"Hallo?" responded Hans Peterkin.
"There is a craft wedged in the ice, sir."
"Where away?"
"About twenty miles off."
"How does she bear?"
"On our lee bow."
"And what do you make her out to be?"
Hammer stood on the main-crosstrees, with his left arm embracing the mast, and through his telescope took a long and steady glance with a somewhat perplexed air at this vessel, which we could not see from the deck.
"She is a brig with her topgallant masts struck."
"Indeed!"