The doctor was silent, for the captain’s remark was too true.
“You must get up your party at once, and set off after breakfast, Mr Bolton,” he added, turning to the first mate. “Who can accompany you?”
“There’s Peter Grim, sir, he’s tough yet, and not much affected by scurvy, and Mr Saunders, I think, may—”
“No,” interrupted the doctor, “Saunders must not go. He does not look very ill, and I hope is not, but I don’t like some of his symptoms.”
“Well, Doctor, we can do without him. There’s Tom Green and O’Riley. Nothing seems able to bring down O’Riley. Then there’s—”
“There’s Fred Ellice,” cried Fred himself, joining the group; “I’ll go with you if you’ll take me.”
“Most happy to have you, sir; our healthy hands are very short, but we can muster sufficient, I think.”
The captain suggested Amos Parr and two or three more men, and then dismissed his first mate to get ready for an immediate start.
“I don’t half like your going, Fred,” said his father. “You’ve not been well lately, and hunting on the floes, I know from experience, is hard work.”
“Don’t fear for me, Father; I’ve quite recovered from my recent attack, which was but slight after all, and I know full well that those who are well must work as long as they can stand.”