"The coating of ice has saved them, as it has preserved everything on board—from decay, at least," replied his brother.
"Always thinking of that ship," said I, with an air of annoyance. "Come, let us talk of something more cheerful. You know that she—but where is she?" I added, as we swept the horizon in vain for her—the sole object on which our eyes had rested for so many dreary weeks.
"Sunk, by Jove! or can her old spars have gone by the board at last?" exclaimed James Abbot, starting up.
In great excitement we clambered to the summit of a mass of ice, and looked around us. Not a vestige of the old barque could be seen, but dense clouds that came heavily up from the north were overspreading the sky, against the blue of which her crystal-coated spars had so long been visible.
"We shall have foul weather," said Dick Abbot.
"And so they seem to think, sir, aboard the brig," added his brother: "see—they've run the ensign up to the gaff peak as a signal for us to return, Mr. Manly."
"But our three seals——"
"We must leave them where they are—that big hummock will mark where they lie till to-morrow."
"James is right, sir," said Dick Abbot; "let us get back to the brig as fast as we can."
"She is two miles distant, at least," said I.