushed by them."
"I should be only too glad to be out of these regions, dear; but, with the wind and current against us, I don't know what to do."
As soon as breakfast was finished the captain went on deck. His eye rested on the floe to the westward.
"Where are your eyes, you Irish lubber?" he shouted to the steersman. "Don't you see yon ice closing in on us? You ought to have let me know of this."
"Blest if I can see much change," muttered Bok.