text: CHAPTER XVII. 
  
  DEFEAT. 
  
  A grey dimness was creeping in upon the schooner when a little bitter breeze sprang up from westwards, and Dampier bade them get the mainsail on to her. 
  
  "I don't like the look of the weather, and I'm beginning to feel that I'd like to see that boat," he said. "Anyhow, we'll get way on her." 
  
  It was a relief to hoist the mainsail. The work put a little warmth into them, and the white men, at least, had been conscious of a growing uneasiness about their comrades in the boat. The breeze had, however, freshened before they set it, and there were white caps on the water when the _Selache_ headed for the ice. It had somewhat changed its formation when they approached it, for big masses had become detached from it and were moving out into the open water, while the opening had become perceptibly narrower. The light was now fading rapidly, and Wyllard took the wheel when Dampier sent the man there forward. 
  
  "Get the cover off the second boat, and see everything clear for hoisting out," he said to him, and then called to Wyllard. "We're close enough. You'd better heave her round." 
  
  She came round with a thrashing of canvas, stretched out seawards, and came back again with her deck sharply slanted and little puffs of bitter spray blowing over her weather rail, for there was no doubt that the breeze was freshening fast. Then Dampier sent a man up into the foremast shrouds, and looked at Wyllard afterwards. 