“There’s Peter Grim, sir; he’s tough yet, and not much affected by scurvy.  And Mr. Saunders, I think, may—­”

“No,” interrupted the doctor, “Saunders must not go.  He does not look very ill, and I hope is not, but I don’t like some of his symptoms.”

“Well, doctor, we can do without him.  There’s Tom Green and O’Riley.  Nothing seems able to bring down O’Riley.  Then there’s—­”

“There’s Fred Ellice,” cried Fred himself, joining the group; “I’ll go with you if you’ll take me.”

“Most happy to have you, sir.  Our healthy hands are very short, but we can muster sufficient, I think.”

The captain suggested Amos Parr and two or three more men, and then dismissed his first mate to get ready for an immediate start.

“I don’t half like your going, Fred,” said his father.  “You’ve not been well lately, and hunting on the floes, I know from experience, is hard work.”

“Don’t fear for me, father; I’ve quite recovered from my recent attack, which was but slight after all, and I know full well that those who are well must work as long as they can stand.”

“Ho, lads! look alive there! are you ready?” shouted the first mate down the hatchway.

“Ay, ay, sir,” replied Grim, and in a few minutes the party were assembled on the ice beside the small sledge with their shoulder-belts on, for most of the dogs were either dead or dying of that strange complaint to which allusion has been made in a previous chapter.

They set out silently, but ere they had got a dozen yards from the ship Captain Guy felt the impropriety of permitting them thus to depart.

“Up, lads, and give them three cheers!” he cried, mounting the ship’s side and setting the example.

A hearty, generous spirit, when vigorously displayed, always finds a ready response from human hearts.  The few sailors who were on deck at the time, and one or two of the sick men who chanced to put their heads up the hatchway, rushed to the side, waved their mittens—­in default of caps—­and gave vent to three hearty British cheers.  The effect on the drooping spirits of the hunting-party was electrical.  They pricked up like chargers that had felt the spur, wheeled round, and returned the cheer with interest.  It was an apparently trifling incident, but it served to lighten the way and make it seem less dreary for many a long mile.

“I’m tired of it intirely,” cried O’Riley, sitting down on a hummock, on the evening of the second day after setting out on the hunt; “here we is, two days out, an’ not a sign o’ life nowhere.”

“Come, don’t give in,” said Bolton cheerfully; “we’re sure to fall in with a walrus to-day.”

“I think so,” cried Fred; “we have come so far out upon the floes that there must be open water near.”

“Come on, then,” cried Peter Grim; “don’t waste time talking.”

Thus urged O’Riley rose, and throwing his sledge-strap over his shoulder, plodded on wearily with the rest.