“And what idea have you got?”
“That it is not land which lies before us, Mr. Jeorling!”
“What is it you are saying?”
“Look attentively, putting one finger before your eyes—look there—out a—starboard.”
I did as Hurliguerly directed.
“Do you see?” he began again. “May I lose my liking for my grog if these heights do not change place, not with regard to the schooner, but with regard to themselves!”
“And what do you conclude from this?”
“That they are moving icebergs.”
“Icebergs?”
“Sure enough, Mr. Jeorling.”