The position of the iceberg could not be ascertained.
It went with the current at a like speed, and had it been motionless there would have been no appreciable difference for us, for the wind had fallen--at least, so we supposed--and not a breath was stirring.

The flame of a torch held up in the air did not flicker.
The silence of space was broken only by the clangour of the sea-birds, which came in muffled croaking tones through the stifling atmosphere of vapour.

Petrels and albatross swept the top of the iceberg, where they kept a useless watch in their flight.

In what direction were those swift-winged creatures--perhaps already driven towards the confines of the arctic region but the approach of winter--bound?
We could not tell.

One day, the boatswain, who was determined to solve this question if possible, having mounted to the extreme top, not without risk of breaking his neck, came into such violent contact with a _quebranta huesos_--a sort of gigantic petrel measuring twelve feet with spread wings--that he was flung on his back.
"Curse the bird!" he said on his return to the camp, addressing the observation to me.