Крижаний сфінкс
Chapter XIX. Land?
“Sir,”hewouldhavesaidtome,“thisisnottheway!No,thisisnottheway!”AndhowcouldIhaveansweredhim?
Towardsseveno’clockintheeveningaratherthickmistarose;thiswouldtendtomakethenavigationoftheschoonerdifficultanddangerous.
Theday,withitsemotionsofanxietyandalternatives,hadwornmeout.SoIreturnedtomycabin,whereIthrewmyselfonmybunkinmyclothes.
Butsleepdidnotcometome,owingtomybesettingthoughts.IwillinglyadmitthattheconstantreadingofEdgarPoe’sworks,andreadingtheminthisplaceinwhichhisheroesdelighted,hadexercisedaninfluenceonmewhichIdidnotfullyrecognize.
To-morrow,theforty-eighthourswouldbeup,thelastconcessionwhichthecrewhadmadetomyentreaties.
“Thingsarenotgoingasyouwish?”theboatswainsaidtomejustasIwasleavingthedeck.
No,certainlynot,sincelandwasnottobeseenbehindthefleetoficebergs.Ifnosignofacoastappearedbetweenthesemovingmasses,CaptainLenGuywouldsteernorthto-morrow.
Ah!wereIonlymasteroftheschooner!IfIcouldhaveboughtitevenatthepriceofallmyfortune,ifthesemenhadbeenmyslavestodrivebythelash,theHalbraneshouldneverhavegivenupthisvoyage,evenifitledhersofarasthepointabovewhichflamestheSouthernCross.
