“Very well, chief; suit yourself,” said the skipper with a note of finality in his voice. “It’s a little cold out here to discuss the matter further. You had better stop singing altogether then,” and leaving me badly upset at the idea of losing my one diversion, he walked off in the snow, resuming his exercise.
Naturally enough, I looked around the frosty field of ice to starboard of the Jeannette, which constituted our exercise grounds, for the cause of that muzzle the captain so unceremoniously had just slapped on me. A little way off was Collins, undoubtedly a witness to what had gone on, and in view of the extraordinary way sounds carried across the ice in that Arctic air, probably a willing enough auditor also. I strode over to him.
“Good morning, Collins.”
“Good morning, Melville.”
I was too hot in one way and too cold in another for any preliminaries. I jumped headfirst into my subject.
“The captain tells me you complained to him and claimed his protection against my jokes and my singing Irish songs and making game of you. Collins, that was neither upright nor manly!”
“Hold on!” said Collins. “I’ll explain that thing.”
“I don’t want any explanations! It’s plain enough what you’ve done. If you’d come to me like any shipmate should, and told me that my jokes and songs were disagreeable to you, I wouldn’t have sung another song or cracked another joke. But your tale-bearing makes me sick! From now on, we’re through! You keep to your side of the ship and I’ll keep to mine! And don’t you forget it!”
And from that day forward, I never spoke again to Collins nor he to me, except when I was told to carry him an order.
Our wardroom mess was now in a fine state for sociability. Danenhower, blinded, behind the bulkhead of his stateroom talked almost incessantly to relieve his monotony but nobody paid any attention to that as conversation. Dunbar wouldn’t talk to Newcomb; Collins and I were not on speaking terms; Newcomb would not talk to anybody; Collins was nearly as bad, speaking pleasantly only to Danenhower; Chipp was naturally reticent and had little to say ever; Dunbar, much aged by illness, was taciturn as a result; the captain, weighted down by his responsibilities, felt compelled to maintain an extreme official reserve; and only Dr. Ambler and I were left ever to carry on a conversation like ordinary human beings. The ice was working on us, all right. A casual visitor, had one been able to poke his head through our door on the Jeannette at any meal, would have concluded that we were about to attend the funeral of some dear friend, and in that he would not have been far wrong; subconsciously we felt and acted as if we were going to a funeral, only it was—ours!