This News Of Wilson's Quite Threw Me On My Back Again.
The Only Consolation Was, That Probably It Was Not True;
So Immediately After Dinner We Boarded The Honest
Sea-Horseman Who Was Reported To Have Brought The Dismal
Intelligence.
He turned out to be a very cheery intelligent
fellow of about five-and-thirty, six feet high, with a
dashing "devil-may-care" manner that completely imposed
upon me.
Charts were got out, and the whole state of the
case laid before me in the clearest manner. Nothing could
be more unpromising. The sloop had quitted the ice but
eight-and-forty hours before making the Norway coast;
she had not been able even to reach Bear Island. Two
hundred miles of ice lay off the southern and western
coast of Spitzbergen - (the eastern side is always blocked
up with ice) - and then bent round in a continuous semicircle
towards Jan Mayen. That they had not failed for want of
exertion - the bows of his ships sufficiently testified.
As to OUR getting there it was out of the question. So
spake the Sea-horseman. On returning on board the "Foam"
I gave myself up to the most gloomy reflections. This,
then, was to be the result of all my preparations and
long-meditated schemes. What likelihood was there of
success, after so unfavourable a verdict? Ipse dixit,
equus marinus. It is true the horse-marines have hitherto
been considered a mythic corps, but my friend was too
substantial-looking for me to doubt his existence:
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