The Doctor said nothing of his anxieties to his companions, but only urged them to get as far east as possible.
At last, after thirty days' tolerably quick sailing, and after battling for forty-eight hours against the increasing drift ice, and risking the frail sloop a hundred times, the navigators saw themselves blocked in on all sides. Further progress was impossible, for the sea was frozen in every direction, and the thermometer was only 15° above zero.
Altamont made a reckoning with scrupulous precision, and found they were in 77°15' latitude, and 85° 2' longitude.
"This is our exact position then," said the Doctor. "We are in South Lincoln, just at Cape Eden, and are entering Jones' Sound. With a little more good luck, we should have found open water right to Baffin's Bay. But we must not grumble. If my poor Hatteras had found as navigable a sea at first, he would have soon reached the Pole. His men would not have deserted him, and his brain would not have given way under the pressure of terrible trial."
"I suppose, then," said Altamont, "our only course is to leave the sloop, and get by sledge to the east coast of Lincoln."
"Yes; but I think we should go through Jones' Sound, and get to South Devon instead of crossing Lincoln."
"Why?"
"Because the nearer we get to Lancaster Sound, the more chance we have of meeting whalers."
"You are right; but I question whether the ice is firm enough to make it practicable."
"We'll try," replied Clawbonny.