Ferrier found that unless he could get under the lee of something or
other, he must soon be sheathed in a coat of ice that would prevent him
from stirring at all. Oddly enough, he found afterwards that the very
fate he dreaded had befallen several forlorn seamen: the icy missiles of
the storm froze them in; the wind did not chill them, it throttled
them, and they were found frozen rigid in various positions.
The mate came and whispered in Ferrier's ear (for shouting was useless),
"The skipper would like a word with you. We'll keep some sort of a
look-out, but it isn't much good at present. Come into our cabin."
Lewis was not sorry, for the waves began to take the vessel without
"noticing" her, as it were, just as a good hunter takes an easy ditch in
his stride. If one came perpendicularly upon her, it was easy to see
what must happen.
The skipper said, "I want you gentlemen to assist me. I'm ordered to
obey _you_, but I know this sea, and I tell you that I'm doubtful
whether I shall save the vessel. I can't keep her hove-to much longer,
for this simple reason as she'll bury herself and us. I've got two
hundred and forty-four miles to run home. Will you let me run her? If
so, I'll take her in under storm canvas. She's splendid before wind and
sea, and I can save her that way; if we stop as we are, I fear we drown.
I've seen so many years of it that I don't so much mind, but having you
is a terrible thing.
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