apidly.

At last the crew were completely worn out by their labours in hauling
the vessel alongside of the ice-fields and by keeping it free from
the most menacing blocks by the aid of long perches. Nevertheless,
the _Forward_ was still held back in the impassable limits of the
Polar Circle on Friday, the 27th of April.

CHAPTER VIII

GOSSIP OF THE CREW

However, the _Forward_ managed, by cunningly slipping into narrow
passages, to gain a few more minutes north; but instead of avoiding
the enemy, it was soon necessary to attack it. The ice-fields, several
miles in extent, were getting nearer, and as these moving heaps often
represent a pressure of more than ten millions of tons, it was
necessary to give a wide berth to their embraces. The ice-saws were
at once installed in the interior of the vessel, in such a manner
as to facilitate immediate use of them. Part of the crew
philosophically accepted their hard work, but the other complained
of it, if it did not refuse to obey. At the same time that they assisted
in the installation of the instruments, Garry, Bolton, Pen and Gripper
exchanged their opinions.

"By Jingo!" said Bolton gaily, "I don't know why the thought strikes
me that there's a very jolly tavern in Water-street where it's
comfortable to be between a glass of gin and a bottle of porter. Can't
you imagine it, Gripper?"

"To tell you the truth," quickly answered the questioned sailor, who
generally professed to be in a bad temper, "I don't imagine it here."

"It's for the sake of talking, Gripper; it's evident that the snow
towns Dr. Clawbonny admires so don't contain the least public where
a poor sailor can get a half-pint of brandy."

"That's sure enough, Bolton; and you may as well add that there's
nothing worth drinking here. It's a nice idea to deprive men of their
grog when they are in the Northern Seas."

"But you know," said Garry, "that the doctor told us it was to prevent
us getting the scurvy. It's the only way to make us go far."

"But I don't want to go far, Garry; it's pretty well to have come
this far without trying to go where the devil is determined we shan't."

"Well, we shan't go, that's all," replied Pen. "I declare I've almost
forgotten the taste of gin."

"But remember what the doctor says," replied Bolton.

"It's all very fine for them to talk. It remains to be seen if it
isn't an excuse for being skinny with the drink."

"Pen may be right, after all," said Gri