"Thank God!" said he. And then: "Come on, Billy!"
There was a better light now. Billy Topsail chose a narrower space to leap. And he leaped it safely. And they went on; and on—and on! There was a deal of slippery crawling to do—of slow, ticklish climbing. Doctor Luke and Billy Topsail rounded bergs, scaled perilous inclines, leaped crevices. Sometimes they were bewildered for a space. When the moon broke they could glimpse the Spotted Horses from the highest elevations of the floe. In the depressions of the floe they could not descry the way at all.
It was as cold as death now. Was it ten below? The gale bit like twenty below.
"'Tis twenty below!" Billy Topsail insisted.
Doctor Luke ignored this.
"We're near past the rough ice," said he, gravely.
"Rubber ice ahead," said Billy.
Neither laughed.
"Ay," the Doctor observed; and that was all.