"Do? Sure, sit tight for a bit," replied the seaman. "'Tis certain death to go out with this blizzard blowing. When the weather moderates, some of us will have to go for assistance. Have you any notion of how far we be from the inlet, Master Guy?"
"Only three miles, I think."
"Only three miles? You don't know what three miles means in these parts when you've got to foot every inch of the way. So I make so bold as to suggest that we tidy up a bit and wait."
"Suppose we are buried in the snow?" asked Leslie.
"Sure, we're that already," rejoined O'Donovan. "That's why it's so warm here considering there's half a dozen holes at least knocked through our hull. We can dig ourselves out in good time. What I don't like is the chance of another of those heavy launches."
O'Donovan's fear of another avalanche was justified, for the glacier was confined between two lowering cliffs from which ice and rubble were continually falling. At intervals the dull roar of the slipping debris could be heard distinctly by the occupants of the cabin.
For the next hour, first aid kept the seven men busily engaged. Then, having seen their patients as comfortable as possible on cushions spread upon the capsized side of the cabin, they prepared a meal.
"Two thousand pounds' worth of good machinery utterly wrecked, old man," said Leslie dolefully, as he examined the motors upon which he had lavished so much care and attention.
Even the stout metal bolts which held the motors to their bed-plates had been unable to withstand the sudden strain. The intricate machinery was only partly visible in a jagged gap in the side of the cabin, while the sulphuric and nitric acids were already eating away every bit of metal work with which they came in contact.
"What's that?" asked Guy anxiously, as a long-drawn creak sounded above his head.