down, and the snow descended
fiercely; the terrified cattle tried to find shelter from the scourge of
the storm; a hollow roar rang sullenly amid the darkness; stray
sea-birds far overhead called weirdly, and it seemed as if the spirit of
evil were abroad in the night. In darkness the man fought onward,
thinking of the unhappy wretches who sometimes lie down on the snow and
let the final numbness seize their hearts. Then came a friendly
shout--then lights--and then the glow of warmth that filled a broad room
with pleasantness. All the night long the mad gusts tore at the walls
and made them vibrate; all night the terrible music rose into shrieks
and died away in low moaning, and ever the savage boom of the waves made
a vast under-song. Then came visions of the mournful sea that we all
know so well, and the traveller thought of the honest fellows who must
spend their Christmas-time amid warring forces that make the works of
man seem puny. What a picture that is--The Toilers of the Sea in Winter!
Christmas Eve comes with no joyous jangling of bells; the sun stoops to
the sea, glaring lividly through whirls of snow, and the vessel roars
through the water; black billows rush on until their crests topple into
ruin, and then the boiling white water shines fitfully like some strange
lambent flame; the breeze sings hoarsely among the cordage; the whole
surface flood plunges on as if some immense cataract must soon appear
after the rapids are passed. Every sea that the vessel shatters sends
up a flying waterspout; and the frost acts with amazing suddenness, so
that the spars, the rigging, and the deck gather layer after layer of
ice. Supposing the vessel is employed in fishing, then the men in the
forecastle crouch round the little fire, or shiver on their soaked beds,
and perhaps growl out a few words of more or less cheerful talk. Stay
with the helmsman, and you may know what the mystery and horror of utter
gloom are really like. There is danger everywhere--a sudden wave may
burst the deck or heave the vessel down on her side; a huge dim cloud
may start shapelessly from the murk, and, before a word of warning can
be uttered, a great ship may crash into the labouring craft. In that
case hope is gone, for the boat is bedded in a mass of ice and all the
doomed seamen must take the deadly plunge to eternity. Ah, think of
this, you who rest in the glow of beautiful homes! Then the morning--the
grey desolation! No words can fairly pi