'Did you see nothing whatever to hint at there being life on board?' I exclaimed.
'Nothin',' he answered; 'she hung betwixt thirty and forty foot high above the wash of the sea, on a big ledge of ice, with the white cliffs going up behind her. Haow she so perched herself beats all my going a-fishing; onless the ice jerked her up into it, for when them bergs are took with convulsions their tricks are queerer than their shapes by su'thin', and that's a fact.'
'You saw nothing to hint at life on board?' I repeated.
He shook his head with solemn emphasis.
'Your mate saw nothing?'
Again he wagged his head.
'Captain, tell me—you are an old hand—could people support life in that craft as she lies there, supposing her to have been stranded since July last?'
'No, I reckon.'
'But would not the people on seeing your ship pass have made a smoke, have shown some signal, that you could report life as helpless there since you could not rescue it?'
'Wal,' he answered, 'supposing folks aboard, thee's not to reckon they'd be always keeping a look-out. It's mighty cold down thar, an' they'll be mostly sitting under hatches, an' if they've been thar since July, as thee says, they'll have growed a little tired, I guess, by this here time of watching for su'thin' to happen.'