"No, Wall," answered Shandon, with ill-disguised bitterness, "I have made up my mind not to say a word; I am not responsible any longer for the ship; I shall await events; if I receive any commands, I obey, and I don't proclaim my opinions."
"Let me tell you you are wrong, Shandon; for the well-being of all is at stake, and the captain's imprudence may cost us all dear."
"And if I were to speak, Wall, would he listen to me?"
Wall did not dare say he would.
"But," he added, "he would perhaps listen to remonstrances of the crew."
"The crew," said Shandon, shrugging his shoulders; "but, my dear Wall, haven't you noticed that they care for everything else more than for their safety? They know they're getting near latitude 72°, and that a thousand pounds is paid for every degree of latitude beyond which is reached."
"You are right, Shandon," answered Wall, "and the captain has taken the surest means of securing his men."
"Without doubt," answered Shandon; "for the present, at least."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that all will go very well in the absence of all dangers and fatigues, in an open sea; Hatteras has caught them by his money; but what is done for pay is ill done. But once let hardships, dangers, discomfort, sickness, melancholy, and fierce cold stare them in the face,—and we are flying towards them now,—and you will see whether they remember the pay they are to get."