"Yes, yes!" answered the sailors.
"Well," said Bolton, "let's go find the commander; I'll undertake to tell him."
The sailors in a dense group made their way to the quarter-deck.
The Forward was then advancing into a large arena, which had a diameter of about eight hundred feet; it was completely closed, with the exception of one place through which the ship entered.
Shandon saw that he was locking himself in. But what was to be done? How could he retreat? He felt all the responsibility, and his hand nervously grasped his glass.
The doctor looked on in silence, with folded arms; he gazed at the walls of ice, the average height of which was about three hundred feet. A cloud of fog lay like a dome above the gulf.
Then it was that Bolton spoke to the commander.
"Commander," said he in a broken voice, "we can't go any farther."
"What's that you are saying?" said Shandon, who felt enraged at the slight given to his authority.