firm in the conviction that it ran south.

"There's no use rowing any more," said Agnew. "If it runs south we
can't resist it. It's too strong. But I always like to look on the
bright side, and so I believe it runs north. In that case there is no
use rowing, for it will carry us along fast enough."

Then I proposed that we should go ashore on the ice. To this Agnew
objected, but afterward consented, at my earnest request. So we tried
to get ashore, but this time found it impossible; for the ice
consisted of a vast sheet of floating lumps, which looked like the
ruin of bergs that had been broken up in some storm. After this I had
nothing to say, nor was there anything left for us but to drift
wherever the current might carry us.

So we drifted for some days, Agnew all the time maintaining that we
were going north, while I was sure that we were going south. The sky
remained as cloudy as ever, the wind varied incessantly, and there was
nothing by which we could conjecture the points of the compass. We
lived on our seal, and for drink we chewed ice and snow. One thing was
certain--the climate was no colder. Agnew laid great stress on this.

"You see," said he, "we must be going north. If we were going south we
should be frozen stiff by this time."

"Yes; but if we were going north," said I, "we ought to find it
growing warmer."

"No," said he, "not with all this ice around us. It's the ice that
keeps the temperature in this cold state."