n' thick weather. Comin' on dusk,
now, too. The big, black tramp, showin' hazy lights, was changed to a
shadow in the mist. The pack had begun t' heave an' grind. I could
feel the big pans get restless. They was shiftin' for ease. I could
hear un crack. I could hear un crunch. Not much noise yet, though: not
much wind yet. But 'twas no fair prospect for the night. Open
water--in a shift o' the ice--was but half a league t' the nor'west, a
bee-line into the gale's eye. The wind had packed the slob about the
ships. It had jammed half a league o' ice against the body o' the big
pack t' the sou'east. In the nor'west, too, was another floe. 'Twas
there, in the mist, an' 'twas comin' down with the wind. It cotched
the first of the gale; 'twas free t' move, too. 'Twould overhaul us
soon enough. Ever see the ice rafter, sir? No? Well, 'tis no swift
collison. 'Tis horrible an' slow. No shock at all: jus' slow pressure.
The big pans rear. They break--an' tumble back. Fields--acres
big--slip one atop o' the other. Hummocks are crunched t' slush. The
big bergs topple over. It always makes me think o' hell, somehow--the
wind, the night, the big white movin' shapes, the crash an' thunder of
it, the ghostly screeches. An' the _Claymore's_ iron plates was
doomed; an' the _Royal Bloodhound_ could escape on'y by good luck or
the immediate attention o' the good God A'mighty.

"Jus' afore dark I come t' my senses.

"'What's _this_!' thinks I.

"I waited.

"'Wind's haulin' round a bit,' thinks I.

"I waited a spell longer t' make sure.

"'Jumpin' round t' the s'uth'ard,' thinks I, 'by Heavens!' I made for
the skipper's cabin with the news. 'Cap'n Sammy, sir,' says I, 'the
wind's haulin' round t' the s'uth'ard.'

"'_Wind's what!_' Cap'n Sammy yelled.

"'Goin' round t' the s'uth'ard on the jump,' says I.

"Cap'n Sammy bounced out on deck an' turned his gray ol' face t' the
gale. An' 'twas true: the wind was swingin' round the compass; every
squall that blew was a point off. An' Cap'n Sammy seed in a flash that
they wasn't no dollar a minute for he if Cap'n Wrath knowed what the
change o' wind meant. For look you, sir! when the wind was from the
nor'west, it jammed the slob against the pack behind us, an' fetched
down the floe t' win'ard; but blowin' strong from southerly parts,
'twould not only halt the floe, but 'twould loosen the pack in which
we lay, an' scatter it in the open water half a league t' the
nor'west. In an hour--if