He slipped off his parka and shirt and then he rubbed himself in front of the stove. His teeth chattered as he began to get warm again.
“Going to be here long, Mate?” asked one of the men.
“We’ll probably leave at dawn. Wind should let up then.”
“Getting better then?”
“Yes,” said Martin, knowing it was not getting better. “Storm should be over by morning.”
“That’s good.” The men talked a while longer. Then they went to the focs’le. In his corner Smitty began to stir. Groaning, he got to his feet and walked over to the range and poured himself some coffee.
“You feel bad?” Martin asked.
“You bet I feel bad.” Smitty walked unsteadily away.
Martin sat down for a moment. He was tired, more tired than usual. Lately it seemed that he was always tired. He wondered if something was wrong with him. Perhaps he should see a doctor and get sent back to the States.
Everything was quiet, he noticed gratefully. It seemed that there had been nothing but noise since they left the Big Harbor that morning.