"'My first officer, William Clydesdale, an Englishman, and a college man before strong drink ruined him, pronounced the ivory to be that of the tusks of the extinct mammoths which scientists say formerly inhabited these regions.'"
"Phew! This is romance with a vengeance!" exclaimed Rob.
"Did they get the ivory?" asked the practical Paul Perkins.
"Yes," rejoined the officer, rapidly skimming over the further pages of the log, "and they estimated the stuff roughly at about five hundred thousand dollars' worth of exceptional quality."
"How did the ship get frozen in the ice?" asked Hiram. "The Viking ship, I mean."
"Who can tell," returned the ensign. "I have heard of such things at the North Pole. Several explorers have even brought back fragments of the Norseman's lost craft; but I never heard of such an occurrence transpiring in the Antarctic regions. But let's read on."
The log continued to tell of hardships encountered in beating back around the Horn with the valuable cargo; of discontent of the crew; of their constant demand to have the hoard divided equally among the officers and men, and of the captain's refusal to accede to their requests. Finally the entries began to grow short and disconnected, as if whoever was writing up the log was on constant watch and had little time to spare. Indeed, one entry read:
"Mutiny threatens constantly. The men mean to seize the ivory and take to the boats."
Following that no entries were made for several days. Then came a startling announcement, both in its brevity and suggestiveness of tragedy.