“Faith, yer honor,� rejoined the man at the wheel, a true son of Erin, “it sorra a bit will she walk at all, at all.�
“What ails her?� demanded Carson, his brows gathering in a scowl.
“It’s the southward set of the current, sor, I’m thinking,â€� was the reply. “Divil a bit more north have we made the last hour than I could swing me mother’s ould cat by her tail. It’s wearisome wurruk, sor,—an thirsty, too.â€�
“Well, there’ll be no drinking on this ship,� said Carson sharply, and strode forward. He hung over the bulwarks amidships, watching the icebergs intently. Raynor, at his work in the galley, observed him covertly. He thought Carson appeared worried at the close proximity of the floating mountains of ice.
Before long Raynor summoned him to breakfast. When he came on deck again the icebergs were closer. He turned on the steersman in a spasm of fury.
“You bog trotting land-lubber,� he roared out with stentorian lungs, “where are your eyes?�
“Sure aich side of my nose, like any dacent Christian’s,� rejoined the man.
“Confound your impudence,� thundered Carson, “don’t you see the ice closing in on us.�
“Shure, I couldn’t git overboard and shove it back.�
“You ought to have let me know of this,� growled Carson angrily. He summoned his mate to his side. Raynor contrived an errand that should bring him near them.