“Well, turn in, lads,” said the doctor; “we’ll hunt out another to-morrow.”
“So we will,” said the lads. “Who’s afeard?”
“Nobody!” growled Bostock. “I say, doctor, what’s the difference between these and ghosts?”
“These, my men,” began the doctor, “are scientific specimens, while your ghost is but a foolish hallucination of the—Bless me, how rude!—the fellow’s asleep.”
And the rest were soon in the same condition. Early the next morning, though, the doctor gave the order, “Strike tents!” and we journeyed on a couple of miles along the edge of the great crater, looking curiously down the mysterious slope, at the pale, thin mist far below.
“I should like to go down,” said the doctor, looking longingly at the great hollow; “but it won’t do; there’s the getting back, and I should be such a loss to the scientific world. Hallo! here’s another.”
He pointed to the clearly-seen figure of a man underneath the ice, and the men, having now become familiar to such sights, set to laughingly, and were saved much trouble, for the ice cracked away from the figure, and after a few strokes they were able to lift the body out, and lay it in the sun, where, before many minutes had passed, it made the motion of taking snuff, and then ejaculated—
“Declare to goodness!”
“Take a nip, mate,” said Abram Bostock, handing a tot of rum; but the figure waved it away.
“Who are you?” said the doctor. “How did you get here? Don’t say you’ve already discovered the North Pole.”