obbing of water all about her decks, and her
narrow, distended band of maintopsail hovering overhead black as a
raven's pinion in the flying hoariness. We were washing through it at
twelve or thirteen knots an hour, though the ship was as stiff as a
madman in a strait-jacket, with the compressed wool in her hold and
loaded down to her main-chain bolts besides. By two bells (one
o'clock) forward of the break of the poop the decks were deserted,
though now and again, amidst some swiftly passing flaw in the storm of
snow, you might just discern the gleaming shapes of two men on the
look-out on the forecastle, with the glimpse of a figure in the
foretop, also on the watch for anything that might be ahead. The
captain in his tall hat was stumping the deck to and fro close against
the wheel, cased in a long pilot coat, under the skirts of which his
legs, as he slewed round, showed like the lower limb of the letter O.
Through the closed skylight windows I could get a sort of watery view
of the cuddy passengers--as they were then called--reading, playing at
chess, playing the piano, below. There were some scores of steerage
and 'tween-deck passengers, deeper yet in the bowels of the ship, but
hidden out of sight by the closed hatches.

I know not why it should have been, but I was the only midshipman on
the poop, though the ship carried twelve of us, six to a watch. The
other five were doubtless loafing about under cover somewhere. I stood
close beside the chief mate to windward, holding to the brass rail
that ran athwart the break of the poop. This officer was a Scotchman,
a man named Thompson, and I suppose no better seaman ever trod a
ship's deck. He was talking to me about getting home, asking me
whether I would rather be off Cape Horn in a snow-storm or making
ready to sit down with my brothers and sisters at my father's table to
a jolly good dinner of fish and roast beef and pudding, when all on a
sudden he stopped in what he was saying, and fell a-sniffing
violently.

"I smell ice," said he, with a glance aft at the captain.

"Smell ice!" thought I, with a half look at him, for I believed he was
joking. For my part, it was all ice to me--one dense, yelling
atmosphere of snow; every flake barbed, and the cold of a bitterness
beyond words. He fell a-sniffing again, quickly and vehemently, and
stepped to the side, sending a thirsty look into the white blindness
ahead, whilst I heard him mutter, "There 's ice close aboard