“Bravo!—bravo, captain! Capitally done!” cried the doctor. “As fine a bit of seamanship as ever I saw; but you need not have made us so wet!”
“Thanky, sir!” I said, for I was so taken aback and surprised that I didn’t know what to say, the more so that Abram Bostock, Scudds, and the rest of them took their tone from the doctor, nodded their heads, and said, “Very well done, indeed!”
I didn’t believe it at first, till I had had the pump well sounded; but the ship was quite right, and as sound as ever, so that half an hour after we had made sail, and were leaving the iceberg far behind.
It was some time before I could feel sure that it wasn’t all a dream; but the cool way in which the doctor took it all served to satisfy me, and I soon had enough to take up my attention in the management of the ship.
For the next fortnight we were sailing or steaming on past floating ice, with the greatest care needed to avoid collision or being run down. Then we had foul weather, rain, and fog, and snowstorm, and the season seeming to get colder and colder for quite another fortnight, when it suddenly changed, and we had bright skies, constant sunshine night and day, and steamed slowly on through the pack ice.
The doctor grew more confidential as we got on, telling me of the jealousy with which he had watched the discoveries of other men, and how, for years, he had determined that Curley and Pole should be linked together. He said that there was no doubt about the open Polar Sea, and that if we could once get through the pack ice into it, the rest of the task was easy.
“But suppose, when we’ve got up there, we get frozen in, doctor?” I said.
“Well, what then?” he answered. “We can wait, till we are thawed out.”
“Perhaps all dead,” I said.
“Pooh, my dear sir! No such thing. Freezing merely means a suspension of the faculties. I will give you an example soon.”