Captain Helding of the Wanderer, accompanied by his officers, entered the hut, in high spirits at the prospect of a change.  Behind them, lounging in slowly by himself, was a dark, sullen, heavy-browed man.  He neither spoke, nor offered his hand to anybody:  he was the one person present who seemed to be perfectly indifferent to the fate in store for him.  This was the man whom his brother officers had nicknamed the Bear of the Expedition.  In other words—­Richard Wardour.

Crayford advanced to welcome Captain Helding.  Frank, remembering the friendly reproof which he had just received, passed over the other officers of the Wanderer, and made a special effort to be civil to Crayford’s friend.

“Good-morning, Mr. Wardour,” he said.  “We may congratulate each other on the chance of leaving this horrible place.”

“You may think it horrible,” Wardour retorted; “I like it.”

“Like it?  Good Heavens! why?”

“Because there are no women here.”

Frank turned to his brother officers, without making any further advances in the direction of Richard Wardour.  The Bear of the Expedition was more unapproachable than ever.

In the meantime, the hut had become thronged by the able-bodied officers and men of the two ships.  Captain Helding, standing in the midst of them, with Crayford by his side, proceeded to explain the purpose of the contemplated expedition to the audience which surrounded him.

He began in these words: 

“Brother officers and men of the Wanderer and Sea-mew, it is my duty to tell you, very briefly, the reasons which have decided Captain Ebsworth and myself on dispatching an exploring party in search of help.  Without recalling all the hardships we have suffered for the last two years—­the destruction, first of one of our ships, then of the other; the death of some of our bravest and best companions; the vain battles we have been fighting with the ice and snow, and boundless desolation of these inhospitable regions—­without dwelling on these things, it is my duty to remind you that this, the last place in which we have taken refuge, is far beyond the track of any previous expedition, and that consequently our chance of being discovered by any rescuing parties that may be sent to look after us is, to say the least of it, a chance of the most uncertain kind.  You all agree with me, gentlemen, so far?”

The officers (with the exception of Wardour, who stood apart in sullen silence) all agreed, so far.

The captain went on.

“It is therefore urgently necessary that we should make another, and probably a last, effort to extricate ourselves.  The winter is not far off, game is getting scarcer and scarcer, our stock of provisions is running low, and the sick—­especially, I am sorry to say, the sick in the Wanderer’s hut—­are increasing in number day by day.  We must look to our own lives, and to the lives of those who are dependent on us; and we have no time to lose.”