“Well, now, I’m not afraid of that. Remember, I superintended the fortifying of the ship, and you could hardly believe how solid we are. But of course ice will go through anything.”
“So I’ve heard, and we saw some bergs while coming round the Horn—didn’t we?—that I wouldn’t care to be embraced between.”
“Not unless the ship were made of indiarubber, and everybody in it.”
“I wonder how all are at Grayling House to-night. Poor sister Effie! Didn’t she cry! I’m afraid old Peter was croaking a bit. He is quite one of the family, you know, but very old-wifeish and crotchety, and thinks himself quite an old relation of father’s. Then there is that ridiculous superstition about the pike.”
“Yes, do you know the story?”
“Yes, and I may relate it some evening, perhaps, what little story there is; though it is only ridiculous nonsense. But look! what is that?”
“Why, a shoal of porpoises, but they are just like fishes of fire.”
“Phosphorescence. These seas on some summer nights are all alive with it. What a lovely sight! Strange life the creatures lead! I wonder do they ever sleep? Heigho! talking of sleep makes me think of my hammock. I believe I will turn in now, though it is really a pity to go below on so lovely a night. Ta, ta. Take care of us all.
“A Dios, Leonard.”