"Of course, my lad," was the reply; and the engine was reversed, the _Hvalross_ backing away from the glittering ice cliff, in which the waves were working gigantic honeycombs of the most delicate sapphire blue, in and out of which the waters raced and made strange sucking and splashing sounds, peculiarly suggestive of savage sea monsters gliding in and out and playing amidst the icy caverns. Then, with her head to the south, she glided swiftly back, retracing the ground already passed over, leaving the bears still busy amongst the rocks, too much engrossed to give them even a passing look; and soon after they were once more abreast of the wreck, and gliding south, but with the engine slowed once more and the man in the chains busy with the lead. CHAPTER EIGHT. DISAPPOINTMENT. There was no fear of being overtaken by the darkness of night, for the sun shone brilliantly, as if to make up for the long dreary time that it was hidden from the face of the earth; and its genial warmth had so great an effect upon the spirits of the men that they were all alert and eager for action, watching the shore intently for traces of the crew of the wrecked vessel, and for a break in the tremendous waves where a boat could get to shore in safety. Even the dog partook of the general feeling of exhilaration, rushing frantically about the deck, charging at the sailors open-mouthed, with his frill set up round his neck, and when apparently about to seize them thrusting his muzzle down close to the deck and rolling over and over. They glided on as near to the line of breakers as it was safe, the steam giving Captain Marsham such complete control over the movements of the vessel that Steve pointed out the fact triumphantly to Andrew McByle. "Ay," he said, "she's ferry goot in her way, the hot watter, but gie me sails. Where wad she pe if ta fire went oot?" "And where wad she pe if ta wind went doon?" cried Steve, out of patience with the man's obstinacy. "Tat's ferry pad language, Meester Steve Young, sir. Ton't you try to imitate ta gran' Gaelic tongue, pecause she can never to it. She'd have to pe porn north o' Glasgie to speak ta gran' Gaelic tongue proper." "Then you shouldn't be so obstinate," said Steve, somewhat abashed. "Call that dog down, my lad," cried the captain, "or he'll be overboard!" For Skene had leaped up on the bowsprit, made his way from there on to the bulwarks, and was running along the top wherever it was clear of rope or shroud, barking with all his might at the astonished birds which came wheeling round the ship, swooping so low at times that they nearly brushed the dog with their long grey wings, making him snap at them vainly.