for him as for myself. We would go to the end of the world—if the world has an end—did the captain want to go there. True, we two, Dirk Peters and yourself, are but a few to be a law to the others."
"And what do you think of the half-breed?" I asked.
"Well, our men appear to accuse him chiefly of the prolongation of the voyage. You see, Mr. Jeorling, though you have a good deal to do with it, you pay, and pay well, while this crazy fellow, Dirk Peters, persists in asserting that his poor Pym is still living—his poor Pym who was drowned, or frozen, or crushed—killed, anyhow, one way or another, eleven years ago!"
So completely was this my own belief that I never discussed the subject with the half-breed.
"You see, Mr. Jeorling," resumed the boatswain, "at the first some curiosity was felt about Dirk Peters. Then, after he saved Martin Holt, it was interest. Certainly, he was no more talkative than before, and the bear came no oftener out of his den! But now we know what he is, and no one likes him the better for that. At all events it was he who induced our captain, by talking of land to the south of Tsalal Island, to make this voyage, and it is owing to him that he has reached the eighty-sixth degree of latitude."
"That is quite true, boatswain."
"And so, Mr. Jeorling, I am always afraid that one of these days somebody will do Peters an ill turn."
"Dirk Peters would defend himself, and I should pity the man who laid a finger on him."
"Quite so. It would not be good for anybody to be in his hands, for they could bend iron! But then, all being against him, he would be forced into the hold."
