The evening closed in a troublous horror of great darkness, and the
anxious night began. Ferrier always made up his mind to stay below at
night, and he amused himself either by snatching a chat with the
skipper, or by reading one or two good novels which he had brought. But
imagine the desolation, the sombre surroundings, the risks to be run
every hour--every second--and you will understand that those two English
gentlemen had something in them passing self-interest, passing all that
the world has to offer. Ferrier never dreamed of becoming a nautical
recluse; he was too full of the joy of life for that: but he had a
purpose, and he went right at his mark like a bullet from a rifle. Once
that evening he went on deck and tried to peer through the wall of
trembling darkness that surrounded him; the view made him feel like the
victim in Poe's awful Inquisition story--the walls seemed to be closing
in. Faintly the starboard light shone, so that the snowflakes crossed
its path like dropping emeralds that shone a little in glory and then
fell dark; on the other side a fitful stream of rubies seemed to be
pouring; the lurid gleam from the cabin shone up the hatchway;--and, for
the rest, there was cold, darkness, the shadow of dread, and yet the
lookout-men were singing a duet as if death were not. The freezing drift
was enough to stop one's breath, but the lads were quite at ease, and,
to the air of a wicked old shanty, they sang about weathering the storm
and anchoring by and by.
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