(By the way, the
men care very little about a boat's being swamped so long as the painter
holds. I have seen three go under astern of one vessel during the
delivery of fish. The little incident only caused laughter.)
The chapter of casualties was enough to curdle the blood of any one but
a doctor--a doctor with perfect nerve and training. All kinds of violent
exertions had been used to save the vessels, and men had toiled with
sacks sewn round their boots to avoid slipping on a glassy surface which
froze like a mirror whenever it was exposed for a few seconds to the air
between the onrushes of successive waves. Ferrier carried his life in
his hand for three days as he went from vessel to vessel; the sea was
unpleasant; the risk involved in springing over icy bulwarks on to
slippery decks was miserable, and the most awkward operations had to be
performed at times when it needed dexterity merely to keep a footing.
One man had the calf of his leg taken clean away by a topmast which came
down like a falling spear; the frost had caught the desperate wound
before Ferrier came on the scene, and the poor mortal was near his last.
The young man saw that the leg must go; he had never ventured to think
of such a contingency as this, and his strained nerve well-nigh failed
him. A grim little conversation took place in the cabin between the
skipper, the doctor, and the patient. I let the talk explain itself, so
that people may understand that Ferrier's proposed hospital was not
demanded by a mere faddist.
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