frigate rob his beautiful companion.

In such idle observations and the vague wonders that arose from them,
the days passed. An interminable game of cards progressed in the
cabin, in which I occasionally took a hand. Gedge and Lying Bill
exchanged reminiscences. McHenry drank steadily. The future governor
of the Marquesas added a _galon_ to his sleeves, marking his advance
to a first lieutenancy in the French colonial army. He was a very
soft, sleek man, a little worn already, his black hair a trifle thin,
but he was plump, his skin white as milk, and his jetty beard and
mustache elaborately cared for. He was much before the mirror,
combing and brushing and plucking. Compared to us unkempt wretches,
he was as a dandy to a tramp.

The ice, which was packed in boxes of sawdust on deck, afforded one
cold drink in which to toast the gallant future governor, and that
was the last of it. At night the Tahitian sailors helped themselves,
and we bade farewell to ice until once more we saw Papeite.

It was no refreshment to reflect that had we dredging apparatus long
enough we could procure from the sea-bottom buckets of ooze that
would have cooled our drinks almost to the freezing point.
Scientists have done this. Lying Bill was loth to believe the story
and the explanation, that an icy stream flows from the Antarctic
through a deep valley in the sea-depths.

"It's contrar-iry to nature," he affirmed. "The depper you go the
'otter it is. In mines the 'eat is worse the farther down. And 'ow
about 'ell?"