'For their own sakes. Who'd lock a dog up there?' said the man, running the length of his wet bare arm along his streaming forehead ''Tain't imagined here, with the pitch 'twixt the seams like suet, and the paint-work blistering into scabs. I've been off the larger of them islands five times. Yer wouldn't know 'em from icebergs, 'cept for here and there a piece of naked black rock showing where ice hadn't formed or snow couldn't keep a hold of.'
'Could a boat land?' I exclaimed, scarcely bearing to hear him when he talked like that.
'Why yes, sir. This time of the year—watching a smooth—'tain't always what they calls weather down there; but it's b—— cold.'
'Were ye ever ashore on them islands?' inquired the captain.
'No, sir.'
'Did your ship send a boat ashore?' I asked.
'The last time I was off them rocks a boat was sent and she came back again; they was nearly capsized, and that was all they did.'
'Describe the land,' said I.
His recollection, however, was not very clear. He talked of tall ice cliffs and of a huge dim mountain far inland; and of peaks and projections showing and disappearing amidst storms of snow.