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. Ferrier was not a conscious poet;--alas! had he
the fearful facility which this sinful writer once possessed, I shudder
to think of the sufferings of his friends when he described the brooding
weariness of this night in verse. He bottled up his verses and turned
them all into central fire; but he had poetry in every fibre all the
same.

Tom remarked, "This is very much like being iced for market. I wonder
what we could possibly do, if anything came into us as that barque did?
Let's talk about home."

"Pleasant indoors now; I can see the fire on the edges of the
furniture. The very thought of a hearthrug seems like a heathen luxury.
What will you do first when you get home, Tom?"

"Turkish bath."

"And then?"

"Oysters."

"Then?"

"Dinner."

"And after?"

"I'll spend the whole evening in pretending to myself I'm on the North
Sea again, and waking up to find that I've got my armchair under me."

"Can you see anything, Jim, just a point or so abaft the beam."

This was an ugly interruption to the Barmecides, who had begun to set
forth shadowy feasts. That is the way in thick weather; you are no
sooner out of one scrape than you blunder into another.

"Yes, sir, she'll go clear," sang out the man.

"She won't, I'm afraid," said Lewis, under his breath. It was most
puzzling; there was no guide; the snow made distances ridiculous, and
the black shadow came nearer.

"Up, all of you, and set your fenders. Doctor, show him a flare."

It was a smack, and her lights had gone wrong somehow; she was moving
but slowly, and she let the Mission vessel off with a hole in the mizen.
The scrimmage would have meant death had any breeze b