"Do you fear for his life?" asked Hatteras, quickly.
"Yes, Captain," answered the doctor.
"And why?"
"He has a violent attack of scurvy; his legs have begun to swell, and his gums too; the poor fellow lies half frozen on the sledge, and every movement redoubles his suffering. I pity him, Hatteras, and I can't do anything to relieve him."
"Poor Simpson!" murmured Bell.
"Perhaps we shall have to halt for a day or two," resumed the doctor.
"Halt!" shouted Hatteras, "when the lives of eighteen men are hanging on our return!"
"Still—" said the doctor.
"Clawbonny, Bell, listen to me," said Hatteras; "we have food for only twenty days! Judge for yourselves whether we can stop for a moment!"
Neither the doctor nor Bell made any reply, and the sledge resumed its progress, which had been delayed for a moment. That evening they stopped beneath a hillock of ice, in which Bell at once cut a cavern; the travellers entered it; the doctor passed the night attending to Simpson; the scurvy had already made fearful ravages, and his sufferings caused perpetual laments to issue from his swollen lips.