Here was danger indeed—danger throughout all the short and gloomy days, and still greater danger throughout the black and starless nights.
The men became dull and dispirited; only the captain and officers kept up their hearts.
The monkeys slept all day in the men’s bunks, and pussy before the galley fire. Johnnie Smart held back his head and smiled as usual, only, instead of his cheeks being red, they were now both blue and red, like badly pickled cabbage.
Oar boys were as brisk as ever. It really needed the whole watch to pull the frozen sheets or ropes through the blocks; but Barclay and Davie Drake always bore a hand in this work, and the men respected them all the better for it.
It was terrible labour now to reef topsails, so hard were they frozen.
One poor fellow who was lying well out to the end of the yard, with bleeding hands and cold, got so benumbed that he fell off the yard into the black, black water.
All haste was made to lower a boat, but before this could be done, he threw up both arms, uttered a piercing scream, and suddenly disappeared.
The blood-red patch and bubbles told too plainly that he had been dragged down by some monster shark. For here, as in the far-off Arctic Ocean, they grow to an immense size.
The death of Tom Ritchie, who was a general favourite, cast an additional gloom on every one, fore and aft.
During their sojourn in these bleak seas, Miss Leona confessed herself crumpled up; but our Teenie, warmly clad, was every day on deck.