“‘You better get some grub in your pocket,’ says I.
“‘I got it,’ says he.
“‘Well,’ says I, ‘I ’low you’ve learned! Where’d you get it?”
“‘Stole it from the cook,’ says he.
“‘Any chance for me?’
“‘If you’re lively,’ says he. ‘The cook’s a fool.... Will it come soon, Tumm?’ says he, with a grip on my wrist. ‘How long will it be, eh, Tumm, afore ’tis every man for hisself?’
“Soon enough, God knowed! By midnight the edge o’ the floe was rubbin’ Pa’tridge P’int, an’ the ice was troubled an’ angry. In an hour the pack had the bottom scrunched out o’ the Second t’ None; an’ she was kep’ above water—listed an’ dead—only by the jam o’ little pans ’longside. Tommy Jump ’lowed we’d strike the big billows o’ the open afore dawn an’ the pack would go abroad an’ leave us t’ fill an’ sink; said he couldn’t do no more, an’ the crew could take care o’ their own lives, which was what he would do, whatever come of it. ’Twas blowin’ big guns then—rippin’ in straight lines right off from Sop’s Arm an’ all them harbors for starved bodies an’ souls t’ the foot o’ the bay. An’ snow come with the wind; the heavens emptied theirselves; the air was thick an’ heavy. Seemed t’ me the wrath o’ sea an’ sky broke loose upon us—wind an’ ice an’ snow an’ big waves an’ cold—all the earth contains o’ hate for men! Skipper Tommy Jump ’lowed we’d better stick t’ the ship so long as we was able; which was merely his opinion, an’ if the hands had a mind t’ choose their pans while they was plenty, they was welcome t’ do it, an’ he wouldn’t see no man called a fool if his fists was big enough t’ stop it. But no man took t’ the ice at that time. An’ the Second t’ None ran on with the floe, out t’ sea, with the wind an’ snow playin’ the devil for their own amusement, an’ the ice groanin’ its own complaint....
“Then we struck the open.”