So, while the first lot of men, commanded by the boatswain, was unloading the schooner, a second batch under West's orders began to cut the trench between the blocks which covered the side of the floating mountain.
Floating?
I know not why I use this expression, for the iceberg no longer floated, but remained as motionless as an island.

There was nothing to indicate that it would ever move again.

Other icebergs drifted along and passed us, going south-east, whilst ours, to use Dirk Peters' expression, was "lying to." Would its base be sufficiently undermined to allow it to detach itself?
Perhaps some heavy mass of ice might strike it and set it free by the shock.

No one could predict such an event, and we had only the _Halbrane_ to rely upon for getting us out of these regions.
We were engaged in these various tasks until the 24th of January.
The atmosphere was clear, the temperature was even, and the thermometer had indeed gone up to two or three degrees above freezing-point.

The number of icebergs coming from the nor'-west was therefore increasing; there were now a hundred of them, and a collision with any of these might have a most disastrous result.
Hardy, the caulker, hastened first of all to mend the hull; pegs had to be changed, bits of planking to be replaced, seams to be caulked.
We had everything that was necessary for this work, and we might rest assured that it would be performed in the best possible manner.
In the midst of the silence of these solitudes, the noise of the hammers striking nails into the side, and the sound of the mallet stuffing tow into the seams, had a startling effect.