On the 15th of January an observation most carefully taken gave 43° 13' longitude and 88° 17' latitude. The Halbrane was less than two degrees from the pole.
Captain Len Guy did not seek to conceal the result of this observation, and the sailors knew enough of nautical calculation to understand it. Besides, if the consequences had to be explained to them, were not Holt and Hardy there to do this, and Hearne, to exaggerate them to the utmost?
During the afternoon I had indubitable proof that the sealing-master had been working on the minds of the crew. The men, emerging at the foot of the mainmast, talked in whispers and cast evil glances at us. Two or three sailors made threatening gestures undisguisedly; then arose such angry mutterings that West could not feign to be deaf to them.
He strode forward and called out: "Silence, there! The first man who speaks will have to reckon with me!"
Captain Len Guy was shut up in his cabin, but every moment I expected to see him come out, give one last long look around the waste of waters, and then order the ship's course to be reversed. Nevertheless, on the next day the schooner was sailing in the same direction. Unfortunately—for the circumstance had some gravity—a mist was beginning to come down on us. I could not keep still, I confess. My apprehensions were redoubled. It was evident that West was only awaiting the order to change the helm. What mortal anguish soever the captain's must be, I understood too well that he would not give that order without hesitation.
For several days past I had not seen the half-breed, or, at least, I had not exchanged a word with him. He was boycotted by the whole crew, with the exception of the
