Крижаний сфінкс
Chapter XIX. Land?
DirkPeters,Hardy,MartinHoltandEndicott,thelatterwithhisblackfacequitevacant,wereclingingtothestarboardshrouds.
Amancamecreepinguptome,becausetheslopeofthedeckpreventedhimfromholdinghimselfupright:itwasHurliguerly,workinghimselfalongwithhishandslikeatop-manonayard.
Stretchedoutatfulllength,myfeetproppedupagainstthejambofthedoor,Iheldoutmyhandtotheboatswain,andhelpedhim,notwithoutdifficulty,tohoisthimselfupnearme.
“Whatiswrong?”Iasked.“Astranding,Mr.Jeorling.”
“Weareashore!”
“Ashorepresupposesland,”repliedtheboatswainironically,“andsofaraslandgoestherewasneveranyexceptinthatrascalDirkPeters’imagination.”
“Buttellme—whathashappened?”
“Wecameuponaniceberginthemiddleofthefog,andwereunabletokeepclearofit.”
“Aniceberg,boatswain?”
“Yes,aniceberg,whichhaschosenjustnowtoturnheadoverheels.Inturning,itstrucktheHalbraneandcarrieditoffjustasabattledorecatchesashuttlecock,andnowhereweare,strandedatcertainlyonehundredfeetabovetheleveloftheAntarcticSea.
