The obvious and dispassionate reasoning of the lieutenant could not fail to impress the minds of those who listened to him; the impracticability of the journey became more and more apparent; unprotected on that drear expanse, any traveler must assuredly succumb to the snow-drifts that were continually being whirled across it. But Hector Servadac, animated by the generous desire of rescuing a suffering fellow-creature, could scarcely be brought within the bounds of common sense. Against his better judgment he was still bent upon the expedition, and Ben Zoof declared himself ready to accompany his master in the event of Count Timascheff hesitating to encounter the peril which the undertaking involved. But the count entirely repudiated all idea of shrinking from what, quite as much as the captain, he regarded as a sacred duty, and turning to Lieutenant Procope, told him that unless some better plan could be devised, he was prepared to start off at once and make the attempt to skate across to Formentera. The lieutenant, who was lost in thought, made no immediate reply. “I wish we had a sledge,” said Ben Zoof. “I dare say that a sledge of some sort could be contrived,” said the count; “but then we should have no dogs or reindeers to draw it.” “Why not rough-shoe the two horses?” “They would never be able to endure the cold,” objected the count. “Never mind,” said Servadac, “let us get our sledge and put them to the test. Something must be done!” “I think,” said Lieutenant Procope, breaking his thoughtful silence, “that I can tell you of a sledge already provided for your hand, and I can suggest a motive power surer and swifter than horses.” “What do you mean?” was the eager inquiry. “I mean the _Dobryna_‘s yawl,” answered the lieutenant; “and I have no doubt that the wind would carry her rapidly along the ice.” The idea seemed admirable. Lieutenant Procope was well aware to what marvelous perfection the Americans had brought their sail-sledges, and had heard how in the vast prairies of the United States they had been known to outvie the speed of an express train, occasionally attaining a rate of more than a hundred miles an hour. The wind was still blowing hard from the south, and assuming that the yawl could be propelled with a velocity of about fifteen or at least twelve leagues an hour, he reckoned that it was quite possible to reach Formentera within twelve hours, that is to say, in a single day between the intervals of sunrise and sunrise.