Worse
than all, the tide continued to rise, and when it reached half-way to
their knees, they found it dangerous to advance for fear of stepping
into rents and fissures which were no longer visible.
"What's to be done noo?" inquired Saunders, coming to a full stop, and
turning to Buzzby with a look of blank despair.
"Dun'no'," replied Buzzby, with an equally blank look of despair; as he
stood with his legs apart and his arms hanging down by his side--the
very personification of imbecility. "If I wos a fly I'd know wot to do.
I'd walk up the side o' that cliff till I got to a dry bit, and then I'd
stick on. But, not bein' a fly, in coorse I can't."
Buzzby said this in a recklessly facetious tone, and Tom Green followed
it up with a remark to the effect that "he'd be blowed if he ever wos in
sich a fix in his life;" intimating his belief, at the same time, that
his "toes wos freezin'."
"No fear o' that," said the second mate; "they'll no freeze as lang as
they're in the water. We'll just have to stand here till the tide goes
doon."
Saunders said this in a dogged tone, and immediately put his plan in
force by crossing his arms and planting his feet firmly on the submerged
ice and wide apart. Buzzby and Green, however, adopted the wiser plan of
moving constantly about within a small circle, and after Saunders had
argued for half-an-hour as to the advantages of his plan, he followed
their example.
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