"I am very sure of that, Mr Chisel, and hope that we may still overcome the leaks, if the sea continues tolerably smooth," observed the commander. "But we must not let the pumps be idle." He said this in a cheerful tone, that those who overheard the carpenter's report might not lose heart. The ship was now standing out clear of the ice, and being thus more exposed than before to the sea, which rolled in from the northward, began to labour heavily. In a short time the carpenter again reported that the water had gained another foot on the pumps in spite of the incessant way they had been kept going. The commander now summoned the superior officers round him, though what was said was not generally known. The first-lieutenant instantly collecting a party of men, led them between-decks, where, aided by some of the soldiers, they at once set to work to heave overboard such heavy stores and provisions as could be got at. Everything that had been received at the Cape was thrown overboard. The purser was in despair. "Remember, Tobin," he observed, "we have got all these mouths to feed. We may as well drown at first as starve." "You are right, purser," answered the first-lieutenant. "We will get up what provisions we can, and place them on the upper deck. They will soon be destroyed if they remain where they are." At length the ship got clear of the ice, and now the crew were piped below to snatch a hasty meal, those only required to work the rudder and the pump gangs remaining on duty. Matters did not change much till the sun went down in a bank of dark clouds, its rays casting a ruddy glow across the western sky. As darkness came on, the wind increased, the waters becoming covered with crests of foam, which danced and hissed around the ship. No one could be ignorant of their dangerous position; but in spite of it, most of the weary seamen and soldiers not actually on duty turned into their berths to sleep. The officers did so likewise, though they were aware that it might perhaps be the last sleep they should ever enjoy. Two persons, however, did not for a moment retire to their berths, the commander of the ship and the colonel of the regiment. Both felt that the lives of the people under them had been committed to their charge. The commander remained on deck to take advantage of any change for the better which might occur, or to guard against any fresh accident; and the colonel, that he might go among his men labouring at the pumps, and encourage them to persevere in their duty. The hammocks had been piped down as usual, and most of the men turned into them all standing. Willy Dicey had done the same, though, weary as he was, he could not for some time go to sleep--an unusual event in a midshipman's career. He was thinking of home and the loved ones there, and those voyaging like himself; and when he did sleep, he continued dreaming of, that same home, and of his brother and sisters, now probably far distant from it.