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This was another question, and I discussed it with the boatswain. “Nobody knows, Mr. Jeorling,” was Hurliguerly’s reply. “If the current goes to the pole, we shall go there; and if it doesn’t, we shan’t. An iceberg isn’t a ship, and as it has neither sails nor helm, it goes as the drift takes it.” “That’s true, boatswain.
The call was repeated in the loudest of Hurliguerly’s stentorian tones. No reply. “Has nobody seen Dirk Peters during the day?” inquired the captain. “Nobody,” answered the boatswain. “Can anything have happened to him?” “Don’t be afraid,” cried the boatswain. “Dirk Peters is in his element, and as much at his ease in the fog as a polar bear.
We were assembled in the cavern, with the exception of the boatswain, waiting for our breakfast, which Endicott was preparing, and were about to take our places at table, when we heard a call from outside. The voice was Hurliguerly’s, and we hurried out. On seeing us, he cried, “Come come quickly!”
There was good sense in Hurliguerly’s words; I could not deny the fact. During that day the greater part of the cargo was placed in the interior of a vast cave-like fissure in the side of the iceberg, where, even in case of a second collision, casks and barrels would be in safety.
Did the crew intend to yield to Hurliguerly’s argument, or would they try to resist if the Halbrane went on in the direction of the icebergs? Captain Len Guy took up his telescope again, and turned it upon these moving masses; he observed them with much attention, and cried out in a loud voice, “Steer south-sou’-west!” West gave orders to execute the manoeuvres. The sailors hesitated an instant.
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